#Something about the thought of indulging him scratches my brain.

[maddymoreau]

Although Henryk and Gentleman are the same character. I think the reason I find Gentleman much more interesting is because he is a man living on borrowed time. Desperately attempting to be what he always desired even if it’s a lie. To claim his final moments as his own instead of being a pawn in the Festival of Termina.

[misaamoure]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭:

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨? 𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨… 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭, 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫!!

⋅ ˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬:

“Nnngh, Sylus,” You groaned, tossing your head back into the pillow. “It hurts!”

“I know I know. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Things had gotten a little toooo intense last time the two of you had sex.

You really did have a knack for riling Sylus up. And he played into you every single time. Without fail.

You had been loving it in the moment, throwing your ass back on him and asking him for more.

Sylus rooted a hand in the back of your hair, pulling your back to make eye contact with him.

“Are you going to be a good girl? Hm? Or do I have to punish you again?” He spoke through gritted teeth, speeding up his thrusts.

“Punish me! Oh my… fucking god Sylus please punish me…!”

And he did just that. Making you count each hard smack to your ass as he pounded you into the mattress.

As I said earlier, you were absolutely loving it, creaming all over his cock and driving him just as crazy.

It was after you two had finished, and resorted to cuddling in bed together that your problem had started.

At first it was light stinging… nothing out of the ordinary. This was usual after he spanked you.

But then the stinging evolved to a deeper pain. Slightly deeper than other times, and a little more intense than you cared to deal with.

Awww, poor you.

“Fuck, this is all your fault!” You swatted at Sylus weakly, something he easily dodged.

And the nerve of this asshole… he chuckled in response.

“The fuck are you laughing at? Do something you stupid prick!” Oh if looks could kill.

“Alright. As you wish.” He responded almost immediately, raising your suspicions. Usually he would try and fuck with you more.

You felt the bed dip as he moved, and then you felt him pull your hips off the bed so you were in a slight arch.

“What are you- ack!” You were even more surprised as he pulled your panties down with one swift movement.

“I’m kissing it better, sweetie,” You felt him fondle your ass cheeks before giving the sore red spot a gentle kiss. “Didn’t you want me to do something?”

One kiss. And another. And another. To all the areas that were aching and tender.

You were extra sensitive in those spots, making the feeling all the more intense.

“Sylus…” You sighed out dreamily once he started to knead at your lower back in tandem with the kisses.

Well… it actually felt quite soothing.

“Oh? My kitten finally stopped hissing and scratching. Have I finally pacified her?” You felt the deep rumble of his laughter against your skin.

With his gentle touches and light massage to your lower back… you felt yourself relax and allow yourself to be indulged in his care.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞:

“I’m sorry Y/N. I should’ve had more restraint. Forgive me.”

The look of remorse in Zayne’s eyes was unmistakable.

He had let a moment of raw passion in the bedroom get to him.

Zayne had just gotten back from one of his business trips in the arctic. He barely had time for himself in those few days… let alone you.

Just the whiff of your perfume as you jumped into his arms at the airport was enough to drive him insane.

You thought that Zayne had been even more quiet than usual on the way back to his place… and just as you were about to ask him what was wrong, he practically jumped you.

Peeling off all your clothes and quickly warming you up to take his cock.

Bouncing you on his lap and using you like a human fleshlight… Zayne got an exclusively good view of your neck and chest.

And then he had a thought. One that bore deep into his brain and stripped him of reason.

“I want to mark you,” He said breathlessly, running his hand up your body to grip at your neck. “Can I? May I?”

Trying to make sense of his request through the shockwaves of pleasure, you nodded fervently.

That was all the confirmation Zayne needed.

One hickey on your neck. Another on your chest. And then another. And another. And another.

Soon after you had too many to count. It looked like a rash had spread over your collarbones.

“I’m sorry, I really am.” Zayne took your hands in his as he looked you in the eye.

He was being so serious about something so small… it honestly made you laugh.

“Zayne, it doesn’t particularly hurt. You don’t have to apologize. I feel fine.” You caressed his face with your hands, which he leaned into.

“You say that, but still,” Zayne sighed. “I should have restrained myself.”

Little did he know you fucking loved it when he didn’t restrain himself.

You found yourself giggling again.

“If you feel that bad,” You leaned forward to bite his bottom lip playfully. “Kiss it better. Yeah?”

Zayne gave you an odd look before pulling you closer.

Leaning your head to the side to give him access, you held his shoulders as he leaned into you.

Feeling his soft lips kiss at the hickeys he left on you, you gasped and dug your nails into him.

The marks were so sensitive… it felt so good.

“Like that,” He pressed another kiss to a hickey on your collarbone. “Does that make it better?”

You hugged him even closer than before.

“A little more.”

And he did just as you asked as you melted into his touch.

[harmonysanreads]

hi harmy its me :3c ur son

anyways yeah,,, im back with brainrot,,,

and more about ouppy phainon!!! something about mighty warriors melting when you call them good boy scratches my brain in such a way YOU HAVE NO IDEAAA i will never forgive you for enabling this thought process btw this is all your fault /silly

AND AND AND,,, kitty anaxa,,,,, smirks i need to pet him vigorously until he gets annoyed and tries to bite my hand YOU GET ME,,, but it never works bc i will simply coo and pet him harder and call him even more obnoxious nicknames until he is forced to give up and accept my pets

petpetpetpetpetpetpetpet forever and ever and ever

You'll not deny, you've scarcely pondered the true weight of your position, your power.

At unpredictable intervals, between the pauses of your fingers weaving through his hair, in the shade away from the light of his gaze — it crosses your mind, briefly. That the hands that cling to the ends of your garbs are of no ordinary man's, the voice that prays your name is not one that'll be ignored in a crowd.

That despite how much he places himself beneath the shadow of reverence, the light of devotion in Phainon's eyes will remain ever incendiary.

“Tired?” you guess, cautious. He responds by burrowing deeper in your lap, his knees stop just before your ankles.

Your eyes settle on the tufts of ivory hair, they shy away as soon as your grip softens. It would not seem so to an eye that hasn't observed, but there is always a reason behind this particular behavior of his. Sensing his unwillingness to speak, you see fit to use your last option.

“Who's a good boy?” a zephyr carries to his ear, the sun peeks from behind translucent clouds.

“Me?” you can feel his nails dig into the hem of your chiton, his breaths at a halt — it'll gladly remain so until you command.

Your eyes search for a trace of your answer among the torches that light his abode, unsatisfied, “Where is my good boy?”

His clothes rustle as he straightens his back, before leaning fully towards your lap, “Here.” his admission is firmer than last time.

His eyes close in relief as you reward him by patting his head, much pleased at this development. You don't allow the sigh of solace to escape from the confines of your throat, indulging this interlude from the sun's attention.

Your eyes follow the journey of your fingers ; dodging the corner of his eyes, brushing past his cheeks, dipping towards the arch of his neck. Phainon cannot resist joining your observation, as your finger traces the gold of the choker wrapped around his neck, the tip of your nail teases the skin — before you withdraw altogether.

You laugh at your own trickery, not courageous enough to look back at Phainon's face.

Your indulgence is stopped short as you feel a familiar grip around your wrists, clasping wholly onto your palms and settling them back on Phainon's face.

Unlike before, there is strength in that grip — not enough to hurt, just enough to serve as a reminder of how worse it can get. You find your throat parched when you swallow, there's a veiled warning in those eyes of his.

Do you dare still, to wield this dangerous weapon?

“You really remind me of a cat, did you know?” you probe at the brooding scholar.

Anaxa takes a moment to digest the new piece of information, he's heard several unflattering monikers throughout his life. This one, even his brilliant mind nearly toppled over trying to decipher.

“That is quite insulting,” he mutters, glancing at you pointedly.

“How so?” you but lean over the tree, light dancing across your pupils.

“You're comparing a scholar and no ordinary scholar at that, to a mere feline. Is this you indirectly calling me lazy, or pointing out that my wisdom is insignificant compared to the intelligence of a c—”

“I love cats.” you stress, unflinching before his scorn.

The pupil of his visible eye darts across your smile, apparitions of neurons firing in his brain could almost be seen reflected on it. He parts his lips to speak, but closes them instantly, an absence of what he deems are the correct words being indicated.

You bite your lip to stifle the laughter bubbling in your chest.

With great effort he finally says, “So... what?” though his gaze is averted.

“So, I'm implying that,” your steps shrink the distance between you two.

“I adore you enough to compare you to cats.” Anaxa holds his arm out in defense, unfortunately for him, your proximity is close enough to reveal the blood that rushes to his cheeks.

“Nonsense—”

Taking advantage of his stupefaction, you hold two tufts of his hair and hold them in the shape of cat ears. Your giggle brings the scholar back to Amphoreus, he weakly attempts to swat you off but you take the opportunity to deliver a pinch to his cheeks.

A ‘hey!’ heavy with disbelief escapes him, his palm rises to cradle the teased skin. Rouge stains his cheeks.

“Okay okay, I'll stop.” you raise your arms in surrender. There are always unsaid limitation to a person's patience. You may indulge in testing where they cease, but even you know not to cross certain territories.

You spin on your heels to depart but a new interference introduces itself.

You don't recall Anaxa's grip being this strong, the thought passes as you feel his fingers dig into the curve of your waist. His chin settles on the dip of your shoulder, his breath warming the skin.

Perhaps, you shouldn't have teased him.

[dnvrsmedia]

i fear the voices are making me write for sev again (i miss her bad)

so

sevika falling for nerd!reader (this is totally NOT self indulgent wdym??)

SFW

You both met when silco decided to hire you

And by hire you, he threatened to kill you if you didn’t acquire the money your father owed him (he didn’t care if your father died. he needed his money some way or another)

You, being a modest engineer, did not have much to offer

Except for your brains

Sev was definitely skeptical about you when you first landed on the team (but let’s be fr when is she ever open minded and welcoming)

She was tasked to keep you company whilst doing your various tasks (silco calls it bodygaurding, sevika calls it babysitting)

Sevika likes to pretend that she hates brooding around you but that would be a lie.

You’re sitting around doing your work.

glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose, making your concentrated face.

& Sev’s whole body is lit on fire.

oh don’t get me started on when she hears you in your meetings talking your smart shit

she’s practically drooling

CALLING ! YOU ! COOKIE !

this started off as her calling you a smart cookie (absolutely trying to be demeaning when she first met you)

and when you finally chip her walls the nickname spirals into something endearing

“Cookie, cmere real quick”

“Ya know i don’t understand that smart shit, cookie”

“ Maybe I need tutoring, Cooks”

She absolutely will stare down the men in your meetings who try and demean you.

“ Look, I don’t know what the fuck you guys are talking about but she does. Next time you interrupt her it’ll be my foot up your ass”

Will ALWAYS be asking you to tinker with her arm

You’ve gotten caught staring at her one too many times

not just because she’s ya know so delicious looking

But because you’re thinking about the many many different ways you can upgrade her!

This obviously did not bode well when she first met you!

Barring her teeth at you and the whole 9 yards but that didn’t stop the pull you both felt for each other!!!

She revels in making you nervous

At the start, Sevika used to use her “scary lady status” (you’ve coined this term) on you

she’d absolutely tower over you with a :| face just to push your glasses up your nose

she’d watch your breath catch in your chest as your heart pounded heavily with a smirk

now! she uses her scary lady status on you for good!

she absolutely will threaten you to take breaks

So many times has she found you sitting at your desk, mouth open, and softly snoring

Meanwhile, her heart breaks into thousands of little pieces

“Cooks, you work too hard. How many times do I gotta check you’re here before going home?”

She shakes her head as she hoisted your body over her brute shoulder.

she absolutely loves you reading to her

after a long day of work for the both of you

you can bet on it that Sev will mope around you until you’re ready to lay with her head on your lap

Sev never understood the whole point of reading growing up

Having a rocky relationship with her family (her dad) she never experienced the warmth being read to could have brought.

So when you offered to read to her after a particularly hard day she thought you were joking

Absolutely within 20 minutes of you reading and scratching her scalp did she comically fall asleep

I mean open mouth dad snoring with drool dripping onto your blanket

but it’s okay because you’d won’t have it any other way :)

[lovelybluebirdie]

A sight to behold

Astarion x gn!Reader

Summary: Astarion is far more than his beauty, and you want him to know.

Word Count: 1,7k

fluff, comfort

[AO3]

“You should get some rest, love,” Astarion whispers against your hair. He holds you comfortably in his arms, your fingers loosely grasping the end of his collar while his hand strokes along your waist, caressing your battle-bruised skin. 

Usually sleep didn’t take long to claim you after an exhausting day of defeating vigorous creatures or learning another disturbing fact on the tadpole inside your brain, but tonight it seems to avoid you for some reason, leaving you tossing and turning within your bedroll until Astarion eventually pulled you into a loving embrace.

“I’m good,” you mutter as a deep yawn escapes your throat, smothering your last syllables.

Astarion cups your chin between his thumb and index finger, surveying your face. “You’re a weary little love if I ever saw one.” 

“Fine, you’ve got me,” you reply in a drowsy voice. “Maybe I am a little tired, but somehow I can't find any sleep.”

His brow furrows. “Is anything troubling you, my dear?” he asks sincerely, pondering if he might’ve done something wrong.

The unpleasant thought has no room to spread its hooks any further, as he's met with only fondness from your tired eyes, leaving his ribcage bursting with adoration.

“No need to worry about me, Astarion. I promise, everything’s alright,” you assure as you begin to massage his ears, causing them to twitch.

“You still need to get some sleep though,” he scolds with half-closed lids. It's more of a moan, as he’s unable to suppress his desire for your blissful fingers to go on. You seem to know exactly where he enjoys them most, he notices, when another quiet groan spills from his lips. 

You brush the pointy tip of his ear once more, cautiously not to overstimulate this sensitive part of him, before you rest your fingers on his neck and playfully raise an eyebrow.

“Perhaps you’ll allow me to indulge in your beauty a little longer before I find myself dozing off.”

A benign remark, and yet something inside Astarion shifts. Something he can’t fully fathom at first, a faint sense of melancholy starting to linger, despite the comfort of your touch.

He’s been called beautiful more times than he can remember, but he’ll never be able to judge for himself, being robbed of his reflection since Cazador turned him into a vampire spawn centuries ago – his own appearance remaining a dark shape from his past.

“Beauty you say?” he mumbles quietly. “Tell me then, what is it you see when looking at me?”

Your expression softens as you grasp for his hand and squeeze it lightly. It seems you’ve already caught his musings, as you often do, without him needing to vocalise that something’s on his mind.

“Well, your most outstanding features are probably your piercing eyes – crimson, like rubies,” you explain before resting a kiss on his cheek. 

Astarion listens attentively. His gaze must indeed be exceptionally sharp, he thinks, trying for a brief moment to recall the colour his eyes were before he was turned, but to no avail. A shiver runs down his spine as he wonders if you might think of him as a dangerous predator at times, uncertain whether this poses a pleasant or a frightening notion.

“Sometimes they’re full of anger, resembling freshly shed blood. And other times they’re… so soft. Reminding me of the cutest puppy eyes I’ve ever seen, almost competing with Scratch,” you giggle as you draw your thumb along his cheekbone, right where your lips parted from his skin.

Astarion stares at you in bewilderment. “What do you mean – puppy eyes?! I’m a century-old vampire spawn, not some gushing maiden.”

“You asked what I’d see when I’m looking at you, didn’t you?” You offer him a mischievous grin before blowing a strand of hair off his forehead. “Or do you prefer me to stop?” 

Astarion rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh. “Fine, go on.” 

Although not particularly delighted by the comparison you draw, he can’t resist the urge to listen to you further describing him.

“There are also your beautiful white curls – so smooth that I often find myself wondering which soap you use for them to stay that way,” you say as you take one of said strands between your fingers. “Come to think of it, those are probably one of my favourite parts of you, my love.”

“Mhm, I certainly have the best hair in camp,” Astarion purrs approvingly, a smug grin playing around his lips, vanishing the furrow on his brow from your previous remark.

“Don’t let Shadowheart hear,” you joke before continuing. “Of course I also adore your smile – seeing those little wrinkles when you laugh.”

Astarion’s grin freezes as he quickly feels the spot beneath his temples.

“My sweet, you surely must’ve noticed by now that one of a vampire spawn’s rare perks is eternal youth, so I’m quite positive that there are no such things as wrinkles on my face.”

“If you say so,” you chuckle as you reach for his hands to press loving kisses on his fingertips. “This was supposed to be a compliment, you know.”

“Perhaps if I wasn’t your lover, but your doting grandmother,” he grumbles with pursed lips, but doesn’t pull away. 

“I sense you desire to listen to some of your less grandmotherly features, then?”

Astarion battles another grin but loses, his lips twisting to a wry smile. “Yes, please.” 

It's true, he doesn’t want you to stop, secretly enjoying how sincere you express your sentiments.

“Let’s see if I find some, though…” you tease, earning a gentle nudge to your hip before your eyes are glued to his face again. “Honestly, you're stunningly beautiful, Astarion – a goddamn sight to behold.” 

Astarion’s smile widens at your flattery. “Oh dear, that sounds far better than being described with the attributes of an old lady.”

“As I thought,” you reply, brushing one of his curls behind his ear. “But do you want to know what I adore about you most?”

Astarion's eyes grow round. “As humble as I am, I'm always thrilled to receive some more praise.”

He notices a flush to your cheeks as you let your finger slowly trace along the bridge of his nose, until it comes to a rest on his lips. 

You clear your throat, seeming in search of the right words. 

“You’re so much more than your beauty,” you begin, your fingertip still resting on his bottom lip. He presses a kiss, his curiosity roused.

“I love the way you make me laugh, like no one else can, despite all the madness we have to endure. Or watching you reading for hours, chuckling at little passages you like. Seeing how you squint when you take in the details while you embroider a piece of fabric.” 

You pause to cup his face in your hands and smother him with gentle kisses, starting at his jaw, moving up to his nose and then his eyes. Astarion remains silent, graciously relishing your warmth. 

Your words and touch are like a balm, and not for the first time he wonders how he came to deserve such kindness.

“Your skin is cold, yes, but no one has ever kept me this warm when being in their presence. You’re brave, and despite everything you had to endure, you turned into this wonderful man I came to love more than everything I ever held dear. You're most precious to me Astarion, and I never want to spend a day without knowing you by my side.”

It’s not often that Astarion finds himself speechless, and yet your genuine affection robs him of the ability to respond. He has to hold back tears that dwell behind his fluttering lashes.

Deprived of his ability to speak he can only press a kiss to your forehead, followed by another peck to the tip of your nose, before his lips crash into yours – hastily, in need of you.

Astarion can sense your pulse quickening as his tongue enters your mouth, a soft moan escaping your lips while your hand runs through his hair. 

He gently bites your lower lip, the initial rush of his kiss replaced by a sudden tenderness, a flutter spreading right where his dead heart once beat.

Astarion has never felt like this with anyone but you. Perhaps you've turned him into a love-struck maiden after all, he thinks with a smile as he kisses you once more, gentle and soft, before your lips part and he glances at your endearing eyes, finding his voice again.

“I love you too, you cheeky little thing. Even if you have the guts to describe me like a grandmother first, and then almost make me weep from your loving words,” he chuckles while grasping the fabric of your nightgown to pull you closer against his body.

Astarion is used to conceal his emotions behind his jesting shell, and yet when he’s with you, his façade naturally crumbles.

“Guilty as charged,” you reply fondly.

“But honestly… Thank you,” Astarion speaks softly. “For seeing me, like no one else does.” His words come out raw, honest. “You know I don't pray to any of the gods, but if I did, I'm sure I would've caught myself thanking them for bringing you into my life. You're a vision, and through the time I spend with you, it almost feels like my dead heart starts beating again.”

