#twl fanfic

[snazzynacho]

In Common

Quinn Mossbacher x female oc

Read on ao3 Masterlist.

Chapter 1/?

Summary: Aleena notices a boy around her age stuck on a level in a game she's played. She offers her help, and a lovely friendship turned romance blossoms between them.

Fandom: The White Lotus (Season 1)

Tags: rated Y/A fanfic basically, romance, friendship, slowburn (I’ll try), clean romance, awkward flirting, Quinn is autistic.

Aleena and her grandad are staying at the White Lotus hotel.

For the past half an hour she’s been swimming in the pool while he’s probably off talking his head off with someone.

She’s thankful to get some piece and quiet. She loves her grandad but he’s always talking even when she has headphones on.

Twisting her body around to pick up her cup of apple juice she left on the poolside, she finishes her drink. As she does, her ears twitch at the sound of a familiar melody. She turns and her gaze falls on the boy her age, swwading in the water, holding up his phone in his right hand and a Nintwndo Switch in the other. The Switch plays an iconic Stardew Valley song which Aleena instantly recognises as the sound played in the mines.

He seems to be stuck on a level in the mines and she decides to offer help.

He veers around in the water at the sound of her voice giving him advice. His blue eyes look startled and Aleena feels a guilty churn in her stomach for scaring him.

He quickly turns back to his game and she drifts to the side of the pool to leave, deciding she’s embarrassed herself enough for today. Before she leaves, she hears a voice call out.

“Thanks, I’ve been struggling with this for a while…I kept dying and then losing all my shit in the mines! How did you beat it?�� He looks at you as he puts his Switch down on the poolside which Alewna cringes at. Isn't he scared of getting it wet?!

“Uhh, by spending months screaming and trying not to throw the Switch across the room,” she chuckles, holding onto the onto the pool edge “but I eventually got there,”

He chuckles a little at her answer and glimpses at his Switch, remembering himself trying desperately all those times to finish the level for weeks. He smiles at her determination and then back at her.

“Well, you must be really good, because this level has been a nightmare. Those Crave Flies are horrible!”

“Right?! The noise they make makes my stomach churn…” she grimaces, swaying in the water closer to him.

He glances back at his Switch before turning to look at her with an intrigued look on his face.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,”

He looks at her for a moment but is slightly hesitant to ask for the question. Eventually he decides to ask anyway, not being sure how she is going to take it.

“How old are you?”

“That is what you’re asking?” Aleena can't help but snort a laugh. “You know you shouldn't ask a lady that-” she feigns offence but the look on his face tells her he doesn't know she is joking. “I'm kidding. I’m Seventeen. Why?”

He then looks down at the shimmering pool water, watching the ripples of sunlight dance on it, thinking for a few moments before he continues. “No reason…just wondering why someone like you would approach someone like me.“

“What do you mean?”

He thinks about it for a moment, before speaking. “It was just a little surprising. I wasn’t really expecting a complete stranger to help me at first. No one my age really wants anything to do with me,” he looks over at his Switch, cursing to himself for being so open and honest with a stranger.

She shrugs. “To be fair, it was bugging me how many times you were messing up,”

He laughs and it warms her heart for some reason. His eyes drift to her brown ones and back to the Nintendo Switch again. He then notices that he completely forgot to ask her name. “Wait-“ he says, looking back at her. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?”

He lets out a small laugh, at her counteract. “It’s Quinn. Yours?”

“Aleena,” she beams.

Quinn smiles, determining that her name is pretty and fitting. He looks back at his Switch again, still a little hesitant about asking a question that has been lingering on his mind for a while. “Can I ask you something else?”

“You know, you don’t have to ask that every time?”

Quinn laughs a little sheepishly at her statement, learning that he does have a habit of asking permission to ask a question. “I guess I do say that a lot, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Aleena giggles. “What were you gonna ask?”

Quinn lets out another small laugh, more of a nervous one this time, as he rubs the back of his neck, wondering how exactly to ask this question.

“Uh- well, I was wondering if…if you maybe wanted to go hang out together while we’re staying here…like, as friends?”

“Sure! It’s nice to finally find a gamer out in the wild,” she smiles. “What’s your Switch username by the way?” She asks as she leaves the pool to retrieve her switch from her bag, drying off first.

He seems to follow her lead, as he gets out the pool too, sitting on the empty lounge chair next to hers.

Quinn looks at Aleena with excitement at her willingness to hang out. He grabs his Switch to share his username with you. “It’s uh- Moss19. What’s yours?”

