#it's infuriatingly ok

[theinfinitedivides]

Nam Gi Joon 🫱🏽‍🫲🏽 Cho Heon: bulk up. beat ass. always have enough leg room in that damn truck

[selkiesparrow]

why do politicians and their legal teams sound so wasted? if you’re asking me a yes or no question in a referendum, can’t you be direct you absolute loonies? it’s always something like: John wakes up at 7 every morning, he has three eggs. touché. my pal can cry with one eye. do i smell toast? aah the sun is out today (but it won’t be for long). TIME. wait but… do i… smell toast? for real how do you feel about our country's vibe?

[multifandomed-multishipper]

THE EYES, CHICO. THE EYES NEVER LIE

Art req - Soundwave admiring Starscream and kissing him to distract him from foiling Megatron (sorry if vague)

FINALLY GOT TO THIS--!! PLOPS ONTO YOUR PLATE

[thisvisionofmyspirit]

activism through insta stories is so fucking lame and stupid. shit's going to be gone in 24 hours. the donation links? vanished. make a fucking post.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

THOROUGHLY DEALT WITH

18+ MDNI

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: you're angry with aaron for missing an important event, so naturally, he fucks the anger out of you. warnings | an: UMMMM ok so! p in v sex, fingering & oral (f receiving) spanking, drooling, overstimulation, masturbation, light d/s elements, choking & mirrors (can u tell i have my favs) somnophilia mentioned, errthang consensual, age gap, just filth yalllll word count: 4.2k��� i wrote this when i was ovulating,, my cycle unfortunately decides what content i post LOL

✧ masterlist

You began with his shirts. The infuriatingly pristine, colour-coded, pattern-matched shirts hanging in your closet. The one you once shared. After tonight, however, you’d have ample room for your winter coats.

It felt harsh, thinking that way. And perhaps, once the adrenaline had ebbed, you’d be curled up among those coats, using the sleeves as tissues. But for now, you let the mindset of pure rage, slight dramatics and fury take the lead.

You knew what you were stepping into, a relationship with a man who might as well have been the crown jewel of the FBI, given how seldom he was home. And you bore it with grace. You never demanded much, only ever asked for compromise when it mattered, when it truly mattered.

So one by one, the shirts sailed over the bannister, landing in a crumpled heap by the entryway. Cotton casualties of yet another one of his spectacularly poor decisions.

He’d missed it.

The one thing you’d asked him not to miss. Not a work dinner, not some meaningless social obligation, but your event. The one you’d planned for months, circled on the calendar, reminded him of over and over. The one he looked you dead in the eye and promised he’d be there for.

What did you get instead? A text.

I’m sorry. Something came up.

Something came up, indeed. The collapse of your relationship, for starters.

Okay, maybe that was the dramatics talking. Maybe you didn’t want it to end, but you wanted—no, needed—him to take you seriously. Because how dare he? How dare he treat your life like the flexible one? As if your moments were optional, but his moments, ones that revolved around blood, caution tape, and sirens were the ones that ever mattered.

And the worst part of it all was the fact that despite all your anger, you still missed him in a way that language couldn’t quite capture. He’d been out on a case for two weeks, and even before that, he was barely home, glued to that damn bureaucratic chair in his office like it deserved more of him than you did.

You’d spent the last eight hours convincing yourself you were done. Done making excuses for him. Done watching your life conform to his schedule, his job, him in general. But your body, the ultimate traitor, didn’t seem done with him at all. Not when your hand drifted between your legs in the shower, picturing the way he used to pin you there, palm flat against your sternum.

Not even now, when you were supposed to be standing your ground. You still found yourself wishing he’d walk through that door and press you against it, like he needed it just as badly as you did.

Maybe that’s all this was. Maybe all you needed was a good fucking.

And you knew that was exactly what you would’ve gotten, had he shown up like he promised. He would’ve started in the car, hand gripping your thigh, maybe even slipping under your dress, getting you all worked up before you’d even made it home.

Then he would’ve railed into you, bent you over the piano in the foyer, lights blazing because of course he’d want the neighbours to see exactly how he rewarded your hard work. But no. You went home alone. Worked up, pissed off, with every intent of emptying your wine stash. Which you did.

And now, you stood at the top of the stairs, breath uneven as your pulse pounded in your throat. And that’s when you heard it.

His car in the driveway.

Shoes. Yes. Shoes seemed poetic. Fitting. The perfect thing to hurl at him with all the grace of a woman scorned and denied an earth-shattering orgasm. Actually, orgasms—plural. Because he wouldn’t have stopped at just one. He would’ve teased the first out of you, held you at the edge until you begged, then made up for it with two more. Rewards for being so damn patient.

You turned on your heel and marched back into the closet, snatching the nearest pair of his smug little leather loafers. Polished, arrogant things, much like the man who owned them.

By the time he stepped through the front door, you were already back at your vantage point, arm cocked, waiting until he turned to launch the first shoe.

It missed his head by a fraction and slammed into the doorframe with a satisfying crack.

He froze, jacket slung over one arm, briefcase in hand, tie loosened and all.

“Hi, honey,” you called out, your voice sweet enough to rot teeth. Then came the second loafer which landed just short of his feet. “Figured I’d give you a hand with the packing,” you added, gesturing to the shirts across the entryway. “Consider it a head start. I assumed your schedule wouldn’t allow for sentimentality.”

He set his briefcase down first, then his jacket, but you didn’t stay to watch the performance. You were already halfway down the hall, disappearing into the closet like a woman possessed, and thoroughly, furiously sexually frustrated.

You grabbed as many of his jackets as your arms could carry, yanking them from the rack with such force—hangers still hooked—you were genuinely surprised the bar hadn’t come crashing down with them.

You heard him then, just shy of the dressing room, steps clear as day. You paused in the hallway and dropped the pile right where it met the doorway, letting the expensive fabric fall into a heap like a makeshift barricade.

Then, back into the closet you went. You reached for what was left, another jacket, two more blazers, and his beloved cashmere sweaters. You snatched them from their hangers like they were the ones that were responsible. And with your arms full again you turned, only to find him standing there. So close that you nearly walked right into him.

“Unless you’re here to carry these to the curb, I suggest you get the hell out of my way, Aaron.”

His eyes dropped briefly to the pile in your arms, then back to your face. “I’m not leaving.”

“Like hell you’re not—”

“Just put my things down and we can talk about this,” he said, with that infuriatingly calm voice that made you want to scream, in two very different ways. “I know I made a mistake.”

You scoffed and stepped closer, close enough to breathe him in. Not the crisp, clean scent you were used to in the mornings when he’d leave for work showered, shaven and put together.  No, this was him at the end of the day. The faint remnants of cologne clinging to his skin, mixed with something more worn-in, and when he exhaled, you caught the faintest trace of bourbon on his breath. Rossi’s doing, no doubt.

Probably his way of trying to calm him down.

You’d heard Dave refer to you as a ‘fiery one’ more than once, always with a little too much amusement in his voice. He’d even joked, right in front of you, that Aaron wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you. Said he’d fold if you ever gave him real attitude. Clearly, Rossi had sensed what kind of storm Aaron was walking into tonight and had handed him a glass like some kind of offering from the gods.

“So not only are you incapable of being unselfish for one night that doesn’t revolve around you, you also seem to have a stunningly poor ability to follow basic instructions,” you snapped, voice rising in a way that was rare. “Are you absolutely certain you went to FBI school, or did you half-ass that the way you half-ass everything else you claim to care about?”

“Are you done?”

“Not even fucking close. But go ahead, interrupt again. You’re great at that, right?” You shoved the pile of clothes into his chest, hard enough to make him take a step back. “Talking over people, brushing them off, missing everything that actually matters until it’s already too late.”

He stood there for a second, holding the clothes before letting them drop to the floor without a word. You let out a bitter laugh at the sight and moved to shoulder past him, but his hand shot out, catching your wrist.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you hissed, turning back to face him. “Don’t walk away from the man who didn’t show up? Don’t stop screaming because it’s the only thing that gets through that thick, federal skull of yours?”

“Don’t do this. Not when you want me more than you want me to leave.”

“What? Are you—are you actually insane? Delusional? Is this the sleep deprivation talking? Because if so, you can take that smug little fantasy and get the hell out of my house.”

He let go of your wrist, but only to step behind you. His hands moved to your hips, turning your body to position you in front of the island in the centre of the dressing room.

“You want me gone?” he asked.

You cocked your head slightly to the right, catching his reflection in the mirror ahead as he began to undo his tie.

“Say it,” he murmured, eyes meeting yours in the glass. “Say it while I’m inside you.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Not because you lacked words, lord knows you had plenty. And he hadn’t even scraped the surface of the venom still burning at the back of your throat. But your body��traitorous, wretched thing—had already betrayed you.

You were supposed to be holding your ground. Not standing there, spine taut, with him behind you, visibly restraining yourself from folding over the island and handing him all your anger, gift-wrapped in a neat little bow that read please, fuck me senseless.

His fingers brushed your waist, and your lungs locked up. Your throat was so dry your heart had taken to skipping two beats at a time, just to remind you to swallow.

“I missed one night,” he continued, his fingertips now trailing up the length of your forearms. “But I haven’t missed this. Not once.”

You let out a flimsy exhale, turning your head to meet his eyes in the mirror once more. “You think this makes it better?” You knew it did. Maybe this wasn’t the kind of answer that made sense in a normal relationship, but nothing about you and Aaron had ever been normal.

“No,” he answered like the gentleman he was pretending to be, knowing exactly what was coming. “But I think you want it anyway.” And then his hands dropped from your arms completely. “So…what’s it going to be?”

Your hands moved before your mind did, bracing yourself against the island, knuckles whitening as your spine arched over the marble.

He hummed in approval, hands moving to your neck, brushing your hair aside. “That’s what I thought.” You felt him press into you, the weight of him flattening you against the surface as his fingers found the zipper of your jeans.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you lied, needing to put up some kind of fight.

He stilled for half a second, then let out a quiet laugh. “No?” he mocked, dragging the denim down your thighs until it was bunched at your knees. “Then why are you shaking?”

“Because I can’t fucking stand you,” you spat, forehead pressing to the marble, breath fogging against it as you tried—really tried—to remember why you decided his wardrobe would look better scattered across the entryway.

You heard him click his tongue behind you.

“Honey,” he drawled, his voice so pleased and full in all the ways that you were seconds away from being.“You’re so wet your underwear’s turned three shades darker.” And just to prove your point, his thumb dragged slowly over the soaked fabric making your body jolt, forehead nearly smacking the marble with the force of the reaction.

“Step out of the jeans for me,” he murmured, tapping your right thigh first, then your left.

You kicked the material off one leg at a time, your balance swaying as you did, hands tightening around the edge of the island for strength because it was the only thing keeping you upright.

His hand slid up the backs of your legs again, brushing that spot where your ass met your thighs. Then, without a word, his fingers slipped underneath the gauzy material of your panties.

You sucked in a breath as his middle finger dragged through your folds.

“Do you remember what had you so pissed off in the first place?” he questioned, like he genuinely expected you to form a coherent sentence right now.

“Yes,” you groaned into the counter, hips bucking shamelessly against his hand.

“So greedy,” he tutted, pulling his finger back just enough to watch your hips chase it. “Want me out of the house. Throwing my things out like some scene from a bad divorce. But one finger and you’re already a whiny little mess?”

A strangled noise tore from your throat, something between a curse and a moan, as your hands gripped the counter tighter.

“How many times did you touch yourself while I was gone, hm?”

“I—fuck, I don’t—”

“You don’t know?” He pushed a thick finger inside you, making you hiss at the stretch. “That’s not a real answer. Try again.”

You bit down on your lower lip hard enough to sting, eyes fluttering shut as your body betrayed you all over again.

“I asked you a question.”

“Three,” you gasped. “Maybe four.”

He let out a low, satisfied noise. “Maybe? You lost count?”

“D-Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t need to,” he laughed, adding a second finger. “You’re doing it for me.”

Your right hand curled into a fist, accidentally knocking a bag off the side in the process. “I hate you,” you mewled, the words barely making it past your throat.

“Liar,” he whispered, lips ghosting over your spine as his fingers worked deeper, curling just right. “You don’t hate me. You hate that I know exactly how to make you come before I’ve even unzipped my pants.”

Your mouth was parted against the marble, and when a moan caught in your throat, you managed to drag it back down just barely. Coaxing it into a shaky breath instead, trying to cling to the last scraps of pride you had left. Because he was right. Infuriatingly right.

“Well?” you hissed, breath catching. “Are you going to unzip your pants, or are we still pretending your fingers are doing anything I didn’t handle on my own while you were gone?”

Your heard an unbothered chuckle from him first and then felt the sharp sting of his palm landing against your ass, second. The impact was muffled by the fabric of your underwear, but the message landed all the same.

“That’s sweet, dear. But I don’t remember hearing you make these kinds of noises the last time you decided to take care of yourself…right next to me.”

You jaw clenched.

It had only happened once. You thought he was asleep—clearly, he wasn’t. He’d gotten in late from work, and you hadn’t wanted to bother him, so you took matters into your own hands… literally.

In hindsight, it explained the sudden burst of sex drive the next morning. You’d woken up to his mouth between your legs like he was trying to make a point that he could always make you come harder.

His free hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head to the side as he angled your face toward the mirror. “This isn’t how you sounded then, is it?” he taunted, fingers slipping out of you just to circle your swollen clit instead.

You gasped, body jerking at the sudden change in pressure.

“And just for that—” his hand stilled, the contact vanishing altogether, “—you can wait.”

You took the chance to catch your breath, heart pounding as you clenched around nothing, blinking back the tears gathering in your waterline like they’d scheduled a meeting.  

Glancing at the mirror you saw his hands work his belt free and you were tempted. So incredibly tempted to prove him wrong, to reach down between your legs and finish what he so cruelly started. Just a few strokes, that’s all it would take. But before you could even move—

“Don’t.”

You stilled. Every muscle locked.

“Put one hand between your legs,” he continued, the sound of his belt sliding from the last loop sharp in your ears, “and I’ll bind both behind your back. You won’t come tonight. Or tomorrow.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, barely managing to pull air in. The fabric of your top clung to your skin, sticky with sweat and a rage that seemed to be dissipating by the second. All that remained in its place was a desperate, aching hunger for him.

You pressed your thighs together without thinking, chasing some kind of friction, some kind of relief, but Aaron’s hands were already on your hips. His fingers slipped beneath the elastic of your underwear, tugging them down your legs.

You knew it was his favourite part, especially when he had you bent over nearly every surface in the house. He loved watching the strings of your wetness peel away with the fabric, loved when it dripped down your thigh.

Once you were free of the only barrier between the two of you, you braced yourself flat against the counter, arching your back just enough to let him swipe his thumb through your pussy, allowing him relish in your wetness like a ritual he never dared to skip.

“Still want me to go?” he asked, though his voice carried a gentler note.

You turned your head, eyes back on the mirror. “Just fuck me,” you whispered—no, begged. “Please.”