“You’d better stop with that loving talk yourself, before we'll both start to weep,” you laugh as you reach for the corner of your eye, a single wet streak glistening on your skin.

Astarion moves up to kiss it away. “As much as I like to revel in our mutual affection, I don't wish to see more of your tears.”

“Well, perhaps we should call it a night then. I’m certain I’ll find some rest soon,” you whisper as you shift closer in the crook of his arm. 

“You truly should, as I'm positive there’ll be more shenanigans awaiting us tomorrow,” Astarion replies and places a kiss on your hair. “Sleep well, my love.”

“You too, Astarion,” you hum, sounding slightly weary again. Maybe sleep has decided in your favour after all, he thinks as he notices your breath becoming more even.

When you finally doze off in the safety of his embrace, Astarion's chest is filled with warmth over the love he holds for you.

Masterlist

[staarriezz]

HIII I LOVE YOUR LAST DOTTIE FIC. can i pls. request. akademiya zandik smut? he’s a huge loser.. like… huge nerd, he doesn’t talk to anyone, has never felt the touch of a woman…. soooooo when he gets a massive crush, his feelings for them are so intense, poor baby doesn’t know what to do the first time he gets a big ol boner thinking about her :( and so he experiments… rubs one out to the thought of her… and has like a whole epiphany

thank uuu!!

YAYAYA I LUV THIS REQUEST!! akademiya zandik rots my brain ughghghgh he’s such a loser i love him

i luv how this is turning into a zandik blog LOLS

dottore x reader — an unexpected discovery

pairing: dottore x reader

genre: smut

warnings: nsfw! 18+ content! minors dni

word count: ~1.4k

zandik had never been one for distractions.

his life revolved around progress— an endless pursuit of knowledge that left no room for frivolous indulgences. while others at the akademiya wasted time socializing, he remained fixated on his research, on theories and experiments that would one day revolutionize the world.

but lately, something had disrupted his focus.

you.

it had started subtly. a lingering glance when you passed him in the halls, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest when you sat beside him in lectures, an annoying awareness of your presence even when he was supposed to be concentrating on something else.

at first, he dismissed it. It was nothing. a mere anomaly, one that would pass with time.

except it didn't.

he had never spoken much to his peers— most either feared him or ridiculed him— and he didn’t really like any of them anyways. but you were different. you weren't afraid of him, nor did you mock his work.

instead, you seemed genuinely intrigued by his research, asking questions, challenging his theories, engaging him in discussions that left his mind buzzing long after you had walked away.

and then, the worst of it happened.

the first time he had felt it, he had been in his dorm, seated at his desk, deep into his notes on biomodification. it had been a long night, his only company the soft flicker of candlelight and the sound of his pen scratching against parchment.

but his thoughts had drifted.

to you.

your voice echoed in his mind, that smooth, inquisitive tone that always sent a strange shiver down his spine. he imagined the way you leaned in when listening intently, the way your lips curled into that sweet smile when you praised his work, the warmth of your breath when you spoke too close-

his grip on his pen tightened.

a sudden heat coiled in his gut, unfamiliar yet insistent. his body tensed, and before he even realized what was happening, he was painfully, achingly hard.

he inhaled sharply, his hand tightening further around his pen— until it snapped in half.

strings of curses escaped his mouth, grumbling and rising to his feet to fetch a towel.

what the hell?

he knew what this was. he was a scientist, not an imbecile. but this— this sudden, overwhelming reaction— was unlike anything he had experienced before. it wasn't just arousal; it was something deeper, something all-consuming.

his pulse pounded in his ears. a logical man would ignore it. suppress it. focus on something else.

as he ran his hands under the cold water of the sink, wiping the ink off with a soft towel, he tried his best to ignore the throbbing of his hardness.

but the pressure was unbearable.

he returned to his desk with a defeated sigh, groaning in frustration as he sank into his seat.

he exhaled shakily, his grip tightening against the edge of his desk. every rational thought told him to stop, to push these intrusive emotions away before they became something dangerous.

yet, as his mind conjured the image of you— your fingers brushing against his as you passed him a book, your gaze lingering just a second too long, the ghost of your touch against his wrist— his restraint snapped.

before he could second-guess himself, his hand moved, hesitant at first, then firmer, more certain. the moment he made contact, a sharp gasp tore from his throat, his entire body jerking at the sensation.

archons.

a shudder ran down his spine, his breath unsteady as he let his mind wander further.

he imagined your touch instead of his own, your lips grazing his jaw, whispering his name in that soft, knowing tone. would you tease him? would you smile that infuriating, enchanting smile as he unraveled beneath you?

he felt trapped in his own boxers, an ache forming the longer he was so unbelievably hard.

his hands shook and fumbled with his boxers, slowly slipping them down, and letting his deliciously hard cock free,

he swallowed hard, his fingers wrapping around himself, then tightening, his movements becoming more desperate.

the pleasure was overwhelming. he had always believed himself above such primal urges, but this was more than simple need. it was you.

and you were intoxicating.

his breathing turned ragged, his stomach tightening as he chased that unbearable high. his thoughts spiraled, lost in fantasy, in the imagined feel of your warmth, your softness, the way he might gasp if you touched him here—

your name slipped from his lips.

the realization sent a jolt through him, but it was too late. the pleasure crashed over him like a tidal wave, the pleasure overwhelming him as his body tensed and his mind went blank. he had never felt anything so intense, so overwhelming, as he came for the first time, his body shaking uncontrollably.

for several moments, he was utterly still.

the only sounds in the room were his own harsh breaths, the erratic thump of his heartbeat against his ribs. his body trembled slightly, oversensitive and spent, but his mind was reeling.

he had never experienced anything like that.

and worse— far worse— was the fact that it hadn't been just a physical reaction.

it had been you.

slowly, he forced himself to fully sit up, running a shaky hand through his disheveled blue hair.

his skin was still warm, his pulse gradually settling, but the weight in his chest only grew heavier.

this was a problem.

an obsession, even.

his mind, usually so sharp and disciplined, had betrayed him in the most humiliating way possible. all because of you— your voice, your laugh, your presence that lingered in his thoughts long after you were gone.

he scowled at the realization.

he needed to get this under control.

because if just thinking of you could reduce him to this, he could only imagine what more of you would do to him.

and that was a dangerous thought indeed.

[transformers-spike]

Heyy I noticed that you put TFO among the stuff you might write for. Pls pls, if it's alright w/ u, Megatron x reader angry sex? Like, you might be a human he found after being banished and kept with him, and he trusts you bc u are nice, pose no real threat and ur good to blow off some steam :))))))))) but ofc he cares abt u, so it's more like angry sex + tender aftercare thank uuuuuuu i love my big metallic man with anger issues

My brain decided to do its own thing and for the sake of not writing a full length novel about it, I had to cut it short (and of course I made it sad because the boy is just dripping with angst - so I'm going to give him more.) So here:

He was advised to abandon you. Found in the deepest recesses of a Quintesson ship they’d shot down, you were still shaking from the crash. Not Cybertronian. Nor Quintessonian. A completely different being, with soft mesh, warm extremities and strands of something falling from your helm. An animal perhaps? Much like the strange quadrupeds traveling the surface? No, your optics move with intention, taking in your surroundings and wrinkling your optical ridge in clear contemplation. You are incredibly tiny, even next to a cogless miner. He wondered, briefly, when he first saw you, if you were another casualty of Sentinel’s tyranny, a forgotten being he sold off to the Quintessons without a second thought. He does not understand your language, nor can you speak his, but you observe the context and carefully come to associate certain words with objects, actions and designations. You cannot reproduce the subtle tones of Cybertronian with an organic vocalizer, much like the Quintessons – but you do not reject it. You learn to live despite your muteness. Many times he’s watched you draw figures in the sand with a twig the size of your arm, depicting what he could only assume to be a spaceship flying away from a distant planet as the Quintessons surround it. Sometimes you draw more of your kind, together in an embrace. You would stand over your creation, watching wistfully as the wind erased the fine traces of sand. A memory of your people. He wishes he could tell you about him and Orion, the pain of losing him, the crater in his chassis that will never mend – but guilt keeps him at bay. Soon enough, your provisions will run out. What they found on the Quintesson ship were rations made for your specific type of biology, with no guide to recreate them from, not even Shockwave could reverse-engineer the process. It’s simply too late. One orbital cycle, your life will come to an end, but he will give you the dignity of dying at his hands, painlessly. He is no stranger to starvation, but unlike him, you must refuel at various intervals during an orbital cycle, else he senses how you grow restless on his shoulder, fiddling with your servos, mesh growing pale and optics sluggish, growls emanating from your inner mechanism. You are not made for suffering Your life will come to an end, and you know this better than any other Decepticon; as though reading his thoughts behind the permanent scowl scratched into his face. Perhaps this is why he indulges in you even if he’s been advised against it. You’re eager despite your size, pressing yourself against his frame, ignoring your discomfort. He’s still getting used to his new body, including his strength for better or for worse. Yet you do not fault him when he leaves bruises. You kiss him and rub up against his spike, transfluid trickling down to his valve even before he comes undone. You squirm and laugh and pull him into a hug, helm to helm, a moment so perfect he’s ready to rip the cog from his chassis if it means staying like this forever, servos clenched into fists as he curses at Primus for the happiness he will shatter.

[tieronecrush]

BNBG (brand new baby girl)

frankie morales x curvy OF/cam girl f!reader

summary: frankie has been needing distractions from a hurdle in his sobriety, so he ventures to his frequented subscription service platform to take his mind off things. he sees the title of your page, intrigued immediately, and dives deep into your content. catching your attention on a livestream with his confident commands, frankie becomes infatuated with you and an avid viewer before he decides to DM you one day...and then ends up with a brand new baby girl.

wc: 11k

rating: E (very)

warnings: daddy kink!! **cover does not depict anything about the reader, simply vibes of softness**, vague descriptions of reader's body (plush, thick, curves, soft, etc. no definite descriptors used otherwise. picture her as you want but she is mid to plus size in my head 🫶), no age specified (only that reader started out of college, no specifications of when she went to school), discussions of addiction & drug use, childless frankie au, sex work, sex livestream, consumption of porn, unestablished relationship, online relationship, pet names (conejita, baby, babygirl, pequeña, bunny, etc.), gratuitous descriptions of frankie's dick, SMUT, male masturbation, female masterbation, sex toys, both frankie & reader have thoughts about the other (unprotected piv, fingering, oral, etc.), major dirty talk, d/s dynamics, some fluff sprinkled in <3, this might be lowkey problematic that frankie uses porn to cope (esp reader's porn) buuuuut hopefully it's hot

a/n: cover design & dividers by me 💋 this is an unhinged daydream of mine, hope y'all enjoy! huge thank you to my besties @kiwisbell and @northernbluess for beta-reading 💓

The time on Frankie’s phone screen turns over to well past midnight. Bedroom pitched black save for the blue light illuminating his face as he scrolls on Instagram, unable to fall asleep from thoughts stirring. He wants to scratch the itch — to pick at the scab that’s been growing in his brain for over a year. Temptation runs hot in his veins. A craving, deep in his gut. A strong inhale or the rub of his fingertip against his gums. It would be fast.  And it would only last less than half an hour — he could manage it one more time, he was sober enough for that, wasn’t he? He indulges himself in other aspects now: drinking, food, lax with his once regimented workout routine.

Frankie can hear the voice of his sponsor, the one he listens to speak at his weekly meetings in the musty church hall. Sure, his sponsor’s got valuable advice for him, having been sober for decades now, but he can’t relate to Frankie. Not really. He doesn’t know the level of temptation he’s consistently faced with, doesn’t know the fucked up shit he’s seen that got him into the substance in the first place.

His sponsor tells him to get into meditation. That it helps him turn his brain off when he has a craving, redirecting the energy into himself and crushing the aching want for it. Or some spiritual bullshit that Frankie doesn’t understand.

And besides, he’s found his own means of meditation.

Exiting the social media app, he opens his browser and types in the website. The light of the phone illuminates his face enough for his saved login to work, bringing him into his plane of piety. Where he escapes at least three times a week, late nights like now and the occasional mid-afternoon or morning on his desperate days off. When the urge is too strong. When he’s formulating a plan of how to get his hands on a tiny baggie, he loses himself — distracts his brain here.

Scrolling through his usual subscriptions, nothing seems to be hitting the spot. One hand grips his phone, thumb gliding along the screen, while the other cups his hard-on through his boxers, palming himself as he searches for something to get off to.

That’s when he sees it — the perfect combination of words that draws him in by the title. Clicking the page, he’s quick to pledge his monthly amount, eager to get access to all that lies beyond the paywall. And what he’s greeted with, pulls a sigh from his lips in the quiet room, his large hand squeezing his cock through the thin fabric elasticated around his waist. 

“Fuck…” he mumbles to himself when he sees that there’s a live stream happening. A cosmic intervention for him, he thinks, a sign that he’s meant to satiate his vices with this.

With you.

The screen changes to a vertical view of you in front of the camera, iPhone seemingly propped up against something while you sit on your mattress. It’s so…delicate and soft. Those are the words he can think of to describe the backdrop that he takes in quickly. Billowing white comforter on your bed, pillows surrounding you. The first thought he has is that it looks like a bed he could easily sleep in — much more inviting than his. There are touches of blush pink, sky blue, and more. A complete rainbow of desaturated colors.

It all compliments you. Centered in the frame, the next sound you make drags his eyes back to your form as you move around. Another squeeze to his cock draws a longer sigh from his lips as he combs across the view of your body, scantily clad in a thong and a bra covered in cherries. The cups of the bra push up the weight of your breasts, spilling over the edge. His tongue runs across his lips to wet them, a new craving ravaging his mouth as he wonders what you would taste like with the skin of your tits dampened by his saliva.

The rest of your body is as softly lined and curving as your chest, waist swooping into your hips as you sit on your knees in front of the camera. Thick thighs spread with the press of your calves into the back of them, the inside of them meeting at the apex and providing cover for what he so badly wants to be shown. There’s a line of your stomach above the waist of your panties, supple skin glistening. Delicious, is all he can think to himself. You look so fucking delicious that it floods his mouth with saliva, enough that he feels the overwhelming need to push his boxers down, freeing his hard cock to rest against his stomach until he’s spitting into his palm and starting a slow, languid pace.

The grain of his palm drags against the length of his cock as he keeps a steady flick of his wrist. Not too fast, but not achingly slow. Enough to start stoking the burning coals in the pit of his stomach as he watches you on the small rectangular screen. Puffs of hot air leave his mouth, his jaw hanging open while he watches you shift to reach for something out of frame, the first look at your ass gifted to him. Rounded swell of curves with the fabric of your thong dipping between them. The slight jiggle of your cheeks makes Frankie moan quietly, taking the briefest moment to picture that same ripple in your skin from him fucking you from behind.

“Shit…” he grumbles under his breath, minorly increasing the pressure of his grip to squeeze his cock as his hand moves, desperate to mimic the feeling of someone — apparently you, despite not knowing anything close to your name.

Skin on skin catches on the base of his dick and he exhales sharply with his teeth bared, opening his palm to spit once again. It’s not enough, but he continues the slide of his wrist as he sets his phone down on the mattress briefly, reaching over to his nightstand, pausing once again to dispense a pump of lotion into the palm of his right hand. Wrapping the moistened hand around his cock again, he starts a faster pace before slowing down to drag out his pleasure longer.

Returning into the frame fully, he sees your face for the first time and coughs as his open-mouthed inhale seizes in his throat. His fingers circle the base of his cock, squeezing hard as he takes in your face. Perfectly primped with a layer of makeup, but he can tell you’ve got the kind of beauty that wouldn’t ever need changing or enhancing — effortless. Velvety skin, as silky as the rest of your body but with an added glow. Bright eyes that are shining with mischief and want, and a smirk that’s as playful; he finds himself shutting his eyes again, for a few lazy strokes as he pictures that face, and your plush, pliable body, on your knees in front of him. Eagerly awaiting his cock to fill your mouth.

Fuck, you’re really doing a number on him tonight. He needed this. His desperation for a high of any kind coats his open mouth with each labored breath.

Focused back on his phone, you show off the treasure that you dug for off-camera. A lilac vibrator, one that fits the length of your hand, with a swell of size rounded off at the tip and tapered in at the end. Leaning closer to your camera, Frankie groans when your tits bounce, spilling out of your bra with a tiny nip slip that he catches immediately. And it only makes him want to see more.

“Mm, c’mon, pretty girl, show me something here. M’fuckin’ dying…Necesito la distracción (I need the distraction),” Frankie speaks toward the screen, feeling pathetic as he barters with you in the one-way system.

As if you heard his pleas, you adjust your position, laying back on the mountain of pillows to prop yourself up and letting one leg fall open. Even in the lowered lighting of the room you’re in, presumably your bedroom, he can make out the wet patch covering your folds. He finds himself wondering if the act of getting off in front of a camera, in front of people watching live, is what gets you wet. Or if you have a fluffer like he’s heard they do in porn.

He’d wanna be your fluffer.

Or maybe he’d want to be the one to fuck you in the porno. At least both of you’d get to finish then.

“Think I need someone who knows better than me to tell me what they wanna see.” Your voice is saccharine, the slight fry in your voice jolts his hips into his hand, mumbles of curses slipping from his lips. “Anybody have any suggestions for me, chat?”

A low hum starts when you press the button of the vibrator in your hand, spreading your knees further to open your core to the view of the camera completely. Your opposite hand to the toy hooks into the crotch of your thong, pulling the small bit of fabric, practically a string with the amount it’s covering.

Frankie’s mouth waters as the speed of his hand picks up, the grip of his fingers not nearly as satisfying as the clench of a pussy, but he’ll make do. He has been for a year; you know what they say, no relationships for the first year sober. That, and he couldn’t find anyone that could take his mind off of coke long enough for him to get it up. So eventually he just let it be.

Now, though, he’s painfully hard. The quick movements of his hand send a shock of pleasure up to his brain, veins contracting with the extra effort to keep the blood supply to his cock. Thumb brushes over his tip, mixing in his precum with the other lubrication, a hiss from behind his teeth shot out from the stimulation. His gaze is glued onto his rectangular screen, huffing out deep breaths while you press the vibrator against your clit. There’s a quiver in your thighs that he notices, as if this is your first touch after teasing yourself, or someone else teasing you. Sensitive already.

Biting your lip, your eyes scan the screen as you read aloud, “FiveFingersAtFreddys said ‘Take your bra off please.’ Well, actually he said ‘Take your tits out’ but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, dude, and say that you actually do have good manners.”

He laughs, and it’s a first for him. Laughing at someone’s jokes as he jerks off, alone.

You comply with the request, taking the vibrator away from your clit to reach around and unclasp your bra. Tossing the material aside, you lean back into the pillows again and the next sight nearly makes Frankie come right then and there until he takes his hand away completely. Laid out, legs open and fingers pulling your panties aside, vibrator pushing into your clit and driving a high-pitched moan from your lips. All while you're bare from the waist up, cushioned torso melting into your heavy tits, pert nipples bringing them to a point. The form of a Greek classics statue, one with fleshy outlines carved impeccably from marble.

“La obra maestra (A masterpiece)…” Frankie whispers to himself, the squelch of his lotioned hand working his hard length bringing him back into his body, a moan slipping from his mouth.

“I think I need someone else to tell me how I should play with myself. M’so wet, jus’ wanna touch myself but I don’t know where to start. All seems like—like it’s going to feel so good,” you stutter out when your hips buck against the vibrator, a whimper echoing from your chest as you turn your attention to the chat again, awaiting intriguing instructions.

