#the question is: who would say a line like that

[jobean12-blog]

Make It Last

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Mob/Mafia AU)

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: When the most powerful man in the city wants you, it's hard to say no. Obviously he's hard to resist but considering his significance in the city you can't help but wonder if you're just another piece of arm candy, so if he wants you, he'll just have to wait.

Author's Note: I've been thinking about Mob!Bucky a lot and what it would be like the first time with him. Lovely Sydney @buck-star had sent me a Mob!Bucky thot last week and he's just so yummy! Hope you enjoy, thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of build up and tension to lots of smutty fun. Bucky is dominant but also soft and gives you everything you want. Oral (f rec), p in v (wrap it up but no need here bc it's Mob!Bucky and he's good and already checked you out haha), light praise and overstim, Bucky can't get enough and you don't want him to.

“It might last longer if he just takes a picture!”

You laugh but you don’t look at your friend even after she makes the joke.

“Why is he even here? Didn’t you tell him you’d be out with the me?” she adds.

At her question you turn to Nat and raise a brow.

“He owns the place. What am I gonna do? Have security remove him for staring too much?”

Nat laughs into her drink but shakes her head. “I guess that won’t work…but it doesn’t bother you at all?”

You give Bucky one more lingering glance then turn your full attention to Nat.

“Under different circumstances it might but it’s sort of my fault that he’s so…worked up.”

“What does that mean?” Nat asks as she leans in closer with a smirk.

You take another sip of your drink. “Well, speaking of pictures…I sent him some while I was getting ready…”

Nat pauses then says, “and? Hasn’t he seen you naked already. You’ve been dating almost a month.”

“We haven’t had sex yet.”

She nearly spits out her drink. “You haven’t fucked that man yet?” She peeks over your shoulder at Bucky, who still has his full attention on you.

“I know,” you sigh. “I can’t believe I’ve lasted this long. But honestly, he’s the most powerful man in the city. He probably has had every woman alive. Why me? I didn’t want to just sleep with him and then…that’s it.”

Nat nods in understanding. “So, you’re making him work for it.”

“Work for it, wait for it…I like him. A lot. And I’m hoping that this shows him I want more than just a good fuck.”

“I bet he’s the best fuck…ever!”

Nat’s words send you into a fit of giggles that dissolve as you feel him approach, the heat at your back followed but a shiver from his whispered words against your ear.

“Enjoying yourself doll face?”

You turn your head, your face so close to his you nearly bump noses.

“I am Bucky, thank you.”

“Good,” he says. “And this is your last drink.”

Your eyes widen at his statement, and you open your mouth to argue but he places a long finger against your lips to silence you.

“I want you completely coherent when I fuck you tonight. I want you to remember everything I do to you.”

With a hard swallow you whisper, “ok,” and your eyes drop to his lips. He kisses you, sweet and soft and way too quickly.

“My car will be outside at eleven.”

He says goodbye to Nat before walking off and disappearing behind one of the doors at the back of the club.

“What was that about?” Nat asks. “You look like you might pass out.”

“I’m going to sleep with him tonight,” you answer, nearly breathless.

Your eyes roam over his body, his black button-up shirt tucked into black pants. The first two buttons of his shirt are left undone, hinting at the expanse of skin beneath and highlighting the long and muscular line of his neck. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his corded forearms and prominent veins shift as he removes the lustrous watch on his wrist.

You stand and wait, watching him as he slowly stalks closer.

“Do you know how hard it’s been? How hard I’ve been…waiting?”

Your eyes drop to his pants and the clear outline of him pressing along the lush fabric. You reach out, your fingertips just brushing against him and his breath comes out in a sharp exhale.

He wraps his fingers around your wrist and drags you into his chest, pressing you against every inch of him. His lips find yours in a hungry kiss, his hands slowly tracing your curves until they cradle your face.

“Are you finally going to let me have you?” he murmurs against your lips.

Your palms flatten along his chest, and you kiss him softly.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“My favorite word,” he breathes before kissing you again.

His hands move to your back, finding the zipper of your dress and toying with the small piece of metal. You whimper with impatience, and you feel his smile against your mouth before he spins you around, so your back is to him.

Goosebumps break out across your skin as he smooths his fingertips over the curve of your shoulder then drops his hand back to the zipper, slowly pulling it down until the fabric pools at your feet.

He hums in approval, kissing the back of your neck and then the space between your shoulder.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing the lace of your undergarments.

He turns you to face him again and then gently guides you toward the bed, pushing until you sit. He kneels, taking your foot in his hand and sliding off your heel. He repeats the action with your other foot and smooths his palm along your calf with a delicate caress.

“So soft,” he sighs then stands, gazing down at you. “So beautiful.”

He starts to unbutton the rest of his shirt, but you stand to stop him, taking the fabric between your fingers and teasingly undoing the buttons until you can push it off his shoulders.

Your fingertips lightly scrape down his chest, lingering over every scar you find before your lips press to the puckered skin.

His eyes close and he whispers your name.

When your fingers reach his pants, trembling slightly, you pull the zipper down. You reveal his boxers and the noticeable bulge beneath the tight material.

You lick your lips and brush your fingers through the soft hair just above the waistband then dip them inside, sliding your hand along every warm, silky inch of him.

He throbs in response, your thumb tracing the tip and smearing the wetness there. You kiss him all over, not taking him into your mouth yet but teasing with your lips.

“Doll,” he warns and unclenches a fist to stop you. “If you keep that up this will be finished before we even start.”

You let out a soft gasp as he helps you stand and pushes you back onto the bed. His hands skim your thighs, pulling your legs up and placing them on either side of his hips. He hovers over you, staring, the curling wisps of his dark hair falling across his forehead.

When he slides his hand between the mattress and your back, you lift yourself, giving him access to unhook your bra. He makes quick work of it but takes his time as he peels it from your body to reveal your breasts.

He stares again, his cheeks flushed and the muscles in his arms and chest straining. You reach for him, pulling him down for a kiss and pressing your bodies together. His lips trail down your neck, to your collarbone, soft nips at your skin before he continues his descent, lips leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

His tongue teases your nipple then sucks it into his mouth making your back arch in pleasure. He pays the same attention to your other breast, teasing, licking, nibbling, and soothing.

You feel his smile against your skin as he pulls away to kiss down your stomach, keeping one hand on your breast.

His name falls from your parted lips when he presses a kiss between your legs, the thin fabric of your panties doing little to dampen the heat of his breath.

He sits back, gazing down at you, fingers teasing the waistband of lace at your hips.

“Do you want my mouth doll?”

You nod, your hips squirming.

“I want to hear the word.”

“Yes!”

A satisfied look crosses his face as he hooks his thumbs into the soft material and pulls it off, purposefully dragging the tips of his fingers down your thighs and calves.

His kiss is a barely there whisper of his lips to your clit, yet it causes your entire body to quiver. He does it again and again until you’re begging for more.

Finally, his tongue flattens, and he tastes you in a long lick from top to bottom. You cry out, bucking and pushing your hips into his face. He closes his lips around your clit and sucks, applying the perfect amount of pressure to make you tremble.

His hands dig deeper into your thighs, the rings adorning his fingers leaving marks in your skin as your calves come to rest on his shoulders, opening you wider for him. His tongue circles your clit before sweeping lower and dipping inside you. Your fingers grasp his hair, another breathless moan leaving your lips.

After bringing you to the edge he pulls back and lets you catch your breath, but it’s short lived as his finger circles your clit before sliding lower to sink inside you.

“More Bucky,” you breathe.

He pulls his finger out and rubs along your entrance with two, teasing you, before only pushing one back inside.

You bring your hand down toward him, needing more, but he quickly intercepts it. He withdraws his fingers and gathers your wrists together with one hand, bringing both arms stretched out above your head.

“Keep them there,” he orders.

You start to nod but then quickly reply with a breathy, “yes.”

He bends down to kiss you, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before sinking his teeth into it. He moves back down your body, his tongue working you over, no longer teasing, but with purpose.

It takes everything in you not to let your hands fall to his hair and when he suddenly pushes two fingers inside you, giving you what you asked for, you moan out in pleasure.

His long fingers reach deep inside you, and combined with his attention to your clit, you can feel your release building.

A warm, tingling sensation spreads through your body and your breathing turns ragged as your muscles tense.

He doesn’t stop, working you through your release and prolonging it until you’re a trembling mess beneath him.

You open your eyes to find him watching you with a heated gaze.

“Fuck doll face. I could watch you come undone for me like that every day for the rest of my life.”

His thumb sweeps over your sensitive and swollen clit and your eyes roll back.

“Again,” he murmurs, dipping between your legs before you can respond.

His lips replace his thumb, his fingers resuming their previous pace as he slides his free hand under your lower back to effortlessly lift you and bring you closer.

Everything feels ten times more sensitive now and you fight with the clashing sensations of pulsating pleasure and the soreness of overstimulation.

You feel your release approaching quickly and your eyes squeeze shut but his commanding voice pulls you from your haze.

“No,” he growls. “Open them. Look at me.”

You obey, opening your eyes again, and the sight of him between your spread thighs sends you over the edge.

“Bucky,” you choke out.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers. “But not nearly enough.”

You struggle to sit up, your eyes falling to his cock resting against his abdominals. He smirks and grips himself, pumping his hand slowly up and down his length.

“Do you need a break doll?”

“No,” you tell him, letting your legs fall open.

He settles between them, his lips kissing your neck and the sensitive spot below your ear. He slides his hand down between your bodies and rubs himself against you teasingly.

“What is it?” he asks, pausing at the slight tensing in your body.

“Nothing Bucky.”

“Tell me doll face,” he demands. “I’ll stop if you want me to.”

“No!” you say quickly. “No. It’s not that. You’re just…bigger than what I’m used to.”

He smirks, rolling his hips slowly, not pressing in yet.

“You can take it doll.”

His hand moves to your face, grasping your jaw, keeping you looking up at him.

“Keep your eyes on me.”

“Yes Bucky.”

His other hand grips your waist, holding you steady, and your breath catches in your throat as he begins to press into you, then came out in a low moan as he unhurriedly sinks in, making you feel every throbbing inch of him.

Your eyes flutter closed, but then his fingers dig into your jaw, a silent reminder to keep your eyes open. Your body stretches to accommodate him, the initial burn giving way to sweet friction as you relax.

He continues to move maddeningly slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, the intimacy of the moment making your pulse pick up in a way that has nothing to do with his languid movements.

He lets out a soft exhale as he finally stills, settled fully inside you. Your inner walls flutter around him as you adjust to his size, and he pulls back slightly, only to push back in with more force, drawing another moan out of you.

“See doll. You take me so well,” he praises. “Do you want more?”

“Yes,” you say, your hands wrapped around his biceps, feeling the power in his muscles as he holds himself over you.

He draws back until only the tip remains inside you and then slips back in slowly. You lift your hips with impatience but his hand pushes on your stomach to pin you back down to the bed.

He leans in to kiss you, softly and with sweet, whispered words. The slow roll of his hips builds tightness in your stomach, and he takes your hand in his, pressing it next to your head, entwining your fingers.

You slide your free hand through his hair, dragging your fingers through the soft strands and then down his neck. He closes his eyes, savoring the sensation, his hold on your hand tightening.

“I could come just from this,” he says huskily, lips dropping down to your ear. “Just from the sight of you completely ruined under me.”

His words make you squeeze around him, and he lets out a low, deep rumbling moan into your neck. You jerk your hips up toward him, your legs trying to draw him closer and deeper.

He lets go, pumping his hips faster, fingers digging into your thigh possessively as your body jolts with the force of it.

With a precise and purposeful rhythm, he keeps a relentless pace until your body explodes with every sensation and all you can do is hold onto him and listen to the rough sound that comes deep from his throat.

He pants against your neck, then trails soft kisses along your jaw to your lips, his kiss slow and deep, making you breathless all over again. Your heart beats frantically between you, his own a rapid thump, thump, thump, against his sweaty chest.

With gentleness he pulls out and lays down next to you, throwing his arm over your waist and curling you toward him. You quickly get lost in his cocoon of warmth, sighing, and closing your eyes, but he presses two fingers under your chin, lifting your gaze to his.

“I want to clean you up,” he whispers. “And I want you to stay the night with me.”

Your quiet “yes,” makes him smile proudly and he carefully extracts himself, returning quickly with a warm cloth and delicate hands.

He slides up the bed and pulls you to him, closing the distance and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, then the corner of your mouth and finally your lips. His hand cradles your face, his thumb swiping over your lips, applying enough pressure to part them.

Then his hand glides along your throat and his fingers close around the back of your neck to angle your head in a way that allows him a deeper kiss.

When he pulls away his nose gently bumps yours and he opens his eyes, ghosting his lips to yours as he whispers, “so perfect for me doll.”

[silentstaresfanficandfanart]

you know this post seems a lil sad to me, cause when I was stuck in a corn maze I only managed to get out because there was an enthusiastic effort amongst everyone in the corn maze to help one another get through it, pointing the way and offering hints and asking questions When I was in the dmv so miserably early the doors hadn't even opened yet people were bringing over big buckets for others to sit on, and when inside there were so many random acts of kindness between the individuals there and silly little interactions that by the time I finally got my driving test done there was an air of kinship in the air and I only got out so quickly because another person realized she'd gotten something wrong paperwork wise and gave me her place in line

And when I hurt my wrist as a kid everyone kindly held open doors for me at every turn When my mom and I got stranded in the middle of no where thanks to a car issue like 5 different people stopped by our car and asked if we were okay, offered to help, (we were waiting for the repair guys or something like that) and warned us "its a bad area so be careful" and yet not once did anything bad happen at all, every person we saw was kind and worried for our wellbeing...(which while that does make me wonder what on earth they were trying to warn us about it did give me the impression at the time that perhaps they just all had some sort of beef with other, but i was a little kid so I wouldnt really know, it seemed to me like it was in fact a much nicer than average area)

When tragedy strikes don't people rush out to help?

When there's a hurricaine, a fire, a tornado, an earthquake, don't neighbors rush to help and protect one another? don't we try to save each other? don't we express heartache and rage when the first response ISINT to help? Why is it that our first response is rage? grief? heartbreak? when the first response to a bad situation is to take advantage of it or to abandon those suffering, or worse yet, to yank them back down?

Because we are social animals Crabs dont likely understand why they cant get out or even that theyre forcing the other crabs to stay in the bucket when they yank and pull, they just think its a way to pull themselves up, they dont have enough going on to grasp how physics works or to be cruel and want others to suffer with them.

Selfishness does exist, but it's not the rule

it's the exception, and we shout and point when it happens.

Of course we notice, because kindness is the rule

do we know the names of every single individual to ever save another human life? let alone to save thousands? Have we memorized the names of heroes who eradicated disease or created safety guidelines or fought for rights and for goodness in this world? Is it not the names of those we revile that we focus on most

telling our children of their crimes?

Why don't we focus more on every hero? Because theres just too many of them, because being a good decent human being is the norm.

Maybe not perfect, maybe even a pretty messed up human being but with a good heart, goodness knows I know a lot of people who while you might not say "thats a great person" you'd also never call them cruel or evil, just that they could use some help or deserve better lives.

I truly believe humans for the most part are good, and I say this without denying the evil exists. I am vividly, horrifically aware of the darkness in this world, but I refuse to let that define our race because to do so would be to excuse those who chose to do the wrong thing.

I believe humans are above all else, defined by the fact we can chose right or wrong. I dont want those who do evil to be the ones who represent us, in my mind or in anyone elses mind

They are the exception to a kinder rule.

this is just a me ramble though , my opinion thats not more valuable than anyone elses, just one I felt like sharing, because maybe it will bring someone some relief...

I used to feel guilty as a child for being human, for being something as horrible as that, and I know maybe some others did or do too

But remember please like mewtwo once said, its not the circumstances of your birth which defines you, but what you do with the gift of life.

we are not evil we are capable of it.

we are not good

we are capable of it.

and we will do both in our lives.

but I have been pleasantly surprised now that I'm older and know more about the world to see that in fact the world isint just like in history books overflowing with grief and pain, and convinced that since everyone said children were naive and unaware, that it must be worse than I could ever imagine

but in fact the world is full of the mundane, and every day normal people go about their lives and chose to be decent to one another and often do much more kindness than we will ever know.

I'm glad we arent crabs in a bucket

i love you all

people are like "if you put crabs in a bucket they can't escape because they keep pulling each other back in, this is called crab bucket mentality and describes why people don't help each other" and never acknowledge that crabs do not naturally occur in buckets, a human with more power had to put them there

[so-i-did-this-thing]

You're the only person I know on Tumblr who I feel like I can send this ask so I hope this is ok.

I'm absolutely sick to my stomach terrified. People keep talking about not acquiescing early and to keep fighting and that's good but... I'm a trans person married to a trans person and we have a kid. We are so, so scared that we are going to lose our parental rights and have him taken away, even if he's biologically my partners. We are pretty fucking sure that the only way we could even possibly stay in the US and even possibly keep our family together is to detransition. But then we would still be queer, and I remember the 90s and how it was pretty recent that gay couples were considered unfit parents.

And this isn't us blowing things out of proportion, we have an education in politics so we've got a pretty good freaking idea about how bad things can and will get, but also we don't feel like we can afford to NOT take things extremely seriously. The worst case scenario is pretty horrific for us, so we've talked at lengthe about leaving the country. Which is it's own basket of heartbreaks because then there's a real chance we will never be able to come back. And I don't really feel like I can talk about it because a) the Internet doesn't feel safe to be trans on and b) there's been SO much chatter about how we need to stay and fight and people who can leave are privileged etc etc

I just... I'm scared and heartbroken and angry and I feel extremely hopeless. I guess I don't really have a question after all. I just needed to talk about it because it feels like not enough people are seeing this kind of true tragedy that could come from all this.

I wish there was actual help we could get. But there doesn't seem like there's anyone who can.

You're right, Anon - you're not blowing things out of proportion.

I want to say that I'm relieved in a sense that you are talking about where your lines in the sand are are and what you plan to do if they are crossed. There is hope and comfort to be found in a plan, even if it is a plan for the next generation's survival, instead of our own.

Every trans person needs to start thinking about real answers to the following questions:

What will I do if I'm fired tomorrow?

What will I do if I'm denied a loan? Housing?

What will I do if I lose my HRT?

What will I do if information about trans people is considered illegal to circulate?

What will I do if I I'm declared an unfit parent?

What will I do if my marriage is annulled?

What will I do if I'm declared unfit to own my own property or make my own legal decisions?

What will I do if I'm about to be arrested?

There are answers to all of these questions that aren't just "give up and die." But there's no one-size-fits all solution. People will have varying priorities based on how they see their role in fighting fascism and what resources they have access to.

Community is going to become incredibly important. Trans people have always existed. Sympathetic cis people have always existed. Trans people have always found ways to survive and even flourish, even though it often meant not being able to pursue their original dreams.

If you don't know where to begin with strengthening our community, the Trans Literature Preservation Project is a good place to get ideas. The virtual book burnings have already begun on .gov websites, so maybe doing a little preservation work will give you more hope that you're working to make a difference.

Because the work is important, even if the progress won't happen until after our time.

[shy-writer-999]

1-800-LONELYCHEF . ₊ ⊹ .

Summary: The same man calls you every Friday at 11:30PM. It seems like he has nothing better to do. After months of the same routine, you've started to take a liking to him, which is a problem, considering that he's your client... and you work at a phone sex hot line. WC: ~7k. CW: NSFW content! ANGSTY! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Masturbation, oral sex. MDNI plz!

“Hello?”

You’re very familiar with the caller on the other end of the line. He calls you once a week—every Friday, after his shift at the bougie restaurant he works at, 11:30PM on the dot.

He must be very attractive, or at least that’s what you’ve garnered over talking to him for many months.

At first, he was evidently too shy to make use of your more… explicit services. This is a phone sex hotline, after all.

He honestly sounded like he just needed someone to vent to. So, you listened, as was your job. After the first few months, you both got more accustomed to one another. His shyness melted away. He got friendlier.

It’s been six or seven months since he first called. You’ve become very fond of him, but you have no idea what he looks like. So, one day, you decide to ask.

“Your voice is so sexy,” you start, giving him a line that you gave everyone, except this time you mean it. “I can’t help but wonder what you look like, Sanji.”

With other callers, you’d have to check what their name is before you say it. But you’re far past that point with him, and every time you say his name it makes his heart flutter.

“Well,” he says. “I’m blonde. And my eyebrows have a little… curl to them. I’m a decent height and I have a bit of a goatee.”

“And what color are your eyes?” You ask, trying to get the full picture.