“Turtleena. T-U-R-T-L-E-E-N-A,”

He laughs at your username for a moment, amused by it, before looking back up at you with a smile. “Nice username. I’m gonna add you as a friend. I’m guessing you like Turtles?”Quinn clicks on the button to add her as a friend. His Switch makes an affirming sound when it obliges. He grins and looks back at Aleena. “There. We’re friends now.”

“Yay, thanks, I’m adding you too. And yeah, you could say that,” she chuckles, fiddling with the stitched corner of her purple towel. “Do you like Moss, then?” Aleena jokes but before either of them can say another word, her grandad calls for her from across the pool.

Quinn looks around when hearing her grandad hollering for her at the other end of the pool. He looks back at her and gives a sympathetic look as well as a shrug. “Guess you have to go?”

“Yeah, sorry.” she shoves her switch back into her bag, grabbing her pink towel to wrap herself with. “Well, I’ll see you around. Can you even message people on a switch? Or can you only text on a phone? Oh, here’s my number anyway,” she rambles on and uses a piece of her towel to wipe the chlorine water off his arm, and scribbles her number on his arm using a glittery pen she found in the bottom of her bag.

Quinn watches as she scribbles her number onto his arm, like etching a tattoo, completely endeared by her rambling. He admires her work of tattoo artistry on his arm, the sparkly red ink contrasts against his pale skin with every stroke.

“No worries, I’ll message you. And…yeah, you can message through the Switch. Can’t call or anything though,” he’s surprised he can keep his cool, at her touch.

“Oh right. Of course.” she stands in front of him kind of awkwardly, not wanting to leave. “Well, bye Quinn” she smiles once more, waves, and walks away.

Quinn smiles at Aleena, giving a small wave back, a bit surprised at her slight hesitation to leave, before watching her walk off to her grandad.

Sitting back in the chair where he was previously sitting, Quinn stares up at the blue sky with a small smile plastered on his face.

The smile quickly fades as he realises he never told her his age, and he might seem weird in not doing so after asking her how old she is. He sits back up and yells, “I’m sixteen by the way!”

Aleena whips her head around at the sound of Quinn’s voice from a few metres away, not quite registering why he has said that, at first.

“Oh, okay!” she shouts back, and laugh to yourself. These two are one awkward pair, and Aleena loves it.

YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS.

A/N: I headcanon that Quinn plays Minecraft, Stardew Valley, Animal Crossing, and Mario Kart on his switch. (these are the only games I play either lol.) And I headcanon that he obviously has an Xbox at home.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Sweet revenge

Pairing: Valentin x reader (female)

Authors note: this is me processing the S3E5 of The White Lotus.

Warnings: SMUT 18+. I keep thinking of Valentin as a dom, I don't by his polite smile. Even if I usually enjoy dom reader more, with him it just doesn't work. 😅 So sub/dom vibes, slight degradation, oral m receiving, fingering, p in v

Word Count: 5,4 K

Summary: your marriage is a farce, your husband ignores you, and you are fed up with this mundane existance of being simply unseen until a certain sexy health mentor notices you

“Ready for some yoga, today?” The smile the handsome health mentor beams at you could probably melt an iceberg but it is helpless against your brooding mood. The familiar aroma of fresh coffee hits your nose as you raise the cup to your lips and take a slow, savouring sip, while your eyes wander to the other side of the table.

He’s always busy. Your husband. Even now, sitting within arm’s reach, he’s hidden behind a massive morning newspaper, his only response to your question about visiting the famous Buddhist temple around the corner – a barely audible "Khm." 

You wouldn’t be surprised if his choice of hotel for your second anniversary had been dictated by its strict ban on electronic devices, so that he could perfectly hide himself and keep avoiding you even during breakfast – the only time you actually spend together – buried behind that stupid newspaper.

The thought of enduring another day of yoga, meditation, and stress management sessions makes you want to scream, and you are quite sure even the threat of execution wouldn’t make you sit through it again. No wonder the smile you force onto your face barely holds, drawing a slight furrow of concern from your ever-charming instructor.

“Lady is not feeling well today?” he asks suddenly, and you nearly choke on your coffee. Is it that obvious?

No, you are not feeling well. You fucking hate this stupid hotel. You hate the so-called healthy breakfast, the endless polite smiles and shallow bows.

And most of all, you hate the man sitting across from you, pretending you don’t exist.

“I think I want to do something fun today,” you look up from your coffee cup, watching as the fine steam curls in the bright sunlight, casting a shimmering silver veil over your health mentor and making him look somewhat mysterious. “I think I might skip the yoga.”

You wait. Will there be a reaction from the other side of the newspaper? A word? A glance? Anything?

Nothing. Sometimes, you wonder if he even exists, or if he’s just a phantom conjured by some cruel, unending nightmare.

