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eowynstwin · 4 months ago

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NSFW Alphabet — Valeria “El Sin Nombre” Garza

Pairing: Valeria “El Sin Nombre” Garza x f!Reader Rating: Explicit Warnings: femdom. knifeplay mention. cucking fantasy. MEAN MEAN MEAN Valeria. Can be interpreted as lesbian Valeria if you like!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

One of the rare times that you get to see the soft inner world of Valeria Garza is after she’s rocked yours. She is the dominant, active partner in your relationship, through and through, but no one under the kind of pressure she is can go without some sort of relief. So when you’ve come down from the highs she’s brought you to, Valeria is curling up against you, stroking your face with tender, soft fingers, whispering in mingled Spanish and English that you’re the only person on the face of the earth that really matters to her.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Valeria is very proud of her looks from top to bottom. She knows she’s hot as fuck, knows it only takes a quirk of her brow and a twitch of her lips to have men and women alike falling over themselves for her favor. If she had to choose a feature specifically, she’d choose her hips. She’s proud that she takes up space, proud that her femininity has more power than all of the men under her command combined.

On you, she’s actually quite partial to your belly, breasts, and thighs—all of the softest parts of you drive her wild. The way her hands sink into you, the softness of all that delicate skin? If she doesn’t have a hand on you at any given moment, she’s thinking about how soon she can.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

A personal goal of hers, when your sexual relationship begins, is to figure out how to make you squirt. She’s very methodical about it, which is deeply unfair, because her experimentation with your body has you writhing and whimpering at the ends of her fingers while she, by comparison, doesn’t look affected at all.

Of course, that’s not true—you learn her expressions at the same time that she learns yours, and you know how to recognize as time goes on the flex of her brows and the angle of her chin as signals of her own arousal. When she finally accomplishes her goal—when you soak her arm to the elbow as you scream her name—she’ll carry around the high of that pride for a month. And use your wetness as lube to go again immediately after.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Valeria has no dirty secrets. She is not shy to express anything she wants of you, at any time. Every notion of shame she ever possessed, she crushed years ago, and she trains it out of you, too—she wants you open and naked in every possible way with her, eager to tell her what you want, eager to hear her own desires.

Is what she’d tell you.

In truth, there are things El Sin Nombre keeps so close to the chest that they live behind her sternum. She thinks of white dresses, of gilt-draped mariachis, of thirteen solid gold arras piling up in your cupped hands. She thinks of hands linked together and lazy walks along the beach, gentle waves lapping at your feet. She thinks of waking up beside you with nothing to do other than to admire you.

She’s already sized the rings. You will know none of this for a long, long time.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Valeria has a wealth of experience. She has always been charismatic, confident in what she wants out of life and not afraid to seize it by any means necessary. And she has no reservations about utilizing that experience in your shared bedroom, no circumspection about showing off for you. Knowing that she can wreck you like none other, and knowing that you know that, is a high she can’t get anywhere else.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position in which Valeria has you at her mercy is her favorite one. You tied up, a vibrator taped to your thigh, while she sits casually across the room with a remote in one hand and tequila in the other? The best kind of night, for her. Rarely does El Sin Nombre enjoy handing control over to someone else, even someone she trusts as much as you.

That doesn't mean she isn't fond of an old-fashioned scissoring, however. It simply depends on what mood strikes her in the moment.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous?)

MEAN. Valeria is mean. She learns you very quickly, learns the razor-thin line between good hurt and bad hurt, and loves to get right up to the edge of that line as often as she can. She can't help it—she loves your little helpless whimpering and crying, and will merely lick your tears off your face and give your abused nipple a twist. She's enjoying herself very much, and you'll be able to admit later that you are, too.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

Valeria strikes me as someone with a landing strip. Perfect way to show you exactly where she wants your mouth to be.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Part of the reason Valeria likes to overstimulate you so much is because it keeps you from seeing, she thinks, the real depths of her feelings for you. She thinks that if you could look into her eyes properly as she fucks you, then you would know exactly how much of her is yours, and she's not willing to hand over that much power to you. (It doesn't work, of course. She treats you too gently afterwords for someone who wants to hide her love so badly.)

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

She's always so busy. Keeping her empire under control does not keep her stress levels manageable, and so she will go long stretches between moments of self-pleasure. Then, when you enter the picture, she doesn't need to do it by herself; she's got a pretty little thing like you to boss around, upon whom to take out her various frustrations. Her lieutenants will gossip that her mood has much improved once she's taken you under her wing (NEVER within her earshot, of course.)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

She really enjoys the roleplay of cucking her aforementioned lieutenants. A young queer Valeria grew up watching the girls she was hopelessly in love with go for boys she felt nothing but loathing for, and the sum total of those experiences wrote themselves indelibly upon her sexual psyche.

You, in virginal white or cream lingerie, supposedly waiting for Diego in the guest bedroom of Valeria's house. Her entering. Not leaving when she sees you, and cornering you. Eventually she winds you up into a confession--you love Valeria, you've always loved Valeria, you just didn't even think she could feel the same. Then she shuts you up with a brutal kiss and hungry hands forcing themselves underneath your bra.

She's especially sweet to you after, on those nights that you indulge her.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

She's never opposed to a bed, but the many plush couches in her lavish estate have a novelty to them that never wears off. Having sex in the living rooms of her house feels joyful and open, absolutely refusing to hide away from a world that still struggles to accept her, and it provides a pleasure that is heady and rich and addictive. She likes to fuck you on her couch and make you something to drink after, a dry bar or the kitchen only a few steps away.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Moments in which you show Valeria genuine and open affection plant seeds low in her belly. The touch of your hand to hers, a kiss to her shoulder, your soft caress through her hair. You could, also, be dressing up for her enjoyment, doing sweet little spins in pretty dresses that she buys you. Signs that you're happy, that she makes you happy, make her want you with a power that she works hard to hide.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Valeria has few qualms in the bedroom. If you need her to paddle you, she will. If you need her to slap you around, hold you to her pussy by the hair while she sneers at you for being a needy little whore, she will. She is happy to use clamps, chains, whips, and even knives on you to great effect, but the one thing she will not bring into the bedroom is her gun. She will not take even the slightest risk that someone sneaks a bullet into the chamber outside her line of sight.

Also, she will shut down conversations about her work and your possible participation in it. She's keeping you safe, querida, the filthiness of running an empire is hers to deal with. It is not allowed to touch you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill)

Giving for Valeria is so. much. fun. Especially in conjunction with her cucking fantasy. And she's sooo good at it too, the kind of lover who pays so much attention to your body language and reactions. She almost never has to ask things like "is this good" once she's had you a few times. She already knows. I think she likes to give and receive in equal measures, though; the thought of your head moving and bobbing between her thighs gets her through even her hardest days.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

It all depends on context. A romantic night in is meant to be savored; she will drag out the seduction and the pleasure she promises agonizingly slowly. However, if she’s trying to make a point, she’ll work you up faster than you can keep up with, and leave you dizzy with how quickly she can make you come. Usually this happens when she’s worked up, herself, angry about something from her work and needing to let off steam.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If it were up to her, you’d be at her side at all times, on call all day, available every moment she wants you, your mouth, your fingers, or your pussy. Brief little five minute diversions to take the edge off. She likes the idea of keeping you on a leash for this, something velvet and studded with diamonds.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

With your safety? Never. With getting caught? Absolutely. To be more specific, Valeria doesn’t give a single shit if everyone knows what’s happening behind the door she’s closed after pulling you into it. This is her empire, and she’ll do whatever she damn well pleases in it. No one gets to see, but everyone should know: Valeria’s got a soft, sweet little thing who sings for her and her alone. Even when she makes it hurt.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

As long as you wanna go, querida. She knows you’re a spoiled little brat. She made you that way. You can have her mouth, her fingers, whatever cock you choose from her frighteningly diverse collection of them. Just be careful what you wish for. You might end up satisfied long before she is, and she will get what she wants from you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or on themself?)