He leaned in, bending over you to press a kiss to the inside of your forearm. Then another, trailing lazily up the length of your arm to your shoulder. Behind you, you felt his hand move between your bodies, hearing the rustle of fabric as he pushed his boxers down.

He aligned himself with you, dragging the thick length of his cock between your thighs, letting you feel everything. Every vein, every throbbing inch, the obscene heat of him paired with the wet slip of precum he spread over you.

You keened out a moan, barely managing to keep yourself upright even with the counter beneath you, legs beginning to shake with the effort it took to stay still.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he murmured, voice rasping just below your ear. “I wanted to be there. More than anything.”

“I know,” you breathed just as he guided your hips, braced his feet, and buried himself inside you in one devastating thrust. The stretch sent you spiralling, tears spilling freely down your cheeks as your forehead found comfort in the marble once more.

He didn’t give you time to adjust. He pulled out just enough to make you clench around the absence, and then slammed back in harder.

One hand slipped under your shirt, calloused fingers grazing your nipple while the other found its way back to your slick clit. All that came from your mouth were broken, pathetic sounds. Half-moans, half-sobs, every syllable caught between nonsense and pleading.

“A-Aaron, oh my f—god—oh—” Your voice wavered as he hit that spot again, and again, and again, until you were shaking with every thrust.

Drool slipped past your lips, a thick string trailing down to the countertop, followed by more, clinging to your chin, catching in the strands of your hair as you trembled under the weight of his body.

You felt Aaron release your nipple before his hand moved to your neck, his palm firm against your throat, holding you in place just as another string of spit slipped past your lips, landing on his hand.

“Look at you,” he grunted, tightening his hold as his hips lurched forward again. “Dripping from both ends.”

“Please don’t stop—I’m—I’m—”

“You’re close,” he chuntered, breath hot against your skin. “I can feel it, baby. You’re squeezing me so fucking tight, I don’t think I can last much longer.”

Your whole body locked, spine arching violently off the counter, eyes rolling back as the coil deep in your belly finally snapped. Your mouth opened in a silent scream, nothing coming out but air, tears, and barely intelligible sounds that might’ve been his name.

But Aaron didn’t stop.

Not even when your legs gave out beneath you, not when you slumped forward against the marble, sobbing through the aftershocks that tore right through you. He held you up, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other sliding up your back, fucking you through it, slow and deep now, like he needed to feel every last twitch and tremble your body offered him.

You could feel his rhythm start to falter, each thrust getting sloppier, his hips stuttering against you. Then, with a muffled moan into your shoulder, he pushed into you one final time and stilled, cock pulsing as he came. His grip eased, but his whole body shuddered against yours like he’d been hanging on just long enough to make sure you came first.

He made sure you were completely filled before he pulled out slowly, causing you to whimper at the emptiness. You barely managed to brush the damp hair from your face, to wipe away at the trail of drool on your chin, before his arms were around you again, this time gently guiding you down to the floor of the dressing room.

“Aaron,” you panted, landing on a pile of clothes you’d thrown there earlier. Soft cotton, rumpled cashmere, the ghost of his cologne clinging to it all. “What…what are you doing?”

“Shh, honey.” He knelt between your legs, his knees cracking on the way down.

“Sure this is good for your old man frame?”

He spread your legs open, fingers moving to push his come back inside you. “If I throw my back out eating your pussy, I’ll die a happy man.”

Your breath caught, hips jerking instinctively at the contact. “Jesus—Aaron—”

He lowered his head, mouth hot and wet as it latched onto your cunt, tongue dragging through the mess he’d just pushed back into you like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

Your hands shot to his head, fingers tangling in his hair, undecided if you were pulling him closer or trying to push him away. “I don’t think I can go again, baby,” you gasped, your thighs twitching from the overstimulation.

You heard a sloppy, muffled, “You can,” just as he sucked your clit into his mouth, hard enough to make your vision white out for a second.

“Motherfuc��” Your legs locked around his head with such force that it had to be uncomfortable for him, maybe even a little painful. But when you opened your eyes and looked down, he didn’t look bothered in the slightest.

You caught the way his hips were grinding slowly into the rug beneath him, telling you this might not even be for your pleasure anymore but for his.

“I really, really don’t think I can come again,” you cried out, hips lifting into his mouth. “Please, Aar—”

Your voice broke off as he groaned against your pussy, loud and filthy. The vibration of it paired with the way he lapped at you, coaxed that familiar feeling, winding tight in your abdomen.

You shook your head, back arching, mouth open but no sound escaping as he sucked your clit into his mouth and circled it with his tongue over, and over and over again.

“Aaron, I—fuck—I’m gonna—”

The words dissolved into a sob as the pressure inside you reached its peak, crashing over you with a dizzying force. You came again, harder this time, legs spasming, hands clawing at the rug and his hair, tears slipping down your temples as your body convulsed under him.

You felt his mouth finally ease up, the warmth of him pulling away only for a moment until he was crawling up your body, bracing himself on his elbows as he hovered over you.

He scanned your face, watching the way your chest heaved, the way your eyes were still screwed shut as you tried to come down from the high he’d dragged out of you. He didn’t say anything, just let you come back to him on your own terms because he was generous like that.

Your fingers slowly loosened their grip on the rug, the tension bleeding from your limbs. Finally, you blinked up at him, dazed and thoroughly fucked-out.

“Think I went to heaven.”

He huffed a laugh, forehead dropping to yours. “Yeah?” he murmured. “Were they impressed?”

You let out a weak laugh, your hands dragging up from the rug to rest on his shoulders. “I’m still mad at you. Just… now I can do it with a clear head rather than a—”

“Horny one?” he supplied, earning a nod from you.

“Mhm. Was this your idea of an apology?”

“I mean…” He looked down at you, then at the mess around the closet. “It stopped you from throwing any more of my clothes, didn’t it?”

You snorted. “Temporarily.”

“I’ll take it.” He leaned down to press a lazy, unhurried kiss to your cheek. “Now, come on, let’s get you cleaned up. Then you can go back to yelling at me properly.”

[vaginalvr]

Close Quarters, nsfw

spencer reid x reader

cw: rivals to lovers, degradation/praise kink, light dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, jealousy, hate sex vibe turning into affection, unprotected sex (p-in-v), name-calling, dirty talk, arguing, mutual obsession

a/n YAYAYAYAYAYA new post or wtv ik I already wrote a hotch one like this but I love my man spence ok leave me alone

You’d always admired Spencer Reid—brilliant, composed, infuriatingly correct Spencer Reid—right up until you joined the BAU and he made it his mission to prove just how much smarter he was than you.

From your very first case, it was clear he saw you as competition. Every quote you cited, he one-upped. Every theory you offered, he expanded, tweaked, made more “statistically accurate.” It wasn’t that he disliked you—if anything, that would’ve been easier. Instead, he hovered around you like a moth circling a flame, watching, pushing, challenging.

And you… you gave it right back. You matched him. Beat him, sometimes. The others found it amusing—Morgan even placed a bet once on which one of you would crack first.

No one expected it to happen the way it did.

It had been a rough case. Three children murdered in a small town outside Denver, the unsub a former teacher with a savior complex. You’d interviewed the parents, the victims’ classmates, the community.

You and Reid had argued in front of the team. You were convinced the unsub’s actions were ritualistic—symbolic. Reid disagreed. He cited statistical patterns, behavioral inconsistencies.

And then the unsub had targeted a fourth child. And you had been right.

The guilt was immediate, the grief even worse. No one blamed you—you had been right, after all—but it didn’t feel like a victory. Not when the little girl didn’t make it.

Hotch called it early that night. “We’ll head back tomorrow morning. Get some rest.”

The motel only had a few rooms left. You didn’t hear most of the conversation, only the part that mattered: “You’ll have to share.”

With Spencer.

Your stomach dropped. You opened your mouth to protest, but Hotch gave you a look. You closed it.

The motel room was silent.

You stood on one side, arms crossed, jaw tight. Spencer Reid stood on the other, pacing like a caged animal.

The team had wrapped the case hours ago, and now you were stuck. The motel overbooked. Two twin beds, one room. You and him.

Perfect.

You watched him with narrowed eyes, simmering. “You always do this.”

Spencer turned. “Do what, exactly?”

“Undermine me. Talk over me. Use those stupid statistics to make everyone second-guess my instincts. You think you’re better than me.”

“I am better than you,” he snapped before he could stop himself.

You blinked. “Wow.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “No, I didn’t—That came out wrong.”

“No, it didn’t. You meant it.”

You stalked toward him, fury sharp in your throat. “God, you’re such a smug little know-it-all. You can memorize every fact in the world, but you can’t even read a room. We lost that girl because you couldn’t shut up and listen.”

His eyes darkened. “Don’t pin that on me. You knew the ritualistic signs. You should’ve fought harder.”

Your mouth dropped open.

“That’s not how this works,” you hissed.

“No,” he said, stepping into your space, “but maybe if you were less obsessed with trying to one-up me in front of everyone, you’d think more clearly.”

“Go to hell, Reid.”

“Already there,” he muttered. “Right here. With you.”

The air between you snapped like an electrical wire. Too close. Too angry. Too much.

“You really think I’m beneath you?” you bit out.

He looked down at you. “I know you want to be beneath me.”

That did it.

You slapped him.

It wasn’t hard—more of a sharp tap to the cheek—but it echoed in the tight room. His head turned slightly. Then he looked back at you with something dangerous in his eyes.

He surged forward and kissed you.

No, claimed you.

Teeth. Tongue. Frustration. Filth.

You kissed him back with equal fury, grabbing his collar, dragging him closer. His hands found your hips, slammed you back against the wall.

“Say it,” he growled into your mouth. “Say you want this.”

“I hate you,” you gasped.

“I don’t give a shit,” he snapped. “You’re still gonna beg.”

You didn’t make it to the bed right away.

He had your pants off before you could blink, spinning you toward the wall, one hand shoved between your thighs.

“Already wet,” he sneered. “Of course you are. You get off on fighting me, don’t you?”

You bit back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Come on,” he hissed in your ear. “Be honest for once. You’ve been dying for this. For me to ruin you.”

You pushed back against his hand despite yourself. He was too good—those brilliant fingers weren’t just good at tying case files together. They knew exactly where to touch, how to curl, how to wreck.

“Fuck you,” you gasped.

“Oh, you will,” he said darkly. “And you’ll thank me for it.”

He yanked you away from the wall just long enough to throw you onto the nearest bed, stripping you with efficient hands. Then he stood above you, shirt undone, pants unzipped, eyes hungry.

“Look at you,” he said, voice low and cruel. “So desperate you’d fuck your rival just to feel something.”

You glared. “At least I feel something. You’re just a machine with a PhD.”

His lip curled. “A machine that’s about to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

You didn’t even get a retort out before he was on top of you, sliding between your thighs, lining himself up.

“No condom,” he muttered.

“I’m on the pill,” you breathed. “Are you clean?”

“Yes,” he growled, then sank into you with a guttural moan. “Fucking hell, you’re tight.”

You cried out—half from the stretch, half from the sheer power of the moment.

He didn’t move at first. Just held himself inside you, watching your face with a cruel smirk.

“What’s wrong?” he mocked. “Finally speechless?”

“Keep talking,” you gasped. “I want to see if I can make you shut up for once.”

That broke him.

He started thrusting hard, fast, brutal. The bed creaked under the force. He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand and leaned close, breath hot against your cheek.

“You love this,” he hissed. “Being fucked like the little brat you are. Always mouthing off. Always trying to beat me.”

“Still could,” you choked, already close. “Even like this.”

“You can’t even think right now,” he said with a grin. “Can you feel how deep I am? You’re dripping. It’s pathetic.”

He let go of your wrists just to yank your leg over his shoulder and ram in deeper. You sobbed his name.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Come on my cock. Right now.”

You did.

It hit you like a freight train, legs shaking, back arching, your cunt clenching around him like a vice.

“Fuck—fuck—you feel insane—”

He didn’t stop. He kept going, chasing his own release while you whimpered under him, overstimulated, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Such a fucking mess,” he growled. “Look at you. So dumb on my cock. You gonna cry?”

You did. A little. From how good it was.

He moaned, full-throated and raw, and came inside you hard, hips stuttering, voice breaking with it.

For a moment, all you could hear was panting.

Spencer collapsed beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, still breathless.

You stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, mind wiped clean.

“Wow,” you muttered.

He turned to look at you, his voice rough. “You okay?”

You blinked at him.

That was soft. Unexpected.

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “You?”

He nodded. “Didn’t mean to be that rough.”

You turned toward him, still flushed, still naked. “Didn’t hear me complaining.”

He gave you a smirk. A real one this time. No venom. No defense.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I hate how much I want you.”

You reached over, brushed your fingers over his stomach. “Same.”

“I don’t want it to just be this.”

You looked up.

That was vulnerable.

“You want more?” you asked, voice soft.

“I want everything,” he said simply.

You smiled.

“Then you better keep up, Doctor Reid.”

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

I’m getting a little personal with this ask for Dr. Abbot but what if the reader always complements Dr. Abbot on his gray hairs and always loves touching his waves but he’ll just roll his eyes because it’s just another thing that shows he’s an old man compared to her. But one morning the reader looks in the mirror and sees a grey hair (in my case several brought on my stress) but on herself she freaks out so now his turn to comment on it in a loving way. Hope that’s okay!

Totally ok!!!! It's so real!

Silver Linings

Pairing: Dr Jack Abbott x YoungerGf!Reader

You’d always loved Jack’s hair.

Not just because it was him—though that didn’t hurt. No, it was the way the silver threaded through the dark, how his waves were always a little unruly no matter how he tried to tame them. Like a reminder he could never be entirely controlled, not even by time.

“You have such distinguished hair,” you’d tease, trailing your fingers through it when he sat beside you on the couch reading some journal or responding to emails at an ungodly hour. “You mean I look old,” he’d reply flatly, glancing at you over the rim of his glasses. “I mean you look hot,” you’d counter. “Mature. Powerful. A little grumpy, which—bonus points.”

And he’d roll his eyes. Every time. But he let you do it—let you touch him, admire him, revel in him. Even if the gap between you made him nervous sometimes.

Which is why the scene this morning felt almost cosmically cruel.

You were brushing your teeth when you spotted it in the mirror.

Then another.

Then another.

Your heart dropped. You leaned closer to the glass, toothbrush forgotten in your mouth. “No.”

You parted your hair, fingers shaking just enough to give you away.

“No, no, no—”

You yanked the light closer and blinked. The silver wasn’t imaginary.

Several strands, glinting like betrayal in the harsh morning light.

When Jack walked into the bathroom a minute later, you were still standing there, frozen.

He paused at the doorway, toothbrush in hand, then tilted his head. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I have.” Your voice was flat. “And apparently she’s living on my scalp now.”

He blinked. “What?”

You turned to him slowly, parted your hair, and pointed. “I have gray hairs, Jack. Plural. Multiple. Like—at least six.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then, infuriatingly, he laughed.

“Oh, don’t you dare—!” you started, slapping his chest lightly as he ducked his head, still grinning.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said between chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist despite your dramatic horror. “It’s just—you look like someone died.”