It had never been about love, that much was clear from the start. This was a deal, a calculated merger between the two wealthiest steel companies, sealed in marriage.

And yet, you had hoped. Even if there was no passion, no fairytale romance, you had hoped the two of you could at least be partners, friends and allies in business and in life.

But it became very quickly painfully obvious that was never on your husband’s agenda. 

The silence from behind the newspaper stretches unbearably long, you exhale slowly, pressing the edge of your cup against your lips. The coffee burns, searing hot—but you barely notice. You’ve learned to love the pain. At least it reminds you that you’re still alive. Sometimes.

“Maybe I’ll visit the temple,” you add, more to yourself than anyone else.

Still nothing.

Valentin, it’s the name of the health mentor, assigned to you by the over caring manager of the hotel, clears his throat, shifting his weight slightly, his mismatched eyes flicking toward you with the kind of polite curiosity he reserves for hesitant guests. “Would you like me to arrange transport?” he asks, his voice smooth, professional.

You shake your head. “No need.”

You don’t want another carefully curated experience, another guide leading you through the motions of enlightenment, you just want something real.

Isn’t that ironic? You had once thought marriage – this marriage – would be the real part of your life. That despite its transactional nature, despite its calculated foundation, you could build something meaningful within its walls.

But walls don’t build themselves and your husband never even picked up a brick.

The rustling of paper draws your attention and for a fleeting second, you think he might actually lower it, might actually speak. Your breath catches.

But no. He merely folds the page, shifts slightly, and continues reading.

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

The simple sand road to the monastery isn’t particularly long, but with no shelter from the relentless sun, it feels endless. Sweat clings to your skin, your breath turning shallow as the heat presses down on you, and the journey takes longer than you expected, the afternoon already slipping into its golden haze by the time you reach the base of the massive stone stairs leading to the temple.

A small cloud of dust swirls beneath your foot as you step onto the first stair. You pause, staring at the ancient, timeworn stone beneath you.

Then, you start counting. One. Two. Three.

You need something to anchor yourself, something to focus on, because the last thing you want to do right now is think.

Four. Five. Six.

You don’t want to think about the suffocating silence of your marriage. About the man who sits across from you every morning yet feels a million miles away. About how, somewhere along the way, you’ve started measuring your own existence by the small, sharp edges of pain – hot coffee against your lips, the sting of too-bright sunlight, the ache in your calves as you climb. Or about how you have to force yourself to look away from the perfectly sculpted abdomen of your personal yoga instructor, health mentor, confidence booster, and walking temptation all in one.

You’re sure he says the same flattering lines to all his clients, yet you still can’t stop the slight curl of your lips when he praises your form, marvels at your fitness levels, or sounds genuinely impressed by how well you hold a downward dog.

It’s ridiculous, and yet, for the briefest moment, you almost feel seen.

Twenty. Twenty-one. The numbers pulse in your mind like a prayer and by the time you reach the top, your breath is uneven, your heart hammering against your ribs. You press a palm against your chest, as if to steady something deep inside yourself, then lift your gaze.

The temple stands before you, ancient and unmoving, the air is thick with the scent of incense, a soft curl of smoke drifting from the entrance and monks move silently through the courtyard, their robes whispering against the stone. 

The sight is so starkly different from the artificial luxury of the hotel that for a moment, you hesitate. You don’t belong here. And yet, you’ve never felt more drawn to a place in your life.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll find something here, something real. Something that doesn’t hurt. You take a slow breath, preparing to step forward, when a voice, soft and familiar, halts you in your tracks.

“Skipping yoga and running off to find enlightenment instead?”

Turning slowly, you find Valentin leaning casually against one of the temple’s carved wooden pillars, arms crossed over his chest, an amused glint in his mismatched eyes. 

He looks different. With the stylish light silk shirt, showing off his extremely well built frame,  and black sporty trousers he looks infuriatingly out of place here – too vibrant, too much a reminder of the life you were trying to escape, even if only for a few hours.

You exhale, masking your surprise with a sigh. “Valentin, what are you doing here?”

He tilts his head, as if the answer should be obvious. “Guiding lost souls toward balance and inner peace.” Then, with a small smirk, he adds, “Or at least keeping an eye on the ones who suddenly decide to abandon their wellness retreat without warning.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. “I needed a break.”

“From what? The relaxation?” His voice is teasing, but something in his gaze lingers too long, as if he sees more than you want him to.

You shift uncomfortably, the last thing you need is for Valentin, your overly attentive, far-too-charming health mentor, to start analyzing you.

“I just wanted to be alone,” you say, more firmly this time.

