#but a) that feels like more of a me thing maybe | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mariasont · 2 days ago

Note

That anon was living under a rock because your smut fics (all of your fics tbh!) I reread wayyy to many times, lol. But if you’re taking smut requests, I’d love to see more bimbo!reader and Hotch! I can’t get enough.

I’ll take anything!! But more specifically, their first time, all of that built up tension (that you write so perfectly!) finally breaks!

Anyways, I never send in requests but I saw a window of opportunity and had to take it, haha.

Third Date Rule - A.H

summary: the third date proves to be worth the wait when you and hotch experience your first time together. pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexy time, fingering, oral fem receiving, p in v, they did not in fact wrap it before tapping it and it's not really discussed so yeah idk about that one, aftercare wc: 7.7k

This was so overdue.

Technically, it's only been three dates. Technically.

But if you count all the years you'd known him, the months spent daydreaming about this moment, the weeks of waiting while he played the world's longest game of restraint, then really, you should have had him naked ages ago.

And if Aaron (which still feels like a thrill to say — Aaron — because you're dating now and you can freely call him that) wasn't so stubborn and noble and insufferably gentlemanly, you would have.

But tonight was finally the night. The third date. The sacred, hallowed, much-debated, universally accepted gateway to getting into the sheets. And yes, okay, maybe you barely survived the wait without jumping his bones, but that's hardly relevant now. The point is, you did it.

And now you're in his lap, his tie wound tight around your fingers, his tongue deep in your mouth, and gods, if this night didn't end with him inside you, you might actually die.

Like, literally. Heart failure. Sudden death.

This was premeditated. At least, for you. You moisturized like your life depended on it, doused yourself in perfume that could be classified as a controlled substance, and selected a bra that made your tits look so insane, it might actually be illegal in some states.

And then you spent an embarrassing amount of time picking the perfect dress that says oh, I'm classy, but also please take me home and rip this off with your teeth.

You pull away, just enough to see him. To take in the slow bloom of pink trailing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the way his pupils are so wide they’ve all but erased the brown of his eyes. And his lips — swollen and red from kissing you — part like he was debating how bad it would be to drag you right back in. You wouldn’t mind.

“Aaron,” you sigh, fingers burying into his hair, marveling at how absurdly soft it is, how freely he lets you have this piece of him. “We should go to bed.”

For a second, he locks up. Not hesitation but calibration, a body processing desire so sharp it might break him. You feel it in the way his chest expands, in the quiet exhale through his nose.

"This wasn't my plan for the night," he murmurs, voice softer now, not strained, but steeped in something much gentler. Something careful. "I wasn't —," He shakes his head, like the whole concept doesn’t sit right in his mouth. "I don't want you to think this is just —,"

"Sex?"

You can see the way he wants to argue, like he wants to carve the word out of the air and replace it with something that means more.

"Yes."

You can’t stop the stupid, lovestruck smile pulling at your lips. Maybe it’s the wine from dinner finally working its magic. (It’s not.) Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, all serious and earnest, like you’re the only thing in existence, and if he blinks, you might vanish. (It definitely is.)

A laugh bubbles up, light and giddy, body not knowing what to do with all this adoration. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, just to see if he’ll let you. (He does.)

“Are you serious? If you just wanted sex, you wouldn’t have spent actual years pretending my very dedicated, very expertly executed attempts to seduce you weren’t happening.”

His brow arches, but you see it for what it is — a stall. “Expertly, huh?”

"Remember that heatwave last summer? When I just had to eat a popsicle at my desk every afternoon?"

His eyes darken like the memory is playing in high definition behind his eyes.

"I remember."

"Do you?" Your fingers slip beneath his color. “Because —” You tilt your head. “I always seemed to finish them standing in front of your office —"

You don't even get to finish your sentence.

One second, you’re speaking, the next, you’re airborne. Lifted clean off the couch, legs locking around his waist automatically, arms thrown around his shoulders like you planned this all along.

You didn’t, but you wish you had.

Not that it matters, because he’s already moving, already walking straight to the bedroom.

You bury your smile against his jaw, letting your breath tickle against the shell of his ear as another giggle slips out. It couldn’t be helped.

"I really hope you know," you whisper, “that I am, like, stupidly excited for this. Like, counting down the days excited.”

Aaron sets you down on the mattress gently, but his body doesn’t follow right away, hovering over you.

"You're not making this easy for me."

You ignore him because you’re much more distracted by how insanely soft his sheets are. That was your first thought when your back hits the mattress, hair fanning across the pillows.

For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’ll catch the scent of your perfume tomorrow. If he’ll notice the ghost of you when he lays down alone.

Your second was that this is so not the time nor place to get emotional.

But this is his space. His bed. His room.

It’s tidy, but somehow not sterile, everything having its place, but not afraid to be used. A book sits on the nightstand, a book mark sticking out mid-thought. A photo frame faces the bed, though from this angle you struggle to see what’s inside.

There’s his suit jacket from yesterday, draped over the back of a chair, a little rumpled.

And maybe it's silly, but you feel weirdly honored to be here.

You should probably be processing this moment, what it means to be here, with him, like this. Instead, you take a second to admire the view.

The lamp softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost gentle — which is funny, considering how you hoped to be thoroughly destroyed by him.

Something expands inside you, stretching against the walls of your chest, something too big, something that terrifies you.

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

“I can’t believe I’m about to sleep with my boss.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his exasperation, his forehead dropping into the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart—,”

"What?" You giggle, letting your fingers slide through his hair, letting your nails rake lightly over his scalp. "It's true."

His sigh is nothing short of pained, but then he kisses your cheek anyway, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You were starting to feel like each was a thinly veiled attempt to tame you.

"Please don't phrase it like that."

"Yes, Mr. Hotchner."

Every self-satisfied thought evaporates the moment he kisses you – really kisses you.

It’s not just a meeting of lips but a focused intensity, tongue sweeping inside your mouth and suddenly nothing before this mattered, because clearly, clearly, every kiss you’ve ever had was just practice for this one.

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, spine arching and he doesn’t stop you, just kisses you with a hunger that makes teasing obsolete, that makes breathing secondary to the way he’s taking from you, giving to you, all at once.

His lips wander, dragging across your jaw like he’s leaving invisible ink behind, pressing something permanent into your skin.

You hope you’ll wake up tomorrow and still feel him there.

Your hands move to the nape of his neck, drawn by craving, by the need circling inside you like a ribbon of fire.

It stretches outward, licking at your skin, threading through your veins. His hands hold you still, spanning over your rib. His breath fans over your pulse, and you swear he can feel how fast it’s racing.

You should be gloating right now. This is, after all, exactly what you wanted, what you worked for. A biting remark sits on the top of your tongue, but then his mouth moves, and he finds it.

That wicked, traitorous little dip beneath your jaw that turns your entire brain into pink, glittering static. He pauses, listening, feeling, before sealing his mouth over it again, tongue dragging over the sensitive skin like he’s testing a theory that he already knows the answer to.

Your fingers clench in his hair, a startled sound choking in your throat before you can stop it. And then, the bastard laughs. Not sweet, not kind, but low and sharp and smug because he knows exactly what he’s done.

You had the upper hand. Past tense.

"There it is," he murmurs, pressing another kiss there, his tongue flattening over it just to make you squirm. "You want to know how I figured this out?"

You hum, or try to. But it’s pathetic because you’re barely conscious, every cell fried to uselessness by his mouth.

He mimics you, just to be an ass about it, mocking the dazed little sound like he hasn’t just reduced you to it. "You always reached for it when I looked at you too long."

Your mouth opens. Closes.

"Or," he continues, "when I stood too close to you at the coffee machine. You'd fidget, tuck your hair behind your ear like you weren't thinking about it." His exhale burns against your pulse. "Cute."

You gasp, a little offended, mostly turned on. "Oh, wow. Profiling me? At work? That's, like, wildly unethical."

"Didn't need to," he murmurs. "You were practically begging me to figure you out."

His mouth is perfect in the way lightning is perfect – striking, searing, and completely out of your control. It’s perfect enough that you can pretend not to hear him.

He sucks, slow and hard enough to tear a sound from your lips before you even know it’s there, something that feels like vulnerability in its purest form. Something you would never willingly give him.

His laugh is quiet, wrecking, as he pulls back, lips slick with your skin. "That good?"

His mouth makes quick work, over your collarbone, down, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, down, branding every inch of skin he can reach.

He stops at the neckline of your dress, and suddenly, you can't think about anything except how it's still on.

You want to strip it off, want to offer yourself up as a willing sacrifice, but you’re well aware that if you try, if you even reach, he’ll stop you. Or worse, he'll make you wait. He'll slow you down, draw it out just to watch you squirm because patience is his weapon of choice, because he lives for making you suffer.

His teeth graze the swell of your breast, just enough to sting, and whatever fragile grip you had on yourself disintegrates on impact. Your hands fumble blindly for his face, fingers shaking, needing to see his eyes.

"Please, Aaron.” It’s an exhale, a prayer. “Need you."

You see the ripple of tension along his throat. And for one tiny, blinding second you think this is when he finally snaps, abandons his tolerance and just takes you.

"You don't know how long I've wanted you like this," he rumbles. "I'm going to take my time."

You whine, frustration bleeding from your fingertips where they clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in like you can physically push him into moving faster.

He does not move faster.

His hands slide up to the straps of your dress, as he drags it down with all the urgency of a leisurely Sunday stroll.

Your mind is halfway through an exceptionally justified complaint about how slow he is moving when he folds the dress.

Folds it.

Sets it aside. Doesn't toss it.

And that may be the hottest thing he's ever done.

Because you know he knows. He’s always known. Known that your things aren’t just things — that your dresses, your heels, your overpriced lip glosses aren’t frivolous, aren’t some shallow indulgence, but tiny, curated pieces of you.

He has listened to you decide between two pairs of shoes that are, for all intent and purposes, identical. He knows jasmine is mysterious and vanilla is flirty, knows that you’ll debate your right to own the same three shades of pink.

And instead of dismissing it, instead of rolling his eyes (though he does that too), he folds your dress. As if it matters.

You stare at him, somewhere between melting and spontaneous combustion, and he simply raises a brow. “Something wrong?”

"No." You shake your head for emphasis, voice a little too weak to get the point across. "Just thinking I might have to marry you."

His hands settle at your waist, fingers tracing over the pink lace like he’s trying to process it, like if he touches it enough times, it’ll confirm that this is actually happening and not some cruel illusion. His thumb brushes the scalloped edge, breathing shallow. You were pretty sure he’s currently having a full-scale existential meltdown over lingerie.

"Agreed," he murmurs, distracted, hooded eyes still glued to your chest. "I think the courthouse opens at eight."

Your giggle stutters, hiccups right out of you, because his hands are suddenly everywhere, roaming with no clear plan, just a man in crisis over how much of you he wants to touch first. His palms skate over your stomach, down your thighs, up over your breasts.

"So, this is all I had to do to convince you to do what I want?"

His mouth follows, retracting the path of his hands, rewriting, reworking, perfecting – because apparently, the first time wasn’t good enough, wasn’t thorough enough.

"You think this is what did it for me?" His voice is hushed. "You could've walked into my office six months ago and told me to get on one knee.” A kiss, open-mouthed, starving, just below your navel. “I would've done it."

Six months ago. You don't know if you believed that.

Except now you're spiraling, backtracking, rewinding, piecing together little details like some lovesick conspiracy theorist with red string and a bulletin board. Every interaction, every loaded glance, every time he let you get away with high-level flirtation without so much as a blink. You thought you were testing him, but what if he was never fighting at all?

And before you can even recover from that, before you can file an official grievance about why no one told you sooner, his hands squeeze at your thighs, his mouth so close to exactly where you need him, and his voice —

"You're so beautiful."

His nose presses into the damp center of your panties, and your hands fly to his hair so fast it’s practically reflex, breath stalling in your chest like your body forgot how to function for a second.

This is everything. What you've wanted, dreamed of, written in the margins of notebooks (hypothetically, of course).

It should be perfect, but suddenly, it isn't.

Uncertainty slips between the cracks, heat turning into something less solid. You don’t have time to find it, to name it, because he’s already there, already sensing it, already fixing it before you even know what’s wrong.

"Hey." His voice hooks into you, gently reeling you back from wherever your brain was about to go. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"No, I—," The words come out far too fast and desperate, and you can't decipher why it's so hard to say. "I do want to. Obviously." The nervous laugh that follows is definitely not your usual flirty confidence. "Have you met yourself? Because if you haven't, I would love to introduce you. Tall, devastatingly handsome — you'd love him."

His move curves, but his eyes stay patient and focused, giving you a second to breathe.

"It's just..." Another pause, another frustrated sigh. "I haven't been with anyone in a while."

"That's okay, we can take it slow." He moves so that he's hovering above you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his smile just amused enough to leave you flustered. "How long?"

"May."

"May?"

"Yeah, like, May. Three years ago."

Aaron just stares at you, processing. You can see the gears turning, the little mental loading wheel spinning, his expression caught between stunned and deeply interested.

His fingers creep up, sliding under your ribs, just close enough to the heavy swell of your tits to remind you exactly where you are. What he was doing to you before you so rudely derailed this into actual conversation.

"Really?"

You pinch his arm. "Hey! That is not an absurd amount of time."

"No. I know. I didn’t say that," he says quickly. "I'm just... surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His lips part and he immediately shakes his head, exhaling like he's physically trying to dispel what just ran through your mind, knowing exactly where your thoughts were.

"I just mean — I don't know how every man you meet doesn't immediately worship the ground you walk on."

"Oh, well, they do." You smile. "But I was only ever planning on letting one of them take me to bed."

You reach for his dress shirt buttons, tugging insistently, but your hands refuse to cooperate, not properly communicating with your brain.

It's his fault, you decide.

He looks too good, and it was extremely hard to focus on anything but that.

You have no idea how you survived dinner. Or the car ride home. Or even the eternity it took to get past the door, because that was definitely a struggle considering your mouth was all over his, tasting the whiskey he’d barely touched, before he could even get the key in the lock.

You spent all night picturing this, the way his hands would feel in you, the way his mouth would taste, the way his suit would look crumpled on the floor.

Which, in hindsight, probably meant you were a pretty terrible dinner guest. Nodding, smiling, pretending to listen, all while barely holding back the need to ride him in public.

Aaron laughs, clearly entertained by your struggle, and then, because he’s nothing if not arrogant, he starts undoing the buttons one-handed, to be a show-off.

It’s rude, really. Because now all you can do is watch, helpless as he peels himself open to reveal golden skin, dark hair dusting over firm pecs, trailing lower, disappearing beneath his belt.

Your manicured fingers glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, pushing his shirt away like uncovering some lost Renaissance painting that scholars would kill to get their hands on — something that should be in a temperature-controlled glass case, not just here, sprawled above you like he belongs to you. Which, he does, because he’s just letting you do this, letting you look. And you look. He is art. No, better than art. Art is stationary, lifeless, some brushstroke interpretation of what beauty should be. But this, him, he is warmth and breath and muscle.

Museums wish they had something this valuable. They’d burn down in despair if they knew he existed just for you.

"May," he muses, letting the word roll off his tongue, turning it over in his mind. "That's an oddly specific answer."

You make a vague sound of agreement, mostly just to acknowledge that yes, technically, he did say words, but you’re too busy to actually care. Too busy with spreading your hands over the planes of his chest, with grabbing at his belt.

"You were hired in May three years ago."

Your hands freeze.

"That's... um weird." A slow blink. "Weird that you know that. Weirder that you noticed."

You work his belt loose, tugging it free. It’s meant to be a distraction, a well-placed touch to shift his focus from his revelation.

But then your plan backfires spectacularly because he’s hard, thick, unreasonably big and suddenly your fingers feel useless.

Aaron makes a sound — half a hiss, half a laugh — and his hands snap to your wrist, catching you before you can explore further, like he knew you were going to do that. "It’s okay, honey."

"I—I don't—," You blink up at him, floundering, desperately trying to sound casual. "That's, uh, I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Aaron’s smirk deepens, his grip on you slackening just enough to trick you into thinking he’s going to be nice.

But then his other hand moves, slipping between your bodies, sliding beneath the heat trapped between your thighs, finding the neediest part of you, and pressing.

Your whole body jerks, a startled gasp catching in your throat as sensation flares — hot, sharp, mercilessly good.

His fingers start to move, rubbing tight circles against you. Your hands cling, one locked onto his bare shoulders, the other pressing against his dick, desperate to make him feel even a fraction of what he's doing to you.

It earns you a groan, low and gritty, hips twitching against your palm, his breath is hot against your lips, his mouth hovering just barely out of reach.

"I won't tease," he promises, but the way he bites at your bottom lip feels like a lie. His tongue is quick to follow, flicking over the welt he’s just left, soothing the burn before sealing it with a kiss, just this side of messy. “Three years… that’s a long time.” His lips skim yours again. “For both of us.”

A pleased sound bubbles up from your throat, slipping between his lips, that makes it obnoxiously clear just how much you love those words. That is a sentence you’d like embroidered on a pillow. Maybe cross-stitched into a nice, elegant frame for your future shared bedroom.

"Oh," you sigh, a smile stretching against his lips. "I really, really, like knowing that. That's, like, incredible news."

Your brows scrunch, and you pull back just an inch.

"Just to be clear, though, you do mean in a wow, you've ruined me for other women way, and not in a I've been to busy for a sex life way, right? Because those are two different things, and I need to know which one we're working with here—"

Aaron huffs a laugh and instead of answering with words, his hands slip into your panties, fingers finding your clit without prelude. Skin to skin now, no fabric, no flimsy barrier. Just touch.

His fingers dip lower, dragging through the slick, indecent in how easily he moves through the mess of you. He makes a noise — nearly a groan, mostly a hum of appreciation, of possession — before he spreads it, smearing your own arousal over your clit, rolling circles.

"Oh, wow, sweetheart."

Your thighs fall open like you have no say in it — because you don’t, because every instinct in you is reaching for him, needing it like a fix.

And maybe, maybe that should be embarrassing — the obvious, shameless way you seek him out — but it’s a gorgeous kind of humiliation, a flush that spreads lower.

"Well," you gasp, chest rising in stuttering little pants. "Y—you kept me waiting forever."