“I am dying. Of premature aging.”

Jack rolled his eyes again—fond, this time. “You’re twenty-six. One gray hair doesn’t put you in a nursing home.”

“It’s not one!”

He reached up, brushing your hair back with a gentleness that made your throat tighten.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, eyes locking on yours in the mirror.

You didn’t speak.

“You always tell me you love my gray hairs. Said it makes me look... what was it? Powerful? Sexy?”

“Distinguished,” you murmured.

He kissed your temple. “Exactly.”

You tried not to look too pleased, even as your heart calmed beneath his words.

“Guess now you’ve got a matching strand,” he said softly, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Looks good on you, by the way.”

You met his gaze again. “So you’re saying I’m aging like fine wine?”

“I’m saying,” Jack said, “you could be covered in silver and I’d still look at you like you hung the moon.”

Your throat tightened. You turned around, resting your hands on his chest.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I guess one or two... or six... isn’t the end of the world.”

He smirked. “Welcome to the silver fox club.”

You squinted. “You’re not gonna make me call you that now, are you?”

Jack leaned in, voice low against your ear. “Only if you want to.”

[alcedeerie]

hey does anybody remember that analog horror series that everyone hated? “the painter” or something like that? i wonder what all the normal people in that universe were doing on tumblr while that shit happened

📰 destielnewschannel Follow

✨ sparklecity Follow

diversity win! the serial killer that murdered and sexually assaulted at least a hundred people and then painted their mutilated corpses as a fucked up fetishistic form of art is a woman!

💿 helenoftsoi Follow

okay how the fuck did no one ever catch the painter(s) before their killcount reached the double digits. dude literally stabbed a woman in the taint 27 times and left her to drown in her own blood. one of the victims was literally on the phone with 911 while she was killed. how. the FUCK

💿 helenoftsoi Follow

TRIPLE DIGITS?! MORE THAN A FUCKING HUNDRED?!?

🥫 bowling-on-behalf-of-soup Follow

the police department assigned to the painter case: oooh no this is so scaryyy imma need to take a sick dayyy bleghhh

nathan cole, bursting into tina’s house with a gun: PUT YOUR HANDS UP! PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!

🥫 bowling-to-earn-soup Follow

hi

🥫 bowling-on-behalf-of-soup Follow

post cancelled who the fuck are you

💥 bastard12 Follow

WAIT, BILL COLLINS WAS ALIVE THE WHOLE DAMN TIME?!

👆 kidnamedfinger Follow

if the painter tried to kill me i would simply not tell them my name. what’re they gonna do? leave the painting title blank and not do any fun wordplay with it? nah. they’d have to keep me alive to torture it out of me. 

🔥 shaysrebelli0n Follow

they’d probably try her damn best to make your corpse absolutely unidentifiable and then call you “Andy” The Anonymous or some shit just to spite you.

🔱 m33nah-and-the-tridents Follow

wait yeah how DOES she know everyone’s name

👆 kidnamedfinger Follow

well she probably didn’t just ask politely

🔁 theendisnever Follow

🧱 justiceforthebecktwins Follow

honestly why wasn’t Tina Rosenberg put on suicide watch. or just. literally anything watch. i mean if i had anything to say about it i probably wouldn’t have just assumed nothing bad was going to happen to her ever again after she survived the first time.

🚈 amtrak-enthusiast Follow

ok the Painter is a horrible person for a number of reasons. but like. his paintings are infuriatingly good. he’s really good at painting. why didn’t he just go to art school or something.

🚈 amtrak-enthusiast Follow

ok i have been informed that the Painter is actually a woman. point still stands though

🔷 shapefucker Follow

nathan cole is stronger than me (and most other cops). i would have shot both the painters dead even if they did put their hands up.

📼 subwaysofyourmind Follow

every time you guys talk about the murders that the painter did it’s always something completely new and batshit. i’m thinking you are all just making this shit up

📼 subwaysofyourmind Follow

WHAT.

🖼️ true-crime-heritage-posts Follow

true crime heritage post

🔫 gunsmith-lana Follow

💐 gordonbenetramsey Follow

please. i get that some of you people are serious hybristophiles but this is a new low. mona is the greasiest motherfucker i have ever seen. momo-challenge-looking bitch. besides, if you actually tried to have sex with her she’d probably rip your face off during it. be absolutely FOR REAL.

👁️ last-of-the-lost Follow

you know that feeling when you scroll past a post referencing a type of discourse you know nothing about and you absolutely don’t want to know anything about but at the same time the curiosity is really strong

2️⃣ tumblr2electricboogaloo Follow

me, stoned out of my mind: 

…

…

…how the hell did the painter drag all those damn canvises around without getting noticed

[chrissturnsfav]

i’ve been summoned ☝️ ok hear me out here, fuckgirl!reader is flirting with him like always and then he gets a boner… up to u if she notices or not !!

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 loser!matt gets a little excited around fuckgirl!reader

you’re sitting in matt’s beat-up old car, legs crossed on the passenger seat, leaning back with a joint dangling between your fingers.

the windows are fogged up, a hazy cocoon of smoke and the faint smell of cigarettes and cologne—matt’s signature scent, clinging to everything he touches. he doesn’t like to smoke weed, never has, but you got him to take a hit tonight. one hit. big deal. baby steps.

he's in the driver’s seat, slouched like he’s got nowhere better to be, one arm draped lazily over the wheel, the other flicking ash out his window.

his lips curl slightly when he catches you staring. not a full smile, but enough to make you grind your teeth. this smug dick knows exactly what he’s doing.

"what?" he asks, voice low, smooth, teasing.

you blow smoke in his direction, grinning. "nothing. just thinking how you keep pretending you don’t wanna fuck me."

his eyes flick over to you, dark and steady, but he doesn’t bite. doesn’t rise to your taunt, never does. that’s the thing about matt—calm, cool, untouchable. a challenge. you love it, even though it's incredibly frustrating.

"cute," he says flatly, like it’s not.

you shift, letting your skirt ride up just enough to get a reaction. he notices—of course he does—but he stays cool, that unreadable expression driving you absolutely crazy.

"come onnn," you coo, leaning closer, voice dripping with fake sweetness as you pout at him, stubbing the blunt into an ashtray in his cup holder. "you can’t keep playing hard to get forever."

"who said i’m playing?" he shoots back, eyes flickering down to his crotch just a second too long.

gotcha.

you lean in further, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him, your lips dangerously close to his ear as you snicker tauntingly. "your dick says different, matt."

his jaw tenses. you see a crack in that infuriatingly calm exterior.

he shifts slightly, like he’s trying to hide something, but you’re not stupid. you know exactly what’s happening, and it lights a fire inside you.

"oh," you whisper, biting your lip through a cocky smirk. "looks like i’m finally getting to you."

he exhales slowly, a mix of frustration and something else you can’t quite name. but he doesn’t pull away. doesn’t stop you.

"careful," he warns softly, voice rougher than usual. "you sure you wanna play this game?"

you grin wickedly, loving every second of this rare victory. "oh, baby, i'm already winning this game. don't get it twisted. started winning when you kissed me a few weeks ago."

his eyes narrow, and for a second you wonder if you’ve finally pushed him too far. not that you'd regret it. matt’s the type who thrives on control, always one step ahead. but tonight that grip is slipping, and you can feel it. it's the same exact tension you felt a few weeks ago at that party.

he shifts in his seat, leaning back like he's trying to remind himself who’s in charge.

you know that move. seen it before. but it’s different now. there’s heat bubbling beneath his cool exterior, something that wasn’t there before.

"yeah?" he asks, voice low, smooth.

you nod, biting your lip. "mhmm."

he hums like he doesn’t believe you, like he’s remembering that party a couple of weeks ago when he kissed you and shattered his whole untouchable vibe.

of course that motherfucker blamed that night on the alcohol. but you're not backing down so easily, and you knew that was all a lie.

besides, you love a good challenge.

you see the flicker of that night in his eyes now, the way he looks at your plush lips like he’s weighing his options.

"you're thinking about it, aren’t you?" you taunt, snickering cheekily, leaning closer until your knee brushes his thigh. "how good my lips tasted."

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head with a dry laugh. "cocky."

"mm-mm, confident," you correct, grinning. "there’s a difference, baby."

his tongue darts over his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, and you swear it takes every ounce of self-control inside you not to climb into his lap right then, wanting nothing but to feel his hard tip pressing against your clit through your clothes.

"aw, what’s wrong?" you taunt softly, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "scared you're gonna give in again?"

his jaw tightens, and he huffs out a low laugh through his nose, like he knows what game you’re playing but refuses to let you win outright.

"damn, you're really pushin’ it tonight," he mutters, voice rough, like gravel rolling through his chest.

"am i?" you purr, inching closer until you're practically in his space. your knee brushes his thigh, deliberate this time, and the flicker of tension in his eyes nearly makes you dizzy.

his breath hitches—subtle but not subtle enough to miss.

"yeah," he says low, almost a warning. "you are."

but he doesn't move away. doesn't stop you. and that's when you know you've got him once again.

you tilt your head, biting back a grin. "hmm...what’re you gonna do about it, matt?"

his gaze drops to your mouth for just a second—one fleeting, dangerous second—before snapping back up to meet your eyes.

"thought you liked keeping me on my toes," you tease, voice soft but challenging. "what happened to that whole stupid unbothered vibe?"

"still here," he says, though it sounds more like a lie the longer he holds your gaze.

your grin widens. "doesn't look like it."

you see the exact moment he stops fighting himself—that sharp flicker of decision in his eyes before he moves. suddenly his hand is on your thigh, firm but not rough, heat radiating through your skin like wildfire.

you've got him right where you want him now.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: do not worry, i REPEAT there will be a part two of this where they will be getting freaky, i just want to edge everyone a lil bit hehe

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13

@chrissturnsfav ™

[daxisyzz]

⁺‧˚ ⋆ 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥 | 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋆ ˚‧⁺

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 2: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒔

Pairings: ceo!boss!bucky barnes × fem!reader

Other characters: bestfriend!Natasha romanoff, Wanda maximoff, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers.

Contents: fake dating, chaotic relationship dynamic, workplace romance, contract relationship.

Summary: Bucky offers you an outrageous deal—pretend to be his girlfriend to appease his grandfather and in exchange, he’ll make sure you never have to worry about money again. You refuse at first… until you remember your landlord raised your rent, your loans are still pending, and Bucky casually drops a six-figure contract in front of you. What could go wrong?

Word count: 2.7k+ ( longer than the last..ik🫣)

Warnings: there is a dialogue heavy part, desperate reader, CHAOS, Bucky is infuriatingly hot.

Series masterlist

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Inspired by the kdrama "Business Proposal"

Previously on Business Proposal..

"It’s fine with me. I'll talk with my secretary to arrange another date. I like you and would like to pursue this," he says, getting up with a smirk on his face. "Give my regards to your father." He turns away and walks out of the restaurant.

Left alone at the table, you exhale sharply, a mix of panic and exasperation washing over you. You quickly text Natasha, urging her to call immediately. "Call me, it's urgent," you type as you sit there, wondering exactly what you got yourself into.

___________________________________●

You get up, collecting your bag and rushing out of the restaurant, your mind reeling from whatever it was that happened in the last hour.

As you stand on the sidewalk waiting for your cab, your phone starts ringing—your favorite song, which you had as your ringtone. It was Natasha. You immediately pick it up, hearing her voice on the other side of the call.

"That was fast. Tell me you scared him off," she says lazily, probably lying on her couch watching some sitcom she always loves.

"I TRIED, but he liked me!" you whisper-yell into your phone as you get into your cab.

On the other line, Natasha is confused. "What do you mean he liked you? The whole 'mission' was to make him regret his existence for choosing to go on that date."

"He thinks I'm you, Nat! And when I went full unhinged—like full 'talking to my one-night-stand' kind—he just smirked and said 'you'll do,' and LEFT," you scream into your phone, making your cab driver glance at you through the mirror weirdly.

"Oh my god, you're kidding," she wheezes.

"Do I sound like I'm kidding?" you groan.

"But you do sound like you're spiraling, which is delicious, babe."

"You're paying for my therapy, my new job, and for starting over my life in a new country," you say, done with your life.

"I'm so sorry, I really am," she says when you groan.

"...but we can fix this. What else did he say?"

"He asked to arrange another date. You might be getting an email very soon about it," you inform her.

"Ok, I need you to go on that date. I know it's ridiculous, but reject him as brutally as possible. He's a rich CEO, for God's sake—he won't like you hurting his ego. He'll definitely let you go."

"But what about the fact that I have to face him every day of my life at work?"

"What do you mean?" she asks, clearly confused.

"He's the new CEO of my company," you mutter into the phone.

"What!?" she screams.

"Yeah, I know."

"It's ok, [name]. If you lose your job, you're always welcome to work with me on my fashion brand."

"Thanks for the offer, Nat. I'll see you tomorrow at our regular," you say, as the cab approaches your apartment.

"Yeah, I'll meet you there. Again, I'm sorry and thank you for doing all this for me," she says, her voice softening.

"There is no sorry and thank you in friendship," you chuckle tiredly as you get out of the cab, paying the driver.

"Don't say that; you know I hate that saying."

"Whatever," you laugh at her serious tone.

"Just know that I'm grateful for your friendship," she says, and you can sense her smiling from her voice.

"Good night, Nat. Love you," you say, smiling, genuinely grateful to have her in your life.

"Good night, babe, hope you survive tomorrow," she teases as you cut the call after saying goodbye again.

You plop into your bed, dreading the next day, wondering how you'd avoid him at the office, as it was going to be his first day as CEO. You thought of all the escape routes, all the worst-case scenarios, as you tried your hardest to fall asleep, your anxiety at its peak. You manage to score some sleep a few hours before you had to face—potentially—the end of your career at Barnes & Co.

You tread into work the next day looking like a mess as your nerves get the best of you. You greet your coworker, Wanda. Wanda was a sweet woman. You and she had joined the company around the same time and had become good companions. The redhead greets you back as you both walk over to your guys' desk.

"You know, the team is setting up a welcome surprise for the CEO. Wanna join?" she asks you.

As soon as you hear the words "CEO," the warning bells start ringing in your head. You start to think of a good excuse to avoid the event.

"Actually, I was feeling kind of down, so I'd rather stay at my desk," you say, looking down.

"Are you ok..." she perks up with concern.

"...you should've stayed at home." she worries, and it makes you feel guilty, seeing her worry over you when you're perfectly fine.

Well, not perfectly fine, because you spot him. Bucky. Your boss, Mr. Barnes.

And he's coming near your guys' office.

Immediately, you duck down, falling into a coughing fit as Wanda rubs your back, her worry increasing.

Bucky shakes the hands of his new colleagues with a polite and charming smile. Steve Rogers—his best friend, and now his secretary—shows him around the new surroundings of the office. They approach the product manager's office as he sees a woman, supposedly the product manager, widen her eyes at the sight of him and duck down... in a coughing fit? He just ignores that and walks past, heading to his new office.