Valeria collects sex toys like old white men collect baseball cards. Funny enough, the evenings in which the two of you experiment with whatever new contraption she’s bought turn out to be some of the most playful, innocent nights you spend together. She’ll have food delivered; you’ll share a bottle of liquor between you, eschewing the crystal glasses she’s got displayed somewhere near by. Valeria rarely giggles, but when you’re both trying to figure out what goes where and how many times you have to press a button and dios mio why is it shaped like that, she’ll laugh like the world has never once rested on her shoulders.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Valeria is synonymous with unfair. Why should she give you what you want, when it’s so easy to make you come, hmm? You can wait. She’s enjoying herself.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

Not loud at all, actually. In the throes of pleasure, Valeria’s moans are low, breathy, like she’s trying to hide them. This is your chance; murmur to her about how beautiful she looks, about how much you crave her when she’s away. Listen as those moans sharpen, heighten into quick, stabbing whimpers, as if she’s relaxing just enough not to think about how much noise she’s making. She’ll almost never scream for you, but every noise you can draw from her inscribes itself in your memory as if chiseled into stone.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Valeria’s into men the same way a vegetarian might be into burgers. She tried them, she liked them, and she doesn’t blame others for partaking. She’s just found that not only can she live without them, but she actively prefers her other options. If you like men, she sincerely enjoys indulging your crushes; she finds that she enjoys them more through you than anything else. Just remember—you belong to her.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

There’s no denying it; Valeria is fit. Gringa gymfluencers wish they could be her. A narrow waist, flared hips, the best fucking ass in Las Almas; if she bothered with instagram, her thirst traps would go viral every time. But more than this, Valeria is sturdy. You can pick out the individual muscle groups in her back every time she stretches her shoulders, the swell of her biceps when she curls her arms. She doesn’t quite have the height to manhandle you properly, but she can certainly hold you down if you start squirming more than she likes. Her grip strength is also something to behold; she only needs to cup your throat in one hand to remind you of it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

She’d have you every day if she could. Barring exhaustion or distraction, she always wants you. Every thought of you she has is woven through with thread of pure want, like a sweet tooth aching to be sated.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Honestly, Valeria couldn't sleep if she tried. When you fall asleep, she watches you, tracing the planes of your face with a gaze more tender than you will ever see. Valeria’s world is cruel and bloody; there is not a single soul she works with that isn’t eager to see her fall, to take her place. She can’t miss a single step. She can’t make one mistake. Her existence is balanced on a knife’s edge, every single day.

But when she looks at you, she forgets. Maybe only briefly, in the space between heartbeats. But she does, and in those tiny spaces she can think about the rings she has hidden away, the dress she’s going to buy you, the villa in Spain waiting for you to light it up together. This is why she wants you so badly; why you are the only goddamn person on this earth who matters to her. She is not El Sin Nombre with you; she is just Valeria, deeply in love, and—for once in her life—at peace.

#valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x you #el sin nombre #valeria x reader #valeria x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #mw x reader #mw2 x reader #cod valeria #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #mwritesvaleria #madi writes #i made this draft—i am not kidding—in '22 #i just want a femme to be super mean to me is that too much to ask

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organicxslime · 1 year ago

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☆how they bagged you (gojo, geto, nanami, toji)☆

「GOJO」 wriggled his way into your heart with the power of sweets. He figured out pretty early on that you had a sweet tooth as rotten as he did, so he used it to his advantage, inviting you to try out new cafes and bakeries that cropped up in cities where he was going on missions. Each time you'd accompany him to one of these establishments, he'd promptly show off, flashing a platinum bank card that sounded an expensive, metallic clang as he tossed it on the counter, buying quite literally every single dessert you had your eye on with no regard for the cost. He's fairly certain he accidentally spent $400 in a single bakery once. He finally bagged you by taking you to an upscale cafe and having the waitress bring out the fluffiest, most intricately decorated cake they could possibly produce, looping cursive on the top spelling out “will you be my girlfriend?"

(In all honesty, you don't have enough room in your stomach for the sheer amount of sweets that he buys you, but his students certainly enjoy it when you slip them whatever mountain of dessert you have left over.)

「GETO」 gently coaxes you into loving him with his sweet, quiet voice and honeyed words. He noticed within a few weeks of meeting you that you seemed to stand at rapt attention whenever he spoke, and it didn’t take a genius to know that you liked his voice. It wasn’t the first time he’d experienced something like this - there had been others before who complimented his voice, saying he had a soft, kind tone that was pleasant to listen to - and he knew he could use it to his advantage. He intentionally makes himself sound quieter and more agreeable when he speaks to you, lovingly praising you and complimenting you for the smallest of things. you can’t help but swoon each time he greets you in that lyrical tone, and when he finally asks you on a date , you melt at how hopeful and sweet his voice sounds.

(later, when that same voice is murmuring filthy things into your ear, you’ll be silently reaffirming to yourself that he was absolutely the right choice.)

「NANAMI」 won you over by being the perfect gentleman. He's not one for dirty tricks or flashy displays of affection - he finds these things repulsive. No, he's going to take a much more classic route with it. It starts with little things - a shared smile here and there, complimenting you often, and making sure to stop by and greet vou everv morning at work. From there, he'll graduate to more direct methods, like inviting you to dinner and remembering your exact coffee order to surprise vou with the next morning. As your bond grows, so do his advances, and he finds himself arriving to work an hour early to slip sweet hand-written notes into our desk. Eventually he surprises you with a bouquet of red roses, chastely asking you out on a date, and you're so smitten you can't imagine a world where you would say no.

(You like his methods, but in all fairness he could have taken you on a date to a 7/11 and you still would've been drooling over him afterwards. For the sake of your standards, though, the romantic gestures were entirely necessary.)

「TOJI」 snaked his way into your heart by shamelessly using his body. You were gym buddies, and he had noticed before how your eyes lingered on his body, watching beads of sweat roll off of his glistening pecs and paying particularly close attention to the way his back flexed when he would lift. He began teasing you, making you sit on his toned back as he did pushups, giving you a front row seat to every contraction of his rolling muscles. He'd have you help him tape up for support, too - smoothing the athletic tape over his thick legs and reaching around his basketball-sized biceps to bind up his elbows drove you absolutely wild. At one point, you're pressing his feet to the floor while he does sit-ups, and all of a sudden he leans up further than ever before, leaning into your face and catching you by the lips. Amused, you ask him what that was for, and he says he'll explain himself - but only if you'll let him take you out to dinner.

(You knew damn well what he was up to - but you're just as depraved as he is, and knew a solid opportunity to feel up on a buff man when you saw it. You're so down bad you didn't even care that he asked you to pay for dinner.)

#gojo satoru #geto suguru #nanami kento #toji fushiguro #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #toji x reader

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dandelions-143 · 16 days ago

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Obsession 2

Obsession Part 1

Minho Masterlist

Member Masterlist

Pairing: Non- Idol, Rich Minho x Curvy/mid-size Dancer

Word Count: 8386

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Sexual content, Violence and physical abuse, Emotional manipulation, Dubious consent, Power imbalance in relationships

Summary: The usually cold, calm, and collected Minho is losing his grip. He’s losing his control all due to his intense feelings for his little dancer…

Minho glanced over at his friend Hyunjin, who sat rigid in the passenger seat of the sleek black Lexus LX. The leather interior creaked as Minho shifted, his voice low and cautious. "Are you absolutely certain about this, Hyunjin? This isn't like our usual... activities. Once we cross this line, there's no turning back."

Minho's eyes flickered to Hyunjin's face, noting the taut line of his jaw and the barely contained fury in his eyes. A muscle twitched near Hyunjin's temple, a telltale sign of his suppressed rage. Minho understood his friend's anger all too well. The man they had bound and gagged in the trunk of the SUV had committed an unforgivable act - he had dared to lay his hands on the woman Hyunjin cherished above all else.

The weight of what they were about to do hung heavy in the air between them. Minho's fingers tightened on the steering wheel, the leather creaking under his grip. He could feel the thrumming of the engine, a stark contrast to the eerie silence inside the vehicle. In the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of the deserted road behind them, stretching out into the darkness.

"He deserves everything that's coming to him," Hyunjin muttered, more to himself than to Minho. The words tasted bitter on his tongue, a mix of righteousness and something darker, something that sent a chill down his spine despite the warmth of the car.

"I've made up my mind," Hyunjin's voice was cold, devoid of its usual warmth. His eyes, usually bright and expressive, now held a dangerous glint. "No one hurts her anymore... not me... not anyone." He turned to face Minho, his gaze unflinching. "I'm doing this."

With those words, Hyunjin reached for the door handle. The soft click of the latch seemed to echo in the tense silence. As he stepped out, the crisp night air rushed in, carrying with it the scent of pine and damp earth. Minho hesitated for a split second before turning off the engine, plunging them into darkness save for the faint glow of the dashboard lights.

Minho exited the car, his shoes crunching on the gravel. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet forest clearing. He made his way to the trunk, where their captive, Joo Won, lay bound and gagged. Even through the metal of the car, Minho could hear the muffled screams and the dull thuds of Ji Won's attempts to free himself.

As Minho's hand hovered over the trunk release, he caught Hyunjin's eye. In that moment, a silent understanding passed between them. There was no going back now. With a deep breath, Minho pressed the button, the trunk slowly opening to reveal their terrified prisoner. Joo Won instantly started screaming and cursing at them. Some how the idiot managed to get the tape halfway off his mouth.