He notes that question. It’s a thoughtful one. You’re thoughtful, in general. He knows that you are just being nice to him because, well, it’s your job, but also… he can’t shake the feeling that you have a soft spot for him. Do you talk to everyone like this?

“My eyes? Hmm. It depends on who you ask. I don’t know, really. Some people say they’re black, other people say grey, I’ve had a few tell me they’re blue. I’m not sure.”

You hum in response. There’s a beat of silence.

“What sort of eyes do you like?” He asks. He’s cheeky like that. You have the feeling that he has a real soft spot for you, too. Why else would he call you every week? There are plenty of others he could call. But he just sticks with you every time.

You respond. “It depends on who you ask. But historically I have liked guys with black, grey, or blue eyes. Do you happen to know anyone who fits the bill?”

He can tell that you’re smiling. He finds himself blushing, getting giddy for a few moments before he realizes that oh, right, you are at work, and oh, right, he is paying you to talk to him, like the loser he is.

His voice falters a bit the next time he speaks, a couple of seconds later. You know the exact thought that just went through his head. It’s something you are well aware of but… it does make you a bit sad with him. You like him far too much for your own good.

You wonder if you would like the look of him in real life, painfully single as you are. You wonder if he would like the look of you.

You might have a teeny tiny crush on this guy you’ve never met. Teeny tiny is a massive understatement. Just because he’s so consistent—you’ve never met a man as consistent as him—and so kind, and such a gentleman, even on the phone.

But tonight, the call ends earlier than usual. It seems that your open flirtation was a bit too genuine for him. Hit a bit too close to home. He finishes the conversation and dodges your attempt to take it farther.

“Thank you as always, beautiful. It’s a pleasure to talk to you. See you next week.” The phone hangs up abruptly. He’s gone now.

He always calls you beautiful, like everyone else does, but… it just means something coming from him. Maybe because he’s the only caller who has ever wanted to truly know something about you. And every time he hangs up, he says ‘see you next week,’ even though you never see each other. It’s cute.

You find yourself wishing he was still on the line. You’re a bit bummed that he hung up this early, not because you’re going to be left wanting for money (he always overpays), but because you always look forward to talking to him.

When you take the next caller, you’re quickly reminded that Sanji is by far the youngest and kindest of anyone who has ever called you.

---

“Hello?”

He’s on the line again. It’s Friday again, 11:30PM sharp.

You respond, tone warmer than it needs to be, given that you’re speaking to a client. “Hi.”

You’re glad to talk to him. Very realistically, this is the only interesting thing you have to look forward to—it’s not like you can afford to go out and party on the weekends. Or any day, for that matter. He’s your Friday night date every week. That doesn’t escape him.

“How was your week?” He asks, like he always does. He’s the only client who has ever asked you that.

You respond as frankly as you can without overstepping. “Hmmm. It was alright. Pretty boring, in general. It could have been better. How was your week?”

He pauses for a moment. “It was pretty good.”

“Tell me about it.” You prompt, and he begins detailing his week for you, as is your routine.

The things you know about this man’s life are random and vast, among them, you know that he lives in the city next to yours, he eats oats every morning for breakfast, and that he chain smokes as often as he can get away with (which is almost 24/7). You’ve been privy to him trying to cut back on his nicotine intake more than a few times, and he has never forgotten that you cheer him on every time he tries.

Among other things, this week he had to go to work on his usual day off (Wednesday) because the sous-chef called out (again). You can hear him roll his eyes when he says that. You roll them too, even though he can’t see.

He vents about that, and you hear him out.

“The sous-chef sounds like a real asshole,” you say. “Always has. Didn’t he call out a couple weeks ago?”

He laughs out loud at your honesty. “I fucking know, right? And yes, he did. It’s ridiculous.” Then his heart skips a beat. You really do pay attention to what he says.

“They don’t appreciate you as much as they should, Sanji. I bet I could talk some sense into them.” You say, and you both chuckle for a moment.

“What else happened this week?” You follow up, genuinely wanting to know. This man fascinates you. With how charming and sweet he is, it’s a wonder to you that he’s single. Also, the life he lives is quaint. He is a man of routine, a hard worker, and he’s driven. He has a strong and warm personality.

When he replies to your question, you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice—is that reluctance? Hesitation? Shyness? Or awkwardness? It’s hard to tell.

He responds to your question. “Well… I went on a date last night.”

Before you can wonder why, your heart starts to sink. Fuck. You really do have a crush on this guy, don’t you?

You regrettably (internally) acknowledge your disappointment. You do have a massive crush on this guy. And he’s your client. So, get a grip.

Your acting skills have to be excellent for this job. You make good use of them now. “Oh, a date?” You emanate the pinnacle of excitement for him. “How was it?”

This has happened maybe half a dozen times before. The dates always go well but the follow through rate is bad. Obviously. Or else he wouldn’t be here. But every time it has happened, your heart always sinks. Not a fun feeling.

“It went really, really well.” Sanji’s voice is happy. “Might have been the best date I’ve ever been on.” You know he’s smiling right now. Positively beaming. Your heart breaks a bit before you reprimand yourself. You have no right to like this man the way that you do.

He probably wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole if he met you in real life (you tell yourself this, and you know it is a lie, but you try to say it to make yourself get a grip… needless to say, this strategy doesn’t work.)

“How was she?” You ask because you know he wants to talk about it.

“She was thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Very sweet. Kind of like you, actually.” He says, not realizing how much those words make your smile fall. “One of the cooks set us up. Like a blind date. I had no idea what to expect but she was gorgeous. Wow. So funny, too.”

His voice trails off. It’s your turn to talk.

“Awh, Sanji, I’m so glad. You deserve some attention.” Your voice is sugar coated like usual and his heart patters.

The conversation wanders into various topics. The woman he went on a date with is a veterinarian. That sours your mood. She must be real swell. Caring for sick animals and all that stuff. Ugh. The whole topic is forcing you to accept the fact that you like this guy wayyyy more than you should. You have no business having this intense of a crush on him, having this intense of a crush on a man who is, ostensibly, and for all intents and purposes, using you as his rent-a-girlfriend.

The pair of you then talk about relationships—has he ever been in one? (Yes, ages ago.) What is his love language? (Physical touch and acts of service.) What’s his type? (Essentially, you.) You ask him questions and he asks you them back. It’s a nice conversation, an intimate one, one that would have you feeling better if not for the fact that he just happened to have an amazing date.

After a while, the conversation dwindles. You know that he’s in the mood to do what this whole thing is really about—phone sex. When Sanji is in a really good mood or a really bad mood, he takes advantage of your expertise in this area. Tonight is the former.

“Is there anything else on your mind, handsome?” You ask, gauging what he’s up to tonight.

“Mmmm, there is. What are you wearing, gorgeous?”

You smile. He’s cute. Usually, you lie when men ask you this question. But with Sanji you tend to be a bit more truthful. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel like he’s going to get taken off the market soon and never call you again one day, or maybe it’s something else, but you’re getting the urge to be more candid and flirtier with him than you’ve ever been before. Real flirty, not work flirty. You’re getting the urge to step out of whatever character you put on when you pick up the phone.

“Do you want the regular client answer, or the Sanji answer?” You say, bold and not giving a fuck. Why not? He can have the real answer, hell, he can have some realness because you’ve talked for so long, and because you like him so much. Like you said, he deserves some attention.

“Oh. How about both?” He’s tickled and intrigued. “I’m flattered that I have my own option.”

“You always do. Well, the regular client answer would be that I’m wearing a babydoll slip dress made of black mesh… with a black lace thong and thigh-high black stockings. Do you like that?” Your voice starts to transform; it starts to drip pure lust, candied in honey and flattery. It’s a well-trained skill. Sanji gets hard almost immediately, tenting his pants and widening his thighs.

“I like it very much.” His voice is getting huskier, thicker. You love it when he sounds like that. His voice really is sexy. He continues. “Now, tell me the Sanji answer.”

“It isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

He nods, but it’s not like you can see him. “Of course.”

“I’m wearing a black tank top and blue plaid sweatpants. No bra, but I actually am wearing a black lace thong.” You laugh. “Very sexy, right?”

His voice comes out raspier this time. “It is, though. I much prefer the Sanji answer.”

“You’re sweet.” You say, and he can tell you mean it. “Now, what are you wearing?”

Sanji blushes and his erection strains against the fabric of his boxers. “Do you want the regular client answer, or the You answer?”

You laugh again. “How about both?”

“Well,” he continues. “The regular client answer is that I’m in black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone and my sleeves are rolled up to my forearms. I’m wearing black loafers and black socks. Now, the You answer isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t have a shirt on and I am coincidentally wearing blue plaid sweatpants as well. Can you believe that?”

“No way. Really?”

“Yep.”

“Anything underneath?” Your voice is coy and his erection pulses.

“Yep. I have boxers on. Boring black ones.”

“And what’s going on underneath of those?”

He dryly chuckles and reaches down to rub his hard on for a second. “A lot.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” You practically purr and he runs his palm over his bulge in response.

He lets out a soft groan that make you feel some sort of way. “Oh yeah? Y’know, even though I don’t really know what you look like, I just know that you’re looking sexy in your pajama outfit right now.”

Your witty reply is stopped short. He’s the only one who is this real with you. Most of the men on the other line tend to be creepy, old, and just downright weird. This is a dying profession, after all. Sometimes the other clients are rude and dismissive, too. But Sanji… you know he really means what he says.

“You’re adorable, Sanji,” you say. “I’d venture a guess that you look pretty good right now, too.”

“Mmmm.” He hums, heartbeat rising as he continues to palm himself. “I wish I could see you right now.”

You can’t tell if this is part of the fantasy. You really did wish you could see him, though.

“What would you do to me…” your voice is smooth as silk. “If I peeled off my tanktop and shimmied out of my sweatpants?”

Sanji’s breath hitches. Something feels realer than usual about this—knowing what you’re wearing right now, what you’re really wearing, is turning him on beyond belief (assuming that you’re telling the truth, but he always chooses to believe that you are).

“If I was there, I’d kiss you, actually.”

His answer catches you off guard. You’re not sure he’s said something like this before.

There is silence for a second. You don’t know how to respond, really. You decide to just respond honestly, without appearances. Fuck it. He’d probably be off the market soon if his amazing date was anything to tell for it, so might as well.

“Wow, that’s really sweet. I’m not sure anyone has said something that nice to me in years.”

He tuts. “That’s my lowest bar of sweetness. I can go much sweeter than that, my love.”

He’s never called you that before, either. You’re starting to forget that this is a work call. It feels distinctly different than one.

“I’d like to see how sweet you can get, Sanji.”

His cock twitches again. Fuck. You really have a way with words. You get him more riled up than anyone he’s ever met before.

You continue. “After you kiss me, what would you do to me?”

“I would kiss every inch of you.”

Your heart melts. Fuck. Is this guy a saint? Where does he get off being so suave?

“Mmmm. That sounds nice. I’d like to return the favor.” Your tone, to Sanji, is effortlessly erotic. The thought of you kissing every inch of him—yes, even those inches—has him grinding the palm of his hand over his cock.

“Sounds even better. Then, if you let me, I’d go down on you.” The blonde is starting to get worked up. You can tell from his voice—when it gets all husky like this, you know he’s about to start touching himself, if he isn’t already.

Also, the fact that he said ‘if you let me’ really struck you. No one had ever said that before in your line of work. He has the tendency to say things you’ve never heard before, and he always surprises you.

“Of course I’d let you go down on me,” your voice gets softer. “What exactly would you do?” You wonder if he’d be any good. Maybe his answer will be elucidative.

“I’d start by kissing up your thighs, one at a time. Then I’d very slowly, very gently kiss your clit. Hopefully it would feel good. After a while, I think I’d be able to tell if you liked it. I’d run my tongue downwards and taste you. And tease you as much as you’re willing to put up with.”

“Mmmm. I think I could put up with a lot.” You let out a breathy sigh. You’re starting to warm up between the legs. With that voice, and those words, and that mental image… it sounds divine. You’re about to let yourself get carried away. It’s tempting.

“Is that so?” Sanji decides to keep going with the fantasy as long as you’d let him. Frequently, this happens the other way around. You usually describe to him, in great detail, what you would do to him. Apparently tonight it would be the other way around.

“In that case,” Sanji continues, “I’d take my time with you. I’d push my tongue inside of you delicately at first, then harder, and switch between that licking your clit.”

You can feel that you’re getting wet. It has only ever been with Sanji that you’ve actually gotten aroused while talking to a client. Usually, you’re as dry as the Sahara when talking to clients. But this man does things to you. Sinful things.

“What else?” You ask, biting your lip and sneaking your hand lower. You decide that, just this once, it’s okay to get carried away.

He can hear it in your voice. The synthetic, sugary (but still very much erotic) tone is dissipating and he’s hearing, for the first time, your voice bathed in genuine arousal. Your breaths are quicker than usual, your tone is less composed, and he can tell that you’re hanging onto his every word.

At the same time that his hand goes under the waistband of his boxers, yours goes under your underwear. He starts to stroke himself, relishing the first ripples of pleasure from his hand, and you do something similar. Each movement of your fingers is accompanied by his voice, by some filthy image he puts in your head.

“When you’re moaning loud enough, I’d press my middle finger into you slowly, to make sure you’re comfortable. After a moment, I’d move my finger and caress you inside a bit, and if it seemed like you liked it, I would press my ring finger into you.”

You start to mimic what Sanji is describing. It feels dangerously good. A barely audible sort of gasping sound falls out of your lips and Sanji hears it. His fist goes faster. He hasn’t ever heard you make that sort of noise before—he’s heard fake moans, sure, they were still hot (and he always told himself they were real). Anything you did was hot. But this sort of noise was the sort that could only be caused by one thing—pleasure.

Sanji’s fist goes a bit faster when he concludes that you may be touching yourself. The idea makes him feel like he’s on fire.

“I’d curl my fingers inside of you and find your g-spot… draw circles around it and press it while I place some kisses on your clit. Would you like that?”

His question catches you off guard—you’re getting lost in the act of fingering yourself.

“Mmmm. I would like that, Sanji.”

“How would I know that you liked it?”

“I’d, fuck,” another soft moan slips out of your lips and Sanji squeezes his cock tighter. “I’d run my fingers through your hair and pull you closer. Buck my hips into your tongue so you, ah, get deeper.”

“What would you say?” His voice is low now, and you can hear a faint sound in the background. He’s fisting his cock to your conversation, which is nothing new, but it brings you more of a rush than usual right now because you’re touching yourself too. “What would you say if you liked how I ate you out?”

“Don’t stop,” you shudder, and it sounds like it would if he was actually eating you out. The noise makes his heart flip. He can hear wet sounds from your end of the phone, too. He can hardly believe his ears, but sure enough, he can make out the noises of you bringing your fingers in and out of yourself.

“I wouldn’t,” Sanji says and then groans. The obscene noise goes straight to your aching core. You’re going to orgasm soon. “I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my face and I licked you clean.”

“Fuck,” you mewl. “That sounds, ah, sounds like it would feel good, Sanji.”

“Does it feel good?” He counters, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. His fist brings down the precum that has been beading at his tip, and the sensation makes his hips rock up inadvertently.

“Mmmmphhh, I—yes, it feels good, Sanji. Feels so good.”

You curl your fingers inside, searching for the spot that Sanji mentioned before. You press on it as you speak. You know he’s going to love the noise you make.

He grunts and throws his head back. He’s going to cum soon. He’s going to cum if you say his name some more. He wants it. “Say that again.”

“Fucckkk, Sanji. Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say my name. I’m—hah—‘m gonna cum if you do it again.”

“Sanji. Sanji. Sanji, fuck, Saannnjjjiii.” On repeat, you moan his name through your orgasm, which you finally allow to wash over you. He can hear it in your voice, can hear you trying to force his name out of your mouth between keens.

Your voice has never sounded so good. He’s sure now, sure sure, that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time and that you just came. It’s a first for him. He’s suspected your arousal at other times, but this time, it’s a confirmed fact. In an instant, the fantasy fades and he can see the moment for what it is—you’ve thrown away the pretenses, acting skills, and flattery, and, for a handful of minutes, you’ve been 100% yourself with him, more so than ever before.

That’s what makes him cum. Your unreserved sincerity and desire. It’s the hardest he’s cum in a long time—and that’s a high bar, considering the fact that any time he broaches these activities with you he cums hard.

When you’re both panting in the euphoric aftershocks of your orgasms, Sanji whistles. “Damn.”

You hum in agreement. “Wow.”

He cracks a joke. “So, am I supposed to send you an invoice after this one?”

He’s hilarious in general, and this one makes you laugh. “I might allow it.” Your tone is uncharacteristically bashful. You’re about to say something you’ll later regret. “I think you’re the only person who has ever gotten me off over the phone.”

Sanji is taken aback for a second. “Really? I’m honored. And surprised.”

You almost instantly regret oversharing, chuckling awkwardly before you realize that this is a work call, and you should act accordingly. But it’s hard to pull yourself out of the intimacy of this moment and you don’t want to. So… against your better judgment, you don’t.

“I’m impressed, Sanji. Maybe we should do this more often,” you say, and Sanji’s heart thumps again. “You don’t have to only call me once a week, you know.”

“As long as you won’t get sick of me, I would love to. And we can do this again any time, gorgeous. It’s seriously my pleasure. You don’t know what you do to me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

While he’s saying the last part, Sanji realizes that this isn’t a favor, really. He tries to brush off that sad feeling for a moment but finds himself wondering what you really think of him.

It’s time for him to go to sleep, he concludes. He’s exhausted after a long shift and a hard orgasm.

“So, same time next week?” His voice is chipper.

“Mhm. I look forward to it, Sanji. See you later.” When the words leave your mouth, you wonder if he feels butterflies, too.

“See you later, sweetheart.”

Sanji hangs up the phone.

In your respective bedrooms, you’re both wondering what the fuck just happened. This call was full of lots of firsts and, little do you two know, the other feels elated.

But Sanji thinks about it more. He weighs his feelings for you against the practical understanding that he is, presumably, nothing more than a client to you. His heart aches at the thought.

And then he looks at his phone. The person who he went on a date with texted him while he was on the phone with you—she’s asking for another date. She says she looks forward to seeing him.

---

A week passes.

It’s Friday again.

11:30PM comes and goes. No call from Sanji.

In a span of over six months, this is the first time he hasn’t called you.

As you sit and wait for him, passing off other phone calls in case he decides he wants to speak to you tonight, your heart starts to sink.

Was last time a mistake?

Ten minutes go by.

Twenty minutes go by.

Many minutes go by. The time is now 12:30AM.

You’re left to conclude that last time was, indeed, a mistake.

You decide to take the night off. Your tears are making it hard to get any work done. You can’t put on that sultry voice and moan at old men in your current state.

There’s no denying it—his absence hurts you. Bad. Especially after last week. Especially after you admitted to him that you had never orgasmed over the phone before, and that you wanted to talk to him more often.

Why hadn’t he called you?

You wrack your brain for possibilities, but one major thing stands out. That date he went on. Maybe he went on another one and decided he liked them better.

Liked them better? You ask yourself after realizing what you just thought. He’s paying you to talk to him on the phone. Get over it. He isn’t going to keep calling you forever. What did you expect after last week? That he would just confess his love, offer to pay all of your bills, and that would be it?

You frown harder, hurting yourself deeper with your own rhetoric. The tears won’t stop.

It’s excruciating to realize that you like Sanji this much. You really like him. You know almost everything there is to know about him, too. And as much as you generally try to avoid giving out personal information, he knows a large chunk about you. Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.

No, you tell yourself. Don’t kid yourself. You know it hurts this bad because you were hoping he liked you for real. You were hoping that this man, who you had never truly met before, who you had never seen, would, against all odds, decide that he wants you, even if he hadn’t seen you.

Fat chance, you tell yourself. Never do that with a client again, and this will never be a problem again.

---

Sanji does not call you back the next week.

Or the next week.

Or the week after that.

Or the month after that.

You are over it by the time the second month rolls around.

It’s pretty good timing, on your behalf. You think you’re really over this huge crush on a man you’ve never seen before. By the fifth month, you’re still telling yourself that you’re over this “crush”.

But that’s a delusion—any time you’re in public and there’s a blonde man, you find yourself scanning his face. Does he have a goatee? Could those eyebrows be considered curly? What color are those eyes?

When you see one that you think might be him, you always work up the courage to speak to them. But it never is Sanji. You would recognize that voice anywhere.

You wonder what you will say to him if he ever calls you again. Or if you see him in person. You decide that if he ever calls you again, you’ll either curse him out or break into tears.