The day goes by without any encounters with the boss, and you continue your work normally, until you have to go receive the product files from Steve, who just so conveniently has his office right in front of Bucky’s—whose office has the whole view of Steve's.

This cannot get any worse, as you speed-walk to Steve's desk and casually grab the files, using them to cover your face as you speed-walk back to your desk like you're competing in the Olympics.

This definitely doesn't go unnoticed by Bucky, as he narrows his eyes at his ill-natured employee. He calls Steve into his office to inquire about her.

"You need anything, Buck?" Steve asks.

"That lady who just came to your desk to take the files—who's that?"

"Oh, that's [name]. She's our product manager who deals with our electronics line."

"Why is she acting like that?"

"Idk, what's wrong? She's usually... normal."

"....Weird," Bucky says, raising his eyebrow, then he dismisses Steve.

Bucky starts noticing a pattern. Whenever he walks into a room you're in—like during lunch break—you leave. You barely show him your face, hiding behind your desk, behind files, running away from the elevator he's in to go down the stairs. But he manages to catch a glimpse, and that makes him even more suspicious.

You get home after a very exhausting day at the office—not because of the workload, but rather, because you were desperately trying to avoid Bucky Barnes. You get a text from Nat saying he has arranged a date, Friday evening, and you start preparing for that day. You agree to the second date purely out of fear that refusing would raise more suspicion.

The plan? Make him regret ever liking you.You arrive at another fancy restaurant, dressed up in your Natasha Romanoff disguise. At this point, you think, you should just be her. You enter the restaurant, going over your plan mentally—this time, you're not messing it up.

Step 1 of your master plan: Assert dominance

You walk out onto a rooftop restaurant which is suspiciously empty. You spot him sitting near a table, fancily set up, looking over the skyline of the city. He always seemed to be decked out in the most elegant suits, and it always made you feel something. If it weren't for this situation you were in, you would genuinely enjoy having a date with him. But the universe always likes to torment you, so you head up to him.

Bucky stands as you approach, smirking, "I was starting to think you wouldn't show."

You shrug, faking a bored expression, "Yeah, well, I had nothing better to do."

He chuckles, "You could've just said no."

You sigh dramatically, flopping onto the chair. "Could I? Because you look like the type who doesn't take rejection well."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you seem... fragile." You smile innocently.

"And what makes you think that, doll?" Your heart skips a beat at the name, but you continue your act.

"Your whole vibe just screams sensitive. And I don't do that. It's like you get all broody and serious when people don't laugh at your jokes."

"I don't make jokes," he deadpans.

"That's even sadder."

Step 2: The too-high-maintenance approach

You sigh again, moving on, picking up the menu. "Just a warning, I'm excruciatingly high maintenance."

"Noted," he says, returning that stupid smirk.

"Like if you're even a minute late at texting me back, I'll block you."

Chuckling, he says, "Punctuality is important."

"I expect expensive gifts weekly—diamonds, designer bags. I don't do thoughtful," you tut.

Raising an eyebrow, he asks, "You like Chanel or Dior?"

Internally, you just feel like flipping over the table because, WHY IS HE NOT RUNNING YET!

Step 3: Or your pathetic attempt at making this man break—destroy his ego

You smile sweetly, leaning forward, "Okay, fine, I'll just be honest."

"Please do."

"You're just... not my type."

"Oh?" Amused, Bucky looks at you.

"Yeah. I usually go for guys who are, you know…" you gesture vaguely. "Hotter," you state casually.

Then it's just silence. Dead silence.

Why is he not saying anything? you question in your head.

Then, he blinks slowly, "Hotter?"

Nodding, you continue, "Yeah. No offense, obviously. You’re, like... cute. In a 'mall cop chic' kinda way."

Bucky tilts his head, processing that absolute violation of his entire existence.

You continue, satisfied this is working, "Also, no offense, but you’re kinda... short."

"I am not short," he grumbles, definitely offended.

"It’s okay. Not everyone can be over six feet. It’s cute," you say, nodding as you empathize.

"I am over six feet."

"Mm. Barely."

"I’m 6’2," he mutters.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling."

A muscle in his jaw ticks.

You lean back, proud of yourself, waiting for the moment when Bucky snaps and storms out.

"You done?" he questions now, looking at you with amusement.

"Wait, you're not mad?" you blink.

"Oh, sweetheart, this was adorable." He grins—like, actually grins.

You stare, mortified. What in the world is wrong with this man?

"You really thought this would work on me?"

"I insulted everything about you!"

"Yeah, but I can take a hit," he shrugs casually.

"I questioned your height."

"Which was incorrect, by the way."

"I said you dress like a mall cop," you say, desperation now evident in your voice.

"Well, that was just mean," he huffs.

"Oh my god! You liked that, didn’t you?" you say, face-palming.

"I love a challenge," he says smugly.

"This man is actually insane," you whisper, horrified.

You give up the whole charade; this man was not going to leave you alone. Guess you had to start writing that resignation letter as soon as you got home, 'cause you were not going to have a job the next day.

"Fine! You win! You know why? BECAUSE I’M NOT NATASHA."

"Oh?" he says, tilting his head, amused.

Who says "oh" just after their date revealed they are not who they are supposed to be?

"Yeah. I’m not Natasha. I took her place because she begged me to."

Bucky leans back, now donning a full-on smirk. "Ah. That makes sense."

"...you're not surprised?" you stare at him.

"Not really. You were acting way too weird at work."

That's it—the ground should just swallow you up. Not even changing your identity was gonna work now.

"You knew?" you ask, looking down at your lap, scared of looking up.

"I didn't exactly know, but I had my suspicions," he says, watching you shrink into yourself.

"Why did you show up then?" you question.

"What can I say? You’re fun." You're rendered speechless, not knowing what to do.

"Well, it's getting late. Don't want to turn up late to work tomorrow now, do you, Ms. Romanoff? Sorry, Ms. [name]," he says, getting up and buttoning his suit as he throws another look at you and leaves.

As soon as he leaves, you slump over the table, face in your hands.

"I just insulted my billionaire boss to his face," you whisper to yourself.

"Rough night," the waiter who came to clean up the table asks.

"You have no idea." A muffled groan is heard. You barely make it home before the panic sets in. You go through all five stages of grief as you think over what will happen to your life.

The morning after, you sulk into work like a criminal who just escaped jail, dodging eye contact, hugging the walls, and nearly knocking over the printer just to avoid the executive floor.

"Why are you walking like that?" Sam, one of your coworkers, approaches you suspiciously.

"Like you committed a crime and are not trying to be seen."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

You spend almost three hours away from your floor doing other chores until you end up in the break room, drinking some coffee to ease your headache, as you hear the voice you've been trying to avoid.

“You know, for someone trying to avoid me, you’re doing a terrible job,” he says from behind you, making you choke on your coffee.

"Good morning to you too," he says while casually crossing his arms.

"Good morning, sir," you force a polite smile.

"We're back to 'sir' now," he mocks.

You panic. "It felt appropriate."

"Last night you called me a chic mall cop." He leans slightly.

"Did I?" you question him, sweating.

"Mhm," he grins.

He leans back, his hands going into his pocket.

"I need you in my office at five. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." You look down at your fidgeting hands as he looks over you once more, then leaves.

You're sitting in front of your boss in his office and you don't like it one bit. You know you're getting screwed over no matter what. There is absolute silence as you wait for him to speak, which is just another level of torture. He slides over a paper, nodding at you to take a look at it. In bold letters, it's written:

NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT

You skim over the content once, then twice, not believing what's written there. You look up at him, shock evident on your face. He just looks at you with that damned smirk.

"What is this?" you ask.

"That's an NDA."

“Oh, wow, thanks! I couldn’t tell from the giant letters!” you say sarcastically.

He chuckles, leaning forward, "I'm not faking being your girlfriend, and what do you mean by emotional compensation?"

"It's for all my precious time that you wasted."

"And what do I get out of this?" you ask—the important question, obviously.

"Turn the page."

You turn over the page to see more text, but what catches your eye in the benefits section is the obvious six figures for being his fake girlfriend for six months. You choke on air.

"This says six figures," you look up at him.

"Sharp eyes."

"For a fricking fake relationship!" you gasp.

"It's mutually beneficial," he states calmly.

"Why are you doing this?" you ask again.

He sighs, rubbing his temples. "My grandfather won't shut up about wanting me to settle down, and I have no time for that commitment. You need your money, as the salary is not enough to pay off your loans. And I need a girlfriend to convince my grandfather to leave me alone. It's a win-win."

“So you’re telling me… that if I sign this… I legally can’t tell anyone that I’m fake dating you?”

"Correct," he says, looking over his computer.

"Not even Natasha?" you panic.

"Not even Natasha," he repeats.

"Not even my own mother?!"

"Unless you want her sued for breach of contract," he casually says, flipping through emails.

"This is insane!"

He smirks, "You'd be surprised how often I hear that."

You stare at him, fully aware you're about to sign away your entire life. And yet—your landlord just raised the rent, your boss (who's sitting in front of you) is on the verge of layoffs, and your bank account is actively crying.

You had no choice.

With utter resignation, you grab the pen, sign the contract, and glare at him.

“If I go to jail for this, I’m haunting you.”

Bucky smirks, completely unbothered. "Oh, sweetheart, this is just the beginning."

__________________________________________

A/n: Thank you all so much for reading ❤️. I'll mostly update every week but from next week I'll be busy at college, dw I'll try hard to release new chapters.

Taglist: @baw1066, @scott-loki-barnes, @calwitch

You can also : ☆[Follow the tag ⁺‧˚ ⋆Business Proposal⋆ ˚‧⁺ for updates]☆

[kxsagi]

ok so like I'm loving this whole 'isagi is in love w readers thighs' thing but hear me out listen....what if reader is obsessed w Isagis thighs?? cuz c'mon,,, have you seen his thighs? 😩 they're literally huge cuz of all that training 😩 it's something I rlly noticed when I was watching and or reading blue lock 🙈🙈

“#𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭”

a/n: i’m thighstruck fr like ISAGI GIMME THAT-

it was getting ridiculous at this point. 

you were supposed to be watching the game, y’know, like a supportive girlfriend or whatever, but here you were, seated in the front row, not processing a single second of the match. instead, your eyes were locked on his thighs. 

isagi’s jersey clung to his torso, slightly damp with sweat from the intensity of the match, but none of that registered in your brain. nope. your entire existence was hyper-focused on the sheer power in his legs – the way his quads flexed with each stride, the raw strength beneath those compression shorts. the fabric clung sinfully to his skin, barely keeping those absolute units contained. 

you let out a slow, shaky breath when he pivoted sharply, the muscles visibly tightening as he changed direction with that signature agility. a bead of sweat rolled down your temple. not because of the sun. because you were feral. 

you didn’t even see the goal he scored. you only knew about it when the crowd roared and isagi jogged toward his teammates with that casual, almost bored expression. but even as he high-fived and fist-bumped his teammates, you were too far gone, blatantly staring at how his thighs rippled with every step. 

god, this is a problem. 

and it only got worse when the game ended. 

you were waiting by the sidelines when isagi approached, his jersey slung over his shoulder, skin still glistening from the match. his hair was damp, falling in loose strands over his forehead, but your eyes didn’t even make it that far up. no. they were locked on his bare thighs. the compression shorts did nothing to spare you, they only made it worse, the material hugging every muscle and curve. 

"you okay?" he asked, voice low and lazy, but you barely heard him. your gaze flicked up for half a second before trailing right back down, practically burning a hole into his legs. 

isagi blinked slowly. then his lips quirked in amusement. "again?" 

your eyes snapped up. "w-what?" 

he gestured vaguely toward your blatant gawking. "you’ve been eyeing my thighs all game. don’t think i didn’t notice." 

your mouth opened, then closed. you felt caught. exposed. like a criminal caught red-handed. you fumbled for an excuse, but isagi leaned in slightly, cutting off your flustered rambling. 

"you’re not even subtle," he muttered, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "i could feel your stare every time i ran by." 

okay. you were definitely not surviving this. 

and then, the final blow came when he suddenly crouched down, tying his shoe, one leg bent at a perfect 90-degree angle. the position made his thigh bulge even more, and your brain practically short-circuited. 

"you’re doing this on purpose," you muttered through clenched teeth, fisting your hands at your sides. 

isagi glanced up at you through his lashes, expression infuriatingly smug. "hmm?" he feigned innocence. "just tying my shoe." 

when he stood up again, he took a step closer, crowding into your space until your back hit the fence behind you. his voice was a low murmur. "go ahead. stare all you want. they’re yours anyway." 

you genuinely thought you might pass out right there. 

but the cherry on top? back at his place, he made sure to strut around in nothing but compression shorts, deliberately stretching, lunging, and casually sitting with one leg propped up on the coffee table, just to watch you squirm. 

the bastard knew exactly what he was doing. and you were totally fine with it. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[charliemwrites]

Ok ok I have to work on my backlog of fics BUT

Thinking about usurper king Price on an uncontested conquest of an entire continent. No one knows how he does it, but one day a kingdom is standing independent - the next, its bearing his coat of arms.

(He’s got a team of his most trusted warriors. One goes in, gathers intel and allies and plans, takes down all the key players and opens the doors for Price’s army.)

He’s a good ruler in the sense that he is EFFECTIVE. Brutal and cruel, short tempered and occasionally unpredictable. But overall, he has solid infrastructure, flourishing economy, and trade deals for goods from other continents that are mostly trying to appease him. It’s incidental that most everyone fears him. Deeply. They have good reason for it.

Reader’s kingdom is on the far side of the continent, with two much larger and more robust countries between. They’ve just allied together, so there’s actually some hope that they’ll be able to stop Price’s conquest at the halfway point.

(He knows that, but it’s much easier to force convince cooperation with nowhere to run. Feeling protected breeds complacence, it’s really all too simple it’s like they WANT to be at his heel.)

He’s taking special care with this one, goes himself as a new hire to a paranoid king’s royal guard. The other king is foolish, prideful, nothing but nepotism in his court and corruption at every turn. Almost all of his advisors are happy to turncoat for coin or promises of station in the new regime, one by one.

(Key word: almost. There are only a few, he can count them on one hand, but they’re loyal not to the king. They’re loyal to his heir.)

For all of his many, many faults the current king cares deeply for you, his heir. Who price is assigned to guard with his false identity. Who becomes your shadow, not from duty (as you might assume) but obsessive fascination.

(You’re just so good. An idealist, an optimist, an altruist. All terrible, damning things for a leader to be. Poor thing, you’re not suited to ruling. You’ll tear up that soft heart on hard decisions and necessary sacrifices. You’ve overcorrected your father’s negligence by caring too much. Price is doing you a favor by taking over.)

For as sweet and benevolent as you are, you’re also whip smart and strong-willed. Have to be to get anything done in your father’s circus show of a court. Truly the only thing between the people and careless greed of the rich and powerful, but you wear that responsibility as well as any crown.