To your annoyance, he doesn’t look deterred, instead, he takes a step closer. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

The question hangs between you, heavier than it should be, because no, you’re not sure. Not anymore.

You glance toward the temple entrance, where the scent of incense drifts in the warm afternoon air, your imagined refuge, a place of stillness, but now, with Valentin standing here, watching you like he’s waiting for an answer you don’t have, the ground beneath your feet feels anything but steady.

He sighs, tilting his head toward the temple steps. “Come on, then.”

You blink. “What?”

“If you’re going to search for something real, at least let me make sure you don’t pass out on these stairs first.” His smirk softens just slightly. “Consider it part of my job description.”

A reluctant laugh escapes you before you can stop it. Damn him. Still, you hesitate.

Following him means acknowledging the pull between you, the quiet, unspoken thing that has lingered in the spaces between conversations, between his casual touches as he adjusted your posture, between the way he always seemed to notice when you weren’t okay.

But walking away means going back to the emptiness you came from, and you’re not sure you can do that, either.

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

The rhythmic thump of bass vibrates through the wooden floorboards, mingling with the crash of waves in the distance, and the air seems thick with the scent of salt and citrus, the heat of the day fading into the electric pulse of the evening.

You sit at the bar, ice clinking in your glass as you swirl the liquid inside. A mojito, Valentin’s choice for you. “Something refreshing,” he had said with that ever-present smirk.

Beside you, he leans back against the bar, one elbow resting on the counter, watching the dance floor with lazy amusement, the half unbuttoned stylish silk shirt reveals his sun-kissed skin and toned forearms. He looks completely at ease here, as if this place, with its neon lights and reckless energy, belongs to him. And maybe it does.

You take a slow sip of your drink, the coolness a sharp contrast to the warmth buzzing beneath your skin. “I thought you were all about health and balance,” you muse, raising a brow at him. “This doesn’t seem very… meditative.”

Valentin laughs, low and easy. “Balance means knowing when to let go.” He gestures toward the dance floor, where people move with uninhibited joy, bodies pressed close, arms lifted to the sky. “Besides, what’s the point of a healthy body if you don’t use it to feel something?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips, and to your surprise, he suddenly turns toward you. “Come on.”

You blink. “Come on what?”

His grin is pure mischief. “Dance with me.”

You snort. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

Valentin doesn’t argue, he simply takes your hand, your small palm disappearing into his large one and suddenly, you’re not sitting at the bar anymore, you’re being pulled onto the dance floor, the press of bodies and the thrum of music wrapping around you like a second heartbeat.

You open your mouth to protest, but then his hands settle lightly at your waist. 

“Relax,” he murmurs, voice close to your ear. “Just move.”

So you do. At first, it’s awkward, you’re stiff, hesitant, too aware of him, of the heat between you, of the way his fingers press just lightly enough to steer you but firmly enough to keep you close.

But then the music shifts, and something inside you does too, the beat takes over, drowning out everything else – the noise in your head, the weight in your chest, the echo of a marriage that feels like a ghost haunting your every step, and for the first time in longer than you can remember, you don’t think. You just move.

Valentin’s gaze never leaves you, his expression switching between approval, awe and something else, something deeper, dark and intensive, something you’re afraid to name but it makes your skin tingle.

The song changes, but you don’t stop and neither does he.

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

His lips are scorching against your skin, taking, demanding, yet somehow just as giving, as every kiss, every flick of his tongue, every sharp inhale between parted lips feels like breathing in life itself, like drawing a fresh breath after eternity of drowning.

You moan as your back meets the wall, it’s so cool against your overheated skin, while Valentin presses his body against yours, his thigh between your legs, spreading them open. 

His name is barely more than a whispered breath against his lips, but he hears it, and the way you say it, so desperate, so wanting, so surrendering, makes him groan into the kiss, as his hands grow restless, tracing the curves of your body. 

His fingers roughly dig into the soft flesh of your hips, and you can’t bite back the moan that claws through you, the raw and unfiltered sound slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

“You like playing games, don’t you?” It’s not really a question, it’s more like a realization, and there is something in Valentin’s voice that makes you shudder.

You know what this is, what it could be, what it will be if you don’t stop now, but you don’t want to stop.

“I do,” you breathe, and the moment the words leave your mouth, Valentin’s hand moves, wrapping around your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse stutter.

You gasp, eyes fluttering shut, as tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, not from pain, not from fear but from the way your body reacts, heat suddenly coiling low in your belly. 

“Then let’s play,” Valentin murmurs and his voice feels like a rustle of silk over steel, sending a shiver down your spine.