Aaron hushes you with a soft tsk, his fingers pressing, stroking, coaxing you into sweet, mindless submission. Every movement feels preordained, like he already knows your body, like he’s a man who’s spent years thinking about this.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothes, murmuring it against the fragile skin beneath your ear, punctuating it with a kiss. "But I think I'm making up for lost time pretty well."

"I guess," you manage. "Th—that's acceptable."

Aaron chuckles, the vibration traveling straight into your skin. His lips descend, an idolization thing, but it’s the kind of devotion that sets you on fire.

His hands spread over your thighs, parting them gently.

Your underwear drags down, slipping over your thighs, grazing the curve of your knees, and then off. And suddenly, there's nothing separating you from his eyes, from the way the air licks over you, cool against the sticky heat between your thighs.

His lips part like he wasn't expecting to fall apart so easily. Like he thought he'd have more time, more control. And the power in it, the sheer, intoxicating power of knowing he's just as affected as you are, that this is breaking him open, makes your skin fizz, burn, ache for him even more.

If someone had told you a year ago that Aaron Hotchner, mister all-business-all-the-time, would be between your legs, staring at you like he's never seen anything more perfect, you would have said something nonsensical. Something about fate. Or destiny.

And you would have been right. Because you always knew this was a definite.

"Oh, honey.... You're gorgeous," It's almost a whisper, like the words were dragged out of him against his will, stolen straight from his lungs the second his eyes landed on you. His gaze drinks you in, head tilting, lips parting, tongue skating over the swell of his bottom lip. “I knew you would be, but…”

A sharp, sizzling spark races up your spine, white-hot and unbearable, but when it should tip over into relief, it withers into frustration. The kind that makes your body revolt against the absence of touch. Your hips buck, thighs squeezing as if you can somehow force the friction you’re being deprived of.

"Give me a second, baby," he teases, caressing his nose along the inside of your thigh. "Just wanna look at you."

His mouth moves in decadent passes, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your inner thigh.

Another kiss. Then another. So close.

Then he detours. Veers off, pressing his lips into the dip of your hip instead, dragging his tongue along something that is not your clit.

"So perfect."

His fingers prod through your folds, parting you, fingertips wading through the slickness pooling at your entrance. The sound that spills from him is sinful.

All of your muscles coiling tight, every inch of you scorching with unmet need and just when you think you're going to have to beg him, just when the words start to form —

He gives in.

His tongue is there first, dragging a flat, broad stripe through your center, licking over every hypersensitive inch of you before looking up at you through hooded eyes. You swear you nearly come from the sight alone.

"Knew you'd be sweet."

Aaron doesn't waste another second, burying himself in you, mouth moving like he's been ravenous for this.

His grip is firm as he spreads you wider, keeping you at his mercy. His lips wrap around your clit for a split second before he moves again, tasing, licking, humming, lapping up everything you're giving him.

It's messy. Wet. Dripping. His mouth moves as he tries to wreck himself on you. Each second convincing you that he wouldn’t mind suffocating here if it meant another taste.

His nose nudges against you, the angle so cruelly perfect it sends another violent tremor through your body, legs jumping against his shoulders. Your fingers grasp blindly for purchase, gripping the sheets, tangling in his hair, at anything you can reach.

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs into you, words muffled by your pussy. "Let me hear you."

"Oh — " The sound falls from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut like you can block out the overwhelming pleasure if you just try hard enough. "Oh, that's — "

Your hips stutter, thighs tightening around his face.

Aaron chuckles darkly, and you feel it more than you hear it, the sound pulsing through your core.

You’re not sure you have a body anymore, not sure you exist outside of this moment. You’re just sensation, just trembling atoms held together only by his hands, his breath, his voice. There’s no past or future – just now, just him.

If this is what it means to transcend, to be unraveled and rewritten in the same breath, then let it consume you whole. You could die like this, and it would be the kindest death you could ever ask for.

A single finger ghosts over your entrance, teasing but never quite committing. He dips in, just the barest of intrusion, and you shudder, clenching around nothing because it’s gone just as fast.

He waits, just long enough to hear the next breathy fussing before finally spearing back in. Your eyes flutter shut, breath breaking apart in little puffs.

The sounds coming from your cunt should embarrass you, sticky, so shockingly loud that if your brain was working, you’d be mortified. But it’s not working. Not even a little.

His hand flattens over your stomach and suddenly the pressure doubles, triples.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, "feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes, oh my gods, Aaron, I—"

Your normal senses have left the building. Packed its bags, hit the road, abandoned you to whatever dark magic this is. Because this —this isn’t how your body works. This isn’t how guys work. You don’t come from this.

But here you are, hurtling toward it at full speed and all because he decided you would.

It’s happening too fast, the pressure stacking. Your thighs shake open, stomach clenching so hard it aches. Your mind is lagging behind, still reeling, still trying to rationalize but it doesn’t matter because your body has already made its choice, has already given in, has already decided this is happening, whether you’re ready for it or not.

"Aaron, I think—,"

Aaron just groans, finishing your sentence for you, lapping up your confession with his tongue,

"I know, baby." Hot air blows against your swollen clit. "Let me feel it."

It crashes over you, back bowing off the bed. Your body splinters apart, thighs trembling so hard you couldn’t stop them if you tried. The edges of your vision smear into nothing as the pleasure consumes everything in its path.

His mouth stays on you, tongue and fingers pushing you through the aftershocks until you’re clawing at the sheets, until that pleasure tilts so far into oversensitivity that makes you unaware if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away.

Your limbs feel like liquid, consolidating into every inch of your body, melting into the mattress as Aaron moves to be face to face with you.

He's looking at you like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to this planet, and maybe he is, because when his lips get close enough, you tug him the rest of the way down, crashing your mouth into his in a way that's all sloppy desperation.

You can taste yourself on him, can feel the way he groans into it when you sigh against his mouth, all soft and dreamy and drunk on gratification.

When you pull back, your fingers card through his hair, fixing nothing but feeling everything.

"Oh my gosh," you gasp, dissolving into giggles, toes curling as you flop back against the pillows. "I knew you'd be good at that, obviously, but I wasn't expecting all that. Like wow, you should get a certificate of excellence or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sigh dramatically, "Or like, a trophy, a raise, a sash that says best head giver in gold letters—," You pause for a breath, sucking in air like you just realized how winded you are.

"— and I mean, I've never come like that before. So. You should probably put that on your résumé."

When Aaron presses against you, you feel every inch of him. Thick and unfortunately still restrained. His slacks are a cruel barrier, the rough drag of the fabric catching your clit in a way that rips a whimper straight from your throat.

His teeth scrape along your jaw, then he's mouthing at your neck, sucking, teasing, marking you.

"Firstly," he murmurs. "I hate the idea of anyone else touching you."

An involuntary shiver rolls through you.

"And secondly," he continues, "the fact that they didn't even know how."

Your hands are frantic as they fly to his waistband, fumbling a bit, the last hindrance between you offensive in its existence.

"Well, yeah," you sigh, looking up at him through fluttering lashes, glossy lips parted just for him. "I mean, you're literally the only one who's ever known what to do with me. That has to mean something, right? Like, cosmic destiny or whatever."

Aaron shoves his pants and briefs off, barely sparing them a second thought, and then he's back, fitted between your thighs.

"You already know the answer to that." His lips brush your temple. "I'm the only one who knows how to handle you. And I plan on proving it."

"Yeah, okay," you say, squirming beneath him. "Not gonna argue when that sounds like the best idea ever."

You've seen a lot of versions of Aaron. You've seen work Aaron, serious and bossy, looking at crime scenes like he can hear the evidence whispering just to him. You've seen grumpy Aaron, glaring over his coffee when you talk too much at morning briefings (but you know he likes it, he just won't say). You've seen soft Aaron, the one who lets you steal his jacket even though you definitely don't need it.

But you've never seen this Aaron. This post-kissing-you Aaron. Lips slick, still damp with you, evidence of where he’s been, what he’s done.

His eyes flick to yours, and there’s no shame, no rush to wipe it away. If anything, he tilts his head, letting you see it from a better angle.

"You're so handsome, Aaron." Your voice trembles. You don't even know if you said it out loud or just thought it so hard he must have heard it anyway.

"And you,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb over your cheek, “are so damn sweet, honey."

You beam at that, overwhelmed, so unbelievably happy that your thoughts are practically spilling out faster than you can catch them.

"Okay so I just need to say — this is so exciting, like, you do realize I've had a crush on you for years, right? And now this is actually happening, and that's just — wow."

You suck in a sharp breath, nails dragging over the thick muscles of his arms, across his shoulders.

"I mean, it's us, Aaron. Can you believe that? Like, I feel like this has been building for so long and now I'm just — gods, you're so hot, this is actually distracting me. I can't even finish my own thought —,"

You laugh, because you already feel so full of him and he isn't even inside you yet.

"And I know you're being all careful and slow because you're sweet and romantic and, like, the most perfect man alive, but also —,"

You grind up, chasing friction, his cock sliding just right over your clit. Your breath stutters, hands fisting at the nape of his neck as you try to remember what you were saying.

" — I'm literally at your mercy right now, so you should probably take advantage of that before I —,"

"You talk so much, baby."

And then he shuts you up. Hard.

His mouth rams into yours, ingesting the comment, the breath, everything.

He doesn't rush.

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance before he finally, slowly, pushes inside.

It knocks the breath from your lungs. Your mouth parts against his, lips catching on his as a little sigh slips out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, helpless against the way he's opening you up.

He stills, a sharp, fractured inhale slicing through the air, fingers digging into your hips — hard. He is struggling. You can feel it. The way his cock twitches inside you, like his body is screaming at him to move.

"I-I'm good." Your laugh wobbles, catches at the edges, barely disguising how badly you want him to believe you. "You can keep going."

"You're tensing because it's been a while." You don't mean to, but your body reacts before your brain can tell it not to, stiffening. Stupid, stupid. His exhale is shaky, and his lips press against your cheek. "I know that. I expected that."

You swallow, but it doesn't help.

"I also know that you think if I notice, I'll stop." His forehead rests against yours. "But I need you to hear me, baby. I'm not stopping."

His lips graze yours.

"I'm going to work you through this. Just let me in, princess."

And the second you do, the second you finally give in —

He groans, pushing deeper, stretching you completely, filling you to the hilt.

"There we go," he breathes, wrecked with praise. His hand presses to your lower belly, feeling how deep he is, how well you take him. "That's my good girl."

Your head tilts back, lips parting, body doing the melty thing that feels really, really nice but also really, really dangerous because you swear you're seconds away from levitating straight out of your own skin.

"Okay, so I did think this would feel good —," Your fingers twitch against his chest, nails raking lightly over sweat-damp skin as another sharp moan tumbles free. "— but, um, wow, this is like — this is so —,"

Your words taper off, get lost somewhere between your psyche and your mouth, because oh. Oh, wow. He's so deep, so heavy inside you, pressing into places you didn't even know existed.

"Go on, baby," he murmurs, a smirk plastered across handsome features as he dips his head. "You were saying?"

"You know," you gasp, words all flimsy and loose, like they've been shaken up inside you, "I kinda always wondered how big you were —"

Your breath hooks halfway through, hiccups on a moan, brain scrambling to keep up with your mouth, your mouth scrambling to keep up with — him.

"Not that I, um — I stared at your pants or anything —" Another sharp inhale, another desperate moan, your walls fluctuating and squeezing around something too thick. "I mean, I try not to because I'm a professional —"

An involuntary clench makes him curse, makes his fingers dip into your hips, makes his head plunge forward hard against your shoulder.

"Honey, shit—,"

Your lashes flutter. "What?"

"Sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that while you ramble about my cock, I'm not going to last."

Your mouth clicks shut promptly.

"That's what I thought."

Hotch rocks his hips, just once, a sharp gasp fissuring from your lips like you weren't expecting it.

"Jesus, sweetheart. You're trembling." He cups your cheek, his thumb skimming over your bottom lip, eyes dark and aflame. "Does it feel that good?"

You nod, and he hums, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in.

His hand drags down your waist, spans over your belly, fingers pressing like he's charting the way he fits inside you.

"I used to tell myself I wouldn't do this," he admits. "That I wouldn't touch you. Wouldn't ruin you like this."

Your head lolls back, eyes fluttering, lips parted prettily, gasping as he rocks into you again, and again, and again. You shake your head, or at least, you think you do.

"You don't —" You try to shape words, but they liquefy on your tongue. "Don't ruin me, Aaron, you — oh, you make me —"

Hotch's throat bobs, his pupils blown.

"You make me so, so good, so soft, so perfect."

His hand cups your jaw. "You're already all of those things, sweetheart."

"Not before you," you sigh. "I've been waiting so long, Aaron, so, so long —"

"I know, baby," he groans. "I know."

His hand veers between your bodies, his fingers finding the swollen, neglected bundle of nerves.

“Aaron — oh, wait, wait, wait —,” Your hands shoot up to his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can, I mean, I can, but it’s just —,”

His cock throbs inside you, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, harder this time, his fingers matching the pace.

“Too much?”

“Yes, no, kind of? I don’t know, I can’t—,” You choke on your own breath as another thrust knocks every last rumination from your head. “I can’t think.”

“Good.” His forehead presses against yours, his lips parting against your mouth, panting, his control slipping. “I don’t want you thinking. Just feel me, sweetheart. Feel what I’m doing to you.”

Your body is shaking, shaking so hard that you don’t even know if you’re moving or if he’s just pushing you through it.

“I know, baby. But you can take it, can’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, body twitching.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, groaning as he grinds into you, stretching it. “One more, honey. You can give me one more.”

It hits you slowly, unwinding through your organs like smelted honey.

“Oh, oh —,” Your breath falters, mind going blank, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body until you can’t do anything but let it consume you.

“Christ,” he groans, feeling you clench around him so tight it nearly undoes him.

You barely register the way you’re gasping, twitching, babbling out breathless little moans, vision blurring, and for a second you think you might black out.

“That’s it, princess,” he rasps, fucking you through it the reverberations. “So, so good for me.”

His pace turns shallow, sharp, chasing the tight, perfect squeezing of you still thrashing around him.

“You’re so tight, honey,” he grits, hands bruising your hips, your breath still catching from your own orgasm.

You’re too gone to respond, too wrung out to do anything but whimper as he takes you, using your body to pull himself over the edge.

He groans, low and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair, his mouth ghosting over your cheek as he finally breaks.

A shudder, a muttered curse, his body jerking, hips slamming into yours as he spills inside you.

He doesn’t mean to collapse, you know that, because even as his body gives out, his arms brace, still trying to be careful, even now. You want to cling to him, lock your legs around his waist, but you barely remember how to move, so you just let out a sleepy sound, nuzzling blindly at his throat.

He murmurs something low, something that sounds like praise, maybe worship.

His lips press to the side of your face, half-gone and still recovering, and then his muscles tense, trying to lift himself off you.

Your arms wind around his neck before he can get too far.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’m crushing you.”

“Don’t care,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse. “Feels nice.”

“You did so good.”

When he finally pulls out, you feel the loss and everything that comes with it, his release sticky and warm beneath your thighs.

Aaron disappears into the bathroom, and you barely have time to miss him before he’s back with a warm cloth in hand.

You giggle, squirming before he even touches you, already restless, and the second he presses the cloth to your inner thighs, you jerk, laughing helplessly.

“Oh, wait —,”

Aaron sighs, one hand pressing against your hip to keep you still. “Sweetheart. You have to let me clean you up”

“But it tickles—,”

He smirks and continues his work. “How do you feel?”

“Like I saw god actually,” you ramble, kicking your feet against the sheets. “Or, like, like, if I had to describe it, I’d say I transcended reality for a little bit —,”

Aaron just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee as he finishes cleaning you up. Each swipe reminds you that your legs might not be on speaking terms with you tomorrow.

When he’s done his mouth finds yours again. It’s easy to kiss him. If it were physically possible to stay attached to him, twenty-four hours a day, you’d gladly test the theory.

“Worth the wait,” he breathes into your mouth.

“Well, yeah,” you murmur, smirking up at him. “I figured it would be for you.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, baby, you were good,” he mutters, kissing right over your stuttering pulse. “You were so good.” Another kiss. “So good I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Your heart hasn’t even slowed down, and you’re already thinking about the next time. Already plotting, already ready to drag him back down and see just how quickly that next time could turn into right now. But before you can so much as tug at him — Aaron is rolling out of bed, pulling on his pants, disappearing into the kitchen.

You mean to protest, to demand why he left you alone in a post-bliss haze, but then he’s back, pressing a glass of water into your hand, watching you drink it like it’s his personal responsibility.

Then comes food, something light and something he feeds you between kisses, between lazy murmurs about nothing.

At some point, the blankets are back over you, his lips pressing against your forehead, his voice saying something about getting some sleep before you got any ideas, before pulling you against him.

You hum, content and drowsy, shifting a little, rolling over to get more comfortable —

And then your eyes land on that photo frame from earlier. You had a clear view of it now.

It was you.

It takes you a second to place it, but once you do, you almost laugh. You know this photo — because Garcia took it. She printed it out months ago, probably as some ridiculous gag, and stuck it to Aaron’s office wall with a bright sticky note that read your favorite obviously. You’d rolled your eyes at the time, called it workplace favoritism, but he’d never taken it down.

And now, somehow, it’s framed. On his nightstand, like he’s been looking at you every night for —

You don’t finish the thought.

Instead, you just smile, huge and uncontrollable.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you don’t need him to.

Because you already know.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

#aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo assistant reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo reader #bimbo reader #aaron hotchner #hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader

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yieldtotemptation · 11 hours ago

Text

EASY ft. Yunjin

yunjin x male reader smut

6k words

“Oh, you’re an idiot,” Yunjin decides, stealing yet another one of your fries. “My best friend is an idiot.”

You pull the bowl out of her reach, feeling the need to defend yourself, “You're really calling me an idiot because—”

“Because you have the completely insane opinion that jerking yourself off is better than getting a blowjob. What is wrong with you?”

“They’re overrated! Number of times I’ve cum from a blowjob—zero. Number of times I’ve cum from my own hand—probably thousands!”

“Okay, first—gross, and second—you’re not just an idiot. You are a sad, sad man.”

“I’m just being honest!”