And you’ll put yourself between Price (your guard) and citizens that just want to shake your hand, or offer you sweets out of well-earned devotion. He loses track of how many times you scold him for the coldness he’s so well known for. Or how often you snip at him for voicing his opinions about your legislation (not that you ever tell him not to share them, he notices)

(He imagines that pouty face melting away beneath moans of pleasure. Your tiara slipping off while he bounces you on his cock. That smart mouth wrapped around his cock, or crying his name. You’re gorgeous and clever and so fucking contrary for all that you are infuriatingly kind - he takes pleasure in being the only one to provoke you so.)

and when the time comes, your father and all his useless advisors slain, blood on the same gold that bought their own slaughter, he has you brought before him.

There’s steel in your spine even with tears running down your face and you lift your chin when you tell him he’s no king. Not to you, no matter whose flag decorates the ramparts. That the only way you’ll kneel is by force and it would only prove he’s not fit for a throne.

You’re beautiful and heartbroken but defiant in a way that makes his blood run hot and he adores you. Adores you so much that he can’t bring himself to cut you down, as he has with all royal families he’s usurped. No, not when you have so much potential. When you are the only part of the old regime worth salvaging.

He doesn’t, however, feel the same for your younger sibling - who takes after you with all the attitude but none of the grace (or his favor).

A life for a life, he bargains. The former king’s son in exchange for you - belonging to him now, that is. He doesn’t need your loyalty, but your compliance is convenient to sway the people towards submitting without bloodshed. And isn’t that better? He could raze the fields and streets to cement his rule, but you love your country too much to sacrifice it for your own pride. Not when you can do something to convince him otherwise, even this.

Besides, anything worth having is earned, he knows - and your heart will be his greatest possession.

[clarkeysbedchem]

even if its a false god?

will lenney x fem reader

summary: you have to go back to will’s flat to get your stuff after your break up.

warning: mature context (18+ only), allusions of religion

masterlist | main masterlist

You didn’t plan on staying long. You made sure to pick a day when he was usually in the office, giving him a little heads up over text:

You: im coming to the flat to get my things on Thursday

Will: ok.

Just a quick in and out to grab the jumper you left hanging in the hallway, the charger you left in the living room, and the dog-eared copy of Happy Place you had forgotten on his nightstand.

Realistically, you should’ve known better.

You should’ve assumed that Will wouldn’t have gone into the office be there, that he would be there to torment you.

You should’ve expected that the front door to swing open and that he would be standing in the hallway like you were still his.

“You’re late,” he muttered, stepping aside to let you into his flat.

“Didn’t realise I had to schedule an appointment now,” you shot back, brushing past him into the flat that used to feel like a home.

It smelt of him, of course it did. His stupid goddamn cologne engulfing you within seconds of walking into the flat. You almost laughed shaking your head as you stepped further into the space.

“I packed some of your stuff,” he said after a beat, arms crossed over his chest, “Didn’t know if you’d actually show.”

You glanced at the small pile on the coffee table, everything laid out carefully. You felt a tug at your heart as you nodded, “Is that everything?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged, “Might be more, yknow considering you left in such a hurry.”

Your teeth bit down on your tongue turning to look at him, “You literally told me to.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” Will replied, his voice infuriatingly calm, “You said you couldn’t do this anymore. You made that choice.”

“No,” you refused, eyes narrowing at him, “You stopped trying, you made that choice, not me.”

Will scoffed, shaking his head, “Coming from you, yeah?”

As the words left his mouth, something ignited in you both as if someone had just poured the gasoline on the fire that had been burning inside your chests for weeks.

“You were supposed to fight for me, Will,” you fought back, taking a step closer, “You were supposed to care about me, care about us. But instead, you shut me out and acted like everything was fine and now you're blaming me for walking away.”

He met your fury head-on, his eyes shifting a shade darker, “And what, you’re innocent? You think it was easy watching you drift away, like you’d already made peace with leaving me? You stopped seeing me.”

“I fucking loved you!” you yelled, your voice cracking with the words, “I would’ve done anything for you. I wouldn’ve died to keep you happy.”

A thick silence slammed down over the flat, suffocating you both.

Then, he replied, his voice too soft for the situation, “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

The words were like daggers in your chest, cruel but honest. You knew he meant them and that killed you even more.

You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second taking a deep breath, maybe this is just a bad dream. When you opened them again, he was still there and so is all the heartbreak and history.

“I worshipped the fucking ground you walked on, Will,” you admitted, heart tearing into pieces, “I still do.”

His expression shifted at your confession, a bitter amusement curling up on his lips, “What? like I’m some kind of God?”

“Don’t you feel it? Every time I look at you like I needed you to survive? Like you are the only thing giving me air to breathe?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow, but he didn’t move. His arms stayed crossed, his jaw clenched. Like he was bracing for impact.

“You were everything, Will,” you murmured.

He flinched like the words hit him physically, maybe they did. Maybe they landed somewhere deep, beneath all the anger and distance, beneath the wreckage of everything you both destroyed just by loving each other.

“I didn’t want that,” he said, voice hoarse now, “I didn’t want you to worship me.”

“No,” you snapped, eyes burning, “You wanted me to bleed and smile while doing it.”

The heavy silence settled itself between, only this time, it didn’t feel like distance.

You didn’t mean to move closer. But suddenly his chest was pressed against yours. So close that you could see every ounce of fury and the heartbreak in his eyes that echoed the same question that was screaming in yours.

And then his mouth was on yours. It wasn’t the soft, sweet kiss you were used to. This was full of admittance and confession, every desire and sin pouring out.

Your back hit the wall hard, but you didn’t even flinch.

Will’s hands gripped onto your waist, dragging you close like he was afraid that you were going to vanish if he so much as blinked. The kiss between you was nothing but teeth and desperation, all the things he never said during the breakup spilling out of him in the way he bit hard om your lip, and the low groans that rumbled in his throat as you raked your fingers through his hair.

You tilted your head back needing more from him.

“Still want to pretend this doesn’t mean anything?” You breathed against his mouth.

He growled, like actually growled, and you felt the vibrations rattle through your chest before he pulled you back into you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. Your legs wrapped around him, your back flush to the wall as he held you with strong arms and even stronger anger.

“I never said it didn’t mean anything,” he bit against your neck, lifting your shirt up your torso.

The fabric in balled in his hands was ripped over your head and tossed blindly away, his hands immediately finding their place on your breasts, thumb padding across your nipple until you were gasping.

“Only get like this for me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice dark as you mewled dropping your head against the wall, “Fucking pathetic.”

Your fingers fumbled at the waistband of his joggers, pushing them down with impatience, “Just fuck me.”

“That what you came here for, yeah? One last fuck before you go worship someone else?”

You couldn’t even fathom the words coming out of his mouth as you stared into his lazy gaze, a laugh fell from his lips at your silence, and he latched his lips back to yours palming the mound under his hand as you gasped.

You don’t know how it happened or when he stumbled his way to the bedroom never breaking contact once. Everything about this was messy. Like you. Like him. Like everything that always happened between you.

Your back hit the bed as Will lowered you onto it, your hair haloing above your head, and Will crawled over you like a man possessed.

Kisses were scattered down the base over your neck followed by a tongue dragging over your pulse point, teeth grazing just enough to make you arch beneath him.

“You used to beg,” he muttered, teeth sinking into your shoulder making you whimper, “Used to say you’d do anything for this.”

You reached down between you, hand curling around the outline of his length, and he hissed through his teeth.

“I still worship you,” you confessed, “Even if you’re not mine.”

In a flash, he shoved your underwear aside sinking two fingers into you without warning. You cried out, pulling at the hair on the base of his neck, your head falling back as he fucks you with a brutal rhythm.

“So wet for me,” he muttered, watching your face, “Fucking soaked. All for me? All this for your God, hm?”

You couldn’t do anything other than nod, gasping into the curve of his shoulder, thighs trembling as he curled his fingers just right.

“Say it,” he demanded, breath hot against your skin, “Say who you belong to.”

You gripped his wrist as his pace slowed waiting for your response, “You. Only you.” The words fell from your lips like a prayer and your eyes pleaded needing more.

He yanked his boxers down, lining himself up with your entrance, and with one hard thrust, he's inside you.

The moan that fell from your mouth was unholy, as your body arching into his feeling him fill the hilt, the stretch familiar and brutal all at once. He didn’t wait or ask, he didn’t need to. You were at his mercy.

He pounded into you like a punishment, like you were both trying to hurt and heal each other in the same breath.

Every thrust of his hips knocked the breath clean out of your lungs, nails dragging down his back as you meet him thrust for thrust.

“Fuck, Will,” you choked, “please don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he growled, biting your pebbled nipple eliciting a whine from your parted lips, “You wanted this. You prayed for this.”

You coukd barely hold on. Your body coiled tight, every nerve burning. His name fell from your lips like a chant of something sacred.

And then his hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit with wicked precision.

You shattered under his touch.

You came with a strangled cry, clinging to him as your cunt squeezed around his cock. His own sounds coming out low and guttural as he buried himself deep one last time letting his cum spurt hot ropes up into you.

The pair of you stilled, pressed against each other sticky skin as your chests shuddered through broken breaths. Eventually, Will rolled off you, wordlessly.

You lie there in the bed you once called your own, staring at the ceiling, heart still racing, skin slick with sweat and sin.

And you realised in that moment; this was the end.

Your throat tightened.

This was a mistake. You had known that before you had even left your flat, you knew it the moment you sent the text.

You shifted carefully, slowly. His arm flopped around your waist loose with sleep or indifference, you didn’t know which. But it gave you just enough room to slip away.

You moved through the flat like a ghost, every creak of the floorboard sounding louder in the stillness. Your limbs shook, heavy with shame and the remnants of him clinging to your skin. You didn’t bother putting your bra back on. Just slipping on the top you had been wear, fingers shaking as you fumbled with the hem.

Your eyes flickered to the pile of your things on the coffee table. That stupid dog-eared book. The charger. The jumper he always used to steal off you. You gathered them quickly, careful not to disturb the quiet.

Not to disturb him.

You didn’t want another argument. Another half-hearted apology. Another round.

You just wanted to keep with what was left of your dignity.

But when you opened the front door, the cold hallway air hit you like a slap, and the first tear slipped free before you could try to stop it. Then another.

And another.

You covered your mouth with the sleeve of the jumper, muffling the sound of your sobs as your chest caved inward. It felt like the night you left all over again, a piece of your soul being behind.

No, not left, offered. Willingly. On a silver platter, like always.

Like it was something blessed, except it wasn’t.

This wasn’t redemption. It was relapse.

You made it outside before the sobs took over your body properly, curling in on yourself as you sat on the stairs of his building. The sky above dark and still, it felt too vast, too uncaring.

Like the universe was watching and doing nothing.

You wiped your cheeks harshly, furious with yourself. For coming, for staying, for playing along, for breaking again so easily.

You swore to yourself that were done worshipping something that only ever asked for sacrifice.

But here you were left bare, empty, undone.

And Will was still asleep in the bed you once called yours.

Like it meant nothing to him, like none of it ever did.

taglist: @jamiekluivert @roc-haze @whisperturnedecho @graceln4 @dopeysunflowers @super-gay-for-u @bethorwhateverr @livvymd @lilyyxoii @4ngelrealm @kiyoomology @canyouseethesainz @happyclifford @golden-hoax @tatumrileyslover @madforgeorge @wherethezoes-at @themdera @xlovergirlx @smzyyx @bowielovesyou @pretendyoucantseeme @elhotchner @duolingofanaccount @pookietv @ooostarwarsfandom501st @triplefrontierbabe @formulaal @artvscvntymullet

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Need a ride?

Pairing: Valentin x reader (female)

Authors note: this was not planed, but that scene with Valentin on the bike was just too hot to process. You can officially blame my cat who woke me at 3 am today if this totally sucks.

Warnings: plot? never heard of it. Pure SMUT. Sex in public, Valentin giving quite some Dom vibes, fingering, oral, p in v

Word Count: 3,1 K

Summary: your tire is mysteriously gotten flat and you have no other choice as to accept the offer of a ride home from Valentin - the insanely sexy health mentor you've been eyeing from the moment you started working at The White Lotus luxury resort

“Need a ride?” a familiar, soft voice rich with that insanely sexy accent reaches you over the hum of the idling bike as it comes to a stop beside you. 

For a moment your confused gaze remains glued on the completely flat tire of your moped, as if trying to will it to reinflate by your sheer disbelief only, before you slowly lift your eyes to meet that cheeky smile you’ve been fond of since the first moment you set your foot on the grounds of the luxury resort that was supposed to be you new home for a while. 

It might not have been the most rational decision of your life to drop out of the university for a spiritual self-discovery trip through the East but it was definitely not the worst. OK, you ran out of money after something like one month, but that didn’t mean you were ready to give up on your plans. 

Thailand being your next destination after having left behind the breathtaking temples of Cambodia and incredibly beautiful landscapes of Vietnam, you decided to combine business with pleasure as you stormed the manager’s office of The White Lotus – the biggest and probably most expensive resort in the area – the advertisement from the local newspaper, announcing that the hotel was looking for an English speaking service staff, clutched in your hand. 

You weren’t naive, nor were you particularly experienced or life hardened. Something in between. You were impulsive, stubborn and still liked to believe in stories where the good guys saved the world and won the princess, even if deep down you knew it not to be true.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur with slight puzzlement in your voice as your gaze shifts back to your moped. “Everything was perfectly fine when I parked it here this morning.”

“Let me see,” the smooth, velvety voice makes your stomach flutter as the engine goes silent and a pair of leather gloves land carelessly on the tank as their owner swings off the bike and moves toward you.

“You’re new here, I haven’t seen you before,” there is something in the way he looks at you that makes you feel both – a cold shiver creeping up your spine and heat hitting your cheeks.

New is quite a relative term. Yes, you’ve been here for just three weeks, yet you are perfectly aware who is the handsome owner of the only Harley Davidson for the miles around even if he has apparently remained oblivious to your very existence.

But you also have to admit that it is hard not to notice Valentin – the resort’s infuriatingly handsome health mentor and fitness guru, especially when he remains number one topic of nearly every piece of gossip going around. 

Last week he was spotted sneaking out in the middle of the night from the private villa of that arrogant rich bitch from South Dakota, the one who had been terrorising the whole hotel for weeks already – the pool wasn’t warm enough, the massage table was not comfortable, the food was terrible and God forbid she was served the wrong champagne with the oysters. It seemed almost like a miracle to see her smiling the next morning at breakfast. 

Then there was that rumor that the swollen lip and the spectacularly bruised eye of one of the hotel’s personal trainers had nothing to do with the alleged jump rope accident but rather with an argument about a stolen client, apparently ending with Valentin throwing a punch. Though no one could really confirm if that part was true, some still swore of having seen him leaving the gym with blood on his knuckles.

Ah, and, of course, there was the affair, or at least, that’s what the housekeeping staff whispered about after noticing how the resort owner’s wife, easily twice as young as her husband, by the way, had taken an unusual interest in the fitness center with private stretching lessons,  late-night sauna sessions and meditation practices once of a sudden becoming a regular part of her so called wellness routine. 