"You fucking pricks!" Joo Won bellowed, his voice echoing in the clearing. His eyes, wild with fear and rage, darted between Minho and Hyunjin. Spittle flew from his lips as he continued his tirade, "You'll pay for this! You won't get away with this! I'll have your heads for-"

The rest of his threat was cut short as Minho's fist connected with his temple. The sound of the impact was sickeningly loud in the quiet forest. Joo Won's head snapped back, his eyes rolling up as consciousness fled. His body went limp, sagging against the edge of the trunk.

Minho flexed his hand, his knuckles already reddening from the force of the blow. His voice was barely above a whisper, cold and detached. "You talk too fucking much."

Without a word, Hyunjin moved to help. Together, they grasped Joo Won's unconscious form, one taking the shoulders, the other the feet. The man's dead weight was substantial, and they grunted with effort as they maneuvered him out of the trunk. Joo Won's head lolled lifelessly as they carried him, a thin trickle of blood now visible at his temple where Minho's fist had connected.

They carried Joo Won's unconscious body across the clearing, their footsteps muffled by the carpet of pine needles. The abandoned garage loomed before them, a dark silhouette against the night sky. Its weathered wooden doors creaked ominously as Hyunjin pushed them open with his shoulder.

The interior of the garage was musty and thick with the scent of old motor oil and rusted metal. Minho fumbled for a moment before finding the light switch. A single bare bulb flickered to life, casting long shadows across the cluttered space.

"Over there," Minho grunted, nodding towards a sturdy wooden chair in the corner. They maneuvered Joo Won's limp form into the seat, his head lolling forward onto his chest. Hyunjin quickly set about securing him with rope, his movements efficient and practiced.

As Hyunjin worked, Minho took a moment to survey their surroundings. The garage, once his father's pride and joy, now stood as a silent witness to their dark intentions. Tools hung on the walls, their edges dulled by time and neglect. A workbench stood against one wall, its surface covered in a thick layer of dust.

With Joo Won securely bound, Minho and Hyunjin stepped back, exchanging a loaded glance. The reality of what they were about to do settled over them like a heavy shroud. In the harsh light of the single bulb, their faces looked gaunt and haunted, shadows deepening the hollows of their eyes.

"Wake the fuck up!" Hyunjin snarled, his foot connecting hard with Joo Won's leg. The impact reverberated through the chair, causing it to teeter precariously. The wooden legs scraped against the concrete floor, the sound echoing in the dimly lit garage. For a heart-stopping moment, it seemed as if both Joo Won and the chair would topple over, but they settled back with a dull thud.

Joo Won's head snapped up violently, his neck muscles straining from the sudden movement. His eyes, bloodshot and wide with panic, darted around the room. Confusion clouded his features for a split second before raw, unbridled fear took over. His chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths, each one punctuated by a small, terrified whimper.

As consciousness fully returned, Joo Won's gaze locked onto the two figures looming over him. Minho stood slightly back, his face an impassive mask, while Hyunjin's presence was more immediate, more threatening. Joo Won's eyes flicked between them, searching desperately for any sign of mercy or hesitation. Finding none, he felt the last vestiges of his earlier bravado crumble away.

"W-what... what do you want from me?" Joo Won stammered, his voice cracking. Saliva pooled in his mouth, making his words come out thick and slurred. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. A bead of cold sweat trickled down his temple, leaving a glistening trail on his pale, clammy skin. His fingers, bound tightly behind his back, twitched and trembled, searching fruitlessly for any weakness in his restraints.

Hyunjin leaned in close, his breath hot on Joo Won's face. The scent of fear emanating from Joo Won was palpable, mixing with the musty air of the garage. Hyunjin's eyes, usually warm and friendly, now burned with a cold fury that would send a chill down anyone’s spine. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously soft, barely above a whisper, yet it carried clearly in the tense silence.

"What do we want?" he echoed, his words dripping with venom. He paused, letting the question hang in the air, watching as Joo Won's eyes widened in terror and pool with tears. "We want you to suffer, just like you made her suffer. Every bruise, every tear, every moment of fear - you're going to feel it all."

Minho stepped back, the soles of his shoes scraping against the concrete floor as he leaned against the far wall. His face was an impassive mask, but his eyes never left the scene unfolding before him. He crossed his arms, the leather of his jacket creaking softly, as he watched Hyunjin reach into his pocket.

The sound of metal sliding against fabric filled the air as Hyunjin pulled out a set of brass knuckles. The weapon gleamed dully in the dim light, its surface pitted and scarred from previous use. With practiced ease, Hyunjin slipped them onto his fingers, flexing his hand to ensure a snug fit.

The harsh angles of the weapon seemed to accentuate the cold determination in his eyes. As he raised his fist, the brass knuckles caught the light again, this time reflecting it directly into Joo Won's terrified eyes. The man whimpered, his bound body trembling in anticipation of the pain to come.

"No, please," Joo Won whimpered, his voice cracking with fear. Tears welled up in his eyes as he struggled against his bonds, the rough rope digging into his wrists. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" His desperate plea was abruptly silenced as Hyunjin's fist, now a lethal combination of flesh and metal, connected with his jaw. The sickening crunch of bone meeting brass reverberated through the garage, a sound that seemed to hang in the air for an eternity. Joo Won's muffled cry of agony followed, a guttural, animalistic sound that spoke of pure, unadulterated pain.

Minho stood motionless, his face an impenetrable mask of indifference. His cold, calculating eyes swept over the scene before him, taking in every detail with clinical detachment. Almost involuntarily, his gaze flickered down to his watch, the subtle movement betraying a hint of impatience. In his mind's eye, he could see his dancer, her lithe form moving gracefully as she began her shift. The urge to be there, watching her, observing every nuance of her performance, gnawed at him relentlessly. He felt a sudden, powerful impulse to leave, to abandon this grim scene and lose himself in the mesmerizing rhythm of her dance. But a sense of loyalty, as cold and unyielding as his exterior, kept him rooted to the spot. He knew he couldn't leave Hyunjin here alone, not with what they had started.

The abrupt cessation of violence snapped Minho's attention back to the present. The silence that descended upon the garage was deafening, a stark and jarring contrast to the cacophony of brutality that had filled the air moments before. The sudden quiet seemed to have a weight of its own, pressing down on them with an almost tangible force. Minho's muscles tensed as he pushed himself off the wall, his movements deliberate and controlled. He took a measured step towards where Hyunjin stood, looming over Joo Won's slumped, battered form. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, the aftermath of violence hanging heavy in the musty garage air.

Even though Joo Won was knocked out cold, Hyunjin continued his assault with a terrifying intensity. His fists, now slick with blood, rose and fell in a brutal rhythm. Each impact produced a sickening sound - a mix of flesh yielding and bone creaking under the relentless force.

"Hyunjin, I think you've taught him a lesson," Minho said firmly, his voice cutting through the violent cacophony. The words seemed to hang in the air, unacknowledged.

Hyunjin appeared lost in a trance-like state, his eyes glazed over with a mixture of rage and something darker. Sweat poured down his face, mingling with specks of Joo Won's blood. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, punctuating each blow. "Jesus Christ..." Minho muttered under his breath, a hint of annoyance creeping into his usually composed demeanor.

With a swift movement, Minho lunged forward. His hands clamped down on Hyunjin's shoulders, muscles straining as he forcibly pulled his friend back. "That's enough," he growled, his grip on Hyunjin's arm tightening to the point of bruising. Minho stepped closer to Joo Won and roughly took hold of his face to get a better look at him. Joo Wons blood getting on Minhos hand as he peered down at the lifeless man. "He's out cold. We don't want to kill him. Just send a message."

Hyunjin's chest heaved with ragged breaths, the adrenaline slowly ebbing from his system. His knuckles, raw and bloody beneath the brass, trembled slightly. Slowly, as if emerging from a fog, his gaze focused on Joo Won's battered face. The man was barely recognizable, his features a swollen, bloody mess. A mix of emotions flickered across Hyunjin's face - satisfaction, horror, and a dawning realization of the extent of his actions. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sound of their labored breathing and the occasional groan from their unconscious victim.

A muscle ticked in Hyunjin's jaw as he backed away, his chest heaving with exertion. He threw the brass knuckles down with a clatter, the sound echoing in the musty garage. "Fine," he mumbled, his voice hoarse from the intensity of his earlier shouting. With trembling fingers, he ran his blood-stained hand through his sweat-damp hair, leaving behind streaks of crimson.

"Come on, let's get this piece of shit back so I can get cleaned up. I've got somewhere to be," Minho said to Hyunjin, his tone clipped and businesslike. His eyes darted to his watch, a subtle reminder of the ticking clock and the life that awaited them beyond this grim scene.