Maybe it’s sexual frustration, maybe it’s pathetic. Maybe it’s the intense fucking craving to replace his need for coke high with a need for an orgasm, but for whatever reason chosen, Frankie finds himself clicking on the comment box with his thumb, typing wildly with one finger. He takes a second to read it for spelling errors before he presses send. Too lost in it all now to care.

Your eyes perk up, smirk growing on your face when you read the influx of chat replies. One must have caught your eye because the vibrator is being left to the side again. Fingers hook into the waist of your panties, slowly pulling them off as you read aloud the comment that caught your attention.

“There’s a new name I see here…Maybe we should do what you want, Mr. FlyingFish. Consider it a welcome gift from me to you.” His heart is pounding in his chest, hand gripping tighter and twisting around his dick as he fucks his fist, mumbles of curses spilling out as he listens to you repeat what he desperately typed not a minute prior. It sounds dirtier coming from you, despite his best efforts at politeness, “You said ‘Please show off how many of your little fingers fit into your pretty pussy. Think a pretty girl like you deserves to fuck her fingers…’ Alright, FlyingFish, you’ve got me blushin’ from that request and that is difficult to do, sir. Thank you for calling me a pretty girl. I promise I’m smart, too. I’ll be sure to count ‘em for you.”

One finger slips into your dripping entrance easily, the other hand reaching for the vibrator and replacing it at your clit while your finger starts to fuck shallowly, “One finger…”

Whines of frustration crack over his small speakers before a bigger moan falls from your lips, a second finger slid into you alongside the first, “Oh, fuck…That’s two. Mm, how am I doin’? FlyingFish, d’you think I can get another?”

Frankie’s wrist flicks rapidly now, the direct address to him driving him mad as the sounds of his arm slapping against his stomach and thigh clap in his room and cut into the sounds your pussy is making as you get yourself off. He types as quickly as he can, strings of curses flowing from his mouth as the heat of his desire burns red hot inside of him. He’s so fucking close but he wants to watch you fall apart at the same time. Wants to be the reason you come.

“Oh, shit—you’ve got a mouth, FlyingFish. ‘I’d hope you can take another, otherwise, you couldn’t take my cock.’ Is that a promise, Fish? You saying you got a big dick for me to take?” 

You whimper and he’s edging himself, squeezing hard to stay together when you inadvertently use his call sign. The closest thing you have to his name, and all he can think about is you screaming it while he’s fucking you. He wants to tell you it’s a promise only if you follow through, indulging in the fantasy of actually getting to touch you only for a moment. But instead, his attention is completely drawn to a third finger stretching your cunt in full view of the camera, your wanton moans popping in his speakers and driving his forearm to burn with the strain of muscle as he attempts to fist his cock even harder.

“Fuckfuckfuck…Come for me, baby, please fucking come on those fingers,” he begs no one but himself, a blinding white heat licking the entire inside of his body as he balances on the edge. Waiting for you to fall first.

“Oh my god, fuck…” The last word is drawn out, pitching up at the end as your fingers fuck faster, squelching sounds of your wetness flooding his mouth as his brain pleads for a taste of your cunt. “I don’t think—I don’t think I can get a fourth. M’gonna fucking come—ah! Oh, fuck me, Fish…”

You barely whisper his name, or at least what is his name to you, but it’s singlehandedly what punches out his guttural moan, ropes of warm, sticking spend coating his hand as he keeps moving and spilling onto his stomach. It’s prolonged, the tension in his calves relaxing after he spills the most come he has in a while.

Airy, light, a rush of blood back to his head has his whole body tingling with a high. Satiating his cravings from earlier, dissolving the want, the need, for anything of the sort. Instead, it’s replaced with thoughts of you — the image of you laying fucked out on his phone, adding his own touch of imagination when he closes his eyes to see you as you are but covered with his come the same way he is. Normally, this is when the smallest bit of shame crawls up his spine and sits at the nape of his neck, but instead, he melts into warmth. Faced with your smile as you sit up and lean over toward the camera again, laughing to yourself as you end the live.

“Um, if you’re still here, thanks for that FlyingFish. Felt fucking good…And to everyone else, I’ll stream again on Monday night, same time as always. Night, everyone. Have a good weekend.” All he hears before the sound cuts out is your excited giggles, the brightness of your post-orgasm joy stretching a smile across your face. He’s faced with a black screen, staring back at himself in the reflection with the shit-eating, smug grin he has on his face.

Now he’s got plans for Monday night.

Frankie hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. He’s hooked. Images of your sloping curves flash behind his eyes on the days when you’re not available to watch, his hips fucking his fist in bed, the shower, even on his couch with the blinds all open because he was that needy. Thoughts of you replaced his thoughts of the white powder, chasing after the different high he’s gifted by your voice, your body — all through a screen.

He’s caught himself rasping affections as he pictures you, hissed compliments as he comes and imagining what he’d say if you were in front of him. Letting him use your mouth or your cunt. He’s even gotten into a habit of imagining his head between your legs; the hardest he came is the one time he pictured you sitting on his face and all of the pretty sounds you’d make for him. Fuck, cariño, that’s so good. Mm, bonita, you’re such a good girl. Love doin’ what you’re told, don’t you, baby?

The fact that he doesn’t even know your name but is this infatuated isn’t lost on him. He knows he has an addictive personality, but this feels different. Like he was meant to find you for some reason. His sponsor would tell him it’s a call from the universe that this is all part of his ‘journey to sobriety’, but really, he just thinks that you’re fucking hot. And the tiniest part of him thinks you might like him watching too, even though you have no idea who he is.

Each time he watches you live, his thumb taps across the keyboard, responding to your requests and even adding in some encouragement. Virtually having conversations with you, he quickly became a frequent flyer (your joke, not his). You listen to him. Like the sweet girl that you are. Taking his suggestions — his demands when you beg — and showing off for him, a whimpering mess when he’s done with you.

At times, it feels like he’s the only one watching, or at least the only one that matters to you. With the amount of times his username falls from your lips, it’s easy to fall into a bubble of you and him. You’ve picked up the habit of referring to him as ‘Fish’ and it’s driven him mad, the closest thing to his name that he’ll hear you say. You give him material to think back about for days after. I love a man that knows what he wants, Fish. You can boss me around, Fishie. I always know what you tell me to do is gonna feel so fucking good.

All of this over the last few weeks has built up his courage, which is why he finds himself sitting on his couch with your profile open, the sun barely set outside. A random baseball game plays on his TV, but his focus is completely on his phone, writing and deleting a DM to you about ten times.

It has to be right. Friendly, but not stalker-ish. Flirty, but not creepy. Commanding enough to get your attention among what he imagines are countless messages in your inbox.

After another good ten minutes drafting a message, his thumb hovers over the ‘Send’ button for a few seconds. Squeezing his eyes closed, he lowers his finger and hits the button, anxiety washing over him as he opens his eyes to stare at the blue bubble.

No going back now.

Standing at the stove, water boils over the side of the pot while you pour in the uncooked pasta noodles. A few drops hit your skin, mumbles of curses leaving your lips, “Fucking shit!”

You stir the pasta before reaching for the nearest kitchen towel to wipe the once-scalding water off of your hand. A deep sigh exhales, relaxing your shoulders as the ding of a notification draws your attention to your phone lying on the marble countertop next to you.

What you find on your lock screen sends a shock of excitement down your spine, the warmth of anticipation radiating around your body to tingle your fingers and toes.

[Direct Message:] FlyingFish

Quick to swipe up, the device unlocks with a scan of your face and opens a new notification when you click on it with your thumb. Subconsciously, your opposite thumb has ended up between your teeth, biting down on the skin as you hold back an eager grin while you wait for his message to load.

You’ve never had this reaction to a message before, actually, it was usually the opposite. Rolling your eyes, ignoring the men until the last moment. Only responding to keep them enticed and subscribed — all of which keeps more money in your pocket. That’s really why you started this whole thing anyway.

FlyingFish:

Hey

A puff of air exhales through your nose, a chuckle cutting the otherwise silent kitchen. Shaking your head to yourself, you can’t help but smile at your screen. Heartbeat fluttering, you internally kick yourself for having such a reaction to such a simple message. Not even knowing who this person is, you find yourself typing back a response.

Hey there Fish

Guess I never actually asked if I could call you that

You turn back to your task at hand, continuing to cook your dinner and attempting to put out of your mind all of your assumptions about this person messaging you. You’d guess it’s a guy, an educated inference based on the demographics of your audience, but everything else is a complete mystery. The one time he insinuated he had a big dick stuck in your mind, and based on his behavior, you’d like to assume he isn’t lying. An image of a man sticks out to you each time you whimper his nickname, on camera and that handful of times off camera and alone: tall, solid, and strong. Brunette, only because that’s your type. Rough hands and commanding touches. Someone to bend your stubborn will into submission. He’s confident, at least through the chat, and he seems to know what he’s talking about. Each time you see his username pop up, you can feel yourself start to get wetter. Since you started this whole gig, there hasn’t been anyone quite like him. It’s always people asking for more for them — Show us your tits. Say my name. Turn around so we can see your ass.

But with him, it’s the opposite. He asks for more for you, which you guess is what he gets off to, not that you mind. Bet one more finger would feel even better for you, baby. Curl your fingers, cariño. You reaching that special spot? Gotta get deeper for me, baby. Rub slower, drag it out. Promise it’ll be even sweeter at the end. 

Always polite but stern in his demands. Never too much, mostly not enough for your taste. He’s built up an appetite in you that you haven’t had before, a desire to please and to be good for him. All of it doesn’t feel like performing when he’s telling you what to do, it feels like he’s there, deep rasp in your ears as you picture thick fingers in place of yours and tight grips on your plush curves. Fingerprint-shaped bruises left behind and sore muscles in your thighs from holding yourself up as he asks you to come for him over and over and over.

A vibration against the hard surface of the countertop refocuses your gaze from a thousand yards away. Turning to grab your cell, you rub your thighs together in hopes of relenting the ache between them from your daydreams. Wet panties get caught in your folds, discomfort only momentary before you lean over the counter and open your legs, reading the mystery man’s response.

You can call me anything you want bonita

But I will tell you that Fish is pretty close to my name

Fish is close to your name?

What is it? Bass? Salmon? Trout?

Funny

Fish is short for Catfish which was my call sign with my Special Ops team

Ahhh a military man. You know I like a man in uniform

Oh really? :)

Don’t wear it anymore but does it still count if I was once a man in uniform?

Hmm

:( please?

I wanna be liked by you

Showing your cards there Fishie

Not trying to play it cool?

Once you get to know me baby you’ll come to find out that me and cool don’t really go together.

I doubt that’s true

So Catfish is your call sign? Who came up with that?

My buddies on my team

Said I couldn’t grow a beard for shit and that it looked like I had whiskers

So Catfish

Well I don’t wanna call you Fish if it’s mean like that :(

What’s your real name? If you wanna tell me

Are you gonna sell my identity and let someone tank my credit score?

Never

It wouldn’t benefit me much if your card gets declined every month

I appreciate the honesty baby haha

My name’s Frankie

I like your name Frankie :)

It’s nearly an hour of messaging back and forth, flirting intermingled with genuine curiosity about the other’s life, history and background. Frankie learns that you were struggling to find a job straight out of university and needed to make rent, so you figured it couldn’t hurt to try out selling content. You detailed briefly the time that you grew your following, telling him about your Instagram too, which he follows in that instant. The notification makes you laugh and you follow him back despite the profile being completely empty of any information besides his name. Not even a profile picture. He learns that you don’t speak much to your parents anymore, that your siblings live across the country so you don’t get to see them much.

He tells you about his family — no siblings, parents that live in another part of the state and refuse to visit him in the city — and his chosen family, the Special Ops guys. Laughter hiccups from your chest when he recalls a few of the better stories from them, telling you about each other them as if he was preparing you to actually meet them. He has that thought, briefly, about all of you out for drinks. How they would probably like you as much as he does; your charm and sincerity would hook them all just as it has for him. Frankie tells you all about his current hobby, fixing up an old, cherry red 1978 Jeep Cherokee. How the only other time he spends online is searching for car parts, watching Youtube as he works on the vehicle in his garage.

You make a cheeky comment that he must be good with his hands before sending another message immediately:

Would you wanna actually talk? Like on Facetime maybe

Frankie stares at the message, blinking slowly as if it will disappear. You’re asking to talk to him? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I mean, if he knew that was an option he would have asked himself…

He wouldn’t and he knows he wouldn’t based on the way his stomach has dropped to his feet, his hands have gone clammy and his throat tightened. Swallowing hard, he whispers a small pep talk to himself to work up the nerve to say yes. He wants to see you, he always wants to see more of you, but the fact that you’d see him as well…he can’t cope.

Heat trickles across the back of his neck and up his cheeks, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as his brain completely wipes any thought to respond. Dropping his phone into his lap, both of his hands reach up, one grabbing the brim of his cap and lifting it from his head while the other runs through his hair to push it back away from his face. In the corner of his eye, he catches his left knee bouncing. Lips press together in a thin line, rolling the flesh between his teeth before he picks up his phone again and sends a message back to you with just his phone number.

Not even a minute later, his screen lights up with a list of digits strung together in an unfamiliar order. As if it were possible, he felt his stomach drop lower than his feet, deep into the ground below and burrowing away along with his confidence.

Shit, this was a stupid idea. He’s going to make a fool of himself and you’ll lose interest and he’ll have to think about you every day for the rest of his life and wonder what you’re doing, how you’re doing, even what your name is—

Fuck, he’s gonna miss the call.

Frankie decides that it is much more embarrassing to miss the call he just sent his phone number for than to potentially come off as uncool, so his finger swipes to the right to answer. Quickly, he turns off his camera before you notice, opting for the level of anonymity to remain.

“Hi, Frankie…” Your candied voice drips with sweetness around his name. He’s been imagining you saying it, trying to get it right in his mind over the past few weeks, but hearing it now he relishes in the fact that none of them were right. None of them sounded like spun sugar, like it did just now.

You fill the frame from your shoulders up, the same bright smile on your face that he’s seen at the end of each live, after he’s had his fun with you, but looking completely different out of that context. It’s a bit shy, demure in the way you're resting in your bed against your pillows, t-shirt on and fresh-faced. You look beautiful. And it makes him feel a bit silly that you can’t see his reaction.

“Hey, bonita. M’sorry I don’t have my camera on, jus’ nervous. Didn’t want you to hang up right away gettin’ a look at this mug,” he says with self-deprecating laughter at the end, watching as your brows knit together with a pout on your lips.

“You don’t have to apologize, Frankie. M’happy to do whatever you’re comfortable with. Besides, if your voice gives me any indication of your looks, you’d probably be making me way more nervous.” Teeth bite into your bottom lip as you hold in a grin, a hand coming into view to nudge at your nose. He’s seen you do it a few times on live, whenever you’re waiting in anticipation. For him, he’d like to think.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” he teases, the smirk playing at his face evident in his flirty tone.

“You jus’ sound…nice.”

“Nice? That’s all? Why would that make you nervous, baby?”

A sigh slips from your lips, rolling your head back as he hears the smallest whine from you. His cock jumps in his sweats, already half hard from the flirty back and forth in your messages.

“God, you’re going to be a problem with all those pet names,” you say exasperated. Frankie laughs at his screen, feeling like an idiot sitting here alone and smiling like a fool. You’re cute when you’re mad.

“You can tell me your name and I can use that instead?” he propositions, licking his lips as he awaits the piece of information he’s been chomping at the bit to have.

“No! I mean, I’ll tell you my name, but…I like the nicknames. Keep them. Please.” Your words scramble out and it makes him grin wider, witnessing you as nervous as he’s feeling. When you give him your name, he repeats it a few times, rolling it around in his mouth, tasting the syllables on his tongue. Delicate, floral, sweet but a slight tang. Smooth as it rolls across his vocal cords, soothing the rising heat he’s feeling with a refreshing chill. Like peaches and cream.

The two of you chat back and forth for a while, pride swelling in his chest when you laugh at his stupid jokes or give him a compliment, despite being none-the-wiser to his looks. He’s quick to make you blush with his comments, telling you how beautiful he thinks you are. And Frankie’s thanking himself for keeping his camera off, because at times during the call, his eyes drift to your chest, blatantly staring at your perked up nipples through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. It grows his hard on, the softness of your breasts bouncing around as you restlessly squirm during the call enticing him to picture getting his mouth on them. He’d guess you’d taste the same as your name.

The next time you move, he watches your chest again before a sight in the background catches his eye, drawing a chuckle from his mouth. A stuffed bunny lays next to you in your bed, messy with age and love. A soft pink color with a red ribbon tied around its neck, he finds the need to ask about it prodding in his mind.

“Is that who films everything for you?” he jokes, watching your face twist with confusion before looking to your side and bursting out in a laugh. Returning your eyes to the camera, you shake your head timidly.

“No, unfortunately he’s pretty limited to cuddling.”

“He? Didn’t know you had a man in your life, baby. Feels like we shouldn’t be talking like this in front of him.” The sound of your laughter quickens his pulse, the melody trilling in his ears with comfort.

“Well, I guess if you could offer me more than cuddling, he could be demoted.”

“I think I can offer more, Conejita.” Frankie watches as something akin to excitement, but burning brighter, flashes in your eyes. You sit up more, one eyebrow raising in challenge.

“What could you offer me, Frankie?” It’s a loaded question. He could be polite, steer the conversation away from where he so desperately wants it to go, to be a gentleman. It would be easy to make a joke, to get you both to move on.

But he always wants to see where this could go. You’re the one who wanted to talk on the phone in the first place. And he would never suggest anything to make you uncomfortable, and he thinks that you know that. It’s like what the two of you do in your lives — a conversation, a back and forth that may end up benefitting both of you.

“Depends on what you’re lookin’ for, Conejita. I’m a man of many talents.” The words are slick on his tongue, silvery with enticement.

“Hm…” you ponder out loud, tapping your index finger against your bottom lip before turning back to the camera, “Can you cook?”

“Decently. Can’t claim I’m a chef, but I feed myself. And m’pretty good at a grill and makin’ some of my mamá’s recipes. Insisted on teaching them to me so they didn’t end with her.”

Grinning warmly, he feels his heartbeat kick up against his chest, thumping hard at the sight of you giving him that look. “That’s so sweet that she taught you. You can teach me, then someone else in the world will know her recipes too.”

Christ, you’re so fucking adorable. He doesn’t know what he wants more in the moment: to keep talking and simply listen to your voice, or to flirt his way into something more.

“She might be a better teacher than me, baby. Would probably be over the moon if you asked to learn since she had to force me a bit,” he laughs along with your quiet giggle, taking a deep breath when you bite down on your bottom lip.

“Are you a good teacher of other things?”

“I’d like to think so. Haven’t I taught you new things already, Conejita?”

There goes his heartbeat when you look away from the camera, smirk lifting your cheekbones as your demeanor goes shy, shrugging your shoulders as you lay back again, shifting to get comfortable.

“You have…And now I’ve learned how sexy your voice is, too. I’ll be picturing everything you type now to be said in your voice.”

Frankie breathes out a chuckle, a heat burning the nap of his neck, trickling down his back. He feels the effects of his blood rushing below his belt, ever-so-slightly lightheaded as he quietly palms his bulge in his sweatpants.

“My voice is sexy?”

“Um, duh. Are you kidding me? You sound all…rugged and raspy and deep. Like you could manhandle me easily,” you admit your thoughts easily, and he sighs quietly at the thought of having you in front of him to throw around his bed and mold you into the positions he dreams of getting you into.