Yet, despite all the fuss, you have to admit you’ve never actually seen him be anything but polite and smiling. And you have seen him. Just like everyone else, you find it impossible to look away from that broad muscular chest when he strides through the resort only clad in his yogi pants, heading to greet the new arrivals, or from those flexing biceps when you happen to pass by the training ground with him having a course - not that you’d ever admit to staring or having actually no business around there during that time of the day.

A broad chest clad in a snug dark green t-shirt that does more to accentuate than cover the perfectly chiseled muscles beneath, moves past you and your gaze involuntary drops down and lands on his hand, the conversation from the previous day rushing back absolutely uninvited. 

“Have you noticed how big his hands are?” The question had made you freeze mid-motion, the pillowcase in your hands nearly slipping to the floor. 

“Huh?” You had blinked and raised your brow questioningly, turning to Pam, your coworker, a nice girl you became friends almost immediately. 

“You know what they say…,” she had leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and giving you a knowing wink.

You had frowned, not really getting it this time, until Pam rolled her eyes, her cheeks already turning pink, as she cleared her throat. “The ones with big hands have big… you know… big khm…,” she had nodded meaningfully toward the lower part of her body.

It still had taken you a second before it finally clicked.

“Ahhh, you mean his dick,” you had said, watching as Pam practically choked on air, her face turning red as a beet, while you burst into laughter.

Yes, it is big. His hand.

“I’m Valentin,” he introduces himself, extending his hand like he expects you not to already know his name.

You hesitate for a second before shaking it, his grip is firm but warm, his somewhat rough fingers sending an unexpected jolt up your arm.

“I know,” you say, then immediately cringe at how blunt it sounds.

His smirk deepens, amusement flickering in those sharp eyes. “You know?”

You clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. “Everyone talks about you.”

“Good things, I hope?”

You let out a short laugh. “Depends on who you ask.”

He tilts his head, as if considering your words, then glances at your moped. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but this tire isn’t going to fix itself.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Yeah, I figured. I just don’t understand – how does a perfectly fine tire suddenly go flat?”

Valentin crouches down, inspecting it. “Sometimes, it just happens. Heat, pressure, bad luck. Or…” He pauses, running a finger along the rubber.

You frown. “Or?”

He straightens, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Or someone let the air out.”

A chill prickles at your skin despite the humid air. “You think someone did this on purpose?”

“I think someone doesn’t want you going anywhere tonight,” his gaze shifts back to you, and his tongue flickers between his teeth as he licks his bottom lip. 

Shit, why does it look so fucking hot. That tongue can definitely do more. Wait, no, stop, you innerly slap yourself but it’s too late, the next thought is already there as you wonder – is it true, that thing about big hands and big… you know…

He heads back to his bike, and leans against it, arms crossed, watching you closely. “So… need a ride?”

Your heart stutters at the way he looks at you – his lips are smiling, but there is something in his eyes, something you can’t quite put your fingers on, something that makes you feel like a mouse before a big grinning cat.

You should say no, you should figure this out on your own, but the way he’s looking at you – the way he’s offering, like it’s not just a ride but something more – makes it very, very hard to refuse. 

Fuck it, we ball, you smile back at him and nod. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

—-----------------------------------------------------

“Take it easy, little doll, relax and enjoy the ride,” the hot whisper against your ear does exactly the opposite, you feel your heart racing even faster, each thumping beat pulsing between your legs, as you struggle to calm your breathing that threatens to spill into moans at any second if those thick fingers don’t stop their slow, torturous movement. 

“I… I can’t… Valentin, please…,” you breathe, your fingers gripping the edge of the table for support but your thighs part just a little wider beneath it.

The bar is dim, only the dance floor flashing in neon bursts, drawing all attention away from the shadowed corners and the shallow booths positioned along the walls with tables and red leather, plush and comfortable sofas - all tucked away in just barely enough secrecy to keep you somewhat hidden. A small mercy you feel thankful for, the sound of the pounding bass of the music  being another one, as it drowns out that moan you can’t bite back anymore as Valentin’s fingers push your panties aside, part from your pulsing clit and glide through your wet folds, to slid inside you with devastating ease. 

“You’re soaking, baby doll, just sitting here, waiting for daddy Valentin to take care of you, aren’t you?” That velvety voice edged with steel is killing you, not that those fingers inside you, curling, stretching, teasing, his thumb brushing firm, controlled circles against your clit, is making it any easier to gather any coherent thought. 

“Mmmmm… mmhhh,” is the only thing that rolls over your lips, your body reacts instinctively, muscles clenching around him, spine arching slightly against the seat as you melt into the sensation and sink back against the cushioned backrest, legs falling open just a little bit more, surrendering. 

Valentine’s other arm sneaks around your shoulders, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” he rasps. “Want me to ruin you, don’t you? Want me to fuck that tight, greedy pussy of yours, until you can’t walk anymore?”

“Ahh-ahhh,” your moan is barely muffled as his fingers curl against the wall of your core and press into that spot inside you that makes your vision blur and your toes curl. Oh, fuck, he’s good. 

The bar is full, the booth next to you crowded with a group of friends, laughing and clinking their glasses, but you don’t care. You can’t. Your head is spinning, thoughts dissolving, and every last bit of your self-control is fading away, all your senses dulled and consumed by the feeling of his fingers inside you, by that hypnotic voice dripping filth into your ear. 

How did you even end up here? The ride, the bike, your arms wrapped tight around his steel cut abdomen, holding for dear life – the memory is somewhat hazy, swept away in the whirlwind that is Valentin.  You can still feel the wind lashing against your skin, your breath stolen as you tucked yourself against his broad back.

“Wanna go out for a drink? You have a free day tomorrow, don’t you?” The question had sounded so casual but there was something in Valentin’s voice, some slight metallic tone, that  should have been a warning, a sign to you. 

“Yeah, sure! Why not?” words had left your lips too easily, although you couldn’t shake off the feeling like you were a prey stepping into a trap, absolutely willingly – if you wanted to be honest with yourself. 

Because of all the whispers that followed Valentin, one was clearly absent – he never went out with anyone from the staff, never even really flirted. Never. Not that they didn’t want him to. The majority of the serving staff being girls, you knew for sure that most of them would kill to go out with the dangerously handsome health mentor, but he never asked. Not until now, not until you.

And you were certainly not letting this chance slip away through your fingers, to see more of him in real life, outside the resort's controlled microclimate. Was it a Russian roulette you were playing? Absolutely, and you were all in for it. 

“Fuck… yes,... oh shit, it feels so good…,” your whines are swallowed by the pounding music, your body trembling as you feel his fingers move faster, expertly working you toward the edge and then you’re coming undone in a bar full of people, music thumping in your ears in sync with your rapid heartbeat. 

Your eyes are heavy and half lidded, head fallen back against the plush backrest, your panties are ruined, completely drenched, and your hips keep rocking instinctively chasing the pleasure he’s drawing out of you. Was this how you thought the evening would end? Fuck, yes! And something tells you it’s far from over. 

“Breathe, kitten,” Valentin’s voice is a dark purr in your ear and it slowly brings you back to reality, as he withdraws his fingers from you. You whine quietly, your thighs twitching at the loss, and your eyes flutter open, finding his gaze already on you. 

Valentin is watching you, a spark of satisfaction dancing in his gaze, his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, a teasing ghost of a touch, then he leans in.

“I want you to put that pretty mouth of yours to work, sweetheart. Will you do that for me?”

You sit up, straightening your spine as you reach for the champagne glass on the table, fingers slightly shaking. 

“Here?” you ask, turning to him. “You want me to give you head here, where everyone can see?”

“If you are up to it, baby doll,” Valentine’s smirk deepens, amusement dancing on his lips, and it just makes your heart skip a beat. 

“But I think you are very much enjoying this, aren’t you?” He leans closer, taking the glass from your fingers, lifting it to his lips and taking a slow, deliberate sip. 

Then, without breaking eye contact, he pulls you back against his chest, while his hand captures yours, guiding it downward and pressing your palm against the hardness straining beneath his pants.

“Look at what you’ve done to me.” 

Fuck, even through the thick fabric, he feels huge, and you can’t help but smirk as the thought slips in that it must be all true, that thing about the hands and the dicks.

Your eyes wander around the room, taking in how the dance floor pulses with bodies under shifting neon lights, the waitresses weaving between tables, laughter and music filling the air, you swallow harshly as the thought alone of sucking him off here practically in public in the tenuous cover of some shifting shadows sends a fresh surge of heat pooling in your core.

Your fingers already move on their own as the heavy buckle unfastens with a soft clink and the zipper parts beneath your touch. You slide a hand inside, wrapping around the length of him, drawing him out.

Valentin inhales drawing air through his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his chest, as your fingers tease over his leaking tip, his fingers weave through the strands of your hair with just enough force to make your scalp tingle, as his grip tightens and he urges you down, his silent command unmistakable.

You glance up at him, meeting his darkened gaze, the corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, watching you, waiting.

Your fingers trail along his length, teasing, feeling the weight of him in your palm. Fuck, he’s big, thick, hot, pulsing against your skin.

Slowly, you lean in, your lips parting as you let your tongue flick over the swollen tip, tasting the beads of precum gathering there and Valentin exhales sharply, a curse slipping from his lips.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice dissipating in the thumping bass of the music.

You take him deeper, wrapping your lips around him, savoring the way his breath hitches as he disappears into the wet heat of your mouth. 

“May I get you something else,” you hear the voice of the waitress through the haze and you freeze, unsure what to do, adrenaline surges through your veins, making your heart hammer in your chest. Panic and arousal clash violently inside you, but Valentin’s hand in your hair firmly keeps you exactly where he wants you and you don’t know what you feel more shame or the intoxicating thrill of surrender. The way he controls you, the way he holds you in place without a second of hesitation, sends a sensation through you that you've never felt before and it's rush is so deep it steals your breath.

“Thank you darling, we are well served,” his voice is smooth, utterly composed as if he weren't sitting here with his cock buried in your mouth. You can't see the waitress, your face covered by your disheveled hair, the footsteps fade away, and before you can even process what just happened Valentin guides you back down his cock, resuming the steady rhythm of your movements, and you can't but moan around him. Your tongue glides along the thick vein running down his length and you hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, feeling him twitch against your tongue, his groan is low and guttural, barely restrained and that sound alone makes your core tighten with need.

"Just like that, kitten," he rasps, his hips jerking slightly, pushing himself further into your mouth, your own pulse pounds in your ears, matching the rhythm of the music, the sensation of him filling you overwhelming and electric. Your fingers tighten around the base of his cock as you set a steady pace, sliding up and down, working him with eager precision, and you feel his thighs tense beneath your touch, the muscles flexing under your fingers. 

You take him deeper, moaning around him, letting the vibration send a shudder through his entire body.

"Fucking hell…," Valentin’s hand tightens in your hair, his head falls back against the booth, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling unevenly, you can feel how close he is to letting go and coming undone right here and now, and that thought alone makes you throb between your legs, but before you can push him over that edge, he tugs you back by the hair, pulling you off him with a slick pop. Your lips are wet, swollen, and you look up at him, dazed, your breath coming in short gasps, Valentin smirks down at you, his chest heaving, his cock still thick and flushed in your hand.

"Naughty little thing," he murmurs, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip, his voice rough with barely-contained lust. "That was good. But I’m not done with you yet."

He drags you up, his mouth hovering just above yours, as he whispers. "Now, let’s see how well you take me when it’s your turn. Do you want daddy to fuck you? I know you do,” and before you can even respond, he’s already moving, pulling you into his lap, his strong hands gripping your hips as his fingers push your panties aside once more, the head of his cock is already at your entrance. 

“You know how to play this game, don’t you?” he asks, his mismatched eyes boring into you. You nod, swallowing hard.

“Your colour, baby doll?” 

You know exactly what he’s asking, your mind is hazy, body burning, every nerve tuned to him but there’s no fear, no hesitation, only raw, unfiltered desire.

“Green,” you breathe, and he pulls you down in one swift motion, burying himself inside you to the hilt.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat, your body shuddering as his thick shaft fills you completely in one go, while one of his hands wraps around your throat and the other digs into the soft flesh of your ass beneath your dress, and with that nothing else exists anymore.

The bar, the people, the distant pulse of the music, it all fades away, the only thing that matters is Valentin and his cock twitching inside you, stretching you just right, the firm grip on your throat owning you completely.

You don’t care about anything, there is no room for shame or doubt in your mind, it’s too overtaken by the indescribable pleasure of that simple feeling of giving up the control, of surrendering to that commanding voice and those mismatched stern eyes.

And then he fucks you, his hips thrust up into you, filling you deeper, harder, while his hand guide you, making you bounce on his cock, while his grip on your throat tightens—not too much, never too far—just enough to make your head spin in the best way, and soon, you're a mess, a drooling, moaning, wrecked mess.

—-----------------------------------------------------

When you open your eyes, the sunlight streaming through the curtains tells you it’s already well past midday.

Your head is heavy, your body sore in all the possible ways, and you have no idea how you got home, but here you are, back in your bed tucked beneath your light blanket.

You shift beneath the sheets, and that’s when you feel it, an arm draped around your waist and a firm chest pressed against your back.

Your breath catches, the memories of last night crash over you all at once, flooding your senses as you jolt upright, a soft, mortified moan slipping past your lips.

"Good morning, sweet baby doll," the voice is rich, smooth – so damn pleased with itself, you turn slowly, and there he is. Valentin, bare-chested, relaxed, watches you with that signature smirk that sends heat pooling low in your belly.

"Can I get you something for breakfast?" He stretches lazily, completely unbothered by your flustered state. "You must be starving."

[mingi-s-dimples]

Dear Diary... - San

~"Hi love hope you’re doing well✨ Ive read your San kitten fic and I enjoyed it 😀tremendously 🔥. Now If it’s ok with you (I couldn’t find it in your blog that if you’re ok with this kink or nah) to write [cnc+ dirty talk and corruption kink]with San?? And if not cnc anything that comes from authority figures of him. Pls plssss ignore this if it’s makes you uncomfortable ❤️🍓" ~ queen I haven't written cnc corruption kink in my life. I hope I got the idea, even the slightest 😞.

pairing: san x fem!reader

genre: 18+

summary: san read your little journal.. and that ends with you screaming his name.

wc: 5.6k

warnings: dom!san, big dick!san, he eats her out, dirty talk, some cnc + corruption kink (he kinda softly makes her submit to it when he reads her diary + he doesn't care that she's a virgin and he actually encourages it even more so i guess it works? i'm so sorry i never wrote corruption kink before i promise i'll do better 😞💖), she's a virgin, neck holding and softly choking, marking all over, mamhandling, vaginal sex, he doesn't fuck he pounds, multiple orgasms, she screams out his name duh, some crumb of aftercare, cockwarming, unprotected (she's supposedly on bc but booo use protection!), unedited might edit later, for sure forgot something, completely consensual (after he makes her submit to him!)