Yunjin reaches over, snatches yet another fry. Waves it in front of your face, judging you, before reaching some kind of consensus in her unreasonably pretty head. “You only think that because you've never had a good one.”

“I've had plenty.”

Yunjin's eyes narrow. She crunches.

You swallow hard.

“But you've never had one from me.”

—

Look, you’re pretty sure Yunjin’s full of shit. You’ve known her forever, you’re well versed in her bullshitting ways—she’s got a penchant for stretching out the truth until it’s as elastic as the underwear strap that she just loves to leave sticking out of her jeans.

So, yeah. The girl likes to exaggerate. It’s kind of her job anyway. Make things seem bigger, more dramatic than they really are. Sell the idea of heaven in a three-minute pop song. Sweet lies from lips painted to perfection.

Plump, glossy, pillowy-soft lips that you’ve seen pout and purse and get trapped between her teeth or swiped over by her tongue and—

You get the picture.

“Seriously, the bathroom?” You’re asking, and honestly, you’re trying to give her an out. Waiting for her to take it back, reveal that this is all just an extremely unfunny prank, designed to needle you, make you blush and maybe get a good story to embarrass you in front of her friends with. How she left the silly, naïve hometown boy with his pants around his ankles and his dick in his hand.

Any time now, she’ll point and laugh and make you feel like even more of a fucking idiot when she says, ‘I can’t believe your dumb ass actually followed me in here expecting a blowjob,’ and that’ll be the end of it.

Really. Any time now.

And yet.

Silence as she closes the door behind her, which you feel the need to break with, “Come on, Yunjin, you don’t have to prove anything—"

Yunjin cuts you off—“Oh, but I want to.”

She spins on her heels to face you. Presses her back flush against the door. She turns the lock.

Something in the room shifts.

Her posture, maybe, or more specifically something in her legs. The way she’s angled herself so that your eyes are drawn to their long creamy expanse, up to the tightness of her thighs, and the way they frame the juncture in between.

Or it’s in the drop of one single shoulder; her half-zipped hoodie sliding down to reveal a sliver of smooth neck, the falling strap of her tank-top, the gentle swell of her chest.

Or maybe it’s just the tilt of her head, her lips all pouty and perfect, and oh, now she’s unzipping the jacket further down and she’s watching you find out in real time that she’s left her midriff bare and uncovered and holy shit her abs are ridiculous and your brain is blue-screening—

This isn’t the Yunjin you know.

The friend, the confidant, the embarrassingly loud chatterbox who raids your fridge and roasts your clothes and has a running commentary on every single woman that enters and very quickly leaves your orbit.

Each ticking second, each subtle movement, she’s starting to look less and less like the girl from your childhood and more and more like the idol that everyone else seems desperate to worship.

She takes a step forward.

Your mouth feels paper-dry.

You lie, “Can’t say you’re off to a great start, then.”

Yunjin raises a perfect brow, and yeah, she doesn’t buy that shit for a second. “What, were you expecting somewhere with a little more ambiance?”

“Well, you’re setting yourself up for failure here,” you retort, some defence mechanism causing you to try to keep things casual, bring it back to more familiar, banter-heavy waters. “Toilets aren’t really a turn-on for me.”

“Didn’t take you for a romantic,” she teases, but something about her tone—light, playful, less biting than usual, sends you in a tailspin. Your mind grinds to a halt when you realise why. She’s not simply teasing. She’s flirting. And she’s taking another step.

“What can I say, I’m a love before lust kind of guy.”

Yunjin just laughs, something foreign and a little bit wicked. Forces a chill down your spine that you can’t quite explain. She makes those final steps, closing the distance, backing you up against the row of sinks, and—fuck.

She stops right in front of you. Your heart races. You think she can hear it thump.

“Am I making you nervous?” She asks, and it’s all kinds of fucked because now you’re seeing the details; the flecks of honey-brown escaping the coloured contacts that make her eyes pop, the curls at the end of her lashes, reaching out to touch the fluorescent lights overhead. “The thought of my pretty lips wrapped around you putting you on edge?”

And you really thought you knew her mouth; but now she’s jutting out her bottom lip, and it’s fuller than you remembered. As dangerously red as her hair, and Jesus Christ you catch the tremble in them when her eyes flicker down for just a brief instant—right before they return to yours.

She grins.

You aim for unaffected. You miss the mark by a wide margin. "Just don’t want to disappoint you. Putting all this effort in only to be proven wrong by me. Again.”

Yunjin gives you a pitying sigh in response, the sound all honey and smoke, and she makes you flinch when she barely has to move a muscle to place a single finger on your sternum.

She draws a lazy circle on your chest. You hate that you shiver.

“Something tells me that won't be the case,” she’s saying, whisper-quiet now. The circle she’s drawing gets wider, turns into a spiral, and now she’s massaging into your chest, a hand over your heart, and her fingers are getting higher until they’re up to your shoulder, and she’s leaning in so her breath is hot on your neck, and—“It’s going to be filthy. Sloppy. A fucking mess. You’ll never be the same. I’m going to bring you to your knees.”

“I thought the whole idea of this was for you to be kneeling in front of me,” you manage, by some miracle, to keep your voice steady. “Seems like you’re getting ahead of yourself here.”

“All in due time,” she answers, getting her body closer, and you can feel your worser impulses start to involuntarily close the gap between your waists. “I’m not like those other girls. I’m not going to just jump right on your cock and bounce up and down for two minutes. I think you’ve earned yourself a little torture.”

“Then you’re wasting your time.”

“We’ll see about that,” she chides, and her other hand starts to skate down your chest, lower and lower until it stops just short of your pants. Her thumb digs into your waistband. Tugs. Does nothing else.

And maybe there's something there. The denial. The torture. The helplessness. Coming from someone who's always been a little bossy, who you've always let get her way because, hell, she's Yunjin, and she always promised that in the end she'd make it so nice for you.

You’re not sure if you want to find out.

“Yunjin—”

“Don’t be afraid,” she giggles, breaking you out of whatever spell has kept you frozen in place this entire time. “Go ahead, you can touch me too, if you want.”

But it's just as you reach out for her that you’re caught.

Yunjin traps one of your wrists in her grasp, causing you to freeze up all over again. Brings your hand to her mouth. Let’s her eyes flit once—to your face—and again—to your thumb.

She sucks.

Slow, deep, her tongue swirling around the digit as it disappears past her lips and into the warmth of her mouth. Vibrates a ridiculously filthy moan into your knuckle, convincing you for a second that your thumb must be delicious, must be something really fucking sweet for her to be slurping on it like this.

She pulls away, just enough to let the sticky wetness left behind glisten in the light.

Her lips bless the pad. “You’re picturing it, aren’t you?”

And then the next finger; and yeah, you’re transfixed—fascination, horror, painful straining as she does the same dance with your forefinger. Deep, deeper than the thumb could reach, until your nail is scraping at the back of her throat and—

It pops out of her mouth as quick as it entered, and you feel it in your core—the sudden absence. “You’re thinking about it—thinking I might be right. Realising that if I can do this to your fingers—”

You can’t bring yourself to argue. Can’t even bring yourself to speak. You’re too busy watching her mouth, too busy watching your middle finger go all the way in, push down into her throat and holy fuck, she doesn’t even gag.

“It’d feel so much better than anything you ever had. Ever even imagined,” she says, and she’s kissing up and down your finger, staining it fire-engine red. “See, the problem wasn’t that you don’t like blowjobs. It’s that you never once gotten one from a mouth this eager for you.”

And finally, when her teeth graze the tip of your ring finger, and you’re expecting the warmth of her lips once more, she stops.

Grinds her hip into you, forcing you to stab into her abs, and it’s unavoidable now—the pressure of your cock, ready to tear itself out of your jeans and just feel her. Her touch. Her cunt. Her mouth.

She feels it too. Arches her eyebrow—‘I told you so’ on her lips prepped and ready.

You wait under the heat of her gaze, trying not to look because you really don't want to give her the satisfaction. But fuck it’s hard. Each breath feeling like it’s being siphoned out of you, replaced with the scent of her—sweet, suffocating. Intoxicating.

But your eyes turn traitor. And it’s a mistake.

Yunjin squeezes your wrist, steals your attention. Takes your ring and pinkie fingers into her mouth. Pushes them past her lips at the same goddamn time.

Your mind goes completely, utterly blank.

She sucks on them hard, drawing them deep past her lips, devouring them, like they’re the last two drops of water in the desert and she’s just been dying of thirst. Holds your eyes hostage, needing an audience to watch as she makes a show of it; moaning around them, tongue rolling over and around your digits and you’re receiving the message loud and clear—‘You have no idea what you’re in for.’

You feel your knees start to give out.

Your fingers are soaked with her saliva, and the sounds she’s making—deep, throaty, fucking obscene—your body’s being hijacked, all your blood redirected to one painfully obvious place.

It occurs to you that you should just give up now. Tell her she’s proven her point. Your heart’s racing, your chest is tightening, your breath is coming in ragged, desperate bursts. Just tell her you believe her and jump straight to the part where she does her victory dance on top of your cock

If only.

Yunjin sets your fingers free with a smack of her lips, but the heat of her mouth still clings to your skin, lingering with the wetness of her tongue, the promise of something so much better. She kisses a trail around your palm, over the back of your hand, around your wrist.

And then she’s on her toes, and she’s leaning her body into you, using your shoulder for support. Marking your neck, nose nuzzling against the stubble, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around her waist. Pull her closer, give her tongue access to your jaw, your cheek, anywhere she wants.

Her teeth line the bottom of your ear, and she sucks gently at your earlobe, and you swear to fucking God it makes your balls tingle.

She bites. “By the end of this, you’re going to be begging.”

Gets closer still, nestles herself into your embrace, presses her tits against your chest. It's divine, the feeling of her against you, in your arms. So right. A body so tight; slender and grace and so happy to have your arms wrapped around her, so delighted that you've discovered the perfect home for your fingers, because she would absolutely hate to have them anywhere else. On anyone else.

"You won't be able to resist me," she tells you, her breath hot on your skin, making it rise up in goosebumps. And you just nod along, because what could be better than the way she's touching you, the heat she's offering, the things you can already picture her lips doing?

And that’s when she lays it on you—her true endgame in all of this teasing:

“You’re going to want it so badly, you’re going to call me Mommy.”

You nearly push her right off you.

Yunjin just stares straight at you. Dead serious. Heat, intent, fucking determination set upon her awfully pretty features.

“I’m older than you, you know.” You try to laugh it off, but it comes out strained when Yunjin presses herself into you again, and her tongue starts to trace the shell of your ear, and her hand starts to work at your zipper. Touching you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like she’s done it so many times before. Like she’s going to do it so many times again.

“It’s a state of mind, baby,” and she smirks, and there’s a challenge in there. Two doors—try to prove her wrong and walk away, keep your dignity intact. Or just let go, get rid of your pride and fall into a pair of the most tempting, talented, sinful lips that have ever graced your skin.

You don't even get a second to decide.

Her hand’s already at your throat, pulling you close. You let her. Make it easy. Taste the sweetness of her breath, getting a split second to crave her tongue before finally meeting it. Her mouth crashes into yours, and you’re gone.

You kiss her back, breathe her in. Welcome her tongue past your teeth, let it stroke yours, dance in a way that’s far too right for a first time, and it's crazy how she just fits.

She feels, smells, tastes like everything good.

You settle into the reality that this might be the last—only—chance you get.

Face it, you’ve always known who she is—undeniable, goddamn gorgeous, sexy, hot, plain and simple. But this? This is different. You’ve watched it. Yunjin on stage, wearing next to nothing, hips rolling in sync with a thrumming bass, eyes fucking the hell out of the cameras. And you’ve fantasised about it. But it's always felt so fucking far-fetched. She's always felt so impossibly out of reach.

Intangible, since the day she debuted. Ascended to some place that you could never join.

But now.

She’s come back down, just for this. Just to reclaim something that's always been hers.

She moans something nice into your mouth when she feels you pushing back against her. Her hand finally dips beneath your waistband. Finds you eager. Desperate.

But then she pulls away.

Eyes widen, fucking laughs.

“Oh, you’re such an asshole.”

You blink. “What?”

She reaches back, hands careful. Like she’s defusing a bomb. Her fingers peel down the zipper of your pants, and then yank down the stretched-out cotton of your briefs, and you’re set free.

Hard. Aching. Throbbing.

Hers.

“Asshole,” she repeats.

You don’t even know what the fuck.

“Christ, it suddenly makes sense,” she says to herself, but doesn’t bother elaborating. No, instead, she just reaches back down, wraps her fingers around you and gives you a little squeeze. Tests the water. Feels the way your cock jumps under her touch.

Your knuckles turn white against the sink behind you, and Yunjin smiles again when she realises you’re going to let her do whatever she wants.

And so her hand starts moving. Slowly. Gently.

She kisses you again, for just a moment, and then lower, and lower. Stroking you as she maps her way down your body with her lips. Feather-light against your skin, touch hot on your cock, dragging it out, building the anticipation.

Stopping when she’s on her knees. Breathing on your cock.

You hiss in a breath.

Yunjin lets go. Takes off her jacket. Tightens her ponytail. Blinks up at you. And fuck. Her chin tipped just so. Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes alone making you strain.

Her lips part, and you find yourself nodding before she even says a single word.

“I’m going to take care of you now,” she whispers into your skin, kissing into your thigh. It’s warm, soft, wet. Excruciating. She’s so close to where you need her mouth to be, but so fucking far.

Her fingers trace patterns up and down your shaft, dancing over your cock. Not touching, never. Just teasing. Torment that has you squirming, and she’s basking in it, tracking every twitch, loving every desperate gasp.

“You’re mine,” Yunjin mutters, as her mouth travels up your thigh, and your muscles start to shake. You could just grab her, it’d be so easy. Just take her by the hair, force her to give you want you want. But something stops you. Afraid of breaking this moment. Anticipating what’s to come.

Your oxygen's running low, barely breathing, can’t stop yourself from panting when her teeth scrape along your hipbone, and your cock jumps in response, nearly slapping her right in the face.

But fuck, Yunjin’s a sadist. She kisses around your waist, her tongue darting out to taste your skin, exhaling hot and steamy air against your balls. You're dripping, beading at the tip, and it’s all so, so obvious.

The wait is agony. Pure agony.

Yunjin gives you a small mercy. Her hand wraps around you again, and for an instant you’re terrified that the touch alone would be the end of it.

But thankfully, you outlast. Yunjin strokes you lightly, her grip firm but gentle. Loving. Wresting control over you, your cock. So fucking hard already, you’re surprised you haven’t torn the sink off the wall yet.

And then, oh fuck, she’s kissing closer. Your abs, your belly button. Lower, lower, breath hot on your cock, closer, closer, please.

You can’t take it anymore. You need her. You need this.

“Yunjin,” and any other time you would hate yourself for how embarrassingly needy it comes out.

“Admit you were wrong,” Yunjin says, and you’re ready to scream it, tell her you’ve never been more wrong about anything in your entire life. Anything to feel her lips. “Admit that there’s no way your hand could ever be better than this.”

“Yes,” you grit out, and it’s a fucking miracle you can form words at all. “You were right. I was wrong.”

She’s baring teeth now, and her lips are ghosting over your cock head and you just need her.

“Please.”

“Say it.”

“I can't—”

“Do it.”

“Mommy.”

And then—

Her mouth is on you.

Wet, hot, heaven. Taking you in slow, eyes paying attention to your every flinch, the agonising twists across your face. Trained on all your strained reactions. Savouring it. Reading you like a book—every page turned with a flick of her tongue, every paragraph devoured with a swirl of her cheeks.

Slow, so slow. Deliberate. Perfect suction. Just enough to make your toes curl, to have your hips buck in her mouth. Convincing you that everything before, everything you ever had, whatever you believed was a blowjob—was all a fucking lie.

No one ever felt like this.

Your fingers release the sink, find their natural place in her hair, threading through the red, letting it knot around your digits. And there's the urge again. Tug, pull, make her go faster, make her understand that she’s already won so you might as well fuck without abandon, but you don’t dare. You don’t want to ruin this. Not when she seems so satisfied.

Cheeks hollowing out with every suck, smiling around your cock, basking in some kind of pleasure you can’t even comprehend—because she’s the one doing the giving here.

And then when she sinks, finally pushes your cock to the back of her throat and further down. Presses her nose to your waist and holds you there. Stealing your breath, the air from your lungs, forcing a deep, guttural ‘Fuck’ from your gut.

You reach your conclusion. Her lips are made for this. Made to fit around your cock perfectly, to slide up and down with the fucking unapologetically sloppy noises that make the room spin. That it’s only her throat that can take you deeper than you ever thought possible, that can constrict and tighten around you so nice. That no other mouth could be this warm, hot, welcoming, fucking right.

She pulls back. A long, long draw that leaves a fucking mess. Globs of spit, drool, pre-cum hanging off your cock, from her lips.

“This poor, poor cock,” she sighs, like it’s such a great tragedy. “Never had anyone treat it right. Like the treasure it is.”

She shows you what she means, demonstrates how to properly worship your cock. Lips brushing along your shaft, pecking gentle kisses along your length, tongue snaking out to lick off her own spit.

Her hand slides under your balls, cupping them, balancing them in her palm. Holding them in place when she points your cock up so she can duck underneath. Nuzzle her nose into your waist, lap her tongue at your base, get her lips right where you’re most sensitive.

Pleasing you like she’s always wanted to. Making you believe that maybe she has. Maybe this is something she’s been thinking about all this time; every time she’s seen you, seen the way you looked at her, heard you tell stories of the other women that only ever disappointed you with their mouths.

Not knowing that she was the one that could make you fucking levitate this entire time.

“This was always going to happen,” Yunjin says. Starting to stroke you again, her grip a little tighter this time, a little more possessive. Looking up at you through her lashes, red lipstick smudged off the corner of her mouth. “One way or another, I was always going to have this.”

And her tongue is everywhere. Laving around the base of your cock, making you feel it all the way to your toes. Not done with the teasing, the unbearably slow burn that’s going to drive you insane.

Her mouth opens wide. She takes one of your balls into her mouth. Surrounds it in soft, wet heat. Sucking—not hard, not yet, just enough. Enough to make you bite down and grind your teeth. Squeeze your eyes shut—not that it even helps. You can feel her tongue rolling around, coating your balls in a warm stickiness. Soothing. Torturous. So fucking good.