“No tienes ni idea de lo que haría contigo (You've got no idea what I would do with you)...” he mumbles under his breath, hearing a soft whimper from you. One of your arms is slung across your front, pressing your breast into the other and he can take a guess as to what your hand is up to. “You want some help, baby? I bet you’re jus’ feeling so needy, aren’t you? Listening to my voice got you that worked up?”

“Mhmm…I need it, Frankie…” Your voice has the edge of a whine and he exhales slowly as he hears you beg for him. Not his call sign or a username. His name. Him. There’s no one else who’s making you feel this way, no one else striving for attention.

He pushes his pants down, pulling his hard cock out to start slowly stroking. You’ve left him aching, dripping precum that his fingers smear around his length to lubricate as he moves up and down in a teasing pace.

“Use your manners, Conejita. What d’you say?”

“Please. Please, Frankie. I wanna hear your voice, I want you to tell me what to do.” He hisses from behind his teeth as he squeezes his cock at the base, leaning his head back against his headboard before his focus zeroes in on you on his screen, asking for his guidance, his control to get you off. No one else privy to the sights he’s seeing.

“Good girl. Such a good girl for me, baby. Why don’t you take off your shirt for me? Let me see you, bonita.” Wetting his lips with his tongue when you move to prop your phone up on your mattress, an expert at framing yourself perfectly. The thin, worn fabric of your sleep shirt slips over your head, leaving you on full display for him — already pantyless. Whether you started the call with any on is a mystery to him, but now, he settles back to tell you exactly what he wants from you…what he knows will feel good for his conejita.

“Okay, bunny, lean back for me…That’s it, get comfortable. Good girl.” Looking into your camera to your side, a nervous smile plays at your lips, shyness overcoming you as you wait with bated breath for Frankie, who’s still a mystery to you, to instruct you. It’s driving him mad, how trusting you are of him without ever seeing his face. Such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.

“Show me how you like to play when no one’s watching.”

When his phone dings one evening a few weeks later, Frankie pulls himself out from under the hood of his project car. A familiar fizz bubbles over his body, a Pavlovian response that’s been built over the last few weeks he’s been talking to you. There have been text chains, full of flirty sincerity, and more phone calls, all with his camera off but not all ending like that first one. There have been times when the two of you have had long conversations, full of laughter and learning about the other. A few calls have ended with you falling asleep, stuffed bunny tucked under your chin and pillowy lips parted slightly with deep, even breaths.

Admittedly, he’s grown attached. Maybe a bit much for…whatever this relationship or friendship is, but he can’t help the teenage giddiness he’s felt with every text chime, ringtone, or dial that he’s found you on the other end of.

He’s got a crush.

So immediately at the peal of his cell, he’s reaching for the rag on his workbench, wiping his hands clean of grease before reading over your message.

Conejita:

Hiii 😚

Are you busy?​

Grinning like a fool at the gray bubble, Frankie begins to type out a response before abandoning the message and clicking the phone button at the top of your name instead. Pressing the speaker to his ear, he runs a thumb across his bottom lip while he listens to the trill of the dial tone. Steps pace him across the garage, counting them in his head as he waits for an answer.

“Hey, stranger.” The line clicks on and your voice immediately draws a smile across Frankie’s face, hearing one of yours in your upbeat tone.

“Hey, Conejita. What’s up with you?” Even your presence over the phone calms his nerves, sparking kindling low in his gut that spreads down to his toes and up to the back of his neck. Frankie tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder as he wanders back over to the carhood, shutting it carefully. He retreats inside, washing his hands as he listens to you recount your day.

“...So then I got pissed off and left ‘cause she was being so unreasonable. And then I wanted to talk to you ‘cause, I dunno.” The intensity in your cadence slows down toward the tailend of your story of an argument with a friend of yours; Frankie chuckles, biting his tongue while you sigh deeply and he dries his hands off on a kitchen towel.

“You don’t know why you wanted to talk to me? Don’t get all shy on me now, cariño,” he teases you, receiving a frustrated huff on the other end. “Well, for what it’s worth, I agree with you. She sounds like she has a stick up her ass. And m’glad you wanted to call me, Conejita.”

“D’you wanna switch to Facetime?”

“‘Course, I do. Always wanna see your face, jus’ one sec…” Frankie climbs his stairs two at a time, reaching the landing as his screen lights up with the Facetime request from you. He answers it, camera off, while he changes out of dirty clothes and listens to you chatting about plans for the weekend. He mentions going out with the guys tomorrow night, and you make a jest that gets him laughing, both of you bantering back and forth before he settles back on his bed.

“Y’know, I am content to chat with you like this, Frankie. But I keep wondering what you look like…” In the small rectangle of his screen, you lean forward to fill more of it, cleavage exposed in your bralette. He’s been waiting for this to be brought up again, and feeling so much more comfortable with you, he can’t admit he hasn’t thought about it. But with that stronger connection comes the anxieties. What if he isn’t what you pictured? What if he isn’t your type? What if you don’t like him anymore?

Frankie thinks he’s decent looking enough — he hasn’t had much trouble pulling girls since he was a teenager, but not being the most commanding or charismatic in the room, he has had his bouts of struggle in the relationship department.

“Please, Frankie. S’not fair I get to hear your sexy voice and not know what you look like. Pretty please, I’ll give you something special if you do,” you bargain with a pout on your face, bottom lip protruding and puffy. He wants to kiss it away, bite down on the glossy flesh, work away your frowning moue with his own mouth. Wonderings of what you taste like.

Coming back into himself, he wears a proud, intrigued smirk that you’re blind to except for the way his words curl around his slick, silvery tongue, “Oh, is that right, bunny? What if I wanna know what the something special is to decide?”

“Not how it works, silly. Either you want something special or you don’t.” A stern shake of the head, sitting up straight as you raise an eyebrow at him.

He sits with it for a moment, thoughts warring on the inside. In the end, his realistic side barters that either way could end badly: he doesn’t turn the camera on and you get frustrated, ending it, or he does turn the camera on and you don’t like the look of him, ending it. A phantom whisper of your voice, bubbly and bright, reminds him that it could make everything even better, and that ultimately is what convinces him.

“Alright, alright. You make a convincing argument, Conejita.”

A beaming smile stretches across your face as you draw a leg up to your chest, resting your head on your kneecap while you hold back your excitement and anticipation. Frankie takes in the sight of you, astir on tenterhooks.

“Here goes nothing,” he mumbles to himself before his thumb is pressing the camera button, illuminating himself on your screen. He sees himself in the smaller rectangle in the corner, grimacing before he laughs softly and grins, awaiting your reaction with waves of solicitude raging inside.

You see him, your Frankie. Filling your phone screen. Finally.

A nearly inaudible gasp leaves your lips, blocked from the mic by your knee. Studying his face, you witness the lines next to his eyes deepening as he laughs, his shy smile growing on his face. Big brown eyes strike your chest, their sincere softness making you want to fall into their warmth and stay there forever. Like the comforting heat of a mug of coffee on a chilly morning. You note that your visualizations were correct, mostly. Brown hair, curling out from under the cap branded with Standard Oil that sits on his head. Wide set shoulders that extend out of frame, a build to him that screams he most definitely can manhandle you around in bed. His call sign makes a bit more sense to you, seeing patches in his short beard, admiring the one on his left cheek that is shaped like a heart. Simply endearing. The image of him in front of you sends a shock to your core, wet spot in your panties growing as you begin to imagine what the rest of him looks like.

Hot is all you can think. Frankie is fucking hot.

His voice cuts through your trails of admiration, joking around to break the silent tension, “So are you gonna ask me to keep my camera off now?”

As you swallow to recover some of your composure, shaking your head back and forth quickly before a genuinely eager smile paints your expression. Leaning closer to see more of his details, freckles across his neck and where his shirt exposes a sliver of his chest, the peak of his cupid’s bow shaded by his mustache, long eyelashes that reach toward his eyebrows. You drop your knee from in front of you, leaning an elbow on the surface of your desk and resting your shin in your palm.

“Frankie, respectfully, what the fuck? You’re so hot.”

A boisterous laugh rolls from his chest, the same shy smile returning with a blush across his cheeks, “Conejita, you’re the hot one between us.”

“No, no, I’m being serious. You’re like — Damn. Your smile. And you have pretty eyes, Frankie. And you’re just like…really fucking hot. I can’t even think of another word. You should be the one doing what I’m doing.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re only seeing my face, baby.”

“Yeah, and? It’s a pretty face…Wanna sit on it.” Your giggle cuts through his speakers, and Frankie groans at the comment. Saliva coats your mouth as you watch the muscles in his neck tense, licking your chops like a prowling lion. If only he was in front of you right now…

“Diablita…eres una problema. (Little devil…you’re a problem.) Do I get my special something now?”

Another giggle and a mischievous smirk make Frankie’s brows stitch together in frustration, your shoulders shrugging as you toy with the strap of your bra, hooked under your index finger, “Actually, I think I wanna move the goalpost. Will you show me what I’m missin’, Frankie? I wanna see more.”

Desire burns bright and wild inside of you, ache building between your legs as your arousal drips from your panties and onto your thighs. You’d been picturing him — all of him — for weeks. Ever since that first message. But now, seeing him on your phone screen, your imagination is running wild with newfound information and attempting to fill in the blanks. He has to be big, thickness would be just right. He’s the quiet type, unassuming in his own looks, which means he has to have a virtually perfect dick. It's the rules of the universe. Undecided if he’s cut or not, but regardless, picturing your manicured fingers wrapped around it and tongue licking at his tip. Watching him come undone from you. Stomach tensing, those long fingers that you sneak a peek of when he adjusts his hat wrapped up in your hair. Rasping moans. What would he taste like?

Frankie shakes his head, a quick tsking drawing your attention back to the moment as he looks on with a teasing expression, “Conejita, I don’t think it works like that.”

“Okay, then no special something for you. Your choice, Francisco.”

He watches as you move the strap back up your shoulder, the soft snap of the elastic against your skin. Huffing out a frustrated breath, he mumbles, “No serías tan valiente si estuvieras aquí conmigo, mocosa. (You wouldn’t be so brave if you were here with me, brat.)”

Uncaring in whatever annoyances he was airing with you, you watch him sit up further in the frame, knocking off his cap and reaching for the hem of his shirt. Despite his words, he lifts his shirt over his head, looking back at the camera, bare shoulders and chest on display, “This is what you get for now, bunny.”

Satisfaction glows from your smile, biting hard into your bottom lip while Frankie watches your eyes search everywhere on your screen besides his own. A stern clearing of his throat breaks your trance, a commanding expression on Frankie’s face.

“You promised me something, Conejita.”

A deep pout replaces your grin, huffing in defiance as you slip your bra straps from your shoulders, “Can’t you please take the rest off? Show me what I wanna see, Frankie. Please.”

“Nah uh. Quit demanding, baby. Y’know that’s my job. Now tell me, what are you gonna do for me to get what you want?” His unwavering voice surprises you, despite hearing it for weeks. With the added heat factor of his looks, you crumble a bit quicker, clenching your thighs as you sigh and nod obediently.

“I’ll do anything, Frankie. Jus’ tell me what to do, I wanna make you happy.”

He grins on the screen, sincere softness peeking out, “Oh, baby, y’know it’s easy to make me happy. Jus’ gotta be a good little bunny, yeah?” He hums, licking his lips as he ponders what he wants from you tonight, a night he wants to fill with another milestone for the two of you. He’s only seen you use a small vibrator or your fingers on the phone with you, but he knows what else you have. He’s watched the video of you using it on your profile only about ten times.

“Get your pretty pink toy for me, Conejita. Y’know the one. And then get on the floor and you’re going to show me exactly how you use it.”

There’s rustling as you follow his instructions, stripping bare and suctioning the toy to your hardwood floors, propping the phone up for him to see it all. The hot pink dildo bobbles from you moving around it, glistening with lube that you applied — even though with one glance at your cunt, both you and Frankie know you wouldn’t need it. Straddling over the silicone, you slowly tease your entrance with it, whining before you make one more attempt to Frankie watching you with a smugness in his smirk.

“Please, Frankie, can’t you please show me your cock? I wanna picture it while I fuck myself. Wanna know if it’s how I imagined…Dream about it a lot.” He can read right through your tactics, but his dick can’t. It strains against his zippered jeans, throbbing under the fabric for some sort of relief. He squeezes his palm over it once, exhaling as he shakes his head, strong in his convictions.

“Be a good girl, and I’ll show you what you wanna see.” No more room for negotiations.

“Yes’sir.”

Frankie’s mouth hangs ajar while his focus trains on the apex of your thighs. Watching you slowly sink down, the bright pink rubbery toy disappears inside of you. Whimpers slip from your lips as you brace your hands on your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin. Need burns brightly in his chest and below his belt, clenching his jaw while he imagines biting the meaty part of you, leaving teeth marks in his wake before settling his mouth at your entrance.

Your hips set a quick pace, desperate for the high you’ve been dripping for since getting on the phone with Frankie. A low growl followed with a disapproving tut clicks over the speakers of your phone.

“Slow down, baby girl. Not a race…” Frankie corrects, and the only response you have is a frantic nod, turning your movements to a drag. The toy fills you up, stretches you the most that you have ever been. Pain heats your feelings of pleasure, intensifying it all in the lightness of your limbs and head. The ridges of the faux veins of the fake cock impress into your walls, the tip of it notching at the spot inside of you that Frankie taught you to reach. It only skates by it, whines accompanying your frustrations.

Frankie, on the other end, listens to the squelch of your pussy around the silicone. The sound drives him to fully cup his erection through his pants, palming himself with heady breaths as your own moans for him drive the iron hot brand of need deeper into his skin. He can see your need for a change, your need to be given permission to chase that feeling that’s within reach.

“Lean back, little bunny. Sit back on your hands and use your hips…Show me more of that pretty pussy,” he instructs, cool and confident while his hips buck up into his hand. Being his perfect girl, you do as he says and change positions, gasping when you sink down onto the toy. Your cunt clenches around it, a satisfied smirk painting Frankie’s face. He knows he’s gotten you to hit that special spot. With the grip your entrance has around the base of the dildo, he wonders if you’ll pop it off of the floor on your next thrust.

“Oh, fuck…Frankie, wish you were here. Tell me—tell me what you’d do to me if you were here,” you beg, your hips still dragging at the new angle.

A groan escapes Frankie at your request, biting down hard on his lip and taking his hand away from his lap to deny himself the temptation.

“You love hearing me say all the dirty things to you, huh Conejita?” Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “If I were there with you, I’d would be—shit—I’d be devouring you right now. Fucking you with my tongue and my fingers, making you squeeze me and getting your come all over my face. Gotta get you ready for me, bunny. After, I’d flip you over. Get your pretty ass up for me, and I’d fuck you senseless. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Turn it all off up there and just let me take care of you…”

Nodding, your hips start to move faster as Frankie speaks to you. He doesn’t have the heart to tease you anymore, letting you start to take what you want for a bit. Your moans pitch up, tits bouncing with your nipples pebbled and the rest of your soft curves twisting as you rock back and forth on the toy.

“Yes, please. I want that,” you mewl, heavy breaths erratic.

“That’s right. My baby deserves it all,” he says with a sigh, his large palm squeezing his hard cock again, slowly unzipping his jeans and slipping his hand into his boxers to grip himself at the base. “I’d fuck you until that pretty little brain of yours was filled up only with thoughts of how good I make you feel. How good you are for me, pretty girl…Look at you go, bouncing on that toy. Rub your clit, Conejita. Slow, at least for right now.”

You follow his orders, supporting yourself on one arm. Slow circles against your clit have you shuddering with pleasure, a twitch of your tummy as you moan. Your eyes flutter shut, face twisting with overwhelming need. Frankie drinks in the sight, indulging himself in a few long strokes of his cock before he hears it.

“Daddy…” you breathe, near a whisper, but it’s audible to him. Lost in yourself, you don’t even notice you’ve let it slip until it comes again, “Oh my god, Daddy.”

The surprise of it shocks your eyes open, stuttering your hips as you narrow in on your screen. Frankie’s eyes grow dark, licking his lips as he holds in a loud moan. His fingers grip the base of his aching cock, holding off at the edge. So close to coming when he heard that word drip from your mouth like melted sugar.

He can tell you’re attempting to gauge his reaction, nervous settling in as you attempt to move on from it and continue fucking yourself closer to finishing. Frankie’s eager to take it in stride, clearing his throat before he gives it right back to you, opening that door that he knows won’t be shut any time soon. At least not by him.

“Yeah, that’s right, baby. Let Daddy tell you what you need, yeah?” He chuckles darkly, satisfaction thumping in his veins while you nod and whimper yes yes yes back to him, “Y’know, if you like that lil’ toy, baby, Daddy���s cock will feel even better. S’bigger than that fucking thing.”

“Oh, fuck, I need to—I need you, Daddy, please!”

“I know, Conejita, I know. Poor little thing jus’ needs Daddy to be filling her up, huh? You wanna know what my cock feels like inside of you, don’t you, pequeña?” He hisses with a buck of his hips into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second.

“Yes, yes, please, Daddy! Please,” you choke on a breath and Frankie can see you twitch at your inner thighs from the full-on view of your pussy, your tell-tale sign that you’re about to come.

“Y’know the rules, Conejita. Better ask before you come.”

“Please, please may I come?” you moan, rubbing faster circles against your clit and grinding down on your toy.

“Oh, bunny, you can ask nicer than that. May I come…?” he leads, smirking devilishly when you nearly squeal from the way he’s holding you out on the edge. Teetering on the verge of that high that he knows well, he can see your legs faltering with a cramp.

“Please may I come, Daddy?” Your eyes open, heavy-lidded and lips parted with shallow breathing. Frankie gets lost in the sight, wrecked from his direction, his words, a sheen of sweat over your skin and the arousal coating your thighs. A fucking dream.

“Mm, come for Daddy, baby girl—” he’s interrupt as you erupt in a high-pitched moan, mouth wide open as you string together mumblings Oh fuck, Daddy, feels so good. Need you so bad…

“Good girl.”

Frankie hums contently, chuckling as a dopey grin finds your face, blinking through the orgasmic haze. Laying back, you slip the toy out of your pussy, leaving it to wobble in place and spreading your legs around it. One arm comes to rest against your forehead, breasts rising and falling with deep, recovering breaths. He’s blocked of the view that would make this moment even sweeter, licking his lips before he speaks up.

“Lemme see that fucked cunt of yours, bunny. Let Daddy see what belongs to him.” You sit up again, popping the toy off of the floor and laying it to the side to be cleaned later. Frankie hums as you part your legs more, the glittering of your come dripping on your thighs and across your swollen pussy. “Eres un buen oyente, pequeña. (You’re a good listener, little one.)”

“What’s that mean?” you ask, a long exhale punctuating the question.

“You’re a good listener, little one.” Frankie grins when you grow shy, inching your legs together before he tsks again, one hand coming into frame to motion for your lower limbs to part again.

“Y’know, it would look even prettier with my come dripping out of ya, baby.”

“Please.”

“What, Conejita?”

“Don’t tease me anymore…Can’t take it, Daddy.” You lips push out in a pout, subtle but he can catch the change in expression.

“Nah uh, no pouting, bunny. Who said that I was teasing? I’m going to make it happen.”

Sweetness slips from your lips in a giggle, leaning over to pick up your phone and hold him closer to your face.

“So, if I was a good girl, doesn’t that mean I get to see what I asked for before?” Wiggling in eagerness, Frankie feigns ignorance, scratching at his beard as he shrugs, acting as if he didn’t nearly come in his pants multiple times in the last few minutes.

“I dunno, Conejita. What did you ask me for? Gonna have to remind me.”

“Your cock. I wanna see it.” Your pout sneaks back, biting your lip. “May I please see your cock, Daddy?”

“I think I could do that for you, baby. Asking so nicely. Such a good girl for Daddy, yeah?”