In your most down-bad-hour, you contemplate showing up at the restaurant he is the chef at. You contemplate asking if you can see the kitchen. You just want a glance at him. A glance will keep your heart quiet.

But the joke’s on you—his restaurant is too expensive for you. Truly. You couldn’t afford a drink there if you tried. Okay, maybe just one. But you refuse to stoop to that level of desperation.

You’re a call away from him. He just has to dial your number.

You, on the other hand, have no way of calling or texting him. The service you work through scrambles client numbers before they’re patched through to you. The only way you know it’s Sanji is when he calls, at 11:30PM on the dot, on Friday nights. That’s Sanji time.

But it seems like Sanji time has come and gone.

You can’t shake the feeling that he did you dirty—but then you remember that he doesn’t owe you anything. This is your line of work. Phone sex. And that’s what you had. You just stepped over a boundary that you usually stay far away from. Whose fault is that?

No amount of logic can shake that feeling, though. You develop a little grudge against this man who you will never meet.

That’s what you tell yourself—that you’ll never meet him. But there’s a nugget of hope inside that, someday, he’ll call you. Someday he’ll kiss you. You try to obliterate that nugget though, as it is antithetical to the remedy to your lovesickness that you’re seeking.

Which will come first, him calling you, or you quitting this job that you’ve been meaning to quit for months at this point?

You hate to admit this to yourself, but he’s the only thing that was keeping the thoughts of quitting at bay. Maybe you really will quit this time around.

---

It is a Saturday night and you’re working again. It’s an unfortunately slow night, which sucks, because you really could use the money.

You’re scrolling on your phone, waiting for the next call to come in. It has been three hours with no calls. Guess all the creepy old men have plans tonight, which is such a shame because you need to pay rent soon. Sigh.

Time passes. You check the clock. It’s almost 11:30PM. The time doesn’t remind you of him anymore (well, much).

Maybe if you channel some of your good karma, ask the universe to cut a check of it right now, someone will call you for one long, lengthy conversation. You can help get them off as many times as they want. Five times in a row. You’ll break that record and go for six times if they just pay you. No questions asked.

Sure enough, a call comes through. You check the clock again. It’s been moving at a snail’s pace tonight. It’s 11:35PM. Hopefully whoever this is feels like talking.

“Hello?”

Your heart stops.

It sounds like Sanji for a second. But there’s no way. It’s been five fucking months.

“Hi.” You respond in your sugared up, sultry voice.

“It’s been a long time, gorgeous.”

It is Sanji.

Your heart flutters and your stomach flips. You’re speechless.

Don’t forget your game plans: curse him out or cry. But you can’t bring yourself to do either now that he’s waiting on the other line. You’re about to hang up the phone. You owe this man nothing and he owes you nothing—it’s that simple.

As you go to press the end call button, he speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears start now. The dam inside of you breaks. Hot tears pour out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

You didn’t think that hearing his voice would have this strong of an effect on you. But the heartbreak that you once thought faded away is now back in full force.

He’s waiting for a response before he hears shuddering breaths from you as you cry. Your tears are all the confirmation he needs—he knows that he was right months ago when he worked up the courage to confess to you. He should have done it. He knows that he was wrong to take the coward’s way out. And he knows he was wrong to tell himself that you didn’t care about him and wouldn’t care when he disappeared, because he was just a client to you. He was so terribly wrong. The sound of your sobs shatters him.

“I should have called you before. I’m so sorry. And maybe you hate me for waiting this long to call you again. I understand if you do. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, I—”

“Where the fuck were you?” You cut him off. Your anger is starting to seep through the tears. Maybe the first game plan can still happen. “I waited for you, Sanji.”

He doesn’t even try to think of a comeback or excuse. He tells you plainly what happened and, even though it breaks your heart some more, it makes sense.

“Well… I finally found someone. Last time, after I hung up, I had another date with that person I mentioned, and it went really well. So, we just kept going on dates. It didn’t feel right to keep calling you when things with her were progressing so quickly. We got together, and—”

“I understand, Sanji. That’s all I wanted to hear. Thanks.”

You slam your finger down on the hang up button. Your heart is broken enough as it is. He can keep all that yapping to himself. Good for nothing heartbreaker.

So what, he was with whoever that was. So what, they love each other and have been together almost half a year at this point. So what, he was just a client the whole time and you had gotten your hopes up for nothing and—your catastrophizing is stopped in its tracks when your phone starts to buzz again. You feel like it’s Sanji.

You pick up the phone. It is.

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up, please let me finish, please.”

“What, so you can tell me how much you love your girlfriend? I get it, Sanji. You paid me to talk to you for so long that of course you got sick of it and finally got what you had been after the whole time, a loving, very real partner. I understand that I’m just a service to be used and discarded later. That’s fine. Goodbye.”

“No. Listen to me.” Sanji’s voice is stern and harsh, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. “We got together and then she very quickly dumped me. Do you know what she kept saying to me? She said I was too absentminded. She thought I was thinking about someone else. Dumped me after two months because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Absentminded.”

His words hang in the air for a few moments while you try to process why the fuck he’s explaining any of this to you and why it matters. He continues. His voice is emphatic, hurried, and nervous sounding.

“And if I’m being honest, I was absentminded. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know this sounds fucking ridiculous because we’ve never met, and I understand if you tell me to go fuck off because I’m sure this happens to you all the time, but… I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve tried to for months. Three months. I told myself that I was an idiot for falling for someone out of my league. And the crazy thing is, I don’t even have to see you to know you’re out of my league. The way you act is out of my league. YOU are out of my league. You’re thoughtful, and kind, and considerate, and you pause before you respond whenever you talk because I can tell you’re really thinking over your response. And you’re funny. And witty, and charming, and you never once made me feel weird or less than for calling and finding solace in you. I’ve been lonely for years. I make the first move all the time, but it never works out. And I know I fucked this one up, and I know I didn’t have a chance in hell with you to begin with, but I just, fuck, I had to get this off my chest. I love you. I fell for you the first conversation we had. Now please tell me to fuck off.”

You can tell that every word he is saying is sincere and earnest. You can hear the emotion in his voice. While you wipe your tears dry and mend your heart together, you take deep breaths. He can wait for your response. Like he just said, you’re intentional about your responses to people. Every word matters. Especially with Sanji.

“Do you know how bad it hurt after our last conversation to not hear from you again?” You start.

He winces. He knew that was coming.

“I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry. It was disrespectful of me, and callous, and if you hang up and never want to speak to me again, I understand and I deserve it.”

“You do deserve it.” You say, regaining some composure. “You really do, Sanji.”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear his frown. It’s a cute one. Fuck. His cute words are playing back in your ears too. So, he loves you?

Should you tell him how you feel? How you’ve felt for a long time?

One part of you is screaming at you to get a grip. But the other part—all the other parts—are finally, finally hearing what you’ve been wanting to hear for around a year at this point. That he likes you for you. That he sees you as you, and not some dolled up object of affection that’s only there to get people off and talk dirty to them. It has never been like that between you.

“If I accept your apology, Sanji, what then?”

“I—I actually didn’t think I would make it this far. But if you accept my apology, my next step is to ask you out to dinner with me. And to ask for your phone number. Your real phone number.”

You let out a long, deep sigh. “Sanji. My love. You could have told me these things months ago. It would have saved both of us so much heartbreak. I was devastated. Do you know that?”

You know that he already profusely apologized but you feel like driving it home a bit more. He deserves it. But while you talk, his hopes start to rise. You’ve never called him ‘my love’ before. Maybe that bodes well?

“I’m so sorry. I really am.” He sounds like he means it. You trust him enough to know that he does. Well, fuck it.

“Don’t think I’ll just forget about this because I’m head over heels for you, okay?”

“You—what?” He’s caught off guard. “You are?”

“Sanji. Yes. And you could have found out ages ago. Now, when are we going to dinner? You can apologize to me again then, too. And even if you don’t like what you see, you have to pay for everything. I’m getting an appetizer, an entrée, a dessert, at least two drinks, and whatever else I want. Okay?”

He laughs in relief. “Yes, okay. Yes. Holy shit, I didn’t think you would say that. I wish I could kiss you.”

“Wait—one last thing. If you decide you don’t like me after our date, Sanji, you have to tell me there on the spot. You can’t leave me waiting for another five months. You just can’t.”

“I promise, I won’t leave you waiting. I promise.”

When you hang up the phone a few minutes later (after more twisting the knife), you’re so thrilled that you can hardly breathe.

You can’t believe this is real life. You also can’t believe how quickly you just forgot your dignity, but you’ll unpack that later.

Dinner is set for tomorrow night. 7:30PM on the dot. Sanji is calling out of work, and he’s taking you to the (second) nicest restaurant in town (his is the first, obviously, and he wants to save that for a night where he can really plan ahead and spoil you).

---

When you get to the restaurant, Sanji is already there, waiting outside with a large bouquet of flowers.

He’s more handsome than you could have imagined. Of course he is. You do have great intuition, and you knew from the start that he was sexy. But… goddamn, he is sexy.

It makes sense now what he meant by curly eyebrows. He’s dressed well, too. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. He has black loafers and black socks. And he smells good. And he smiles good.

He’s so nervous he could puke. He hopes that when he sees you the nerves will melt. But they get 20x worse because he’s enamored with you. You’re beyond his wildest dreams—no number of fantasies could have led him to guess that you look like this.

He’s so obsessed that he starts to stammer before you tell him to calm down, and that he’s making you nervous.

Over dinner, you catch up on everything you’ve missed in the past few months of silence. You fill him in on details in your life that you previously kept to yourself, and he sees a whole new side of you.

At the end of the date, he tells you that he still loves you, that he loves you even more now, and that he’s so so sorry. He says that he’s mesmerized by you, that you’re more than he could have ever dreamed of, and that you can count on him for anything.

You seal the night with a kiss. A long one. It’s so romantic that you feel a bit disturbed with how happy you are after.

And it turns out that yes, this is your big happy ending. You make a perfect pair.

Epilogue: The day that Sanji finally shows off the techniques he told you about long ago, you’re more than satisfied. In fact, it seems like he was actually underselling himself there. You always knew he was the modest type.

thanks for reading! this was inspired by a whole lot of laufey! i hope you liked it. i love sanji so much it hurts me ;(

here's my masterlist if you're interested!

divider courtesy of @cafekitsune tag list @eggrollforyou

[gracieheartspedro]

Cherry Stems

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k

description: eddie rejects your advances because his friends are around. so you use them to your advantage. piss eddie off and maybe you'll get what you want. maybe.

warnings: MDNI! 18+ only pls, age not specified but i imagine eddie/reader are 20+, porn without much plot, major teasing, reader is a brat, mentions of eating food, reader has no food aversions, nicknames, reader is flirting with eddie's bandmates, jealousy, possessiveness, name calling, face grabbing, eddie is lowkey a dom, unprotected p in v, fingering (vaginal), oral fixation, eddie puts his fingers in your mouth a lot, reader gets off on being bullied, orgasm denial, cum play, cum eating.... think that's it.

author’s note: hi i wrote this in one night. i am a whore for eddie, what else can i say. i'm also down to take requests, so if you see this, hey, send me an ask. maybe i'll cave and do some. as always, thanks bestie girl @amanitacowboy for helping me with this. let's never forget how much of a whore we are for this man. it keeps me (in)sane <3

Eddie had been teasing you all night and it was really starting to get to you. 

After a pretty electric performance at The Hideout, Eddie and his friends decided that they were hungry for some burgers from the empty Shiny Diner nearby. You had already had enough of Eddie’s shit at this point, so as soon as you sat next to him in the big half moon shaped booth, you knew it was game on. 

From eyeing you while he sang filthy lyrics from the stage, to the way he was working his hand up the hem of your dress when you sat at the bar, Eddie was truly being a menace. When the band got loud in the car on the way to the diner, you decided to make your move. You had rested your hand on Eddie’s crotch while sitting in the bucket seat next to him. While Eddie loved giving a good show, he was not keen on letting his friends see you in such a way. So he brushed your hand away and gave you the ‘not now’ eyes. 

You were for him and him only.

It aggravated you to no end, watching him rejoin the conversation with the guys, while you crossed your arms in disappointment.

But you were going to push some buttons tonight. You were going to get him back.

Gareth, Jeff, and Grant were all very sweet boys. Each of them have never been nothing but respectful of you. Gareth had known you longer than Eddie and he was actually the one who introduced you two. Jeff was usually a know-it-all, but he never dared question anything you said. And Grant… he was just quiet. Always following along with the antics and very well mannered. 

While you respected all the boys back, you also knew they found you attractive and that you could take advantage of that. After one specific smoke session together a couple months back, Eddie asked them all if they had a crush on you. He only ever said things like that to make them squirm. Teasing each other was the way they showed their love for one another. He also liked to remind people that they never stood a chance with you. And they all said that of course they found you pretty, but they would not dare go after you. 

Well, for one night only, you would give them believe they had a chance. Just to piss off Eddie. 

You had done this before. A year into your relationship, you had unintentionally made him jealous and it led to the most mind blowing sex of your life. The sex was so memorable that you do not even remember how you made him jealous. 

You needed that just about now. 

You were the only group there along with the waitress and line cook, so you were not worried about making a scene. You game plan how you were going to achieve such a feat as you scan the diner menu. You already knew what you wanted, but spotting the milkshakes on the list of drinks, a light bulb went off in your brain. 

The older waitress took down the boy’s order while you sat quietly staring at the menu. When it came down to you, you look up at the white haired woman and smiled. 

“One chocolate shake, extra whip cream and cherries, please.” You hand her the menu and glance over at a confused Eddie. You usually got a Dr. Pepper and a cheeseburger value meal, hold the lettuce. 

“Not hungry, baby?” He asks, reaching out for your black painted nails. You slide your hand away, acting like you are reaching for something in your purse. 

“Just wanna try something new.”

You pull your lipgloss out, still not looking over at Eddie. You twist off the top, placing the applicator on the middle of your bottom lip as your eyes flicker over to Grant’s. He is not paying much mind to anything, his eyes looking towards the window behind you. When he takes note of your gaze, he finally looks at you. 

You swipe the gloss across your lips, smirking devilishly. 

“What did you get, Grant?”

He thinks for a beat, realizing even he forgot what he ordered. “Uh… BLT with onion rings.”

You smack your lips together, rubbing your top lip on the bottom one painfully slow. 

“You gonna share your onion rings?”

He was not expecting the question, his lips curling upward before he chuckles. You can feel Eddie’s body stiffen as you ask the question. 

Grant nods, though, “Of course. You can have some-” “Baby, you’re not gonna eat his food.” You shoot a glare at Eddie, tossing your gloss back in your pocketbook. “Grant said I could, so… yeah I am.”

Eddie’s eyes search yours, trying to figure out what you are trying to do. You disguise your pleasure at his curiosity, rolling your eyes and pointing your attention at Jeff. He’s positioned right next to Grant, fiddling with his fingers. Before you can press him with a question, the waitress comes and puts down your drinks. She’s missing your milkshake. 

“That’ll be out in just a moment,” She says, grabbing her tray as she returns behind the counter, seemingly preparing your shake. You watch Jeff fiddle with his straw wrapper and you finally decide to bother him next. 

“Is that Dr. Pepper?” You ask, already knowing the answer. Jeff always got Dr. Pepper, just like you. It’s something you two bonded over often. He just nods, taking a sip of the bubbly beverage. You look over at the waitress quickly, seeing she’s still fiddling with the milkshake blender. 

You grab Jeff’s ice cold glass, your eyes glistening with innocence, “You mind if I have a sip? I’m parched.” And of course he’s too confused to say no. You pull the drink over and once it crosses to your side of the table, Eddie’s hand presses into your bare thigh. You do not react, taking Jeff’s straw into your mouth and sucking in a big sip, your eyes never leaving his. Once you pull the plastic away, you smirk. 

“Thanks, hun.” You push the drink back to him slowly. His cheeks heat up instantly when he notices your lipgloss on the tip of the straw. Eddie’s hand only squeezes more, trying to get you to look over at him. 

He wanted your attention so bad, his body curving closer to you. You can feel his gaze stuck onto the side of your face. 

Before anyone says anything else, the white haired lady returns with your chocolate shake. You giddedly grab the glass and stuff a straw into the frozen drink. 

You use your tongue to toy with the end of the straw, pulling it into your open mouth. Your eyes flicker away from Jeff and take aim at Gareth, who’s seated right across from you. Since he’s known you so long, you can already read on his face that he knows what you are up to. He may be a nice guy, but he too loves to fuck with Eddie. 

He was going to help you in whatever way possible. Instead of you initiating conversation, he speaks up. 

“Chocolate, huh? Thought you’d like vanilla.” Your eyebrow quirks up. You know Eddie’s face is bright red next to you. The heat radiating from him is pressing into your shoulder and thigh. 

“You got me pegged as a vanilla girl? That’s a bit offensive, Gare,” You smile, calculating your next move. You look down at the pile of whipped cream on the top of the shake. You drag your pointer finger across the top, gathering the cream all around it. 

You hear Eddie whispering beside you. “You better fuckin’ not.”

You smile, bringing your finger to your lips, not peeling your eyes from Gareth. You know the tension is palpable because Gareth’s smile is only widening when you lick the cream off your finger. 

The other guys are gawking at you at this point. You were putting on a show and they could not even fathom that it was happening before their very eyes. 

Gareth finally says something, nodding at the milkshake. “And extra cherries?”

“Gareth-,” Eddie’s voice fades over yours. 

“Oh yeah! You know I can tie the stems with my tongue?”

Eddie’s rings are going to be imprinted on your leg with how tightly he’s gripping onto you. You grab one of the cherries, getting your fingers covered in more whipped cream. You lean your head back a bit, your nose facing the old tile ceiling. You drop the cherry in your mouth, stem up. Tilting your head back, facing Gareth, you pull the cherry off the stem between your teeth. It’s unbelievably sensual the way you chew the red fruit. 

You show each of the boys the stem, even Eddie. When you glance over at him, you do not believe you have ever seen him so annoyed. He’s not hiding it well. You drop the stem on your tongue, returning your gaze over to Gareth. 

You roll the stem around, using your teeth slightly to do the stupid party trick you learned in 10th grade to impress a boy. It’s not impressive when every hot girl in school could do it, too. But nonetheless, it was something you could do to layer on the eroticism of the moment. 

When it’s tied, you contemplate taking it out of your mouth and showing it off. Maybe even drop it in Eddie’s hand. Instead, you decide to just extend your tongue out and show the stem on the very tip of your tongue. 

The color drains from Eddie’s face. It’s the end of the show for him. 

He grabs your forearm, ripping you out of the booth. You look back at Gareth, who’s still smiling, all the while Jeff and Grant look even more confused.  

When the fresh air hits you when he slams the glass door open, you flick your head to the side and spit out the stem in the gravel. His grip is so tight around your arm as he drags you to the van. It’s parked on the far side of the lot, occupying a spot that’s backed up to some woods. 

“What is wrong?”

Asking such a question only pisses him off further. Once you reach the van, his left hand flings the side door open. He practically tosses you onto the shag rug that lines the very back of the vehicle. 

“Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” His voice is intimidatingly deep.

Your legs hang out while Eddie stands over you, his hand resting on the top of the van. The back of your knees feel the sting of the frayed metal that hinges the door shut. You swallow, contemplating if you should continue messing with him. With the way he’s looking at you, you felt that this was not going to lead to the jealous sex you two had before. He’s actually angry. 

“You pushed my hand away when I wanted you earlier.”

Your voice is so small and unsure. His eyes narrow at you, his mouth slightly ajar in complete disbelief. The silence hanging in the air makes your heart rate increase. 

His mouth closes and you watch his jaw clench, “So you flirt with my friends right in front of me? Even when I explicitly said you better not.”

With his free hand, he swats your bare leg as you squeeze your thighs together. “Answer me.”

You watch the red mark appear on your flesh and decide to keep playing into the game. You had nothing to lose. If he’s actually angry, you could always have amazing make up sex instead. Eddie could not stay mad at you for too long. 

You shake your head, lifting your chin up in defiance. “All I did was tie a cherry stem.”

He does not accept that answer, slapping your thigh harder this time. 

You knew then that you had him where you wanted him. His eyes were giving him away. His pupils dilated as soon as he realized that you did not yelp at him slapping you around. 

Your eyes widen, watching him jump into the van beside you and dragging you back further. He slams the door, rattling the hunk of metal. The only light being let in is from the front windshield. A hazy warm lit streetlight only lights up Eddie’s face as he’s pining you to the ground. 

He positions himself between your legs, pushing the back of your thighs up with his knees. The skirt you chose for the occasion was pretty flowy, so it slid up your hips as soon as he props you up. “You want to act like a whore in front of my friends? All ‘cause I slapped your hand away earlier?”