She lets out a soft hum, and the vibration nearly sends you over the edge.

Yunjin lets go with a pop, and you swear you can hear your soul sigh in relief and despair. “God, this cock,” she murmurs, “Wish you had told me, shown it to me sooner.”

The way she says it—like you could even fathom what you’ve been missing out on. Years of this? Years of her mouth on you? Years of her making you feel like the only thing that matters in this fucking world is impaling your cock into the most insanely hot and wet and tight hole you’ve ever felt?

The look on Yunjin’s face answers every single question for you.

Yes. Yes to all of it.

“Could have been doing this every fucking day,” she muses, and you let out some choked gasp, and her lips are kissing into your slit again. Then her tongue, then lower, and she’s taking you deep. So deep you’re pretty sure you can feel her fucking heartbeat through her throat.

She holds you there. One, two, three. Letting her tongue drool down your shaft, letting it drip over your balls and splash down between her knees.

Pulls back, lets go, catches her breath.

Spits on your cock.

“Imagine,” she speaks, even though her mouth is a fucking disaster, lips swollen, just a glossy smudge of red. “Just waking up to me sucking this, getting it all nice and hard and throbbing.”

It’s not difficult at all to see it. You can feel it. Tongue flattening against the underside of your cock, the swallow as she’s taking you in, the cheeks fixing around the edges with each bob. Just so fucking messy. Soaking your cock, letting these garbled, choked, slick, filthy noises echo off the bathroom walls.

“This would ruin me, you know that don’t you? Ruin my cunt,” she tells you. “Ruin Mommy’s tight little cunt so fucking nicely.”

“Fuck you, Yunjin,” is the best you can muster, which is impressive considering your brain cells are dying off one by one from the lack of oxygen.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d love that.”

“Of course I would,” you admit, and then continue admitting, “I’ve always fucking wanted to.”

“I know,” Yunjin admits back, and that sets her off. Her mouth goes to work again, your cock disappearing into her, her hand getting just that little bit faster, and fuck, fuck, fuck, she’s got it all wrong.

She’s the one that’s going to ruin you. Going to make you forget every other orgasm you ever had.

There'll be no room for anything in your head but just thoughts of fucking her. Raw, rough; again and again until she's completely filled up with you and even then.

“Been dreaming of it,” you groan out, as Yunjin’s pace builds, and there’s the beginning of tears lining her eyes, and she’s gagging more often than not, and it compels you to keep telling her, “Been dreaming of your tight fucking body. What I’d do to get my hands on that slutty little waist. Just dig in my fingers and pound into that cunt. God I know it would feel so good.”

Deeper and deeper, until she doesn’t even need to use her hands anymore. Just to steady your legs, to keep you still while she fucks your cock with her throat.

And it’s these images you’re drawing up in her mind. How you’d pay her back, how you’d make her scream, how’d you do the same to her and more. Wreck her with your cock until she never seeks another again. Make sure that her lips, her cunt, her body belong to only you. That’s what’s driving her now, making her eyes water, making her cheeks go red and her throat bulge.

That’s what has her hand snaking down between her thighs, forcing open the button of her shorts, stretching the waistband of her panties to their limits. Just so she can touch herself. To feed into the heat building in her cunt and the wetness leaking down her legs.

You can feel her, mouth tightening around you as she teases herself. Feel the accidental swipe of her teeth when it gets too much. She’s rubbing her clit in circles, matching the tempo of her bobbing head.

Fuck, the sight alone.

Hand disappearing into her shorts, getting down and into herself, and she’s so fucking pretty, even when her face is scrunched up in the worst of pleasures, even when she’s choking on your cock.

And you think there’s laughter around the gags, or at least a smile against your skin when you throb, jerk, fuck her mouth. She’s enjoying this. The power, the pleasure she can wrench from you. You’re getting off, sure, but it’s all for her. All to prove her point.

And she’s fucking winning.

“Tell me,” she gurgles when she’s at your head, mouth bubbling at the corners with a cocktail mix of her sloppiness and your arousal. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“Shit, Yunjin, it feels—”

“Actually, fuck that, tell me it’s better,” Yunjin decides, and she seems so fucking pleased with herself that you want to hate her. But it’s so hard to deny those big fucking eyes that anchor you to the ground, those ridiculously plump lips that suck any argument right out of your throat. “Better than your hand. Better than any other mouth. Tell me it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to your cock. Be a good boy and tell me I’m better.”

You groan, or whimper, or cry, or make some noise that makes Yunjin just so fucking ecstatic, makes her swoon and nearly come apart on her own fingers. “So much fucking better, Yunjin. Jesus, your lips. Perfect for this. Perfect, cock-sucking lips. Hot mouth. Your fucking throat taking me so nice.”

“Use it,” Yunjin opens her mouth, stretches her lips as far as they'll go, showing you, sticking out her tongue and giving you an insight into your own end. “Use it like the toy it’s always been for you. Fuck it, fuck me. Use my lips, my mouth, my throat. Make me choke until you think I can't take it and then give me even more.”

“You’re fucking insane.”

“And you’re about to make a mess.”

Yeah, you’re properly doomed.

God it’s so fucking cruel. How Yunjin doubles down, mouth swallowing you whole. So fast and deep that you don’t understand how you’re still on your feet. Just watching her throat pulse, convulse, her eyes bulge when you rut inside her and she just won’t stop.

“You’re so fucking good, Yunjin, so good, you’re a—fuck—you’re a—” Only one word comes straight to mind, "Cumslut."

Yunjin preens. Looks up, lashes fluttering. Sounding so girly that it makes everything seem even more debauched and depraved. “Aren’t I? Aren’t I so good for you?”

You grunt out, “You already fucking know.”

Yunjin’s hand returns to the fold, jerking your cock into her lips, because your own personal catastrophe’s on the horizon. It’s coiling in your balls, tightening up, a spring ready to snap.

And, oh, how Yunjin would love to be the one that snaps it.

“You’re not going to be able to go back. Never. No one else will be able to take this big fucking cock like this. No one can be as much of a cumslut for you.”

You’re fucking falling apart. Yunjin’s mouth is a vice. Hot, heavenly, sloppy vice that’s squeezing the last drops of sanity from your brain. She just keeps fucking doing it—taking you so deep until your cock’s lost down her throat, over and over again. And it’s building and getting closer and closer to disaster and every nerve ending in your body is just begging for release.

“Give in,” she slurs around your girth, barely coherent, mouth full of you. Pumping your cock faster, until it’s throbbing and aching so desperately and angrily, and her words are sounding nicer and nicer with every passing beat. “Give up. Give me that cum. All of it. Cum for me. Make Mommy happy. Give me what I want. Give me what I need. Give me—”

“Shut the fuck up and take it—”

“Be a good boy and beg—”

“Fuck you—”

You’re straining, for the first time lifting your hips off the sink and falling into her. Hands holding onto her head—and now her hair is just a handlebar, and you're riding her mouth for dear life, fucking into it like she doesn't have a choice. Using her, making her take you, over and over, again and again, and she’s just so happy to keep fingering herself into oblivion while you lose all tempo and pace and forcefully, clumsily wreck her throat.

Until you’re just seeing red.

Red of her hair, her lips. Red smudged up and down your cock and against your waist and all over your fucking fingers.

And then—

“Fuck you—Mommy!”

You can see it in her eyes.

You can feel it in every nerve ending.

You can taste it in the air.

It’s harsh, mean, rough. Pounding into her mouth, stretching her throat, until her nails are digging into your thighs and you’re shaking, twitching, fucking—

Cumming.

You empty yourself into her. Yunjin doesn’t flinch. She takes it. Every pulse of your orgasm, every drop of your cum. Swallows it down with a greedy gulp, again and again, until she can’t swallow anymore.

It gushes out of her mouth.

A thick rope that she can’t quite keep up with that paints those gorgeous fucking lips. Her cheeks and chin. Drips down to her neck. So fucking beautiful. Covered with your cum all over her face, and now down to her shoulder, her collarbone, and oh you’ve ruined her entire slutty outfit.

“God, fuck, Yunjin—”

And she’s dropping her pussy down onto her fingers, panting around your cock, around mouthfuls of your cum. Working her clit in quick, sharp movements until it’s just your hand tangled in her hair that’s keeping her upright.

This fucking image of her.

Mouth full of you, swallowing, choking, gagging. So fucking obscene you can’t look away. Eyes rolled back into her skull, cheeks are flaming, and she’s so shiny and wet and glazed over, and just a complete fucking mess for you.

You can’t imagine anything better.

It leaves you reeling. Standing there with your cock still out. Shaking from aftershocks that you’re not sure will ever end. Trying to catch your breath, chest heaving, eyes blurring back into clarity while you watch Yunjin return to life.

“Good boy,” she breathes, but it’s hardly smug. It’s just pure victory.

She opens her mouth. Smiles so wide. Shows you her prize. Shows you the mess she’s made, shows you everything. Moans at the taste of it, as she absorbs your flavour into her tongue. Completely dazed, mouth fucked to hell, and just strung-out and drunk on your cum. She finds the energy to swipe her tongue around her teeth, cleaning the best she can. She barely makes a dent.

And you’re still hard. Still fucking throbbing.

Her eyes never leave yours. She wants you to see.

She grins, and you're already expecting it, the victory speech. Something no doubt flirty and teasing and completely fucking filthy that will make you want to throw her over the sink and punish her tight, drenched cunt until she's the one begging and calling you Daddy.

Only, that all gets tossed out when you hear someone banging on the bathroom door.

“Everything okay in there?”

The sudden intrusion brings everything back into focus, seizes you back into a reality outside of Yunjin's cum-stained lips.

You clear your throat.

“I’m sorry, it’s my,” and you look down and Yunjin’s beaming up at you. Looking so perfect, kneeling on the cold tiles. Streaks of your cum hanging off her chin. She blows you a kiss. “My girlfriend. Just needed some immediate attention.”

And Yunjin decides to up the ante, leaning back into you. Snaking her arms around your thigh. Kissing into where you’re still so ridiculously sensitive. And then licking and sucking and—

It takes an impossible amount of effort to not scream at the top of your lungs. “We’ll be out soon, just need a couple—”

Yunjin shakes her head. Shows you both hands. Flashes all fingers.

“Ten—”

Shakes her head once more. Flashes again.

“Twenty?”

Yunjin nods.

“Twenty minutes.”

There’s a pause on the other side of the door, and you realise that this is all fucking out of control and completely unbelievable.

But still.

Yunjin’s tongue is setting you on fire, and God she’s kissing up higher, rising to her feet and she's covering every inch of your skin that she has yet to leave her mark.

You whisper-shout at her, “They’re going to break this door down.”

Yunjin laughs, and there’s no way whoever is outside the bathroom doesn’t hear it.

She removes her ruined top. Lets her bra fall to the ground. Steps out of her drenched panties. She looks like perfection.

“That’s fine,” she says, and she’s taking a hold of you, kissing you, and you can taste yourself on her lips and fuck, she’s winning again—“But you’re going to break me first.”

#kpop smut #yunjin smut #le sserafim smut #male reader

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absfemme · 3 days ago

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squirting contest !! ♡︎

𐙚 cw ; squirting. strap-on usage. praise. overstim. threesome.

it had been at least thirty minutes, and they were still at it. relentless. determined.

your exes never really knew how to fuck you right—not the way you needed. you might’ve mentioned that to them. you might’ve also let slip that you’d never squirted before. and, of course, they took that as a challenge.

who could make you squirt first?

god, with them, everything was a competition. everything. even sex.

“violet, don't hog her—”

“oh, hush. you're just pissy because i'm going to win.”

caitlyn sits behind you, watching intently as vi takes you apart, smug satisfaction written all over her face. a slick, white, telltale ring coats the base of her cock, proof of many orgasms prior. four? five, maybe? you’ve lost count.

tears spill down your cheeks, your body trembling, spent and overstimulated. your poor, poor cunt was damn near numb at this point. "i—i can't," you hiccup, voice breaking. "too much. please."

vi doesn’t relent, ignoring the soft, broken whimpers that slip past your lips. caitlyn, however, takes pity on you. slender fingers brush away your tears, her other hand tracing slow, soothing circles over your knuckles. she presses gentle kisses along your jaw, murmuring against your skin, "yes, you can, darling. you’re okay."

the pressure coils tight inside you, unbearable and consuming. every deep thrust has you unraveling, the head of vi’s silicon dick sloppily hitting your cervix over and over again. your insides feel bruised, stretched beyond their limit.

"she’s close again," vi groans, her grip tightening. "getting tighter."

caitlyn hums in acknowledgment, slipping a hand between your legs and slapping your clit to push you even further. the touch makes you jump, thighs instinctively trying to snap shut, but vi is quicker—she pries them back open, her voice firm yet teasing.

"no, no, baby. keep them open for me. you’re close, yeah? squeezing me so fucking hard."

her words push you over the edge. your back bows off the bed, pleasure ripping through you in waves, your whole body trembling as you cum again. the two of them watch in quiet admiration, soaking in the sight of you undone.

and before you can even catch your breath, they switch places. caitlyn settles between your legs now, her strap pressing insistently at your entrance. it’s longer than vi’s, though not as thick—a deep, sparkly blue thing that leaves a visible bulge in your lower stomach as she lines up with you.

“it’s too big,” you whimper when caitlyn pushes into you, bottoming out in one slow, deliberate thrust. your walls flutter around her, stretched to the brink. “can’t—can’t do it.”

vi, now behind you, lets out a low chuckle, hands running soothingly up and down your arms. “you can take it, sweet girl,” she murmurs, voice laced with something between encouragement and envy. she presses a kiss to the side of your head, her breath warm against your ear. "just relax. let her take care of you."

caitlyn hushes you with a kiss of her own, softer, more patient. “you’re doing so well, sweetheart. just breathe.” her voice is gentle, but there’s a firm command beneath it, one that makes you obey despite the overwhelming stretch. she stays still for a moment, letting you adjust, her fingers smoothing over your trembling thighs before she pulls back and snaps her hips forward.

her pace is different from vi’s—less rough, more calculated. precision over brute force. each roll of her hips finds that spot inside you effortlessly, leaving you gasping, your body jerking with each thrust. the pleasure coils unbearably tight, winding like a spring ready to snap. then her fingers slip between your legs, rubbing quick, purposeful circles against your clit, pushing you to the edge even faster.

“c’mon, darling,” caitlyn coaxes, her voice a velvet purr. “i know you can give me one more.”

your body obeys before your mind can catch up. the pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, blinding and all-consuming. a sharp cry rips from your throat as your entire body seizes up, thighs trembling, stomach clenching—then everything snaps. liquid gushes out of you, soaking caitlyn’s stomach, the sheets, everything. you collapse against vi, utterly spent, breath hitching as you try to come down.

"holy shit, you squirted,” vi mutters, stunned, her arms wrapping around you, one hand stroking your damp hair while the other rests against your twitching stomach. she sounds impressed, but there’s something else in her voice too—frustration, maybe even jealousy. "not fairrrr! that should’ve been me."

caitlyn, ever composed, lets out a soft laugh as she pulls out, pressing one last kiss to your knee before sliding off the bed. “your cockiness never did get you anywhere, violet.” her tone is smug, self-satisfied, and vi groans dramatically behind you. "i'll grab something to clean up.”

the moment she’s gone, vi tilts your head up, making sure you’re looking at her. there’s a glint in her eyes, something you can’t recognize, her fingers tracing absentmindedly over your still-trembling stomach.

"next time, it'll be me," she murmurs, lips brushing against your temple. "bet on it, babe."

this is so ass bye im jumping

#ABSFEMME ♥︎#dem’s work 𝜗𝜚 #vi #caitlyn kiramman #caitvi #caitvi smut #caitlyn kiramman smut #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi smut #arcane #arcane x you #wlw #lesbian #wlw smut

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supernovae-explosion · 3 days ago

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𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓾𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮? 𝟙𝟠+

I. II. III. .·:¨ Dividers | Masterlist ¨:·. 🔞 MDNI 🔞

Hello! To pick a pile please clear your mind and focus on the images above, whichever one speaks to you the most or you feel the most drawn to, this one is for you! If more than one speaks to you, feel free to read both. Remember to take only what resonates with you 🌠 If you enjoyed this reading please like and reblog, it's very appreciated <3

PILE I.

In their eyes, you are a walking goddess, everything they ever dreamt of, their soulmate. They feel it very intensively which makes them willing to fight for you. You are what they were asking for the universe, and they finally found it, they for sure are not letting you go. I can feel this possessive energy coming from them. It’s like they fantasize about chanting under their breath “mine mine mine” while you guys enjoy each other. The way you walk and present yourself, the way you take care of yourself has a big effect on them it really turns them on. Your initial indifference and playing hard to get when you meet makes them very riled up, they want to fight for you, make you theirs. They want to explore you, not only your body, but your mind – all the secrets, every detail about you and how you think, it makes them excited. They have this dominating energy, but whenever you come up they get more submissive, I really feel like they would be into worshipping you and your body, pleasing you as much as they can. They are really into this, you are a prize in their eyes and winning you over is the most satisfying thing they can do, they can’t help themselves. They might want to spoil you with gifts, in their mind it would help a lot with winning you over, no matter how much things would cost I feel like they would go with it just to satisfy you.

Songs: Telepatía by Kali Uchis | Dark Red by Steve Lacy | National Anthem by Lana Del Rey

PILE II.

This may be a third party situation or a secret relationship type of beat. What I'm seeing for sure here is that being sneaky and keeping it a secret is really working on their excitement – I’m seeing a scenario where you two sneak out of the party to the bathroom to enjoy yourselves, the danger of being found out makes it thrilling, exciting, which turns them on even more. They might be into kissing your neck a lot, or even biting it, they like it rough. You really pushed this person to the edge, they see you as this never stopping, powerful individual. There’s this weird connection between the two of you, this may be a karmic relationship. On a lighter note, it seems like you are a light in the tunnel for them, they may feel alone and unappreciated in this current situation they are in but you bring this excitement and will for a new beginning into their life again. They really give off this capricorn energy, maybe they have some planets in it, or they are ruled by saturn? This will be a sign that this pile is for you. Your inner strength and determination makes them feel ways they didn’t feel before, it’s very dangerous and alluring and it makes them go crazy with want. They may have options around them, but you take all their attention, you have this magnetic pull on them and their instincts.