“Always.” A giggle bubbles up from your tummy, biting down on your lip as Frankie takes you in, shaking his head in subtle disbelief. How the hell did clicking for one subscription get him here, having Facetime sex with you?

He obliges your original requests, moving to prop his phone up in front of him, stripping down his jeans first. The sight of his bulge waters your mouth, pupils widening in want at the outline of his cock. No tricks of the light, no chance of manipulation like some men in your DMs do. All natural.

And Frankie wasn’t lying. He’s big.

The reveal comes when he tugs his boxers down to his ankles, settling in front of the camera again. His heavy length rests against his lower stomach, precum dripping into his dark happy trail. Your eyes drag over the veins ribbing him, leading down to show off that he’s tastefully groomed. Swallowing saliva, you lick your lips as his large hand wraps around, slow strokes that gently shift the foreskin away from his tip. The end of his cock glistens with pebbles of precum, red and aching. Frankie hisses at the contact, the veins in his neck straining against his skin while he starts to fuck his fist.

“You look so pretty, Daddy,” you compliment sweetly, grinning at him as he laughs quietly back at you.

“Such a sweet little bunny. You think you can take me in your tight little cunt?” A long exhales concaves his chest, quiet moans as his hand picks up pace. 

You return his regular favor of talking him through it, detailing how good of a girl you’d be for him, telling him all that he would be allowed to do to you. The sounds Frankie makes has you dripping again, getting his permission to fuck your fingers, both of you driving each other to a peak, your second one taking the breath from your lungs as Frankie comes at the same time. Whimpers escape your mouth as you envy his hand and stomach being covered in his release, biting your tongue and crowding the screen as he shows off how much you made him come.

“Wish I was there to clean you up, Daddy.”

“Right back at you, Conejita.”

A few days later, Frankie calls you after one of your livestreams, grinning like a schoolboy when you answer in only your underwear. You laugh as you set your phone down on the surface of your dressing, his childish smirk turning to a pout as he stares at your white painted ceiling. Calling out to him, you ask for one second while you tug a sweatshirt over your head, shuffling around before grabbing the device and relaxing back on your bed, bunny in your lap.

“Hi, baby,” Frankie coos, one side of his mouth lifting in a smile as he drinks in your cozy, drowsy demeanor. Cuddling with the toy against your chest, you grin back at him, curling up onto your side like a cat.

“Hi, Frankie,” you mumble back, exhaustion heavy in your eyes.

“You sleepy, little bunny?” A slow nod answers his question. “Alright, I won’t keep you up for long then. Just had a question for you.”

The vague proposition piques your interest, your eyes shooting open and the camera being brought closer to your face, “What’s your question?”

Frankie works his lips between his teeth, nerves crackling over his entire body. Realistically, he knows you’ll say yes, but there’s still that chance for rejection in the moment. His left leg bounces against his couch, hand running over his face as he takes a deep breath in, “I was wondering if you’d wanna come visit me here in Florida? If you don’t have time—”

“I would love to come visit, Frankie,” you agree immediately, a sincere smile growing on your face. Frankie mirrors your excitement with a goofy grin, the creases next to his eyes deepening and his dimple cratoring his cheek. “I’ll even book my flight right now, that’s how eager I am.”

Shaking his head furiously, he clicks his tongue in a tut, scolding you playfully, “Hey, hey. No, none of that. I’m not letting my baby pay, I’m the one who asked you to come.”

“But—”

“Nope, no buts. Except yours getting onto a plane and coming to see me,” Frankie laughs at his own joke, earning a playful eye roll as you hold back your own chuckle. “Oh, c’mon, that was funny, Conejita. I can tell you want to laugh.”

The two of you go back and forth while he books your flight on his laptop, showing off the confirmation number once it’s all gone through. Both of you wear shit-eating grins on your faces, sitting in disbelief.

Frankie can’t help the rush of anxiety, unable to tell if it’s solely from his excitement. All he can think about is having you in front of him, in the flesh, in person. No screens between the two of you, no broken signals or shitty wifi interruptions. Hearing your voice without the strain of speakers, getting to touch you, taste you, hear you, feel you all over him. There’s the flash of a vision of you laid out underneath him, making your little sounds that drive him crazy and digging your nails into his back…

“Gonna let Daddy spoil you while you’re down here, baby girl?” Frankie smirks as you stretch sleepily, biting down on your lip.

“You’re flying me out, isn’t that spoiling me enough? Shouldn’t it be my turn to spoil you then?”

“Think you know the answer to that, baby. Having you in front of me is spoiling me enough, I jus’ wanna take care of you.” 

The simple statement brings a smile to your face, shyly tucking your face into your pillow. The rest of the call relaxes you back to near sleep, listening as Frankie tells you all about what he’ll take you to do. Your drowsiness catches up with you, drifting off on the phone. Frankie chuckles quietly to himself, sitting with you for a moment silently before he goes to hang up.

“Night, Conejita. Can’t wait to see you.”

taglist: @northernbluess @swiftispunk @joelsversion @mrsmando @ilovepedro @lovers-liability @deathwife @undrthelights @atticrissfinch @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @anoverwhelmingdin @spishsstuff @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @vickie5446 @pertinentpostmortem @livingdeadmaria @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @its-nebuleuse @marini03 @piercethevic03 @joeandpedrosimp @kiwisbell @planet-marz1 @txtattoostark @jrosie25 @vee-bees-blog @joelsflannel @k-k0129 @cartoon-garbage04 @nostalxgic @ravenpoe67

[httpseungmxn]

Rough Ride 

Vampire!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

🍰 - suggestive, smutty

Authors note: Hello my Angels! I am bringing you a fic that you all were very excited about! I got over 180 votes on the poll for this fic, that is absolutely insane! I originally thought about making this a horror themed fic only buttttttt, Chan just looked so scrumdiddlyumptious in the mv that I had to make this a suggestive fic! That doesn’t mean this won’t have horror aspects to it though, I mean the man is a vampire :3! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

Warnings: Suggestive, biting - hes a vampire so fangy boy!! Light choking, scratching, p in v, very little plot!! Blood play, rough chan! Spitting, spanking, hair pulling, reader gets cut a few times but nothing seriously bad!

Triggers: Blood, choking, slight gore!

There was absolutely no way of knowing you were gonna end up in a position like this ever. It was inhumane, but then again, the man holding you tight by the neck didn’t seem to care because he sure as hell wasn’t human. That much was obvious from the fangs threatening to break the skin of your collarbone and the single white eye he had stared at you intensely with.

The beast wanted to hurt you, he found your blood tasted sickeningly sweet and he craved more of it. Tongue immediately lapping over the cut he had marked on your collarbone with his left fang. His claw-like nails scratched roughly at your side as he trailed his hand slowly from your hip to grab at your thigh harshly.

Nothing about this creature was kind or caring in the slightest. He had been rough ever since he had stalked you along the halls of his prison. Curious as to why a mere, young mortal would dare enter his “lair”. No human had ever made it in and escaped alive, though it had been many years since anyone had ventured inside. He assumed you must have not known the dark rumors about the building, or perhaps you were dared by a group of friends. He couldnt care less what the story was.

The only thing on Chan’s mind was his plans for you. At first he had thought about just turning you into one of his creations, but your blood tasted too good for him to waste it. He would keep you by his side, collecting your blood by the gallon over the course of the next few years, and then once he had enough he would make you a monster like him. It was such a perfect plan and would surely have no errors. Right?

That could be thought more about later once he was done with what he had planned now. It had been many years since he had indulged in his lust, and your body was just too cute to pass up on. If he kept you around, maybe he would treat you with this if it ended up being as good as he hoped.

Within seconds you were turned around and bent harshly over a bloodied table causing a sharp whimper to leave your lips. This wasn’t at all what you expected to happen when you were dared to explore the large abandoned prison by a group you weren’t so sure were actually your friends. You were now paying the price of craving friendship, and that bore through your brain when the beast ripped off your light pink skirt and spit harshly on your leaking pussy. Two fingers roughly rubbing your clit eliciting a squeaky moan from your lips.

The fingers were quick to move to your hole which is where you squirmed, a gasp left your lips as soon as his hand came down hard on your ass to stop you from moving. Your hole leaking more as he pushed the fingers slowly into you. Upon noticing the increase in your arousal, he decided to test the waters by laying another hard spank, groaning deeply at the leaking of your wetness onto his fingers.

His fangs scratching and biting at your shoulder causing more blood to spill slowly from the skin which only seemed to turn him on even more. You didn’t even process movement until the two long fingers in your quivering pussy had been replaced by something much bigger and pulsating. A choked moan leaving your lips as the man pressed your face against the table, his hand tangling in your hair as he began to move.

His pace was rough and absolutely brutal to your hole. His hips smacking hard into your ass causing the soft skin to jiggle with each thrust. Moans and whimpers were filling up the small room from your pink glossy lips that had been previously attacked by his lips. Your body shook in pleasure as the beast destroyed it with his dick.

This man was so rough with you, but it felt so good to finally be getting what you had only seen in movies and read in books. You would have preferred losing your virginity to this beast than your sloppy shitty ex boyfriend who hadn’t even lasted ten minutes. Men were weak was what you had come to learn just from your current experience. No human would ever be able to make you feel as good as this vampire was making you feel.

Blood dribbled down your back from the cuts on your shoulder which only spurred Chan on more. His movement was stuttering though, it was obvious that he was close and that he hadn’t done this in a while. You were so lose in your thoughts of the being that you didn’t know you were cumming until his fingers were harshly rubbing your clit to overstimulate you. His movement was fast and it was obvious he was wanting something.

Your eyes that had been rolled back were now seeing stars as you curled your toes, your pussy gushing and squirting all over his dick, pulling grunts and growls from his lips at how tight you had clenched suddenly. Hips smacking into your skin harder than before a few times before his hot seed was spilling into your hole and filling you up.

Chan decided then and there that he couldn’t ever turn you into one of his failed experiments, he wouldn’t even use your blood as his meal, he would make you his. The euphoric state he was feeling right now was something he wanted to feel for many years to come, so without hesitation his teeth were sinking into your neck and his cut wrist was held up to your mouth for you to drink from.

It must’ve been a silent agreement from you two what your life would now be like, because without any hesitation in your own actions, you were drinking his blood slowly from his wrist to become a beast just like him. The outside world didn’t deserve you, it had always treated you like shit. At least here, you knew you would be treated like an Angel, or a goddess.

You decided, you will gladly be Chan’s vampire queen. Ruling the prison by his side. The failed experiments he called his creations would be the peasants who served you. Any human who explored the prison would come to an end at the hands of the vampire mates. This was exactly how it should be. How it would be for many years to come.

Just you and him, the Vampire King and his Vampire Queen.

Authors ending note; Holy Fuck. Thats all I have to say about that, because wow, I am proud of myself for this one. I have never written something like this, or even thought about writing anything like this but I think it is definitely one of my strong suits, probably because i am such a big fan of horror and gore and just the mv in general! I really hope you guys are able to enjoy this, and i will gladly write more like this if anyone asks for it! Make sure to leave me some requests and join my taglist, i still havent gotten any requests which makes me sad! Let me all know what you think of this in the comments! Until next time, My Sweet Angels 🫶

[jungkoode]

OFF-LABELS | O9

→ PAIRING : Med Student!Hoseok x F!Reader (Brother’s Best Friend AU)

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: March 10th, 2025.

→ SUMMARY: You’ve spent four years convincing yourself that your brother’s best friend is just being nice when he remembers your coffee order, quizzes you on neuroanatomy, or lets his touch linger a second too long. Because there’s no way that the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program might actually be flirting with you. Especially when he keeps saying things that could be perfectly innocent… if only he didn’t say them in that voice.

→ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, medical school au, brother’s best friend trope, age gap (4 years), pining, touch starved, overthinking reader, confident hoseok, gentle dom hoseok, medical terminology as flirting (lmao), study sessions, domestic moments, innocent (but not really), plausible deniability king hoseok, anxiety, internal monologue, guilty crushes, subtle teasing, emotional edging, gentle manipulation, praise kink undertones, intellectual attraction, competency kink, hand fixation, voice kink, medical intern hoseok, first year med student reader, home setting, casual intimacy, unresolved sexual tension (for now), secret attraction, nervous rambling, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts, anatomy lessons with ulterior motives, competent hoseok, flustered reader, close proximity, accidental touches that aren’t accidents, virgin!reader.

→ CONTENT in this chapter: Car rides that test limits, lessons in following instructions, behavioral correction sessions, power dynamics in enclosed spaces, and time management exercises that end in failure. | power exchange, car scenes, behavioral modification, training sessions, time limits, control dynamics, authority challenges, discipline dynamics, oral (m), deepthroating, some tears, blowjob in a car, spanking, kind threats.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 3k

→ MINI SERIES: PREVIOUS | NEXT

→ A/N: I really liked this chapter, and as I said previously, it’s probably my favorite one out of the 11 of them. 10 and 11 are a wild ride and basically pure smut. This one… I don’t know why, maybe it’s the thrill of pushing somebody to their limits or the anticipation of what’s going to happen to Chip now that Hoseok is done holding back. But something scratches my brain just right. Anyway, enjoy this one, and get ready for the next two because you’re going to need water (and Chip too… all I’ll say is she’s multiorgasmic, so.) Also, I did say this in my author intro for this series and all, but this is basically a self-indulgent story. I just wanted to explore plausible deniability, menacing kindness in medical settings, and a bit of psychological warfare. I like how brilliant Hoseok is and how he’s always ten steps ahead, and I love how Chip has basically rewired herself to be attuned to him unconsciously. Like ‘normal flirting’ isn’t for her. She doesn’t like ‘nice’. It’s a silly thing, but I really liked writing that, having her realize those things about herself, it shows growth. Maybe they’re both a bit messed up, but they somehow work. And that’s realistic and that’s what I like. So yeah, I wasn’t going for full analysis and psychological depth in this one, because frankly, it’s a mini-series so, word count is a thing. I wanted to actually have a story finished, a completed one, and if I went off-the-rails with this one then we’d be facing another slow burn 500k word count monstruosity—I can’t do that to myself. Some things are not spelled out. Some things are for you guys to interpret. And as always, I’ll be hearing all of you out in my inbox! 💕

PLAYLIST

The minutes tick by like honey drips—slow, sweet, deliberate. You check the time: 16 minutes left.

Fuck him.

Fuck his countdown and his medical terminology and his whole menacing kindness act.

"Mike!" You grab his arm, pulling him back to the dance floor. "Dance with me."

He looks surprised but pleased, hands settling carefully on your waist. Too carefully. You press closer, letting the alcohol and spite guide your movements.

15 minutes.

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it.

"You sure you're okay?" Mike asks as your hips sway against his.

"Perfect." You loop your arms around his neck, making sure to arch your back just so. Because you know he's watching. Can feel those surgical eyes cataloging every point of contact between you and Mike.

14 minutes.

Another buzz. Then another.

"Your phone's blowing up," Mike notes, glancing at your clutch.

"Let it." You turn in his arms, pressing your back to his chest. His hands hover uncertainly at your hips. "You can hold tighter, you know."

13 minutes.

Your phone starts buzzing continuously. Text after text after—

"Should you maybe check that?"

"Nope." You guide Mike's hands lower, letting them rest on your thighs where your dress has ridden up. "Just dance with me."

12 minutes.

The buzzing stops abruptly. Your stomach flips with anticipation.

Because you know what this means. Know what happens when he goes quiet. It's like watching storm clouds gather—that perfect, terrible stillness before lightning strikes.

11 minutes.

Mike's thumbs brush circles on your thighs—gentle, tentative touches that make you want to scream. Because they're wrong. No clinical precision. No calculated pressure points. Just... nice.

You hate nice.

10 minutes.

Your phone lights up with a single message. You shouldn't look. You really shouldn't look.

You look.

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙷𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚞𝚗?

Heat floods your system. Because that's his voice—the one he uses right before he makes you fall apart. All honey and poison and promise.

9 minutes.

Your fingers shake as you type:

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚞𝚞𝚞𝚞𝚙. 𝚖𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜

The response is immediate:

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙽𝚘 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚓𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜??

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝟾 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜, 𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚙.

You press closer to Mike, making sure your dress rides up just enough. Making a show of it.

7 minutes.

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚋 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗

6 minutes.

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎. 𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘.

Your thighs clench involuntarily. Mike mistakes it for encouragement, his fingers flexing against your skin.

5 minutes.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚞 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌. 𝚖𝚒𝚔𝚎’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙸𝚜 𝚑𝚎.

Just that. Two words that sound like a medical diagnosis and feel like a death sentence.

4 minutes.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚖𝚑𝚖𝚖𝚖. 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎

The dots appear, disappear, appear again. Your heart thunders.

3 minutes.

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙽𝚘.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚘?

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚎

2 minutes.

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙾𝚑, 𝙸 𝚊𝚖.

Oh.

Oh so he's actually here. Somewhere in this crowd, he is watching. He was pretending to be home, pretending he hadn’t been watching, pretending he wasn’t here.

But he is.

1 minute.

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙻𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚙.

You turn in Mike's arms, pressing closer. Let your lips brush his ear as you whisper something meaningless, making it look intimate.

30 seconds.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚘𝚙𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎’𝚜 𝚞𝚙

𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝙸𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚍.

Your phone goes silent. The crowd shifts around you, bodies pressing closer in the dark. Mike's hands move respectfully somewhere above your waist.

And then—

"Mind if I cut in?"

That voice. Honey-thick and surgical-sharp, right behind you.

Oh.

Fuck.

Your entire body freezes, even as Mike continues moving near you, oblivious to the way your pulse just flatlined.

Because Hoseok is here.

Not just watching from some hidden vantage point. Not just sending threatening texts. But here—close enough that you can smell bergamot and antiseptic and all those things you want to feel under your lips.

"Mind if I cut in?" he repeats, and now his hand settles on your waist, surgical fingers spanning your ribcage like they belong right there.

The touch is gentle. Clinical.

Lethal.

Mike hesitates, hands stilling immediately. "Uh, we were kind of—"

"Were you?" He responds swiftly, and it has no business being this hot.

Hoseok's thumb finds the pressure point between your ribs, pressing just hard enough to make your breathing stutter. His other hand extends past you, offering Mike something that glints in the strobing lights.

"I believe this is yours." He adds then.

You crane your neck to see—and nearly choke.

Because that's a hospital ID badge.

"Dr. Jung?" Mike's voice rises in recognition. "From the ER rotation?"

"Mm." Hoseok's thumb digs deeper into your side. "Small world."

The music flutters around you as understanding dawns on Mike's face. Because of course. Of course, Mike is doing his internship at SNU. He told you so earlier. Of course Hoseok would know him. Of course this whole situation would implode in the most spectacularly awful way possible.

"I didn't realize—" Mike starts, but Hoseok cuts him off with a smile that could sterilize surgical equipment.

"That this is my best friend's sister?" His hand slides higher on your waist, proprietary and utterly poisonous. "The one I specifically mentioned during orientation? About maintaining professional boundaries?"

Oh.

Oh no.

Mike's hands drop from your body like they've been burned. "Shit, I didn't—I mean, she didn't say—"

"No?" Hoseok's voice is dusted in cyanide. "Must have slipped her mind. Just like it slipped her mind that she has an 8 AM anatomy lab." His fingers tap your ribs. "With me."

You should say something. Should defend Mike or explain or—

"I'll just..." Mike backs away, hands raised in surrender. "Yeah. Nice seeing you, Dr. Jung."

He disappears into the crowd, leaving you alone with six feet of barely contained medical malice.

"Nineteen minutes," Hoseok murmurs against your ear, turning you in his arms until you're facing him. "I gave you nineteen minutes."