His voice does not even sound like his. You hear the jiggling of his belt as he asks you the question. But the more twisted Eddie was, the more aroused you felt. You were drawn to him the first moment he teased you and bullied you a bit. You got off on him being callous. 

“Words. Now.”

You look down between your legs and see his cock springing free from his boxers as he shoves them down his thighs. You groan, the pulsating at your core coinciding with your heart rate. “Wanted to get your attention.”

He smacks your inner thigh, painfully close to your pantyline. You moan at the action, propping yourself up a bit more on your elbows. You watch as he carefully drags his pointer and middle finger under the hem of your lace. He smirks to himself, “That’s not what I fuckin’ asked.”

His fingers dip under your underwear, gathering the slick between your folds. You throw your head back, unable to hold back the sob as he spreads you open. You were putty in his hands, always bending to him. “Yes, Eddie.”

Your response leads to him sliding his fingers inside your cunt, a wet squelching noise filling both your ears. Your back thuds against the rug as your muscles give out under his touch. He fucks you with his fingers, the look on his face unreadable. He usually takes his time with foreplay, but this was different. He was testing how far he could take you in a limited amount of time. You were in a parking lot with his friends less than 500 feet inside, he could not take his time torturing you. 

His fingers retract from your pussy, gripping onto the lace of your panties and tearing them down your legs. When he sits back on his heels, you watch his long cock bounce with his movements. It sends a smile across your face. When he zeros in on you again, he tilts his head to the side. 

“I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t talk anymore.”

It makes you giggle at first, unsure if he’s really being serious. But when his face does not twist up into a smirk like it usually did, you realize you were in trouble. He takes ahold of his dick, leaning forward onto you. Your mouth falls open as you study Eddie dragging his tip between your slit, gathering as much of your wetness as he could. 

He sinks into you, raising your hips a bit to meet him straight on. The stretch is always overwhelming for you at first. You and Eddie fucked at least three times a week, but he always made you cum before shoving his cock deep inside you. Stretching you out for a couple minutes with two fingers is not enough for you. He hisses when he pulls back, his hands grasping onto you for dear life. 

He wastes no time setting a bruising pace. There’s no build up, he is simply taking his annoyance out on you. You are reaching out to anything around you, trying to find something to hold onto as he rams into you. You find a sweatshirt nearby, squeezing it as tight as you can as you breathe out to relax your pelvic muscles.

“Eddie, please-” You try to say, throwing your head forward. He shifts your hips a bit more, opening you up wider. As he does that, he rakes his hands upward, pushing your skirt up higher to your belly button. He shakes your head to your pleas. 

“Eddie, please.” He mocks, relocating his hand to squeeze your cheeks together. When your jaw unhinges, Eddie inspects your tongue as he drills into you. “Put my fingers in your mouth.”

“Ed-”

He sandwiches your face harder, cutting you off from being able to say anything. He fills your mouth with the two fingers that were plunging inside of you earlier. The taste of your own arousal is still present on his fingers as you swirl your tongue around the digits. You mewl as he grinds his pelvis into your clit. “Shut up,” he orders, his face centimeters from yours, “Now suck them while I fuck you.”

You have no way to talk back, so you do what he says. You hallow your cheeks out, lathering all your saliva around his fingers. The build up in the pit of your stomach only gets more intense when Eddie hoists your leg up over his shoulder. You clench around him, tears pricking your eyes as you vibrate his fingers with your moans. 

“Do not fuckin’ cum yet,” He warns, pulling his fingers in and out of your mouth. His hips are faltering as he chases his own climax. Your body feels like every nerve ending is about to implode under the pressure of you holding back your orgasm, and Eddie can sense that. He drags his fingers out from your lips, rubbing your own spit into your lips. He grabs your jaw with the same hand, pulling your face closer to his.

“Say you’re mine. You’re only gonna be mine.”

You nod, knocking his forehead slightly. “I’m only ever gonna be yours, Eddie.”

With your foreheads touching, you watch as he falls apart inside you. 

And with three vicious snaps of his hips, he spills his seed deep inside you. He does not let out a sound. His mouth is agape as deep heaves fan your face. 

When he finishes, he slides his cock out of you and sits back on his knees again. Him exiting your body is so frustrating, you want to scream.  

He uses one arm to hold your one leg back as spit covered fingers swipe up your cunt. His spend is leaking out of you and you know if he works his usual magic, you will cum in 30 seconds. 

“Please, Eddie. Please let me cum.”

He smirks villainously, “Why should I let you, hm?” He spreads your pussy lips, getting a good look as his cum dribbles down to your asshole.

You are getting desperate. You never had to beg Eddie to cum, ever. He was always so generous. 

“I promise I’ll be good. Please, please.” He chuckles dryly before sinking his fingers back into you. “Fine. Since you asked so pretty and promised to behave yourself.”

His fingers scissor into you, that familiar burn in the pit of your stomach returning. As his two fingers make work at your entrance, his thumb swipes your clit in meticulous circles. His bottom lip is tucked under his top teeth, watching you fall apart on his fingers. You are practically chanting his name as he brings you to your peak. 

When your chest heaves, finally relaxing from your orgasm, Eddie slides his digits out of you and brings them up to his plump pink lips. He licks them clean, just like you did with the whipped cream earlier. 

“Hm… Don’t see how Gareth thought you were a vanilla girl,” He states, smiling sinfully at you. “You, my dear, are a fuckin’ vixen.”

-

tags of friends who may like this idk (if you wanna be tagged in the future, just lemme know <3):

@hockeyhughes @pedgito @mediocredreams @the-unforgivenn

[magiclilybean]

Y'all losing your minds in the notes:

There's an article linked RIGHT IN THE ORIGINAL POST.

The article and links within that article answer virtually every question you are asking.

Because of weather patterns in the area, the desert there only gets something like a fraction of an inch of rain annually. The soil just isn't disturbed much. The top layer of soil is a contrasting color compared to what's underneath it. And for whatever reason, indigenous people would draw designs in it on large scales like this. Because of the weather, they would lay mostly undisturbed for long spans of time - millennia.

This one got a little messed up because of being on a slope instead of a plain, and that's why it needed to be "discovered" and cleaned up.

Most of these types of glyphs are part of the "Nazca Lines," or at least those are the most famous, but the article says this cat predates the Nazca and probably belongs to the Paracas, who used cats as a motif in their textiles and ceramics too, which means they may be my new favorite people in the whole wide world.

Archaeologists Unearth a Nearly 2,000-Year-Old Cat Geoglyph Lounging on a Peruvian Hillside

[cleo-fox]

Conquer

Part 3 of 5

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: The king intends to take a bride. You just never thought it would be you. (Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Chapter Summary: Loki proposes a challenge and your plan goes very awry.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Chapter Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, edging, teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, orgasm delay, semi-public sex, light Dom/sub, light bondage, sex toys, oral sex (see series masterlist for series warnings)

A/N: Woof, sorry for the delay on this chapter. It was surprisingly challenging to write and it took me a minute to figure it out. But it's here! Lemme know what you think!

Loki only calls you ‘wife’ when he has sex on his mind—he knows it gets you riled up.

He doesn’t usually break it out at the breakfast table, though.

“I’ve noticed something, wife.” His eyes are glittering in a way that always signals he’s up to no good.

You cross one leg over the other and try to keep your expression neutral, even as your stomach jumps and your heart beats just a little faster. “What’s that?”

His gaze sweeps along your legs, the corner of his mouth twitching like he has a direct line to your thoughts. “You are an enthusiastic participant in our marital relations, but you rely entirely on me to initiate them.”

He waits a beat and your stomach drops. In retrospect, it was a bit silly to think he wouldn’t notice this. Loki always notices.

“Now, why is that?” he continues.

It’s a question that you don’t particularly want to answer. You suspect that he knows this, based on the laughter dancing in his eyes. 

You clear your throat. “Maybe it’s because you unironically use phrases like ‘marital relations.’”

He taps a finger against his lips. “Interesting deflection.”

“It’s not a deflection.”

“You forget, my love, that I am the god of lies.”

You press your lips together and take a sip of water. “Have you considered that it’s maybe a little challenging being the soulmate of the guy who took over the planet?”

You expect him to be angry: you don’t expect the spectacular eye roll or the exaggerated sigh. “Are you really still upset about that?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Are you really going to pretend it wasn’t a big deal?”

“You can’t deny that things are much improved under my rule.” The way he says this suggests that he’s had a version of this conversation before. “Surely you’ve seen the statistics.”

“I’ve read your propaganda, yes,” you say, idly poking your fork at the fruit on your plate.

He scowls. “It’s not propaganda, it’s verifiable facts—” 

“Conveniently hand-picked by your PR team. That’s kind of telling, if you ask me.”

He takes a deep breath, like he’s about to go into a lengthy monologue that he’s tired of having to recite, but as he looks at your face, his expression slowly changes from annoyed to something more amused. “You’re goading me.”

You shrug. “I’m just calling it as I see it.”

“Lies do not become you, wife.” His expression is sharp, but there’s a hungry kind of approval in his gaze that makes your stomach flip. 

“I rather think you’re enjoying yourself, your majesty.”

You’ve only ever used his title sparingly—it’s his equivalent of calling you “wife” and it’s generally a surefire way to ensure that you end your conversation either underneath or on top of him.

For a moment, it seems like one of those outcomes might be in your immediate future—there’s a familiar glitter of hunger in his eyes as his gaze drops again to your legs. 

He licks his lips. “One of these days, I will put you over my knee and punish you the way that you deserve.”

An electric kind of desire crackles through you as you contemplate the logistics of letting him fuck you on the breakfast table.

“But not today.”

Your gaze snaps immediately to his. He smirks like he knows that you were expecting this conversation to go in a very different direction.

“Today I’d like to propose a little experiment,” he continues.

You regard him warily. “What sort of experiment?”

“As I mentioned earlier, the burden of initiating our physical relations has fallen entirely on me.” He takes a sip of his water. “I am putting that burden on you for today.”

“So, what—we’re not having sex unless I start it?”

“Precisely. And you’re going to have to tell me exactly what you want in order to get it.”

Your heart pounds hard against your ribs, but you try to look completely unaffected as desire and annoyance wage yet another war inside you. “And what if I don’t feel like playing your stupid games?”

“You will.” He says it confidently as he glances at the clock. “I’ve business to attend to.” His smile is entirely too sharp as he rises from his chair. “I trust you’ll keep yourself occupied.”

You bite back a scowl as he leaves you alone with your thoughts and a dull, persistent ache throbbing between your legs.

The trouble is that initiating sex means admitting you want him.

Granted, you have begged for him many times during sex. But it’s one thing to admit that you want him when he’s been edging you for the better part of an hour; it's something else to admit to wanting him without that specific kind of pressure as a motivating factor. It requires acknowledging a vulnerability, something you are all too reluctant to do around Loki.

At first, you think you’ll just give up sex for the day. Worst case scenario: there’s no sex. Slightly better case scenario: he gives in out of sheer desperation and you get to have sex without admitting you want him. The second scenario seems most likely—if you had to pit your sex drive against his, you would wager that his is higher. It’s simple. Easy.

Later, you will acknowledge that this was perhaps slightly delusional on your part.

The fact that you didn’t really take into account is that your body is expecting sex. You’ve been getting it on the daily—often multiple times in one day—since your wedding. It probably should have occurred to you that quitting cold turkey would not go well.

Unfortunately, that seems to be a lesson that the universe is determined to make you learn through experience.

It’s early afternoon when you start to realize that you’re going to need a different plan. The dull ache between your legs has not abated and has instead turned into the kind of specific ache that you know you’re not going to be able to take care of on your own.

And if this were any other time, Loki probably would have already found some way to get you alone and mostly undressed—his ability to pick up on these moods of yours is keen to an inconvenient degree.

But there’s no sign of him today.

You pace your room for a while. The ache between your legs persists and you know if you don’t do something about it, it’s only going to get worse.

A plan slowly emerges in the heady haze of your slowly increasing desire. You could probably goad him into getting you off once or twice—enough to bring your desire to something more manageable. It wouldn’t be the same as sex, so you wouldn’t be admitting to any kind of vulnerability and it would clear your head enough to give you time to figure out the rest of the day.

Later, you will acknowledge that this was a very poorly thought out plan and doomed to failure from the start. Right now, though, it seems like a fine idea.

You put on a dress that you know he likes—a flowing green thing that clings to your breasts and hips in an appealing way. You don’t bother with underwear. 

You’re not quite sure where he’s meeting or who’s in attendance, but that doesn’t worry you too much. You’ve found that your new status means that people don’t often question you, which makes it relatively easy to wander wherever you’d like.

You find him eventually in one of the rooms on the first floor, accompanied by an array of important looking people that you don’t recognize. His gaze finds you almost immediately, though he waits for a break in the conversation to address you.

“Darling, what a surprise.” The glimmer in his eyes tells you it is not at all a surprise.

“Sorry to interrupt.” You give the others an apologetic smile before glancing back at Loki. “I need to speak with you privately when you have a moment.”

“Of course, my love.” His eyes darken just a shade and your cunt pulses in a kind of answer. “Wait for me in the library and I’ll be with you shortly.”

You give him a perfunctory smile and stalk off to the library just a few doors down.

You can feel the slickness building between your legs, the muscles of your cunt flexing and aching in a blend of need and anticipation. There’s a couch by the window—that will suit your purposes well enough. You sit down and wait, fidgeting with the skirt of your dress.

You expect him to draw it out as long as possible, but he must be just as eager as you are because he strolls into the room five minutes later.

“What troubles you, darling?” His voice is gently mocking, his expression infuriatingly smug. He knows exactly why you’re here.

“Shut up,” you say through gritted teeth. “You know why I’m here, so let’s make it quick.”

“Oh, that’s not what we agreed on,” he purrs, eyes darkening with want as he approaches you. “You have to tell me what you want.”

As soon as he’s near enough, you tug him down to the couch and straddle his lap, guiding his hand up your skirt to your bare cunt. “I want you to make me come.”

You’re hoping that your boldness and lack of underwear will throw him off enough that he won’t notice that you’re being intentional with your wording and leaving yourself a very tidy out.

“Oh, darling, you’re soaking.” He drags his fingers along the length of your cunt, carefully circling your clit. “Poor thing, no wonder you’re so needy.” 

You sigh, your hips rolling with his hand. “More.”

“Needy and greedy,” he muses, sliding a finger inside you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I love it when you’re like this.”

He pulls you into a deep kiss, tongue pressing into your mouth, tangling with yours. You moan, rocking your hips against his hand as he slips a second finger inside you.

“You need me, don’t you?” he breathes against your lips. “No one else makes you feel like this. Even when you touch yourself, your fingers can’t quite reach this little spot the way I can.” His fingers curl, pressing hard against that soft, aching spot that has been throbbing all day. You keen, fingernails digging into the leather on his shoulders as your hips grind against his hand. 

“Yes, just like that,” you gasp. 

“You need me so badly that you can’t even manage a full day without my touch.” His thumb presses just a little harder on your clit. “And interrupting a meeting of global importance to beg me to fuck you in the library where anyone might walk in—”

You’re entering the final stretch right before your orgasm and you can tell that it’s going to be good—the pressure inside you is too intense for it not to be. 

And then Loki decides to up the ante.

“It just goes to show how much of a slut you are for my cock.”

It’s like trying to douse a fire with gasoline.

Loki’s fingers curl again and your mouth goes slack as you let out a low whimper. 

“I know that noise.” His smile is hungry. “You’re about to come for me.”

You nod, rolling your hips in time with the wave that’s rising within you.

“Let me hear you.” He leans in and nips sharply at your earlobe. “Scream for me.”

It’s like being hit by a hurricane. You are dimly aware that you’re moaning loud enough to be heard unless he’s been a gentleman and cast a silencing spell on the room, but your capacity to care about anything other than the euphoria flooding your entire nervous system is somewhere below zero.

“Such a good girl,” he purrs, as he works you through it. “So fucking filthy,”

You’d intended to make your exit quickly, but you didn’t bank on how good his fingers would feel or how easily he’d be able to coax you to another orgasm. You claw desperately at his chest, and he gives you a self-satisfied smirk.

“What? Another one so soon?” he says, his brow furrowing in mock concern. “Is your poor little cunt really so needy?”

“Don’t stop.” Your voice comes out in a whine, but you don’t care. You can’t care about anything other than the rising pressure in your hips and the way your clit is thrumming with pleasure.

“Oh, I’m not going to stop until I’ve thoroughly claimed this sweet cunt.”

“Yes. Fuck.” You hold your breath as your orgasm makes its final ascent.

“That’s it.” His eyes are shining. “Come for me.”

The second one hits you just as hard and then blends almost seamlessly into a third that makes stars burst behind your eyelids and your thighs tremble. You lean into him, gasping and panting as he murmurs more filthy praise in your ear.

But you snap back to reality when he reaches for the buttons of your dress. You need to move quickly if you want your plan to work and you know that if he manages to get his cock out, it’s all over for you.

“Shall I take you on the desk?” He slips the first button, staring greedily at the exposed skin. “Or against that window?”

Both options sound too appealing, but you’re not going to tell him that. You reluctantly pull away from him and stand on legs that are much too wobbly. Remember the plan. Focus.

For once in his life, Loki looks a little baffled.

“Well,” you say, making a rather sad attempt to straighten your dress. “Would you look at the time.”

His eyes narrow almost immediately. “What are you playing at?”

“Nothing,” you say brightly. “I just didn’t realize it was so late and I don’t want to keep you from your meeting.”

He catches on right away—you can tell from the glint in his eyes and the slight twitch of his lips. He seems conflicted about how he feels about it, though, which you’re not expecting. There’s annoyance, certainly—that was always a given—but there’s also a kind of hungry delight, almost like you’d surprised him a little.

Almost like he finds it…attractive.

You weren’t expecting that at all.

He stands slowly, his gaze traveling shamelessly up and down your body, bringing still more slickness to your cunt. 

“You may come to regret this little stunt, my love.” His voice is deadly soft and you’re reminded suddenly of a shark considering his prey. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Perhaps you should have negotiated more favorable terms this morning.” Your voice is calm and cool, but there’s an inferno of desire blazing inside you.

“I think I will particularly enjoy silencing that smart mouth later tonight,” he says, eyeing the open button on your dress.

“If I allow it.” You smile sweetly at him as his expression darkens even further. “After all, you did put that burden on me for today, your majesty. And I did only say that I wanted you to make me come, which you have.”

The look that he gives you is lustful in a way you’ve never seen from him before. Your cunt clenches tightly around nothing and suddenly the relief that you’d just found from his fingers doesn’t seem anywhere near enough.

And if you don’t get out of here soon, your entire plan will go up in flames in favor of riding his cock until you both collapse.

“I’ll take my leave,” you say, buttoning your dress.

His gaze trails possessively over your body. “Yes, you’ll want to rest up—I suspect you’ll be begging me to claim my prize by the time I return to our rooms.”

“We’ll see.” There’s no conviction in your voice and you can tell that he hears it, so you turn quickly on your heel and leave with a mumbled goodbye before he can convince you to change your mind.

This entire episode has given you new insight into why Loki is like this as his default. The control is heady and intoxicating and your head fizzes like you’ve drunk too much champagne. You feel sexy and desirable. Powerful. You think of him quietly stewing away in his meeting downstairs, plagued by thoughts of you and trying to hide it from the others. You think of him storming upstairs, control fraying, his cock rock hard and aching for you. You think about what he’ll do to you as payback for leaving him wanting.

The entire purpose of this exercise was to find an outlet for your arousal and clear your head; instead, you find that you’re hornier than you were before the library.

Your entire plan has failed rather spectacularly, but you can’t convince yourself to be mad about it.

The hours pass slowly. You’re not sure if he’s intentionally delaying his return or if he’s genuinely busy—either way, it does you no favors. You try reading, but you end up rereading the same paragraph and thinking about sex instead of following the story. As afternoon fades into evening, you undress and don a silk robe. The fabric whispers against your skin, only heightening your arousal.

The sun is almost fully set when you hear the door open and the heavy tread of familiar boots on the floor. You stay seated on the couch, staring out the floor to ceiling window, waiting.

“I suppose you think you’re very clever.”

Goosebumps spring up along the column of your spine. His voice is low and stern, his presence already commanding. Slickness floods your cunt in anticipation. You slowly turn to face him, your chin tilted up in slight defiance.

“I consider it appropriate payback for the gala,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow as he continues to walk closer. “And do you recall how hard you came after the gala?”

You mirror his skeptical expression. “Then wouldn’t I be doing you a favor by teasing you like this if it means you come harder later?”