Songs: So High by Doja Cat | See You Again by Tyler, The Creator and Kali Uchis | I Don’t Wanna Talk (I Just Wanna Dance) by Glass Animals

PILE III.

Your creativity, your strategical thinking, how easy it all is for you, how you to make friends without breaking a sweat. They see you as this wise advisor, someone who’s good at everything, who is willing to help and support them in each single endeavor. Someone who thinks before they act. They really admire you, they might have a gemini venus, this really screams at me that your intellect is turning them on, sapiosexual is the word I was looking for. The way you are so well put together, how you have things figured out, the amount of hard work you put in everything you do - this is really working wonders on them, they really admire you I’m so serious right now. They want to see you succeed and I think they might be even more proud about it than you haha! They might be more into traditional sex, full of affection and love, showing you how much and how strong they actually feel for you. If they were to try new things I think they might be into you dominating them. There’s a part in this connection where I feel like they might feel like they’re worse than you. I know the question was different but that’s what I’m seeing and I feel like it needs to be said, I wish you all the best.

Songs: Hot Sugar by Glass Animals | Peppers by Lana Del Rey | WUSYANAME by Tyler, The Creator

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sixic · 11 hours ago

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letting gojo fuck you raw might have been a mistake, especially now that he wants kids..☆

(part 1 here)

yes—it felt good. heavenly, even. feeling him fill you up without a contraceptive barrier between you might overlap an ego death on the life-altering-experiences venn diagram.

but now your boyfriend throws a tantrum whenever you tell him to wrap it. he pouts and whines and stamps his fucking feet like a child at your child-preventative measures. he’s too tall to act like a toddler—if you didn’t secretly enjoy the pining you’d hit him upside the back of his head and tell him to stop sulking.

“we’re too young to be parents,” you’d tell him as he rubs his uncovered cock through your folds, from your entrance up to your sensitive clit and back down.

his counter? “the earlier we start, the longer we have to try for more.”

“maybe youre forgetting the whole ‘jujutsu sorcerer, could-die-at-any-moment' thing?”

“are you forgetting that i’m the strongest? plus, i think i’d look hot saving the world wearing a baby carrier… not that i would endanger our kid like that. bad point, ask me a new one.”

“we aren’t playing trivia.”

“cmon,” a tap of the head of his cock to your clit. “humour me.”

“alright, children are fucking expensive.”

“babe, you’re not serious—you do know i’m filthy rich, right? capitalism fears me. i’m like that rich disney duck with the top hat and—”

you point a finger in his face. “put a goddamn condom on or you’re banned from sex for a month, scrooge.”

and he blinks, pretends to be offended at how responsible you are, and then falls into an easy smile because sex with you is more than enough for him. when he sinks into you, condom-covered or not, he falls a little bit more in love each time.

but it is not the same and you know it.

the weight of him on top of you is the same. as is the snapping thrusts of his hips into yours and the gentle circles he traces over your clit and the way he moans your name once he’s sheathed fully inside of you. it’s the same.

but it’s not the same as taking him raw. it’s not the bulge of his veins against your velvet walls. nor is it the beading precum at his tip dripping inside of you, or the filthy fucking drawling moans he lets out when he fills you to the brim.

“you’re so beautiful,” he's moaning like he's in heat. completely enthralled with every aspect of your being, satoru groans and moans and snaps forward into you like he's trying to breed you regardless.

and you're so full, stretched to your limits with his cock pulsing inside of you, but you don't feel satiated like you could. you've tasted it once, the feel of his cum spilling into you, the knowledge of what it could do to you. to him. he would look good as a dad. god, him holding a baby in his arms...

"pull out."

gojo stops immediately at your words, blinking the lust from his eyes in an immediate shock change of expression. he's looking you over, making sure you're not in any pain, before pulling out of you completely with no questions asked. he's always been good like that—sure, he'll whine about wearing latex but he'd never push you past your spoken limits.

"you wanna stop?" he asks gently, already reaching for a washcloth to wipe you down with. his eyes watch you carefully, obsessed with your interest and comfort: you have to stop yourself from laughing at his panic. "we can watch some TV or go to bed or i could make you—"

his words die in his mouth when you reach down to his still-hard cock and slowly pull the condom that covers it from the top. it slides from his length with a little resistance before finally pulling over the head and snapping back at your hand with a subtle sting.

"fuck me," you meet his eyes.

"what? you said—"

"satoru. fuck me. breed me, even. how many other ways do i have to put it? i want you to fuck a baby into me."

he blinks again. no witty comment, no awful smirk or joke about being a dilf. you've gone and rendered satoru speechless. when he does finally move his lips, it's not to dirty talk you like expected.

"we aren't married."

you can't help but laugh. "what?"

"i'm going to marry you first, and then you are going to make me a dad. i have it all planned out, babe, we can't have drunk honeymoon sex if you're pregnant. though you would look fucking beautiful on a beach somewhere with a baby bump. god now i'm conflicted."

"you have it planned?"

the thought of satoru planning this out hits you, him thinking about a future with you, a ring on your finger, embracing the stress of parenthood together so well that when the kids move out and you're old and grey, you abhor having a silent home.

"so are you going to propose or not?" you look at him.

again, he blinks. "right now?"

"why not? do you have a ring?"

satoru looks at you, smiles, and slips off the bed—still naked—to reach into the bedside drawer. a small black box sits in his top drawer, ironically under a pile of condoms. he holds it in his hand and returns to you with a kiss to your knee, and then one to your inner thigh, and another just above your clit. he works his way up your stomach, of course stopping to bite at your nipples when he reaches your chest, and then presses himself fully against you once his lips find yours.

when he pulls away, you're met with the sight of a ring you had pointed out to him months ago. had he really been planning this long? "i knew i was going to marry you on our first date," he says, but then counters, "actually, that's a lie. it was when i tasted that sweet pussy of yours for the first time, but that's not as romantic."

you smile, bracing yourself for a long-winded speech when satoru suddenly pushes the tip of his now-uncovered cock inside of you. you gasp, and he swallows it with a kiss before taking your hand in his and slipping the ring down your finger with a breathy; "will you marry me?"

"yes," of course, is your answer. which warrants a sudden deep thrust from your now-fiancé as he bottoms out inside of you.

"yeah?" he nips at your neck. "you'll marry me? gonna make me a dad too, huh? gonna fill you up, baby, gonna breed you out and—"

"i thought you said—"

"changed my mind. now, lift your legs up: you're not leaving this bed until i've knocked you up, pretty."

#gojo smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo

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hy6erion · 3 days ago

Note

I have just been having the worst (maybe best who knows) ideas about Viktor with a breeding kink.

Oh anon, you’ve just sent me into a spiral (≧◡≦)!! Viktor with a breeding kink?? Whispering in that sweet accent about keeping you full, making sure it takes… oh no, I’m doomed <33

Fic under the cut (´ ω `♡)

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫

It starts the way most things do with Viktor—an observation, a hypothesis, a slow descent into obsession.

You noticed the shift in him before he did. The way his hands lingered on your hips longer than usual, the way his sharp golden eyes trailed down your body, calculating. Viktor has always been touch-starved, but this was different.

It wasn’t until one late night in the lab, when he had you pressed against the desk, your legs hooked over his forearm, that you heard the first slip of it.

“Look at you…” he murmured, his breath hot against your throat, each word thick with reverence. His hips snapped forward, slow and deep, pushing himself as far inside as he could reach. His fingers dug into your waist, holding you still, trapping you. “Taking me so well. So eager, hm? Such a perfect thing… meant to be filled.”

Your breath hitched, nails digging into his back as heat coiled in your belly. His words alone sent a shiver through you, a molten need pooling between your thighs.

“Viktor—”

“I wonder…” His pace quickened, just slightly, enough to make you feel every inch of him dragging against your walls. “If I keep you like this, over and over… would you swell with my child?”

Your moan was immediate, head falling back against the desk.

Viktor groaned, his grip on you tightening like a vice. “You like that, don’t you?” His voice was unsteady, broken with desire. “The thought of it—of carrying something we created?” His hand splayed over your lower belly possessively, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin. “Mine.”

You clenched around him, and he felt it. The way you pulsed at his words, your body responding to the very idea.

His control snapped.

He gritted his teeth, a growl ripping from his throat as he buried himself as deep as he could go, his pace turning desperate. His breath came in short, needy pants against your ear, his forehead pressed to yours.

“I will make sure of it,” he whispered, voice raw with determination. “Again and again, until it takes.”

His thrusts became erratic, the sharp slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the lab. Every movement, every broken gasp was filled with intent—this wasn’t just pleasure, this was purpose.

His fingers tangled with yours, pinning your hands to the desk as he pushed, stretching you around him with every brutal roll of his hips.

“You will look beautiful like that,” he groaned, his voice dark, reverent. “Round, full of me… a true creation of science and love?”

Your body tensed, the coil inside you winding impossibly tight. The way he spoke—like he was designing the future with every thrust—sent you over the edge with a cry, your walls fluttering around him.

Viktor cursed, his body stiffening. His hips stuttered once, twice—then he was spilling inside you with a deep, shuddering groan, pressing himself flush against you like he could make it stay.

For a long moment, all you could hear was the ragged sound of your breaths mingling, the warmth of him settling deep inside you.

And then, Viktor let out a breathless chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“…We should do this again,” he mused, voice still heavy with exhaustion and something far more dangerous—satisfaction. His fingers traced lazy circles over your lower belly, his golden eyes gleaming with quiet possessiveness. “Just to be certain.”

And just like that, his obsession had a new purpose.

#✰⍣ 𝐡𝐲𝟔𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 #arcane #arcane x reader #x reader #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #arcane smut #arcane x reader smut #viktor arcane x reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor smut

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unabletonotlovesatoru · 21 hours ago

Text

you’re perched on the bathroom counter, legs dangling off the edge, watching nanami stand in front of the mirror with his usual morning routine. but today, he looks… reluctant. shaving cream is already lathered over his jaw, razor in hand, but he hasn’t moved. instead, he just stares at his reflection, shoulders a little tense.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, tilting your head.

“nothing,” he sighs, rolling his shoulders. “just tired.”

“too tired to shave?”

“i’d rather not risk an injury first thing in the morning,” he mutters, rubbing his temple.

your lips twitch. “well, we can’t have that.” before he can argue, you pluck the razor from his fingers. “i’ll do it.”

nanami gives you a skeptical look, but when you pat your thigh in invitation, he exhales through his nose—long-suffering but fond—before stepping between your legs. his hands settle on either side of you, palms resting against the counter, caging you in but not in a way that feels confining. in fact, he feels close, warm, grounding.

“chin up, pretty boy,” you murmur, dipping your fingers under his jaw to angle his face just right.

his lips twitch, but he obeys. “i assume you’ve done this before?”

“nope.” you grin. “but i think you’ll survive.”

he huffs out a laugh, but his amusement fades into quiet focus as you drag the razor down his jaw in slow, deliberate strokes.

it’s an oddly intimate thing, shaving someone else’s face. you have to be careful, precise—your fingers ghosting over his skin, tilting his face just so, brushing the curve of his cheek, the edge of his lips. nanami stays perfectly still, letting you work, his eyes half-lidded as he watches you.

“you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he murmurs after a moment.

“mm. how often do i get to do something like this? it’s kind of nice.”

“you like pampering me?”

“maybe.” you swipe the razor clean before continuing. “i mean, you’re always taking care of me. let me take care of you too.”

nanami’s hands tighten on the counter just slightly, but he doesn’t say anything right away. instead, he exhales, something in his expression softening as you run your fingers over his skin, wiping away the last traces of shaving cream.

“there,” you murmur, brushing a thumb over his freshly shaven cheek. “all done.”

he hums in approval, running a hand over his jaw before looking at you, something unreadable in his gaze. then, before you can react, he leans in, hands sliding up to your waist as he tugs you just a little closer.

“thank you,” he murmurs, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

your breath catches, fingers curling against his shoulders. “you’re welcome,” you say, a little breathless. “but i still think you just like being pampered.”

“only by you.”

he kisses you then, soft and slow, his lips brushing against yours like he’s savoring the moment. and when he finally pulls back, his thumb traces small, absentminded circles against your hip, as if he doesn’t want to let you go just yet.

maybe you’ll have to do this more often.

#— teddy’s writing shop 𐙚🧸ྀི #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento fluff #nanami #nanami kento x #kento nanami #kento nanami x you #nanami x you

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mv1simp · 1 day ago

Text

Often ♥️

Mafia!Max Verstappen x Reader

she asked me if I do this everyday, I said often (asked her how many times she rode the wave, not so often)

You’re a hard working, intelligent medical student - at the top of her class. Desperate to pay off your debts, you end up bartending in Monaco’s most exclusive nightclub….and catch the eye of the mafia boss who runs half the city, Max Verstappen. And now that he’s found you, he’s never letting you go.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, size kink, dom/sub themes, dark mafia!max, innocent student! reader tryna pay her bills, sugar daddy vibes

It had truly meant to be a one time thing. You’d been strapped for cash, as per usual - stretching yourself thin with your overpriced rent in your tiny one bedroom apartment in a dodgy area, with your utility bills, your parent’s monthly mortgage payments. And of course, the costliest expense of all was your goddamn medical degree. You were in your final year, so close to the end that you could almost taste it.

Maybe that’s what made you say yes to one of the other tutors you work with at your university tutoring job, when she sees you at your second job later than evening tidying up at a local clinic, and then your third the next morning where you hand her a fresh iced coffee you’ve brewed. You know, she says in a hushed tone, leaning in rather conspiratorially. You’re going to work yourself to the bone, with three jobs and putting yourself through med school?

You wave her off with a practised cheerful smile, used to hiding your tiredness from your peers who all thought of you as a model student. But when she persisted, texting you the details of her mysterious cousin who worked at some bar downtown and earned one thousands dollars in a single night…you couldn’t help but being intrigued. You were cautious about it, of course, asking to meet the cousin - Layla - at the coffee shop you worked at. And when she told you about the VIP club, JimmyZ, that she worked at - nothing like those sleazy stripclubs downtown, she hastily reassured, seeing the nervous look on your face. No, JimmyZ was an exclusive club, only for the rich and elite who enjoyed throwing stacks of cash for bags of cocaine and exotic dancers. That’s what Layla called herself, but you still privately think it’s a glorified term for a stripper, as you watch her on stage from your corner in the bar with mixed feelings of awe at how sexy she looks, and discomfort from the sleazy gazes on her.

You’d somehow been talked into helping bartend for a night, Layla having mentioned that you were the perfect girl for the kind of men who came to JimmyZ. At your insulted expression, she giggled, saying that she was trying to saw you had an angelic, natural beauty about you, exactly the kind of authenticity the clientele liked to see instead of the more artificial look found at cheaper clubs. You looked at her skeptically, but still ended up lured in to try and make your rent that month. And after your first night, where you noted impressive amounts of security protecting the gorgeous dancing girls on stage, you felt yourself seduced by the offer of a single night at JimmyZ making up for an entire weeks of your previous job’s earning.

So before you knew it, you’d been working steadily for a couple of months now, finding yourself at a familiar ease behind the bar as you expertly poured drinks and humming the sensual music. You loved the job, with its high pay meaning you had time to focus on your studies again, and last month you’d even topped your class in one of your exams! Of course, it came with its risks - you worked well through the middle of busy weekend nights, many curious and lustful gazes on you from men who enjoyed the skimpy bartender uniform you had to wear. A tight, low cut white button up shirt that showed off your cleavage, and a miniskirt that came dangerously close to flashing someone when you bent over, paired with heeled knee high boots. It was certainly not the type of usual thing you wore, with your conservative full sleeve tops and flattering jeans with scuffed converse that you recycled constantly given your tight budget. But after some adjusting of your long curls hiding your cleavage and avoiding any eye contact skittishly with any man who looked at you too closely, you found yourself falling into an easy rhythm at work.

Until one evening, a Friday night before some big racing event in the city, meaning the club was even more packed that usual with clubgoers overflowing out the entrance and bass thumping down the street. Your boss had found you as you checked in for your late night shift, rapidly saying something about how the owner was visiting tonight and there weren't enough girls for the show, could you help out just this once-

Despite your adamant protests and squeaks that you absolutely could not, would not go on stage, you find yourself shoved into the backstage room to get ready, or risk losing your job permanently, your boss says meanly before storming off. Your lip trembles in anxiety, at the thought of someone recognising you tonight and then seeing you working as a doctor after your graduated. You'd lose your reputation before you could even start your career. You feel lost in the bright makeup room, surrounded by stunning, slim women who had their hair blown own perfectly and makeup done to perfection. You never imagined that you'd have to be up on stage with the beautiful dancers, who you looked so plain standing next too. A few toss you sympathetic looks but are too busy getting ready themselves to help you - until Layla enters and catches sight of your shaking form. She scowls when you tearfully tell her what the boss had said, but gives you a firm pep talk as she quickly helps you get ready. You've barely used any of the dozens of makeup products she has open on the counter, never having had any money to spend on nice clothes or jewellery to spoil yourself with.

But you feel yourself start to settle as she hands you a shot of tequila, then another for confidence, as she guides you through how to navigate the stage, how it was all about faking it till you make it!

You nod determinedly as she coaches you, before quickly getting change into a glittery strappy piece of fabric she hands you, with strappy heels to match. It takes you a few minutes to adjust to the height, but you find yourself being able to walk comfortably in them. When you come out from the side room to show Layla, the rest of the girls in the room stop in their tracks and look at you with renewed interest, yelling out whoops of encouragements about how hot you looked, girl! You flush with the praise, eyeing yourself in the mirror every few minutes as this pretty girl you didn't recognise stared at you. With lush, long curls styled messily, and wide, doe eyed eyes framed in smoky liner and glittery eyeshadow, and full, pouty glossed lips. And your body, which you'd been feeling so insecure about compared to the other dancers, looked undeniably sexy in a shimmery gold minidress that was so short it showed off the swell of your thick ass and chubby thighs invitingly. See, Layla says rather smugly as she comes up behind you. I told you, face of an angel with a body of a dancer. The audience is going to go feral for you.