Stepping back, Valentin grabs your wrist, and a soft whine escapes you as he withdraws his other hand from your throat, leaving your skin tingling.

Your weary eyes follow his every move as he leads you out of the dimly lit comfort of your villa bedroom, across the courtyard. It isn’t until you reach the villa on the other side that realization dawns, and you suddenly know where he’s taking you.

The massive terrace doors slide open soundlessly, as Valentin releases your hand, stepping inside without the slightest hesitation and heading toward the large, imposing oak desk – the very heart of your husband's domain.

Leaning casually against the sturdy edge, he turns to you, watching and waiting while you hesitate at the threshold. This is his realm, his villa, his study. He always insists on having one, no matter where you travel, it’s his excuse to remain occupied, to bury himself in work, to keep pretending you don’t exist.

Your pulse hammers in your throat, while Valentin keeps watching you in silence.

Slowly you step inside, sliding the heavy glass doors shut behind you, the quiet thud reminding you of a trap snapping closed.

“Onto your knees,” Valentin’s voice reaches you the moment you turn toward him again.

You lift your gaze to meet his, and before your mind can even process what he’s asked, your body obeys and you slide down. Your knees hit the floor, but you almost don’t notice the impact through the haze of anticipation, curling around you like thick smoke.

Valentin’s lips quirk in the faintest hint of satisfaction as he shifts slightly.

“Crawl to me,” he commands and you do, smile tugging on your lips, the smooth wood cool beneath your palms as you move, each shift of your body slow, teasing, testing.

Valentin doesn’t move, doesn’t rush you, he simply watches, leaning against the massive oak desk, his fingers drumming lightly against the surface, he lets you play, lets you draw it out, watching with that quiet, knowing patience that only makes the air between you heavier.

Your gaze drops, landing on the noticeable strain against his trousers, the hard outline pressing insistently, demanding release, and a fresh wave of anticipation rushes through you, mingling with the slow burn already curling in your veins, your knees ache, a beautiful reminder of presence, of being alive and wanted, of the serenity of submission.

You reach him, and his fingers slip into your hair, claiming control, tilting your head up until your eyes find his, and the amusement in his expression is unmistakable.

“Lady enjoys testing limits,” he muses.

Your lips part, a response forming, but he runs his thumb over your lower lip, silencing you before a single word escapes, and a thrill shivers through you, the slow, intoxicating game settling into place.

“You’re not the only one,” Valentin murmurs, his thumb pressing just enough to make you gasp, just enough to remind you of exactly what you both are in this delicious exchange of power.

His free hand moves achingly slow, tracing the curve of your jaw before gliding down your throat, as his fingers linger precisely where they had claimed you before. You swallow hard, and he watches the flutter of your pulse beneath his touch, his lips curving in satisfaction.

“You know what to do, don’t you?” He doesn’t really need to ask, the answer is already written in the way your fingers move, deft and eager, working to free him, in the way your lips part, a greedy moan slipping past them before you even realize you’ve made a sound.

But just as your lips part fully, just as your tongue flicks out, his grip in your hair tightens, not painful, but firm, controlling, and he tilts your head back, forcing you to look up at him again.

“Look at you, so eager, so needy,” Valentin muses. “Patience,” he hums. “You wanted to play. So let’s play.”

A flush burns through you, the heat in your belly growing with each passing moment, you close your eyes, your nails dig lightly into the fabric of his trousers, a silent plea. He chuckles, low and indulgent, thumb swiping over your lip again, smearing the moisture left behind by your tongue.

Valentin finally releases the tension in his grip, just enough to let you move, to let you take what you’ve been craving and you don’t hesitate, your tongue flicks over the tip of his cock while your fingers wrap around him, and the sharp breath he draws is like music to your ears. 

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice huskier now, and you glance up at him, drinking in the sight – his tousled dark hair, the sharp angles of his face, the way his mismatched eyes flicker with something dangerously close to ruin, but he’s still composed, still in control.

That won’t do, with a teasing slowness, you drag your lips over his length, just barely touching, just enough to make his fingers tighten in your hair again, his other hand gripping the edge of the desk behind him.

A flicker of frustration crosses his face. Good. You like it. Your tongue flicks over him again, featherlight, and his grip jerks, his hips shifting forward just slightly.

A breathy chuckle escapes you. “I thought you said patience?” 

His eyes darken.

“I did.” Valentin agrees, his voice impossibly smooth. Then, before you can react, his hand tightens. “But patience,” he whispers, “is something I teach, not something I practice.”

He pulls you closer, and the next moment his cock fills your mouth, stretching you, pushing past your lips until the burn at the corners of your mouth becomes a delicious ache. He’s big, thick and heavy on your tongue, and you can do nothing but take it – let him guide you, move you, use you because there is nothing more intoxicating than surrendering to someone who knows exactly how to wield power.

