#something something knocking on doors asking for the devil but still

[ohcaptains]

𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

college! peter parker x fem reader.

18+ only !!! f! receiving oral sex. peter parker has an oral fixation i said what i said. in my spider-man era again.

peter was a weekly visitor at this point. sometimes, it was twice, but never more than three. three was pushing it.

Three said that Peter meant something to you, and you couldn’t have that. No, whatever this was between the pair of you was strictly transactional. It was Peter texting you late at night, the classic, you up? Gracing your screen, and every time, you would pretend to be annoyed.

As if Peter coming around to give you the greatest head of your life was an inconvenience. Tempted, the devil on your shoulder smirking, to type back, Jesus, again? but never doing it. Instead, you wrote: sure.

Still, it plagued your mind. He never asked for anything else.

It was as if he did this purely for himself.

“Oh fuck,” you mewled, clenching down tight. The hand that was wrapped around Peter’s brown curls clutched and tugged, and the unconscious movement earned you a chastised groan. It rumbled through your cunt, and the echo shot to your clit, making you close your eyes and lean back, wet mouth spilling his name into your dorm.

Peter liked hearing you.

Liked seeing you lose your mind with his head between your thighs, your pussy wet and throbbing from his mouth and fingers. It’s why he came around often. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even text, would just knock on your door -- looking sheepish from under his dark curls -- and just. Not. Say. Anything.

His silence was answer enough. You knew what he wanted. Or, needed, as you later figured out, as you saw how red he’d gotten when you told him he couldn’t come around for a bit. When you said something about focusing on exams, he’d come over anyway, whined, shuffled his feet and said, You can do your work, I just gotta…I’ll be quick.

The lack of explanation made your mind swirl. But regardless, you’d let him in and did your work with his head between your thighs. He’d tutored you, too, told you how to solve for x with his fingers inside of you. He’d said, if you let me make you come again, I’ll do your Maths work for the next week. After he’d left, you stared at the scene of the crime in pure silence.

Just…reflecting.

Peter fluttered his tongue over your swollen clit. Focused on swirling it around his tongue in sloppy, wet circles, and the thick desire that swelled between your thighs began to pool at your lower back, forcing you to arch up into it.

“Please,” you wept, even though he was giving you what you wanted. Flat on your back with his deft grip keeping your bare thighs open. It was 8 pm. He’d caught you just after your shower, so the smell of your shampoo and body wash wafted through the air – Lavender and pear.

Peter had spread you open and said you smelled like spring. You’d been far too turned on to comment on it. He grumbled into your cunt, and you managed to work out the word, more? You hummed, too drunk on him and wound tight to verbalise that yes, you wanted more. Wanted him to make you come, and come again, till all you could do was mumble his name and focus on your breathing.

He'd learnt how you liked it. Paid attention, and he was getting full scores as he pushed his tongue flat against your swollen clit and sucked. Your vision went white.

“Oh fuck – ohfuck, Peter—” you squirmed, but Peter was strong, and he held you to the bed with his vice-like grip, wordlessly saying take it take it take it.

He lapped at you, salvia drooling over your cunt and down his chin, soaking the sheets. He was always so careless. In moments like this, that nervous edge that always fluttered around him was gone, replaced by a visceral drive to either please you, or get what he wanted.

The two bled into each other.

His tempo was leisurely, but that didn’t stop the heat from washing over you all at once.

You clamped your thighs around his ears and moaned -- loud, so loud that you were sure the other students on your floor heard.

Still, the ache was erratic, “So good,” you sobbed, and you heard yourself, heard the near primal need in your voice, and the desperation made you embarrassed, made you cover your mouth with your palm and grip the sheets, willing yourself to cool it. 

“Move your hand, or I’ll stop,” he uttered against you, and your clit was so sore that the echo of his words made your eyes roll back. Peter must have seen, as he hummed a laugh, and kissed your inner thigh, “lemme hear you.”

Managing to gain some sense of sanity, you blearily blinked down at him, but all sense of stability you thought you had was wiped away when you saw Peter had his hand stuffed down his pants.

You dropped back onto the bed and sobbed.

You knew he got off on this, but Jesus Christ, you’d never seen that before.

“Gotta be kidding me,” you breathed, and Peter must have understood what you were referencing, as he buried his reddening face into your inner thigh. He let out a breathy chuckle, “’ M’sorry,” he mumbled, “usually I wait till I get home, but you’re just so hot.”

You had to stay completely still, or you’d burst. Usually, I wait till I get home?

Peter moved his face and began nuzzling the wet folds of your pussy. He bumped his nose against your clit, and you quietly choked.

Peter hummed, “couldn’t help myself.”

You figured he did something like that, but the admission made your thighs tense. You pictured him stumbling home – cheeks still wet with you – and tugging his pants down, quickly shoving his hands into his boxers and taking hold of his aching cock. Did he whimper when he came? Or was he silent, all tremors and low grunts? No. He definitely whimpered.

He was far too pretty to stay quiet.

The sudden desire to kiss him swept over you.

Reaching down, you tugged at his curls, wordlessly motioning him to move. When he did, you briefly saw the red of his cheeks and wet of his nose before you kissed him, all tongue, and tasted yourself on his pink lips.

Peter melted into you. Huffed your name like a sigh, and the sheer tenderness of it had you wrapping your legs around his back and pressing your bare cunt against his jeans.

He was rock-hard. Tentatively, you ran your nails over his chest, and dipped low, pressing between his thighs, cupping his bulge, and gently squeezing. Peter wept.

“Oh fuck,” he sobbed, as desperate as you imagined. With one hand in his hair and the other on his cock, you continued to kiss him, until the ache between your thighs became too much to bear.

“Make me come,” you whispered, “and I’ll put you in my mouth.”

Peter had never moved so fast in his life.

[rosy-hollow]

Your husband, Sukuna, is a menace—but he can't say no to your even bigger menace of a daughter.

He already can't say no to you—the absolute sweetheart he had fallen deeply for—so how could he stand a chance against his five-year-old daughter, who looked so much like you yet had the wrath and fury to make even hell freeze over?

It’s Yuna’s first day of kindergarten, and you and your husband have already been called to the school because of your girl's… behavioral issues.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. and Mrs. Sukuna. I, uh… as you’ve heard, Yuna has been acting disruptively in school today. We’ll have to send her home due to her actions, but I sincerely hope this doesn’t happen again."

Underneath the table, your hand finds your husband's reassuringly, squeezing it to let him know you'd handle this.

"I apologize for any inconvenience, sir... but may I know the details of what happened first?" you ask politely, maintaining a calm facade. And if the two of you weren’t talking to your daughter's school principal, Sukuna would’ve kissed you right then and there—because the moment he opened his mouth, he’d probably have a restraining order filed against him in every country.

Despite your calm demeanor, though, you were practically seething.

You knew your daughter. Yes, she had quite a temper, but to act up in such a way that caused a scene? That didn’t sound like her. And if she really had, then something serious must've happened.

The principal nods, sighing bitterly. "Apparently, there was a squabble between your daughter and another boy on the playground… He ended up with a tooth knocked out in the end."

You blink, taken aback, frowning.

Your daughter, though prone to getting angry, would never resort to violence. You and your husband raised her better than that.

Your blood simmers slightly as you take in the principal’s disdainful expression and condescending tone. You want to punch it off his face—but you don’t, much to your own chagrin.

Your husband is squeezing your hand so hard it feels like your bones might snap, but you still rub your thumb comfortingly against his knuckles.

"May I speak to my daughter? Though this behavior is unacceptable, this doesn’t sound like her at all," you say, and the principal sighs, nodding.

"Yes, but please make it quick."

You nod, mentally flipping the man off, before exiting the room with your furious husband in tow.

There, just outside, sits your daughter—wide red eyes filled with tears.

"I-I’m sorry, Mommy..." she whimpers softly, and something inside you breaks as you rush forward to envelop her in your arms.

It takes everything in you not to hunt down the people who reduced your loving daughter to this mess. And you're sure your husband isn’t doing any better—years and years of therapy doing everything it can to keep his rage at bay.

"H-He said my eyes m-made me look l-like a m-m-monster, and t-then he pushed me, and so I just pushed him back, and then he tripped over his shoelaces and his t-tooth fell out—"

Yuna is full-on sobbing now, and you freeze, holding her tightly.

Wordlessly, you pick up the small five-year-old and hand her to your husband, a glint in your eye. Sukuna stiffens, swallowing hard. His grip on Yuna tightens slightly as he watches you storm inside.

He’s only seen you mad maybe four times in your ten years of marriage—if Yuna could freeze hell over when she was angry, then you were the devil incarnate herself.

You reenter the principal’s office, slamming the door behind you. Sukuna decides to be a smart dad and take his daughter down the hall, avoiding what is definitely about to be verbal homicide.

When you finally exit the room, there's an eerily peaceful look on your face. Casually, you dust off your shirt, approaching your husband and daughter with a warm smile.

Sukuna and Yuna exchange uneasy glances.

"So~ who wants ice cream?"

Yuna’s not uneasy anymore.

Sukuna sighs.

He loves his two girls more than anything in the world—he never, ever would have pictured himself being the calmer one in the relationship, but you never ceased to prove him wrong.

That’s what he loved about you, though.

A/N: i love when beefy men are down bad for me (this has never happened)

[nemesyaaa]

sweet babyface // toxic!bbydaddy!rafe x reader

summary ; rafe was decided to make your little one, a kook princess. and if it means to spend a million of dollars on a diamond swarovski tiara just to see it on the head of his daughter, you can be sure he's gonna do it.

warnings ; basically fluff but i would add +18 bc of a little bit of suggestive content but not real smut. mention of breeding kink. kind of toxic relationship. a bit of stalking. financial dependence. be aware of the warnings.

author's note ; i just wanted to mention @princessbrunette for the bbydaddy!rafe verse. you can check it on her account <3

even if you tried every time to keep him away, push him away, avoid him or chase him, rafe always came back. you could be cold, distant, suspicious and even cruel, he didn't care. by the way, he was better than you at that game anyway? it wasn’t for nothing that you always lost trying to fight him. he was winning while you were just exhausting yourself out. sometimes you wonder why you let him into your life, why you thought it would be a good idea to have a baby with him when everyone on the island told you he was unstable and uncontrollable. some even laughed at your situation, saying it was like giving something to the devil and hoping he doesn't use it against you.

you couldn't say rafe was a bad father. your daughter had always been outrageously spoiled. he always gave her the biggest and greatest gifts. nothing was ever good enough for his princess. he always thought big when it came to his baby. even if you were a pogue, he wanted to raise her as a fucking kook.

and sometimes you wondered if he did all this out of pure fatherly love or out of narcissism or ego.even if you hated him so much, he absolutely needed to make sure your child was on his side. every time he was there, it was like you no longer existed. the house was full of "dad," "daddy, “ or “ papa, " and babbling and laughing. it was always his name, she never called you. and you always felt a pang in your heart every time he grabbed her in his big veiny arms, making her the happiest little girl before taking her away from you to go on some weekly trips.

even when he was not at home, it was always with the toys he gave her that she played, the dresses he gave her that she wore, the hairstyles that he validated by facetime that she asked you to make, the meals he delivered that she wanted to eat. she was truly daddy’s girl. even in her facial features.

so no matter how much you tried to ignore him, he was still there somehow . through the demands of your daughter, the hundreds of deliveries a day to your door, the objects in this house and even its walls because he was obviously the one who paid for it.

you didn't need to work. you had access to all his cards. at first you spent tons of money on unnecessary expenses hoping it would drive him crazy but the next day you saw that even more money had been added to the bank account.

but rafe cameron didn't give you access to his banking data out of pure kindness and affection alone. he was also looking for a way to control you, and stay in your life. then, with that, he could also stalk you and do inappropriate things like when you bought lingerie and he received the bill. he couldn't stop himself from sending you a message. “don't want to see me, but you dress yourself like you want me to give you a second baby ;) ”

the only rule was that you were forbidden from going to see another man and even less from inviting him to the house. he manipulated you by saying it was for your daughter's mental balance but it was purely out of jealousy. and you knew it very well. you weren't the stupid naive girl he had gaslighted in the past and who he could lie to so easily anymore.

one day, you were giving your kid the extremely expensive cupcakes rafe had bought for her breakfast, trying not to comment on the ridiculousness of the prices but especially the situation, and there was a knock at the door. when you saw through the blinder that it was him, you stepped back discreetly, swallowing hard to not clench. your heart was beating fast in your ribcage as you were trying to silence your stepfoots.

“I know you're here.” you had heard his loud firm raspy voice through the door. “baby, i can hear you breathing and backing up from here. come on, i thought we both get over the time i scared you. ”

he continued to knock on the door until your old neighbor called you claiming that a crazy madman was in front of your house and didn't want to leave.

you had been forced to open up to him which made you even angrier.

but that didn’t stop him from smiling at you, the insatiable white colgate smile. his clean and fresh mullet was long enough that hair brushed the back of his neck. he was wearing one of his perfect black suits with the sleeves rolled up to show a glimpse of his nice shirt. a Rolex was tight around his veiny wrist, and the same rings he always wore were wrapped around his fingers.

he had his ear pierced recently with your daughter. you had been against it, but she still wanted to do like her father so you had no authority over the sweet monster. but you had to admit that the jewelry suited them both so well. especially on rafe, you couldn't help but think about kissing his ear, but especially biting his earlobe while caressing the silver piercing until it's wet and rolling against your tongue. all this perhaps while thinking of having a baby again.

“I should be allowed to come here whenever I want. " he had sworn under his breath, staring at you with his evil blue eyes.

“tell me what you have to say or I’ll call the police.” you replied shortly.

"I want to see my girl. I mean, the one who likes to call me daddy. "

“It’s not funny and she doesn’t want to…”

you hadn't had time to finish speaking before your babyface's little footsteps were running on the floor to come into the hall.

“daddy! " she exclaimed before being carried off the ground to snuggle into her father's strong arms, her little frame being hidden by the size of his biceps.

“that's my little girl.” he welcomed her with a kiss on the cheek, making her chuckle.

"I missed you! please, stay !" your kid had asked with bubbly face and pleading eyes, her childish pout so irresistible to say no.

“of course, I’m staying.”

“raf…” you started but he ignored you, walking in the house without your permission into the living room.

“I have something for you, peaches. ”

he took a present out of his bag and you rolled your eyes. you already knew it was going to be something crazy like the giant dollhouse he built in her bedroom, or the huge dinette in the playroom, or a scary tall comfort teddy bear that she couldn't even carry in her tiny hands. sometimes you wondered what he could offer to her because she already had everything. he had literally built her a heaven.

your daughter's eyes widened in surprise, while a smile floated across her lips in excitement. she opened the gift and took out a silver tiara set with diamonds and stunning crystals signed by Swarovski.

“she’s a baby, rafe…” you commented.

"no, she's a princess. " he corrected you and fixed your little one's hair before putting the tiara on her head, and placing a smack on her forehead. “ don't you see that kook babyface ? ”

she giggled before wrapping her hands around his neck to thank him.

“we need to talk.” you said.

"later. i have a princess to honor for now."

you wanted to fight back and kill him but you couldn't resist your daughter's face. she was happy to be with her father. and you knew it was important for girls to establish a strong bond with their father. and there was this bright spark that shone in her eyes every time she saw him that made you melt.

so you let him stay at home. he stayed with her all day. she managed to make him do whatever she wanted, and that's how he found himself playing with dolls, watching the princess and the frog, doing karaoke to barbie songs, serving as a client for a makeup session, and judging all of her princess dresses while she was making him a haul.

No matter how angry you were that he showed up like that and decided to stay, you couldn't deny the fact that he was damn good, that in the moment, you couldn't find any reason not to like him, even when he caught you spying on them and sent you a smirk to remember that you had no control.

you had decided to do some cleaning, to leave them both for a bit until the end of the day. after a long moment, rafe decided to leave her alone for a bit.

you were downstairs, and you were making food. he raised an eyebrow when he saw you. “don’t forget me.”

“no I’m sorry, I’m cooking for two and you’re not included in it.”

“I was included in this pussy to make you a baby so you can include me in this meal for one night, baby. ‘s nothing. ” he shouted back, chewing some gum arrogantly.

“don’t be trashy.”

"you used to like this..." he carefully said, because he knew he was treading on sensitive ground.

he stood in front of you, picking a taste of the ranch sauce from the bowl before putting it in his mouth. you watched him do it, glaring at the smile on his so fucking evil lickable lips.

“ taste's good. ”

“I want you to leave. “

"We should ask every part of your body if they're okay with this. Maybe it would put you back into your place to feel betrayed by your own self. "

“You’re not good for her.” you confessed.

“I am her father. And from what i know, she's very happy with me. You're the one to have a problem with my presence here. ”

"Please, leave the house. I don't want to call the police."

“exactly, baby.” he moved to stand behind you, rearranging a strand of your hair, his breath hot on the back of your neck. “you don’t want to do it. And you're not forced to do it…” he caressed your hand, slowly putting the knife away from your fingers.

“Step back.”

"I want to stay here tonight. Just this night. She really wants me to stay and would it be cruel to make her sad? You don't want to be the villain, right ? "

“don’t try to manipulate me.”