Hyunjin nodded, his breathing still labored, each exhale carrying the weight of what they'd just done. He glanced at Joo Won's unconscious form, slumped in the chair like a broken marionette. A flicker of uncertainty crossed Hyunjin's face - a momentary crack in his hardened exterior - before his expression set once more into grim determination. Together, they approached the chair, the floorboards creaking under their feet. Their hands moved with practiced efficiency as they began to untie Joo Won, the rope rough against their fingers. Despite the gravity of their actions, their movements were quick and precise, a testament to a familiarity that spoke volumes about their shared past.

As they hauled Joo Won's unconscious form back to the car, the weight of their actions pressed down on them like a suffocating blanket. The forest around them seemed to close in, the trees looming ominously, their branches reaching out like gnarled fingers. The rustle of leaves in the night breeze sounded almost like whispers of judgment, as if nature itself was recoiling from the violence that had just transpired.

Minho's muscles strained under Joo Won's dead weight, and he could feel Hyunjin's labored breathing beside him. The moonlight filtering through the canopy cast eerie shadows on the forest floor, making their trek back to the car feel like a surreal journey through a nightmarish landscape.

—

Upon reaching Joo Won's neighborhood, they unceremoniously dumped his battered body on his front lawn. The thud of flesh hitting grass seemed to echo in the quiet suburban night. After dropping Hyunjin off at his apartment, the silence in Minho's car became oppressive, filled with unspoken thoughts and the lingering scent of violence.

Minho finally entered his own apartment, the sudden stillness a jarring contrast to the chaotic energy of the night. The soft click of the door closing behind him sounded final, like the period at the end of a dark chapter. He made his way to the bathroom, his footsteps echoing hollowly in the empty space. His movements were mechanical, almost robotic, as if his body was operating on autopilot while his mind grappled with the events of the night.

Stepping into the shower, Minho turned the water on full blast. The scalding spray hit his skin like a thousand tiny needles, each droplet a searing reminder of the night's events. He welcomed the pain, his muscles tensing and then slowly relaxing under the relentless assault of hot water. Steam began to rise, filling the small bathroom with a thick, oppressive heat that matched the turmoil in his mind.

As the water cascaded over his body, Minho watched with a detached fascination as rivulets of pink-tinged water swirled down the drain. The sight of Joo Won's blood mixing with the clear water was mesmerizing, a visual representation of how the violence of the night was being washed away. Yet, even as the physical evidence disappeared, Minho knew that the memory – the weight of his actions – would linger far longer than any visible stain.

The steam continued to build, transforming the bathroom into a foggy cocoon. The mirror gradually clouded over, obscuring Minho's reflection and creating a barrier between him and the outside world. It was as if the fog in the bathroom mirrored the haze that had settled over his conscience, blurring the lines between right and wrong, justice and vengeance.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as Minho stood under the relentless spray. The water began to cool, but he barely noticed, lost in a swirl of thoughts and rationalizations. Finally, when the water ran ice cold, shocking him back to reality, Minho stepped out of the shower. His skin was red and raw from the prolonged exposure to the hot water, a physical manifestation of the emotional rawness he felt inside.

With mechanical precision, Minho dried himself, his movements slow and deliberate. Each pat of the towel revealed more of his battle-worn body. A long, jagged scar ran from his left shoulder down to his ribcage, a reminder of a knife fight from years ago. Smaller, circular scars dotted his torso, testaments to bullet wounds barely survived. As he dragged the towel across his arms, the raised edges of burn scars became visible, a patchwork of pain etched into his skin.

As the fog in the bathroom began to dissipate, tendrils of steam curling away to reveal the mirror, Minho found himself face to face with his reflection. The clarity of the image stood in stark contrast to the moral ambiguity he felt. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, now held a haunted look. He stood there, naked and vulnerable, his scarred body a roadmap of violence and survival. The mirror reflected not just his physical form, but the weight of his actions and their consequences. A particularly nasty scar across his abdomen seemed to throb, as if reminding him of the brutality he was capable of. He truly hated himself at times.

Minho began to dress, each item of clothing concealing another layer of his scarred history. He slipped on a crisp white shirt, buttoning it up with steady fingers, hiding the web of scars across his chest. Next came the tailored black trousers, covering the burn marks on his legs. As he shrugged on the sleek black jacket, it masked the uneven texture of his scarred shoulders. Finally, as he knotted his black tie, Minho felt himself slipping back into his usual persona - cool, collected, untouchable. The suit became his armor, hiding the physical reminders of his violent past beneath its impeccable surface.

Finally, he shrugged on his signature black suit jacket. As he smoothed down the lapels, Minho took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. The night's events were now just a memory, carefully locked away behind the impeccable facade of his black suit. He was ready to face the world again, ready to watch his dancer perform, as if nothing had ever happened. Despite this his still felt slightly on edge.. like any little thing could set him off.

Twenty minutes later, Minho was stepping into the gentlemen's club, his senses immediately assaulted by the ambiance. The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. Soft, sultry music wafted through the air, punctuated by the melodic tinkling of ice in crystal glasses and the low hum of hushed conversations. The scent of expensive cologne and perfume mingled with the faint aroma of cigars, creating an intoxicating atmosphere.

Minho's polished shoes clicked against the hardwood floor as he made his way towards the darkened hallway. This was his usual route, leading to the private room reserved exclusively for him and his dancer. The familiarity of the path did little to quell the anticipation building within him. However, his purposeful stride was abruptly halted by a sound that sent a chill down his spine - a deep, rumbling laugh he knew all too well, followed by his father's commanding voice filling the room.

Slowly, Minho turned, his body tense with apprehension. He expected to see his father engaged in some typical activity - perhaps enjoying the company of a random dancer, indulging in a lavish meal, or sharing drinks with his business associates. After all, this was his father's club, and his presence here was not uncommon. But as Minho's eyes adjusted to the dim light and focused on the scene before him, a white-hot rage began to build within him, threatening to consume him entirely.

There, in the center of the room, sat his father, but it wasn't just any dancer perched on his lap. It was you - Minho's dancer, the one he had claimed as his own. His father's large, weathered hands roamed over your body with a familiarity that made Minho's blood boil. Those filthy hands caressed your hips, fingers splayed possessively across your skin. They lingered on your thighs, inching higher with each passing moment. Minho's jaw clenched, his fists balling at his sides as he watched, paralyzed by shock and fury.

But it was the next moment that shattered Minho's last shred of control. His father, emboldened by the intimate setting and perhaps by the alcohol coursing through his veins, reached up and gripped one of your breasts. The lewd gesture, so blatant and disrespectful, was the final straw. Something deep within Minho snapped, a primal, possessive instinct taking over. His vision blurred, tinged with red as rage consumed him. In that moment, all thoughts of propriety, of family ties, of potential consequences vanished. All Minho knew was that he had to act, to reclaim what was his, to punish those who dared to touch what belonged to him alone. His father had taken so much from him through out his life but he was not going to take you.

You flinched as his calloused hand made contact with your skin, a wave of revulsion washing over you. Men weren't supposed to touch you like this, but this wasn't just any man - it was your boss, the owner of the club. Your stomach churned as you realized your powerlessness in this situation. Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to regain composure, plastering a saccharine smile on your face that didn't reach your eyes. You leaned into him, every fiber of your being screaming in protest as you did so. The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with cigar smoke assaulted your senses, making you want to gag. Your skin crawled as his meaty hands roamed over your body, leaving invisible trails of disgust in their wake.

The older man's lips, dry and rough, grazed your shoulder. You couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through you, your body instinctively trying to recoil from his touch. Just as you were about to force yourself to endure more, a strong hand suddenly gripped your arm, yanking you away from your boss's embrace. The abrupt movement left you disoriented for a moment. "Minho?" The name escaped your lips in a whisper, more to yourself than anyone else, as your eyes focused on the familiar face contorted with rage.

Before you could fully process what was happening, Minho's hand shot out, gripping his father's expensive silk shirt. In one fluid motion, he pulled the older man to his feet. The crack of Minho's fist connecting with his father's face echoed through the room, the force of the blow whipping the older man's head back. You watched in stunned silence as Minho landed two more vicious punches, each impact punctuated by a sickening thud. Blood sprayed from his father's split lip, staining the pristine white of his shirt.

The commotion finally stirred the bodyguards into action. They rushed forward, their large frames filling your vision as they struggled to pull Minho away from his father. Minho fought against their grip, his muscles straining as he tried to break free. With a grunt of effort, he managed to shrug them off, the fire in his eyes undiminished. He advanced on his father again, who was now slumped against the bar, blood trickling from his nose and mouth.