And she was right, when an hour later and another practise session later, this time with the aid of the other dancers as they critiqued your form, you find yourself on one of the three stages the club had throughout its two levels. If there’s one thing you pride yourself on, it’s being a quick learner. You relax, letting yourself get lost in the music as a sensual song by The Weeknd croons over the speakers. The other girls had told you that dancing could also be fun, empowering, and make you feel in control - and you know understood what they meant as you sway your body enticingly on the stage, running your hands across your tits where your cleavage shows through the low neckline. At least in a club like JimmyZ, which had the reputation of luxury and class to uphold, the dancers wore skimpy outfits but never got fully naked like at a proper stripclub. You made full use of this small mercy, giving teasing flashes of your cleavage and ass but never actually taking your tiny glittery dress off. You could feel dozens of eyes fixed on every movement you made, every toss of your curls, every breathy sigh and bounce of your ass as you let yourself get lost in the beat.

But there's one set of piercing blue eyes that you keep finding your wide eyes returning to curiously. A man you’ve never seen before is seated in one of the VIP lounges a level above and directly in front of your elevated stage. He’s tall and muscular, with messy blonde hair and the most gorgeous eyes you’ve ever seen. And to pull it off, he’s lounging comfortable on a leather sofa, well dressed in a fitted white shirt and jeans, his intense gaze roaming over your dancing body while everyone around him was standing up and hollering towards the dancers on the stage.

He looked like a lion amongst the pack of sheep, and you couldn’t help but bat your lashes in his direction just a bit more as a spark of attraction flutters within you. You've never felt so desirable in your life, and the rush it gives you is addictive. Your show is over before you know it, with enthused yells and demands for an Encore! from the frenzied crowd around your stage as clubgoers migrated to see your show instead of the two others. You giggle coyly, finding this new, confident side of yourself so much more fun than your usual run down, shy one. Stacks of paper notes have been tossed up on your stage and the bouncers dutifully collect it up to bring to you backstage. You blow a kiss into the air for the crowd, but your eyes don’t leave the gorgeous mystery man’s when you do so.

Afterwards, the other girls are laughing and excitedly hugging you backstage, oohing over the stacks of money you’d made and saying you needed to start dancing as a regular at the club, you’d instantly become a favourite! As you giggled their encouragement off, the mood suddenly soured when your boss strode in and said there’s been a request for a private show.

This was the darker, naughtier side of JimmyZ - only offered to the filthy rich VIP clients who could afford the outrageous hourly rate for the prized, beautiful dancers at the club. You’d walked past the closed VIP lounge doors before, your face turning red from the excited moans of male and female pleasure and lewd sounds. It was highly secret, of course, so you’d never known to much about what it fully involved. But you’d have to get to know it tonight, when your boss's finger points past everyone to land on you, to say the request is for our latest dancer, who’s been hiding how much of a natural she is!

Your quickly shake your head, saying you weren’t comfortable with anything more - but your boss says you might want to hear how much he's offering to pay, first. I turned him down, too, saying you weren't one of the regular dancers...but he's very certain he can make it worth your while. When you hear the figure being offered, specifically just for you, your jaw drops. It's enough to pay your shitty rent for two whole months.

You still feel uneasy, because dancing was one thing but to go to a private room was another, and you weren't sure how you felt about using your body for money. In the end, you find yourself curious to go, to get that addictive feeling of desirability and swayed by the security of the income. You’re fully in control, Layla reassures, there’s security in the room the whole time if the client gets touchy. You just have to undress a bit, down to your underwear and give them a show, maybe a lap dance or two. Nothing more than a quick handjob at most, she insists. Then, seeing your face go red as you stammer in response, she pauses to ask that you had done that before, right?

You nod your head quickly, saying yes, of course, I'm 23! You’re too embarrassed to tell her that even though you’re in college, you’ve barely had any sexual experiences and have never had a boyfriend. There was never any time with all the jobs you worked and your full time degree. You’ve had quick, forgettable and sloppy drunk hookups, with uncomfortable fingering that didn’t make you cum or half hearted handjobs at frat parties. You’ve never had sex before, but you know there’s no point freaking out about that now when you’re commited to getting paid tonight. Besides, it was just a quick lap dance probably on some middle aged divorced guy, right?

You can do this, you tell yourself internally, this was nothing compared to dancing in front of hundred of strangers. Maybe this month you’d finally be able to buy some nice dresses and heels to treat yourself with. It can feel good, too Layla had added as she helped you touch up your lip gloss. For your own pleasure, I mean. If you let it, she says with a wink. Remember, you're in control!

When you finally enter the VIP room that night, you're shocked at the man who awaits you. Because it was certainly no sleazy middle aged man. The gorgeous blue eyed blonde from earlier looks up from his conversation at you, his lips quirking up as he sees your golden minidress sparkle in the dim light. You’re too caught off guard to move, but once he dismissed the other men he was talking to with a tilt of his hand, he beckons you over. With a backwards glance to make sure the bouncer stands guard at the door, you take a seat on the comfortable sofa next to him.

It turns out the mystery man isn't just handsome, but friendly, and funny too, with an infectious laugh that makes your heart race. He introduced himself as Max, in a delicious low Dutch accent, and offers you a drink. You politely decline, not wanting to be too disinhibited, but he pours you a glass of expensive whiskey to match the one in his hand anyways. When he asks you for your name, you give him a fake one - but his eyes darken as he tells you he doesn’t think you’re telling him the truth. I’ll call you whatever I want, then, he hums. Schatje seems very fitting for an angel like you. I hope you don’t mind that I asked to see you personally tonight. But the way you danced, I was completely entranced. And then when I saw your pretty face, these big doe eyes...well, I knew I had to meet you. No matter the cost.

You flush under the compliment from such an attractive man, now comfortably sipping on your whiskey. You're the one who's meant to be pleasing him, but it seemed he was more focused on your pleasure. He relaxes you into a surprisingly easy conversation, making you laugh with funny stories about his two house cats. How cute, you say wistfully when he shows you his saved album on his phone. You miss the way his icy eyes hungrily glance down your tempting neckline as you admire the photos, taking advantage of the angle. The tension eases from your stiff form and soon you find yourself leaning in closer to the tall, muscular blonde.

You’re a very charming talker, Max, you say coyly, your newfound confidence emerging as your attraction for him grows. I think you’ve earned your reward. He smirks as you easily climb onto his broad lap, gasping slightly from the feeling of his strong, muscular thighs beneath your soft ones. Soon you’re performing your little routine, giggling and tossing your hair, running wandering hands over yourself, squeezing your juicy tits so they popped in your small hands and make Max’s gaze narrow with desire. Layla had been right. You did feel in complete control, and your pussy throbbed in interest at the gorgeous man whose lap you sat on.

He leans back to appreciate the view and you feel lust cloud your senses from the addicting feeling of those heated blue eyes on you, mixing with the heady feeling from the expensive whiskey he’d offered. And then his fingers are skimming your waist, sending electric sparks shooting from the lightest of touches. You’re not supposed to touch, Max you say with a teasing voice, your playful smile giving away how you really felt. When you untie your dress straps, letting it fall down your waist to show him your chest, barely covered in a see through lacy bra, he lets out a low groan. C’mon, schat, he murmurs huskily. I’m meant to see the prettiest tits in my life and not even kiss them?

You giggle again, running small hands down his shirt as you slowly unbutton him to reveal a muscular, broad chest. He smirks as he watches you bite your lip as your eyes wander all the way down to his blonde happy trail, where your curious fingers have now stopped. What’s the matter, baby, he teases a little twistedly, because he knows exactly what’s stopping you. Never done this before?

You flush, but shake your head adamantly and denying his claim. Of course I have, you say with a defiant look, the competitive nature rising up as you continue to unzip his jeans. He finds your determination so cute, how hard you’re trying to please him, but you give your innocence away with a sudden gasp when his erect cock jumps out of his boxers to rest against his lower abs. It’s so big, you say with a tinge of nerves in your voice at the sight of his drooling, angry red rip. He distracts you with soft kisses to your neck, your cheeks before pressing his lips gently to yours. You can’t resist him either, leaning back in to recapture him in a deeper kiss as you two begin sloppily making out. It’s starting to feel so good, the way his skilled tongue explores your willing mouth, that you eagerly nod when he murmurs he’ll show you how to make him feel good, yeah?

And when his large hand takes yours and presses it right in between his large, spread thighs, he captures your gasps with his lips. He guides your trembling hands over his huge cock, one hand encircling both your palms around him, whispering naughty things in your ear. There you go, sweetheart, right from the tip and then down to the base in a twist, just like that. When you get confident and cutely spit a small glob on his shaft to start pumping him more furiously, he praises you even more. Fuck, you’re a natural, just perfect for me.

You blush under the praise, and together you both watch his cock swell even more with your dedicated handjob. He can’t resist giving you a deep kiss again as he sees the concentrated expression on your face. Doing so good for me, babygirl, Max murmurs as he breaks away for a second, admiring your swollen lips and dazed eyes. Here, let me make you feel good too, hmm?

You squeal in shock as his lips latch right onto your already hard nipples. Ma-Max! No touching, remember! You try to remind him breathlessly. He swirls his tongue around your areolas, one hand still guiding you to jerk him off and his other expertly squeezing and massaging your heaving tits. You very quickly find yourself distracted from his rule break as he spoils your sensitive nipples with attention. So distracted that you stop your handjob, making him pull away again and you whine from the loss of his talented tongue. He resists smirking as you practically push your jiggling tits in his face, your doe eyes begging him for more. I didn’t say you could stop jerking me off, baby, he says in mock disapproval. If you’re not going to be a good girl then you’ll have to say sorry some other way.

You tilt your head in confusion at his statement, when his strong hand tangles into your pretty curls and gently but firmly pushes your head down. Your eyes widen as you realise what he’s asking of you, and you stammer and try to weakly protest. It’s not that you aren’t into this; if anything, Max is the first guy you’ve ever felt such instant chemistry with. No - it’s that this feels so fast, too much too quick for your inexperience and self consciousness. You haven’t even processed just how far he’s planning on taking this and that technically you were selling yourself at some nightclub for his money. Besides, wasn’t there meant to be a guard here to stop the clients going too far? But when you quickly turn your head to look, Max’s hand relaxing briefly to let you peer around, you find yourself only becoming more anxious.

Because there’s no one else in the room.

Where did he go, you say, confused. I don’t understand, I thought he has to keep watch-Schatje, Max murmurs smoothly into your ear. I’m a possessive man. Did you really think I was going to let anyone else get a glimpse of what’s underneath your pretty dress? You gasp, heartbeat now fluttering rapidly from the confession that he’d been so taken with you with one look he wanted you all to himself. You’re half terrified of how much power this man seems to have, and half dizzy with pleasure that he finds you so desirable that he wants to stake his claim. He takes his time working you up again, running hands that were more like a lion’s large paws over your curves while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, asking if you were ready to be a good girl for him.

A thought plants in your head then, as you nod obediently, and he presses a kiss to your curls to lower your head into his lap again. That Max wasn’t the sweet, gorgeous guy next door type he looked to be. No, this was someone with serious power and money, who apparently controlled the ins and outs of the most luxurious nightclub in the city as if it was his own. And tonight, for whatever reason, he wanted you.

It was just one night, right? You let yourself relax and get lost in the unfamiliar pleasure as you reassure yourself.

This time, your glossy pink lips part easily as you leave curious kitten licks to his cockhead, taking in the salty taste of his precum. He immediately groaned, head tilting back against the sofa as he rasped at you to stop teasing.

You hum in response, sending vibrations through his shaft as you press wet kisses down it. You’re obediently following all the orders he gives to you as he strokes your hair almost gently, licking him up and down. When you finally take him into your mouth, he moans your name in approval, praising how good you were being. But you can barely take half of his length, already feeling your mouth stretch and struggling to breath. Let me take over, baby he says with a dark smirk, and within a second he’s lifted you up and deposited you on the floor, in between his spread legs. You’re trapped by muscular thighs as his grip tightens on you, and then he’s thrusting his hips right to the back of your throat. Fuck yes, there you go, just like that sweetheart, he encourages with a low groan, drowning out your high pitched whines with his jackhammering movements. Mmmh! Obscene, wet sounds of your mouth drooling all over him fills the air, as you choke on the largest cock you’d ever seen. You’re gripping onto him for dear life, your teary eyes making mascara run down your cheeks and only making him more turned on as he ruins your innocent, doe eyed look. And when he cums you don’t expect it, your mouth flooded with unfamiliar white cream that he covers your chubby, blushing cheeks and bouncing tits with as he pulls out mid release and makes a complete mess of your pretty makeup. Heavy pants fill the air as he comes down from his high, looking down at you with raw desire and approval. His thumb swipes his cum off your pouty lips and slides into your lips, smirking when you obediently suck on his finger. You wouldn’t have been able to tell it’s your first time, he teases.

After you clean yourself up in the private bathroom, too embarrassed to look at your positively debauched appearance in the mirror, you find Max signing a cheque that he folds in half that he discreetly leaves on the table. But before he leaves after apologising as he has business to attend to, bending down to your petite frame to give you a sweet kiss, he offers you a deal. To quit your job and be his private dancer, every night…and in turn he’d spoil you with whatever money or gifts your heart desired.

You decline, of course, telling him this was just a one time thing, you weren’t planning on dancing here ever again. He smirks, giving you a final appreciate once over, before declaring that was obvious, he wasn’t going to let another man see you dance like that again.

You don’t see him for a few weeks after that, and it’s almost as if that electric night had never happened at all. Things go back to normal and you resume your bartending job - although you notice that there is significantly more security hovering around your counter than before. But every night Max revisits you in your dreams, making you breathlessly moan from the memory of how good his tongue and hands felt on you, how they might feel inside you next time….you’d always wake up with damp panties.

And then one night everything changes, when a rowdy patron manages to get past the security guards and leer in your face. He remembers you from the dance show and when you try to move away he grabs onto your ass, telling you he wants another sexy performance, he demands with a pervy sneer, I know you secretly liked all the attention, like a slut.

The guards manage to get him off you but you’re shaken with how persistent the man had been. So shaken that you don’t realise the staff have pulled you into a side room until Max is in front of you, asking if you were okay with an intense gaze. He offers you his promise again, to provide for you and protect you - if you became his.

You’re annoyed with him, for just barging in and acting like you were some damsel. You hotly tell him that you're an independent girl, who wasn't going to let him have her in exchange for safety. I can take care of myself! He watched you walk off with a dark gaze, his blue eyes roaming your curves that he was desperate to get underneath him. And whatever Max Verstappen wanted, he always got.

The very next day chills run through your blood as the rowdy patron somehow turns up at your university campus. You quickly hide before he sees you, heart rate spiking as you realise he's found out who you are. Your pride melts away as you dial the number Max's men had put onto your phone despite your protests. Now, you're thankful that they did as a husky Dutch accent picks up. You're a mess on the call, crying and asking Max to please come and help-

I'm on my way, schatje. Go hide somewhere safe. After you hang up you realize you never told him where you were. But it doesn't matter, because the Dutch Lion is there within minutes, stepping out of a sleek black Aston Martin that looks like it costs more than all 5 years of your student debt. Your stalker doesn't stand a chance as he's pushed into a back alley easily by Max, who re-emerges a few moments later discreetly tucking what you're pretty sure is a handgun into his belt. You stare in stunned silence as he gestures to some men who have appeared to clean up whatever mess he left behind, before guiding you with a firm hand on your lower back into his luxurious car.

Still want to turn down what I can offer you, schatje? he murmurs lowly as he smoothly drives you home, his large hand resting on your thigh. And you realise that you don't, because for the first time in your life you don't have to fight tooth and nail to protect yourself. No - because Max had just proved he was willing to do that for you.

So you let yourself be worshipped, be cared for by him. And he knew how skittish you got, and started with baby steps - paying your phone bills, your groceries, and then your rent. Buying whatever handbag or necklace you would happen to briefly admire when walking past a shop, getting you a cute but outrageously expensive car so you stopped taking the train. And you can't lie about how good it feels to walk into class wearing diamond earrings and the Louboutin heels you'd always wanted, to have your mean classmates look at you in awe and envy.

And so when Max insisted that he couldn't let you stay at the dump you called a home any longer, that it was just unsafe for a sweet, precious thing like yourself - you barely resisted and moved into his spacious penthouse apartment. Truly, he gave you whatever you wanted, his toy that he spoils and lavishes however she likes - and at night, lets him climb into her bed to fuck however he wants. And oh, did he fuck you good. It became a habit for you to greet him after his late night meetings with a sweet kiss on the cheek and a gin on the rocks in your hand - which he would drink with you sitting on his lap, telling him animatedly about your day. And of course, he’d get to unwrap his present when he pulls off your silk nightie and widens his legs for you to kneel between them. Dressed in pretty pastel scraps of French lace you buy with his credit card, you’re dutifully slurping and kissing his thick, swollen cock and slapping it against your cheeks. You knew how much Max loved seeing his cum drip down your face and you’d make sure to wear extra eyeliner and lipgloss so he could enjoy the sight of you utterly ruined for him, stroking your mascara tear stained cheeks as you choke on his length. Such a fast learner, schatje Max chuckles at you, stroking your hair almost lovingly but the roughness of his thrusts anything but.

And most of all, you loved when Max would pick you up from class and casually announce that he was taking you away for the weekend. You’d been confused at first, stressed about the study time you were missing out on, but once you sit down in his private jet with you laptop and textbooks in hand you realise you’re truly going to be taken care of in every way. It’s impossible to resist the urge to give back the same to Max, to show him just how much affection you’ve started growing for him. So on those nights in some tropical island resort, with the breeze blowing in through open doors, you give him a free use pass. Whatever he wanted, however he wanted it - all weekend long. It’s to no surprise that you’re chained to the headboard within the hour, thighs tightly tied up around your waist so you’re spread open for him and he could see the wetness dripping through your lace thong. You’re whining, so embarrassed by how intently his heated gaze roams over your body that it’s a relief when he blindfolds you with his tie, and clips a collar around your neck with his initials gleaming from it. He teases you mercilessly, taking you right to the edge with his fingers or tongue but stopping just before you cum, until you’re screaming his name and begging him to fuck you already. And then he takes you for so many rounds that you’re crying for him to stop, it’s too much Maxie, you can’t cum a fourth time-

It’s safe to say you’ve grown into your place by Max’s side very well. You knew what others thought, from the jealous looks from your classmates when his Aston Martin rolls onto campus or the judgemental stares from other vacationers when you obediently sit in Max’s lap while he takes his business calls, dressed in a skimpy bikini and his collar that he absentmindedly traces before moving down to possessively curl his hand on your hip. But you couldn’t care less if they thought you were a trophy girlfriend or a sugar baby - because after all, he was the one wrapped around your pretty little finger, ready to wage a war if you so much as shed a tear.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #max verstappen x you #18+ mdni #mafia au

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blacktabbygames · 2 days ago

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A small content update for Slay the Princess just went live — The Voice of the Skeptic now accompanies you on the Deconstructed side of Happily Ever After instead of Voice of the Paranoid.