" mmh, just telling the truth and it makes you mad. you can hate me if you want but she needs me. i'm her dad and you know if I wanted to, I could make her come with me but I love seeing you together. you're a great mom.”

"you will sleep on the couch. and that is non-negotiable. you don't try anything with me, is that okay?"

“Come on, we can sleep together. We are mature and consenting adults.” he replied. "There's nothing I haven't seen before, baby. I know all that lingerie as well as that body hidden behind it."

“about that, stop stalking my bills.”

"Mine , baby. you mean, my bills. these are my cards that you use for your pleasures so I have the right to have an eye on them. even more so when I receive bills for sex toys. you should call me instead of handling it? yourself.”

"After trying them, I'm not sure that you're big enough now. “

jesus, you knew how to provoke him and it worked. he had sniffed the air loudly, trying to contain himself because honestly, he only wanted one thing at the moment, a strong urge that was to fuck you dirty on that counter until he was sure to see your hole tearing to death and dripping to get his cock in. jesus, yeah, he would give anything to see you grimace because it will never fit in but prove you wrong by giving you a second baby.

his jaw was tense and his nostrils were flared. he was forced to clench his fist to avoid touching you. " the day when your babygirl will want a little sister or brother, you better be begging on all fours on my fucking doorstep to convince me to give you another baby. so better to start now and stretch that hole very hard before it's happening because i'm gonna make sure to be breeding you enough to change your whole dna. ”

“ aren't you tired of thr…”

“mom, dad, what are you talking about?” the little girl burst into the kitchen, still with her tiara on her head. a smile appeared when she saw that her dad was still there. because it was rare for him to stay that late.

you warned rafe with your eyes, slashing violently at pieces of vegetables with the knife back in your hand.

“ we were thinking that i could stay tonight. what's your thoughts on this, little one ? want daddy to stay ? ”

“ yes ! i don't want you to leave. stay foreveeeer with me. ”

“ but you know, he can't. he's a businessman. ” you replied.

“ what do you mean, baby ? my only business is right here. ”

” Rafe. ” you said.

“ Baby ? ” he replied with a cocky smile. “ Why don't you tell us what you're cooking ? Seems delicious. Maybe we could get a taste. ”

“ Sweetie, can you go to your room for a second ? I need to talk with your dad. It's not gonna be long. ”

She pouted but agreed after Rafe promised her something if she was listening to her mom.

“you know you can’t stay. "

"All I know is that there is my name in the papers of this house, on your bills, and even on your documents. If I can't stay, you can't escape. So what's better ? ”

[holyblonded]

other mother | stargirl

pairings: olga rios x teen!reader, alexia putellas x teen!reader, jenni hermoso x teen!reader

summary: jenni is in town and your closeness with her has olga feeling insecure as her position as your mother

notes: my inbox was flooded with people asking for this so here yall go 😀

“It’s Jenni Day!” you cheered as you practically skipped down the stairs, nearly tripping over your own feet in excitement. The smell of your favorite omelet filled the air, and when you entered the kitchen, you saw Olga at the stove, expertly flipping an egg while Alexia sat at the breakfast bar, sipping her tea.

“Jenni Day, Jenni Day, Jenni Day!” You chanted, throwing in a dramatic spin before moonwalking across the kitchen floor.

Alexia chuckled, shaking her head at your antics. “I take it you’re excited?”

“Yes! Do you know why?” You grinned, pointing at her like a game show host about to reveal the grand prize. “Because it’s Jenni Day!”

You launched into another celebratory dance, arms flailing, feet shuffling, completely lost in your own little world. Alexia laughed into her tea, and even Olga cracked a smile as she plated your omelet.

“You have way too much energy this early,” Olga mused, setting your plate in front of you.

“Of course I do! Jenni is coming, and it’s been forever since I last saw her!” You threw yourself into the stool next to Alexia, bouncing in place. “We’re still going to the airport to pick her up, right?”

Alexia nodded. “That’s the plan.”

Before you could respond, a knock at the door interrupted the conversation. You frowned, confused, whoever was here was intruding on your special celebration.

Alexia stood to answer it, but the moment the door swung open, a familiar voice rang out.

“¡Mi pequeño diabla!” (My little devil)

Your eyes widened in pure joy. “Jenni!”

Without hesitation, you bolted from your seat, sprinting across the kitchen and launching yourself into her arms. Jenni caught you with ease, laughing as she lifted you off the ground and spun you in a circle.

“My diablita, look at you! Have you grown? Or am I just getting old?” she teased, pressing loud, exaggerated kisses all over your face.

You giggled, squeezing her tight. “You’re ancient, Jenni.”

She gasped, feigning offense. “¡Qué mala!” She set you down only for you to immediately latch onto her side, practically glued to her as you dragged her toward the breakfast bar.

“Okay, okay, come sit! I have so much to tell you!” You pulled her into the seat next to yours, eyes bright with excitement. “You missed so much! Oh my god, wait, did you see my last match? And also, you have to see this new trick I learned— oh! And guess what? I have a girlfriend now! Her name is Soleil, and she’s the best, and I need to show you pictures—”

Jenni listened with an amused smile, nodding along as you spoke a mile a minute, gesturing wildly with your hands.

Meanwhile, Olga, who had turned back to the stove, found herself oddly quiet. She glanced over her shoulder at the way you clung to Jenni, the way you looked at her like she hung the moon, and something inside her twisted.

She knew Jenni had been in your life for years, had played a huge role in your childhood, especially when she and Alexia had been together. She understood the excitement, the affection— but still, as she stood there, spatula in hand, watching you practically vibrate with happiness in Jenni’s arms, she couldn’t help but feel like she was standing on the outside looking in.

Alexia noticed the shift in Olga’s demeanor, the slight slump of her shoulders, the way she suddenly seemed overly focused on the eggs she was cooking.

“You okay?” Alexia murmured, nudging Olga gently.

Olga forced a small smile. “Yeah… just not used to being replaced so quickly.”

Alexia sighed, wrapping an arm around Olga’s waist and pressing a reassuring kiss to her temple. “She loves you, you know that.”

“I know,” Olga admitted. “But right now, I think I’m just the lady who made her breakfast.”

Before Alexia could respond, your voice rang out again.

“Olga, come sit with us!” You turned to her, waving her over with an enthusiastic hand. “You have to hear this story Jenni’s telling!”

Olga hesitated for a split second before schooling her expression, pushing aside the small pang of insecurity.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” she said, finally taking the empty seat next to you.

And when you instinctively reached for her hand, squeezing it without even looking as you continued talking to Jenni, Olga felt some of that uncertainty ease.

The bell above the door chimed as you bounced into your favorite café, your hand wrapped around Soleil’s while Jenni strolled beside you, slinging an arm around your shoulders like she never left. Alexia and Olga trailed behind, already making their way to the counter to order drinks while you led Jenni and Soleil to a cozy booth near the window.

“You’re gonna love this place,” you told Jenni, excitement bubbling in your voice. “They have the best pastries, and they always write little messages on the coffee cups.”

Jenni smirked, sliding into the seat across from you and Soleil. “I trust your taste, mi diablita.”

You turned to Soleil, eyes sparkling. “I can’t believe I haven’t introduced you two sooner! Jenni basically helped raise me. Like, she taught me how to ride a bike, took me to all my first pro matches, and—” you leaned in, stage whispering—“everything I know about being a striker? All from her.”

Soleil smiled warmly, looking at Jenni with clear appreciation. “That explains why you’re such a menace on the field.”

Jenni grinned. “Ah, so you’ve witnessed her chaos firsthand.”

Soleil laughed. “Every day.”

You laughed too, leaning into Jenni’s side and hugging her tightly. “She’s the best, Sol. When Ale and Jenni were dating, she was always around, always looking out for me. And even after… you know, they broke up, she never disappeared. She’s family.”

Jenni pressed a fond kiss to your temple. “Always.”

Across the café, Olga stood in line, watching the interaction with a tightness in her chest she couldn’t quite shake. You were radiant, so full of joy, clinging to Jenni like she was your lifeline. The way you looked at her, the way you spoke about her, all of it made Olga’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

She knew Jenni had been a part of your life long before she had. She knew Jenni had played a big role in raising you. But knowing it and watching it were two different things.

Alexia, standing beside her, caught the shift in Olga’s expression immediately. Without hesitation, she bumped Olga’s shoulder gently. “You good, amor?”

Olga plastered on a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, fine.”

Alexia didn’t buy it for a second. “You’re watching them like they just stole your puppy.”

Olga sighed, glancing away. “I just… she clearly loves Jenni. And I get it, Jenni was there when she was little, she taught her all these things, helped raise her—” she exhaled sharply— “but I’m supposed to be her mother now. And sometimes, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fill that space the way Jenni did.”

Alexia frowned, reaching for Olga’s hand and squeezing it. “Olga, you are her mother. She chose you, we chose you. That doesn’t change just because she loves Jenni too.”

Olga’s grip tightened slightly, her jaw clenching. “I know, but it’s different. She looks at Jenni like she’s the person who made her who she is. I just… I don’t want to be second place in something that means everything to me.”

Olga’s fingers curled into fists at her sides as she watched you practically drape yourself over Jenni, your eyes shining with admiration as you told Soleil story after story about how Jenni had shaped you. Every time you hugged Jenni, every time you laughed at something she said, every time you looked at her like she was one of the most important people in your world— it chipped away at something deep inside Olga.

She wasn’t jealous, not exactly. It wasn’t that she wanted to erase Jenni’s role in your life. It was the fear that no matter how much time passed, no matter how much love she gave, no matter how fiercely she protected you, she would always be playing catch up to the people who had come before her.

Jenni had been there for your firsts. Your first bike ride, your first professional match, your first real football lessons. She had guided you, shaped you, made you into the player, and person, you were now. And Olga? She had come in when you were already a teenager, already formed, already carrying years of love for people who had been there long before she was.

Would you ever look at her the way you looked at Jenni? Would you ever talk about her like that, with that same effortless fondness, that same unshakable attachment? Or would she always be the afterthought, the one who came later, the one who did the daily work of being your mother but never quite felt like she had earned the title?

She tried to shake the thoughts away, but they stuck, clinging to her like wet clothes. The café was warm, but suddenly, she felt cold.

The room was dark except for the dim glow of the bathroom light spilling in through the cracked door. The sound of running water filled the silence, Alexia still in the shower. You padded in quietly, rubbing your tired eyes, ready to burrow under the blankets and curl up against Olga like you did every night. But as you climbed onto the bed, something felt… off.

Olga was facing away from you, curled into herself, her shoulders rising and falling in uneven breaths. The second you got closer, you heard it— a soft sniff, barely audible, but enough to make your chest tighten.

“Olga?” you murmured, shifting closer, pressing against her back. “What’s wrong?”

She stiffened, wiping at her face quickly. “Nothing, nena. Just tired.”

Liar. You frowned, resting your chin on her shoulder. “You’re sniffling.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Allergies.”

You huffed. “You don’t have allergies.”

She didn’t say anything, just reached for your hand and squeezed it, like that would be enough to convince you she was fine. But you weren’t convinced. You could feel the sadness radiating off her, pressing into the space between you.

You lay there for a moment, racking your brain. What could’ve happened? She’d been fine earlier at the café. Or at least, she’d seemed fine. Maybe something happened after? You were deep in thought when you caught movement from the bathroom door.

Alexia had stepped out, her hair damp, her towel wrapped around her as she glanced at Olga and then at you. The moment you made eye contact, she raised her brows and nodded toward Olga, then dramatically mimicked wiping away tears.

You squinted at her. She nodded toward the door, signaling that she was leaving you to it, but not before she started her silent charades. She made a small motion, pointing at herself, then at Olga, then at you. Then she held up one finger. First? No. She repeated the movement, then mimed kicking a ball, then pointed at you again. Your brain worked through it. First. Football. You. It was about Jenni. Everything clicked at once, the way Olga had gone quiet while you were talking to Jenni, the way she lingered at the edge of the conversation instead of joining in. She was feeling insecure.

Alexia gave you a knowing look before slipping back into the bathroom, leaving you alone with Olga.

You exhaled softly, tightening your grip on her waist as you pressed your forehead against her shoulder. “Is this about Jenni?”

Olga’s breath hitched for a second before she let out a small laugh, watery and tired. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?”

You didn’t respond, just curled further into her, letting the silence settle before you spoke again. “Olga,” you started softly, “I need you to hear me, okay?”

She didn’t answer, but you could feel her breathing, steady but fragile, like she was waiting for you to say something that would make this ache in her chest go away.

You took a deep breath. “You are my mom.” You said it plainly, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “Jenni was there for me when I was a kid, yeah, and I’ll always love her for that, but that doesn’t take away from you. It never could.”

Olga stayed quiet, but you felt her relax just a little.

“You have been there for me in ways no one else has,” you continued. “You were there when I signed my first contract. You held my hand through that whole process because I was freaking out. You were there when I made my debut. You were the first person I looked for when I got subbed on. Do you know that?”

Olga swallowed. “Nena…”

“No, listen.” You sat up slightly, resting your weight on your elbow as you looked at her. “You were there the first time I got called up to the USWNT. You were there when I scored my first international goal, screaming like a crazy person in the stands. You were the one who stayed up with me when I had that awful stomach bug last year, even though you had training the next morning. You always carry snacks for me in your bag, you know exactly how I like my tea, you check in on me even when you’re halfway across the world.”

Olga wiped at her eyes, her lip trembling.

“You do all of that because you’re my mom, Mama.” Your voice softened. “You are the one who made me feel safe, who made me feel like I had a home, who made me believe that being loved wasn’t something I had to fight for.”

She let out a quiet sob, turning in your arms to pull you against her. You felt the dampness of her tears against your shirt as she buried her face in your shoulder, and you held her as tightly as she held you.

“I love you,” you whispered. “So much. I don’t care how many people were there before you, you are my mom. No one could ever replace you.”

Olga squeezed you impossibly tighter. “I love you too, mi niña.”

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, until the sound of Alexia clearing her throat from the bathroom doorway made you both look up.

“If you’re done making me cry from the other side of the door,” she said, voice thick with emotion, “can I get in on this cuddle session?”

You laughed, tugging Olga down with you as Alexia climbed into bed, wrapping an arm around both of you. And as you lay there, safe in the warmth of your family, you felt ii, Olga’s steady heartbeat beneath your palm, the rise and fall of her breath, the silent, unspoken promise that she was yours and you were hers, and that would never change.

[simplyraeblue]

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Professional (Shouta Aizawa x reader)

!afabreader x aizawa as a teacher, reprimanding wasn't uncommon for you to practice. you being reprimanded? only allowed by Shouta Aizawa. WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing, NSFW, MDNI, p in v, creampie (don't be silly wrap your willy!), somewhat public sex, sex on a desk, going commando (couldn't be me), no pronouns used, use of sweetheart, light bondage (gagged by a tie), punishment kink A/N: art above by ficel_art on instagram! I saw it on pinterest first but immediately deep dove onto their account. dadzawa was just too hot in this art to not immediately write something for him ( ´ཀ` ) word count: 1,930

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you loved being a teacher at U.A. – but some days, it felt like the little future heroes were actually little devils. it was about the third time that little… twat waffle… named Katsuki Bakugo had interrupted your class just today to bully Izuku Midorya. while your mental nickname for him wasn’t very teacherly, the best you could do was to speak to his homeroom teacher.

after lunch had started, you marched your exhausted ass to Shouta’s classroom. someone needed to knock some sense into that kid, and you were very sure it wasn’t going to be you doing the job. if you tried… well, you’d probably lose your job with the words you’d use. and Bakugo could be even worse in return, you were certain of that.

you didn’t bother to knock at the door as you shoved it open to find Shouta sitting at the desk grading a stack of papers. he glanced up at your loud intrusion, an eyebrow arching up when he saw the look on your face, already knowing that you were ready to unload.

“who was it today?” Shouta hummed as he merely returned his focus to the homework in front of him without missing a beat. you slammed your hands on his desk, earning his full attention on you.

“I’m going to try very hard to speak in a professional manner, so listen up because I’m not repeating myself.” you warned him with a glare sharp enough to cut through steel. Shouta raised an eyebrow, hands up in a silent gesture to proceed. “I know you love your students – and don’t try to lie – but you need to reprimand Bakugo more often. he’s disrupted my class every day this week, and I’m seriously considering putting him on probation from participating in the sports festival.”

Shouta slowly stood, moving around the desk as he processed your words, nodding along. “so, you think he should be punished?” he asked, his voice even.

you nodded firmly. “and I’m asking you to help.”

he gave a small, knowing shrug. “and you’re trying to be professional about it?”

“well, I like to think of myself as a professional most of the time.” you chuckled dryly as you shook your head. in the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were getting close to the point where you might use your quirk on the brat a few times… but that would only happen if you were specifically asked to for training purposes.  

Shouta had made his way to your side by now, standing a few inches from you as he smirked. when you noticed his expression you raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know that I’d call you the most professional of teachers.” he told you as he looked down into your eyes.

“what’s that supposed to mean, Shouta?” you dared to ask, still confused as to where he was going with this. “are you going to give me an exhaustive list of the reasons I’m not professional, because it wouldn’t be the first time you have.”