Minho leaned in close, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper that sent chills down your spine. "You may own this club," he hissed, each word dripping with venom, "but I own her." His arm shot out, finger pointing directly at you. Your brows furrowed in confusion, the words not quite registering in your shock-addled mind. "Own me?" The question tumbled from your lips, barely audible over the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Before you could fully grasp the implications of Minho's declaration, his hand was on your arm again. His grip was firm, bordering on painful as he began to drag you away from the scene as his father barked out orders to the body guards. Minho didn’t seem to care about the possible consequences of his actions towards his father. All he had on his mind was you.

You stumbled, struggling to keep up with his long strides as he pulled you down the dark hallway towards a secluded room. The last thing you saw before being yanked around a corner was Minho's father, hunched over and spitting globules of blood onto the polished floor, the red stark against the gleaming surface. The image burned into your retinas as Minho pulled you deeper into the bowels of the club, leaving behind a wake of violence and unanswered questions.

Minho swung open the door pulling you inside with such force you stumbled and fell hard onto the plush carpet in the room. “What the fuck! You can’t just drag me around! I’m not your rag doll!” You yelled as you got back on your feet. Minho stalked towards you his eyes furious, it made you a bit nervous but you still stood your ground with him.

"You're mine," Minho breathed out, his voice a low, possessive growl that sent shivers down your spine. His strong hands gripped your arms, pulling you flush against his body. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, his scent a heady mixture of expensive cologne and something uniquely Minho. You could feel the hard planes of his chest pressed against you, his heart hammering in sync with yours.

For a moment, you felt yourself melting into his embrace, your body betraying your mind's protests. But you steeled yourself, pushing against his chest with all your might. "I am not yours!" you spat, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and desire. "Let go of me!" Your hands splayed across his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt tensing at your touch.

Minho's grip remained firm but not painful, his eyes darkening with a primal hunger that both terrified and excited you. He leaned in closer, his warm breath fanning across your skin as his lips grazed your jaw. "No one gets to touch you but me," he murmured, his words vibrating against your skin. "You're my dancer." His tongue darted out, tracing a hot, wet path along your jawline, eliciting an involuntary shiver from you.

You slowly turned your head, your angry eyes meeting his heated stare. The intensity in his gaze was almost palpable, a swirling vortex of desire, possessiveness, and something darker that you couldn't quite name. Your breath caught in your throat as you saw your own conflicted emotions reflected in his eyes.

Without warning, Minho's lips crashed onto yours, the kiss hard and demanding. It was as if he was trying to devour you whole, his passion all-consuming. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting, exploring, claiming. One of his hands tangled in your hair, gripping tightly as he angled your head to deepen the kiss further.

His other hand roamed your body with a possessive urgency, fingers digging into your flesh as they traced the curves of your waist, hips, and thighs. Each touch left a trail of fire in its wake, your skin tingling with an electric current of desire. You couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips, swallowed by Minho's hungry mouth.

The intensity of his passion overwhelmed you, your anger melting away like snow in the summer sun. In its place, a burning desire took root, spreading through your body like wildfire. Your hands, which had been pushing him away just moments ago, now clutched desperately at his suit jacket, pulling him impossibly closer.

You found yourself responding with equal fervor, your tongue dancing with his in a passionate tango. Your fingers, trembling with anticipation, fumbled with the buttons of his jacket, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin beneath. As each button came undone, you could feel the hard planes of his chest, the rapid rise and fall of his breathing matching your own frantic pace. The heat between you was palpable, the air thick with the heady scent of desire and the intoxicating musk of his cologne.

Your bodies pressed closer, every inch of you yearning for contact. The soft fabric of your dress did little to mask the heat radiating from your skin, and you could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against your thigh. A low moan escaped your lips, swallowed by his hungry mouth as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring every crevice as if mapping out uncharted territory.

It was as if all the tension that had been building over countless nights of furtive glances and suppressed longing had finally reached its breaking point. The dam of restraint had burst, unleashing a torrent of raw, unbridled passion. You were both drowning in the flood of need that threatened to consume you entirely, and neither of you wanted to come up for air.

Minho's lips left yours, leaving you gasping for breath. But he didn't relent in his assault on your senses. His mouth trailed a blazing path along your jaw, each kiss igniting sparks of pleasure that coursed through your body. When he reached the sensitive spot just below your ear, his teeth grazed the skin, eliciting a shudder that ran from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

His lips continued their journey down the column of your neck, alternating between soft, teasing kisses and more insistent nips that were sure to leave marks. His breath was hot and ragged against your skin as he murmured, his voice husky with desire, "I've wanted this for so long. You have no idea how much I've craved you." His words sent a shiver down your spine, the raw honesty in his voice making your heart race even faster. "Every night, watching you dance, imagining my hands on your body ... it's been torture."

Your head fell back, exposing the delicate column of your neck as you gasped, "Minho... I... we shouldn't..." The words came out breathy and uncertain, your voice quivering with a mix of desire and hesitation. But even as you spoke, your body betrayed your true feelings. Your back arched involuntarily, pressing your chest firmly against his, your skin tingling with every point of contact. Your fingers, which had been pushing against his chest moments ago, now curled into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him as if he were your lifeline.

Minho's eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours. His lips curled into a predatory smile as he growled, "I do what I want, and I want you." The low timbre of his voice sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire deep within your core. With a swift, fluid motion, he pressed forward, guiding you backward until your back hit the wall with a soft thud. The cool surface against your heated skin made you gasp, the contrast of temperatures heightening every sensation.

Minho's hands moved with a fervent urgency, his fingers finding the delicate straps of your sheer black thong. With a swift tug, he tore away the flimsy material, as well as your matching lacy bralette, leaving you exposed to his hungry gaze. The cool air of the room caressed your newly bared skin, causing goosebumps to rise across your flesh. Your nipples hardened instantly, partly from the chill and partly from the intensity of Minho's stare.

Your body responded to his touch as if it had a will of its own. A rush of heat flooded your core, your arousal evident in the way your thighs trembled and your breath came in short, ragged gasps. You could feel the wetness gathering between your legs, your body preparing itself for what was to come.

With deliberate slowness, Minho stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours as he shed his jacket. The expensive fabric fell to the floor with a soft rustle. His tie followed suit, his fingers working deftly at the knot before letting it slip from around his neck. Your eyes roamed hungrily over his sculpted form, drinking in the sight of him. The crisp white shirt clung to his broad shoulders and toned chest, hinting at the muscular physique beneath.

He returned to you with an intensity that made your knees weak. His hands explored every inch of your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His touch was both gentle and possessive, each caress a claim of ownership. His fingers trailed up your sides, ghosting over the curve of your breasts before sliding around to your back. You shivered as he traced the line of your spine, his touch feather-light yet electrifying.

Minho's hands finally came to rest on your ass, cupping the firm flesh with a grip that was just shy of painful. He pulled you flush against him, letting you feel the hard evidence of his desire pressing against your stomach. A low moan escaped your lips at the contact, your body instinctively grinding against him, seeking more friction.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky with want. His hands continued their exploration, mapping out every curve and valley of your body as if committing it to memory. His fingers traced the delicate line of your collarbone, then slowly trailed down to the swell of your breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The calloused pads of his fingertips circled your areolas teasingly, making you arch into his touch, desperate for more.

Minho's plump lips found your hardened nipples, his hot breath ghosting over the sensitive peaks before he took one into his mouth. The sudden warmth and wetness made you gasp, your body jerking with pleasure. He sucked hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the bud, then soothed it with gentle laps. Your fingers tangled in his thick hair, gripping tightly as waves of pleasure washed over you. The slight pain from your tugging seemed to spur him on, his ministrations becoming more fervent.

"Minho..." you moaned softly, his name passing over your lips like a prayer as he worshipped your body. He hummed in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to your core. His free hand kneaded your other breast, thumb and forefinger rolling and pinching the neglected nipple in time with the movements of his mouth.

His tongue swirled around one sensitive peak, then the other, alternating between them with a rhythm that had you writhing beneath him. The occasional graze of his teeth sent jolts of electricity through your body, each sensation more intense than the last. Your back arched, pressing your chest further into his eager mouth, silently begging for more. Minho's hands roamed your sides, his touch both gentle and possessive. His fingers danced along your ribs, then gripped your hips firmly, pulling you closer. Every caress ignited sparks of desire, your skin hypersensitive to his every touch. The heat between you built steadily, a smoldering fire threatening to consume you both.

As he continued his ministrations, you felt your legs weaken, your body trembling with an overwhelming need. Minho sensed your unsteadiness, his strong arms wrapping around you, supporting your weight as he continued to lavish attention on your breasts. The heat between you intensified, the air thick with passion and unspoken desires. Your skin tingled everywhere his hands touched, each caress sending sparks of electricity through your body.