I’m not sure why I originally settled on Paranoid for that branch of the story. Maybe it was because Skeptic already felt overrepresented in The Pristine Cut between his presence in the Den, and his major role in The Cage split across three routes. The Cage in particular was a very emotionally taxing chapter to work on, so maybe I was tired of writing him.

But post release, it’s felt like:

Paranoid’s in HEA was just kind of there. At least, none of the things he does in the chapter felt important for his character.

Every voice gets an opportunity to truly shine somewhere except Skeptic. In fact, to push players to the cage, we wound up taking away one of his weirdest moments to shine from the base game (pushing you to take The Prisoner’s head with you.) Localizing the game means that redoing any dialogue is very burdensome, since I’d have to have it retranslated in all 12 of our supported languages, but upon looking more closely at the script for Happily Ever After, I realized that all but one or two lines felt more like they belonged to skeptic rather than the paranoid anyways.

And that when given to the skeptic, those lines don’t feel like he’s just kind of there the way it felt like Paranoid was just kind of there. The small wins Paranoid can get in that chapter — deducing the identity of the shadow; pushing you to blow out the torches — they’re big wins for the Skeptic, and the route seemed like it would be much more rounded if he was swapped in.

And beyond that, I couldn’t get the following line from the Shifting Mound’s monologue about the Deconstructed Damsel out of my head:

“Love melted into skepticism, and you pulled back layer after layer after layer until all you were left with was the knowledge that you did not know me.”

We couldn’t just use the word skepticism to describe the route’s entry point and not include our lil’ over-analytical guy. So we took some time this month to re-record those lines with Jonny and make the changes to the game, and now that itching need to fix “just one more thing” is finally gone.

This is probably the final content update for Slay the Princess (though, never say never I suppose.) Ever since we started work on The Pristine Cut, I wanted to end my work on the game with the conclusion of Happily Ever After. I’m grateful for the opportunity for that to finally be the case.

I hope to see you all tomorrow with Scarlet Hollow’s relaunch, but even if I don’t see you there, thank you all for the life-changing support you’ve given us. I hope our game means as much to you as it means to us.

All the best, Tony

#slay the princess #update it currently live on steam itch and gog #will go out on epic and consoles at some point hopefully soon #we don't have a lot of control over that side of things!

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dismalflo · 2 days ago

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intervene

Poly!marauders x reader where james is oblivious to being flirted with ✩ 875 words

cw: reader is a lil jealous, fluff, established relationship

"She's obviously flirting with him, Rem," you murmur petulantly from your place on Remus’s lap. You've nestled yourself in a cozy armchair away from the chaos of the party, the two of you being the quieter pair in comparison to your more energetic boyfriends. Sirius had wandered off a while ago to do god knows what, and James—lovely, oblivious James—is standing across the room, completely unaware that the girl next to him is flirting with him. And, of course, you can’t help but glare at her from your spot.

"I know, dove," Remus replies with a lazy smile, pausing to squeeze your waist. His tone turns teasing as he adds, "I have eyes."

You whip your head around to look at him, incredulous. "You—you know? That's it? You're not going to do anything about it?" Your dramatics earn a soft smile from him, as he gently moves his hands to cup your face.

He plants a few quick kisses over your cheeks in an effort to placate you. And it works. You melt into Remus, happy to be doted on. Despite the noisy room full of people, in this moment with him, everything feels peaceful.

"I'm not doing anything about it because he keeps looking over at us and…" Remus’s mischievous glint catches your eye, that familiar spark he and the others get whenever they’re scheming. "Just imagine what Pads will do when he comes back and sees it."”

Your jaw drops. "Oh, you're mean when you want to be." Despite the words, you cuddle in closer to Remus, and he beams down at you, his chest rumbling with quiet laughter.

"Mean? Me?" He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your temple as he continues to hold you close. "I’m just enjoying the show."

You glance back over at James and the girl. She’s still leaning in, giggling all but ignoring James’s distracted response. A strange mix of protective instinct and possessiveness bubbles up inside you. Just as you’re about to shuffle out of Remus’s lap and go retrieve James, you spot Sirius making his way over to him

You straighten up, suddenly feeling a little more tense. Remus’s arms tighten around you as he notices the shift in your demeanor.

“Here comes trouble,” he murmurs with a knowing smile, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

You can hardly hear the boys from where you’re sat but you do see the over the top fervent kiss Sirius gives James, the smitten smile on the curly haired boy afterwards, and the hardened features of Sirius’ face as he talks to the girl that was flirting a minute ago. Obviously she gets the hint, she walks off in the opposite direction and the two boys walk towards you and Remus.

Sirius arrives looking smug, bending down to give out kisses like he’s handing out gifts

"You’re welcome, poppet," he teases, and maybe your jealousy wasn’t as well hidden as you thought. Remus barks a laugh at your expense. James, still confused, looks from Sirius to you and back again, trying to process what just happened.

"Wait, what—did you—?" James stammers, blinking in surprise.

Sirius grins, savoring the moment. "Oh, I just, you know… intervened," he says with a dramatic flourish, as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

“She was flirting with you James.” Remus says bluntly, filling in the gaps of James’ knowledge.

James looks at Remus with wide eyes, his face flushing a bit as the realization hits him. “What? She was? I—well, I wasn’t paying attention, was I?” He scratches the back of his head sheepishly, still trying to wrap his mind around the situation.

You snicker at James’ obliviousness, then glance at Sirius, whose expression is a perfect mix of satisfaction and mischief. “Well done, siri”

James’s expression brightens with recognition, and he grins playfully. "So you sicced the dog on me, you little minx," he teases. "If you were jealous, you could’ve just said so."

You flush embarrassed to be caught and sink further into Remus’ embrace trying to hide from the teasing.

"Oi, I’m not a bloody dog," Sirius interjects, wrapping an arm around James and pulling him closer. "And you seemed to enjoy that kiss, Prongs."

James laughs, leaning into Sirius’s embrace, still a little dazed but clearly amused. "Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly complaining about it," he says with a wink. "And sorry for making you terribly jealous by accident, lovely."

You huff, "It wasn’t terribly—"

"It was, dove," Remus cuts in, his voice teasing as he remembers the dramatic pout you put on earlier.

"My poor baby," James exclaims, leaning over to pepper kisses all over your face, then doing the same to Remus just because he can.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. You can feel the warmth of Remus’ arms around you, his steady presence grounding you as the teasing continues. James leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, and you can’t help but melt a little into him.

Sirius chuckles at the sight of you relaxing, finally breaking from your earlier pout. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he teases, his smirk turning into something softer when you give him a playful shove.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! <3

#flo'sfics #marauders era #marauders fics #marauders au #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders fanfiction #poly!marauders fic #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders x y/n #remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader #sirius black x reader

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crowsofdarkness · 2 days ago

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After weeks of arguing, you thought your relationship with Bucky was near the end. That was until you held something positive in your hand.

18+ CW's below the cut(angst, language, unprotected pinv in Bucky's computer chair, Bucky having a sudden breeding kink)

The door slamming in the small confines of my apartment echoed causing me to jump, doing whatever I could to keep the tears at bay. I wouldn't cry, not for him. Not for Bucky. Even though the moment he walked in the door, all I wanted to do was cry not only because of the constant arguing but because I missed him terribly. He was here physically but emotionally, Bucky was checked out.

"Asshole," I grumbled under my breath, eyes boring daggers into the closed door of his office/studio.

It had been weeks of non stop fighting yet barely speaking to each other. He’d been gone on missions constantly so he could avoid being home. When I needed him the most, he was gone.

Ignoring the thoughts plaguing my existence lately, I blew out a shaky breath and forced myself to turn back towards the kitchen counter. The exhaustion had been buried deep in my bones for the last couple of weeks and I didn’t think it had anything to do with working almost every day. All I wanted to do was curl in bed to sleep the rest of the evening away. Even though Bucky's words from our fight this morning before I left for work kept pestering me.

"I haven't thought much about the future. I'm trying to focus on getting myself better, mentally, before having kids."

I asked him in the middle of yet another argument where he thought this relationship was going because I made the mistake of mentioning how I felt like things were stale between us. Bucky didn't think of the future. Of our future. He only thought of the now.

It had been weeks of arguing. Weeks of walking on eggshells around each other. Weeks of not having sex. And weeks of keeping a secret to myself. Now that I knew how Bucky felt, I couldn't decide on if I should continue to keep it to myself or tell him which could potentially ruin everything.

The urge to cry burned in my throat as I snatched the bag off of the kitchen counter and locked myself in the bathroom. I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a long moment, noting the dark circles under my eyes.

Averting my gaze away from the mirror, I dug out the box from the bag and nearly choked on a breath when I read over the letters once more. I nearly dropped it in the pharmacy when the realization began to sink in.

Pregnancy Test.

I had missed my period last month and it was coming up on when I was supposed to get it this month but with how I’d been feeling, I knew I wouldn’t be getting my period this month either.

That night was a night where we had a huge blowout argument, both of us questioning if we loved another. Deep down we knew we still loved each other and it was wrong for us to question it. But both of us were stubborn so instead of admitting our love, we decided to fuck out our frustrations; Bucky dragging me to the shower with him as I wrapped my legs around his midsection, marking his neck as mine while his cock slammed into me. Afterwards, Bucky helped me to our bed and apologized for the fight as he held me against his chest. I took the morning after pill later that afternoon once we realized we weren’t safe which is why I was hoping the test would be negative. Maybe the reason why I missed my period was because of all the stress I’d been under.

“Might as well get this over with,” I grumbled under my breath while ripping open the box.

It came with two tests and I figured it would be better if I used both so after peeing on both sticks, I set them on the counter and washed my hands. These next five minutes were going to be incredibly slow so after I changed into one of Bucky’s shirts and opted out of wearing pants, I paced the bathroom.

“Shit,” I clutched my chest when the timer on my phone went off.

As I reached for the tests which were overturned, I paused for a moment wondering if maybe I should have been doing this with Bucky.

“If he wasn’t such an asshole,” I muttered to the thought in my head and turned over the two tests.

My heart was in my ears, in my throat, and in the depths of my stomach when I saw the one word that sealed our fate.

Positive.

Both tests were positive.

“Fuck me,” I breathed while resting a hand on my stomach, the tears finally falling.

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that even though we were fighting, Bucky would be fine with whatever I decided to do. It was my choice. But would he stay with me? The Avengers seemed to be all over the world, helping people who needed it, hence why Bucky had been in a mood lately. I knew his anger wasn't directly related to me but because he’d been overworked. I also knew that didn’t give him the right to take it out on me.

Pulling up Bucky’s text thread on my phone, shaking fingers worked out a text even though he was still in the next room.

Me: I need to talk to you. It’s important. Can you meet me in the living room please?

Bucky 🩶: Not right now.

With a snarl, I snatched the tests off the bathroom counter and stormed out into his office, letting the door smack against the wall. Bucky didn’t bother to look away from the book on his lap as he sat on his computer chair.

“Congratulations. You’re going to be a father,” I snapped before turning to walk away.

The chair creaked as Bucky leaned forward to gaze down at his desk, a soft breath catching in his throat.

“Doll,” his vibranium fingers grazed my wrist, halting me. “Wait.”

“What? Are you going to claim I’m faking this?” I snapped, slicing him with my gaze.

“I-,” Bucky’s face softened as he looked back at the pregnancy tests. “You’re pregnant?”

I let the anger fade momentarily when I heard the sincerity in his voice; the slight excitement.

“Yeah, I guess so. I missed my period last month and I’ve been so exhausted lately. Not to mention my boobs have been really sore,” I cringed while running a hand over my chest.

Bucky glanced up at my breasts with a small smirk but then he let his gaze lower on my stomach where it rested for a long few beats of silence. Fear of what he would do or say weighed heavy on my shoulders causing me to remain frozen in front of him. The air in the room was thick with an unreadable tension and the ringing in my ears was deafening. I couldn’t even hear our shared breathing as Bucky continued to stare at my stomach before his large hands rested there.

“Hi,” he breathed. “I’m your dad.”

I dragged a finger over his cheek, those ocean eyes I adored so much gazed up at me. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, doll?” Bucky asked with furrowed brows.

“For everything. For avoiding fixing things between us by working non stop.”

I rattled off which made him link fingers with me and brought me down onto his lap, both of us now sitting in his computer chair. He rested his hands over my hip, slowly raising up the hem of my shirt so he could drag calloused fingers over my skin. It was the most contact we’ve had in a week and I leaned farther into him. His nose dragged over my jaw, breathing me in.

“I’m sorry for all of the hurtful things I’ve said. I’m sorry for ignoring your feelings when I should have asked you up front what was wrong. I’m sorry for locking myself away with work instead of fixing things between us,” Bucky apologized.

I looked deeper into his eyes, taking in the slight freckles on his face. “Can I be honest?”

When Bucky nodded, I continued. “You freaked me out when you said you never thought of our future and now that I’m pregnant, I’m worried you’re going to leave.”

“Absolutely not,” he cupped my cheek, dragging his thumb just underneath my eye to wipe away the stray tears. “I’ve never thought about the future until you came into my life, doll. I might not express it enough, which is my fault but please know you’re in my future. Especially now.”

His free hand grazed over my stomach and I nodded into the grasp on my cheek, leaving a kiss on the inside of his palm.

“Can you promise me one thing?” I asked.

“Anything.”

Biting my lip, I spoke. “Can you promise not to propose to me just because I’m pregnant? I want you to propose because you want to, not because you feel like you have too.”

Something flashed in his eyes but Bucky eventually nodded. “Of course.”

While sitting on his lap, the chair continued to creak underneath our shared weight and I sighed, ready to get off which caused him to tighten his grip on me.

“Stay,” he breathed in the crook of my neck. “I need to show you how sorry I am.”

Quickly, Bucky’s lips were on mine in a leisurely kiss. It started off like how our first kiss did, like he was testing the waters again. I nearly sobbed into the kiss when I felt the love pour out of him. I’d been desperate to feel this way again. With his hands on my hips, he began moving me up and down his lap, the hardness of his cock pressing against the thin material of my panties. His name fell from my lips, almost immediately swallowed by his tongue as it explored my mouth; tasting me.

Vibranium fingers slinked up my shirt to graze over my back before Bucky tossed it over my head and down to the floor, breaking our kiss. Lust bleed in his already dark eyes as he looked at my stomach, his cock straining in his jeans.

“Shit,” he groaned while pressing kisses along my chest. “I can’t wait to see you round with my baby.”

A moan fell from my lips as I exposed more of myself to Bucky, his teeth now grazing over my nipples. Along with my sore breasts, my nipples were extra sensitive.

“Bucky,” I pulled on his shirt.

He immediately understood and helped me work it off. Immediately my nails raked along his chest as my lips met his again in a fiery kiss, this one more intense than the last. With a gentle tap to my ass, I raised my hips slightly so Bucky could drag down my panties with a bit of maneuvering. However with his jeans, it would have taken way more manuerving on his part to slide them off completely.

“We should move to the bed,” I suggested, breathless.

Bucky shook his head, keeping his lips on the current mark he was working on my neck. “Absolutely not. I want you to sit on my cock while I sit on the chair.”

Feeling feisty, I pulled away from him slightly to gaze down at him. “Really? This has nothing to do with Steve making it slip the other day how he and his girlfriend did something eerily similar to this.”

He rolled his eyes with a groan. “Please don’t bring up Steve having sex right now.”

When he motioned towards his unzipped jeans, I let out a soft giggle and then reached my hand in his briefs to grab his cock, already so warm and hard.

“I’ve missed this,” I whispered, gathering his precum to drag it over his head.

“Doll,” my name came out through gritted teeth as Bucky rested his head on my shoulder. “I need to be inside of you. Please.”

Pulling his cock out from his briefs completely, I dragged it between my folds a few strokes before sinking down on him; both of us letting out a loud groan of pleasure. It had been so long since we’ve felt this so I knew we wouldn’t last long.

“Fuck,” Bucky strangled out while wrapping his arms around me to bring me closer. “I can’t wait to watch your belly get round with my baby.”

I mewled in response, mouth busy with leaving dark marks across his neck while one of my hands slipped between our bodies to press circles on my clit, bringing me closer to the edge.

His cock twitched inside of me, indicating he was close when his hips stilled. “You'd look so beautiful pregnant with my kid. Your belly and tits-oh shit."

“Don’t stop,” I begged while riding him faster this time, the chair nearly falling over.

“Doll,” Bucky’s voice was strained so I brushed away the hair from his sweat slicked forehead. “I’m going to fill you up over and over again.”

I nodded as the coil in my stomach began to ignite in a blaze of ecstasy, my orgasm about to snap.

“I love you,” I cried out when my body finally snapped, arousal coating Bucky’s cock.

With one final thrust, he followed me over the edge as he filled me with his cum and breathlessly announced his love for me as well. Falling into him with exhaustion, Bucky lifted me from the chair and carried me through our apartment towards the bathroom.

“Are you alright?” He questioned while still carrying me.

I pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m okay.”

Setting me on the closed toilet seat, he turned on the shower and removed his pants while we waited for the steam to bellow around us.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes and reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes blurbs

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madewithsilk · 2 days ago

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dealer!ellie with bimbo!reader 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie that’s usually so sweet to you, treating you like a delicate princess who can't do anything by herself. She'll practically mansplain things to you, and when your head can't fathom anything, she'll simply chuckle and do it for you. That's how she likes it, keeping you dumb and dependent most of the time.

"What's wrong, ma', can't roll it right?" She chuckles, watching you struggle and try to roll a joint for her. She places her hands right over you, guiding yet watching you still miserably fail. "Jus' don' worry about it, lean back, 'kay?" Your little dumb nods fuel her even more.