The look he gives you is intoxicating. “You are disobedient and impertinent.”

You smirk. “And you love it.”

“Not as much as I love putting you back in line.”

You stand and walk toward him, stopping a few inches away. “Then why don’t you?”

He chuckles low in his throat. “You know that’s not what we agreed to, my love. The move is yours.”

Privately, you’re delighted that he seems prepared to continue to play the game. 

“I didn’t take you to be so passive,” —you pause and lick your lips— “your majesty.”

Perhaps more extraordinary than the fire in his eyes is his stillness—save for the tight clench of his jaw and his sharp intake of breath, he is completely motionless as his eyes tell the story of a man who is barely holding himself back from his greatest desire.

“I’m a man of my word,” he says, finally.

You huff out a soft laugh. “Are you?” You lick your lips. “Perhaps I should test that.”

You pull the sash of your robe and let it fall from your shoulders to your feet in a heap. You stand in front of him, completely naked. His eyes devour you and his fingers flex against his thighs like he’s barely holding back from touching you.

“Still a man of your word?” you ask, your eyes wide and innocent.

The muscle in his jaw twitches. “Yes.”

You nod thoughtfully. “I see.”

And then you slowly sink to your knees.

You look up at him with wide eyes. “What about now?”

“Yes.” There’s a dark rasp in his voice and his fingers are tensed like claws against his thighs.

You’re getting to him. You love it.

You take your time undoing his trousers, letting your fingers graze against the hard length of his erection whenever the opportunity presents itself. You almost feel a little bad when you finally free his cock—he is desperately hard, the flushed and engorged tip already slick with precome.

“Oh, have you been like this all afternoon?” you say casually. “Poor thing.”

“Watch your tone,” he says sharply.

“I suppose that was rather inconsiderate of me to just leave you like that,” you muse, taking his cock in your hand and reveling in his sharp exhale and the way he throbs hot and hard as you begin to stroke him. “I didn’t realize you’d be so hard.”

“You are playing with fire, my love.” His voice is rough and husky with wanting.

“I don’t think it’s wrong to make you work for it.”

“You would dare to give orders to a king?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Am I not your queen?”

“My queen does not command me.”

Early on, you might have been intimidated by the hunger in his eyes and the sternness in his voice, but now you can’t help but find it arousing. Somewhere along the way, pushing him to his limit became like a drug and now you can’t get enough.

“And why not, your majesty?” you say, gently squeezing his shaft as you stroke him. “You tease me like this all the time. Isn't it only fair for me to have a turn?”

“I don’t need to justify myself. I’m king.” He says this with authority, but you can tell he’s fighting to keep his expression neutral. There’s a catch in his voice and his eyes flutter shut for a moment as his hips rock into your hand.

You look up at him again. “Perhaps you ought to,” you say. “Seeing as I’m currently holding your fate in my hands.”

He gives you a smirk that is entirely too confident for your liking. “I think you’re underestimating my resilience.”

You bring your lips up to the head of his cock, letting the very tip of your tongue brush against it. He inhales sharply.

“Am I?” you say, punctuating the question with a second featherlight kiss against his cock. “I’m not sure that you’ve considered all the tools I have at my disposal.”

He stares down at you imperiously and you return his look with wide, innocent eyes as you part your lips and take him into your mouth, slowly swirling your tongue around the head of his cock in a way that you know he enjoys. His fingers flex against his thighs and you hum as the sharp taste of his precome glides over your tongue.

“You are a wicked, disobedient tease,” he growls, one hand sliding down to cradle the back of your head. “And you don’t even care, do you? You just want to get those pretty lips around my cock.”

You draw back slightly to look up at him. “You could stand to be more flattering if you want me to let you come in my mouth.”

He chuckles, eyes darkening with want. “Is it not flattering to say that your mouth makes me forget myself?”

You press a kiss to the tip of his cock, letting your tongue flick against it, but not quite bringing him back into your mouth. “It’s a start.”

“You don’t know what effect you have on me, do you?” His hand strokes your cheek as you continue lazily kissing his cock.

“You certainly do your best to act annoyed with me.”

He laughs, a low, throaty sound. “Oh, half the fun of these little games are your attempts to outwit me. Chaos and schemes only add to my power, but when you are the perpetrator?” He gives you a long, hungry look. “That makes me rock hard.”

Your breath catches slightly as you stroke your tongue over the tip of his cock. “Keep talking.”

“I spent the rest of that meeting driven to utter distraction because I could not stop thinking about how good it was going to feel to sink my cock into your dripping cunt.”

You gently suck the tip of his cock into your mouth and release it. 

“And then I come back here and you mouth off at me, strip, and get on your knees to suck my cock.” He hisses slightly as you tease the head of his cock with the very tip of your tongue.

“Are you going to beg for me, Loki?” You press a soft kiss against his cock.

“A god doesn’t beg,” he says hoarsely. 

“But you could,” you say softly, teasing the tip of his cock again.

“You may force me to reconsider that notion, yes.”

“Do you want me to suck your cock, Loki?” you ask in that same soft voice. “Do you want to come in my mouth?”

There’s a beat of silence. “Yes.”

You intended to hold out for longer, but you didn’t expect him to say…well, any of that, really. And the other, less convenient reality is that your ability to deny yourself the pleasure of his body and touch is eroding well past the point of resistance. You’ve waited long enough. You want him.

You take his cock fully into your mouth and begin to move.

Loki groans, his eyes half lidded and lips parted as he looks down at you. “Fuck, you’re divine. I’m going to worship your cunt after this.”

You moan on his cock, widening your legs slightly. You slip your fingers between your legs, letting your index finger roll against your aching clit.

Loki stares down at you with a renewed hunger. “Are you touching yourself?”

You moan an affirmative, your fingers moving faster on your clit as you suck harder on his cock.

“Filthy girl.” His hand grips the back of your head, his hips jerking slightly. “After this, I’m going to make you come harder than you did after the gala. I’m going to make you come so hard you forget your own name.”

You moan again on his cock, flicking your tongue over the tip on every upstroke, making his grip on your head tighten. Your jaw starts to ache after a few minutes, but the little noises he’s making are so worth it. Your cunt keeps getting slicker and slicker under your fingers and you feel yourself starting to edge closer to your own end.

“Fuck.” Loki is panting, his composure completely lost. “If you keep—fuck—I’m so fucking close—”

You could be cruel and make him wait, but he’s so beautiful with his head thrown back and his green eyes fluttering shut against the wave of pleasure you’re building for him that you can’t help but want to give him everything. You hollow your cheeks and take him as deep as you can.

His hand tightens against your scalp and he groans deeply as his hot release fills your mouth. You swallow it greedily, slowing to a halt.

The moment you take your mouth off his cock, he’s pulling you to your feet and holding you flush against him, his mouth covering yours in a deep and slow kiss.

Something about kissing him seems to emphasize the building need of your own body. “Fuck me, Loki.” You breathe your plea against his lips, twining your fingers in his hair. “I need you.”

To his credit, he only smirks a little before sweeping you into his arms and carrying you purposefully toward the bed.

He sets you down on the bed and you expect him to follow you immediately, pressing his body against yours. Instead, invisible bonds curl around your wrists and ankles, gently tugging until you’re spread eagled on the bed. You barely repress a shiver as he kneels next to you. He means business and historically, that’s always ended quite well for you.

There’s a flash of green and a slim vibrator materializes in his hands. He runs the head of it gently along your exposed cunt, pausing just above your clit.

And it’s not until you feel the same invisible bonds wind around your hips to hold the vibrator in place that you realize that this is not going the way you thought.

As though he can read your thoughts, Loki glances at the clock. “Oh, dear, is that really the time?” he says lazily, his mouth curling into a sly smile.

“You wouldn’t,” you say, your heart pounding hard because of course he would.

“I’m afraid I can’t miss this meeting. Shouldn’t be more than an hour, though.”

“Loki—”

He clicks his fingers and the vibrator hums to life, close enough to your clit to stoke the flames of desire, but not close or strong enough to get you over the edge.

“I hate you,” you groan, rocking your hips up, searching for relief. “You are the worst.”

“Oh, I certainly hope your attitude improves by the time I return,” he tuts as he tucks his cock back into his trousers. “It’d be a shame if you had to wait even longer.”

“You said you liked it when I tried to outwit you.”

He chuckles, leaning in close enough to kiss you. “I do. I like seeing how clever you are and I love carrying out consequences.”

You scowl. “You’re awful.”

He smirks and kisses you, drawing back before you can try to pull him deeper. “Be good. I’ve heard that good things come to those who wait.”

“Loki—”

He casts one last smug look at you before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

He’s gone for a little over an hour, but it feels like an eternity.

The vibrator is enough to keep you wet and aching, but not enough to get you off. The bonds are comfortable, but there doesn’t seem to be any give that would allow you to wiggle out or adjust the vibrator, no matter how much you writhe against the mattress. Sometimes, the intensity seems to increase just slightly and you thrust your hips forward, trying to get more, only to have it diminish just as quickly.

It’s agonizing, certainly, but you know that the payoff is going to be nothing short of spectacular. And privately…you kind of like it, though you’ll never admit that to him.

You’re not quite sure if you should act relieved or annoyed when Loki returns, so you end up settling on a strange combination of both when the door finally clicks open and he walks in smirking.

“Well,” he says far too brightly for your liking, “have you learned your lesson?”  

“Yeah, to check your schedule before I try something like that again,” you say before you can really think it through.

He tuts, lips pursing as he frowns. “Ooh, there’s that attitude again. Shall I leave you for another hour?”

You shut your mouth and look away, not quite able to hide your scowl. “No.”

He chuckles. “I thought so.”

He sits down on the bed next to you and runs his fingers along your cunt, his smile turning wicked.  “I see that you enjoyed the little toy. You’re so much wetter than when I left you.”

Your scowl deepens. “Because you’ve been teasing me for an hour!”

“Teasing you?” He scoffs. “Nonsense. I left it running for an hour, you should be quite satisfied.”

“You know full well that you left it on the lowest speed and barely touching my clit.”

His eyes glimmer in the way that they often do when you've strolled right into his trap. “Ah, I see. So you needed something a little more like this.”

He places the vibrator firmly against your clit and the faint hum suddenly accelerates to a steady, throbbing pulse that immediately draws a strangled moan from your throat.

“And perhaps a little of this—” He slides two fingers inside of you and your eyes roll to the back of your head at the intense sensation.

“Oh fuck.” Any notion you had of acting aloof and cool has evaporated. Your body warms to him too quickly, too naturally. A casual stroke of his fingers has you arching into his touch, a whimper trapped in your throat.

“Oh dear,” he says, almost nonchalantly. “You seem to be reacting quite strongly. Are you sure I should continue?”

“Please don’t stop.” You say it all in a rush, like it’s one long word.

“Don’t stop?”

“Don’t stop. Please.” You whimper, your hips rolling so that your clit rubs right against the vibrator. Loki’s fingers curl and you arch as something completely unintelligible comes out of your mouth.

“You need this. You’ve needed this all day.” His eyes shine as his fingers thrust faster. “But not as much as you need my cock. You’re desperate for my cock.”

You nod, half lost to pleasure.

“You’ve been such a tease. Such a fucking brat.” The vibrator’s speed increases and you whine. “I ought to punish you, remind you who’s in charge. Make you get on your knees and beg and still leave you wanting for release.”

You whimper, now so deliciously close that you’re starting to shake.

“Luckily for you,” he says, “I have been thinking of you coming all over my cock for hours. So instead of leaving you wanting, I’m going to fuck you until you’ve milked every drop from my cock and you’re going to take it all like a good girl.” His eyes darken. “Now come for me before I change my mind.”

You don’t need to be told twice—you barely need to be told once. The muscles of your cunt flutter against his thrusting fingers and then your orgasm unfurls.

It’s spectacular, setting off a chain reaction of pleasure on every nerve ending, your body shaking as you cry out.

“There you go.” His gaze is hungry, roving over your body, the god of your undoing. He presses the vibrator just a little harder against your clit and you feel that familiar ache stir again just below your belly.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe.

“You’re going to come again, aren’t you?” He’s smirking, but there’s a flicker of awe in his expression, like he can’t quite believe his luck. “Once wasn’t enough for you. You need to come again like the greedy little slut that you are.”

The sparks inside you are fluttering and flickering again, until they catch and send you soaring back into the stratosphere. Your back bows and you cry out as you come.

You’re still shaking when he crawls between your legs moments later, peppering your thighs with messy kisses and spreading your cunt open. The bonds on your wrists and ankles release the moment his mouth touches your cunt and you bury your hands in his hair. You moan as he circles and sucks at your clit and his fingers thrust inside of you.

You look at him nestled between your legs, eyes glazed with desire and it almost sends you over the edge. 

“God, I love your mouth,” you blurt out before you can think about it. “You’re so good at this, it feels so fucking good—”

You’re not sure if it’s the praise or his talent, but the moment you say that, your orgasm begins to crest.

“Fuck, Loki. Fuck, I’m gonna—oh fuck.”

It bursts like a firework and courses through your body like liquid gold, somehow simultaneously frantic and leisurely. You’re dimly aware that you’re moaning with every shuddering roll of your body, praising his mouth and tongue in a way that you know will embarrass you later.

“I told you it would be worth it,” he says after he coaxes the last shudder from you a few minutes later. “I don’t think I’ve heard you scream like that before.”

You don’t even bother opening your eyes. “Bragging is an unattractive quality.”

He tuts. “There’s that attitude again. You know, you’re lucky I didn’t deny you after all your teasing and backtalk.”

You look up at him, eyes hazy. “You like making me come too much to follow through on that.”

He chuckles darkly. “That mouth is going to get you in trouble, wife.”

Sated as you are, the name still lights that spark in your belly. “If you say so, your majesty.”

Within seconds, he’s on you, mouth plundering yours. Your hands fumble with the buckles and clasps on his clothes.

“Help me out,” you say, shoving his surcoat off his shoulders. 

“What was it you said earlier?” He smirks and rolls you both over so he’s on his back. “Ah, yes: work for it.”

You scowl and tug at the fabric. You could just undo his belt and take out his cock, but it’s not enough. You need to feel all of him, need the heat of his skin on yours as he presses inside you.

“You are such an ass.” You yank his shirt over his head.

He laughs. “You want me so badly, you’re shaking.”

He’s right, but you’re not going to concede it. “You want me just as bad. You’ve been holding back from me all day and you can’t stand it. You're desperate to be inside me.

His gaze darkens, but he flicks his wrist and you feel the fabric vanish beneath you.

“Well played, wife,” he says, propping himself up against the headboard. “Now ride me and show me why you deserve to come on my cock.”

You straddle his lap, guiding him to your entrance. “Oh, stop it. We both know you fucking love it when I come on your cock.”

You sink down on him and you both groan. After an extended day of teasing and delays, he cock feels like it’s pressing against every aching part inside of you, soothing a need you’ve felt all day. He nuzzles his face against your neck, nipping at the tender skin of your pulse point. His hands map the expanse of your back and skim down your hips to squeeze your ass.

His hips rock incrementally against you. He wants you to move, to fuck him, and for a moment, you feel drunk on the power.

You brace your hands on his shoulders and raise yourself up on his cock before sinking back down. Your pace is glacial, designed to tease, to drive him wild.

But on the third stroke, he smacks your ass, eyes blazing. “I said ride me.”

It sets off something inside you and you increase your pace before you can second guess it. You catch a glimpse of a feral smile before he pulls you into a rough kiss as you sink back down on him. Your teeth bump against his and you nip hard at his lower lip, which only seems to egg him on.

You’re supposed to be riding him, but his hips are driving up into you just as hard, his firm grip urging you on. Your head tips back as the pressure inside you continues to build. His head dips to your neck, teeth scraping along your collarbone and then down to your breast. He laves his tongue over your nipple and it plucks at the winding coil of pleasure in your hips, your cunt squeezing tighter and tighter on his cock. You whimper and he takes the bud of your nipple between his teeth and tugs ever so slightly.

Your cunt clenches as you creep closer to the edge. He lets out a sharp breath through his teeth as he starts approaching his own end.

“Fuck—”

With a snarl, he flips you to your back in one fluid motion, draping your legs over his broad shoulders. His pace turns rough and a little frantic but he’s hitting a spot that makes your toes curl and your pleas turn even more desperate.

“Fuck—please, please, please—”

His eyes are wild. “Show me what I’ve been missing all day. Let me feel you come. Soak my cock like a good girl.”

His fingers find your clit and suddenly, the rising sensation within you is blossoming into something more akin to a supernova. His hips snap hard against you and the feeling inside you swells and then shatters.

You are vaguely aware that you’re shouting his name as you quake in his arms and your cunt clenches around his cock. Loki moans above you, his jaw going slack and his brow furrowing, his pace slowing slightly like he’s trying to hold back, trying to make it last.

But another wave rolls through you and he shudders and before you can think about it, you’re slipping your legs off his shoulders and around his waist so you can pull him close.

“Come for me.” You whisper it like it’s a secret and he kisses you like he hears. His hips snap hard against you and then he’s kissing you in between Asgardian words you don’t recognize and words that might be your name until it all dissolves into a long groan that he breathes against your lips as he comes so hard that he shakes.

It’s a long moment before he finally eases out and tonight he gives you a long and lingering kiss before he does. Your legs shake as you lie panting on the bed, listening to him shuffle around the room. He must be getting ready for bed. 

You always hate this part. It’s not that you expect or even want affection from him, but sometimes it seems so…businesslike, so transactional. Surely it’s not strange to wish it could be something more, even though it can’t be.

“Sit up.”

You turn your head to look at him, fully prepared to lay into him for telling you what to do, but instead, you find him standing at the side of the bed with a full glass of water.

Something inside you softens just a little. 

“Oh, I’m okay,” you say. “It was just really intense.”

He gives you a dry look. “Humor me.”

Any other time, you might have shot back a sarcastic reply, but there’s something strangely disarming about seeing him standing there buck naked and offering you water. And maybe that little ache of loneliness you felt earlier has made you a little soft. 

You sit up and take the glass from him. “Thanks.”

He sits down next to you on the edge of the bed. “I’ve sent for dinner as well,” he says, absently tracing a finger along your spine. “It’s quite late.”

You take a sip of water. “Do I have to get out of bed for it?”

“So long as you keep the crumbs to your side.”

You wave your hand at him. “You can magic them away.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not a circus pony.”

You give him a dry look. “What’s the point of having magic if you can’t use it to spoil your wife?”

He chuckles and presses a kiss against your shoulder. “Have I not spoiled you enough already today?”

“That stunt with the vibrator was pretty rude.”

He scoffs. “No more rude than getting off on my fingers and leaving me in a meeting for four hours.”

You lean against him and he drapes an arm around your waist. “You of all people should know that turnabout is fair play.”

You’re teasing each other, you realize. It strikes you as a quaintly domestic scene—a couple tangled up together and talking after sex. It’s…kind of nice, in an odd way. 

Almost normal.

Much later, when he’s curled up behind you in bed and the lights are out, he asks a question that you suspect has been on his mind all evening: “What did you think of our experiment?”

You know there’s a reason why he waited until now to ask you this. You can hear it in the careful way he’s asking, how he’s trying to hide that little note of hope.

The urge to be sarcastic or sharp is suspiciously absent.

“Well,” you say, letting the word hang there in the dark for just a moment. “My legs still feel like jello. Kind of hard to argue with those results.”

It’s only when you feel him relax that you realize he was bracing himself for something sharper. The thought stops you. You’d never thought anything you said mattered to him like that.

“Perhaps it’s an experiment we ought to repeat.” He says it casually, but there’s a subtle note of hope that sparks a strange feeling of sympathy.

You nod before you can talk yourself out of it. “Yeah.” The silence prickles at you in a way it never has before. “Maybe Tuesdays, if that works?”

He’s trying to hide it, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “As her majesty commands.”