“no, not an exhaustive list today.” he snickered before his hand drifted to grasp at your hips. you jumped slightly at the contact, sucking in a breath when he ruched the hem of your skirt in his fingers.

he’d been watching you since this morning, the black pencil skirt you wore showing off the plush of your ass as you walked down the hallway to attend to the students. his eyes followed you like magnets wherever you went – and he hadn’t been ignorant enough to miss the tiny little detail he was about to bring to your attention.

before he spoke again, he swiftly lifted you to sit on the edge of his desk, causing you to gasp. when he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, he whispered, “for now, let’s start with the fact that you’re not wearing any panties.”

immediately, a smirk crossed your lips. “ah, so you finally noticed?” you murmured, cheeks heating with his breath on your ear.

“I noticed long ago. I’m assuming this was for me?” he asked as his nose nuzzled your neck, making you groan. “you just couldn’t wait until we were home could you, sweetheart?”

“you’re always so tired when you get home, I just wanted you to know what you had to look forward to.” as you explained, you thought back to getting dressed this morning – you’d quickly thrown on your outfit, neglecting your panties while your husband was in the bathroom. Shouta had been none the wiser when he’d come out, simply giving you a morning kiss before the two of you left for work.

“I don’t know, I kind of want it right now.” you pulled back to study his face, seeing them dark with desire as his hands palmed your ass through your skirt. “we have some time while the students are at lunch, what do you say?”

you were reminded every day of how hot your husband was, and now was no exception. “lock the door.” you instructed him, to which he pushed off of you and secured the door. when he returned, he wasted no time in crashing his lips into yours.

“we should still be quick, sweetheart. don’t want any of the students roaming the hallway to hear us.” Shouta whispered between your lips, taking your lower one into his mouth and sucking harshly on it.

“then you’d better be quiet.” you teased, something that you always learned your lesson for doing later. you felt him smirk into the next kiss he gave you as he pushed your skirt up to your waist, cold air hitting your wetting pussy.

he knew how to be fast, and quiet. it was something Shouta learned very quickly within his line of work – but you’d figured out how to make that increasingly more difficult for him to put into practice. your hands all but ripped his belt off before shoving his pants and boxers down, revealing his cock standing at attention.

god, he’d thought about using his lunch time to find a secluded place and jerk off to the thought of you. after noticing your lack of underwear this morning, it was all he could think about, repeatedly having to clear his mind while working. but this was even better, he thought.

you watched in awe as Shouta pulled his tie off, and just as you wondered if he would throw it to the side, he instead pushed the fabric between your teeth and swiftly tied it behind your head. “now, you have to be the one to be quiet.” Shouta taunted as he placed a light kiss on your gagged mouth.

while he lined his tip with your seeping hole, you whimpered against the fabric muffling your words. Shouta was painstakingly slow in pushing inside of you, your walls stretching to accommodate his immense girth as you moaned at the feeling of his veiny cock molding your walls.

when he finally bottomed out, he let out a low groan of pleasure before placing a hand on your chest and pushing you back to lay flat on the desk. “I’m beginning to think your lack of professional is what needs to be punished.” Shouta teased as he leisurely rolled his hips into yours causing your eyes to roll back. “but I guess I’ll have to save your true penalty for tonight, since we need to be quick.”

 you nodded fervently as he began to slam into you, the desk creaking beneath you with every bullying thrust. “please.” your beg came out muffled, but enough for him to understand.

Shouta’s lips covered yours to add an extra layer of quieting your noises, his dick now repeatedly slamming into your walls with a fierce pace. he pulled away for a moment to spit onto your clit before his fingers began to work the sensitive nub. “don’t worry, sweetheart. tonight, you’re going to get a good punishment that I think you and I both will enjoy.” you whimpered at the thought, already knowing your ass would be bruised and sore come tomorrow morning.

“fuck I’ll never – mph – get sick of – hah – this pussy.” Shouta bit out with each smack of his hips into your ass, the noises the two of you were creating become filthier every second. as he brutally circled your clit, pinching it between his fingers, you moaned into the now wet fabric between your teeth. he always had been an expert at getting you close with almost no effort, and you could already feel the knot coiling in your stomach. “so perfect for me sweetheart. such a perfect wife.”

he was a little sad that he needed to be fast, wanting to savor every bit of you, but after looking at the clock Shouta realized that time was almost up. “gonna need you to – hmph – come on my cock now, sweetheart. need you to come before I fill you up.”

with his demand, he slapped a hand down onto your clit harshly, making your back arch off the desk in response. “Shouta!” your husband’s name barely passed your lips before he smacked your clit again, caressing it between each contact until you were coming undone beneath him. “m’ coming!”

Shouta swore under his breath as he watched your body convulse below, your pretty eyes rolling back just as your slick walls clenched around his cock. if he had more time, he’d keep going until you couldn’t walk for a week – but he’d just have to save it for tonight. for now, he allowed his release to barrel over him alongside yours.

his head fell down between your covered tits, the fabric of your shirt doing nothing to hide them as he muffled his own whines of pleasure before he was shooting ropes of cum inside you. he’d buried himself to the hilt to make sure you got every last drop, praying it was deep enough to ensure it stayed trapped inside of you for the rest of the day.

with perfect timing, he started to come down from the high just as the bell rang, echoing in your now almost deaf ears. Shouta slowly pulled out, hissing at the loss of warmth against his cock, before quickly pulling his tie from your lips. he used it to clean himself up before kneeling down to wipe away any mess he’d left between your thighs.

“maybe I should’ve brought a backup pair of panties.” you groaned as you slowly sat up. “now I’m going to have to worry that our unborn children are going to leak down my thighs the rest of the day.”

“you wicked woman, that foul mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day.” Shouta smirked as he kissed you softly. you watched as he walked back around his desk and opened a drawer, before he pulled out a pair of your panties. “it’s a good thing I noticed before we left the house and brought these just in case.”

your jaw dropped out as you snatched them from him. “you knew! and you let me think I’d seduced you.” a pout formed on your lips before you slipped the underwear on, praying it was enough to prevent any embarrassment.

Shouta only caressed your head, his lips meeting yours again. “you seduce me without even trying, sweetheart.” you grinned at the words until his hand gently wrapped around your throat. “but don’t forget, you’re still getting reprimanded later.”

you’d never been so excited to get punished.

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Link to Kirishima x reader here (word count: 902)

Link to Shoto x reader pt. 1 here (word count: 1,800)

Link to Kaminari x reader pt.1 here (word count: 2,680)

Link to Bakugo x reader here (word count: 2,328)

Link to Hawks x reader here (word count: 1,903)

[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

part 2

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.

[sevsgiirl]

— ambessa being a sugar mommy and spoiling reader

synopsis: after graduating from university, you were struggling to make ends mean. thankfully, you landed a job in a huge company… whose ceo happens to have already set her sights on you.

tags: ceo!ambessa, younger!reader, oral sex, office sex, imbalanced power dynamics.

note: I’ve recently finished lipstick devil on webtoon and I just NEEDED to get this idea off my chest. I’m planning to turn this idea into a longer fic but for now here’s some headcanons about ceo!ambessa spoiling you :’)

𖥔 you honestly weren’t used to it. all your life you’ve learned to monitor your expenses, to never spend beyond your budget even when you had extra money to spare — to put other people’s needs before your own.

𖥔 after graduating university and working enough minimum wage jobs to build up your resume, you finally landed a position on noxus corp. as part of the marketing sales department.

𖥔 professor grayson referred you to one of her friends who works at the company, who then asked you for your portfolio and after a month of processing your applications, you passed the interview and got accepted.

𖥔 it was a miracle you even got accepted given how strict the requirements were, but it seems as though the head office deemed you qualified.

𖥔 the first couple of weeks working at the firm went by smoothly. it was your typical 9-5 office job, you never understood why your co-workers said that the position isn’t for the weak.

𖥔 that was until you met her. ambessa merdarda. the ceo herself.

𖥔 on the day you first saw her you almost slid past her peripheral, but unlucky for you, nothing goes unnoticed by ambessa.

𖥔 when she noticed you, she just couldn’t tear her eyes away from you. at how the pencil skirt you wore stretched deliciously around your hips and how it stopped below your knees. it was long enough to be work appropriate, but your figure left a lot for one’s imagination to go crazy.

𖥔 how every time she caught a glimpse of you at the breakroom or when you bent down to retrieve something from the drawers, she’d watch the way your ass swelled in the tight skirt. making her lick her lips before she forced herself to avert her gaze.

𖥔 however, it became harder and harder to resist you. eventually, she asked one of the lower departments to hand her the spreadsheet for the week’s overview, even though that’s usually assessed by the manager. but she needed an excuse to see you up close.

𖥔 as if it wasn’t enough, she asked them to have you deliver it for her by name.

𖥔 “I’ve seen the new hire. please. have her deliver the spreadsheet for me. I want to know if she’s capable.”

𖥔 she knows it’s bullshit. she never cared to check how competent the new hires were because those were mundane details she left others to do.

𖥔 but the second you knocked on her door and stepped inside her office, all doe-eyed and shy, your voice quiet as you called out her name “ms. medarda?” she knew right then and there she had to have you.

𖥔 six months have passed since and here you are now, sprawled on her desk with your skirt ridden up to your thighs as your slick dripped from her cherry coated lips down to her chin as she ate you out like a woman starved.

𖥔 “bessa…” you mewled as you threw your head back and gripped the edge of the mahogany desk, feeling your orgasm approaching.

𖥔 she hummed, pulling away from your swollen clit to place a chaste kiss on your inner thigh.

𖥔 “you’ve been so good to me, dear.” she purred as her piercing eyes looked up at you “I’ve made reservations for us this evening. you’ve been working so much these past few weeks, it’s only fair I return the favor.”

𖥔 and return the favor she did.

𖥔 that’s how ambessa prefers to spoil you in the relationship. she’s tried multiple times to make you resign at the company, saying you didn’t need the job because she could provide for you. but you were insistent that you still need to make a living for yourself because you never know when the circumstances will turn on you.

𖥔 she was quite offended by the implication that she’ll ever grow bored of you, then again she’d be lying if she said that your practical mindset wasn’t what drew her in to begin with. so she let it slide. but that still didn’t stop her.

𖥔 so she’s been working hard to convince you that just isn’t the case. that she is serious about you and your relationship. that she could see it working it out on the long run and that you could rely on her to fulfill all your needs.

𖥔 and so she does it by showering you not only with mind blowing sex in between meetings and after you clock out of your shift, but also by surprising you with fresh bouquets of flowers on your desk every morning.

𖥔 people in the office likely figured out what was happening between you two but were just too scared to ask you about it, especially knowing how scary ambessa is.

𖥔 you weren’t used to being the center of attention let alone when it comes to personal matters such as your relationship, and you’ve told her that. but that still doesn’t stop her from spoiling you left and right.

𖥔 “if others cause you trouble about it, let me know. I’ll have them fired.”

𖥔 she swore it was a joke when you reprimanded her about the threat, but you knew deep down if you actually had a problem she’d stay true to her word.

𖥔 with that, your co-workers never spoke a word about it. even when the bouquets turned to expensive chocolates imported from europe, to a huge teddy bear that was about the same height as you, to a new office desktop you realized was a mac computer, completely different from the others that your office mate jayce couldn’t conceal his surprise.

𖥔 “how come she gets a mac computer while we have a lenovo?” he exclaimed only to get yelled at by the others telling him to shut up and move on.

𖥔 or when she called you into her office one afternoon saying she had a surprise “I just remembered you telling me you’ve had the same phone since your junior year.” she smiled before handing you a white paper bag “to go along with the computer.”

𖥔 and sure enough, there was a new phone inside.

𖥔 “bessa…” you sighed as you gave her one of your failed attempts of a glare “you can’t keep buying me gifts like this.”

𖥔 “well, I asked you to take my card but you said-“

𖥔 “that’s not what I mean.” you argued while she reached forward and smoothened the furrow between your eyebrows.

𖥔 “just let me spoil you, my love.” she said, wrapping her strong arms around you as she pulled you against her chest “you never known when to take a break or receive any reward for your hard work. so let me. let me spoil you rotten.”

𖥔 you bit your lower lip, not being able to hide the way your cheeks reddened at her words “you smother me too much.”

𖥔 she smirked as she leaned down and nosed at your jaw “I’d give you the world if I could, dear.” she muttered “just say the word. if only you stopped being so stubborn and resigned, you could come live with me and you’d never have to work a day in your life. just you, with all the luxuries in the world as you wait for me on our bed…”

𖥔 her hand reaches down to cup you from underneath your skirt and you couldn’t repress the moan that slipped past your lips.

𖥔 she lets out a groan feeling your soaked cunt “then I’ll come home, fuck you from night until morning before it’s time for me to leave for work again. and all you have to do is be a good, doting little wife for me.” she gently takes your jaw in her hand to capture your lips “doesn’t that sound enticing, no?”

𖥔 god, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> smut, fluff, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> Song Mingi x reader warning(s) -> smut, mdni. 18+ words -> 2.2k

abstract -> insecurties sometimes need to be faced

y/n’s perspective

Waking up in the middle of the night to Hongjoong’s screaming wasn’t what I expected to ever happen… Seonghwa and Yeosang? Maybe… but Hongjoong and Mingi? Not at all.

“Yah! Seriously you’ve woken everyone up” I heard Seonghwa say in a groggy voice. “You’ll wake up y/nnie if you continue… “ I heard Wooyoung say in a tired voice and saw him hug San… “Never mind you did wake her up,” Yeosang said as he approached me and kissed my forehead. “Ah- Sorry… Mingi is just acting different” he said and San laughed. “Are you scared of the overgrown wolf now?” San asked and Hongjoong growled at him. 

“How difficult can he be? If anything you might’ve done something” Seonghwa said and he scoffed. “Mingi-ah!! Unlock–” “Go away!!” The wolf interrupted the tiger. “You’ve already woken–” “Shut up you stupid overgrown cat!!” he said and I was shocked at what was happening.

Yeosang laughed at the tiger’s expression of pure shock at the wolf hybrid’s behavior… and his comment towards him. 

“Y/n, Mingi is being mean to the cats!” Wooyoung said as he sleepily wrapped his arms around me. “It’s unfair! It’s my room too!” Hongjoong yelled and kicked the door only to hear a growl shortly afterwards. 

“Everyone just go to sleep… Hongjoong you can sleep in my room” I said, already tired and wanted to quickly go back to the warm bed. I was sleepy and didn’t pay attention to the other’s complaints. But luckily Seonghwa was left for damage control. 

“Shut up all of you… Hongjoong will just  have to take her bed tonight” 

I woke up to a cuddly tiger. I smiled softly at how sweet he was. A major difference from when we first met.

I saw my door open slightly and saw familiar eyes. It suddenly swings open. “You’re awake!!” Wooyoung said loudly, waking up the tiger who groaned and hugged me tighter. 

“Hey, let go of her!!” San said and the tiger scoffed. “I have breakfast all done so get up you lazy tiger!” Wooyoung said and I got the chance to brush my teeth and wash my face before going for breakfast. 

“Did you sleep well?” Yeosang asked and I nodded. “I hope Hongjoong didn’t snore, '' Seonghwa said and Yeosang laughed. It was rare that the two got along outside of their room… instead, it's almost like they bully and tease each other to show how they care. It was weirdly toxic.

I noticed everyone here but Mingi. 

“The wolf is still hogging up my room” Hongjoong angrily said while eating toast. “I’ll bring some food to him,” I said and Wooyoung didn’t let me. 

“Whatever he’s dealing with is hybrid-related–” “He won’t hurt me” I cut him off and he looked away but I noticed the flushed cheeks he had.

“It might be his heat?” 

mingi’s perspective

For some reason, Hongjoong’s presence annoyed me. I felt angry. No… needy? I didn’t know.

I heard a knock and I was about to yell at them before I recognized the sweet scent. 

No… I can never be angry at her.

“Mingi are you okay?” she asked but I didn’t know what to say…

I unlocked the door silently when she realized and entered, only making her scent stronger. It made me… even more hungry for her.

“There's a suspicion you’re in heat,” she said and I groaned. I hated my heat… the she-devil would always trap me in the closet until it ended. The thing with hearts is that I couldn’t ever get off by myself… so when the time came that my heart or even Yunho’s came we’d admit each other to heat hotels. It was uncomfortable.

I nodded while looking away from her. 

“You can go to a heat hotel or suppressants?” I asked and I wondered if I should go for the option most familiar to me. 

Heat Hotels weren’t the worst… Most of the time it was actually helpful. 

“You might wanna get advice from a hybrid though not me”

“Hongjoong is the only one to go to the hotel,” San told me while the rest seemed to agree. “Yeosang, did you go to one?” Seonghwa asked while the doberman scoffed. “No, I didn’t! I wouldn’t waste my time with some stupid run-down hotel” he growled out. 

I highly doubt he went to one with his experience. 

“It was only Hongjoong '' Seonghwa said while the orange tiger seemed uninterested in talking about his experience. “Oh and threatened his heat partner and almost had y/n under a lawsuit,” Yeosang said and I sighed. “Just ask her for help,” San noted and I was shocked they were allowing it so easy. 

The tigers told me how the two canine hybrids completely shut them out until circumstances happened. 

“You won’t be satisfied if you go to a hot hotel. Not with the boner you had when you left your room with y/n '' Yeosang teased and I growled softly. 