His first thrust is slow, measured, testing your limits, then another, deeper this time, until he finds the perfect rhythm, until your body learns to follow his lead.

Your only response is a low hum around his length, the vibrations making him curse under his breath. You don’t dare to stop him, you don’t want to stop him. The ache in your knees, the burning stretch of your lips, it all blends into the dizzying pleasure wrapping around you like a thick fog, pulling you under, making you pliant, making you his.

Saliva spills from your lips, dripping down your chin as you take him deeper, bobbing your head along his length, the slick, obscene sounds filling the room, and your fingers dig harder into his thighs, nails pressing into firm muscle as you hold on, as you let him use you.

Then it happens – the first raw, unrestrained moan slips from his lips, rough and unexpected, and in the same moment a rush of satisfaction surges through you, making your limbs tremble as pleasure pulses through you.

You’ve undone him, even if only for a moment, and God, it’s the sweetest kind of victory.

_____________________________________

Valentin watches you, completely absorbed in the way you give yourself over to him, the way you need him. 

He has seen loneliness in many forms – restless indulgence, desperate validation, quiet self-destruction – but yours is something else entirely. It’s not the loneliness of someone abandoned, not the aching void of someone craving affection, it’s the loneliness of a woman unseen, of someone who exists in the periphery of her own life, a shadow in the grand, empty spaces your husband refuses to fill.

And now, here you are, on your knees before him, surrendering, not for him, not even for pleasure itself, but for the feeling of being claimed, of belonging to something.

You don’t even realize how much he understands, how much he wants to give you this, not just the rawness, not just the sharp edges of control and surrender, but the pleasure – the real escape.

Every unrestrained sound that escapes your lips, every shudder that runs through your body, every moan that vibrates against his cock – it’s all a silent plea for oblivion, for something that makes you forget, and he’ll give it to you.

His grip tightens in your hair, just enough to remind you that you’re not lost, that you are here, you’re his in this moment, and you’re going to take everything he gives you.

He forces himself to breathe through the heat coiling in his gut, the heady mixture of control and restraint pushing him slowly to the edge, but he won’t let go first, not until you do, not until you have got what you crave for.

"I know you can take more. Don't hold back, sweetheart," Valentin’s voice is still smooth, but there’s something raw beneath it, something unraveling.

His head tips back as you take him deeper, swallowing around him, forcing yourself to relax, to ignore the way your throat tightens whenever his tip grazes too far. You feel his fingers tense in your hair, his breath turning uneven, his control fraying at the edges, you feel the slight twitch of his cock inside your mouth, the way his grip tightens just a fraction more. He’s close, so close you can almost taste the victory.

But just as the triumph starts to settle in your chest, just as you think you’ve won this game, Valentin moves, his grip suddenly becoming unyielding as he pulls you off him.

A gasp rips from your lips as your head tilts back, a thin trail of saliva still connecting you to his cock, your breath is ragged, your lips swollen, the loss of him sudden and jarring, as your eyes flick up, searching his.

His chest rises and falls with controlled breaths, his jaw tight, his fingers still buried in your hair, holding you in place. 

“You thought I’d let you win that easily?” he murmurs, and your stomach tightens.

Of course, it would have been too easy, but it’s not over, and you feel the slight tinge of excitement back in your shaking limbs.

Valentin releases your hair slowly, tracing his fingers down your cheek, tilting your chin up so you’re looking only at him.

“Get up,” he orders, and your legs shake as you obey, rising to your feet, anticipation thrumming through every inch of you.

His eyes never leave yours as he steps aside the heavy oak desk, his palm smoothing over the polished surface before he gestures to it with a slow, knowing smile.

“Now,” he breathes, the words sinking into your skin, into your bones, “Bend over.”

Your breath is shallow, pulse hammering in your throat as Valentin watches you. You should hesitate, should second-guess this, but you don’t, there is something in his voice, in the quiet certainty of his presence, that makes you want to obey.

Your palms meet the smooth, polished surface of the desk as you lean forward, the cool wood welcoming your body, humming with anticipation, your heartbeat a steady drum in your ears.

Behind you, Valentin doesn’t move right away, he takes his time. You hear the subtle shift of his breath, the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusts, as he watches, you can feel his gaze sweeping over you, mapping your curves, taking in every shallow breath you take, and it’s almost unbearable, this waiting, this cruel stretch of silence he’s using to unravel you even further.