Your mouth goes dry. Because he looks... devastating. White dress shirt rolled to his elbows, dark slacks that you just know cost more than your textbooks, hair slightly disheveled like that day he fingered you.

He looks like he just stepped out of surgery.

He looks like he's about to perform one.

"I—" Your voice cracks as his hand slides up your spine, pressing you closer. "You said don't come Thursday."

"I did." His other hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip. "And yet here we are. On a Friday. With your dress halfway up your thighs and some intern��s hands all over my—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.

"Your what?" The tequila makes you brave.

Stupid. 

Reckless.

His eyes darken. "You know exactly what you are."

"Say it." You press closer, feeling the way his breath hitches. "If you're so concerned about my behavior, Dr. Jung, diagnose me."

His thumb presses harder against your mouth. "Don't."

"Don't what?" You let your lips part, tongue darting out to taste the pad of his thumb. "Test you? Pretty sure that ship sailed around minute seventeen."

A muscle jumps in his jaw. "You're drunk."

"Tipsy," you correct, rolling your hips against his. "Just drunk enough to tell you exactly what I think about you blocking my number and playing hot and cold and—"

His hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back. "Not here."

"Why not?" You bare your throat, feeling his pulse thunder for the first time ever. "Scared of losing control, sunbae?"

The honorific hits like a match to gasoline. His grip tightens painfully in your hair as he drags you off the dance floor, through the crowd, past the bathrooms to a darker hallway near the emergency exit.

Your back hits the wall hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. His hands cage your head as he looms over you, expression thunderous.

"You want to talk about control?" His voice is barely audible over the muffled bass. "Let's talk about how you deliberately disobeyed me. How you let some fumbling intern put his hands all over what's mine."

Flames lick down your spine. "Yours?"

"Mine." He leans closer, lips brushing your ear. "Or did you forget how pretty you looked choking on my cock? How desperate you were for my fingers? How you begged—"

"Fuck you," you spit, but your thighs press together traitorously.

His laugh is cruel and gentle all at once. "Oh, Chip." His knee wedges between your legs, spreading them wider. "That's exactly what you want, isn't it? Why you've been testing me all night."

You shake your head frantically, even as your hips roll against his thigh.

"No?" His hand slides up your inner thigh, bunching the dress higher. "Then why are you so wet?"

His fingers brush against damp lace, and you bite back a whimper.

"Tell me," he demands softly, circling your clit through the fabric. "Tell me why you're soaking through these pretty panties."

Your head thunks back against the wall. "I hate you."

"No." His fingers press harder, making you gasp. "You hate that I'm right. That I know exactly what you need." His other hand cups your breast through your dress. "That no matter how many other aspiring doctors you dance with, no matter how much you pretend..." His thumb rolls your nipple roughly. "You'll always be my Chip."

The possessive pronoun makes you whine. He swallows the sound with a kiss that tastes like punishment and promise.

"Car," he growls against your mouth. "Now."

"Make me."

His smile is surgical precision and poorly contained violence. "Last chance to behave."

You bite his lower lip in response.

His growl vibrates through your chest as he hauls you away from the wall.

"Have it your way."

The world tilts as he hoists you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing—all that strength he showed you back home on display as he secures you with one arm.

You're still giddy enough from tequila and victory to wave cheerfully at Mike's shocked face across the bar.

SMACK.

The sharp crack of his palm against your ass echoes even over the music. The sting blooms hot and perfect, pulling a sound from your throat that’s definitely not pain.

"Oops," you giggle, squirming deliberately against his shoulder. "Sorry, Dr. Jung."

Another smack lands harder, right where thigh meets curve. This time, your yelp dissolves into an embarrassingly breathy moan.

"Still feeling defiant?" His voice is sugary-sweet venom as he starts walking, each step jostling you against his shoulder. "Or should I conduct a more thorough behavioral assessment right here?"

"You wouldn't dare," you taunt, voice muffled against his back.

His laugh is quiet. Lethal. "That’s adorable, Chip. Truly."

SMACK.

You yelp again, fingers digging into the back of his shirt. “Sadist.”

“Self-restraint of a saint, actually.”

You’re halfway to the exit when he hums thoughtfully. Almost like he’s just remembering something.

"You know," he says conversationally, "I was going to let him off with a warning."

Something tingles in your stomach. "Hoseok—"

SMACK.

"But then he put his hands on you." Fingers tighten on your thigh, casual but severe. "And that? That’s something I just can’t overlook."

You push up against his back, twisting to look at him. "You’re not—"

"Relax," he murmurs, effortlessly adjusting his grip as you squirm. "I’m not going to ruin him."

A pause.

SMACK.

"But he’s an intern, isn’t he?" His tone is all polite, mere curiosity. "Which means his next rotation is what—three weeks?"

You unawarely hold your breath.

"ER is brutal at SNU," he continues mildly. "And interns? They burn out so fast."

"Hoseok." You say his name like it’s a warning.

Like you have any say whatsoever in what he does.

"Mm. No, you're right." He sighs like he actually considers it. SMACK. "Wouldn’t want him transferring to another specialty out of sheer exhaustion. What a shame that would be."

You dig your nails into his back, panic rising. "You can't—"

He chuckles, patting your thigh as if to soothe you. "Of course I can’t. That would be unethical."

SMACK.

You whimper, thighs squeezing against his chest.

"But maybe," he says softly, fingers pressing into the burning skin of your ass, "someone will make sure he remembers exactly where he stands."

You go rigid.

"Someone like…" He taps his fingers against your thigh. SMACK. "The Chief Resident?"

Your pulse pounds.

"Or maybe," he continues, voice all silky amusement, "someone even higher than that."

"You are insane," you breathe.

"And yet—" His hand slides under your dress, fingers teasing the damp heat between your thighs. "You keep testing me."

Your head thunks against his back.

His chuckle is quiet. Knowing. "That’s what I thought."

You squeal as he pinches the sensitive spot he just spanked. The cool night air hits your legs as he walks through the parking lot, carrying you like a misbehaving doll.

"Put me down!" You mean to say it like a retort—but you’re laughing now, drunk on tequila and victory and the way his fingers keep finding new places to leave bruises.

"Oh, I will." His palm connects with your other cheek, evening out the sting. "Right over my knee first, then bent over my desk, then—"

"Hoseok!"

"That’s not my name tonight, is it?" Another smack, another moan you can't quite swallow. "What did you call me? Dr. Jung?"

You're definitely going to die. He’s going to kill you with his bare hands and perfect voice and medical terminology.

(Worth it.)

His car beeps as he approaches—something sleek and black that probably costs stupidly too much. The passenger door opens and—

"Wait." You twist to look at him over your shoulder. "Aren’t you going to check my alcohol levels? Make sure I’m safe to—"

His laugh rumbles through your whole body. "Oh, Chip." He deposits you in the seat with gentleness, despite his rough demeanor. "Bold of you to assume you’ll be conscious enough to remember your own name when I’m done with you."

Your nipples perk up as he buckles you in, movements deliberately slow. His fingers subtly trace the marks he left on your thighs, pressing just hard enough to make you whimper.

"Besides." He straightens, smile pure poison in the streetlight. "I need you exactly this brave for what comes next."

The door closes with a soft click that sounds like a death sentence.

And you?

Well.

You've never been happier to die.

Hoseok sits on the driver’s seat in a matter of seconds, and the car immediately purrs to life with a swift flick of his wrist. His hands flex on the steering wheel—those perfect surgeon's fingers that make your mouth water just looking at them.

"Hair up," he commands without looking at you, voice clinical and cold. "Now."

You fumble with your hair tie (the one you always wear on your wrist and thank the Jesus for that right now), fingers trembling as you gather your hair into a ponytail. His eyes stay fixed on the road, but you feel him watching in your peripheral vision.

"Good girl." The praise drips like antifreeze—candied yet devastating. His legs spread wider, expensive slacks pulling taut across his thighs. "Now pull it out and suck."

Heat floods your face. Because he's not even looking at you—just expecting obedience as he navigates through Seoul's nighttime traffic with perfect precision.

"I—" You swallow hard, remembering how you'd barely managed half of him last time. How your jaw had ached for days. How he'd had to finish with his hand because you couldn't—

"Nineteen minutes, Chip." His voice stays honey-smooth even as his knuckles whiten on the wheel. "That's how long until we reach my apartment. Make me cum before then."

Your fingers shake as you reach for his fly. The zipper sounds obscenely loud in the quiet car.

"Nervous?" He takes a turn with too much accuracy, still not looking down. "After all that sass at the club?"

You finally free his cock—already hard, already leaking, already massive. Your mouth waters even as anxiety twists your stomach.

"I can't—" You remember choking, tears streaming down your face as he'd guided you deeper. "Last time I couldn't—"

"Eighteen minutes." His thumb brushes your cheek, the touch deceptively gentle. "Better start practicing."

You lean down, bracing one hand on his thigh as you take him into your mouth. The taste is familiar now—salt and skin and him. His breath hitches slightly as you swirl your tongue around the head.

"Deeper." The command is velvet-soft but unmistakable. "You wanted to play games tonight, Chip. Show me how much you've improved."

You sink lower, trying to relax your throat like he taught you. His cock hits the back of your mouth and you gag slightly.

"Sixteen minutes." His hand finds your ponytail—not pushing, just holding. "Remember your breathing exercises."

You whimper around his length, tears already gathering at the corners of your eyes. He's so big—stretching your lips obscenely wide as you try to take more.

"That's it." His fingers tighten in your hair as you bob your head. "Good girl. Use your tongue just like I showed you."

The praise makes you moan, the vibration making his hips twitch upward. You gag again as he hits deeper.

"Careful." His voice stays steady even as his cock throbs against your tongue. "Don't want to crash. That would be..." His grip tightens marginally. "...inconvenient."

You pull back to catch your breath, lips still stretched around his tip. "How much time?"

"Fourteen minutes." He takes another turn smoothly, like he's not getting his dick sucked in Seoul traffic. "And you've barely managed half. So disappointing, Chip. Can’t you do better?"

The words feel like a slap stinging across your cheeks, but you can’t deny the wetness they bring through your panties. You sink back down with renewed determination, forcing yourself to take more. Your throat spasms around him as tears streak your cheeks.

"Better." His thumb wipes away a tear. "But still not enough. Show me how sorry you are for disobeying me, Chip. Show me you mean it."

You hollow your cheeks, sucking harder as your hand works what you can't fit in your mouth. His breathing grows heavier but his driving never falters.

"Ten minutes." His hips roll up slightly, making you choke. "Want to know what happens if you fail?"

You whine around his cock, trying desperately to take more.

"I'll park the car." His voice drops lower, darker. "And teach you properly. Right here. Until you learn."

The threat makes you redouble your efforts, tongue tracing the thick vein on the underside as you force yourself lower. Your jaw aches, drool gathering at the corners of your mouth.

"Five minutes." His control is cracking—just slightly—voice rougher as you work him faster. "Running out of time, Chip."

You're crying properly now, mascara probably ruined as you desperately try to please him. He momentarily glances down, taking in your ruined expression as your eyes lock with his.

"Fuck." The curse slips out as his hips jerk up. "Three minutes. Show me how badly you want to make it up to me. You can do it, Chip."

You're a mess—tears and spit dripping down your chin as you take him as deep as you can. His cock twitches against your tongue, pre-cum bitter, but so perfect because it’s him.

"One minute." His grip becomes brutal in your hair. "Better swallow it all this time."

You feel him pulse, feel his thighs tense under your palm. His cum hits the back of your throat in hot spurts as he guides you down further than you've ever managed.

"Good girl." He sounds wrecked even as he parks the car perfectly. "Every drop."

You swallow obediently, throat working around him until he softens slightly. When he finally lets you up, you realize you're in his parking garage.

"Time?" you rasp, voice completely destroyed.

His smile is gentle but noxious as he tucks himself away. "Twenty-one minutes." He cups your tear-stained cheek. "You failed."

Butterflies erupt in your stomach as he exits the car, coming around to your door. His expression is pure medical malice as he helps you out.

"Don't worry though." His thumb traces your swollen lips. "We have all night for remedial lessons."

→ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @just-reading-dany @sanarin @billy-jeans23 @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @hobis-sprite0218

© 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓.

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[honeyhotteoks]

no but listen... as a breeding kink enjoyer myself, im so on board for the whole yunho and breeding agenda .

we all know he's a passionate lover and that man lives for knowing his partner is into it as well and the intimacy of it all makes his heart skip a beat bc what do you mean you love him SO much to let him breed you?

and that post about tall lovers that you shared goes hand in hand with my train for thoughts as well💀 bc yunho might look a bit freaky and that might translate to bed, but he's deep at heart, a missionary lover (don't @ me im a sucker for soft lover yunho). knowing that his partner is caged between his body and the bed, not going anywhere and their hands stuck on his body, passionate kisses coming and going as he whispers into your ear about how much he wants to make you his, to knock you up full of him🫠

ANYWAYS

i leave the stage to your own brainrot my friend (yes, we're friends now lmao jk, im not imposing it)

yours truly,

✨anon

the way i started reading this ask and was like oh i know this is ✨ anon cooking and i was right

OKAY SO as you can probably imagine i have about a million thoughts about this that are faaaaaaaar too nsfw so everything i think about yunho and his breeding kink is under the cut

now that we’re all safely here in nsfw world…………… nobody judge me this is my favorite kink of all time to read, to write, to uhhhh whatever else and you’ve been warned, this is bringing out unhinged chai. it’s fairly self indulgent to imagine yunho with a wild breeding kink, but i actually do think it tracks for his personality AND i dont care if it’s self indulgent this is fiction lol

OKAY

so the thing about breeding kink that i think when written well, the part that just scratches my feral brain so right isn’t necessarily about the ‘breeding’ of it all it’s about the intimacy, the trust, and the lowkey ownership of it all. now i don’t at all mean that in a toxic misogyny way….. but i do mean it in kind of a ‘sometimes traditional stuff is hot’ way, and giving a piece of yourself like that / allowing your partner to take that piece to me is super hot. it’s like the ultimate culmination of that love and passion - so exactly what you said, you love him so much to let him breed you and his brain goes mushy.

i’ll talk a little bit about breeding kink specifics in a sec but as far as yunho having one….. i truly will die on this hill. he may or may not irl actually have one, who knows, but i think he’s the perfect type of guy to have one. i’ve talked about this before, but he really gives ultimate soft dom vibes, the kind of man who would want to be a guiding hand to his partner. he’s traditional in a lot of ways, and i think that would also lean him towards liking those traditional aspects of gender - i don’t mean this to limit him i’m just saying those things would probably make his guy brain light up. i.e. a parter in a skirt, heels, doing things that feel traditional like cooking etc. I don’t think he consciously thinks about the fact that those traditional elements are hot to him, but i also think he’s the kind of guy who gets hard watching their girlfriend make dinner. i think breeding kink is such a natural next step there because it is another very domestic, romantic, traditional thing. even if yunho wasn’t into women or if he didn’t actually want children, i still think those things would be true, because i just kind of read him as that type of dude and i think that would translate into any more specific kinks he has.

if he does want children / is with a partner who can get pregnant…. then i think the kink could become even more intense and go a step further into him really being into his partner while they’re pregnant / wanting to have even more kids etc.

so when it comes to yunho and breeding in particular…………… here’s a feral headcanon

he keeps it to himself for a long time, but there are certain things he does that tip you off earlier in the relationship that this is something he’s into

for one…. he’s literally obsessed with cumming inside you to the point that once you stop using condoms you never start again, and where other guys are fond of cumming other places…. your mouth, your tits, your face…… he’s the type of guy to stop you blowing him just so he can get off inside

the type to press his cock right up against your pussy when he’s jerking it he’s so obsessed with it

to say nothing of the time he came all over your stomach and he got deeply embarrassed, ears running red, and trying to brush over it…. but you saw the way he looked at you.

so you coax him into it - begging him to cum inside, telling him how much you need it…… slipping and calling him ‘daddy’ just to see him break

and it’s not in a dom/sub way, not like that…. it makes him crazy because that’s what he wants with his partner, with you, he wants to actually have kids and be a dad and make you a mom and have a happy family the way that he was raised, he wants to give you and his future kids the world

so when he finally admits it, it is soft. it’s a while into you being together, after talking about the fact that you want to be married to each other one day, after you know you’re both it for each other

and he’s worshipping you as he always does, buried inside you in missionary and just kissing the breath out of you, when he says it between soft moans, “Want to make you mine, forever, baby, want to get you pregnant,”

and he freezes, realizing he said it out loud but then you moan, absolutely losing it at finally hearing him admit it

and you both know in that moment……… the stars are aligning all too well. both of you want that. bad.

and that just lets the floodgates open completely.

“Is that what you want? Want everyone to know I got you pregnant?”

“Want me to give you a baby, sweetheart?”

“Beg me, jagi, beg me to cum inside you,”

“Tell me how much you want me to knock you up,”

And for a while, you stay on birth control and the dirty talk gets feral. Knowing you both love it, but also knowing that for now it’s feral and risk free? You can’t even keep your hands off each other.

Spread open in bed, legs back in a press, “Can you feel me here, baby?” His hand always pressed over your stomach, teasing and tender and driving you up to orgasm faster than anything else.

“You’ll be such a pretty mommy, won’t you? So round and full of daddy’s baby,”

“Want me to knock you up with my big cock, sweetheart? Is that what you need?”

But……………..things get tender again when you’re actually trying. When it’s not just dirty talk and getting off…. when you’re actually ovulating and tracking and planning and when you both want it for real this time.

And the first time, he really takes his time with you. Soft and gentle in a way that shows every ounce of his love. What it means for you both to do this, what you’re giving to him and to each other.

And he’s whispering it, already emotional at how much he loves you, and how you’re looking up at him in this moment - “Sweetheart, I’m gonna take such good care of you,”

You know he will, he always does.

Slow strokes, foreheads pressed together, easy, rolling orgasms.

“That’s it baby, let me in, cum and open up for me,”

“Gonna make you mine,”

“Take my baby, beautiful,”

“Gonna put it right here,” With his hand on your stomach, “such a good mommy for me,”

And all bets are really off once you’re pregnant. If you thought he could keep his hands off you before? Oh no, Yunho’s the type of guy who isn’t just in it for the breeding, he’s in it for the LOVE, for the baby, for the partnership….. so of course he’s excited to watch your body change.

He’s the type of guy who gets excited over every little thing, ear pressed to your belly too early just to see if he can hear something, feel a kick, anything.

And the knowledge that he did that? That your body is powerful and beautiful and strong but he planted the seed and you both made this beautiful wonderful amazing decision together? Well…. that gets him riled up too.

So it’s worshipping time when you’re pregnant.

Back rubs, foot rubs, belly rubs, you name it he’s there with a bottle of warming oil and a whole lot of words of affirmation.

“So gorgeous like this,”

“You’re doing so well, baby, you’re growing a whole person, you’re incredible,”

“Can’t believe I got you pregnant,”

And more often than not those touches and massages lead to a lot more. He just can’t help it - you deserve to be taken care of in every possible way.

And the more pregnant you get, the more dizzy it makes him. Your belly swollen, tits full, your body softening and filling out deliciously in ways he didn’t even know he wanted.

Until all he’s thinking about is the next time he can get you knocked up again.

Until he’s dirty talking again like he just can’t stop.

“You like being full of me, babygirl?”

“Beg me to get you pregnant again,”

“That’s my girl, that’s it, cum for me mama,”

he’s the type of guy to get addicted to you, and that combined with how much he wants a family with you? there’s no escaping the feral breeding kink of it all in that case.

anyways this ask killed me, i died. i’m off to scream into the void about him yet again.