“Have you ever even had sex Mingi?” Seonghwa asked and I nodded. “I’ve gone to heat hotels before” I confessed and they sighed. 

“Even if you do decide on a heat hotel they’ll just comment on how you’re a pet. Hybrids seem to hate or pity ‘collectibles’ and just taunt you the entire time” Hongjoong said and I wondered if that's how it was. 

Was it really that different now that I had a fancy collar?

“What if you just go there without a collar?” Wooyoung asked and they shook their heads. “They have a collar policy,” I said.

“I think if he doesn’t want to mate with y/n let him go and see if he survives longer than Hongjoong,” Seonghwa teased but I think it was the best idea.

She wouldn’t want me as a mate anyway. Who would?

“If you feel uncomfortable, have the staff call me okay?” she asked and I nodded. 

They’re pairing me off with another dog hybrid. It wasn’t until I got into the room that I saw what breed… a golden retriever.

“Hi!” she said with a big smile and her tail wagging. The staff left me with her and I felt nothing but sadness. I missed Yunho. 

“You’re a lot bigger than I thought when they told me you were a wolf-runt hybrid,” she said and I tried not to let that offend me. It was normal for hybrids to point out if they were runts.

“You smell like a lot of hybrids though,” she said and I nodded. “I live with five other hybrids,” I said and she looked shocked. “I’m the only one. My owner is nice but she wants to get another hybrid” she pouted and I sighed. Some owners may show favoritism if they do get multiple hybrids.

“What is it like?” she asked and I laughed. “Chaotic” I answered and she nodded. She looked up at me with big doe eyes that I almost mistook her for a deer hybrid. 

“You wanna start?” 

y/n’s perspective

“He’s been gone for four days” Wooyoung whined about missing the wolf hybrid. “I’m surprised how long he’s staying there for,” Hongjoong said and I had to agree. 

Mingi was shy and sweet. I didn’t expect him to last long at a Hyatt hotel. 

“Angel, there's a new perfume I want!” Yeosang said and I smiled. “Oh?” I said and he nodded. “It's only available for pick up in the store” he pouted and I nodded. 

I was already ready and Wooyoung wanted to tag along. 

The three of us went to pick up his perfume and a second one for Seonghwa who would probably steal Yeosang’s if we didn’t.

We were picking up some food when I got a call about the heat hotel.

“I don’t wanna go near there” “Me either!” the two hybrids said and I sighed. “Please it’ll be quick to pick up Mingi,” I said and they agreed eventually.

We got near the hotel when Yeosang was hugging my arm. “Hello, the hybrid paired up with Mingi was picked up early. We wanted to know if you would like a refund for the rest of the days you paid or pair him up with someone new?” she asked and I looked at Mingi who shook his head. 

“I’ll take him now,” I said as she handed me the refund and a paper of the other hybrid’s information. She was a golden retriever hybrid, a purebred too.

“That's such a disgusting place,” Yeosang said and I noticed how quiet Mingi is. I was getting worried… was he okay? Hongjoong was quite like this too when he came to the heat-hotel but that's because of his hatred of how he was called a collectible… was Mingi okay?

We got home and he was still a bit off… was it something that happened?

I followed Mingi to his room when he must've noticed me. He didn’t say anything and waited for me. 

“Are you okay?” I asked and he nodded. “Just… pent up?” he said in a low voice, almost not sure of himself… “Did something happen–” “She reminded me of Yunho… She was a golden retriever hybrid. I guess I was a little angry? I was too rough with her…” he confessed and I kneeled. 

Lately, Kun has been telling me that he’s been a little off when mentioning Yunho. Almost territorial against the dog hybrid who he hasn't seen. 

“Is your heat done?” I asked and he shook his head. “It's okay… I only have a few more days left” he said and I shook my head. 

“I could help?” He looked at me confused. “If that makes you uncomfortable I have heat suppressant–” “Please help me”

no one’s perspective

Mingi almost didn’t know what he was doing. He had very little experience with his heats… he wasn't a virgin but he was also inexperienced… and it's not like you were any better.

“I don’t want to hurt you like I did her” he muttered… “You won’t… you must’ve been remembering Yunho huh?” you reassured and he nodded. 

“This is my home… I finally have something of my own that I don’t share with him” he confessed his wish and you gave him a soft smile “We’ll always be your family,” 

That must’ve comforted him… and probably gave him the courage to kiss you gently, almost too scared to go rough… It was an intimate and almost desperate kiss. 

He then started kissing you on your jaw and neck feeling him suck on your skin making marks of his that will surely tick off the others. Especially Yeosang and Hongjoong…

Desperate for it to escalate you grabbed his hands to make him a little more comfortable and placed them on your chest as he started to massage your chest with each one getting rougher. 

He then ripped the shirt you had on to start marking your skin lower now. Sucking and teasing your chest as he got more rough. 

He looked at you with pleading eyes when his hands found your waist and softly tugged on the pants you were wearing. You nod silently and he takes them off along with your panties. 

He circled your clit with his hands before thrusting his fingers into you. Mingi was very tall and his fingers were reaching places that fingers hadn't found before. It was all new territory as he would be the biggest one you’d take out of all your hybrids. 

At some point the pleasure was too much you couldn’t hold in the whimpers and moans that you let out while he decided to now stretch you and prepare you for his size. “Give me one… just one before I go inside you please, pup,” he had pleaded as you felt your body snap and you listen to him cumming once now by his fingers. Coming off that high you didn’t notice the shuffling as he now lined himself up to your entrance even tapping your clit with his  tip. He grabbed your thighs and looked at you silently seeing if I was okay. In which you’d give him a soft smile that would only fuel his head to get rough with you and corrupt you.

You couldn’t have suspected his size would hurt and stretched you open to the point that it would feel like San taking your virginity all over again. 

“I’m sorry just a little more please?” he’d apologize and soon beg breathlessly as he bottomed out. He moved to kiss away the tears that fell down your cheeks even licking them up to taste the salty liquid.  

“We can stop–” you shook my head and even gripped his arm tighter so he didn’t move. “You’re just so big… I need to get used to it” you whined out and he nodded as he kissed you in hopes to distract you from the burning sensation whilst he was inside you. 

As he stayed still you began to grow frustrated wanting him to move. Whining out “Mingi” he chuckled softly. You were okay but it only irritated you and made you more impatient. He was going painfully slow… and you wanted more. 

“Please Mingi, faster” you pleaded and he nodded as he started going faster. Hybrids were more sensitive during heats but especially now since Mingi has a few days with his heat he started getting desperate and you forgot a crucial detail.

Mingi was a canine hybrid. 

“I’m sorry pup… you can handle it it’ll be okay” he said as he continued giving me sweet praises as he knotted me. Which gave you a delicious type pain as he grew in size.

“Shhh… you said you’d help me right? Just a little more”

@wonuangel @danirael @angelsaway @krissroo @minkysmilk @mayonnaise-on-toast @robertsbbygirl @superbbananananana @hyukssunflower @kitty4hwa @justconniez @senpai-of-doom @kibs-and-bits @caityelise99 @ilovekinny @ateezennie23 @wooahaelemons @purplelady85 @watamotee33@chidess97 @littlelostdemonofthelight @maliamaiden @burntarm1n @spooo00oky @eastleighsblog @momo-peachy @kitstar1117 @quartzpirate @sunnyhokyu @iwishiwasrichasfuck @theginger543210 @pandolinka @ddaeing @kpopnightingale @slid3er @kekdo-520 @puppyminnnie @sparklinghwa222 @calicanbeevil @itsvxlentine @atinism @loumin908 @smally97 @rxnexxi @acetruepunk @majesticbeluga @namjooncrabs @tashizxy @itstheghostofmypast @smilefordongil @teeziny @totallynotlyntv @kyeos4ng @prodsh00ky @acescavern

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[scarletlizzard]

Only Angel

Music Series

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff × fem!Reader

Tags MDNI: smut, fingering, strap on use (R receiving), choking, praise/degradation, alcohol consumption, cheesy shit

Summary: You and your girlfriend Wanda go to a Halloween party at your friends new apartment and, unbeknownst to the two of you, find out her new roommate just so happens to be a familiar face.

Masterlist

A/N: I took this from a fic I wrote ages ago (that shall not be seeing the light of day) and thought it would fit well with this song!  Wanda and R live on Avengers Campus, Pietro is alive, everyone is happy, etc etc. Pietro and R are good friends and just want to karaoke! Yelena recently moved to town and found a roommate, and this is where R meets said roomie and sees the apartment for the first time.

I tried to edit it a bit, but I didn't delve too far into it! There may be some massive mistakes or inconsistencies, so if there is.... no, there isn't 🫶 As always, any comments are greatly appreciated 😄 Hope y'all enjoy! Happy Friday and Happy Summerween 🎃

****

You: There is no way I can wear this...

Yelena: You're finee! It's only one night! Hurry up!

You sigh at the texts from your friend and let your eyes travel your body through the mirror in front of you. The amount of skin showing had you beginning to feel self-conscious, had you wanting to take it off and stay home, had you wishing you hadn't given in to your friends idea for the costume.

On top of your head sat a feathered white halo, your hair underneath spilling down your shoulders. Your torso wore a white corset that shows a little more cleavage than you're used to, and strapped to your back were small white feathered wings to match the halo. On your legs, you wore a short white skirt that barely made it mid-thigh, and underneath, you had on white tights.

You were in the middle of debating on taking it all off and not going when you hear a knock on your bedroom door. Wanda walks in, closing it shut behind her, mouth gaping as she looks at you. The desire burning in her eyes makes your cheeks flush, you bite your lips, and turn to her hesitantly.

"So.. what do you think?" You ask quietly, giving a little spin for her. Wanda still hadn't said a word. Instead, she just stared at you and shook her head. You blush harder, "No?"

"I-I'm sorry I just... wow..." Is all Wanda can say as she licks her lips and walks closer to you, standing directly in front of you. "You looking fucking amazing, Y/N.." She whispers against your lips, her hands finding their way on your body. "God, you look stunning... I'm not so sure you're an angel, though," she teases.

"Of course I am! I'll be an angel, just you wait and see," you giggle with a smile and rest your hands on hers, pecking her lips and turning away from her to grab something. She raises an eyebrow curiously.

When you turn back around, you're holding a headband with devil horns attached, and you place it on Wandas head, fixing her hair around it. She laughs, and you step back to take in her appearance. The devious look in her eyes seemingly matches her costume. She's wearing a red suit with a black blouse underneath, black stilettos on her feet. The suit fits to Wandas body perfectly, and it's your turn to drool at the sight of her. It didn't seem fair how gorgeous Wanda always is.

"Wands.." You start off and step forward, placing a hand on her chest.

"Hm?" She mumbles, staring down at you hungrily. Her emerald eyes darken.

"If we don't leave now, we're never going to make it out of this room," You swallow hard, and she chuckles lowly, wrapping an arm around your waist. Wanda can hear your thoughts loud and clear, and she nods, agreeing. She smirks and gives you a kiss on the cheek.

"After you.." Her voice is low, and she holds her arm out for you to walk in front of her. You take a deep breath and walk out into the hallway, feeling Wandas hand immediately on your lower back.

Seeing Wandas reaction definitely calmed you down. She always made you feel beautiful... part of you was still a little self-conscious, but you try to ignore the little voice nagging in the back of your mind and just enjoy the night. A loud whistle being blown brings you back to reality, and you look up to see Pietro and Natasha standing by the car.

"Holy shit!" Natasha says, watching you walk closer and laughing in disbelief. You blush hard and look up to see Wanda smirking.

"Okay, okay," you roll your eyes, a smile playing on your lips as you look to Pietro. "Nice costume," you eye him up and down playfully.

"I know, I look hot, don't I?" Pietro smirks back and flexes, showing off his muscles. He's wearing a white tanktop with the word 'LIFEGUARD' printed bold across his chest along with red shorts, a red whistle around his neck, and white paint that looks like sunscreen on his nose. Pietro puts on the sunglasses he held and blows the whistle that hangs around his chest again. You can't help but laugh.

"Where's your costume, Nat?" Wanda asks and raises an eyebrow at her. The four of you get into the car. You sit in the backseat with Pietro.

"I'm just the driver tonight.. Maria and I are going to take her nephew out around the neighborhood," she says, and Wanda nods, glancing at you in the mirror.

"That sounds really nice," Wanda smiles at her.

"Hey, do you think she grew those herself?" Pietro whispers to you, pointing to the horns sat atop Wandas head. The two of you burst out into a fit of laughter as you nod along.

"You're going to have your hands full tonight," Natasha smirks at Wanda as she drives and nods to the backseat.

"Yes, I am..." Wanda sighs with a smile and watches as you and Pietro crack jokes, making each other laugh. Her heart warms at the sight.

It's dark outside as Natasha walks the three of you to Yelenas building. People run around in the streets in their costumes, kids laughing and yelling as they drag their guardians from place to place. The streetlights send a warm glow on the streets.

"Alright, here it is," Natasha says after you had entered the building and walked up a few sets of stairs. You hear muffled music and chatter as you look back at Wanda. She gives you a smile and a playful wink before following you and Natasha inside.

The apartment was big and spacious, filled with people in costumes all around. Halloween decorations plastered the walls, and the lights were low, glowsticks and pumpkin lights lighting up the living room where you noticed a makeshift dance floor. You passed a few couples making out as you walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. There was only a handful of people in there, one of them being Yelena.

"Oh my god, finally, you guys made it!" She hugs Natasha, who says goodbye to Yelena, then to you, telling Wanda she would be back to pick them up later or whenever you needed. Pietro wastes no time in grabbing a red cup and filling it with liquor before heading to the living room. You laugh at his enthusiasm and grab Wandas hand, entwining your fingers with hers.

"Yelena, this is crazy! I love the apartment, though... from what I can see anyway," you laugh, and she hands you and Wanda a red cup filled with alcohol.

She nods and sips her own drink, in a tipsy state already. "Mm, thank you! The roommate went to grab some more ice, but she'll be back soon. You guys will love her! She's the best."

Wanda nods and sips her drink, drinking half of it in one gulp. You squeeze her hand once before letting go to grab some of the shot glasses you saw on the counter. After filling them up, the three of you take a shot, feeling yourself become looser. Yelena leans in to you as she sees someone talking to Wanda.

"Y/n, you guys look so good. Seriously, the way Wanda was looking at you? You're welcome," she smirks, not so subtlely, and cheers with you before taking another shot.

You take in Wandas appearance again and sigh, looking back to your friend. "God, thank you so much," you fake a prayer with your hands, getting a loud laugh from Yelena. Then, the two of you are taking another shot. You and Wanda fill your cups and follow Yelena to the crowd of people in the living room.

This was so different from the Stark parties you had been to on campus. For one, the crowd was a lot younger. You started to dance with Yelena, the music was loud and the bodies around you were drunk and sweaty.

Wanda stares at you with dark eyes from the side of the room as your body moves against Yelena. She stood there leaning against the wall, sipping the entirety of her drink as she watched carefully. You and Yelena laughed and spun each other around, jumping up and down and moving freely together. You felt the hour go by.

You had just finished your drink when you felt a pair of hands on your hips. Goosebumps appeared on your arms, and Yelena leaned in to you, "I think I saw my roomie! I'll be right back!" She yells in your ear, and you nod, feeling the hands grip tighter.

The body behind you begins to dance, and you put your hands on top of hers, moving up and down her body to grind against her. You hear Wanda groan, and you grin, turning to face her. Putting your arms around her neck, you pull her closer to you. "Got tired of watching?" You giggle, looking up to meet her hungry eyes.

"Mm, no, never. I could watch you all night, angel," Wanda speaks the last part against your ear. You bite your lip to hold in a moan as she bites your lobe. You lean up and press your lips to hers desperately, feeling her lips curve upwards into the kiss. Her hold is tight on you, and you feel her tongue slip onto your mouth, the strong taste of liquor swirling around. After a few moments, you take her bottom lip between your teeth, pulling away with a 'pop' and receiving another low groan from Wanda.

"I'm thirsty.." You pout, and Wanda chuckles, nodding.

"Dancing for an hour straight will do that to you. Come on, baby," she smiles and takes your hand, guiding you to the kitchen. Your lips were red and puffy, and you couldn't keep your hands off Wanda. You smacked her butt playfully as you walked into the kitchen, the two of you laughing drunkenly.

"Y/n?" You hear a familiar voice say, and you stop abruptly. Wanda wraps her arms around you from behind and kisses your cheek, not being able to resist keeping her hands off of you as well.

"Y/n!" Yelena says and holds up her cup. "This is my roomie, Kate Bishop!" She points to the girl in the all black suit with dark hair who is staring at you with a surprised expression.

Wanda chuckles and tilts her head, grabbing a drink from Yelena as she steps away from you. "Kate Bishop.. why does that name sound familiar?" She turns to you with a smile, but seeing the look on your face makes it quickly fade.

Your face was pale, cheeks red from the alcohol coursing through you as you stand there completely still.

"Wow, um, you look amazing." Kate says, eyes shamelessly taking you in. "It's been a while, though..." She clears her throat and sips her drink awkwardly.

"Oh my god, wait, you two know each other?" Yelena smiles as her and Wanda stare at you.