His hands reach you first, slow, teasing, fingertips ghosting over the small of your back, trailing lower, skimming the curve of your hips before hooking beneath your silk underwear as he pushes the fabric up, peeling it away, baring your ass to him inch by inch.

A shiver ripples through you, and he notices, of course, he does.

“You’re trembling,” he muses.

You swallow hard. “You like that?”

A low chuckle: “Oh, I love that.”

His palm slides up your spine, fingers splaying, pressing you further into the desk, you inhale sharply, the sheer presence of him behind you, surrounding you, making you dizzy, and then – nothing, his touch disappears, the absence of it sharp, almost aching.

You shift slightly, seeking it back, but he tuts softly. “So impatient,” he murmurs, dragging a single finger down your back, and you can't help but whine in frustration or need, or something between the two.

Valentin leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I told you, sweetheart…,” his hand on your back gets heavy, a sharp contrast to the featherlight touch before, “this is my game.”

You cry out as his palm cracks against the soft flesh of your ass, the sharp sting blooming into heat, the sound echoes through the dimly lit study, swallowed by the thick walls.

His other hand presses you firmly against the rough surface of the desk, holding you exactly where he wants you, where you need to be.

"Beautiful," Valentin murmurs, his voice like molten honey, seeping into your dizzy consciousness, while his fingers trace over the mark he’s left, soothing, teasing, before his palm lifts again.

You barely have a second to brace yourself before he strikes once more, the jolt of sensation makes your body tense, your fingers curling against the edge of the desk, a whimper escaping your lips, not just from the sting, but from the sheer intensity of it all, from the way he makes you feel owned without ever needing to say the words.

"Good girl," he praises, his hand lingering, squeezing your buttocks. "I knew you'd take it so well."

A shiver rolls through you at his words, at the quiet, knowing amusement in his tone, as if he’s been waiting for this, as if he knew from the moment he first saw you that you’d come undone for him like this.

Valentin hums in satisfaction, his fingers trailing lower, teasing, ghosting over your folds before dipping into your slick, aching core, and a sharp gasp escapes you, your body instinctively pressing into his touch, craving more.

“You’re drenched,” he muses, dragging his fingers through your arousal, spreading it, playing with it. “I think you like this more than you’re willing to admit.”

He leans forward, his body a solid wall of heat against your burning ass and back, his lips graze your ear. "Tell me how much you like it."

It’s not a request, your breath shudders as you turn your head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of him through hooded eyes. "I…" you swallow, your voice breaking on the admission. "I love it."

A moan slips past your lips, unbidden, as his fingers start moving in and out of you.

"Let’s see just how much more you can take," Valentin’s voice reaches you as if from a dream – distant, intoxicating, pulling you deeper as his hand comes down again, heavy, punishing, liberating, the sharp smack echoing through the room and this time, you don’t even try to stifle the moan that rips through you. 

Valentin’s fingers start to work you open, drawing you under in that beautiful space where the world outside this moment fades, dissolving into nothing but the pure sensation of his touch, his voice, the way your body responds without hesitation, without thought.

His other hand slides up your body, wrapping around your throat, his fingers pressing into your flesh as he holds you down against the table, making your pulse race and your head swim, and soon there is nothing else left, just the heat coiling in your core, your walls clenching around his fingers, and his grip making your body melt. The edges of reality blur and your mind floats, you are weightless and you are his.

The pleasure is thick, dizzying, curling around you like a cool, silken cloud and you barely register the sounds falling from your lips – moans, pleas, shameless whimpers – but Valentin does.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his tone full of satisfaction. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You buck your hips against his hand incapable of speech, you don’t care anymore, there’s no holding back, no shame, just raw, consuming need.

And he loves it, he presses deeper, stretching you, teasing you until you're trembling, whining mess before him. Suddenly without a warning he pulls his fingers away, leaving you empty, desperate, and a frustrated whine escapes your lips, but before you can beg, before you can even catch your breath, you feel it. 

The head of his cock, thick and hard, is pressing against your soaked entrance.

“Breathe,” he commands, voice smooth, firm, the last tether keeping you connected to this world. “Take me.”

And then he thrusts, a cry rips from your throat, pleasure blooming so violently it borders on pain, as he fills you completely, stretching you to the point of perfect ruin, and you can do nothing but take it.

He doesn’t start slow, doesn’t ease you into it, he fucks you relentlessly, unyielding, thrusting into you with a punishing pace, each snap of his hips driving you harder against the edge of the desk. 

The wood bites into your soft skin, a dull ache mixing with the overwhelming pleasure, blurring the lines between pain and bliss, and the room is filled with the sound of the sharp slap of skin against skin, your desperate moans, the rough scrape of the desk beneath you as it all melts together into something filthy, something primal, something beyond anything you’ve ever felt before and you never want it to stop.