Your fingers, shaking with anticipation, began to unbutton his shirt. Slowly, you revealed the smooth, taut skin beneath, your fingertips tracing the contours of his well-defined muscles. You could feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath your palm, matching the frantic rhythm of your own. Just as your hands slid beneath his shirt, exploring further, he suddenly pulled away. "Don't," he commanded, his voice husky and strained with barely contained desire. Before you could protest, he gripped both of your wrists firmly, pulling you down onto the floor with a swift, controlled movement. Minho loomed over you, his body a cage of heat and muscle, as he pinned your hands above your head with one of his own.

"Let me touch you," you nearly begged, your voice a breathy whisper. Your eyes pleaded with him, filled with a desperate hunger that mirrored his own. Minho's gaze raked over your exposed form, drinking in every curve and dip of your body. His tongue darted out, slowly wetting his lips in a gesture that was both predatory and sensual. His eyes, usually so guarded, now burned with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. There was no mistaking the raw desire etched across his features, his usual composure cracking under the weight of his want.

"Keep your hands here," he growled, his voice low and commanding, sending shivers down your spine. "Or I'm punishing you." The threat in his words was clear, but instead of fear, it sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. Your body tensed in anticipation, wondering what kind of 'punishment' Minho had in mind, and finding yourself eager to find out. In your mind this was a game and you were very eager to play.

You nodded eagerly, your body trembling with anticipation. Minho's free hand began a torturously slow journey down your body, his touch so light it was almost imperceptible, yet it left a trail of fire in its wake. His fingertips ghosted over the swell of your breast, causing your nipples to harden even more, painfully so. He traced the curve with agonizing slowness, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched every minute reaction on your face.

His hand continued its descent, following the dip of your waist and the flare of your hip. Each caress was deliberate, as if he were committing every inch of your skin to memory. When he reached your thigh, his touch became firmer, his large hand spanning the width of your leg as he slowly pushed it aside, exposing you further to his hungry gaze.

You couldn't help but squirm beneath him, your hips lifting of their own accord, silently begging for more. Minho's eyes, dark with desire, locked onto yours. A smirk played at the corners of his lips, a mix of amusement and satisfaction at your obvious need. "Patience," he murmured, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine.

His fingers danced along your inner thigh, tracing intricate patterns on the sensitive skin. With each pass, he inched closer to your core, but never quite reaching where you needed him most. The anticipation was maddening, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"So responsive," he purred, his eyes gleaming with approval as he watched your body react to his every touch. Finally, mercifully, his fingers brushed against your core. The contact, though light, sent a jolt of pleasure through your body. You gasped loudly, your back arching off the floor, pressing yourself more firmly against his hand.

Minho's touch was expert, alternating between feather-light caresses and firm strokes. He explored your folds with deliberate slowness, spreading your wetness and teasing your entrance. When his thumb finally found your sensitive bundle of nerves, you couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips. He circled it slowly, building your pleasure with each precise movement, watching intently as you writhed beneath him.

As he continued his ministrations, you fought against the overwhelming urge to reach for him, to touch him in return. Your hands clenched into tight fists above your head, knuckles turning white with the effort to keep them in place. Every muscle in your body trembled, torn between obedience and desire. Minho noticed your struggle, his smirk widening into a predatory grin that sent shivers down your spine.

"Good girl," he purred, his voice low and husky. The praise washed over you like warm honey, intensifying the heat pooling in your core. Rewarding your obedience, he increased the pressure of his touch, his skilled fingers moving with deliberate precision. Your moans filled the room, growing louder and more desperate as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. Each stroke of his fingers brought you to new heights of pleasure, your body arching off the floor, seeking more contact.

The air grew thick with the scent of arousal, punctuated by the wet sounds of his fingers pushing in and out of you at an increasing pace. Minho's mouth found your nipples again, his tongue swirling around the hardened buds before trailing a path of open-mouthed kisses across your flushed skin. The contrast between the coolness of his breath and the heat of his mouth sent jolts of electricity through your body.

"Oh my god!" You cried out, your voice breaking as Minho's other hand began to rub soft, tantalizing circles over your swollen clit. The dual stimulation was almost too much to bear, pleasure building to an almost painful intensity. Your thighs began to tremble uncontrollably, toes curling as you teetered on the brink of ecstasy.

"That's right... I am your God," he mumbled against your skin, his hot breath fanning over the wetness there, sending shivers cascading down your spine. Your body trembled uncontrollably, every nerve ending alight with desire. The need to touch him, to feel more than just his fingers deep inside you, became overwhelming.

Unable to resist any longer, you gave in to temptation. Your hands moved of their own accord, sliding beneath the hem of his shirt. At first, you felt smooth, warm skin, taut with muscle. But as your fingers explored further, they encountered raised lines - scars, you realized with a jolt of surprise. Before you could investigate further, Minho's hand shot out, snatching your wrists and pressing them firmly back above your head.

"You don't know how to listen," he growled against your lips, his voice a mixture of frustration and barely contained lust. His free hand pressed hard against your clit, making you gasp, as his fingers slid back inside you with renewed vigor. He fingered you with a roughness that teetered on the brink between pleasure and pain, each thrust of his digits sending shockwaves through your body.

Your response was instantaneous and intense. Your thighs began to shake uncontrollably, your back arching off the floor as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Minho's name fell from your lips in a desperate cry, muffled by his mouth as he captured yours in a searing kiss. You could feel your orgasm building rapidly, an unstoppable force threatening to consume you entirely.

"Fuck!" The expletive tore from your throat as you struggled against his iron grip, your body writhing beneath him. The pressure continued to build, pushing you closer and closer to that blissful edge. Just as you felt yourself about to tumble over, right on the precipice of sweet release, everything stopped. Minho's fingers were suddenly gone, his hands and body no longer touching you. The abrupt loss of contact left you gasping, your body aching and trembling with unfulfilled need.

You whimpered at the sudden loss of contact, your body aching for release. Minho stood over you, his eyes dark with a coldness you hadn’t seen before. "I told you what would happen if you disobeyed," he said, his voice low and husky. You huffed out in frustration, instantly getting up, your legs shaky as you stepped closer to him. You slapped him hard a cross the face, not being able to hold back your anger. “You bastered your voice dripping with venom. Minho's eyes flashed dangerously, a mix of anger and desire swirling in their depths. In one swift motion, he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head against the wall. "You're playing a dangerous game, little one," he growled, his lips mere inches from yours.

Minho's lips hungrily pressed into yours, his passion undeniable. At first, you tried to resist, your anger still simmering beneath the surface. But soon, your body betrayed you, responding as it always did to his touch. You melted into him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. Your tongue tangled with his in a fierce dance, the taste of him intoxicating.

The kiss stole your breath, leaving you gasping when he finally pulled back. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours. "Don't forget," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, "you're mine and you only dance for me." The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through your veins.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his usual calm demeanor replaced by something wilder, more primal. His hands gripped your waist tightly, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. The gentle lover you had come to know was gone, replaced by this demanding, domineering man who both thrilled and terrified you.

Suddenly, Minho stepped back, breaking all contact. The loss of his warmth left you feeling cold and bereft. You watched, confused, as he picked up his jacket and tossed it to you. "I'll send a car to take you home," he said, his voice now devoid of emotion.

Your confusion turned to disbelief as you saw him reach into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed a stack of bills onto the nearby couch. The implication of the gesture hit you like a physical blow, leaving you reeling. “From now on you’ll come dance at my house.” Minhos words came out harsh and final. He wasn’t giving a choice in this and that pissed you off.

Without another word or even a backward glance, Minho strode out of the room. The sound of the door closing behind him echoed in the sudden silence, leaving you alone with a whirlwind of emotions. Confusion swirled in your mind, battling with the hurt that threatened to overwhelm you. But above all, a white-hot anger began to bubble up inside you. How dare he treat you like this? The bills on the couch seemed to mock you, reducing what you thought was a passionate encounter to nothing more than a cold, financial transaction.

You stood there, clutching his jacket, your body still tingling from his touch, but your mind reeling from his abrupt departure. The contrast between the intensity of your shared moment and the callousness of his exit left you feeling used and discarded. As the initial shock began to wear off, your anger solidified into a hard, burning core in your chest. You were determined that this wouldn't be the end. Minho would have to answer for his actions, one way or another.

On the other side of the door, Minho maintained his cold, impassive mask as he navigated through the bustling corridors. His footsteps echoed softly against the polished floors, carrying him past curious glances and hushed whispers. The main room, now teeming with patrons, seemed to part before him, his commanding presence demanding respect even in silence.