"Uh, yep..." Is all you can manage to get out, filling a red cup up with the nearest bottle of vodka. Wanda frowns and moves forward to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. "What's wrong, angel?" She whispers in your ear.

"We um.. dated for a while," Kate sighs, hand in her pocket as she sips her drink. You close your eyes and sigh, looking up to see Wandas eyes burn red. It suddenly clicked to her why the name sounded familiar. You had told Wanda previously about your past flings with Kate.

"Kate Bishop..." Wanda mumbles to herself and turns to face the girl.

Yelenas mouth drops. "No fucking way!" She starts to laugh hysterically as she looks between the three of you.

"Yep.." You say again, bringing the cup to your lips to taste the vodka.

"It was a long time ago," Kate shrugs and walks towards the two of you, boldly patting Wanda on the shoulder. "It's nice to see you again, Y/N. Really nice..." Kate says and looks you up and down with a wink before leaving the room. Wanda feels her shoulder burn where Kate had touched it, and you both look to Yelena.

"Well... I need to, uh..." Yelena says and puts her red cup up to her mouth before quickly ignoring yours and Wandas gaze, leaving the kitchen. There's a moment of silence between the two of you as you stand there.

"Wanda... I had n-" You start, but Wanda cuts you off by grabbing your wrist and pulling you out of the kitchen. She pulls you down the hallway, past the dance floor to the other side of the apartment where the bathroom was. When she closes the door behind you, you open your mouth to speak again.

This time, you're cut off by her lips on yours and your back hitting the bathroom door hard. Your hands are in her hair, and her arms are by your head, trapping you. Wanda presses her body firm against yours, and you let out a quiet moan when you feel her strap press on you through her pants.

"I am going to fuck you so hard that everyone out there is going to know my name," Wanda threatens agaisnt your lips before traveling to kiss your neck. Your hands tug at her hair and you feel yourself get wet at her words.

"W-Wanda, we shouldn't." You moan out, body betraying your words. She kisses down your chest, leaving a mark on the top of your breast.

Wanda chuckles lowly, "I'm sorry, did you think I was giving you a choice?" She takes your hands and pins them above you, smirking at the gasp that escapes your mouth. "So what's it going to be.." her lips ghost yours as you stare up at her with seemingly innocent eyes. "Are you going to be good, and take what you deserve?"

You can only nod in response, your words slipping from your mind. Her grip on your wrists tighten, green eyes peering into yours. "Y-yes..." You finally spit out, your thighs clenching together harder as you feel yourself even more turned on.

"That's right, angel.. You're gonna be my good girl and take my cock," she whispers in your ear and lets go of your hands. You nod your head again quickly, needing to feel her inside of you, needing any type of relief from the strong ache between your legs.

Wanda picks you up and lets you wrap your legs around her hips. You cup her face in your hands and kiss her passionately and sloppily as she brings you to the bathroom counter. You feel the coolness of the counter against the back of your thighs and the mirror on your back. Wanda continues to kiss you desperately, and she begins to roll her hips against you. Groaning into her lips, you pull away and move your hands to help her take off your skirt. You watch with an even stronger aching as she unbuckles her belt.

You can't help but pull her back to you, and she smirks at your eagerness. You unbutton her suit and untuck her blouse, rubbing your hands against her soft skin underneath. Wanda kisses you again, lips desperate for contact. You gasp into her mouth when you feel her hands rip your tights, pulling them off of you quickly.

"Tsk, Tsk... my little slut... you wanted this, didn't you, angel?" Wanda chuckles, fingers tracing your wet folds. She slides two digits in easily, groaning at how wet you were for her.  "Not wearing any panties... you knew I'd be fucking you tonight, didn't you?" She uses her other hand to pull harshly at your hair, forcing you to look up at her. "Answer me, slut."

"Y-Yes!" You whimper out, hands gripping onto her shirt. "I wanted you to fuck me," you confess, and she chuckles darkly as she pumps her fingers faster.

"I know you did, my perfect girl. My angel, hm?" Wanda praises, and you can't help but let your hands slide underneath her blouse again to scratch at the covered skin.

After a minute of listening to you moan for her, she takes out her fingers, ignoring your whines at the sudden empty feeling. Her hand grabs your jaw, forcing your mouth open. "Taste yourself for me," Wanda sticks her two fingers in your mouth and watches as you suck them clean, feeling your tongue swirl around her digits as you taste yourself.

She practically growls at the sight and removes her fingers. Her hands leave you momentarily to slide down her pants enough to pull out her thick strap. Grabbing your hips in one hand and her cock in the other, she lines herself up at your entrance, moving the tip up and down your slit, circling it over your clit teasingly.

"Please, please, Wanda!" You beg, pulling her as close to you as you can. She smirks at your neediness, at your desperation.

"You're lucky we're short on time," she comments, "And you're lucky I can't control myself," Wanda adds, feeling the primal need to fuck you immediately. She was just as desperate for you. Before you could say anything you feel yourself being stretched out as she slides the plastic cock inside of you.

"Oh fuck!" You moan out loudly. Wandas arms move to wrap around you, her hands gripping your ass as you wrap your legs around her to pull her hips closer.

Your arms are wrapped around her neck as she starts to move, pumping herself in and out of you. Wanda groans at the sight of you, the noises you were making for her. Your breath is hot against her face before pulling her into a kiss. Wanda began thrusting harder at the feeling of your lips on hers and the sounds of your skin slapping together filled the small room.

"Thats it, take my fucking cock, angel.. I want everyone to know who this sweet cunt belongs to," Wanda chuckles lowly, her accent coming out thick. "Let me hear you, tell them who owns your perfect cunt,"

"Oh, god! Wanda! F-fuck you own me," you moan out and lean forward to put your head against her shoulder. Your lips attach to her neck, biting down on open skin. You can't help but smirk at the sound of Wanda moaning. The feeling of your wet lips kissing and nipping at her neck seemed to send her into a frenzy.

All too soon, Wanda is pulling out of you. She grabs you off of the counter and, in one quick motion, turns you around to face the mirror. Her hands make quick work in removing the now ruffled wings off of you, pulling your corset down just enough to see your breasts spill out from the top of it. When she's satisfied with the sight of your disheveled state, you feel her strap fill you up again. Her hands grip your hips as she begins pounding into you mercilessly.

"Wanda! Ohh feels so good, fuck.. stretching me out!" You manage to get out and she moans, moving one hand off of your hips to reach forward and grab your neck. She pulls you up roughly to have your back pressing against her front. Her fingers tighten around your neck as you feel her lips against your earlobe.

"I want you to watch..." She speaks lowly into your ear, staring into your eyes through the mirror. "I want you to watch as I fuck you and fill you up with my cum. You're going to watch as you fall apart, as you beg for me," Wanda moans in your ear and keeps her hand wrapped around your neck. Her other arm wraps around your chest, her fingers squeezing your sensitive nipples, hand groping your breasts that bounce with every thrust as she drills into you.

"Look at you, angel... Tits out, taking my cock in the bathroom while everyone can hear you being a slut for me. This is how it's supposed to be, isn't it? God, you are perfect. My only angel.. " Wanda never got tired of watching you like this, so needy and messy for her. Your lips parted as you tried to breath with her hand cutting off your air every couple seconds, tears running down your cheeks as she fucked you relentlessly, taking you closer and closer to an orgasm.

You can feel Wanda deep inside you, driving in and out of you at a steady pace. She's hitting that one spot that drives you crazy, and you know you won't last any longer. What really sends you over the edge is the look on Wandas face. Her dark green eyes stare intently at your body, looking into your eyes as she pants heavily and moans your name.

"Fuck angel. You're going to make me cum! I'm going to fucking cum, going to fill you up just like you deserve, baby. Fuck, fuck!" Wanda growls as her thrust become sloppy and you moan in response, nails digging into her arm as you grip onto her. 

"Me too, Wands! Please let me cum, please," you moan, vision becoming blurry with tears as you reach your climax.

"Cum with me, angel.. fucking cum all over my cock, let me hear you when you do. Tell them one more time who owns you," she pants out and latches her lips to your shoulder. "God, take it, take it!" Wanda moans against your skin, biting down hard as she cums.

"Wanda!" You scream her name loudly, both of your moans echoing off the walls as you finally get the relief you were looking for. Your knees go weak as you let go for her, pleasure shocking your core as you wet her cock just as she wanted. Wandas grip is tight on you as your body fails you, holding you in place as she fucks you through your orgasm. She slows to a stop, watching your chest rise and fall rapidly.

"That's it, that's it, I've got you.." She whispers in your ear, holding you tightly against her and kissing the side of your face and neck. "You did so good for me, angel, that's it.." 

After a moment, she pulls out slowly, smirking at the hiss that leaves your lips. You turn around, seeing the familiar devious glint in her eyes. "Get on your knees," she commands, and you can't help but obey. You go to your knees, there in the bathroom, face to face with her strap that was covered in your arousal. "Clean it up for me, angel," Wanda smiles softly, not matching the look behind her green eyes.

Her fingers weave into your hair as you take her cock in your mouth, tasting yourself, gagging as she slides it in further to the back of your throat. Wanda moans as she watches, drool dripping down your chin and onto your chest as you blink through those innocent eyes again. Although you and Wanda both knew, you were anything but. Wanda may have been wearing the horns, but she knew you were a devil in between the sheets. You were enjoying this just as much as she was.

"Just like that baby, every last drop," Wanda smirks down at you and lets you suck her strap for a few more moments. "Good job, you did so good for me," she praises you and removes her cock, tucking it back into her pants and buckling her belt back up.

Wanda wastes no time in helping you up and getting you cleaned up, praising you with more words of affirmations and plenty of kisses. The smile on your face as she did so made her chest warm all over again. She watches you slide up your skirt with shaky hands, chuckling at your the way your legs tremble slightly as she tucks her own shirt back in.

"Come here, my angel," Wanda smiles and takes off her suit jacket, wrapping it around you. You slide your arms inside the sleeves and breathe in deeply, feeling not only the fabric, but her comforting scent wrap around you. 

"Thank you," you giggle and rest your hands on her stomach, leaning up to kiss her.

****

You and Wanda were still in the bathroom, making out. You sat on the counter again, and she was standing between your legs. A knock at the door has you groaning as Wanda pulls away from your lips.

"I think we've held it up long enough. Let's go have some fun," she smiles and kisses your forehead, picking you up and lifting you off of the counter. Wanda had literally fucked you stupid. Your legs were still shaking when she set you down and even though she had done her best to clean you up, you still looked a mess in the mirror.

Wanda opens the door and holds your hand as you walk into the hallway. A few people standing there are staring at you with some wide eyes and giggles and a few of them smirking. One of those with wide eyes was Kate Bishop herself, unable to meet your own eyes. You smile to yourself, blushing deeply and wrapping yourself around Wandas arm. You didn't have to look up at her to know she had a crooked smile on her lips.

A couple hours later and an unknown amount of shots later, you were currently in front of everyone on the makeshift 'stage' with Pietro. Half of the crowd had left, but you and Pietro were still going strong. He stood next to you, shirt gone and wearing your wings and halo with a microphone in his hand. You had one arm wrapped around his shoulder to keep yourself from falling, now wearing his sunglasses and red whistle around your neck.

Bringing your microphone to your lips, you point at Wanda, who was stood in the back, still watching your every move. "This one -hiccup- goes out to my girlfriend! Shout out -hiccup- Wanda!" Your words slur together, and Pietro nods his head. Wanda can't help but laugh and smile at your drunken state, shaking her head.

"Yeah, and I dedicate it to that girl I made out with earlier," he points to a random brunette, and you hear a loud, "Whoo!" and "Yes!" From Yelena, who was, barely, standing in front of the two of you, recording on her phone.

You and Pietro wrap an arm around each other, both of you swaying back and forth as you belt into the microphones drunkenly.

"Baby, not a day goes by, that I'm not, into you!"  You're practically yelling into the microphone, but you still point to Wanda, serenading her beautifully, in your mind, at least. You and Pietro start to jump as the song picks up.

"I should be over all the butterflies, but I'm into, I'm into you..."

The two of you barely finish the song before Pietro is falling down, Yelena laughing hysterically and still recording.

"This is amazing!" She slurs and watches as you trip and fall right over Pietro. The three of you are in fits of laughter as Wanda walks over and nudges her brother, then picks you up.

"Alright, alright.. you guys got to do your karaoke.." Wanda is laughing and holding you up at your waist. You just stare at her, smiling and playing with her hair. "You're sooo pretty," you draw out your words with a giggle and bat your eyelashes, poking the horns on her head. She scrunches her nose playfully at you, "And you are so silly," she giggles back.

"Wait! Y/N, we didn't get to sin -" Pietro starts but is cut off by Natasha walking up.

"Nope! Get your asses in the car," she claps, pointing to the door. You and Pietro pout for a little bit but finally agree to leave. Yelena throws herself at you, hugging you tightly and telling you goodbye. Wanda finally pulls you away and wraps her shoulder around your waist to practically carry you down to Natashas car.

As you lay in the backseat with your head in Wandas lap, you feel her fingers running through your hair, playing with the soft strands. With your own hands, you gripped tightly onto her free hand. Pietro was still singing in the front seat next to Natasha, who was just laughing and shaking her head. Her and Wanda talked about the night, but you could only focus on Wanda, staring up at her. The streetlights shone through the window in flashes, lighting her face every once in a while. You watch as she talks, listening to her accent wrap around certain words. The way her fingers stroked your hair softly. Then suddenly she was staring down at you and you freeze as she smiles.

"You doing okay, angel?" She whispers, and you nod, watching her lips. Wanda leans down and gives you a sweet kiss, continuing to stroke your hair.

By the time Natasha pulled into the garage, you had passed out in the backseat. Pietro wanted to wake you to 'continue the party', but Wanda firmly told him no. She lifts you up in her arms, holding your body to her chest.

"She's an angel," Natasha teases and laughs at your sleepy state. "You got her?" Natasha asks, and Wanda nods, looking down at you in her arms. "I got her," she smiles and chuckles at your sleepy nature, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "My only angel," Wanda sighs quietly.

[mrsjjongstby]

ONLY YOURS TO CATCH - N.RK

~ HIS FAVOURITE DETECTIVE

PART 1: BAITED AND BOUND

Pairing: Obsessed serial killer!riki x Detective!fem!reader

Genre: Dark romance.

Synopsis: You, a detective who has always solved her cases with ease — until he appeared. A string of murders, all more twisted and challenging than the last, draws you deeper into a deadly game crafted just for you. As the lines blur between hunter and hunted, you realizes you're not just chasing a killer — you're the prize he’s been chasing all along. In a city full of noise, he made sure only you heard him.

Warnings: Killing, blood, knives, jealousy, obsession, stalking behaviour, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of pregnancy(not related with the female lead), toxic dynamics, dark themes, cursing, jail/ prisoner setting, mentions of poison (cyanide), etc (let me know if i missed any!)

Word Count: 2,962

| Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

Some traps aren't meant to catch you. They're meant to keep you."

You are good at your job, you really are. But recently the job has been feeling way too easy. Something is just not adding up. You are a very well-known pro-found detective- the one the departments brags about infront of press and in articles.

You knew you deserved the praise, the applause but now, as you are sitting before the 35-year-old man while tapping your pen against the metal table, you don't know if you deserve the “The detective who solved it all” title anymore. 

“I killed Yuri” the man- Jae states bluntly.

He continued, “Had an affair with her and got her pregnant and I didn't want Hana to know, I did warn Yuri though, told her to get abortion but she was stubborn she said she didn't want to kill a life who hadn't even developed into a baby. But I didn't want that- I didn't want her or the child. I did what I thought was best-”

“And that is to kill her?” You can’t stop yourself, gripping the pen tightly as you yell. 

Jae shrugged. “I did what I had to do.”

You don't understand why this is happening, why the past five cases you’ve been handled have been too easy to solve.

But one thing is for sure, you don't like it one bit.

You liked the critical thinking, assessment of the evidence and putting pieces together that come with the job.

But lately, the criminals are being found after you’ve only uncovered a few pieces of evidence.

Not that you aren't happy that the criminals are getting caught early but it's that it almost feels too unreal, too silly and too convenient for a criminal to be found with the first 3 clues.

Too absurd for the criminals to come out and confess- always with an underlying feeling and a strange tension you can’t quite place.

You look at him and ask, “So why are you confessing to me now when you tried to hide her body, hide the murder which you committed?”

Jae chuckles almost nervously “I guess I still have a thing for Yuri.”

You get up from your chair disgusted “Rot in jail bastard.”

With that, you leave the room with your mind full of thoughts and theories. And none of them make sense.  

Now, back in your office, you sat pondering about the past five cases. A knock on your door snapped you out of your thoughts.

Detective Jun-ha, your senior, stuck his head in.

“That’s the sixth case you’ve solved in the past two weeks Ms. The detective who solved it all, are you sure you didn't make a deal with the devil?” Jun-ha, though technically your senior, never acts like one.

He has seen you grow. He was there through your thick and thin and he’s one of the few people who truly support you and are genuinely happy for you.

You gave him a tired chuckle. “Maybe I’m the devil. Anyways, what brings you here my dear senior?”

"Nothing, just checking up on my favourite detective” he says as you roll your eyes playfully.