Author's Note: woahhhh I haven't wrote in a while ngl. Felt good to be back.. sorry for not posting 😞. Life updates: Had 3 exams and I almost failed one but upsies it's maths 💀, had a bf for 3 days cause he acted weird and he said I'm his everything and that he loves me and that he can't be without me and I was like brotha ew we've been tgt for 3 days... and he got offended and unfollowed me everywhere 💀 boys these days... (i sound like a 70yo granma). Anyways I hope I'll post way more these days! There are only two exams to go, one this Friday and one this Saturday (for tutoring!) so I'll disappear again until Saturday night 🧍‍♀️ but I'll post on Sunday ! everyone cheer pls. Love youuuuuu allll

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The rich scent of steak still lingered in the air, mingling with the faint remnants of laughter and conversation from earlier in the evening. Your small apartment felt quieter now, with only the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of San’s beer bottle against the counter breaking the silence.

The others had left hours ago, leaving just you and him—like it so often did. You couldn’t even remember how it had started, the unspoken rule that San always stuck around longer than anyone else, as if this place belonged to him as much as it did to you.

“You’re really not going to let those dishes wait until tomorrow, are you?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen counter with a smirk. The casual authority in his tone was infuriatingly familiar, yet somehow impossible to ignore.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, rolling your eyes as you stacked the last plate. “And let me guess—you’re going to stand there, drinking your beer, and not help.”

“Exactly.” His grin widened, infuriating and so utterly *him.* “I’ve got my role down. Yours is to overachieve and keep pretending you don’t have OCD about cleaning up after people.”

“I do not—” you started, only to cut yourself off with a sigh. There was no winning with San.

Instead, you gave him a look, grabbed the last of the plates, and disappeared down the hall toward the bathroom. “Try not to break anything while I’m gone,” you called back over your shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” he drawled. “I’ll keep myself entertained.”

San watched you go, waiting until the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut echoed faintly down the hallway. Then his attention drifted lazily around the room.

Your apartment was familiar in a way that made it feel like a second home—organized chaos, with books, mismatched blankets, and stray notebooks scattered across every available surface. It was the kind of place that felt lived-in, every corner a reflection of your mind: half-stressed, half-dreaming.

It was a notebook on the coffee table that caught his eye.

It wasn’t hidden, exactly. Half-tucked under a glossy magazine, its leather cover gleamed faintly in the low light. The word *Private* was written neatly across the front in a handwriting he’d recognize anywhere—yours.

A slow grin spread across his face. “Private, huh?” he murmured, setting his beer down and reaching for the notebook.

He flipped it open, expecting to find the usual: to-do lists, random doodles, or the same kind of perfectly planned schedules you’d been making since grade school. But instead, his eyes landed on something else.

*Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to lose control completely. To have someone take charge and make me do things I’d never admit I want. Things I’d never say out loud...*

San froze, his grin fading as his eyes skimmed over the words. The meaning hit him slowly, like a low-burning flame that spread heat through his chest and settled somewhere.. lower.

*...to be pinned down, held in place, unable to fight back but not really wanting to. To have someone whisper filthy things in my ear and tell me how much they love seeing me fall apart under their control...*

He swallowed hard, his grip on the notebook tightening as he kept reading. The words painted vivid pictures in his mind—images he’d never dared associate with you before, no matter how many times his teasing had drifted close to the edge.

But this was different. This wasn’t teasing. This was your handwriting, your fantasies laid bare on the pages in front of him.

And the worst—or maybe the best—part? He couldn’t stop reading.

The sound of the bathroom door opening snapped him out of it. He quickly snapped the notebook shut, placing it back on the coffee table just as you stepped into the room.

When your eyes landed on him, standing far too close to the coffee table, your expression immediately shifted. Suspicion flickered across your face, followed by alarm as you spotted the notebook.

“No,” you breathed, your voice almost a whisper. “San... Tell me you didn’t.”

He arched a brow, leaning casually against the arm of the couch as if nothing had happened. “Didn’t what?”

Your stomach twisted. “You didn’t read that, did you?”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk. “You left it out in plain sight, sweetheart. Hard not to be curious.”

“San!” Your voice rose in a mix of panic and mortification as you rushed over, snatching the notebook off the table. You clutched it to your chest, your cheeks burning so hot you could feel the heat spreading to your neck.

He watched you with infuriating calm, his dark eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite name. “Relax,” he said, his tone deceptively soothing. “It’s not like I read the whole thing.”

Your heart sank. “What... what did you read?”

San pushed off the couch and stepped closer, closing the space between you with deliberate ease. He stopped just inches away, towering over you in that way that always made you feel small—and not entirely in a bad way.

“Enough to know you’ve got some... interesting thoughts rattling around in that head of yours,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Care to explain?”

You shook your head, mortified. “No. Absolutely not. You shouldn’t have—”

“Shouldn’t have what?” he interrupted, his tone sharpening just slightly. “Picked it up? Read it? Or are you just embarrassed that I know now?”

You glared at him, though your resolve was already wavering. “This isn’t funny, San.”

His smirk faded, replaced by something darker, more serious. “Who said I’m joking?”

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Maybe it’s time someone gave you what you’ve been asking for.”

The room felt too small, the air too thick. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word, even though you knew you should.

San’s smirk returned, slow and deliberate.

“Mhm-” he murmured, his voice heavy with unspoken intent.

His gaze lingered on you, sharp and assessing, as if he could see through every feeble defense you were trying to put up. The notebook still clutched against your chest felt like a useless shield, doing nothing to block the heat of his presence or the weight of his words.

“Not going to tell me to stop?” he asked, the challenge clear in his tone. “Guess that means you don’t want me to.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. “This is not funny, San,” you whispered, though even you could hear the lack of conviction in your voice.

“Funny? Not even a little.” He stepped closer, his eyes glinting with something darker. “But it is fascinating. You, scribbling all those dirty thoughts down like a good little secret-keeper, acting all innocent around me—who would’ve guessed?”

“Stop,” you said, the word trembling as it left your lips.

“Why?” His brow arched in amusement, though his voice remained low and intent. “Does it make you uncomfortable? Or is it hitting a little too close to home?”

Before you could answer—or even think of a response—he reached out, plucking the notebook from your hands with maddening ease.

“San!” you exclaimed, reaching for it, but he held it out of reach, his grin never faltering.

“Let’s see,” he said, flipping it open again as your heart dropped into your stomach. “Ah, here it is... *I want to be taken—rough, merciless, made to feel like I can’t get enough.*” He glanced at you, his smirk widening at the audible hitch in your breath. “Quite the vivid imagination you’ve got there, sweetheart.”

“Give it back!” you said, your voice cracking.

“Why?” He shifted the notebook to his other hand, holding it out of reach. “Are you scared because I know how badly you want this?”

Your knees felt weak as he stepped closer, invading your space with the kind of confidence that left you feeling unmoored.

“You’re such an ass,” you muttered, trying and failing to glare at him.

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, his grin sharpening. “But at least I’m honest. You? Not so much.”

San’s free hand brushed against your jaw, his touch light but firm, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re blushing,” he observed, his voice teasing but softer. “Is it embarrassment? Ouu, is it.. something else?”

“San,” you said, his name coming out more like a plea than a protest.

“What?” he asked, tilting his head as his thumb traced along your jawline. “Can’t take the heat?”

You shook your head, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

He chuckled, low and satisfied. “Thought so.”

Without warning, his hand slid to the back of your neck, his grip firm as he pulled you closer. His other hand dropped the notebook onto the couch, freeing him to let his fingers trail down your arm, light enough to make you shiver.

“You know what I think?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

You shook your head, your breath uneven.

“I think you’ve been waiting for someone to see past all that sweet, good-girl bullshit,” he continued, his thumb brushing along the line of your jaw, “and call you what you really are.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, the words lodging in your throat. “San...”

His grip on your neck tightened slightly, enough to make you gasp. “What’s wrong? Don’t like hearing it? Or do you like it too much?”

The way your thighs pressed together didn’t escape his notice, and his grin sharpened.

“You’re easy to read,” he said softly, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’ve been wanting this for a while, haven’t you?”

Your lips parted, a faint whimper escaping before you could stop it.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers slipping lower to trace the curve of your waist. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Your breath hitched as his lips hovered near yours, the air between you crackling with tension. He didn’t kiss you, but the sheer proximity left you trembling.

“You can tell me to stop,” he said again, his voice rough but steady. “One word, sweetheart, and I’ll walk away.”

You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.

San’s grin returned, slower and more deliberate. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

His free hand skimmed the bare skin above your waistband, teasing and slow, and you felt your knees buckle slightly.

“You’ve been waiting for someone to push you,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “to see how far you’ll let them go. Haven’t you?”

You couldn’t answer, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

San leaned back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours. “Say the word,” he said quietly. “And I’ll stop.”

Your silence said everything, and his lips curved into a smirk.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise.

His free hand skimmed the bare skin above your waistband, teasing and slow, and you felt your knees buckle slightly.

Before you could process his words, his hands were on you again—fast, firm, deliberate. His grip was steady as he lifted you effortlessly, as though you weighed nothing at all. A gasp escaped you, your hands instinctively clutching his shoulders, but the smirk never left his face.

“You wrote about this, didn’t you?” San teased, his voice dripping with amusement as he carried you across the room. “Right there in your little journal. I had no idea you had such... vivid thoughts.”

He dropped you on the bed. San stood at the edge of it, arms crossed, his dark eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and control. You were there, sprawled across the mattress, your chest heaving from the tension that hung heavy between you. The heat of your earlier argument still simmered in the air, but now the power had shifted entirely into his hands—and you both knew it.

“You’ve been quiet ever since,” San murmured, his voice low and mocking as he stepped closer, each movement slow and deliberate. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Not so bold now that I know what’s been running through that pretty little head of yours?”

Your gaze darted away, heat creeping up your neck, but San wasn’t having it. He climbed onto the bed in one smooth motion, his weight sinking the mattress as he caged you beneath him. One hand pressed into the sheets beside your head, while the other traced the curve of your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t even think about hiding from me now,” he said softly, the mockery in his tone laced with undeniable command. “Not after everything you wrote. Not after you left me to read between the lines of those fantasies you scribbled down so... shamelessly.”

Your breath hitched, and you pressed your thighs together instinctively, which only made his smirk widen.

“I have to admit,” he continued, leaning closer until his lips were brushing the shell of your ear, “I didn’t know you could be *this* filthy. Wanting to be manhandled? Thrown around? Tamed?” His breath was warm against your skin, his tone both teasing and heavy with promise. “Tell me, did you ever imagine I’d actually do it?”

“I-..” You shuddered beneath him, your fingers curling into the sheets as you struggled to form a response. But San was relentless, his hand trailing down to your throat, his grip firm but not restricting as he tilted your head up toward him.

“Don’t play dumb now,” he whispered, his gaze locking with yours. “You knew exactly what you were doing when you left that journal out. When you wrote about how badly you wanted someone to take control. To leave you breathless, shaking… *ruined.*”

You swallowed hard, the air between you thick with tension, and he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you.

“Admit it,” he murmured, his lips brushing your jawline, his hand still firm on your throat. “Admit that you’ve been waiting for me to push you like this. That you wanted me to see *every* word of it.”

“I—” your voice faltered, trembling under the weight of his intensity. “Mh..mhm” you were only able to mumble some word.

His fingers loosened just enough to stroke the column of your neck. “Good girl.”

He leaned back just slightly, enough to drink in the sight of you beneath him, flushed and trembling. His grin was wicked as he reached for your wrists, pinning them above your head with a grip that left no room for resistance.

“Now,” he murmured, lowering himself until his lips hovered mere inches from yours, “let’s see if you’re ready to live up to everything you wrote, sweetheart.”

Your head tilted back against the mattress, and the tension in the room thickened until it was nearly suffocating. The way San hovered above you, all sharp grins and teasing touches, had you trembling with anticipation. But as his words replayed in your mind, something inside you snapped.

“Fuck it,” you muttered, your voice shaky but certain. “You’ve already read it. You know exactly what I want.”

San’s brow arched, his smirk sharpening as he leaned in closer, his nose brushing yours. “Oh? And what’s that, sweetheart?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your ears. “You. All of you. No teasing, no holding back.” Your voice softened, almost a whisper now. “Please.”

San let out a low chuckle, his dark gaze flickering with amusement and something darker—something primal. “You’re begging now?” he mused, his tone rich with satisfaction. “Didn’t think I’d get to hear that so soon.”

“I’m serious,” you said, your breath hitching as his thumb brushed your jawline. “No going back now. Just—just fuck me, San.”

His grin widened, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as though savoring the sight of you so vulnerable beneath him. Then, with deliberate ease, he sat back and tugged his shirt over his head in one swift motion, the fabric landing somewhere behind him.

You couldn’t help it; your eyes roamed over his toned chest, the sharp lines of muscle catching the dim light. Your breath caught, and he didn’t miss the way your eyes roamed.

“Like what you see?” he teased, his voice dripping with confidence as he reached for the hem of your shirt. He didn’t wait for an answer, peeling the fabric off your body just as effortlessly. His gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, and you shivered under the intensity of it.

“Perfect,” he murmured, almost to himself, before his hands moved to your waistband. His fingers made quick work of the button and zipper, sliding your pants down your legs with maddening precision.

But then he stopped.

Stepping back, he straightened to his full height, his hands already moving to unbuckle his own belt. The metallic clink of it sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away as he worked.

He was slow—so agonizingly slow—pulling the leather free and tossing it aside before unbuttoning his pants. The sharp sound of his zipper being undone felt deafening in the charged silence, and the deliberate pace had your heart racing.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked, his voice smug as he slid the denim down his hips, revealing inch after inch of skin.

You didn’t answer, too captivated by the sight of him to form a coherent thought. Your gaze locked onto him, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, and you could feel the heat pooling low in your stomach as desire overtook every part of you.

“Thought so,” he murmured, stepping closer, his smirk never fading. “You just can’t get enough, can you?”

You shook your head, your lips parting slightly as you stared up at him with nothing but raw, unfiltered lust. “Not even close.”

His laugh was deep, rumbling, and utterly intoxicating. “Good,” he said simply, lowering himself back onto the bed, his body hovering over yours. “Because I’m just getting started.”

San crawled over you with the precision of a predator closing in on its prey, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze locked onto yours. His weight pressed into the mattress, pinning you in place as he leaned in, his lips hovering over yours, teasing but not yet giving.

One of his hands wrapped firmly around your neck, the pressure just enough to remind you who was in control. The way his thumb brushed against the side of your throat made your breath hitch, a soft gasp escaping you as your body instinctively arched toward him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Already falling apart, and I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

His other hand was down around his cock, his movements slow, lazy, and unhurried as he stroked himself. The subtle motion made your mouth go dry, your gaze flickering downward for a split second before snapping back up to meet his. The heat in his eyes was unbearable, and yet you couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop the way your body responded to the tension crackling between you.

San smirked at your reaction, his thumb pressing slightly harder against your neck as he brought his lips closer, brushing them lightly against yours. It wasn’t a kiss—not really—but the sensation was enough to send a jolt of electricity straight through you.