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie that likes keeping you high and floaty constantly to make you easier to deal with. There's very few times she'd prefer you at full force. Whether it be on a weekend that you're constantly nagging her or a day you're acting up and she wants you to be apologetic, she'll coerce you into finishing a whole joint by yourself.

“Yeah, mama? Feeling all nice n’ airy?” She whispers, kissing down your neck. Your eyes flutter, half-lidded and staring at Ellie. All that leaves your lips is mumbles and a nod. "Y-yea," Ellie simply chuckles, "Yeah, baby? Jus’ spread your legs a little wider for me?” Having you high and unaware is such easy access.

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie that fucks you even more senseless than you already are. Strip you without any heads up, ram her strap into you, and give you a persistent pace to deal with. Or maybe she'll bend you over the counter when you're making something for her, eating you out from the back. It's slightly humiliating to be just a fuck toy for free use, but you're too dumb to even process that.

“Only good for taking my dick, huh, ma’?” She whispers, her fingers curling into your g-spot over and over again nonstop. You babble, manicured fingernails digging into her bicep, jaw going slack, little "uhn, ngh, fuckkk,"s leave your lips. Her words are always condescending with a bit of praise mixed in, she notices how much tighter you get when her insults are disguised as sweet words. "Fuckin' dumb on my cock, no wonder I love you so much,"

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie that knows you're usually so fucking good for her, listening to her every word mindlessly with doe-eyes and a willing gaze because Ellie was just so sweet so how could you not behave! It always takes her by surprise when you don't behave, and she has to teach your little brain it's not nice to be bad. Maybe she's a little stern with her punishments, but she just wants to get it through your head! When you're both at a party, Ellie is far too busy dealing to give you any attention, and all you're doing is being bored by her side.

You huff a few times, grind against her thigh a few more, and after getting shut down each time with either a stern gaze or a "Be patient, baby. Don't make me repeat myself, 'kay?" while she doesn't even acknowledge your presence, counting her money, you finally get enough of it. You stand and walk away, ass swaying with the little miniskirt you wore, finding one of Ellie's closest friends, Abby.

Abby was attractive, that much was undeniable. But she wasn't the same as Ellie to you, yet you knew if you pretended, Ellie would still be ticked off. Your arms wrapped around Abby's neck, and Ellie's eyes darted over with a mean, mean stare. You finally got her attention, yet it wasn't the good type.

She dragged you out of there without any hesitation, hand-fisted in your hair, and a silent car drive till you both got home. It ended with you bent over her lap, squirming, crying, as she slapped your ass over and over again. “Embarrassing the fuck out of me at a party? Seriously, babe?” Your sobs and babbles were loud, spit drooling down your chin. "I'm sorry— said I was sorry!" You envisioned a different type of discipline, perhaps fucking you into the mattress, but this? Definitely not. "Too fuckin' bad, should've thought about this before you went to be a whore with Abby."

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie who's possessive but in a bragging, show-off way. She'll pick out your outfits for you, bralette-like tops with miniskirts that expose your entire ass. She likes having people stare at what they'll never get.

She takes you to every dinner with her friends, right beside her in a booth, only speaking when spoken to with your tits out. Ellie will even play with your clit under the table for being so good to her. "Arm candy over there, Williams?" One of them will say, and you won't even think twice about the objectifying nature of the statement, merely happy you're seen as Ellie's.

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ceilidho · 2 days ago

Text

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 12 masterlist

A false moon dictates the coming of night.

You set up a cot in the medical unit again, going to your quarters to grab a spare set of sheets before returning, Gaz shadowing you the way there and back. His presence scratches at the back of your head, reminding you that he’s there at your back. You don’t ask him why he insists on keeping up this charade of monitoring your behaviour—his motives are as unclear to you as ever.

“This isn’t necessary,” you finally manage to get out on the walk back to the medbay, the door within sight.

“I know,” Gaz says simply.

The door slides open and you enter with him still at your back. “Then why are you following me?”

“Those were Graves’ orders, weren’t they?”

“And you what? Follow his orders now?”

It’s difficult to determine who you actually feel betrayed by. Gaz owes you no debt—it wasn’t you that let him into the ship. The focus of your anger should be on Graves and the rest of the crew, but yet—

Your chest twinges when the door slides shut and Gaz leans against it, no different than a guard posted at the door.

He shrugs, unbothered by the reproach in your voice. “He’s the commander.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s right.”

“Maybe not.”

“I had nothing to do with Hadir getting sick.”

“I know that.” Your chest deflates when you can’t detect any insincerity behind his words. “But Graves is in charge of the ship and unless you think you could get the others to agree with you, isn’t it better to toe the line for now?”

It would upset you if it were any less true. The hierarchical arrangement of personnel on board has always been clear, and it’s not lost on you that you’ve always hovered near the bottom, falling further from grace with every passing day. Who apart from Gaz and Hadir have been sympathetic towards you in recent weeks anyway? Nikolai’s friendship is an extension of his disposition, an affection easily given and easily taken away. Farah barely even regards you as trustworthy these days, convinced that you’re teetering on the edge of losing your mind.

She might not be wrong.

Gaz watches you make the bed, settling into your office chair, a mite more comfortable than the stool by the counter.

“Do you want me to set up a cot for you?” you ask begrudgingly.

He shakes his head. “Don’t need one.”

“You can sleep comfortably sitting up like that?”

His smile verges on patronizing. “I don’t need to sleep, love.”

Your skin crawls. You hate when he does that—when he lets you in on your shared secret, the knowledge that he isn’t as human as he appears. Whatever he is still eludes you. Alien or divine. There’s no point in asking though. That knowledge sits beyond your purview.

You ignore him to the best of your abilities and finish setting up your cot, his words still ringing in your ears.

Things take a turn for the worse when Hadir stops responding altogether.

Though his verbal responses have become less and less frequent over the last couple days, the dropoff is significant. As your only patient though, you’ve been monitoring him closely since he was admitted, and you pick up on the change quickly. It’s like an itch under your skin, a sixth sense from working with sick patients for the better part of your adult years.

Gaz picks up on the change in your mood, sitting up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you respond through stiff lips. “Something changed.”

The base of your spine tingles when the vital signs monitor suddenly beeps, alerting you to a change in Hadir’s condition.

You flip a switch and press a button on the keyboard, speaking directly to the Ship’s AI. “Ship, what’s the patient’s status?”

Patient's temperature is unusually elevated

Recommendation to increase fluids and decrease external temperature

You lift his eyelids and find his pupils irregular, one larger than the other, and they don’t respond properly when you shine a light on them.

“What can I do?” Gaz asks, as serious as you’ve ever seen him.

“We need to cool him down. His fever is spiking. I’ll get the cooling blanket—there are ice packs in the freezer over there—” You point to a refrigerator on the other side of the room. “—get the ice packs and start packing them around his armpits and groin. We need to get his temperature down while I figure out what the fuck is happening.”

Gaz moves quickly, retrieving the ice packs from the freezer and packing them up against Hadir’s pits and in between his legs under the medical gown. Hadir’s lips flutter reflexively at the cold but that’s as much responsiveness as you get out of him.

You press the button to speak to the AI again. “Ship, is his temperature coming down?”

Negative

Patient temperature currently: 104°

Even his breathing has changed, his breaths similarly irregular and increasingly shallower. You put in the orders for another CT scan, moving quicker and typing faster than you ever have before. The breathing tube gets put in next to secure his airway and you don’t like the way his gag reflex doesn’t kick in when the tube is shoved down his throat. It signals something dangerous.

The situation before you doesn’t bode well. Dread clings to the wall in the far corner of the room but you ignore its presence to focus on your work, throwing everything at the walls to see what sticks.

His labs are all over the place. High fever, low platelets, high D-dimer, high FDPs. An hour passes in a blink with you running test after test to no avail—none of his results that come back make any sense—all while his temperature continues to rise.

Patient temperature currently: 105°

Plastic backliners flutter to the floor when you rip them off the electrodes, pasting the small metal discs around Hadir’s scalp for the EEG, working as quickly and efficiently as possible.

“Has his temperature come down yet?” you bark, too preoccupied with your work to chance a glance up at the monitor.

“No,” Gaz says curtly. “Still 105°.”

It’s all happening so quickly that you can’t seem to get your bearings. If it were anyone else on the table, you’d at least have Hadir to assist you; you’re on your own now though, Gaz barely any help to you without any real medical knowledge.

Your heart pounds against your chest when you notice blood coming up Hadir’s ET tube. A few droplets at first, and then a trickle.

A horrible, prophetic knowledge falls over you, threatening to collapse you.

“What’s wrong with him?” Gaz asks.

“I don’t know—” Then his nose starts to bleed and your heart stops. The stain on the front of his gown and what you find underneath it when you lift it up confirms your worst suspicions. “He’s going into DIC—”

“DIC?”

“His blood—”

The AI takes that moment to interject, speaking over you: Patient body has used up all of its clotting factors and will begin to bleed out

Sepsis—a severe infection—an autoimmune response—trauma—cancer—so many different possible answers to explain why Hadir would spontaneously go into disseminated intravascular coagulation, but his labs tell you shit. Nothing makes sense. You can’t explain why he might be hemorrhaging because there isn’t anything in his scans or labs to indicate anything wrong with him.

More blood leaks from his face and nethers, staining the light blue of the bed a dark red. Logical objections halt in the face of the tangible, and blood is tangible. Blood is all you see.

The final moments are harried, frenzied. You bark orders at Gaz, which he follows militarily, and struggle in vain to keep Hadir’s condition from further deteriorating, but it’s nearly impossible without being able to address the root cause. Transfusions of platelets, fresh frozen plasma, and cryoprecipitate only go so far.

When his brain activity goes flat on the monitor, your mind goes blank. Static noise fills your head. You slump against the wall, staring at Hadir’s bleeding body on the exam table, still leaking blood from all of his orifices, the sound of the monitor blaring like a siren in your ears.

“He’s dead,” Gaz says blandly, staring at the body nonplussed.

“Yeah,” you rasp. Your voice is thick in your throat, devastated.

There’s blood all over the bed, more in one place than you’ve seen in a long time—not since working in trauma units back on Earth. Every inch of your body aches as the adrenaline recedes, having reached its peak in the throes of Hadir’s final moments, jaw so tight you almost can’t unclench it.

“What happened?” he asks, almost quizzically.

The curious lack of emotion in his voice doesn’t penetrate through the brain fog. “I don’t know—he just…”

The weight of all that just happened comes over you swiftly. An hour ago, Hadir was fine for all intents and purposes. Stable. Now, blood stains his chin, the underside of his nose, the front of his gown, and the bed underneath him, the sweat caked on his forehead cooling as the life leaches out of his body.

Your hands shake by your sides, a violent tremble rolling through you.

“I don’t get it,” you whisper.

You should’ve quarantined Hadir from the start, from the very second he was admitted into your care. You should’ve ignored the fact that his labs came back fine that first day and just assumed that the nature of his illness was more severe than it appeared. Shame and dread plunge like a dagger through your midsection.

Protocol should’ve dictated that you initiate a quarantine, but since you didn’t—

You stare at the body on the table, the ET tube streaked with blood.

—your duty now is to ensure that no one else gets sick too.

You’ll need to seal off the medbay until every surface has been properly decontaminated and then quarantine yourself until you’re sure that you aren’t infected as well. Your eyes flick towards Gaz momentarily before you shoot down the thought of testing him as well.

Mitigate the transmission. That thought sticks out amongst the rest. The body lying on the bed in the middle of the room is no longer a patient that needs tending to but rather hazardous material that needs to be disposed of lest whatever infected it is transmitted to everyone else on board the ship.

It’s waste. Filth. And it will contaminate everything on board if you don’t remove it.

Your body moves on autopilot. You wheel the bed to the ejection chute at the back of the medbay. It takes a series of codes in order to open the door to the chute and you key them in quickly and efficiently. When the door slides open, you raise the bed until it’s slightly higher than the chute, tipping the bed forward in order for the body to slide into it.

Ejection chute engaged

Hadir’s body disappears into the chute, the reinforced metal and glass sliding shut when the sensors register that the chute door is empty. There’s a thunk from behind the wall as his body is shuttled through the pneumatic tubes towards the back of the ship, and it won’t be more than a minute before the body is projected from the ship entirely.

Your heart skips a beat when the AI pings awake again.

Object ejected

“I wouldn't have done that if I were you,” Gaz says, and you flinch at the sound of his voice, momentarily forgetting that someone else is in the room with you.

Your eyes drift over to him, the room murky for a moment, the air hazy like water, like you’re looking through a film and only just starting to settle back down into your body after watching from overhead. He seems bigger somehow.

“We have to quarantine ourselves,” you say, frantically towards one of the cupboards and ripping it open, pulling out rolls of plastic to plaster over the door. “We didn’t put on any PPE, so we might’ve been exposed to whatever Hadir had.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

His lips are turned up at the corners when you look over, frowning, but noise in the hallway keeps you from following up on his remark.

The announcement over the intercom must have alerted the others, and you hear footsteps from down the hall seconds before they arrive, boots clanking against the metal flooring. When the door slides open and you see Farah standing there with Alex at her back, her face hauntingly vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before, words fail you.

“What happened?” Farah asks.

“I don’t know. He was fine just a second ago and then—”

“Where is he?” she demands, scanning the room for him. “Where’s Hadir?”

“I—” The words get tangled up in your throat, terror and shame making it hard enough to breathe, never mind speak.

Graves barrels in a second later, flushed and out of breath. He must have been in the cockpit when the intercom alerted him to the ejection chute being utilized. Nikolai is fast on his heels, less winded but just as concerned.

You realize that from the direction Nikolai came, he must’ve been at the back of the spacecraft, and you morbidly wonder if he heard the sound of Hadir’s body ferrying through the pneumatic tube system.

“Doctor, what did you just throw out of the chute?” Graves asks, his tone hard and uncompromising, softened only by the breathless note in his voice from running halfway across the ship.

You don’t answer.

His eyes lift to the space over your shoulder, where the patient bed is flush to the wall, the head level with the chute leading out of the ship. Blood still saturates the mattress.

You watch as the knowledge of what you’ve done dawns on them, realization morphing into distress and horror. From behind Farah, Alex goes ashen, a hand clamping down on her shoulder to hold her in place before she realizes what you’ve done and the inevitable happens. You see it play out in your head like a movie.

“Farah—” he starts, but any effort to steer her out of the room is thwarted by how quickly she comes to the same conclusion.

“Where’s my brother?” Farah screams, and you wince, your head aching like there’s something else in there listening to her scream too.

Alex has to hold her back from lunging at you, fighting to keep her in his arms, her body thrashing wildly. You’ve never seen her like this before. Grief and rage strip her of stoicism, and when her screams turn to tears, it rips a hole right through you.

“You ejected Hadir from the ship?” Graves breathes, stunned.

Nikolai just stares, at a loss for words. You’ve never seen any of them so obviously affected, so contrary to the image of them that you’ve carried with you in your mind for months.

“I had to!” you shout, vocal cords tearing under the strain. “We couldn’t keep his body on board! What if it was some hemorrhagic fever—like ebola? Or worse?”

“You don’t even know what killed—” Graves roars before stopping abruptly, squeezing his eyes shut. He presses his fist to his mouth, the skin around his knuckles bone white.

“We need to quarantine.” Your fingers tremble when you press them to your temples, flinching when you realize that your gloves are still covered in blood. “I was going to seal off the room to keep it from spreading, but now that you’re all here, we’re probably all been infected—”

“Infected by what?”

“I don’t know.”

A shade is falling over you. Everything feels raw, livid—a wound being prodded. The light hurts your eyes when you lift them from the floor to meet Graves’ gaze. Even the air feels caustic against your skin.

Even your impulses don’t feel like your own, like there is some

insidious rot

fruiting under your skin.

“Are you going to say anything to them?” you finally snap at Gaz, desperation loosening your tongue. “You were here—you saw what happened. Why aren’t you telling them what happened?”

The others turn to look at him, orienting like sunflowers towards the sun. It’s the only comparison that comes to mind. And at the centre of them, Gaz stares back at you, an ersatz approximation of confusion.

He gives a slow blink, eyes glinting with something unknown. “Tell them what? That you tossed Hadir out into space?”

You should’ve expected that you’d be left hanging, but the reality of it is unbearable. Humiliating.

You know what you look like to them: dangerous, erratic. Your paranoia on full display. Even Nikolai’s mouth is set in a grim line.

You can hear the accusations flying through their minds—that you caused this somehow. Overdosed him on anti-clotting medication and let him bleed out, then disposed of the body before a proper autopsy could be performed. That maybe you prolonged his illness, knowing it would lead to this.

It happens swiftly and without word, as if planned ahead of time. Nikolai and Graves lunge towards you suddenly, grabbing you by the undersides of your arms and nearly lifting you off your feet when they haul you forcibly out of the room. Alex still has Farah trapped in his arms in the corner of the room when they drag you past her.

“Farah, I’m sorry—I’m sorry—”

You’re not strong enough to break free of Graves’ and Nikolai’s hold though, so you’re carried off before Farah can say anything. There’s only a split second for your eyes to lock and for you to see something broken beyond recognition there, and then the door cuts you off from her.

“You’re all fucking insane—let me go—” you scream, spittle flying from your mouth. The scream that tears out of you is so animalistic and loud that your throat squeezes up in protest, a cough forcing its way out. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Down the hall and towards the back of the ship. Boots echo against the metal floors, the two men on either side of you in sync with each other. Neither says a word nor responds to your screams. Their patience with your increasingly unhinged behaviour has finally crossed a threshold once thought impossible, your reputation alone no longer enough to save you.

They all but throw you into the brig, the metal door clanging shut behind you when you’re dropped to your hands and knees, peering over your shoulder to find Nikolai punching in the key to lock and arm the door, a wretched, pained look on his face.

“Nikolai, please—” you beg, crawling to the door and curling your hands around the bar. “It wasn’t my fault—I didn’t kill Hadir. I’m sorry! He could’ve made everyone on board sick if we’d kept the body! Please, Nikolai, please—”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears. The last sound you hear is the brig door slamming shut and then their footsteps gradually recede into the distance.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x you #gaz/reader

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