Next chapter coming soon

[hrrtshape]

EMMA±??±?±?±?±??!?!?!?!OMGORMGOGMG????? STORYTIME HELLOW WHERE DID U EVEN SHIFT TO

i spent 15 days in the upper east side and now i have an existential crisis about my real life (but in a hawt way)

unlike my previous shifts, where i’d spend 10 minutes, maybe 20, dipping my toes into a life so much better than this one, i spent fifteen whole days in my better cr. fifteen days ago, i woke up in my king-sized bed with 1000-thread-count sheets and realised i had, in fact, won in life.

i had done it. no brief glimpse, no fleeting moment before snapping back to my real-world peasantry. fifteen days. enough time for a full socialite saga and to meet my beau!?!?!??! enough time to wake up in pyjamas which might as well been the most comfortable thing i've ever worn, hear the distant clatter of someone else in the other rooms, and stretch luxuriously as if i were in a renaissance painting. i could smell money in the air FOLKS!?!?!!!! not new money, but old money, the kind that sits heavy in the walls (!??!?!?), the kind that makes people say your last name like it means something. and this was my life. MY LIFE. at last. took it long enough.

the first morning, and you have to understand my main character syndrome for this, i stepped out onto the balcony, the manhattan skyline.....mhmhmhmhmhm....mhm. mhm. mhmm. stretching before me like a personal prophecy, and i felt it in my bones!!!!!!: this was home. MY HOME. okay. so. then i went around, you know, exploring my little room (not little...) and girl the moment i stepped in front of a mirror.......WHO'S THIS BABE???? yea. yea. i even had a cat !!!!

then i went to school. sorry, went, i mean DRIVE. now, here’s the dealio. i had scripted myself into this effortlessly put-together, socially untouchable, well-adjusted manhattan teen heiress life. but there were gaps in my logic. big ones. like, for example: i couldn't drive. i didn't know how to drive !!!

and yet, there i was in the morning in my super super super sSUPPPERRR cutesie school uniform, keys in hand, standing in front of a car (a Porsche, people, a porsche!!!) that looked like it cost more than my entire life back in my cr. so, i acted like i totally knew what i was doing. slid into the driver’s seat with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before, adjusted the mirrors like i had a clue, and started the car.

and then? i picked up lily-rose depp.

(she's not an actress in this dr, by the way. just my best friend. which is infinitely cooler.)

she didn't even question everything. just said i looked really hawt today. i was blessed. seriously. like i'm typing this and also screaming i want to go back.

somehow. miraculously. i got us to school in one piece. st. lazarus international college. it looked like a cathedraland felt like a warzone. we pulled up alongside a line of obnoxiously expensive cars (not a single honda in sight!?!?!?!?), and i barely had time to breathe before stepping out onto the pavement, uniform pristine, COACH. MOTHAUFCKING COACH TOTE bag slung over my shoulder like i was about to solve world hunger instead of sit through calculus (that shi fucking sucked btw !!!! but my school's classrooms were drop dead gorgeous).

anyways. i now have to brush upon something that made me almost let out a humongous squeal when i saw him. CORIOLANUS. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes,ewfygweuvbuihweiusvbgiweu`rs. i saw him. yep. yep. i had to slap myself. metaphorically.

SO. i had scripted that on my first day, i would give coriolanus snow a nosebleed.

and !?!??!?!?!!?! IT SUCCEEDED. when i first saw him, he was leaning against a row of lockers like he owned the place and i swear to god i almost moaned. crisp white shirt, tie loose, cheekbones sharp enough to wound, eyes narrowed. pray.

HO. HE WINKED AT ME. and then i walked past him with my bfffffff lily-rose and. and. and. nosebleed. bro. bro. bro. BROSKI. the way he blinked..........the way his breath hitched just a little as the first drop of blood slid over his cupid’s bow. the WAY he tilted his head back, tongue darting out briefly over his lip. oh my god. i was actively fighting to not go and jump on him and like do vile disgusting things.

i had won the war, but at what cost?

because he was so hot.

SO FUCKING HAWT.

uh. so. yeah. that was just the first two hours of my better cr, and it was already putting my entire existence to shame. like, objectively, scientifically, undeniably better than anything i have ever done in my cr.

ssssoooooo. IF ANYONE WANTS TO HEAR MORE…do let me know. because, hands clasped, eyes glistening, heart on the verge of combustion, i am being so serious. this was the peak of my human experience. i have tasted divinity PEOPLE. i have lived too well. i fear i must go back, or else i will experience genuine withdrawals from the lack of my paramour’s face in my daily visuals.

so yeah. if you’re curious… hit me up. (evil, knowing laughter echoing into the abyss)

OH AND. whenever i'd go to sleep there i'd like cry out of fear that i'd wake up in my cr but whenever i'd wake up just...there...i'd literally pray to god. BECCAUSE EIJISEJFEWUSHFIHEJI. i'm there.

anyway, i am so not okay about this. i keep coming back to edit, rewrite, relive. but okay. listen. if you ever had even a sliver of doubt about shifting, i am kneeling right now, hands clasped, eyes wide with conviction, telling you!!!!!!!

SHIFTING IS SO FUCKING REAL.

it’s real in a way that defies logic, in a way that makes the air feel electric, in a way that rewires your entire understanding of existence. so real. so unimaginably real.

[oikarma]

don't look back in anger

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: she knows it's too late as she's walking on by. or: all the times you have talked to max verstappen since that night.

a/n: more angsty than the first part? a lot more written stuff 🤕 sorry if you don't like that kinda thing.

part one

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liked by f1 and 3,279,148 others

kellypiquet: To us, and to many more years together 🤍

tagged: maxverstappen

view 69,501 comments

user1: oh my god it's happening!!!

user2: about time he put a ring on her finger...they've already had a kid together

user3: eh eh, eh eh, i just want it to be you

user4: can we normalize not bringing up people's exes in the comment sections of their new partners? user5: @/user4 max and yn weren't even exes get your facts right user3: @/user4 what 😭 it's a cute song and they're getting married user6: my chronically online ass cannot comprehend how people like yn's songs but don't know about the lore behind them

yourinstagram: congrats, kelly! * liked by kellypiquet

user7: maybe max is the problem guys. user8: @/user7 like if his situationship and his fiance can get along so well.. user9: i would crash out if my ex best friend slash maybe soulmate commented on my fiance's post and said congrats to HER and not me user10: women supporting women 💪

user11: the ring is so pretttyyy

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ONE.

The sun has started to dip, gold strokes across the pearly white decor. Around you are guests and heightened murmurs. Of course they're excited: it's Max Verstappen's wedding. A world champion among the greats.

You're still standing there, left by a few guests who wanted to offer their thoughts on your music. Their words were kind and well-meaning, but all they did was remind you of how queer it was. That you were at Max and Kelly's wedding. Sweat beads pile on your forehead, threatening to ruin your makeup; the dress feels heavy, too heavy. It might suffocate you. You straighten your back and take a deep breath. Breathe in, breathe out.

"You came."

Max's voice is low and hesitant, but it easily breaks through your train of thought. His words are just placed out there, like he's not sure if he has a right to say them at all. They sit there in front of you, an ache, a question.

There's a knot in your stomach. This was a bad idea.

"Kelly invited me." Your voice is steady, yet it sounds distant. Like someone else is speaking your lines for you, making things alright. You don't want to be here anymore. Not like this. "What did you expect? That I wouldn't show up?"

Max's hand trembles. He wants to step closer, you think. But he can't. Not like this. Not now.

"I didn't know if...you'd want to see me," he stammers.

You stiffen at his words, remembering the clear boundaries between the two of you. The paparazzi aren't here: it's a private event, at his insistence. But there are others, others who are watching and listening Max Verstappen talk to the girl who wrote an album of songs about the love she could not return him.

A sharp breath escapes your lips. You don't want to deal with this. Not now, when you're both standing on the brink of something final.

"Max, this is Kelly's wedding." Your voice hardens. "Your wedding. She��s about to marry you. So whatever you think this is—whatever it was—it doesn’t matter anymore."

Max looks at you, his jaw tightening. An old habit, you remember, as he chews back the words he can't say aloud. A part of you wants to reach out to touch his face.

It's up to you, as it always has been. He wants to say something, to reach for the words that will make you understand, but he knows it’s too late for that. The realization dawns on his eyes. The past is too tangled, too complicated. And Kelly is waiting for him to be by her side.

"I never meant for things to end like this." His voice cracks slightly, and it’s clear that the weight of your history is crushing him. He takes another step forward, almost against his will. "I asked for too much. I'm sorry I hurt you."

The silence between you two feels thick, stretching longer than it should. Max’s eyes soften at your words, but you can see the hesitation in him, the part of him that wishes he could do more, be more for you. Enough.

And it hurts in a way that you don’t want to admit. Not here, not now.

You should walk away. This conversation isn’t for this moment. But you can’t move. Your feet are cemented to the ground, and Max is standing too close.

"I just... I miss you," he whispers, his voice breaking under the weight of the noose he's never fully escaped.

A shiver runs down your spine at how raw his voice is. Your chest tightens.

There it is. That thing you’d been trying to ignore. You miss him too. In ways that make no sense when you look at him, standing there, about to tie his life to someone else.

You wish things were different. You wish that you could let yourself feel what he’s offering. You’ve wondered, countless times, if you made the wrong choice. If you had let yourself fall, would it have been easier? Or would it have just destroyed you both in the end?

Max shifts his weight, his gaze never leaving yours, and you can see the uncertainty in his eyes, the hope flickering there like it might ignite. It almost makes you want to step forward.

Almost.

But you know better. You can't.

"I..." You swallow, your voice rough. The words scatch in your throat. "I can’t do this, Max. Not now."

His face falls.

You hate that you’re creating this distance, but you have to. It’s the only way to stop both of you from falling back into this mess you've never cleaned up. Writing your songs was supposed to help and it only worsened your what-ifs.

You force yourself to breathe again. "You're about to marry Kelly. You can’t look back at me now, Max."

A long silence hangs between you two. Max opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. You know the truth. Sure, you've asked yourself if your intuition was right. But you know. You’ve always known.

You can barely hear him when he lands the last blow. "I never stopped loving you."

It's too real. He's struggling and you can hear it in his voice. This was a bad idea. This is his wedding. You can feel your walls crumbling at his words, the things you’ve buried beneath the surface shaking loose, but you push it all back down. You have to.

"Don't," your voice cracks. You can't hear anything but your own words and your heartbeat. "Please don't."

The two of you stand there. Life keeps moving forward, people laughing, and you think the piano is going to start soon. It's going to mark Kelly's entrance. And Kelly's entrance it is, into Max's life. For good.

For good.

You have to walk away.

And you take that first step back, away from your first friend. The first thing in your life that fit like it was made for you; never to be broken apart.

It still doesn’t stop the ache in your chest, but it's the right thing.

Max breathes in behind you, such a staggered sound it could be a plea for help.

You move toward your seat, hoping he will not look upon this moment too badly. That one day, in the future, his anger will have left him and he will realize this was your last act of love: to help him, even when it means breaking his heart a little bit more.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by lando and 1,792,164 others

f1gossipofficial: Lewis Hamilton was spotted this weekend in Monaco hanging out with Y/N L/N. They collaborated on Y/N's debut album, even sharing a kiss in the music video for "toxic to the end." Is a romance brewing? And how does Max Verstappen feel about all this?

tagged: yourinstagram, lewishamilton

view all 61,382 comments

user1: oh...max..

user2: oml he's literally MARRIED he's OVER. HER. it was four years ago. why does no one understand?

user3: this feels so intrusive but whatever. why are you taking pictures of them grocery shopping together 😭 let them live their life

user4: i love how lando is casually liking this.

user5: @/lando WHAT DO YOU KNOW lando: 🤐

user6: i literally said this as soon as the mv dropped. Y/N girl you have the sexist man alive as your friend MAKE A MOVE

user7: they have such good chemistry though!! did you see the rimowa interview??? same vibe, they're so adorable user8: so much better than her and max...am i right?

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r/PopCultureChat · 1 day ago hemsworthss

Max Verstappen and Kelly Piquet calling it quits.

You might call me insane. You might say nothing official is out, but I think this might be true. As of October 2025:

Kelly unpinned both the pregnancy and the marriage announcement on her account. This is odd: she's had both up there since she made the posts. It probably isn't a matter of her clearing her feed or anything, because her Vogue shoot is still pinned. I looked for the post on her account and it was GONE. I looked for the pregnancy post on Max's account and she was no longer listed as a collaborator. Max was never a collaborator on the marriage announcement.

She's been posting a lot with P and the young 'un, but Max isn't in any of them. In his Team Redline streams, Max is always alone. Neither of his kids has appeared. Judging from the locations on her posts, she and her kids are on vacation in Europe.

Kelly wasn't at the last two Grand Prixes. She posted a story of her watching one on the couch but that was it. Neither of her kids were there, either.

Max has been posting more recently and he's been spending time with friends over family. Lando has him in a few dumps: playing paddle, Max even holding a guitar. Who plays guitar? Y/N L/N but that's not the point. Max is learning new hobbies and spending alone time.

I think I'm right. And if DeuxMoi has anything to say about a famous athlete/model couple filing for divorce, I'm placing my bets on Max and Kelly. Thoughts?

dannyric03: I don't want to believe it. He's so happy with the kids. Fatherhood suits him well.

↳ AppleBiter12: But fatherhood and marriage are different things. I thought maybe they got married because they thought the child would bring them closer. And it didn't.

hamiltons8th: I don't know. It seems debatable. Maybe they're just taking a break. It has been a stressful season so far.

↳ FantasyFox719: Right. But Max loves his kids, of course he'd want to spend time with him. I can't think of why he wouldn't spend his time between races (as he normally does) with his family instead of colleagues. ↳ hamiltons8th: @/FantasyFox719 Well him and Lando are best mates, something like that. I do think it's odd he's not with his kids. Maybe Kelly suggested it.

PeacockJazz450: Unrelated but did you see the news about Y/N and Lewis?

↳ hemsworthss: I did, actually. I think they're a very cute couple (if they're dating) that complement each other's personalies and goals very well. Lewis is very career-focused and so is Y/N. Love both of them lots. Even if they're friends I'm sure it's a great relationship. ↳ PeacockJazz450: @/hemsworthss Lol. I agree. Maybe Max crashed out after seeing that and decided he needed a break too 😂 There was this one tweet going around that was like "Imagine winning in Abu Dhabi 21 but losing the love of your life to the man you beat." ↳ hemsworthss: @/PeacockJazz450 Oh that's diabolical. Celebrity drama is bad enough but so many of the drivers are bops and their dating life is mildly concerning. Very interesting though. ↳ PeacockJazz450: @/hemsworthss At least Y/N hasn't dated anyone that we know of. I hope it folds out well.

ApplestoApples: if it's true that's such a shame. they've only been married for a year or so.

↳ 5_vettel: Agreed. But celebrity relationships never seem very stable.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

kellypiquet has added to their stories

[ caption: family first 🧑‍🧒‍🧒 ]

replies:

user1: the one parent?? the two kids?? KELLY DID YOU SPLIT

user2: uh oh...

user3: max what did you do this time

user4: hope you're okay queen!

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by ladygaga, lewishamilton and 3,184,932 others

yourinstagram: left the door open and this DIVA walked through 📢 "APT." is out now & you can watch it live at my burnout mini tour!!

🔗 tickets on sale at ynln.com/live

tagged: brunomars

user1: new album? y/n??

user2: BRUNO DELIVERED OH MY GOD

user3: first lewis now bruno how is she getting all these icons for collabs 😭 actually insane her team must be working overtime

brunomars: don't forget to drink dance shower and freak

user4: not him saying shower instead of smoke lolol bruno being a responsible man as always

user5: i hear the dating rumors

user6: max verstappen. did you see the kiss? i bet you saw the kiss

user7: watch him block you on insta user8: two more boys y/n has kissed now and none of them are called max verstappen!

user9: could not be more proud of you queen 🤍 from starting an acting career, to dropping an insane album, and to collaborating with huge artists. i'm sure you'll keep doing great things and no one can stop you. * liked by yourinstagram

user10: what does this mean for her and lewis ☹️

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

TWO.

The crowd is still screaming as you scramble down the stairs, face flushed and out of breath. Sweat clings to your skin and your chest rises and falls, the adrenaline still coursing through you. Everything feels infinite, all the love shown out there drowning out your doubts and your past.

"Hell of a show you put out there, rockstar."

Lewis Hamilton leans against the table with your glass of water on it. His arms are crossed, an easy grin on his lips. He's dressed like he belongs here—which, admittedly, he now does.

He already knew about the concert: you couldn't wait to tell him when Bruno. Mars. Called. You. It wasn't exactly good timing, him just finishing the Mexico City Grand Prix the day before, but he came anyway. And dressed impeccably, at that.

You let out a breathy laugh, grabbing the glass. "You're just saying that because you got backstage treatment."

Lewis chuckles. "You know I mean it. You were unreal. When's the album coming out?"

"Hold on, hold on. Don't rush me. Give me a podium celebration first, will you?"

He tilts his head and you can't quite breathe. He says you were unreal but he's unreal. It still shakes you, sometime, how such a wonderful and caring and completely perfect man picked you to be his...friend.

You keep it at that word for now, but appreciate how good he looks with shades pushed back into his braids.

"Depends. You up for a champagne shower?"

Nothing flusters you like Lewis's quick wit.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. "Not in this dress, I’m not."

Lewis chuckles, his gaze lingering on you for half a second longer than necessary. "Shame. Would’ve been a pretty memorable moment. We'll have to reschedule."

You're aware of how close he is. How the conversation feels lighter than it should. How his presence is grounding in a way you don’t often get anymore. Your thoughts are wandering again, eyes tracing the curve of his mouth and—

The air shifts.

It’s subtle, like a drop in temperature. Like something's pressing against your ribs. You feel the presence and you know exactly what it is.

(Or maybe it's the fact that your team has gone completely silent. No more hurried congratulations and squeals in the background.)

Max.

He’s standing just a few steps away, lacking his usual Red Bull gear. His hair is all messed up, as if he got off a plane and came straight here. His jaw is set, his hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes flicking between you and Lewis. There’s something there—something simmering behind that calculated look of his.

Your grip tightens on the water bottle.

"Didn’t expect to see you here, Max." Your voice is even, but it takes effort.

He exhales sharply, shifting his weight. "You think I'd miss this?"

The words are simple, but the matter is not.

Lewis, ever observant, stays exactly where he is—relaxed but present. "Didn’t know you were a fan of good music, mate." His voice is smooth. Yet deliberate. You can't do this right now. Why does he have to show up whenever things in your life are getting good?

Max’s gaze flickers to Lewis, and for a second, something almost like amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth before disappearing just as quickly. "I've been listening for years."

It lands heavier than it should. Your pulse jumps and both of them are probably aware of it. Max isn't talking about the music.

Max’s eyes stay on you, searching. "You didn't think I'd come, did you?"

You exhale carefully. "I didn't...invite you."

Max’s jaw tightens. "Well. Here I am."

It's too much. The weight of his words, the way Lewis is next to you—grounding, solid, present—and Max is just there looking like he's trying to figure out how everything slipped through his fingers.

The air between the three of you stretches, taut and fragile. Max’s words still hang there—Well. Here I am.

You shift under Max’s stare, your grip tightening on the water bottle still in your hand. Your throat feels dry.

"What do you want me to say, Max? That I expected you to come? That I thought about it?"

Max exhales sharply. It pierces you like a knife. "I don’t know. Maybe." His voice is lower now, almost bitter. "You never wanted to talk about it."

His voice is rough when he speaks again. "Tell me you don’t think about it."

You are acutely aware of Lewis's presence, but Max is slowly taking over your thoughts.

You inhale sharply. It's all you can do. "Max—"

"Tell me you don’t wonder."

Your throat tightens.

You do. You have.

Some nights when the lights are off and the city finally shuts itself up, you let yourself think about it. About him and the moment he kissed you. The way his voice cracked when he said your name.

But you also remember the fear. The way you couldn't have let yourself fold—not then.

And now?

Now, Lewis is here. Steady and patient in ways Max never was. Lewis, who has never asked you for anything more than what you could give, who doesn’t need you to be anything other than what you already are. Lewis, who will let himself be just a friend. Lewis...

You glance at Lewis instinctively. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something softer in the way he looks at you. He understands.

This, Max notices.

His jaw clenches, the vein in his neck jumping. His hands curl into fists at his sides and then relax so fast you could've missed it. Is it for show, all of this? Does he want you to think he cares or not? He exhales, looking away for a brief second. Just enough to compose himself. When he looks back, something about him is more guarded.

"Right," Max says, much quieter. He nods, more to himself than to you. "I get it."

But the problem is that you don’t think he does.

Despite everything, despite Lewis, despite the way you had chosen to walk away.

You still...

Max lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "Right. Because it’s never the time, is it?"

Not this. You flinch, because he's right. You don't want to talk about it. How he kissed you, drunk but so eerily sober in the way all his thoughts came out at once. The weight of everything in between the two of you spilled over, something you weren't ready for. About how, even now, sometimes you catch yourself missing him before you remind yourself why you had to leave.

The fear is back.

Your whole life had began to shift, focusing on you. Y/N L/N, rising actress. People talked about you...and your friendship with Max. What it was. And if you had let yourself feel something for him—if you had let yourself fall—what would have been left of you?