As he stepped out into the cool night air, the neon lights of the club's exterior cast an eerie glow on his features, accentuating the sharp angles of his face. He moved with purposeful strides towards his sleek black car, each step measured and controlled. To any onlooker, he appeared the epitome of composure and authority.

It was only when the car door clicked shut behind him, sealing him in the cocoon of privacy, that Minho allowed his carefully constructed facade to crumble. His shoulders sagged, the tension in his jaw released, and a deep, shuddering breath escaped his lips. In the silence of his car, away from prying eyes, the weight of his actions settled heavily upon him. His fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white as a storm of emotions - regret, anger, desire - battled within him.

He was losing his grip, his carefully constructed walls crumbling under the weight of unfamiliar emotions. This woman had awakened something in him, a vulnerability he had never experienced before. Your touch, your scent, the way you looked at him - it all threatened to unravel the control he had maintained for so long. Minho found himself caught between desire and fear, longing to let you in while simultaneously wanting to push you away. The intensity of his feelings both thrilled and terrified him, leaving him off-balance and unsure for the first time in years. He realized, with a mixture of awe and dread, that you had the power to either heal or destroy him completely.

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thatbendyfan · 3 months ago

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phighting au where the phights are actually them playing pretend in zuka’s backyard and all their weapons are toys

sword (9) is really cool stick

skateboard (10) is ,, he could stay as skateboard ig !

biograft (8) is two knockoff lightsabers

katana (13) is a fake katana from an anime he likes

ban hammer (14) is a wooden toy windforce helped him make

rocket (9) is like those little foam rocket launcher thingies? does anyone know what im talking about the ones where you put them on the air pump thingy??

slingshot (10) is pebbles. he throws pebbles at the other kids. he has gotten in trouble for this but he will not stop.

hyperlaser (13) is a big nerf gun

shuriken (8) is a bunch of origami post it notes he makes in advance (he likes flexing that he knows origami (vine makes most of them for him))

scythe (14) is one of those water shooting thingies but she has a backpack that has a pool noodle sticking out of it and switches between the two . her parents have a pool

medkit (11) is his parent’s first aid kit (they’ve bought like 6 and never learned where he keeps leaving them)

boombox (9) has his parent’s bluetooth speaker that he connects one of the older phighter’s phones to in order to play music. originally he said that bc he just wanted to watch but he later said he has “cool music powers” (even when ban said that wasn’t allowed)

subspace (11) has legos. he makes everyone play barefoot

vine (13) has another really cool stick !! but it has moss and mushrooms and stuff so she tapes origami flowers on it !!!!

the npcs are mostly either parents or just other adults besides maybe lightblox . whenever a “sword event” happens its the parents playing along or when dom and valk want to play instead of watching

#bendy and the post machine #late night thoughts #might keep going if i still cant sleep …#sure . maintagging this #phighting #phighting au #long post #play pretend au

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hufflepuffwritingstuff2 · 21 days ago

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Whump Prompt

"To show you the power of Flex Tape, I've gagged this superhero!"

#crack whump #gag whump #hero x villain #flex tape #writeblr #writing #creative writing #prompt #whump prompt

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ofsupernovcs · 9 months ago

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There was a part of Nova that should've ignore the man. Was she about to be insulted again? Naive, pathetic, desperate, all the words that she told herself or another person told her.

Still is there was some compassion left in her it was only because she saw herself in him. Begging for forgiveness isn't something anyone should be doing anymore. it's practically pointless in a city with no heart. There was a sigh before talking.

"You're forgiven." Nova said giving him the words to try to soothe him. What exactly was she forgiving him for it was hard to tell? Being the hunter or the hunted-everything was a blur. She took out her phone. "Do you have an emergency contact?"

@exitiumstarters ✦ asher simmons

Still sporting his bloodstained tux, Asher hadn't yet returned to his apartment after his betrayal at the gala. He'd never had issues with being alone before; but suddenly his loneliness felt violent.

His thoughts overturned callously like a turbulent sea and each time he felt like he could come up for air, he found himself swept beneath the waves again. There would be no catching his breath; he understood now that this hollow feeling was never going to leave him.

He was alone in the park, or so he thought; sat overlooking the lake. Looking, but not really seeing. The sun had long since risen, but he hadn't moved from the position all night. He wasn't so sure that he could.

'I tried. I really tried. I did.' Exhausted, both mentally and physically, disjointed sentences urged from his lips every so often. "I tried. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

#fragmcntedsouls #c;asher #m;nova #(sadly nova even with her caregiver fatigue is the most qualified lmao)#(finn would have slapped him; lysander would have given him ptsd #and juri is ....well you know where juri is #flex tape commerical vc: imagine everything you can do with the power of Flex Tape!#q

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schokoleibniz · 6 months ago

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To show the power of Flex Tape, I sawed this boat in half!

#Yes I know it’s not a boat #but I feel like that’s more iconic #lockwood and co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #lockwood & co #locklyle

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keferon · 3 hours ago

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My friend is urging me to resubmit this because they're sure it must have been askbox eaten, my deepest apologies if this is a repeat.

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Jazz breathed out. He’d been screened, and the chance of him collapsing into a complete, insane mess was very, very low. He kind of wished that they’d tell him exactly how low. That would be nice and reassuring, unless it wasn’t, at which point he would… go ahead with it anyway, because what else was there to do at this point?

One motion jacked in the last cable, and then there was… something. A sensation, like electricity and like opening. There was something outside of him, on the edge. The mech, probably. It wasn’t like there were testimonials about this. Yet. Maybe he should write one, when this was over, so that baby mech pilots would know what the hell to expect. So long as he was able to do that.

He was stalling.

Jazz breathed in, and pushed outwards.

Then began to run out of himself, spilling to fill the new space that he’d found. It was a strange sensation, like water and electricity flowing out of him. He blinked, and shook his head, filing the thought for a song or something. Always important to save lines when you thought of them.

Jazz blinked again. Oh. This wasn’t the inside of the cockpit. This was the inside of the hanger. That was… good. That was good. And now that he checked, he’d backed that line up to some kind of electronic memory. That was probably meant for recording encounters with the monsters, not for keeping up with the poetical ideas of the pilot. Ah well, his idle thoughts probably wouldn’t take up enough room for anyone to notice or care. He put a lock on it anyway. If they asked him to explain it, he’d just wink at them and say that they didn’t want to know everything that he thought.

Carefully, he flexed his hand. It was different, but not bad different. His connections and struts communicated feedback to him, telling him how much strain they could take, what materials they were made of, how far they could bend. It was kind of cool to have this level of detail about his body.

Checking the power levels, Jazz was made aware that his human body would shut down far before his mech one. There was enough auxiliary power in here for two weeks- oh, and there was a storage cache in here. What was that supposed to be for? It was airtight, he knew his own seals. Big enough for food, water, and medical supplies, as well as some mech repair tools and materials. Fuck whatever it was supposed to be for, it was gonna be his don’t die cabinet. Closet. Pantry. Whatever. Supply room. That was better. He added the new designation to his mental map. It slotted right in, nice.

There was actually a lot of empty space in here. He should get some tape and ties and bundle the cables in some of his limbs so that they didn’t rattle around and tangle. They could even get unplugged if they got tied up enough, which was a hazard. Who had built this thing? Having an actual person to make complaints to about how his body was built was going to be nice.

Wait.

Okay.

Jazz needed to get back to himself. This wasn’t his body. He had done the basic checks. He needed to unjack the cable and check that he was alright.

He reached up, and the mech hand moved.

Okay. Don’t panic. Panic is not useful. Panic is bad. He could feel his fans- the fans of the mech kicking up. It thought that he was in a fight, and was preparing. It wasn’t exactly helpful for what he was trying to do. It made him feel more present and alive in the body that wasn’t supposed to be his body.

Jazz offlined his optics that weren’t supposed to be his, and tried to retreat. Tucking himself back in, becoming small again. It hurt, and he cringed back outward. Why was he hurting himself? Because he needed to. He crunched down harder, forcing himself out of his own (NOT his own) systems. Pressing himself into that small organic core again.

Finally, he brought up a human arm and unplugged himself.

The face was damp. Why was it damp? His face was damp. He had been crying. Probably from pain.

Was being human supposed to hurt? Being a mech hadn’t hurt at all. Inhabiting. Using. Using a mech hadn’t hurt at all. Vocabulary. Word choice. Very important, he’s written enough songs to know that.

He’d thought of a good line during that, hadn’t he? But when he tried to access it- remember it- ah. It was in the mech. Which he wasn’t in right now. Well, he was in it, but he wasn’t it. Because he was a human and wasn’t a mech.

Jazz breathed in, staring at the cable in his hands. It would be so easy to plug it back in, just to get to the line.

It would hurt so much to be human again.