[mydearesthrry]

baby - h.s.

a/n: self indulgent bc i want to call harry baby so bad. this isnt that great but i wanted to finish it. anyways i hope u enjoy <3

“Hi, handsome,” She grinned as she opened the door, her husband clad in a navy suit, white collar popped over the neckline.

“Mm, hi,” He murmured back, moving into the doorframe and setting down his briefcase almost instantly, hands coming up to rest on her white linen dress covered hips. “Missed you.”

Sweet boy, she thought. “Missed you more, angel.” Placing a kiss on the apple of his cheek, she reached her hands up to loosen his tie, unbuttoning the button that lay concealed under the knot.

“Work’s a fuckin’ drag, woulda been here w’you instead,” He breathed, resting his forehead on hers, one of his hands coming up to rest softly on the side of her neck, scratching gently at the nape as to not ruin her hair. “Pretty baby.”

“Hmmm,” She replied, making him furrow his brows in confusion.

“Wha’?”

“You seem to be laying it on extra thick today, Mr Styles.” She giggled, pressing her front into his, caressing his cheek with her hand, running her thumb along the expanse of his cheekbone.

“Oh hush,” He rolled his eyes, grinning at the giggle from his wife that followed. “Don’t think I am, Mrs. Styles.”

“You want something, don’t you?” His wife observed him. Of course she did. There was something off about him, and she was curious as to what it was.

“Um,” He sighed, removing his hands from her and stepping away to thrash off his jacket. “I- uh,”

“Spit it out, H, I’m not scared of you.” She leaned a hip against the counter, crossing her arms and giving him a look that screamed ‘go ahead’.

“I really want a head scratch and back rub.” He said quickly, following his words with a sheepish smile.

“That- that’s really why you were acting… weird?” She rolled her eyes, heels clicking across the floor as she closed the distance between them. Moving to further unbutton his shirt until she could fully see his chest and tummy, watching as it slowly rising and falling with every breath he took, the butterfly’s wings almost fluttering mesmerizingly. “I’d always do this for you, baby, you know that.”

“And— do you think y’could jus’ call me baby? I… I really like when you call me baby.” He whispered, turning his face away shyly.

“Baby,” she giggled, “You don’t even have to ask.”

And it’s true. He really didn’t. She would much rather call him ‘baby’ more than anything else, but switches up the pet name for the spontaneity and so that he wouldn’t get bored of her.

Christ, she hasn’t even called him Harry more than twice in a day.

In the last 6 years.

“I know, jus’ wanna be babied right now,” He murmured sheepishly, leaning into the hand that was placed on his neck.

“Sweet baby, love you so much. My husband.” She whispered softly, eyes moony in admiration as she traced over every single feature of his face, committing the tiny dips and ridges to a special place in her brain.

“My wife. Only one f’me,” He smiled back, leaning in to rest his forehead onto hers. “I. Love. You.” Punctually, he pecked her lips with every word, sighing when he just rested his lips against hers, both of their lips unpuckered, just merely resting.

“I love you, baby.” And with that, she placed her lips fully against his, embracing the soft plush of his pillowy lips, the faint taste of mint tracing the seams of his lips.

[somerandomdudelmao]

Have to say I'm loving Marble Sky. It's clear you put a lot of thought into the story and I'm excited to see where it's going.

Figured I'd weigh into the Oscar commentary going on and I think honestly the shirt he was wearing in the flashback when Ward was talking about how he ended up in space might say a lot about his character as a whole.

If you don't look at the shirt closely it says "the earth is fla-" and naturally people will fill in the missing 't'. A shirt that seems to support flat earthers is particularly tone deaf given he'd just walked into a building dedicated to science and specifically space. It's the sort of thing people would instantly react to and think lesser of Oscar for. Much like the fact that he comes from a rich family. Or the fact that he seems to embrace the world with puppy like enthusiasm. It creates an image of someone who is ignorant, who doesn't pay attention, and is careless to the point of being arrogant about it.

However looking closely that's not what the shirt says. it's just the text for the rest of it is small, harder to read and purposefully arranged so its divorced from the rest of the larger letters.

And I find that fascinating.

So reading the shirt properly it says "the earth is FLA-bergasting". This message I think has a lot of layers especially combined with Oscar's established fascination with aliens, biology and stuff that we have seen with him previously. It's a message that celebrates the world and all life in it. It's a message that acknowledges that understanding that world is impossible but compelling none the less. It's a message that says the earth is confusing and hard to understand and Oscar is not pretending to know everything about it. Some of this might be just my interpretation of the message so take that with a grain of salt. Still the difference between the first and second is interesting because in the first its a person asserting they know something as complete truth while the second basically admits they don't know anything at all.

Now apply this to Oscar. We're presented with a chaotic lovable doofus who is brimming with childlike wonder at the start of the story. We're presented with a "rich kid" who got into space because his parents paid for it. We're presented with a guy who seems okay with the slaughter of others in order to protect himself. A lot of people are looking at Oscar and seeing "the earth is Fla(t)"

However we've barely scratched the surface of this story or this character not to mention the situation as a whole. So I'm staring at the smaller hidden letters (metaphorically) and wondering exactly what is actually going on with this guy. Because I'm pretty sure "the earth is Fla-bergasting" and so is Oscar.

Thank you for indulging this long ask. I felt like ranting because I love Oscar and this story.

There are three things in this world I can look at forever. How fire burns, how water flows, and how someone carefully analyzes a character in whom I have invested a lot of time and effort.

Holy shit this is incredibly interesting and oh my fucking god you wrote the entire essay?? your brain?? is powerful??rjfkgi

[theunluckycanuck]

we almost lost montreal

lance stroll & fernando alonso - wc: 3618

tags: smut/pwp, couch sex, established relationship, kissing, smoking, (slight) praise, missionary, lube

a/n: this is my second attempt at strollonso - i hope to be accepted into the community one day. love always, canuck

archive of our own link

"How would we ever get over, Over losing our minds?" - We Almost Lost Detriot, Brian Jackson and Gil Scott-Heron

Maybe Lance was losing it. Maybe the screws were coming undone in his mind. But it was cold, the nights were long. But through the glass door that led out to the balcony of the expensive condo he owned, Lance could see Fernando having his last cigarette for the night.

It scratched a part of his brain that he couldn't quite put into words. Fernando was mostly in shadows from the light of the condo. But Lance could see the small spark at the end of his cigarette. For a man who was a vegetarian to be the best racer, he sure did like the indulge in a dirty little habit during the off-season.

Not that Lance minded, he thought there was a slight bad boy energy to it. Seeing his handsome, older lover happily have a cigarette before they retired from the evening. But honestly, Lance wouldn't be getting much sleep with the erection in his sweatpants. Fernando looked good. Lance was often touted as the pretty boy of F1, but there was something about Fernando that made excitement race through Lance.

The Canadian would go as far as to call Fernando a looked over gem in attractiveness of drivers. So he couldn't help but palm himself through his sweatpants and admire the older man through the glass door as he finished the last of the cigarette. Lance only got more excited when Fernando stamped it out and tossed it over the edge of the balcony before he came back inside.

Their gazes met and Lance spread his legs a little wider. He smiled at his lover and eyed him up and down. He asked, "Looking for something, baby?"

Fernando chuckled as he took his slippers off and got deeper into the condo, "No, but you look like you are undressing me with your eyes. Is there something you need, Lancito?"

Lance could feel the slight sting in his cheeks of heated pink, "Can't I admire my boyfriend?" And raised his dark brows.

Fernando got closer and sat on the white leather couch beside Lance. He reached for his lover and took him by the chin. They kissed, a simple gesture but it was heated in a way that made Lance's pulse jump. Especially with how Fernando held his face, so tenderly. So sweetly, but with enough grip to keep the younger man closer to him.

It sent small shocks of pleasure through him as he reached for Fernando's shoulders and pulled him in even deeper. He tasted like cigarettes, and while a rather repulsive taste. Lance yearned for more, his cock fully erect in his sweatpants.

"You taste good, Nando." Lance chuckled.

Fernando yanked on Lance's shaggy dark hair for a moment and looked into his eyes. His forehead creased as he asked, "Like an ashtray, my love?"

Lance chuckled, "Yeah, but like a sexy ashtray." And then laughed against Fernando's lips. And then moaned as his lover's hands trailed lower to Lance's hips. The two of them continued to make out and Lance only pulled away and swore loudly before he was pushed down onto the couch.

As a result his shirt rode up and little bit. And Fernando kissed at his exposed stomach, pushing his t-shirt up in the process. Lance arched his back a little, squirmed under his lover's touch as any further words got stuck in his throat.

"Relax, my love." Fernando said as he looked up at his lover. His scruffy cheek against Lance's toned middle. Lance only felt his heart hammer and grip onto the couch under him for some kind of support. Fernando kissed his lover's stomach and said, "Relax. I'd hate to tie you up, I think everything you own would leave burns on your wrists."

Lance chuckled lightly, "I'd love if you marked me."

Fernando replied, "I would love to as well, but the press would be on us if they saw your pretty wrists all bruised my attention… Not to mention that neck of yours." He licked his lips, "Soon enough, Lance, I will mark you as mine."

And maybe because Lance was already excited all over, but he could have came from those words. How Fernando said them, it felt like a throb in the younger man's skull. And Fernando knew that. Hence why his hand went past the waistband of Lance's sweatpants and grasped his cock.

The lights were low, the heat between them was heavy. And Lance had never been more turned on in his entire life. Okay, maybe that wasn't exactly true - one time Fernando kissed across where Lance's tattoo was and Lance almost came from the sensation.

What could he say, he loved when his lover's hands were on him. The grip that Fernando had on him made him excited all over. So to get kissed so tenderly while he struggled to her his shirt off was quite the feeling. Only made his pulse leap at the sensation.

Fuck. Was all he could think of. Fernando's lips dragged across his skin made his breath hitch. He couldn't squirm too far away from the other man and he gripped onto the couch a little tigther. His heart fluttered and his cock strained further against the fabric of his sweatpants.

He was a lucky man, there was no doubt about that. He let out a soft moan and Fernando's hands held tighter onto the other's waist and dragged his tongue up against Lance's left nipple and the other man near curled into himself.

"Fernando, please."

"You sound good when you're needy, my love." Fernando looked at Lance once more, "The way you sound. Desperate, desperate for me. Only me. And I am very lucky." He placed another kiss before he got up to Lance's face. They looked at each other closely.

They could make out every small feature in one another. The mole under Lance's eye, the grey that was scattered in Fernando's beard. The smell of cigarettes, Lance's body wash and the anticipation of what was to come was between them Then Fernando crashed his lips against the other and held him close.

The two made out, it was sloppy. It was messy, needy for both of them. Lance moaned into the kiss as Fernando's other hand grasped his cock through his pants. He rubbed his palm against it and Lance could feel the slick pre-cum drip out.

He needed Fernando, he needed him badly.

When the kiss broke, Lance was grinning like a fool. He said, "Fucking take me, Nando. Take me right now or I'm going to lose it." And Fernando was quick to rid the younger man of his sweatpants.

"Desperate, Lance." Fernando said lowly as he continued to stroke his lover's cock. The excitement bubbled in Lance,but he tried his best to keep it down. He didn't want to finish so quickly.

But Fernando's hands, despite years of driving, we're so smooth and felt so right wrapped around his cock. The younger man couldn't help but melt a little into the couch as Fernando stroked his cock till it was painfully erect.

"So good for me, my love." Fernando said lowly, "Such a well behaved boy for me." He licked his lips before he slowed his movements down to a stop. Lance whined and he was shushed by Fernando, "I'm getting the lube, stay here. And don't touch yourself."

Lance watched Fernando leave for the bedroom. He laid on the couch with his cock exposed to the air of the condo. He wanted to touch himself, but what he could do himself was only a fraction as good as what Fernando did to him. He shuttered a little and shifted on the couch.

Naked, exposed. His slim yet strong frame on display. But they were totally alone in the condo. Their shared space for the holidays. Even though it was painfully cold in Montreal and Fernando had an adversion to chilly weather. He braved it for his lover, something Lance found endearing.

Plus it was an excuse for the pair to be bundled up in the condo once the sun went down and the chill increased. Which only further excused them getting handsy with one another. He noticed Fernando returning with lube in hand and tried to sit up by the arm of the couch, but his lover pressed a hand on his chest to keep him pinned down to the couch.

"Lie there. Let me take care of everything."

"You make me sound like I'm a pillow princess."

"Aren't you, Lance-y?" Fernando asked with a wink.

Lance smiled and grabbed one of the throw pillows to put under his head, "I thought you loved that I was a bottom. That you loved when you got to fuck me that way that you do."

Fernando chuckled as he put the bottle of lube on the coffee table before he started to strip down. No one could see in through the windows. And unless they got too loud, no one would be able to hear them. Not that Lance minded a small noise complaint, the condo was empty most of the year anyway. His neighbours could handle a little noise.

The space between them felt awfully intimate. In a way that made both men feel good. Especially when Fernando got onto the couch and got in between the other's legs. He kept one leg planted on the ground for extra leverage as he eyed his lover up and down. He licked his lips before he got the bottle of lube.

"You want this, Lance?" Fernando asked, "You want to be my good boy tonight?" He added with a hint of cheekiness in his tone. That made Lance's cock twitch. He knew that the other man was exctied, that he yearned for Fernando's cock. And in all fairness, the older man was honoured.

He respected Lance, and to see him so hungry for his cock was a high level of praise. Especially when he got the lube across two of his digits and ran it across Lance's hole before he got his own cock prepped to take the other man.

Lance held his gaze, moved between a large grin and a blissed out expression. His cheeks were painfully pink and his breathing was already heavy. It was quite the sight, the kind of sight that would make anyone aroused. Already coming apart before Fernando even had the chance to fuck him.

"You have no idea what you do to me, my love." Fernando said as he stroked his cock to make sure it was thoroughly lubed up. He could feel the excitement across his lover's face. It was quite the sight.

"I think I have an idea." Lance replied with heat in his tone, "I've never seen you this hard."

Fernando chuckled lowly, "Well, you're perfect for me. How could I not? Only an idiot wouldn't be able to get aroused by the sight of you."

"You flatter me." Lance chuckled. He felt more heat in his cheeks, he knew that his entire face was bright pink. But neither cared, it was an endearing factor. To have Lance's pleasured feelings make him so expression.

So warm, and all for Fernando.

The older driver replied, "Only for you, Lance. Only for you." His words were like promise, a commitment of sorts to the younger man. That they would never be strangers so long as they both walked the earth.

Drivers, lovers, future husbands. They were two planets in a certain orbit of one another. Never drifting too far. Not that either wanted to, they were strong on the track together. Like two currents that ran through one another.

Fernando went in for another heated kiss, his cock up against Lance. He heard the younger man moan into the kiss as Fernando teased his hole a little bit. He knew that the younger man was like a live wire at that moment.

No need to prolong the teasing, Fernando could show mercy.

Slowly he sank in. And it was like heaven's prayer. He leaned over and press a hand against the arm of the couch where Lance's head was for support as he inched himself into Lance. The other man tensed up for a moment before he relaxed enough for Fernando to get fully inserted into him.

Fernando paused for a moment once he was inside and looked into his lover's eyes. Brown like rich earth, but warm like honey left out in the sun. Dripped over the surface it was on. Melted and warm, just how Fernando felt with himself in between the other's legs.

"You feel amazing." Lance said with a hitch in his tone. The feeling was incredible. There was something about how his older lover made him feel that he couldn't properly put into words. The allure of the other driver had a grip on Lance as Fernando started to move faster.

Hard to think that Fernando was once his idol. Now his lover. How quickly things could change by being at the right place at the right time. Fernando was still a devil on the track, but his kisses felt like worship against Lance's heated skin. Especially when he reached his collarbone and licked across the smooth skin.

Fernando swore he could feel Lance's heartbeat under his lips as he rocked himself against the other man. The pleasure bounced through him, it was a thrum in the Fernando that he held onto the couch a little tighter so he didn't lose composure too quickly. His movements were deliberate and his pace was steady as he watched his love get wrapped up in intense pleasure.

They shared another heated kiss, Lance got his arms around the other man and held on tightly. The pair moved together and both were overcome with intense pleasure. There was a heated euphoria between the both of them. Sparks that turned into a steady flame, the kisses were wet and loud. And as the pleasure grew, they yearned for each other even more.

"Fernando."

"Shh, Lance. Shh, I've got you. You're perfect." He said lowly, "You have no idea what you've done to me. You are the most irresistible man I've ever laid eyes on." He quickened his pace and watched Lance tilt his head back.

"What about me?" Lance chuckled, "What you've done to me." Somehow Lance became a better driver under the heated gaze of Fernando. All the sexual touches between races, the moments where they couldn't get off one another was great for boosting Lance's morale for driving.

Because if he did well then he got showered with an intense amount of praise. Maybe Lance did have a raging praise kink, but Fernando was more than happy to indulge in it. Let the other man know how good he was. How well behaved he was while Fernando wrung orgasm after orgasm out of him.

"You look perfect as always." Fernando said.

"No need to flit with me, Fernando. You already have me." Lance's breathing grew in heaviness as you held onto his lover and the two of them moved together on the couch. Their experience was marred with heavy kisses and heavier petting.

With Fernando's thumb toying with the other's nipple. He soon replied, "I know, now that I have you. I can flirt with you even more. Because now you have to take it. Just like you take every inch of me." He continued his heavy motions and it made Lance's head spin.

Lance held on and felt the pleasure continue to ripple through him. To have his lover fuck him so well made every inch of him feel more alive. Almost on par with the feeling of racing. The kiss they shared once more was electric and Lance moaned against his lover's lips.

"Taste so good." Fernando said lowly, "Taste finer than any wine and sweeter than any pastry. Tasted many things in my life, but none are as good as you, Lance."

"Fuck." Lance gasped as he reached for his lover and held him by the shoulders, "Trying to make me finish?"

Fernando chuckled, he smiled. The lines in his face only aroused Lance more. He said to his younger lover, "I love taking you apart and putting you back together. You complete me, Lance. Never forget that."

A thousand small actions had to be taken for them to meet, hundreds of little choices and moments led to the pair meeting. But that was the beauty of it, all roads led to each other. And now they were on the same path, hand in hand. Together.

"I love you." Lance said, near out of breath.

"I love you too, my Lance." Fernando said as he pressed into the other man further and quickened his pace. Even with the small ache in his back and hip from the angle, he kept going as the pay off of climax would make it all worth it.

The two drivers fucked one another, Lance could feel the stammering in his heart. To be taken so well by such a strong, beautiful man made his head feel full of euphoric lust. The thump, thump, thump of his heart perfectly in time with the pleasure in his core.

Fuck was Fernando Alonso a good fuck.

"I love you." Lance said as he felt the pleasure reach its peak in him. He arched his back a little and his eyes closed. His entire body felt flushed as he felt Fernando's hot gaze across his skin. There was an up-tick in his pulse and Fernando pressed his lips against his pulse to feel it.

That sent the younger man over the edge, he clung to his lover's shoulders and climaxed with a near-pathetic noise. But to Fernando it sounded sweet, like his favourite melody.

"Fuck… Fuck, Fernando." Lance gasped as he came, messing them both up with his cum. His head was throbbing, but not from a headache. Just the head rush of climax. He was quickly overstimulated by Fernando's continued pace.

"Look at you, Lance." Fernando purred, "Look how good you look under me. You look perfect." He continued to kiss his lover's neck and work his body against Lance's. There was a thrill in his soul at the feeling of the two of them together. It was only aided by another searing kiss.

Fernando could feel Lance's cum against his abdomen, and he knew they'd clean up later. But the feeling of the fluid against his hot skin was almost burning. He felt the thump of his heart in his ears as he continued his rapid pace.

"Fe..Fernando." Lance croaked.