"I'm doing alright, thanks for checking up on me senior”

“Good to know. I'll take my leave then” he says with a grin as he exits, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Your smile fades as soon as the door shuts click.

This isn’t normal. It was like the justice system is on autopilot- making crime scenes easier and making criminals confess so that you have a perfect record. The nagging feeling in the back of your mind grows louder and louder. 

You know it. You feel it.  Someone is pulling strings...

A few days pass by. As you enter your office, the first thing you notice is a file placed neatly on your desk- an indicator that you got yourself a new case.

You walk over and flip it open.

There it is. 

Nishimura Riki.

The most wanted serial killer in the city. 

You aren't even surprised anymore. You’ve said the name often, seen it written across countless headlines, articles, reports, evidence sheets- it might as well be imprinted in your brain by now.

You get his cases often, it's like clockwork. Once in every three cases which took you no time to solve and are practically solved by themselves, his case awaits on your table.

A new one every time, only on your desk like the case only wants to be solved by you and no one else. 

His cases are different, they make you work, really work. 

They demand your attention, challenge your logic and wake up the parts of your brain which have been rusted due to the regular cases.   Riki’s trail is cold.

His victims are killed unusually, are scattered, his patterns are confusing and if you are being honest to yourself, the only common piece in his puzzles is, you.

All of his cases only ever come to you and with each murder of his, it's like the universe is leaving his case for you to actually solve.

And beneath the pressure and fear, you almost feel relief because for once, you aren't being handed the answer. You are chasing it  

As you are about to dig through the file, you get a call. The sound cuts through the silence like a blade.

“Ms.Y/n? We found a body. Linked to Nishimura. You are needed on-site. Now.”

You are already grabbing your coat, your mind preparing what to expect from him.

The alleyway is damp, cold and silent, completely as if its untouched by the chaos of the city around it. The streetlights flick, casting that glow on the body surrounded by rainwater.

You duck under the yellow tape. The officers nod at you, their faces pale. You nod back at them and look at her.

Female, early thirties. Clean, untouched except for the severe wound on her head. She has been posed. Elegantly, like someone took their time- as if it wasn't a murder but a performance.

What caught your eye was the folded piece of paper in her hand. You kneel and gently take the paper with gloved hands. You freeze as you open it.  

It was a page torn from a novel- not just any novel- your favourite novel. The one that you mentioned briefly in an interview a year or two ago. No one ever bought it up again.   The highlighted sentence, which was underlined by read ink reads,  

“The hunter always smiles when the prey finally notices the traps.”  

Your stomach twists. Because you know- this isn't just a message- it's an acknowledgement. 

Acknowledgement that he’s watching you- not just your work but you.

And you don't know how to feel about that.  

After inspecting the place, collecting evidence and talking to the nearby people you return to your office.

You walked into your office, but something was wrong. You locked your door- you were sure of it.

Yet there it is. On your chair. A plain black envelope. You quickly closed the door as you tear open the wax seal.  

Jae was wasting your time.   I handled it, you're welcome.  You shouldn't have to clean their messes.  You are meant for something greater- for me  Tune out the voice, love. I'm the only sound worth hearing.  Think smart, Detective This game is ours   - Your R 

You sit down slowly, the wait of the message heavy on your chest  And you feel it- he's taking control of everything around you.

Watching your every move.

Eliminating every distraction.  

For what?

For you.

You begin to notice the small things first.

The coffee on your desk, still hot and made the way you like it, even though no one was in the office when you arrived. 

Your favourite pen- the one with the broken cap with no ink left- replaced by a new one.

Same colour. Same brand.

A hair tie on your desk whenever you chose to leave your hair loose.

Always made your skin crawl and made you look around you to see if someone was watching you. 

Your instincts tell you to file a report, but something stops you.

You're a detective- why would you need another detective to help you?

That's what you told yourself.  

This felt like more than surveillance. It felt like intimacy 

Riki isn't just watching you work. He somehow made his way into your routine... Inside your life. 

And the worst part?

You don't tell anyone- Why?

Because you are scared you'll be mistaken for paranoid rather than being right. 

And that’s why you haven't been yourself lately.

You are always thinking. Something or the other runs through your mind 24/7. You haven't been able to sleep properly, fear clinging to you at night- the fear of being watched which caused you to not be energetic and more "alive-looking" in the morning.

And maybe that's the reason why you were seated across from Jun-ha after work hours in a café.  

"Ok. C'mon y/n, what's going on with you?" Jun-ha asks unable to comprehend why you have been like this for the past week or so.  

You chuckle awkwardly, "What do you mean, I'm doing just fine".

Jun-ha gives you a "Are you really fucking with me right now" look and says, "You know what I'm talking about, you look like a panda with your eye bags, you are always zoning out and you just look paranoid all the time." 

There it is.

Exactly what you feared- people thinking you’re paranoid, when in reality, you are right. Someone Riki is watching you. 

You don't want other people to perceive you as paranoid or delusional. So, you dismiss his worries and not-so-wrong accusations and say, "I'm just tired of dealing with his cases"

Jun-ha looks at you sympathetically, knowing who him means, "Ah I get it, his cases are so time consuming and hard- I wonder how you do it. Just be careful"  

You nod at that as you drink your latte, the bitter taste staying in your throat.

After a few days, an autopsy report lands on your desk.

Victim: Male, age 27 Time of death: Between 2am-4am Cause of death: Cardiac arrest (supposedly). 

You stare at the report, unease setting in your gut.

Something was wrong.

You visit the alleyway where the body had been found. The place covered with yellow "crime zone do not enter" tape and surrounded by multiple professionals.

You greet them briskly and make your way towards the scene. But you don't look at the body. No- you look around it. 

Your eyes catch a half-opened water bottle lying a few feet away holding a small amount of liquid.

With gloved hands, and after confirming with the forensic team, you carefully pick it up and bring it closer.

You unscrew the cap and take a cautious sniff.  

Minerals.

Sharp.

A chemical aftertaste that shouldn't be there.

Poison.

You sent it to the lab for testing- and the results came back quickly.

Confirmed.

Cyanide.

Cyanide- the silent killer. Efficient. Fast. And almost undetectable in standard reports, making it every seasoned criminal’s best friend and making it easier for them to get away with it.

But not on your watch.

Determined, you proceed to your next lead: Lee Haneul, the victim's girlfriend.

She's devasted when you met her- blood red eyes, trembling hands- but she’s cooperative.

"He left around midnight” she sniffles, “said he needed some air to clear his mind. He took his phone, headphones and his wallet"  

You nod, scribbling your notes, "Before this... did he mention anything strange? Anything bothering him? Weird behaviour?” 

She hesitates, then murmurs, "He... he said he'd been getting these creepy messages. Anonymous ones. He brushed them off — thought it was just one of his crazy stalker fans. He posted singing covers online... had a following."  

You thank her gently, offer your condolences, and leave, mind already racing.

Back at your office, you immediately request access to the victim’s phone — the password provided willingly by Haneul. 

You get his phone, and you extract the texts- there it is.

The last message received before his death: "Want to hear a song that ends with your last breath?"

You feel your skin crawl. 

You run the sender’s IP number.

It's a burner. Obviously.

But you trace its last activity, a ping from a local library. You head to the nearby library and review the footage along with your team.

There. A hooded figure. Tall. Black hoodie. Walked out at 1:47 AM.

You zoom in.

A janitor’s badge clipped to his chest. You track him down with the help of the authorities.

His name: Park Minjae.

Minjae is pale as a ghost under the harsh lights of the interrogation room  

"I-I didn't kill him!” he stammers, wide-eyed.

“I swear, I just saw someone dragging something in the alleyway, I got scared- so I hid" 

You lean forward, "Why didn't you call the cops?"  

He swallows thickly. "Because... because he saw me. He looked me dead in the eyes and then he smiled. Like he knew I'd keep quiet" 

You narrow your gaze.

“And this message.” You ask, showing him the threatening text.  

He widens his eyes and shakes his head frantically. "No! My phone broke a few days ago. I got it repaired but afterward, it started acting weird — random messages being sent, glitches everywhere. Turns out... it got hacked."   

He's telling the truth. You know it in your gut.

"Do you remember his face?" You ask quietly. 

"Uh y-yeah I do"  

You nod and show him a photo- Nishimura Riki mug shot. 

Recognition flashes instantly across Minjae's face.  "That's him! That’s the guy!" 

Which means...

Riki left a witness.

That's sloppy. Thats not like him- at all. 

Was it just a mistake? Or was it something else?

You began thinking- thinking of anything that could help your case move forward. 

And then it clicked. 

Cyanide.

There are only two registered mineral industries in the city who had legal authority over cyanide.

You immediately dispatch teams to both. 

One industry reports a suspicious transaction a week prior — security footage confirms it: a man matching Riki’s build, wearing a mask. 

Under pressure, the supplier, Lee Seo-Jun, folds quickly under interrogation. 

And when he does, he gives up an address. 

Registered under the name Kang Tae-jin- A name connected to exactly nothing.

A perfect ghost.

Until now. 

Your team gears up and storms the listed property — a sleek, modern house nestled in the city's quieter outskirts. 

Guns raised, shouting orders, you breach the door. 

And there he is. 

Nishimura Riki.

You visit the jail’s visiting room. It's quiet. Unsettling. 

He’s already there.

Handcuffed, relaxed, sitting like he owns the room.

His eyes lift the moment you walk in. 

And for the first time, you look him in the eye. 

Not through photographs. Not across crime scenes.

Here, In person. 

“Y/N,” he murmurs. “Finally.” voice soft—softer than you imagined, almost delicate. 

"You're earlier than I expected," he says, tone almost... proud. Proud of you- your skills.

His eyes glint.  “Though I didn’t want you to find me yet,” he says softly. 

He shakes his head, “You were beautiful out there,” he says even softer. 

The silence thickens, pressing up against the walls. 

You finally break it.  “Why? Why all of this? Why the murders, the notes, the chase?” 

He leans in, and for the first time, the smile drops. 

“Because you weren’t supposed to waste yourself on simple men and simpler crimes. They don’t deserve your mind. I do.”

You feel your stomach twist. “You killed them to get my attention?” 

“No. I killed them to clear your schedule.” 

“Riki—” 

“No,” he interrupts, voice rising just a little. “You were drifting. Getting tired. Losing yourself in noise. I fixed that.” His gaze pins you on the spot. 

“You’re here. With me. And don’t tell me it’s because of the law.” He tilts his head slightly, smile inching back. 

“Because we both know—you wanted this too.” 

You stare at him, heart hammering. Unsure if the chill running down your spine is fear… or something else.  

He leans back, eyes still on you.

"I told you this is our story, baby"

You don't know what makes you stand up- rage or disgust or the terrifying part of you that understands him a little too well. 

Your chair scrapes loudly against the floor.  Riki’s eyes follow your movement lazily, like a wolf watching its prey. 

You want to leave.  You should leave.  But you don’t. 

Instead, you lean closer.  Hands flat on the cold table separating you from him. 

"You're sick," you whisper. 

His smile grows, slow and poisonous.

"I'm devoted," he corrects, voice warm like he’s confessing love — not murder. 

You clench your fists, trying to steady your breathing. 

"You destroyed lives. Families. You ruined people just to get to me Riki"

Riki tilts his head, handcuffs clinking softly with the movement. 

"Ruined?" he echoes. 

"I think of it more like... rearranging the world around you.” 

You open your mouth — 

but he leans in so fast, so close, you freeze. 

Only inches between you and him now. 

And when he speaks again, his voice is barely a breath: 

"You feel it too, don't you?" 

His eyes are searching yours, merciless. 

"The world makes sense when you're with me." 

Your throat tightens. 

You can't move. 

Can't think. 

His next words are quieter than a whisper — a blade against your skin: 

"You were always mine to catch, Detective."

The guard bangs on the door, warning that visiting time is over. 

You step back, almost stumbling, heart hammering against your ribs.

Riki watches you go, a soft smile curling at his lips — 

as if the real game has only just begun. 

The door slams between you, but you swear you still feel his gaze. 

Watching.  Waiting.  Smiling...

PART TWO YET TO COME...

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

A/n: Hey guys! Writing is not my thing so sorry if it wasnt up to your expectations! And let me know if you guys want to be added in the taglist! Part two is in the making so stay tuned! Hope you guys like it! I literally was literally a second away from ripping my hair off due to exhaustion. Anyways! This is officially one of the longest fic ive ever wrote....... PLease show alot of love! ALSO THE DIVIDERS R FROM THE VERY TALENTED : @uzmacchiato @enchanthings @kodaswrld THANKS GUYS!!!!!!! ENJOY!

[goreandbunnies]

❝ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚛!𝚂𝚞𝚔𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜 ➺

Inspired by @sweetlandspos ‘s fanart ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The next day, as promised, you stand outside Dealer!Sukuna’s frat house. It’s already dark outside, you waited forever at your dorm, debating whether or not you should see him. But you’ve been thinking about his mouth and fingers non stop since you left that fire exit, so there you were. 

When you knock, you’re surprised to see a tall guy with long black hair, piercings and a backwards hat. 

“Yeah?” He asks, looking down on you. You swallow the knot in your throat. 

“Uh… I’m here to see Sukuna,” you mumble, feeling way too exposed. 

The guy crosses his arms and leans against the door frame, scanning you from head to toe. From your hair down, to your tight short sleeved top and pleated black skirt. You squirm internally. 

“Is he here?” You insist, getting annoyed by this one. He still stares at you for a moment before chuckling. 

“Why? You got something for him?” He licks his lips and for a second you wonder if all of Sukuna’s friends are just as intense as him. 

“No… I- actually he’s got something for me,” you lie. “I’m here to get some… stuff,” you don’t sound one bit convincing but that’s the only excuse you could make up. “He knows I’m coming. Can I see him now?” You insist, hoping you didn’t come all this way for nothing. 

“Sure, come in,” he steps away from the door, still smirking and you hurry inside, worried he might try and keep you out still. 

You walk in, unsure where to look in that big ass frat house when you finally spot him. At first, you only spot pink hair - your heart races in your chest but when he turns around, the same face as his looks at you in disbelief - yet it’s not the guy who left hickeys on your neck the day before. 

You briefly remember that Sukuna has a twin brother - Yuuji - and you relax instantly. 

“Let me guess,” he smiles warmly at you, glancing up from his Nintendo Switch. “You’re looking for my brother?” He is definitely very different from his twin, warmer, more approachable. You nod. “Basement, through the kitchen there,” he points at a door near. You thank him and head downstairs where bass fuelled music could be heard already. 

Dealer!Sukuna, whose eyes find yours the second you step into the smoke filled room. He’s sitting on a couch, shirtless, legs spread, arms stretched out resting on the back of said couch, holding a cigarette like he owns the entire campus. The closer you get, the more of him you can see through the smoke - you realise soon enough that his jeans are unbuckled, boxers on display. 

He might not own the school, but he definitely steals your breath away. 

You look around and see several other guys sitting around a poker table, smoking and playing cards. You’re the only girl down there. 

Dealer!Sukuna who grins as his eyes linger on your body, no doubt reminiscing about the day before as well. 

“Kuna,” the tall goth who opened the door earlier follows after you, almost bumping into you as he gets downstairs. “The lady says she’s here for a fix,” he mocks, making the other guys laugh. Sukuna doesn’t. He only smiles. 

“Yeah I bet she is,” a guy with white hair teases, looking at Sukuna and you recognise Gojo Satoru, the school’s golden boy. You two are friends and go to almost all of the same classes. He’s always perfect - grades, sports, reputation. Your parents are friends, you two are from the same world. 

And yet, both of you ended up here, in the devil’s den. When Gojo sees you, you freeze on the last step of the stairs, thinking you’re in deep shit. But he’s here too, isn’t he?

“Y/n??” He straightens up on his chair, as if seeing him there could taint your opinion of him. It doesn’t. You didn’t come for him. You came for the devil. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you were studying alone tonight,” he hurries over to you, shielding you from the rest of the table. 

“You two know each other?” Sukuna asks from the couch, pointing between us, cigarette in hand still. You can’t help but notice he has stopped smiling. Satoru nods. “Wait, don’t tell me she’s the infamous,” he sits forward and signs a quote with his fingers, “’stuck up but hot bitch’ you’ve been telling us about? The one your parents want you to marry?” 

You turn to Satoru, trying to process what you just heard. Of course your parents had that idea but it wasn’t like that at all. You shove Satoru away and head straight for the back of the room where the couch is. You’re not leaving because of Satoru or the goth guy, both of them can go to Hell. 

Dealer!Sukuna, though, stares intensely at Satoru, debating whether or not he should ruin his entire life simply for calling you a bitch. It doesn’t get better when he sees how entitled of you Satoru seems to be.  

Dealer!Sukuna who still can’t mute the little voice inside his head saying that Satoru is right for you. He’s the good guy, a perfect match, the one you should want to be around. 

Dealer!Sukuna who honestly doesn’t give a shit about perfect guy Satoru and his parents’ plans when you get closer to him. The second you sit next to him, he’s already forgotten about everything else. 

“Come here, Princess,” he says softly, patting his leg. “Best seat in the house,” you love the way his face lights up whenever he looks at you. Screw Satoru. Screw your parents. You’re gonna do what you want for once. 