Then, just as you started to lean up, desperate for more, the hand from his cock moved. Slowly, almost torturously, he trailed it from himself to your thigh. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, before he hooked his hand under your leg and spread it out beneath him.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp as his palm pressed against the inside of your knee, holding you open with deliberate ease. “Just like I imagined.”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching as he leaned in closer, his lips finally crashing against yours. The kiss was searing, hungry, and consuming, his hand still firm on your throat as he claimed you completely. Your mind was spinning, your body surrendering to the heat of him, to the way he dominated every inch of your senses.

His grip on your neck tightened slightly, grounding you as his thumb brushed along the curve of your jaw. The other hand remained on your leg, his thumb stroking lazy circles on your skin as he shifted his weight, pressing himself closer.

“You’re mine now,” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough and commanding. “No running, no hiding. I’m going to make sure you don’t forget it.”

Your only response was a soft whimper, your hands reaching for him, desperate to pull him closer. And San, ever the tease, chuckled low in his throat, his lips moving to your jaw as he whispered, “Good girl.”

As San’s lips devoured yours, leaving you breathless and pliant beneath him, a quiet confession slipped out before you could stop it.

“I’ve never done this before,” you whispered, your voice trembling and almost lost in the heat of the moment.

San stilled for just a second, his head tilting slightly as he looked down at you, processing your words. The smirk that crept onto his lips was slow and deliberate, a mix of surprise and amusement lighting up his dark eyes.

“You’re a virgin?” he asked, his tone low, curious, and laced with disbelief. “After everything you wrote in that journal?”

Your cheeks burned, and you couldn’t meet his gaze, but you nodded, swallowing hard. “I... I just—”

He didn’t let you finish. His grip on your neck remained firm as his free hand slid up your thigh again, spreading you out even further beneath him. “So what?” he murmured, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear. “You think that changes anything?”

Your heart pounded as his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his voice taking on a deeper, more commanding edge. “You want this, don’t you?”

You nodded quickly, unable to form words, and his smirk deepened.

“Good,” he said softly, almost mockingly. “Then I’ll make sure your first time is something you’ll *never* forget.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. His lips crashed against yours again, hungry and consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs. His kisses grew rougher, more possessive, as though he was claiming you in every sense of the word.

When he finally pulled away, your chest was heaving, your lips swollen, and he wasted no time. His mouth trailed down the curve of your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses that turned into light nips. His tongue soothed each bite, sending shivers down your spine as he moved lower, down the column of your throat.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured against your skin, his voice dark and dripping with authority. “You understand that, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both nervousness and desire.

His kisses continued, his teeth grazing over the soft curve of your collarbone before he bit down gently, just enough to make you gasp. The sharpness of it sent a jolt through your body, and you arched into him, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“Such a good girl,” he muttered, the praise making your stomach flip as he moved lower. His lips and teeth marked a path down your body, every kiss, every bite leaving a faint bloom of heat behind. He was methodical, deliberate, as though he wanted to cover every inch of your skin.

When he reached your hips, his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them further apart as he settled himself between them. His lips ghosted over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his breath warm and teasing.

“Right here,” he murmured, his voice dark with promise as his fingers gripped your leg firmly, keeping you pinned in place. “This is where you’re going to feel me the most. Where I’m going to leave my mark.”

You gasped softly, and before you could respond, his teeth sank into the tender skin of your inner thigh, hard enough to sting but not enough to hurt. The sensation was intoxicating, his tongue soothing the bite immediately after, and the combination left you trembling beneath him.

San pulled back slightly, his lips curving into a satisfied smirk as he looked up at you. “You’re already shaking,” he teased, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady. “You’re going to fall apart for me, sweetheart. And you’re going to love every second of it.”

Your hands instinctively found their way to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as he hovered over your inner thighs, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin. The way he teased you—his lips brushing so close but never where you wanted them—had your body trembling with anticipation.

San chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he tilted his head up to look at you. His smirk was infuriatingly smug, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Impatient, huh?” he drawled, his voice low and teasing as he gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. “Can’t wait to have me, can you?”

You whimpered softly, your grip on his hair tightening just enough to pull a satisfied laugh from him.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone darkening as he settled himself between your legs. “I won’t make you wait any longer. Let’s see how loud I can make you.”

And with that, he dove in.

His lips pressed against your clit, hot and unrelenting, and a sharp gasp escaped your lips as your back arched off the mattress. The first touch of his tongue was slow and deliberate, a languid stroke that left you breathless.

San wasted no time after that, his mouth working against it with a precision that had your head spinning. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you pinned in place as he devoured you, his tongue flicking and swirling in ways that sent shivers racing down your spine.

“You taste so good,” he murmured against you, his voice muffled but still thick with satisfaction. “Even better than I imagined.”

You couldn’t respond—not with the way he was overwhelming your senses, reducing you to gasps and whimpers as he found every sensitive spot. Your hands tightened in his hair, and he groaned at the pressure, the vibrations only adding to the fire building inside you.

San pulled back just enough to press a kiss against your inner thigh, his lips swollen and glistening. “Don’t hold back,” he murmured, his voice rough and commanding. “I want to hear everything. Every moan, every gasp—let me hear how much you need me.”

And then he was back, his mouth and tongue relentless as he brought you closer and closer to the edge, his grip on your thighs tightening as your body started to tremble beneath him. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but surrender completely to the way he consumed you, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Your body trembled beneath him, the overwhelming waves of pleasure crashing through you as you cried out his name, your hands still tangled in his hair. San didn’t stop until your body went slack against the mattress, leaving you breathless, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

But he wasn’t done—not even close.

“Look at you,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to survey the sight of you sprawled beneath him, still shaking from the aftermath. His voice was low, rough, and dripping with satisfaction. “So pretty when you fall apart for me.”

Before you could respond, San moved with the kind of precision that left no room for resistance. His hands gripped your hips firmly, flipping you over onto your stomach in one fluid motion. A startled gasp escaped you, but it was quickly muffled as he pressed your face into the mattress, one hand splayed across the back of your neck, holding you in place.

“Don’t think we’re done yet,” he growled, his voice dark and commanding as he leaned over you. The heat of his bare chest against your back sent shivers down your spine, and you felt him press his hips into you, letting you feel just how ready he was.

Your heart raced as his free hand slid down your side, gripping your waist possessively. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I hope you’re ready, sweetheart, because I’m not holding back… at all.”

His teeth grazed your earlobe, and you whimpered softly, your body arching instinctively beneath him. His voice dropped lower, the words sending a thrill through you as he murmured, “You’re mine now. Every inch of you. And I’m going to make sure you *feel* it.”

The blunt heat of him pressed against your cunt, and before you could even brace yourself, he pushed into you in one smooth, unrelenting motion. The stretch burned, but the pleasure quickly overwhelmed it, and you cried out, muffled against the mattress as he filled you completely.

San groaned low in his throat, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled back slightly, only to slam back in with a force that made your entire body jolt. “Perfect,” he muttered, his voice rough and thick with lust as he set a relentless pace. “You feel even better than I imagined.”

The sound of skin against skin filled the room, each thrust drawing gasps and moans from you that only seemed to spur him on. He leaned over you, pressing his chest to your back as he buried himself deeper, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Take it,” he growled, his voice dripping with authority. “Every. Fucking. Inch.”

Your head spun, your senses overwhelmed by the rough, unyielding way he moved against you. His hand slid from your hip to your throat, pulling you up slightly so he could press his lips to your shoulder, his teeth sinking into your skin to leave yet another mark.

“You’re mine,” he muttered again, his voice ragged as his thrusts grew even harder, each one sending shockwaves through your body. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I-I'm yours..! ,” you gasped, your voice trembling as you clung to the sheets, completely lost in him.

“Good girl.. or should I say..” he murmured, his grip tightening as he drove you both closer and closer to the edge, his pace never faltering, never giving you a moment to catch your breath, “good slut?”.

His words made your cunt tighten around him, a grunt escaping his throat.

San’s pace didn’t let up for a moment, his grip firm on your waist as he powerfully ounded into you, every thrust driving you closer to another earth-shattering release. Your body trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, and he could feel the way you tightened around him, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“That’s it,” he growled against your ear, his voice rough and commanding as he reached one hand between your legs, his fingers finding the spot that made you jolt… your swollen clit. “Give me one more, sweetheart. Come for me again. Let me feel you.”

The combination of his relentless thrusts and the way his fingers worked you had you teetering on the edge in seconds. Your cries grew louder, the tension coiling in your stomach until it finally snapped, a powerful wave of pleasure crashing through you as you screamed his name.

“San!” you sobbed, your body shaking violently as your orgasm ripped through you, leaving you breathless and trembling beneath him.

He groaned low in his throat, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own. “That’s my girl,” he muttered, his grip tightening as he buried himself deep inside you, his hips stuttering as he reached his peak.

A guttural moan escaped his lips as he spilled into you, the warmth of his cum filling you completely. He didn’t pull out right away, instead leaning over you, his chest pressing against your back as he kissed your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your damp skin. “You took me so well, sweetheart. Screaming my name like that... you’re so fucking perfect.”

You whimpered softly, still trembling from the aftershocks, and he smirked, his voice dropping to a darker, dirtier tone. “Bet you loved having me ruin you like this. Didn’t you, baby? All that talk about wanting to be manhandled—looks like you got exactly what you wanted.”

Before you could respond, his hand slid to your neck, gripping you firmly as he pulled you upright, your back pressing against his chest. The move made you gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze, his cock still deep inside you.

“That’s what you get for leaving your little journal unattended,” he growled, his smirk sharp and satisfied as he stared into your eyes. “I bet you loved every fucking second of it. Didn’t you?”

Your lips trembled, but you managed a breathless, “Y-yes… y-es I did..”

San’s grin widened, and he leaned in to press a lingering kiss to your temple, his grip on your neck softening as his free hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice softer now but still carrying that edge of dominance.

He held you there for a moment, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his tone gentler now, though no less possessive. “Every inch of you.”

Your hands came up to rest over his, your body leaning into his embrace as you whispered, “Always yours.”

San let out a satisfied hum, holding you close as the heat of the moment began to fade, replaced by a warmth that felt just as overwhelming. “That’s my girl,” he said softly, his lips pressing against your hair as he held you, his arms never loosening.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

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[revelboo]

so what im getting from that sparked up post is that theres a possibility that starscream, reader, and soundwave are gonna be playing some weird, sexy hot potato with the baby. im only half joking on that buT DAMN YOU LEAD UP TO THAT SO SMOOTHLY???? LIKE I WAS READING THE POST AND JUST GOING LIKE "ok, yeah, that happened, and then That happened and then-" and just. goddamn. ALSO TF1 BEE AND THAT LAST BIT FROM THE LAST CHAPTER YOU DID FOR HIM DIDNT HAVE TO HIT THAT HARD, GOD??? GOD. im breaking the laws of reality to hold him, i know readers not there yet but i am and im having a mental standoff with him on whos knocking who up first

So far, Star is the only one fully bonded at this point. Sounders has a partial bond. I like the idea that spark bonds are pretty much nonexistent by this point in the timeline because it’s too risky to tie yourself so completely to someone during a war. Star and TFP Megs didn’t realize they could bond to a human. Sounders had seen it was possible and decided it was worth the risk, but most of the Cybertronians have no clue at this point. I’d think that spark bonds would have started becoming almost a taboo even before the war- the senate painting the bonds as blasphemous when really they just didn’t want the lower classes bonding. If one parter dies in an accident, you end up losing two workers and hurting production.

😂 Y’all making me think and actually world build my Transformers smut instead of just BSing it.

Also: sorry about the Bee! I needed to lay some groundwork for why he is the way he is and that he’s not actually okay at all for what’s eventually coming. Because he’s not getting abandoned ever again, no matter what he has to do to ensure it.

18+ Mass displaced mech 🌶️

The Coma Kid Pt 5

TFO B 127 x Reader

• “Are you warm enough? I could hold you, I’m warm.” Offering his hands to you, he tries not to wilt when you immediately lean away, that smile of yours so brittle. “Okay, yeah. No holding.” Hands folding into his lap where he’s sitting on his berth watching you stare up at him with no small amount of suspicion from your blanket nest, he fidgets. That pull, that urge to touch you chiming through him. Almost painful to ignore. You have to be able to feel it, too. Which means you’re uncomfortable. Rocking forward, he scoops up you and your nest despite your startled gasp and deposits you into his lap. “I just need this. Sorry.” Hooking a servo around your middle, the tension eases, but that insatiable need to touch you just grows hotter.

• Teeth gritted against that hollow need twisting through you ats his servo slides against your stomach and under your shirt. And that ache shifts infuriatingly, becoming lust on steroids. Completely unfair and unwanted. Because at this point you’re so frustrated, you’re not sure if you’d go through with your escape plan if he leaves you alone for a minute or if you’d give yourself a helping hand instead. What is wrong with you? Actually, what did he do to you? Because whatever this is, it’s absolutely some weird alien BS. “Okay, no,” you gasp as that servo slides up further and you squirm out of his grip, pitching backwards and he grabs for you. Back hitting the berth as he falls forward and you close your eyes expecting to get crushed. Not to have the air driven out of you and to somehow not die.

• Mass displaced, he freezes as your eyes open and just stare at him. Your lips parting when he doesn’t move from where he’s sprawled on top of you, snared by those eyes. “Sorry,” he whispers, but he can’t bring himself to move. Shifting slightly against you, settling his hips into the cradle of yours just to feel how you fit together. Like you’re made just for him. For the first time that he can remember, he’s lost his words. Speechless and shaken. Wonders what your mouth would feel like against his. If you’d let him kiss you. Finding your hand, he interlaces his servos with your fingers and pins it by your head. Wanting, but unsure if he’s allowed.

• Swallowing as his mouth opens and closes and he’s silent, that hungry need lifts through you. Whispering deviant things. Like that you could ease that ache with him and then escape. It couldn’t hurt anything. Those servos of his would feel better than your own fingers. Breath catching as he lowers his head like he’s going to kiss you, you turn your head away and his mouth brushes your cheek and jaw. Over to your neck as his hips rock against yours. “Stop that or-”

• “Or?” He whispers against your soft skin. You’re not struggling, not pushing or shoving at him. Mouth sealing against your throat and sucking until you arch into him, like you want him to mark that soft skin as his. “Just let me take care of you. Be such a good mate.” Sitting up when you shiver but don’t protest, he runs his servos against you, trying to figure out the layers of your coverings before just tugging the lower half down your legs. “It’s okay.” Afraid you’ll stop him at any moment, he stretches out between your thighs and nuzzles against you. “Let me have this. Just a taste, okay?”

• Breath catching when he vents against your bare skin, there’s a shiver of alarm. That you’re playing with fire knowing you’re about to get burned. Knowing you should stop him, kick him in the face if need be, but when that glossa slides against you, you make a ragged sound of need instead. Big hands sliding under your butt and squeezing as his glossa tunnels inside you, your hips lift, buck. His bright optics stare up your body as he laps at you and you let your head fall back unable to deal with the intimacy of him watching you while his mouth is on you. Biting down on the pad of your thumb when his mouth slides against you, sucking, nipping, and licking until your release rushes unexpectedly through you and you cry out feeling his glossa drive inside you again. And that hollow need grows instead of diminishing.

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