Jazz breathed out, put down the cable, and began the process of getting himself out of the mech.

OOHHHHHH WAIT I HAVENT SEEN THIS OH MY GOD OTROKRKGKEL

#mecha pilot jazz au #thank you for your writing AND for submitting ehehemhmhm #my inbox became an absolute mess since that au started haha

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saddleups · 3 days ago

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hi it’s me again who requested the video tape!! thank you for that and i loved it 🫦

it’s so hot to imagine james being a single father… he adopts laura after the leave ending, idk it makes me so 🤸‍♀️ imagining james as a single father. and gentle morning sex. that’s also cute!

-🧚‍♀️

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 1.7k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . request , complete. JAMES SUNDERLAND X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . just sweet vanilla sex <3 p_rn w/o a plot !

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . omg hello !! i'm glad you liked it , i had a lot of fun with it and i kinda , sorta wanna do a second part lol. your mind for the gentle morning sex ?? gentle and intimate with heavy eye contact ... sedate me

The first light of dawn spills softly through the curtains of your shared bedroom, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. As the first light dances over your face, your lashes flutter, and a quiet groan slips from your lips. You stir, feeling the familiar warmth of James pressed behind you, his arm draped over your waist in a protective hold.

Reluctantly, you crane your neck to check the time, only to realize it’s early. Much too early. The small shift of your body stirs him, and you feel his hand flex around you as he starts to wake.

“Sorry, hun,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep.

“’S’fine,” James responds, his voice a low, drowsy rumble. “I needed to get up early anyway to drop Laura off at school.”

You let out a soft laugh, barely more than a whisper, “Like, six a.m. early?”

A quiet groan rumbles from his chest as he pulls you just a little closer, his fingers tracing gentle circles along your side. “Maybe not,” he admits, voice softened by sleep, as if savoring this rare moment.

James nestled his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. These moments, so rare and precious, were hard to come by with a child running through the house, always lurking around, popping up at the most inconvenient times.

A little nuisance, sure—but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. In this quiet sliver of dawn, with only the sound of his breathing and the faint hum of morning outside, you tasted a fleeting slice of domesticity.

His lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck. You tilt your hed to the side, giving him better access, James takes full advantage. He peppers your skin with soft kisses, leaving you breathless. The friction of his stubble against your skin is a delicious mix of roughness and tenderness, making you arch into him.

"James," you breathe, your hands instinctively reaching back to grip his forearm. The heat between you is palpable, a silent promise of the passion that always seems to simmer just beneath the surface.

He nuzzles deeper into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady. "Do you have to get up?" he asks, his voice husky with desire.

You shake your head, even though he can't see it, lost in the sensation of his lips moving lower, tracing a path down your shoulder.

"No," you reply, your own voice catching in your throat. "Not yet."

His hand moves higher, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your nightgown. The simple touch sends a wave of pleasure through you, making your nipples pebble instantly. He teases one with his thumb, the friction electric against your sensitized flesh.

"Mmm," you moan softly, turning your head to capture his gaze. The intensity in his eyes is overwhelming, a green blaze that promises so much more than this fleeting moment. It's a look that speaks volumes, one that says he wants you as desperately as you want him.

James leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. The connection is immediate and powerful, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to tangle with yours in a dance as old as time. Your bodies mold together, fitting perfectly as if made for each other. His free hand slides down to cup your ass, pulling you even closer, the evidence of his desire pressing insistently against your thigh.

You break the kiss, gasping for breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "James," you whisper again, this time with a hint of urgency. "We shouldn't..."

He silences you with another kiss, this one softer, almost reverent. "Shh," he murmurs against your lips. "We just have to be quiet," he says with a hint of playfulness.

Encouraged, you scoot closer, your body pressing against him. Your breath hitches as your thigh brushes against his hardening length.

"James," you whisper, voice barely audible.

He just looks at you, his lips parted as if he’s about to say something. But then his gaze drops to your lips, and the intensity in his eyes makes your heart race.

"Please," you whisper, almost begging now. "Take me."

His breath catches, and you feel his entire body tense up for a moment before he exhales slowly. His hand moves from your cheek to your hair, tangling in the strands as he pulls you closer. He kisses you then, a soft, lingering kiss that speaks volumes without words.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with need. "Are you sure?" he asks, voice low and rough.

You nod again, your fingers gripping his arm tightly. He shifts slightly, turning so that he’s half on his side, facing you. The straps of your nightgown have come undone. James' slips his hand down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your already hard nipple. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, and you let out a small gasp.

"Quiet," he reminds you, but there’s no reprimand in his tone. Only concern and affection.

You bite your lip, nodding once more. He leans in, capturing your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently. The pressure builds, and you feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

Your hand travels down to his erection, wrapping your fingers around him. He’s hot and hard in your hand, and you squeeze gently, eliciting a low groan from him.

"God, you’re so beautiful," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "So perfect."

Your heart swells at his praise, and you move your hand, stroking him with slow, deliberate movements. He closes his eyes, his head falling back as he revels in the sensation. But you want more, need more. You guide his hand down to your entrance, where your arousal is already slick and ready.

He hesitates for a moment, looking into your eyes as if seeking reassurance. You give him a small, encouraging smile, and he dips one finger inside you. The sensation is intense, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. He curves his finger, finding that sweet spot inside you, and you feel your body clenching around him.

"Fuck, you’re so wet," he mutters, his voice strained. "So wet for me."

You nod, unable to form words, your focus entirely on the way his finger feels moving inside you. He adds a second finger, spreading you open, stretching you. The pressure builds, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge of release.

"James," you gasp, your hips bucking against his fingers. "I want more."

He removes his fingers, only to replace them with his cock. He pushes inside you slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch is delicious, overwhelming, and you grip the sheets beneath you, trying to stay quiet. He pauses when he’s fully sheathed inside you, his eyes locked on yours.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice firm but gentle. "Don’t look away."

You obey, your eyes locked onto his as he positions himself above you. The thin veil of sheets that once shielded you both falls away, exposing your bodies to the powerful heat emanating from James.

As he traps you between his arms, your legs instinctively part wider for him, begging for more. With a smirk, James teases your slick entrance with the head of his throbbing cock, relishing in the sight of your wetness mingling with his own precum. "Beautiful," he whispers lowly before plunging into you once again, claiming you entirely.

James starts to move, thrusting slowly and deliberately. Each stroke of his cock fills you completely, the sensation building and building until it’s almost too much to bear. He watches you intently, his expression a mix of love and raw desire.

"That’s it," he murmurs. "Feel it, baby. Feel how good this is. How good we are together."

His words push you closer to the edge, and you feel the orgasm coiling deep inside you. Your breath comes in short, shallow gasps, and you’re trembling all over. He speeds up, his thrusts becoming more urgent, deeper. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he fucks you.

"Yes, yes," you whisper, your voice breaking. "Oh God, James, I’m going to come."

"Let go," he urges. "Come for me. Let me see you fall apart."

The command pushes you over the edge, and you cry out softly as the orgasm rips through you. Your body spasms, squeezing him tightly as you ride out the wave of pleasure. He continues to thrust into you, chasing his own release, his breathing ragged.

"I’m close," he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic. "So close."

You reach between you, wrapping your hand around his cock where it meets your entrance, pumping him in time with his thrusts. The added friction sends him spiraling over the edge, and he groans your name as he comes, his seed filling you.

He collapses onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. For a moment, neither of you moves, lost in the afterglow of your combined climaxes. Finally, he lifts himself off you slightly, his eyes still locked on yours.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

You nod, smiling up at him. "Mhmn, thank you baby."

He leans down, kissing you softly, his tongue flicking against yours. The kiss is tender, almost reverent, and it leaves you breathless. As he pulls back, he gives you one last, lingering look before rolling off you and pulling you into his arms.

"Sleep now," he whispers, planting a kiss on your forehead. "We’ll talk later."

You snuggle into his embrace, feeling safe and cherished. The dawn light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room.

Then you hear it, right outside the hall. "Hey! Where's breakfast?"

It's Laura, you turn to him and chuckle. James sighs, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he mutters, “Guess our peace and quiet's up.”

You chuckle, whispering back, “Think we can get away with pretending we’re still asleep?”

He gives a low, tired laugh, “Tempting. But knowing her, she’ll barge right in.”

Right on cue, Laura’s voice rings louder, impatience growing. “Hellooo? I’m starving in here!”

James groans playfully, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright! We’re coming!”

You share a small, conspiratorial smile before he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, muttering, “Let’s face the little monster.”

#james sunderland smut #james sunderland x reader #james x reader #silent hill 2 smut #silent hill x reader #silent hill x reader smut #james sunderland x you #james x you #saddleups #filed: sunrise

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