Nothing quite like a younger lover desperately trying to form words after a strong climax. It made Fernando kiss the other man's sweaty temple as he felt close to his own orgasm. They shared another passionate kiss and Fernando knew he wouldn't be able to last much longer.

To Fernando, Lance was the perfect lover. The kind of lover that would make most jealous, but the older man was happy that Lance was all his. It was all he wanted, he thanked the stars or a higher power that everything came together and now he got to indulge in the sweet beauty that was Lance Stroll.

Even the parts the Canadian driver hated about himself, the parts the press hated about him, Fernando only loved in spades. That was his lover, his partner. His everything. The world could hate the younger driver, but Fernando's promise was to make sure that he knew his potential.

Especially when he made Fernando feel so good.

He grabbed Lance by the neck and pulled him in for another searing kiss. With a few more heavy strokes of his hips, he soon finished inside of Lance with tension running around him. He held onto the other man tightly as he came and hear another sweet moan come from Lance's lips.

He imagined that heaven tasted as sweet as the way his lover looked in a post-climax state.

When Fernando slowed his pace to a stop and pulled away to eye his lover. He saw a hazy lust in Lance's dark eyes. It only drew Fernando in further to kiss him gently on the lips once more.

"Always good for me."

Lance chuckled lightly, still forming coherent thoughts, "Back at ya, Nando." Oh, he was really out of it. Fernando's suspicions were correct when Lance basically melted into one more of the other man's kisses before he laid out exhausted on the couch.

Fernando pulled out and Lance clumsily grabbed tissues off the coffee table to clean up the cum and lube. They shared a few more tender kisses, Lance's tongue grazed across Fernando's bottom lip as the older man aided his lover in the clean up.

"Now, now, my love." The older driver said lowly, "As much as I would love to go again. Let's get to the bedroom this time. I don't think my back can take another round in that position."

"Getting old there, honey?"

Fernando took Lance by the jaw, he chuckled lowly, "Careful now, Lance. I don't want you to have to take back those words. Especially when you've been so good for me." And he watched Lance swallow.

It started to snow outside, only aided by the wicked wind that ripped through the streets of Montreal. Another chilled night but as Lance made another sweet moaning noise as he was pushed onto the bed by his lover - the pair were going to be just fine keeping each other warm. ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ

[xviolence-begets-violetsx]

With Somebody Who Loves Me

Vessel x GN!reader

Complete fluff, No warnings

1.7k words

A/N: Hello all! Firstly, I need to give credit where credit is due. @polteergeistt made this lovely post and ever since I read it I’ve been rotating it around in my brain and got inspired, so I wrote this little piece based off of it to try and exercise it (lovingly) from my mind.

Secondly, this is rpf however, I’ve offered no descriptors for Vessel whatsoever or for the reader for that matter. This piece is GN I believe, but if you find something that conflicts with that please tell me 🫶

Lastly, This piece is paired with Whitney Houston’s ‘I Want To Dance With Somebody’ and I listened to it while I wrote it. Vessel has covered this song BUT for the vibes alone I think the original fits better. I’m gonna embed it here just for funsies in case you want to really immerse yourself and listen along as you go.

Ok, I’m rambling now, without further adieu

It was 8:47 on a Tuesday evening in the cozy little flat you shared with your boyfriend. You’d finished dinner a little over half an hour ago. The food finished, the plates pushed away from before the both of you long ago. Stagnant remainders of your nightly ritual, abandoned in lieu of spontaneous, animated chatter.

You lived for the times you could get him just like this. Inhibitions loosed, walls momentarily crumbled. Pure, raw, unfiltered, unapologetically Ves. It’d been by pure accident this time around, just conversations natural progression that led him down some unforeseen tangent he’d launched into on a whim you wouldn’t have been able to see coming if you’d tried. But they were almost always better when it happened that way anyway— natural, unforced.

That’s not to say that Vessel was hard to converse with, quite the opposite actually. Attune to a fault, he could make the tightest lipped person an open book and often did. He simply listened in a way that made a person feel like they could open up, free of persecution, free of judgement. You’d told Vessel things you’d never thought possible, things you’d swore you’d never utter to another soul, mortal or otherwise, things you thought not even a god could pull from your lips but then he came along and changed all of that.

But on the flip side of that same coin Vessel was a much more reserved person and it’s not that he refused to share with you, he shared plenty but those moments were few and far between and it was better when you didn’t push.

That was the thing with Vessel, his trust was built like a house of cards, it was better to have patience with him and build him up card by card. Varied levels of reassurance built on strong foundations of trust. But push too hard too quickly and all the hard work you’d built would topple over and he’d become closed to you again.

And even the little snippets of things you’d garnered from him over time didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what you could sense lurking ominously in the thick fog of his emotional depths. Like shuttered goliaths they guarded a part of him you weren’t sure, even after decades of being by his side that you’d ever truly get the full gist of. Things probably too painful or wretched for him to dredge up again— not that you blamed him, we all have pasts.

But there were certain times, shining moments spersed between casual conversation when you’d get the privilege to see him let go of some of his reservations, opening up to you for just a second and simply be. This was one of those moments.

It started out simply enough. He’d inquired about your day, you’d given him the simple rundown and then asked him the same— not really expecting him to dive too extravagantly into the details, he always assumed his day to day work would come off too technical for you to care, even despite your best efforts to assure him that wasn’t the case.

But for whatever reason tonight was different, tonight he indulged you. As you realized this to be, you set your fork down, the baked ziti no longer holding your full attention as he started to talk and then simply kept going and kept going and kept on like that. You sort of froze, scared that any little misguided effort, any subtle shift in your demeanor may deter him from continuing all while being unable to stop yourself from staring at him.

He got this light in his eyes when he got like this, an excitement bubbling just below the surface when he really was into what he was explaining to you and though you know it’d probably break him to hear you say it, you found it beyond cute and couldn’t really help it as you found yourself almost swooning openly at the sight of him.

Luckily for you, he seemed so embroiled in regaling you about how he’d managed to finally experience the breakthrough he’d been looking for after finding himself stumped for the past two weeks on quite the right melody for a new piece, that he didn’t even seem to notice you melt into the hand you’d rested your face on as you leaned to the side a bit listening to him talk.

Your eyes flitted over his features in admiring passes, illuminated in a golden glow by the dining room light overhead, in that moment he seemed ethereal. It was one of those moments you wished you could freeze and store away for later, like when he was away on tour and you missed him the most. Able to pull it out on those late nights when you lay awake, trying to figure out what time it was for him in the part of the world he was in at that moment, wondering if he may still be awake and missing you just like you were missing him, just to walk around in it— a perfect moment frozen in time.

The sound of the rain pulled you both from it, popping the bubble in such a sudden way it left you both startled as your eyes slipped from one another’s and up to the ceiling above like you could see the rain as it pelted against the roof above your heads, disturbing your peace. But even as you came back to each other again the moment had seemed to pass and the magic was already gone.

And suddenly life’s more pragmatic priorities slipped back into place— the ceremonial clearing of the table, the dishes, and the putting away of leftovers. Sweeping the both of you away from the moment to lament over what could have been if not for the rude awakening of the pouring rain.

You meandered into the kitchen, a little nostalgic over a moment not five minutes into the past as you pulled the dishwasher open in the midst of your reveries and found it full to the brim, cursing at yourself under your breath for having neglected to empty it prior to starting dinner. You resigned yourself to the task, pliantly adapting to the newest pressing matter and beginning to unload the ancient, leaking behemoth when you heard the first notes cut through the sound of the roaring rain.

Immediately identifiable, at least something good had managed to be salvaged from the wreck of the moment, the funky first notes of Whitney Houston’s ‘I Want To Dance With Somebody’ broke through the unrelenting patter of rain beating against the roof like siren sound.

More than just a song the both of you adored it was a signal of something greater on the horizon. You’d been with Vessel long enough to know he put that song on when his creative juices were at their peak. Letting the upbeat tempo hoist him into the depths of a creative flow not much could bring him back from the brink of. It made an excited little shiver run through you, all was not lost.

Perhaps, after completing your menial tasks you could still hope to catch him in the thick of it sitting across from him. You, book in hand, in your wingback armchair and him across the room on the couch, a plethora of music sheets and sticky notes and his old beat up Casio sprawled out in a messy array around him on the wide, wide surface of the worn-in jumbo cushions— parallel play at its finest.

With that single, cozy image at the forefront of your mind’s eye and a lazy but growing smile tugging at the corner of your lips you set to work, pulling things from the racks with a newfound fervor. With something to work for, something to look forward to, you began to unload the dishwasher at a breakneck pace. Flitting around your little kitchen as busy as a bee to the backdrop soundtrack of Vessel’s lovely falsettos, rising and falling in melodic waver from across the house and that’s when you registered it.

The sound of his voice, it was drawing closer. You paused in step; large, ornate ceramic mixing bowl still in hand as he rounded the corner. The smile that had settled effortlessly over your lips since the first notes of the song had originally rung out through the open air of the apartment now grew wider at the sight of him.

One of his own mirrored yours as he half-danced half-bounced into the room, snatching the ceramic mixing bowl from your hands and setting it down almost carelessly on the kitchen island in his haste to reach out and take both your hands in his. His eyes settled on yours in an unuttered decree, even as you shook your head in protest, a nervous but excited giggle bubbling up from your throat as your cheeks flushed with heat at the prospect of what his actions proposed to you.

“No… no, no.” But he wasn’t having any of it. Without missing so much as a single beat as he continued to belt out alongside Whitney, he pulled you into him. Away from the hazardous obstacle of the pulled out dishwasher and into the more open space between the kitchen and breakfast nook so the two of you would have more room.

His bouncing was contagious all on its own and you were helpless to deny him anything anyway, especially like this. The weight of his palms settled over yours as he encouraged you wordlessly to join him in dance was steadying, grounding; and you soon found your body moving of its own accord. Bouncing lightly at first on the balls of your feet just to appease him, a strain starting to pull at the apples of your cheeks from your ceaselessly widening grin as you began to give in to him. And soon enough the both of you were spinning around the room, laughter bubbling between the two of you, muddying up the words as you started to sing along with him.

You, Whitney and him in beautiful, broken harmony as he twirled you around the open space, living carefree and in the moment. You were sure the neighbors would be filing another complaint, one among many but that didn’t matter. What mattered in that moment was dancing with somebody— with somebody who loves you.

[whorediaries-09]

sweater weather;

pairing- roommate!sirius black x reader warning(s)- fluff, some silly banter, tad bit suggestive. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- aghhh just a brain rot 😞🤍. also this whole series is so self indulgent 🤭

masterlist of 'the seven lives;' series

the slut club

and now, so let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater

he doesn’t like cats.

much to his dismay, you’re bending down and cooing at the little kitten that curls up against your ankle. it has got soft blue eyes which reflect innocence. you run your fingers through its black fur, picking the small animal up. he likes the soft smile on your face. it fills his chest with a warm fuzzy feeling he can’t explain. neither can he explain why his heart skips a few beats when he notices the twinkling in your eyes. it almost makes him drown into a frenzy of warmth.

‘can we keep her?’ you ask. there’s something in your voice that sends sparks of electricity down his spine. it’s as if he’s known you his whole life. he doesn’t want to say no, but he can’t help it. he digs the edge of his boot on the loose gravel of the path. twirling around the loops grocery packet between his fingers, he whispers, scared to let the joy in your eyes leave.

‘no,’ he tries to predict your reaction, but fails to. surely the joy in your eyes melts, but the hope doesn’t. from what he knows about you, he knows you’re a stubborn person who stands their ground. you always get your way around in some way or the other. but you’re also a people pleaser. you hate it when you’ve to truly go against somebody’s wishes to do something you want.

so, he watches as you wrap the little kitten between the folds flannel you’re wearing. there’s a mischievous glint in your eyes, a small smirk between the curve of your smile. it’s the same one you wear when you read something mildly suggestive in your books.

‘please, sirius,’ you drawl. the kitten mewls from the folds of the fabric, her eyes glinting the same mischief as yours do. he feels his breath palpitate when you move closer, putting the face of the kitten closer to his.

‘look she wants to come with us too, that’s why she’s mewing,’ you justify. he gulps slowly, his barrier of rigidity slowly breaking. he feels his thoughts melt when he stares at your lips. even though he’s never touched them before, he suddenly thinks he knows them. he feels he can carve every shape, every curve of your body with his eyes closed.

‘okay,’ he gulps. you squeal, a quiet sound from your lips.

he thinks it’s melody to his ears.

*-

‘sirius!’ you shout across the room. your kitten, binx, is curled across your chest, purring away silently as you rub your fingers through her fur. you’re laying down, your feet thrown across the sofa, letting the nail paint on your toes dry. the mild winter allows a soft sunbeam to peek through the windows.

‘what?’ he asks, coming out of his door. he has nothing but a towel wrapped around his narrow waist. several tattoos are inked upon his porcelain skin with happy trail on his abdomen which traces down, leaving less to imagination. his hair is wet and droplets of water trace down his defined pectorals. while you’d been living with him for nearly 8 months now, you’d definitely never seen him shirtless. it makes your chest fill with a strange warmth. it makes your brain short circuit for a moment when he smiles, walking towards you.

‘like what you see?’ he teases, wiggling his eyebrow. you gulp slowly, before you regain your composure.

‘i can’t hear you over the loud music,’ you say, getting up. binx falls on your lap, and she scratches your arms with her nails.

‘hey hey, calm down little woman!’ sirius says, noticing her scratching you. he takes her into her arms, her little paws trying to scratch at a surface.

‘don’t do that to your mum,’ he says, looking into her eyes. she stops fidgeting for a bit, before she mews loudly throwing her paws on his chest and leaving a long scratch across it. it digs deep into his skin, letting out blood.

‘binx! you naughty menace!’ you scold as she scurries off, jumping from sirius’ hold.

‘asshole,’ he murmurs, grasping his wound.

‘i’ll patch it up for you,’ you say.

*-

‘do you trust me?’ you ask, holding the cotton soaked with the antiseptic with a pair of tweezers. you’re standing in between his thighs. he’s wearing nothing but grey sweatpants, being overly dramatic for the scratch on his chest. while you think it’s adorable, you’re sure it’s just for the shits and giggles.

‘i do, but i feel like I shouldn’t?’ he answers, grinning mischievously. he likes your form between his legs he thinks. it makes him go feral, you looking down at him while you fix his wounds. it makes his imagination go wild. the idea of you touching him while he’s half naked thrills something inside his stomach.

you slap him across his shoulder. it’s a soft playful blow and he laughs. his hands suddenly grip your waist, as he pulls you closer, almost mushing his face with your breasts. he watches the breath get stuck on your throat, as you wet your lip, tongue slowly darting out over your lower lips. you’re unconsciously leaning over his face, soaking the cotton ball into his blood.

he sneers as a soft burning pain grows, and his fingers dig deeper into your waist. you unconsciously arch your hips towards him, your hands falling on shoulder. the tension grows, and the heartbeats palpitate between the both of you. there’s a look of dreaminess in your eyes he’s never seen before. he thinks it makes him weak in the knees. you trail your fingernail on a tattoo, before rubbing the antiseptic on his wound.

your breaths are ragged when you finally close his wound with a patch. your job was done, you’d move away. you should move away. but his touch burns into your soul, but it isn’t enough. it feels familiar on your skin, yet so unfamiliar. you lean closer unconsciously as if from muscle memory. you cradle his face, your noses rubbing-

a loud noise of shattering glass distracts you. you pull apart, a flustered look on your face. heat occupies your skin as you crumble into a shell of embarrassment. he lets go of your waist, and you stutter,

‘binx- the little fucking minx-‘you say, before you run off.

*-

you’re carrying a cup of coffee in your hand, running late for your job. a piece of toast hangs from your lips, and you’re running around the house, trying to find your tie.

‘you can wear mineeeee,’ sirius drawls, closing the battered copy of ‘the picture of dorian gray’.

‘i could if you gave it to me!’ you shout, swallowing the last piece of the butter smothered bread.

‘you’ve a nice swallow game, i see,’ he muses. you groan, gulping down the last bit of your bitter coffee.

‘that’s a really bad one!’ you say, tucking your shirt into your trousers. screaming internally, you realize you can’t find your belt either. sirius enters his room, seemingly searching for his tie.

‘can you give me a belt too?’ you ask, hurrying off behind him. binx runs in front of your feet, and in an attempt to not fall on her, you fall on the floor with a thump, followed by sirius who trips on you.

his locks tickle your face, his grey eyes staring into yours with an intensity which reminds you a memory you never had. it’s a minor flash, something of a haze like dream, but you remember it so clearly. your breathing rages, hotness searing through you as his scent and warmth looms over you. there’s a glint in his eyes you can’t decipher, but your memory has it engrained. as if you’ve seen it a thousand times.

‘i like it when you’re under me,’ he whispers. it’s a low rasp, one you’ve never heard before, yet it ignites something in you.

something that excites you.

*-

he’s fleeing when he receives your call. your voice was a timid whisper when you’d called him, laced with fear. he hated it, he hated how it sounded. but when he arrives at the bar, he finds you completely safe, surrounded by your friends. you’re chatting happily, your skin flushed with the alcohol that renders through your body. he’s perplexed, till one of your friends spot him. she bats her eyelashes at you, whistling as he walks towards you.

‘what happened?’ he asks. he holds your fingers, gripping them tight. he’s trying to read through your emotions. he’s trying to read you through the happy smile and shining eyes. but he’s too distracted by how happy you look.

‘it wasz a prankh!’ you cheer happily, your drunk state rendering your words.

‘seriously?’ he asks, rolling his eyes. he’s smiling, he can’t help it. you laugh,

‘yess!’ you try to stand up, but trip on your heels instead. he holds you closer, letting you support your weight on him.

‘you’ve had too much to drink,’ he scolds. you gaze at him happily, your hormones getting the best of you.

‘i know!’ you exclaim, feeling the collywobbles consume you as his scent tantalizes into your senses.

‘don’t you think we should leave?’ he asks.

‘should we?’

‘yes,’ he says, pulling you closer. his fingers dig into your skin, feeling your touch. it calms his nerves. still, he needs to hold you closer, to feel you, to know you’re safe.

‘okay i’ll go. will you take me home?’ you ask, an innocence provoked in your voice. he feels himself melt, scarring him and his memories.

‘i’ll do. i’ll always take you home.’

*-

the stars are shining bright on the dark sky. you’ve his leather jacket wrapped around your form, as he holds you close. you reek of alcohol, but he doesn’t mind it. it’s infused distinctly with your perfume, and he finds his comfort in it.

‘hi,’ you say, wrapping your arm across his waist, pulling him closer. he presses a kiss on your hair, breathing you in. it’s perplexing, the burning emotions you let flee in his chest. the warmth he feels with your presence.

‘hi,’ he whispers back. there’s a glazed look in your eyes. he knows it. he remembers it. it reflects him, and he feels as if there’s no one in the world but you and him. his heart beats raggedly, and he’s afraid it’ll pop out of his chest, when you lean closer to him, pressing a soft kiss on his jaw.

‘you’re so beautiful,’ you say, snuggling against him. your heels click against the loose gravel of the path. it’s a moment of softness he wants to cherish forever.

‘but you’re hurting me…so much. i wish i could kiss you. i wish i could hold you like this forever. i wish i could keep you close with me, just for me,’ you ramble.

‘then why don’t you?’ he asks, his fingers cradling your jaw.

‘you’ll kiss me?’ he looks down at you, his eyes scanning your features. the cold air waves over your hair, and he holds your face between his hands. his fingers ghost over your lips. you lean into his hand, as he presses a soft peck on your chin.

‘i’ll do, when you’re sober,’ he promises.

*********************************

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