Dealer!Sukuna who grins like a wolf when he sees you getting up again without protesting to sit in his lap, your ass flush against his growing and almost exposed bulge. 

“I told you I was busy tonight,” he says in your ear, his tone warm despite the attempt at scolding you. 

“You don’t look very busy to me,” you reply playfully. He’s not even at the table with the others. You get more comfortable, leaning against his chest as his arms wrap around you possessively. 

You two spend some time chatting casually, but you feel him getting harder under you and decide to shift ever so slightly in his lap. He stifles a breath, you try to hold back a smile. 

“Just get a room already, Jesus,” another guy you’ve never seen before says. “Suguru likes to watch but I don’t,” he throws his cards on the table before lighting a joint. 

Suguru - the goth asshole from earlier - looks your way and winks. You tense up a little but Sukuna’s hand reassuringly rubs your lower back. He places a joint between his lips too and lights it up. You scrunch your nose at the smell before he hands it to you, daring. You hesitate. 

“Hey, don’t give her that,” Satoru calls from the other side of the table, ready to throw hands. You frown at him. You might have listened to him before finding out how he called you in front of his other friends.

“No? Alright,” Dealer!Sukuna gives up, shrugging but smiling still, mischievous. He takes another drag but doesn’t exhale. 

Instead, he gently grabs your chin and pulls down until your lips part. Then, he leans in, his lips almost touching yours and softly exhales the smoke in your mouth. You breathe in slowly, the feeling odd and uncomfortable but you manage not to cough up too much. 

Dealer!Sukuna’s grin widens when he’s done, his arm wrapping tighter around your waist and bringing you closer. You’re forced to straddle him, your chest pressed against his bare skin. 

Next thing you know, his lips are on yours, your hands roaming his shoulders and neck. Neither of you care about the pairs of eyes observing you. You feel warm and safe, desired. Even more so when his arm slides under you and he effortlessly lifts you as he stands up, never breaking the kiss. 

“Help me with my pants, princess?” He asks, lips still pressed against yours. You chuckle, reaching out between your two bodies and manage to button it up, your fingers getting a good feel of the hard on that is tucked there.

“You’re not taking her upstairs,” Satoru warns, standing up.

Dealer!Sukuna laughs it off before heading for the stairs, giving him the middle finger over his shoulder while holding you with one arm. When he turns around to get upstairs, you’re faced with a pissed off Satoru. 

You bury your face in Dealer!Sukuna’s neck, still looking at Satoru and giving him both middle fingers. Sukuna’s fingers dig in the tender flesh of your butt, almost getting even more turned on as he feels your rebellious side coming out. 

Dealer!Sukuna who rejoices at the thought of you picking him over perfect fuckboy Satoru. 

Dealer!Sukuna who’s about to show you just how happy he is that you came over.

♡ Taglist : @gojoscumslut @bohoooitsme @call-memissbrightside @yuujispinkhair @seellove @s3ns4ti0n4l @libertyinnit @krispywhisperswhispers @nynxtea @sterzin @emoedgylord @keepghostly @miazzzma @madamechrissy @monster-effer @raynehmms @katestrophes @waterfal-ling @sunasgf1 @kassfunk19 ♡

Dividers by @cafekitsune and @firefly-graphics

Copyright © goreandbunnies 2024-2025, all rights reserved, do not repost, use or plagiarize

[catsgut]

FROM BUD TO BLOOM - GOJO

warning : incest, drugging, noncon

“we know you just turned 18, but we were your age once, you know. even if it was years and years ago,” you rolled your eyes and groaned, falling onto the couch. “we just know how kids your age think,” your dad said backing your mom up. they were leaving for a week for work and just broke the news to you that you wouldn’t be staying at your house alone. part of you could understand where they were coming from, but you had just turned 18. it was bullshit they didn’t trust you enough to not throw a party.

but somehow, someway, they trusted your immature and spontaneous uncle to hold the fort down while they were gone. you weren’t really close with uncle satoru, so it didn’t bother you any that he would be there, it was the lack of trust your parents had for you. it was almost insulting.

a loud knock on the thick wood of your front door brought you out of your thoughts. speak of the devil. “toru!” your dads voice boomed at the sight of his older brother, arms wrapping around his shoulders to pat on his back. “hey,” you heard a smooth voice follow before the sound of shoes on the floor. “good to see you again,” gojo said to your mom with a bow and his signature smile. you sat up and peered over at the three older adults in the entrance hall, looking over the man you rarely ever saw. you were surprised he even answered to the text your dad shot him about the favor they had needed. gojo’s predatory eyes wandered over to where you were sitting on the couch and smirked.

“hello, angel,” he spoke eyeing every inch you down as if he could see what you were thinking. “your babysitter has arrived!” his long legs brought him to stand over you, head leaning forward to get a good look at your face. it had been so long since he had seen his pretty little niece. you sighed, closing your eyes you laid back down ignoring the annoying comment, still feeling hurt by the lack of trust your parents had for you. “aw not happy to see your uncle, little girl?” he chuckled and looked back over to your parents. “you nothing to fear! i’ll make sure everything goes… smoothly.” they just nervously looked at one another before putting their bags in the car.

they said their goodbyes and you hugged your mom tight. “it’s not too late to tell him to leave,” you mumbled into her shoulder before she flicked your forehead. “nonsense. now be good for satoru,” she said before kissing your cheek. “we will be back in a week.”

honestly, the first few days went by fine. you hadn’t spoke to gojo much and just hid up in your bedroom playing computer games. he actually wasn’t so bad, usually watching tv, cooking something, or laying out by the pool. the one thing you did notice about uncle satoru was that he liked the ac on full blast. colder than what your parents usually keep it at. several times he has pointed out your clearly hard nipples through the thin fabric of your pajama shirt. “you cold?” he’d ask with a grin and you crossed your arms over your chest furiously. it was embarrassing, but you assumed it was because he was just as immature as when you were a kid.

even though he kept the house at freezing temperatures, gojo absolutely loved to spent time outside. he would stay out there hours laying in the sun. a couple of times you had caught yourself staring out your bedroom window at the shirtless man laying on the pool chair. although he was in his 40s, you could tell he was still very active for his age. your eyes traced down his abdomen, taking in every detail of his defined body before looking back up to his face. to your absolute horror, he was already looking back at you with a sky smile. you quickly sat back down on your bed feeling your face get hot.

after that you avoided him as best as you could. he probably thought you were some kind of pervert, and you hated yourself for it. his own niece looking at his body in that manner. god, you needed to get ahold of yourself.

“hey.” you heard a voice in your ear from behind. it was the middle of the night and you were making yourself a snack. startled, you quickly turned around to be face to face with your uncle. “hmm, are you avoiding me, little girl?” he cocked his head to the side. you groaned at the nickname he had decided to give you. “i’m not little anymore,” you rolled your eyes and turned your back to him, hiding your embarrassed face. why couldn’t he just leave you alone.

“that’s right! you’re 18 now… you feel any older?” gojo asked leaning against the counter next to you, arms crossing over his muscular chest. you shrugged and stared down at your hands. why was he talking to you so casually after what happened just hours earlier. “i remember when i was 18. had the girls alllll over me,”. he giggled and sighed as he reminisced. “of course, they still are.”

you stared over at him with a look of horror at his comment. “what? embarrassed? well don’t worry, i won’t tell if you won’t,” his big hand rubbed your shoulder before placing it on top of your head. “do you have a boyfriend, y/n?” you shook your head quickly feeling more and more uncomfortable. “never had one before.”

that seemed to get his attention because he raised an eyebrow. “never? wow… so you’re a virgin then right? damn, if i were your age i would have jumped at the chance.” you didn’t know how to answer that, almost feeling ashamed being called out for something that was probably weird for a girl your age. of course you were a virgin, never even having your first kiss.

gojo stared down onto you for what seemed like hours before leaning closer. “so what you’re saying is you aren’t really a woman…yet,” he harshly squeezed one of your cheeks before leaving you alone, standing there in shock. ‘was that normal for uncles to do?’ you thought. you tried to brush it off, hurrying up in the kitchen before running off to your bedroom for the night. did that really mean you weren’t a woman? is it really that obvious? it made you feel insecure and uncomfortable at the realization. little did you know, gojo couldn’t get the thought of his sweet little niece being a virgin. he felt like the luckiest man in the world.

on his third night over gojo had offered some alcohol after getting back from the store. he said it would be good for the both of you to drink and bond over a movie. not wanting to seem little, you accepted his offer, sipping on the mixed drink he gave you. it tasted fruity and made your face twist in disgust. did adults really drink this crap? you would never say it, but this was your first time having alcohol and so far you couldn’t say you were enjoying it.

but was it normal to feel this funny after a couple sips? ‘must be a lightweight,’ you thought, eyelids blinking almost in slow motion. alcohol felt weird… why was your body feeling heavier?

you looked over at your uncle who was watching tv a few feet from you. his long legs were spread and he was picking at a hangnail on his thumb, biting at it occasionally. you cocked your head to the side as you watched the man. you felt guilty at the fact your stomach was doing flips at the sight of him just existing. it wasn’t normal to have these thoughts about your uncle, but here you were thinking the nastiest things.

you watched his eyes flick over to where you were sitting, giggling to yourself with your legs crossed. “what’s so funny?” he sat up a bit and patted the spot next to him. “come sit by your uncle.” his long finger beckoned you over as you slowly crawled over to him, head running into the side of his shoulder from losing your balance. “woah there,” he laughed and wrapped an arm around you. “how you feelin’ kid?” his eyes stared at you already knowing the answer to his question.

truth is you could barley see at this point. “ish thisss… normal?” you mumbled, head rolling to the side. “just gave you a little something extra… to make ya feel good,” you heard him say under his breath before pushing your back against the couch. his words didn’t register in your brain, but you felt his big hands on your hips, massaging them. you felt his long fingers hook into your waist band, playing with it for a bit, before slowly pulling your pants down your thighs. everything was happening so fast yet so slow at the same time. “mmm what doinn’?” your question went unanswered as rubbed his pointer finger over your pussy, listening to the wet noises it made. you moaned and closed your eyes, lip being pulled in between your teeth.

he inserted his finger before a second and then a third. your body naturally reacted to the foreign feeling, back arching and hips lifted off the cushions of the couch. he chuckled and pushed on your lower stomach. you tried sitting up, but between whatever it was you had drank and your uncle pinning you down you were unable to do anything but lay there and take whatever he wanted to give.

“just stay right there pretty girl,” you barley heard him say, and after that everything went black. you didn’t know what was happening to you even if you tried to fight it, drifting off into sleep. the last thing you remember was hearing the sound of fabric rustling, not knowing it was gojo taking off his sweat pants.

“missed you,” you hugged your mother tightly, face burring into her neck. you really, really did.

after that movie night with uncle satoru, you had felt off. your lower body ached and your head was fuzzy. you chalked it up to lack of sleep, but something deep down told you it wasn’t…. you were missing something big that happened but you couldn’t remember for the life of you. maybe it was the fact you woke up in your bed in a different pair of clothes, or maybe it was the weird sticky mess in your panties. the whole situation was off.

“she’s been an angel all week,” he told your parents with a hand on your shoulder. your parents told gojo he was so generous and that they were so thankful for helping them out. he even offered to let you stay with him when you went to college! your parents were so very happy to hear that, telling you it would be an amazing experience. you knew they just wanted you out the house, but all you could do was smile, not knowing what to do or say, showing gojo he got away with his sins that took place that night. showing him that he would be able to get away with something far, far worse.

[summerrivera777777]

So I saw Sinners fell completey in love with Remmick <3 😩

Sinners: “The Devil’s Lamb” 
Part 1: Let Him In

Summer was alone in the house again, barefoot on the hardwood floor, the hem of her nightgown whispering around her ankles like an old prayer. The air was thick with the scent of burning wax and old books—her father’s sermon tapes still played like ghosts in the corners of the room. “The devil walks like a man, but you’ll know him by the way he makes you feel…”

She ignored the voice. She always did.

Her fingers drifted to the silver cross nestled between her breasts, the chain warm from her skin. It was the only thing her father ever gave her that felt like hers.

And that’s when the first knock came.

Three slow, uneven pounds against the old front door.

She froze.

The town was quiet this time of the day —nothing but crickets and the low hum of cicadas in the dark. This wasn’t a neighbor. This wasn’t human.

She opened the door.

The man standing there looked like he’d crawled out of hell. His skin was blistered, smoke trailing from every inch of exposed flesh. His shirt was torn, soaked in blood. His lips were cracked, and when he looked up at her, his eyes—green, glowing, ancient—pleaded without a word.

“Help me,” he rasped. “Sun got me… please…”

Summer, trembling, stepped back and let him in.

She didn’t ask herself why.

He stumbled inside, falling to his knees just beyond the threshold, hands clutching the wood like it burned. When she reached for him, his skin hissed where her fingers touched. He didn’t flinch. He just breathed her in like salvation.

Then came the second knock.

This one was hard. Urgent.

She opened the door to find a man—tall, brown-skinned, sweat beading down his temple, gun drawn and ready.

“I’m tracking someone,” he said. White male. Medium build. Looks... wrong?”

“You’d know if you saw him. He burns in daylight. He’s not… right.”

Summer blinked slowly. Her voice came out like velvet. “I haven’t seen anyone.” Summer blinked. The voice in her head screamed yes. But her lips said: “No one’s here but me.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “If you see him—run. He’s not what he looks like. You understand me?”

A pause. He stared at her, like he could smell the lie. But she just smiled, sweet and disarming.

The man cursed under his breath, turned, and left.

She closed the door.

When she turned around, the stranger the man she let in was standing now. was sitting in her father’s old sermon chair,

The wounds were gone.

His back was straight.

And his smile was inhuman.

blood soaking through the worn leather, steam still rising off his skin. Her father was at his feet—throat torn, eyes open. Dead.

Summer didn’t scream.

The man—no, the creature—smiled. Fangs flashed like ivory sabers in the candlelight. Claws. Eyes like burning red emeralds.

“You let me in,” he said, voice low and lilting. Not Southern anymore. Irish. Deep and old. “Most don’t.”

“My father said monsters would try to charm their way past the door,” she said, voice flat.

“Then he was right.”

She backed up. Her cross swung between her breasts.

Her trembling fingers reached for it, but he was already on his feet.

“I hate those things,” he muttered.

With a sudden motion, he ripped the cross from her chest, the chain snapping like thread. The cool metal left a red scratch between her breasts.

He leaned in, nose brushing her neck. “You smell like purity... like wine that’s never been sipped.”

“Let’s see,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over her like fire licking at paper, “just how much of a sinner you really are.”

She stood her ground.

“You gonna kill me?” she asked.

The vampire rose to his feet, slow, deliberate. His shirt clung to his body, wet with blood and ash. His eyes drank her in.

He smiled—hungry and unholy.

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “Not yet.”

His hand lingered against her collarbone.

“I’ve tasted centuries,” he whispered. “Kings. Whores. Martyrs. But you… you smell like something that’s never been touched.”

Summer didn’t step back.

She stepped forward.

“In the name of the Father,” she whispered, tears in her eyes, “forgive me.”

He laughed. Low. Wicked. Not kind.

“Too late for that, dove.”

Then his hand was in her hair, and she was dragged forward—not gently, but with purpose, the breath stolen from her lungs. His mouth crashed into hers, lips bruising, tongue forcing its way past hers like a storm through stained glass. She whimpered, but he didn’t pull away.

He groaned like it hurt to touch her. Like she burned him from the inside out.

“You’ve no idea what you just invited in.”

Her nightgown ripped like tissue in his hands. One vicious pull, and the fabric was gone—her bare body exposed to the flickering candlelight, to the creature that stood over her with his chest heaving and fangs glinting.

She shivered.

He smiled.

“Scared?” he rasped.

Summer shook her head. Her breath came fast, uneven. “No.”

“Liar.”

He shoved her back against the wall, her bare shoulder slamming against the wood hard enough to sting. She gasped, eyes wide, but he was already on her—grinding against her, teeth at her throat, clawed fingers bruising her thighs as he forced them open.

“You wanted a monster,” he snarled. “You get one.”

She cried out as he grabbed her hips and lifted her like she weighed nothing, impaling her on his cock in one brutal thrust. No warning. No tenderness. Just possession.

She screamed—and he groaned, deep and primal, biting down hard on her shoulder as he bottomed out inside her.

“Fuck,” he growled, head thrown back. “You’re so tight it hurts.”

He didn’t wait. Didn’t slow.

He fucked her.

Hard. Fast. Cruel.

The wall shook behind her. Wood creaked. Candlelight flickered as her body bounced against him, as he took her like something owed, like her very soul was beneath his skin now.

“You let me in,” he hissed against her neck, fangs dragging lower. “You think that cross was gonna save you?”

She clawed at his back, moaning, sobbing, her body betraying her with every clench, every slick cry of pleasure.

“You think you were pure?” he snarled, thrusting harder. “You were waiting for me.”

Summer’s head fell back, tears streaking her cheeks—but her mouth opened in a scream as she shattered, her orgasm ripping through her like a damnation.

He wasn’t done.

He bit her.

Right where her neck met her shoulder—hard. Deep. She screamed again, more in ecstasy than pain, as her blood spilled into his mouth and he moaned, grinding into her as he drank.