"There was nothing to talk about," you say. It's hollow, like another word could crush it into smithereens.

Max's mouth purses into a thin line. "That’s bullshit. You know it."

You're too aware of the people in the room, again.The way Lewis is still there, watching but not interrupting, not yet. The way Max is standing too close, and yet not close enough.

You shake your head, only able to reiterate all the things you've already told him. "This isn't the time for this."

Lewis shifts beside you then, speaking for the first time in minutes. He's had enough. His voice is calm, smooth, but there’s something sharper beneath it. Water over rocks, threatening to split the waves any minute. "If you're looking for something from her, maybe you should ask yourself why you didn’t do it when it actually mattered."

Max turns to Lewis, his posture stiffening. There's a respect between the two, but spite typically taints it. Now? No malice—just frustration, just regret. Just something ugly and old between all of you.

You close your eyes for half a second, steadying yourself. When you open them, Max is looking at you again, waiting.

But he’s always been waiting, hasn't he?

And you?

You’ve always been running. From what? you wonder now. From something real?

Something has changed. Now you're not sure if you're tired of running or just afraid of what happens when you stop.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

kellypiquet and maxverstappen have added to their stories

replies:

user1: so it was true??

user2: praying for you kelly <3

user3: 5 bucks it has to do with y/n and whatever he did when he showed up at her concert

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

THREE.

The coffee shop is cozy, the kind of place you go when you want to be alone with your thoughts. You're sitting at a corner table, flipping through your phone. Doomscrolling, they call it.

It’s been a while since you last saw Max—months, maybe. His divorce from Kelly was all over the media, and yet, here you are, sitting in the same coffee shop as him. The silence is louder than any of the questions you had when the news first broke.

You didn’t expect to run into him today.

You'd also thought you were over all of it. Buried, deep down. But when his voice meets your ears, it's all coming back.

"You still like this place, huh?" Max sounds like he's been thinking about his question for a while.

Glancing up, surprise flickers across your face. "Max...didn't expect to see you here."

He stands there for a moment, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. You feel the awkward tension rising like steam from your mug.

“You’re hard to avoid these days,” Max says, his words coming out almost casually. "Guess we keep bumping into each other."

You raise an eyebrow, setting your phone down. “We never really bumped into each other before.”

Max’s lips tighten for a moment. Caught. “No. I guess we haven't."

Neither of you move. Then, Max steps forward, hesitating just slightly before sitting across from you.

“Nice seeing you. Didn't expect it to be here."

You nod slowly, unsure of how to respond. "Yeah...well, things change."

Vulnerably flickers in his eyes. You haven't seen that in a while. "They do," he agrees.

It's unfinished, this mess between you.

"I know things got complicated," Max continues. "I shouldn't have pushed you. I didn't mean to make it worse but I did."

You want to say something—anything. But the words are stuck. Everything: the kiss, the distance, all the memories you've shared. They're all under the surface, waiting for someone to make sense of it all.

Instead, you try to find your footing. "Max...what are we even doing here?"

Something like the Max you used to know. He's less guarded, less distant. "I don't know. But I don't want things to be like this. No forever."

You swallow hard. You want to respond, but there's too much going on in your head.

Max breaks the silence. Again. This time, he's more quiet. "So, what about him? Lewis?"

The way he says it makes you wonder. Jealousy? Not that, he's past that. But it's a question wrapped in old pain. He wants to know. He always has.

You lean back in your chair, letting out a soft sigh. "What about him?"

Max’s eyes are searching. "You're...close. Do you, I don't know, care about him?"

The answer isn't as simple as either of you would like it to be. There's a part of you that wants to spill out all the feelings. That you don't know. Still don't.

"He's good to me. I don't know what else you want me to say."

It's not the answer he wants to hear, but he nods anyway. "Yeah, I get it."

The past is complicated, and the present is no less so. There's a peace with Lewis. But Max...Max has a way of making everything feel unresolved.

You bite your lip, unsure if you should talk more. You want to say something that makes sense, that will give both of you the closure you need. The truth is, there's too much unsaid. Unresolved. It's sitting there, loose strings and all.

"Maybe we never had the chance to figure it out. It wasn't just about what we felt, Max. It was everything else too."

His expression tightens. Like the words aren't forming right. The old ache is there in his words, in his face. They never healed. "I was an idiot, wasn't I?" he mutters.

You shake your head, not wanting to dwell on that when he's already beat himself up for half a decade. "We were both...confused. We had different things to figure out."

You can't place the look in his eyes. "Maybe. But I was never just confused about you. I was scared of losing it all. Of losing what we could've had."

It hits you in the chest. Then, the words come out before you can stop them. "Max...we shouldn't leave it like this. I don't want to leave it. Again."

"So what does that mean?" His voice is hopeful, though he has his doubts.

It won't be the same. That's impossible.

"I don't know. We'll have to figure it out." You hesitate before taking out your phone. "Maybe we can...talk more. Not lose touch again."

A smile breaks across his face, though he tries to hide it. "That sounds good. I'd like that."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

did you like this? i wanna make a part three. it's like...closure but not completely, you know? there's still a lot for them to deal with and also lewis! beautiful beautiful lewis! messy max or lovely lewis ? 🤨

[omlette-prince-of-denmark]

As a theatre scholar and practitioner, I feel like this doesn't always apply, but that may just be in my field, where your performers generally come face to face with their audience and to a degree depend on a connection between them. I personally try to always take them into account. Don't get me wrong - I LOATHE it when another director makes choices that betray that he's just scared of the audience and thus keeps it lukewarm.

But a big chunk of performing tends to be creating some sort of connection or energy between the performers and the audience. Thinking about target audience can become very crucial actually. I recall working on a project that was a 10-minute show meant to be performed at a train station, at random times during the day to just sorta brighten the travellers' and commuters' days. So far so good. One of the pieces chosen for this was an extremely multi-layered poem about drinking. The director, scared as he was that if made too complicated no one would like it, played it purely for entertainment value. It ended up more like a celebration of escaping reality via alcohol. Nothing could persuade him to overthink this.

Now I'm sure you can imagine who our regular audience ended up being. Those who saw multiple performances per day for a three week period. That's right. The homeless that had claimed the station as their sort of base.

And now imagine how these performers felt: with their relatively cushy lives, playing a slapstick kinda scene and blurting out lines like "I drink til I can't no more all day long". And imagine me, who had to politely intervene a thousand times so the regulars didn't touch or otherwise startle the performers. They were the ones we interacted with the most in this piece. And always when we were on the cusp of earning their trust or respect, this fucking scene came on!!! They felt so mocked. So humiliated. It wasn't the intention AT ALL. The poem had been part of a thingy that we were supposed to pick our scenes from but... since there was no consideration about the target audience at a train station, the whole thing was an embarrassing disaster that in my eyes did more damage to the atmosphere there than good.

So I guess I'm trying to say, be weird, don't be scared that people might not like it and really question if you find yourself aggressively tailoring and marketing a thing to a specific demographic. But if you are tied to a time and a place and have to interact with real humans, context IS important and considering it can be the difference between a crazy fight between a bunch of angry homeless people and some confused scared actors who didn't know what they had done wrong.

fuck an "intended audience" how about we normalize engaging with new and unfamiliar art pieces on their own terms

[hazymoonlinh]

Special ring

A draft I have saved for a whole month bruh

Pure fluff

(Phainon x reader)

In conclusion, he bites you.

The two of you were sitting under a tree on a quiet evening, the battlefield far behind for now. Phainon leaned back against the trunk, the sun painting golden hues on his face as he looked at you. There was a calmness to the air, a stillness that begged for conversation to fill it.

Out of nowhere, he asked, “What’s your take on marriage? And love?”

You blinked, a little startled by the question. “That’s…random,” you said, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

Phainon chuckled lightly. “Is it? I’m just curious.”

You rested your chin on your knees, the breeze tugging at your hair. “Hm…I don’t know,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “I don’t think I really trust it.”

That response caught his attention. His brows furrowed, his playful demeanor replaced with genuine curiosity. “You don’t trust it? Why’s that?”

You stared at the ground, your fingers idly tracing patterns in the dirt. “Well…because I grew up in an environment where marriage wasn’t about love. It was a transaction. A way to trade power, secure alliances, or gain something. Most of the marriages I saw didn’t have love in them at all.”

Phainon’s expression softened, though there was a flicker of surprise in his blue eyes. He stayed silent, letting you continue.

“It’s like…love wasn’t part of the equation at all.”

You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the open air. “So…I guess I just don’t think I’ll ever have love. And I don’t think anyone would ever love me.”

Phainon’s eyes went wide at that. He sat up straighter, his full attention on you now. “Huh? Why would you think that? You could always try, you know that, right?”

You looked away, embarrassed by his sincerity. “I…haizz…I seriously don’t know. Maybe I’m scared.”

“You think you’re unlovable?” he continued, his voice softening. “Well, you’re wrong. If anything, you’re one of the most lovable people I’ve ever met. You’re kind, brave, and—hell, you’ve put yourself on the line for people who don’t even deserve it. You’ve got a heart bigger than most, even if you’re scared to show it.”

Your breath hitched, his words cutting through the doubts you’d carried for so long.

“And as for marriage or love?” he added, his signature grin finally returning. “Well, if you don’t trust it, I’ll just have to convince you otherwise, won’t I?”

You stared at him, stunned by his confidence and warmth. He smirked at your reaction, leaning back against the tree again. “So, what do you say? Give love a chance, duckling?”

For the first time in a long time, you felt a small flicker of hope. You nodded, the tiniest smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe.”

“Good,” Phainon said with a wink. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Phainon’s grin turned mischievous as he took your hands in his, holding them as though they were the most delicate things in the world. You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his mood, and before you could question it, he brought your hand to his lips.

The soft press of his kiss on your knuckles sent a jolt through you, your breath catching. But then—without warning—he popped your ring finger into his mouth.

Your eyes widened as his teeth grazed against your skin, the sensation both strange and electrifying. He bit down just enough to leave a faint mark, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. His playful smirk grew as he pulled your hand back.

“This’ll do it for now,” he murmured, his voice a low hum.

You gawked at him, completely frozen, but he wasn’t done. In one swift motion, he tugged you closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Before I find the perfect ring for you.”

Your brain short-circuited. Words failed you as a deep flush spread across your cheeks. “W-w-what? A ring? What are you talking about? You can’t just—what—Phainon!”

He leaned back, his expression utterly smug as he watched you stumble over your words. “Hmm? Something wrong, duckling? You’re looking a little…red.”

“Red? I’m not—no, you—you can’t just say things like that!” You clutched your hand to your chest, staring at the faint mark he’d left as if it were glowing. “A ring? Are you serious? Are you joking? What does this even mean?!”

Phainon chuckled, reaching out to gently tug at a strand of your hair. “Oh, I’m very serious. But don’t worry—I’ll give you time to process. I wouldn’t want you fainting on me.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, but that only seemed to amuse him further.

“Take your time, love,” he added with a wink. “We’ve got forever.” And he gives you a peck on your cheek.

[00valentina-writes00]

Please i need something with Ambessa with a reader tattooed... But not small tattoos, I mean her whole body is covered. thanks u! <33

✞⛧ Ambessa with a girlfriend covered in tattoos ✞⛧

(YESSSSSS YES YES YES 10000x YES)

✞⛧ Ambessa notices your tattoos long before she gets the chance to truly appreciate them. Even with your clothing covering most of your skin, the hints of ink peeking out from your collar or sleeves instantly intrigue her.

✞⛧ At first, she’s subtle about her interest. Ambessa is a master of restraint, but she catches herself staring whenever a sliver of your tattooed skin becomes visible.

✞⛧ The first time she truly sees one of your tattoos is during a sparring session. Your sleeves are rolled up, revealing intricate patterns on your biceps. She pauses mid-movement, her gaze lingering long enough for you to notice.

✞⛧ “You fight like an artist,” she says, her voice smooth yet amused. “I should have known your body would reflect that.”

✞⛧ Over time, Ambessa becomes bolder in her curiosity. She doesn’t hesitate to ask about the meaning behind your tattoos, though her questions are always laced with admiration rather than prying.

✞⛧ The moment she sees your back tattoo is one she’ll never forget. You’re dressing after a training session, and the design on your spine catches her eye. The way it flows down your back, accentuating your strength and grace, leaves her momentarily speechless.

✞⛧ “A spine as strong as the ink upon it,” she murmurs, half to herself. It’s one of the rare moments she openly lets her awe show.

✞⛧ Ambessa’s hands often wander when you’re alone together, tracing the lines of the tattoos on your shoulder blades. She marvels at how they seem to blend with your natural power, a seamless union of artistry and strength.

✞⛧ The tattoos on your thighs are a particular fascination for her. When you’re seated or lying down, she loves to run her fingers over the intricate designs, her touch equal parts reverent and possessive.

✞⛧ “They suit you,” she’ll say, her voice low and rich. “Bold, striking, impossible to ignore—just like you.”

✞⛧ The tattoos on your chest—especially those on your breasts—are a secret she cherishes. The first time she sees them is during an intimate moment, and her gaze is a mixture of admiration and hunger.

✞⛧ “Every inch of you is a masterpiece,” she whispers, her hands gentle yet firm as they explore the designs. “You wear your strength on your skin, and it’s… intoxicating.”

✞⛧ Ambessa doesn’t just admire the tattoos for their beauty; she respects the pain and resilience it took to get them. She understands the power of bearing scars and marks, whether they’re earned in battle or inked by choice.

✞⛧ She loves hearing the stories behind your tattoos, whether they’re tied to personal victories, meaningful symbols, or moments of rebellion.

✞⛧ On quieter nights, she’ll pull you close, her fingertips tracing the lines of the tattoos on your arms and shoulders as you talk.

✞⛧ Ambessa has a particular fondness for the tattoos on your biceps. They highlight your strength, and she can’t resist running her hand over them whenever she has the chance.

✞⛧ “If I had known you were hiding this beneath your armor, I would have insisted on seeing it much sooner,” she teases, though there’s truth in her words.

✞⛧ She often jokes that your tattoos make you look even more intimidating than you already are. “Not that I mind,” she says with a smirk. “I like a woman who can turn heads—and break necks.”

✞⛧ When she’s feeling particularly affectionate, she’ll kiss along the lines of your tattoos, her lips brushing over the ink as if paying homage to the art etched into your skin.

✞⛧ Ambessa loves how your tattoos seem to shift and flow with your movements. Whether you’re fighting, laughing, or simply walking, the ink feels alive, as dynamic as you are.

✞⛧ She’s especially drawn to the tattoos on your thighs during intimate moments. There’s something about the way they frame your strength that leaves her utterly captivated. (Jiggle affects are an added bonus)

✞⛧ She loves seeing you in different outfits that highlight your tattoos, whether it’s sleeveless armor, thigh-baring skirts, or low-cut tops. To her, you’re a living work of art, and she’s proud to call you hers.

✞⛧ Though she’s seen all of your tattoos by now, Ambessa never grows tired of admiring them. Each time feels like discovering a new layer of who you are—a mystery she’ll never stop wanting to unravel.

A little smth to go along with it-

Ambessa’s gaze lingers on you longer than usual, her sharp eyes softened by the dim glow of the firelight. You’re perched on the edge of her lavish bed, your tunic slipping from your shoulders as you undo the intricate laces.

When the fabric finally falls away, Ambessa’s composure falters, just slightly. Her lips part, and for a moment, the unshakable General Medarda looks… stunned. Her gaze traces the ink etched into your skin, flowing over the curves of your breasts in intricate, striking designs. The bold lines and delicate shading seem to move with you, alive and dynamic, as though the tattoos were meant to accentuate your every breath.

She steps closer, her usual confidence tempered by something quieter, almost reverent. Her hand reaches out, her fingers brushing against the edge of one design as if she’s afraid to smudge the ink. Her touch is featherlight at first, her fingertips skimming over the edge of a swirling pattern on your collarbone. Slowly, her hand moves lower, tracing the lines with a meticulous care that feels intimate, almost devotional.

“Every inch of you is a masterpiece,” she murmurs, her voice low and thick with admiration. Her thumb follows the curve of a delicate spiral near your sternum, pausing where the ink fades into the natural contours of your skin. She lingers there, pressing her palm flat against your chest as though grounding herself in the reality of you.

Her touch grows firmer as she maps the patterns with her fingertips. She follows a line that winds across your ribs, her hand moving with the same precision she might use when wielding a blade. Her focus is intense, her golden eyes flicking between the ink and your reactions. “These are no mere marks,” she says softly, her thumb grazing the edge of an intricate design beneath your breast. “This is artistry, written across your body for me to see.”

Ambessa kneels slightly, leveling her gaze with the tattoos on your stomach and sides. Her fingers trace the bold lines along your ribs, marveling at how they shift with your breathing. Her hand brushes lower, exploring a floral motif that blooms across your hip, and she lets out a soft, appreciative hum. “The ink here… It’s remarkable. But it pales in comparison to the canvas.”

Her lips find your shoulder first, pressing warm, deliberate kisses along the lines of your tattoos. She works her way downward, her mouth following the trail her hands have already charted. Each kiss is deliberate, reverent, as if she’s committing every inch of your skin to memory.

When her hands settle on your waist, her thumbs glide along the inked curves of your sides. Her fingers fan out, framing your strength, and she leans back just enough to admire the full picture of you. Her gaze locks with yours, her golden eyes blazing with a rare tenderness that makes your breath catch.

Her hand trails back up, following the line of your spine, her fingers tracing each vertebra as if the ink were a map leading her to some profound truth.

Her hands finally come to rest on either side of your face, cupping it with a gentleness that contrasts her usual commanding presence. Her thumbs brush against your cheeks, her gaze searching yours with an intensity that makes your pulse race. “You are unlike anything I’ve ever known,” she murmurs, her voice thick with reverence. “And I would have it no other way.”

When her lips finally claim yours, it’s a kiss full of unspoken promises and the kind of reverence that makes you feel like the most powerful person in the room—even in the presence of Ambessa. And as her hands drift back to the tattoos she’s come to adore, you can feel her silent vow to memorize every detail of you, over and over again.

[asksonicverse]

You dont need to answer but I just wanted to tell you I adore Paradox being like "I hate all of them except" and then listing everyone except like 2 guys, honey you don't hate *all* of them you expressly don't hate *most of them*

Extremely charming characterization i adore it

[Creator Special number 2!]

So glad someone noticed that, I was originally going to have him name EVERYONE except Boost but then I was like “nah, Mania is just too annoying for Paradox to tolerate him”

And thanks! I’m trying to be… consistent with my characterization of each of them and stay in line with canon but like… URGH sometimes I want to deviate so bad just to indulge but I resist!

Needless to say tho, prism is probably going to get more affectionate later on. Rewatched Sonic Prime again and bro is a cutie patootie!

Headcanons… headcanons… hmm

Well, starting with the obvious, Paradox goes to therapy as I’ve mentioned which I think is hilarious. He and Lance are the only Shadows who really have their shit together which is why I think Sonadow works well for them? (we stan healthy relationships guys)

I do head canon that Eight doesn’t like being touched really at all anymore. After the metal virus, he grew so used to the fact that he couldn’t touch anyone that it sorta just stuck. He does it to save people, but not anything more. :(

And while I’m a sucker for the Trans Sonic HC I decided not to implement it in this particular AU!

I really want to include Captain Sonic and Shadow, but I haven’t played nor watched a serious play through of the game. (I’ve only really listened to a bit of the Snapcube dub..)

can someone tell me if Shadow is a Barista or a Mechanic in that game btw?? I google it, nothing pops up. I could’ve sworn there was something about a mechanic.

Uhh I LOVE Sonic Frontiers, fire game. If I include that one, it’ll ALSO be Sonamy since I’m pretty sure that game takes place before SA2 in canon?

I’m trying to keep the Sonics and Shadows balanced but I’d love to add Generations Shadow and Sonic. Just thinking of names already I get “Doom” for Shadow and “Emerald” for Sonic. (Referencing the fake emerald from their interaction in the shadow story)

Unfortunately I haven’t seen the Archie comics or Sonic Underground so I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Someone also asked about if I’d ever include different AU’s: maybe if those AU creators gave me permission I’d be down to do a collab for a few asks or something!

Nope!

I dunno I just..! … how do I do? I’m fast. And you’re slow. That’s how I did it. /ref

Ahahah just kidding! But I am very fast. A few years ago I convinced myself I was a “slow drawer” because I was in a discord server with someone I looked up to (and holy cheese they could draw out fully articulate sketches in like 30 seconds!)

So I got insecure and taught myself to draw really fast. So now I just.. zoom! This does have a terrible draw back where I will very frequently forget smaller details.