“Sweet little thing,” he groaned. “You taste like guilt and grace.”

He came inside her with a snarl, hips slamming forward as his nails dug into her thighs, his body trembling against hers, still feeding, still moving until she was limp in his arms.

And even then, he didn’t let her go.

Not yet.

Not ever.

[selfindulgenceisthekey]

lil late to the reading but im back part 4 NEOWWWWWW

Hello again anon! <3 Also side note: if anyone has one shot requests for this universe (or in general) send them in! I'd love to write some!

Pt. I Pt. II Pt. III

Seeing Luffy standing so calmly before you, anxiety spiked in your chest. He walked in, shutting the door behind him so casually, looking at you  as if he hadn’t quite literally knocked you out and brought you aboard his ship.

“Luffy,” Your tone, though quiet, was questioning and angry. You still winced; the simple word caused little sparks of pain to tickle your throat.

“Please, sit down,” Chopper looked somewhat desperate, little hooves gently directing you back to the bed you had rushed up from.

This time, you didn’t fight back, allowing yourself to be corralled into sitting. He looked less stressed once you had sat, letting out a little huff. Luffy stood behind, eyes glancing between Chopper and you.

“Your ankle is sprained, you need to do your best to stay off of it! And keep it elevated, too.” 

You didn’t respond, but tore your gaze away from Luffy to look down at their little doctor, nodding stiffly at his words. His face brightened a bit at your acknowledgement, before he took one glance towards his captain.

“I’ll— I’ll give you two some space!” He tugged nervously at the edges of his hat, quickly darting towards the door.

“Thanks, Chopper,” To you, it sounded like Luffy was far warmer talking to him than he had been acknowledging you had been awake.

“Thank you.” Your voice was quiet, but you still extended your gratitude towards him— he had dressed your wounds, cleaned them to avoid infections, the least you could do was tell him your thanks.

“Your thanks don’t make me happy, or anything!” He shouted quickly, the smile on his face opposite of the words leaving his mouth, before shutting the door quickly.

Silence fell over the pair of you, and the cool, almost bored look on Luffy’s face did nothing but make your heart skip several beats in your chest.

“Why did you bring me here?” You ignored any discomfort talking put you through to ask, unable to look him in the eye, your gaze focused on the closed door behind him.

He tilted his head, the shadow of a pout on his face, “You were hurt, so I brought you tso Chopper so he could fix your injuries.” He glanced at the bandages littering different parts of your body, “Most of us don’t get that hurt all the time, you must be pretty weak.”

He laughed after he said that, as if the situation now appeared funny to him. You narrowed your eyes, chest tight, “What—”

“That’s fine! You don’t have to be strong or good at fighting, we’ll find something for you to do on board. We’re all strong enough that you don’t have to be, especially Sanji!”

He continued to talk, growing more energetic by the second as he did so, face turning from apathetic to excited. The smile you were used to was present, making the Luffy you remember from the previous night at the bar seem like a bad dream.

“Luffy, wait—”

“He’s in the kitchen right now! He and Chopper were talking about boring stuff before you woke up, and then Sanji started making you some type of soup. He wouldn’t give me any,” He pouted a bit, interrupting you without a care in the world.

“Luffy—”

“I’ll call him in! He’ll be excited to see you awake! He was so mad when he saw how beat up you were,” He giggled again, “But I told him I beat those guys, so he didn’t have to worry.”

“I—”

You were growing frustrated; every start of your sentence was cut off. It came off accidental at first, like he was just happy you were awake and seemingly okay. But the unwavering look in his eyes made you think twice, he was filling the air so you couldn’t speak. 

He turned, opening the door and sticking his head out. You still weren’t used to seeing him use his devil fruit powers, so seeing him stretch his neck out still unnerved you. You could hear him yelling from the hall, “Sanji! She’s awake!”

His head snapped back in quickly, and the door was left open. The smile melted off his face slowly, as if a thought had dawned on him.

“When he’s here, you need to apologise to him.”

“I- what?”

“Apologise. To Sanji.” He spoke slower, taking one step closer to you, “You hurt him. But now you’re back! So you have to say you’re sorry, and everything will be okay.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what, I—”

“You know what,” The firmness present in his voice made your blood feel like ice in your veins, and in the silence, you could hear faint footsteps echoing outside.

The door creaked open, and you watched Sanji enter quietly, a tray held firmly in his hands. Luffy shifted to allow him room to enter, the grin back on his face as if it had never left. “Sanji!” 

“Your snacks on the counter, captain,” He spoke, the one eye peeking from behind his bangs remaining focused on you.

Without a loud cheer, Luffy was out the door, flip flops smacking the whole way he ran. The door slammed shut behind him as the last of Luffy’s noise faded from your ears. It was still inside the sick bay, neither of you moving, both barely breathing. After a moment, Sanji seemed to shake himself out of whatever thoughts he was lost in, moving to set the tray on the desk nearest you.

“I have some chicken soup here, it’s simple but it’s good for you and shouldn’t agitate your throat too much.” Simple, he said, it smelled divine from where you were seated. “Water, as well as chamomile tea with honey,” he said gesturing to the two mugs on the tray

Thank you, it was right on the tip of your tongue, biting to get out. But you remained silent, staring at him. You felt like you probably looked bug-eyed staring at him how you were. He fiddled with the tray some, adjusting the spoon on the napkin, straightening the napkin.

His shoulders were high, and even as he was faced away you knew his expression was probably pinched. It was probably taking everything in him not to light a cigarette now, you saw the familiar twitch in his fingers. Then—

“I’m sorry.” It was barely a whisper from you, but in the silence of the room, it seemed to echo.

His head twitched, as if he had stopped himself from turning to face you fully. The silence now broken, the words spilled out of you.

“I’m sorry for hurting you, that wasn’t— I had a job to do. There were people who would have- would have been killed if I hadn’t gotten the map. Everyone had said you and your crew were cold and cruel, and you weren’t— you weren’t supposed to be kind, and I didn’t know at first that my leaving would hurt you.”

“But you knew it would hurt eventually?” The question came out quiet, soft. He knew the answer, he just wanted you to admit it.

You hated the warmth of tears building behind your eyelids, “Yes,” Admitting it felt sour, “I knew… But I swear, if I had had any other choice, I—”

“You could have told us,” He turned now, leaning against the desk, looking at you sadly, “Or me, at the very least.”

“All I could think of was making sure the Mitsu family wasn’t killed because of me.”

He nodded, accepting your words without argument. The weight that had been building in your chest felt lighter, unfortunately, it was still present, pressing against your heart, against your ribs. 

“Well,” His demeanor shifted, a bright grin on his face, cheeks pressed so high his one eye was squinting, “That’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

“Uh,” The shift startled you, and you blinked a few times, trying to process it. “Yeah?”

“You’ll never have to see any of those people again. What were their names? Hel and his group. You won’t have to worry about stealing from pirates and marines to keep safe now.” He grabbed the bowl and spoon, turning to bring it towards you, gentle in his steps. “Those people, that island, that town— all in the past.”

“What do you,” You moved your head back, he had scooped a shallow spoonful of the broth and brought it to your lips, appearing determined to feed you by hand, “What do you mean?”

Was their plan not to bring you on board, get the information they needed from you, possibly deal out some pirate punishment, then drop you back off and be on their merry way?

Sanji just sighed, the small smile never leaving his face as he moved the spoon away, “Was it too hot, ma chérie?”

“No, it’s,” You put a hand up now, physically blocking the spoon, not caring about the broth that spilled, “Sanji, what do you mean it’s all behind me?”

He watched the soup fall, his face hardening as he took his time to respond, “We don’t waste food on this ship. I’ll be lenient now because you’re injured, love, but you need to remember that going forward.”

Putting the spoon in the soup, he sat it back down on the tray, “As for it being behind you, I mean that exactly. The island, and everyone on it, is behind you, behind us.”

Behind us? He couldn’t mean—

“Your injuries took a toll on your body, which is one reason I want to ensure you eat everything here; you missed out on necessary proteins and nutrients while you were unconscious. Luffy took care of the men from before, though I wish he’d let me come with him when—”

“Sanji, how long was I unconscious for?”

Your question appeared to startle him, and he blinked, “Three days, we set sail right after Luffy brought you on board. Now, hey—”

You were up and slamming yourself into the door before you could even process what you had been doing, the cuts on your arms stinging at the impact. Sanji was moving behind you, but you tuned it out, opening the door and rushing out. 

A cool breeze blew your hair about, soft winds tickling your skin. You could feel the salt in the air and taste it in your mouth. Pressing against the railing, you looked about almost frantically. Open blue waters were the only thing that greeted you. No land, no other ships— just deep waters and the deck of the Sunny. Distantly, you were aware that Sanji was behind you, pressing gentle hands against your shoulders.

“Let’s go back into the sick bay, okay? You shouldn’t strain your injuries,” His voice sounded as if you were hearing him from under water.

You kept your body firm where you stood, refusing to budge. If you stared long enough, if you stared hard enough, then maybe you’d wake up. Maybe this was some vivid dream, and you were still asleep in some rich marine’s bed. Maybe you had hallucinated Luffy coming to the bar, this had to be fake. 

It couldn’t be real.

Taglist: @hannahbarberra162 @sagyunaro @twismare @nerium21 @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @glaciuswduo @thekatisspooky

[wolfcin04]

The sunlight crept through the curtains in Rafe’s room, casting a warm, golden hue on the rumpled sheets. The soft glow of the morning felt so homey to her—a comforting feeling. Maybe it was the morning sun or the sleeping boy beside her that made her feel as though she was exactly where she needed to be. Y/n loved the early hours of the morning when Rafe was fast asleep beside her and Tannyhill was quiet.

“Creep,” he said in a deep, groggy voice.

Y/n froze; she thought Rafe was still fast asleep. Feeling a little embarrassed, she realized she’d been caught in the act.

“Ugh, you faker,” she muttered, swatting his arm lightly. A shy laugh escaped her lips, betraying her embarrassment.

“Mmm, come here,” Rafe murmured, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close until their faces were just inches apart. Close enough for Y/n to see the stubble on his chin.

“It’s 8 a.m. We need to get out of bed before we’re late to your dad’s brunch,” she said, trailing her fingers slightly through Rafe’s hair. She noticed how his smile twitched upward at her touch.

“No, no, let’s stay like this forever. Just you and me. Forget about them,” Rafe replied, his eyes still closed. He couldn’t help but feel warm and fuzzy in her embrace. If only Topper and the guys could see him now—they’d never let him live it down.

“As much as I would love to, I promised Sarah I’d help her pick out an outfit before we head downstairs.”

As soon as she said that, a loud knock sounded on the door.

“Y/N, I’m having a hair crisis! Please hurry!” Sarah yelled from outside.

Rafe groaned, burying his face in her shoulder. "speak of the devil", he mumbled, voice muffled

“I’ll be out in a sec” Y/n called back, gently prying herself from his grip.

“Be nice today, okay? I know you and your dad have had some differences, but it is his birthday, after all,” she said, standing up from the bed and walking toward the closet to find something to wear.

Rafe sat up and rubbed his hand over his face, trying to wake up.

“Oh, so now you care about Ward?” he asked in a slightly accusing tone.

Y/n stepped out of the walk-in closet and headed into the bathroom without even looking at Rafe.

“No, I care about Sarah and Wheezie. They’re like the younger sisters I never had. I don’t want them caught in the middle of yet another fight, Rafe. Please don’t fight me on this,” Y/n said, her voice echoing slightly in the bathroom.

Rafe followed her, standing behind her as she added the finishing touches to her hair. He couldn’t help but feel that flutter in his chest again. Placing a soft kiss on her shoulder, he rested his chin on her head and gazed at her through the mirror.

“Okay, you have a point. I’ll try my very best—for you, babe,” he said with a slight smile, giving her head another peck.

“Thank you, amor." she replied with a soft smile, her accent faint but familiar. "Now, please shower and meet me downstairs in 20 minutes,” she replied, turning to walk toward the door.

“What? That’s not nearly enough time to do my hair!” Rafe called out after her.

“Babe, you’re bald, remember?” she teased with a soft chuckle as she exited the room.

[s-4pphics]

more fratadjacent!ellie and adhdhaving!reader and their impulsive nature because why not fuck it. it’s tuesday.

a lil freaky at the end but nun crazy. mentions of drugs and sex lol

—

“You’re back early.”

Yeah, maybe. Your bottle’s been empty for a day and a half and you're knocking on the devil’s door a week in advance, but who could blame you?

Your productivity was at an all time high throughout these last couple weeks. The schedule was the same; pop one of Ellie’s gifted dexies at 7:30am, inhale a concerning amount of coffee, and breeze through every annotation assignment, paper, project, pre-rec review. Everything, everything. Every fucking bothersome pest that you’ve put off for the better part of the term was completed within a two week time frame.

What the fuck was in that bottle?

Sure, your usual supply redirects your priorities, hushes the distracts that make your brain whirlwind—your work gets finished, but this? “Dextro”? It’s not the dex you know and love. You rode an accomplished high for three days straight. You can’t recall the last time you’ve slept or eaten properly but you don’t want to. The ball of meat in the middle of your skull told you you were satisfied, just as long as you’re dex-ed up.

This may be withdrawals. You’re uncharacteristically twitchy; possibly from the thrill of seeing Head Druglord. Or maybe your body’s trying to force a cleanse to filter all the man-made chemicals out of your body.

You hope your body betrays you. Midterm preparations are around the corner.

“Yeah.”

“Glad to see you’re still around.”

Around meaning alive and not drowning in a pool of your own vomit, you suppose. Cute. Funny. You don’t laugh. “Okay.”

Ellie nods down at your sneakers with that same cunning sparkle. “New shoes?”

“No.” It’s almost their five year anniversary. She smiles a bit too brightly, too prettily. Your fingers won’t stop shaking.

“Need that fill?” Condescendingly hushed, a brow arched in questioning despite already knowing the answer. She looks hot but you can’t process it because you’re out. Muscle memory leads you at all times; one swift reach into the water holder of your backpack for the pill bottle, shoved miraculously with thirty bucks. A repayment for last time.

She doesn’t acknowledge your silent indication of restocking the goddamn jar. “You gotta second? I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

You blink dumbly.

Spidey senses tingle, urge you to freeze or run for your fucking life. Ellie’s a stranger. Albeit weird and hot, but a stranger, the main ones you were trained not to trust. But your best friend trusts her enough to send you her way.

“You can say no, I’ll still stock you.” She snorts.

Temptation is your greatest demon. Your feet answer for you with every step into her apartment.

—

Her residence is surprisingly normal.

Posters. A lot of Greek mythology textbooks. A cracked TV. A ripped squishmallow. There’s a giant star painted on the ceiling. How she managed the lines with such precision is fucking insane. You can barely do the five-lined crossover stars with accuracy, let alone no crosses—

“Do you smoke?” She wisps brightly, interrupting your train of thought.

“Used to. I tweaked once and never touched it again.”

“Shit… maybe I shouldn’t ask you—“

“What is it, Ellie?”

She leans up against her dining table, hands shoved in her hoodie pockets. “I gotta new pack.”

“Congrats.”

She snickers, “I think you’d make a good tester.” She proposes and you squint.

“Do I look like a lab rat?”

She assesses from your head to your busted sneakers with a mischievous glint. “A bit.” She snarks jokingly.

Said stranger is now asking to smoke you out. Free of charge again. The hairs on your arms stand at attention. Freaked the fuck out.

According to filmmakers, the only reason a dealer would ask another stranger to test any product for them is: a vendetta. To kill their ass with no trace, lure them in with white only to shoot them in the face. Or…

Or. Big fucking or.

This may be her flirting. Fucking for free drugs, but you’re not a prostitute. You’re just stupid. And you also haven’t fucked, you hardly know her last name—so maybe not, but it could be. Ellie’s a slut according to everyone that breathes on campus so fucking maybe.

“Are you trying to fuck me?”

You expect an exaggerated reaction—wide eyes, dropped jaw, even a little gasp from the random accusation, but none display. Still a chill pickle.

“No. Are you?”

Your exhale leaves in wobbles. “No.”

“You sound unsure.” She smirks.

“I…”

“Oh?” She hums lowly.

“Shut up.”

“What, you can ask me but I can’t ask you?”

“I-I’m… I—“

She laughs to herself. “If you wanna, we can. Wherever,” she waves a finger around her living room, “just not my room, ‘s messy.”

“This is weird as fuck.”

“You brought it up. Your bottle’s right there...” she lazily points towards the dresser that— oh. Lots of labeled pill bottles, lots of baggies with white shit in them. Lots of green, both smokable and wrapped with rubber bands. How’d you not see that there?

“You can leave that one and go,” she nods towards the one in your hand that holds her cash, “we can fuck, or you can be a tester. Or all three if you’d like, no particular order.”

No fight or flight skills, spidey senses silenced by temptation. Of course this is the outcome.

Your backpack thuds to the floor before you kick your shoes off, eyes locked onto Ellie’s that follow your jerky movements a bit too closely.

“You’re funny.” She mumbles, and your lashes flutter.

“What… what strain?”

A hand leaves her pocket, thumb and index bunched around the corner of a ziploc that holds three pre-rolls, eyes twinkling suggestively.

“Find out.”