Like if you look at half the posts, Shadow is missing his eyeliner and other markings frequently.

THIS IS JUST HILARIOUS TO ME YOU GUYS. PLEASE—

I’ve gotten SO many asks in my box about using Maria to calm the Shadows down or trying to give Shadows “Maria plushies”

Imagine you’re having a bad day and you get a plushie of your dead sibling thrown at you??? LMFAOOOO

I CANT I CANT I CANT PUT THEM THROUGH THAT 💔 Also I see every single ask.

“Do you all like Latinas” and “sonic which shadow is the hottest/shadow which sonic is the hottest” have all been engraved in my brain

Was joking with a friend on how that second question would come out LMFAOO

Previous | Next

[kaisentine]

so about this…

you had met your tattoo artist the day prior to you actually getting inked. the meeting was… very interesting to say the least. it was originally supposed to be—and technically still was—a consultation of the design and where you wanted to get it tattooed but it ended up turning into a somewhat professional flirting session.

that had to hurt… your eyes trailed off to your artist’s left arm, there’s a snake of rose thorns trailing from his hand to his neck. he lifts an eyebrow to your obvious staring. “what? like what you see?” he stifles a laugh at your curiosity.

“who wouldn’t? ‘s pretty cool.” you respond shamelessly—geez, what happened to your humility? even he’s thrown back by your bluntness but yes of course, it is pretty cool (omg praise him!). “cool enough for you to look like you wanna touch it?” he asks to match your bold compliment and damn was it even bolder. however—fuck yeah, it is cool enough for you to want to touch it.

your hand traces along the vines that run up his arm. there’s a bunch of curves so it honestly looks like you’re just scribbling on his skin with your finger—it doesn’t feel like anything other than skin, of course. however, it does feel like you’re a child tracing a color book. the real interesting part was the tattoos on his neck—two blue roses connected to the vines. you opted not to touch the roses because then it would feel a bit too intimate and you two had just met.

“now, did ‘ya like it?” he questions you like you had just entered space. “it’s really pretty.” you say before removing your hands off of his forearm. “you have quite a smooth tongue, don’t you?” it wasn’t your intention to have one—you honestly just spoke your truth. you shrug at his comment and he smirks. “back to business; what were you looking to get done?”

“i was thinking we could do it here.” you point towards the top of the shoulder and he grimaces ever-so-slightly. “oh—you sure? for a first tattoo, that could be rough.”

maybe you should’ve heeded his warning. the pain isn’t too bad until he has to go over the lines, it’s a repetitive movement that has you turning your head the opposite way with your free arm bringing a clutched hand to your mouth. you can only imagine how kaiser looks at this very moment, completely focused to avoid any mistakes, his bangs falling down in strands… God save me!

he can sense your pain and by protocol—he stops. “need a break?” his voice now clear after turning the needle off, you nod at his words. the pressure of his gloved hand left your collarbone and shoulder. “aw, you good?” he teases after seeing you relax—what do you think? “sure…”

you aren’t some kind of mind-reader and kaiser is so fucking glad. how would a customer react if their tattoo artist found their pained face from the inking-needle as beautiful as they think the artist’s tattoo is?

he’s also glad you made an appointment with your phone number.

[carlosainzgf]

thangyu x fem reader 🙈?

like thanos being into namgyu's gf so he ends up fucking them both or something

one thing led to another

thanos x fem!reader (x nam gyu) (smut)

warning: cheating. (i know the req said “fucking them both” but i just can’t find nam gyu attractive so i couldn’t write smut with him in it so he gets cheated on. sorry)

the famous thanos went to a club. club petangon. he was gonna ask the club promoter to have an event in the club. as soon as he walked in fans went up to him, asking for pictures. he sat down at a booth as fans kept throwing themselves at him and he was being his normal cocky self. but then a specific guy caught his attention. well, not really. the girl that was with the guy caught his attention.

the guy was talking to someone as the girl waited for him, his arm thrown over her shoulder.

thanos looked at the guys name tag- nam gyu. the promoter he was supposed the meet with. but thanos’ attention wasn’t on him. he was looking at her. the girl that was probably nam gyu’s girl. she looked bored as she waited for him, looking around, her eyes met thanos’. he raised his hand and gave her a small wave, as if they already knew each other, she copied the act with a small smile. her movement caught nam gyu’s attention.

his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. he turned to where you were looking, seeing thanos waving back to you. his lips formed into a straight line. he clearly wasn't happy about it. nam gyu pulled away from the conversation and walked over to thanos, still holding you but tighter than before, as if he was showing you were his. not that it mattered to thanos.

once nam gyu came over to him, a smirk spread over his cheeks. this was fun. he saw how tight nam gyu held you now. he was clearly irritated. how nam gyu was "claiming you" was kinda pathetic to thanos.

“hey you’re thanos, right?” you asked before either of them could talk.

his smirk grew wider when you spoke before nam gyu could. he looked at you, chuckling as he heard your question. he nodded as he spoke “yes, yes, I am. and who are you?"

he looked between you and nam gyu, his eyes lingering at you. “she’s my girl. y/n.” nam gyu said before you could answer. he didn’t even turn his gaze away from you when nam gyu talked. seeing how nam gyu answered for you made him chuckle. this was getting funnier.

"y/n? cute name. a cute name for such a cute girl" he stated. you thanked him before sitting down, nam gyu sitting down with you. thanos got to talking about having an event here and how it would be good for both the clubs and his name. even tho he was talking to his eyes were mostly on you, not nam gyu’s.

they exchanged numbers, to talk about the details. nam gyu didn’t like thanos, not when he had eyes for his girl but he was right. it would be good pr. as you three sat, nam gyu’s phone rang and he got up saying he would be back.

as soon as he left thanos pulled you close to him and threw his arm around you. legs touching, faces closer than necessary.

“so…how did you end up with a guy like him? hm?” he asked.

“i came here a lot and we eventually met and one thing led to another.”

"one thing led to another, huh? . interesting" he spoke trough a grin. “he doesn't seem like your type. you seem too good for him" he kept a close eye on nam gyu as you two talked, seeing how more and more angry he was getting.

“he’s not. but we aren’t serious anyway.”

he pulled you even closer, still looking at nam gyu from the corner of his eye,

"not serious? and yet he's getting jealous, and claiming you as his. you sure you two arent serious?"

“to me we aren’t.” you answer teasingly.

being the straightforward man he is he said “and if I were to ask you out? would you accept my offer? since you aren't serious with nam gyu"

a smile crept up on your face, “i’ll think about it.” he liked how you were playing with him. “yeah? make sure you let me know when you decide. i'll be waiting, pretty girl." with that he gave you his number

you sure was going to give him a call.

𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯

it was late at night, nam gyu had called you over but he had to leave because of some trouble at the club so you were left alone in his apartment. sitting and scrolling through your phone, when boredom hit you. and then you remembered thanos. what’s the harm of giving him a call, right?

you waited a couple seconds for him to answer the phone.

“hi. who’s this?” god he had an amazing voice.

“im the girl from the club. y/n. remember me?”

“how could i forget, beautiful. so what do i owe the pleasure?” god that voice.

“im a little bored…nam gyu stood me up. im at his apartment right now and he won’t be back a while” you said whining, “…wanna have a tour?”

𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯𓂃𓍯

having a tour turned into having shared glasses of wine that to lingering touches. one thing led to another. you were soon on his lap, kissing lazily and messily. his hands were on your hips guiding you to grind on his bulge.

“gonna let me fuck you? hm?” he let out between kisses.

“please…need it.” you said as you played with his hair.

“why’s that, baby? doesn’t nam su fuck you good enough? i knew you were too good for him. ‘m gonna fuck you so good, you won’t even remember his name.”

he picked you up and walked towards the bedroom. nam gyu’s bedroom. he laid you down onto the bed gently. nam gyu’s bed. he kissed you with such passion that it made you think you were his girl not nam gyu’s.

he slowly undressed you. kissed down your body, paying extra attention to your breasts.

catching your nipple between his teeth, biting slightly but licking and kissing it away afterwards to soothe the pain away. moving down your body, he kissed your belly, thighs and rubbed his lips over your slit. you grew impatient at his teasing so you gripped his purple hair signaling him to get to work.

he sloppily made out with your pussy, like he was devouring a full course meal after not eating for days. his face was covered with your wetness and dripping with his spit. the mix of wetness ran down thighs he licked it back up, not wanting to waste a drop. he let his teeth graze over the bundle of nerves.

his hands kept your legs open and as his tongue focused on your clit. your back arched from the bed and you bit down harshly on your lip, containing your moans as you came on his tongue.

he licked up everything you gave him, guiding you through your high until your legs shook. as you came down from your high, he lifted his head, lips and chin soaked with your juices. eyes dazed and full of lust. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him up into a steamy kiss that had you tasting yourself.

he played with your sensitive pussy, as it was just devoured by him, as you kissed. you tried to pull away because the sensation was just too much. breathless, you tried to talk but couldn’t say anything.

“oh, baby…can’t talk? was my tongue too good? wait till i have my cock in you, baby.” god he was so cocky. and you loved it.

“i need you, thanos. fuck me.” your eyes met his lust filled ones as you spoke. he was quick to undress and get on top of you again.

slowly, he lined his very hard and leaking cock with your entrance and pressed inside, a groan slipping from his lips as he buried his face in your hair, inhaling you as he filled you up, inch by inch.

“fuuuck- i can barely put the tip in, baby. he had you for himself for so long and couldn’t even stretch you out. such a shame. a beautiful girl like you deserves good dick.”

the stretch of his dick made you see stars. your eyes rolled back as your pussy practically sucked him in. when he finally bottomed out you were out of breath. your legs pulled him just a little closer, the ache beginning to turn into something pleasant. his hips eased back before rocking forward again. oh, fuck, he was so big you swore you could feel his cock twitch in your belly. it felt like you were going to snap in half.

your nails lightly dug into his shoulders as he started to move, his thrusts slow but rough. he gripped your waist tightly, holding you as he used her body, fucking her with determination. you screamed his name, your nails digging into him enough to leave marka. he hissed in pleasure at the slight pain, his eyes falling closed in bliss. 

the headboard began to slam against the wall, your moans crescendoing and his groans filling the room. sorry nam gyu’s neighbors…

“imagine if he walked in right now? seeing ‘his girl’ screaming another mans name. in his very own bed.” you couldn’t really grasp on what he was saying, your brain too foggy to understand due to pleasure.

“don’t care. just keep fucking me- feels so good!” your moans and yells covered the sound of nam gyu coming into the apartment. thanos may or may not have heard someone coming in but…

you were close to coming and by the way thanos was throbbing inside you signaled you he was close too. you spasmed around his length with a screamish moan as you came, not hearing the door opening. thanos pumped you full of his cum. his cum and your juices seeped out of you as thanos breathed out at your neck with his body flush against yours, naked bodies intervened. he held you as you both calmed down when you were rudely interrupted by nam gyu’s yelling.

“WHAT THE FUCK-“

[kiwriteswords]

My Funny Valentine [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 1.9k|| AN: I have been binge-re-watching The Nanny for the first time since I was a teenager and got to the episode where Fran buys a billboard for Mr. Sheffield after thinking he was her secret admirer. I had to do this for Hotch and Reader!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, BAU reader, will they won't they relationship, Valentine's Day, mentions of Haley, mentions of a creepy police officer, based off an episode of The Nanny, fools in love.

Summary: Given your undeniable chemistry and attraction for one another, when an unsigned card with flowers and a teddy bear shows up on your desk, you assume it's from Hotch. After making a grand gesture for what you thought was in return, you both soon realize the truth.

Ever since you joined the BAU, your interactions with Hotch have been a mixture of professional respect and undeniable chemistry. Over the years, the flirty banter had evolved into a dance of “will they, won't they,” much to the entertainment--and sometimes frustration--of the team. 

Everyone could see the mutual attraction except, it seemed, the two of you.

Being Hotch's subordinate, you treaded carefully, harboring feelings you dared not confess, always secretly hoping he'd be the one to break the professional boundary.

You were younger--not inappropriately so (maybe just a little)...well, enough to make you question if this chemistry was all in your head. Enough questioning to allow these feelings to remain at a standstill--or at least until he broke first. 

This Valentine's Day seemed like any other day at the BAU, but when you arrived at your desk, you found a bouquet of pink carnations and a teddy bear holding a card. Your heart skipped a beat as you read the flirty message. 

"To the one who captures my thoughts as easily as she profiles unsubs. Happy Valentine's Day."

You couldn't help but think it was from Hotch. Carnations and a teddy bear? Not what you would have imagined Hotch picking out, but nonetheless, thoughtful. Unexpected. Thrilling. 

He was finally crossing that line drawn in the sand. The one you blurred and blurred but ultimately never swept away. 

Excitement bubbling up inside you, you rushed to share the news with Penelope Garcia, your go-to confidante for all things romantic and dramatic. The one who had been arguably rooting for you and Hotch more than anyone. 

Maybe it was the hopeless romantic in her, or maybe…just maybe, the proof was there in plain daylight with the way you and Hotch played your games with one another. Like a tennis match of back and forth--over and over. 

“My gosh,” Penelope squealed, looking at the card, “I mean…I can’t believe it. What are you going to do? What are you going to say!?” She leaned forward, capturing your arm, almost to steady her own excitement. 

“I want to do something for him…something nobody’s ever done for him before.” You thought carefully. 

Many would argue that you were…of the dramatic kind. Maybe that’s why you and Penelope got along so easily. Hotch would argue that you were dramatic the most. You often used it to your own advantage with him. 

You knew--although you’d both never admit it--you had Hotch wrapped around your finger so it was easy to use those puppy dog eyes when you didn’t feel like completing a case assignment or if you wanted the bigger room at the hotel. 

“You know,” Penelope pondered, “Now that I think of it,” She scrunched her face, “All of these years here, I’m not sure anyone’s ever left Hotch a Valentine. I mean…I gave him a pink fostered sugar cookie once, but even Haley…I don’t think there was anything here for him.” 

You smirked, raising an eyebrow, “He doesn’t seem like the type that’s going to like a velvet heart-shaped box filled with fruit-filled chocolates.” 

“That man is a closet sweet eater,” Penelope pointed at you, “But to your point, you’ve gotta do something…something grand. Something that will knock his argyle socks off.” 

You snorted, then really thought. Grand. Grand? What would be grand? Then it came to you. 

“I have the best idea.” 

The two of you giggled and brainstormed extravagant ideas to win Hotch's heart, finally settling on a grand gesture that no one could ignore--a billboard confession. You found the idea so wildly romantic, the perfect way to tell Hotch how you felt.

With Penelope's enthusiastic encouragement, you commissioned a billboard on Hotch's route home.

“Be My Valentine, Aaron Hotchner! Love your Y/N” 

However, as you prepared to leave work that evening, you received a call from the local police department asking if you enjoyed the flowers. Your stomach dropped as you recognized the voice--it was the overly friendly officer from your last case, the one Hotch had given a look to the entire time. 

The cheesy teddy bear. The cheap carnations. The corny card. None of that would be Hotch. You wanted to die. Crawl into a ball and die of embarrassment and stupidity, but not until after you got rid of that billboard!

Frantic, you rushed to find Rossi, Derek, and Spencer, blurting out your predicament and the mistake you’d made. They erupted into laughter but saw the urgency of the situation.

"We’ve got to get that billboard down before Hotch drives home!" you exclaimed, your face burning with embarrassment. You paced around the bullpen, looking up to Hotch’s office, then to them, then back up. You ran your hand over your face, stressed. 

Rossi, Spencer, and Derek gathered around you, each wearing an expression that meant business. Derek leaned against his car, arms crossed. "You know, you could just leave that billboard up. It's about time one of you made a move."

Rossi nodded, his wise eyes fixed on you. "We're all tired of the dance, kid. It's not just you suffering from all this uncertainty--Hotch is right there with you. You both need to take that leap."

Spencer chimed in, "Statistically, the likelihood of mutual feelings being reciprocated in situations like these is quite high. You might be pleasantly surprised."

You appreciated their support, but the thought of Hotch seeing the billboard without understanding the context terrified you. You grabbed your car keys and headed to the nearest hardware store. "I just need to fix this before it gets worse," you muttered more to yourself than to them.

At the hardware store, you picked up a bucket of paint and a roller, your hands trembling slightly at the thought of climbing up the billboard. Heights had never been your friend, but today, they seemed a lesser evil compared to the embarrassment of Hotch reading your unintended public declaration.

With the sun setting, you parked your car by the billboard and stared up at the looming structure. Steeling your nerves, you looked up toward the tall ladder that led to a ledge where the freshly painted billboard sat. You wished the service you paid earlier was available after hours to come and take down the work they had done so quickly. 

Each step up made your heart pound louder, but the fear of making a fool of yourself pushed you onward.

Once you reached the top, you positioned yourself to start painting, but a sudden wave of vertigo hit as you peered down. The can of paint slipped from your grip, tumbling down and splattering the ground below with white paint.

You looked up to the sky and raised your hands with defeat and tears forming in your eyes, “Is this some sick joke?!”

Climbing down was even harder, with your hands shaking and tears of frustration starting to blur your vision. Just as you reached the last few rungs, a pair of steady hands gently guided you down. You almost jumped out of your skin, only to turn and see Hotch, his face filled with concern.

"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, keeping his hands on your shoulders to steady you.

You took a deep breath, wiping away a stray tear, turning as you took your last step off the ladder. He steadied you on the last few steps down, his touch reassuring.

"I'm so sorry, Hotch. There’s been a huge misunderstanding," you began, your voice a mix of embarrassment and relief. "I thought those flowers and the teddy bear were from you, and Penelope and I--we…I just got carried away."

Hotch gave you a small, understanding smile. "Emily and JJ told me there was a surprise waiting for me on the freeway home. I left early to see what it was." The last thing you expected was Hotch’s calm voice breaking through your flustered apologies. 

Your heart sank, imagining what he must have thought seeing that message. "I was trying to cover it up before you could see it. I didn’t want you to find out like this." You gestured up to the brightly colored billboard with what felt like the most embarrassing thing in the world displayed for everyone and their mother to see. 

“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” His gaze softened as he looked up at the message, then back to you. "I saw the billboard," he admitted a hint of awe in his voice. "Nobody has ever done anything quite like that for me. It was...unexpected, certainly, but kind in a way only you could manage."

Your heart fluttered, surprise etching across your features. "You liked it?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper, unsure if your ears were playing tricks on you.

"I loved it," he corrected gently, his hands still resting lightly on your shoulders. "You have a knack for the dramatic, but it’s one of the many reasons I..." His voice trailed off, and he hesitated, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. The pause was palpable, every second stretching longer than the last until finally, he continued, "It’s one of the many reasons I love you."

The world seemed to stop spinning as his words hung in the air. "You love me?" you repeated, your voice a mix of hope and disbelief. Hotch reached up to brush a stray hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. His hand lingered, cupping your cheek gently. Your hand reached up to cover his, leaning into his touch. 

Hotch nodded, a soft chuckle escaping him, as if it was common knowledge, like you should already know it--or maybe he realized he should have already said it. 

"Yes, I do. And I think it’s about time I said it."

Emotions swirled within you--relief, joy, and a love that had been quietly simmering for too long. It all bubbled to the surface as you stepped closer, reducing the space between you. "I love you too, Hotch," you confessed, your voice steady with conviction.

His smile was all the encouragement you needed. You both leaned in and under the soft glow of the streetlights and the shadow of the billboard, your lips met in a kiss that sealed the confessions of the day. The kiss was gentle at first, exploratory as if both of you were still gauging the reality of the moment. But as certainty took over, it deepened, affirming the years of unspoken feelings and flirtatious banter.

As you both pulled away, Hotch's eyes twinkled with a mixture of contentment and mischief. "Next time," he said with a playful grin, "I'll be the one buying flowers; you’ll know they’re from me. I wouldn’t dare buy you carnations, and they won’t come with a cheap teddy bear."

Your laughter filled the air, light and free, as you both made your way back to your cars, the billboard forgotten but its message now etched in both your hearts.

The next morning, as you walked into the BAU, you stood surprised. There, on your desk, stood two dozen long-stem roses in a vase, their crimson petals vibrant against the mundane backdrop of your office. Attached to the vase was a card, Hotch’s neat handwriting spelling out a message that was both flirty and utterly him: 

"For the record, I prefer dramatic gestures that involve flowers on days other than just February 14th. Here’s to many more, just the way we like them. --A."

The smile that spread across your face lingered long into the day, as did the warmth in your heart, knowing the dance of “will they, won't they” had transformed into a harmonious “finally, we did.”

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @superlegend216