You don’t hold back, you can’t, your moans grow louder, shameless, broken, echoing through the study. You want him to hear, you want everyone to hear.

And then, something shifts, a flicker of movement catches your eye, a presence just beyond the edge of your bliss-drunk haze, and your gaze drags toward the doors where you see him – your husband, standing there, watching.

His expression is full of surprise and something else, something you had never seen before, your eyes drop lover to his hand wrapped around his rock hard cock, tugging violently at it while his gaze remains glued to the sight of Valentin ruining you.

The shock should snap you out of this haze, should send you spiraling into shame, into panic, but it doesn’t.

It’s the first time you see him like this – silent, desperate, weak and wanting, it’s the first time you feel you have the power, you are finally seen, you unravel him.

Valentin groans, his rhythm faltering as he feels you tighten around him, your body clenching down, dragging him closer to the edge, and he leans over you.

“Look at you,” he rasps. “My perfect lady. My queen. Falling apart so beautifully for me.”

Without warning Valentin yanks you upright, your back flush against his chest as he drives into you, his hand still around your throat, as his tongue flickers against the shell of your ear. 

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Let him watch what he’s missed… what he doesn’t deserve.”

That’s all it takes, pleasure surges through you, hot, electric, overwhelming, ripping through you before you can even brace yourself for it as you shatter with a cry, your core seizing around Valentin, every nerve igniting as bliss detonates in violent waves, white-hot and endless.

You sob through your climax, your hands scrambling against the edge of the desk for support, your mind utterly lost to it. 

Valentin’s thrusts grow even rougher, deeper, pushing you through the aftershock, using you for his own pleasure now, but you don’t care, because as you come undone, as your body trembles and your cries fill the air, you keep your gaze locked on your husband, standing there, watching, completely powerless.

You never imagined revenge could be this sweet.

[valkugo]

i actually hate how the average viewer sees lochlan and talks abt him. there's such a lack of compassion and understanding, such a need to completely villainize him for the fucked up situation and feelings he ended up having bc of a dysfunctional environment that it makes me sad.

people will see a kid getting groomed in multiple ways (intentional or not) but not necessarily see him as a victim and then turn around and make him the predator and "the one who is actually the weirdo, not saxon" bc what? he follows the advice he has been groomed into without actually being harmful & he enjoyed kissing saxon? a kiss that he was pushed into as a joke?

the need to find one entity to blame the *evil* on that ends up being the most vulnerable person just pisses me off to no end. the "spit the pill" theory still disgusts me so much, i can't help it, sorry.

[williamaltman]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The White Lotus (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lochlan Ratliff/Saxon Ratliff Characters: Lochlan Ratliff, Saxon Ratliff, Piper Ratliff Additional Tags: Omega Verse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Beta, Alpha/Omega, Bitching, Incest, Siblings, Sibling Incest, Brother/Brother Incest, Alpha Saxon Ratliff, Beta Lochlan Ratliff, Eventual Omega Lochlan Ratliff, Eventual Smut, Eventual Happy Ending Summary: As a beta in a family of alphas and omegas, Lochlan feels lost. With the lack of a designation to guide him, he doesn't know where his life will go. As he gets to spend more time with him, his brother presents him with a solution: A ritual that can turn a beta into an alpha. Yet deep down, another idea that he wasn't given starts to form in his mind.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Oh, oh, oh finally another Valentin fic!!!!

Ahhh, this was so sexy and hot!

Talking Body

Pairing: Valentin x Reader

Summary:

His hands hover just above your ribs now, and your breath hitches again, your whole body wound tight like a coil. “If you keep holding yourself like that,” he murmurs, “you’re going to snap.” You take a deep breath and try to shove the thought down—that you wouldn’t mind if he were the one to make you snap. Or You've been through a tough divorce with an unappreciative ex-husband. So when Valentin, your super-attractive wellness expert, comes into your life, you can't help but fantasise.

Warnings: 18+ Explicit content, choking kink, praise kink, hand kink

A/N: He's fine asl so I had to write something

𖤓𖤓𖤓

You loved Thailand. The sun, the people, the food. Everything about this trip was screaming new beginnings, but…you couldn't help but think about him.

This was your first trip since your spectacular and messy divorce. Your first trip alone in general, a chance to reset, to heal.

You were supposed to be relaxing, but instead, you were on edge—restless, tangled in a mix of emotions—and just… unbearably horny. Your ex-husband wasn’t the most accommodating man when it came to sex, and it had been months since you were last intimate with anyone. So no one could blame you for your desires, but it certainly didn’t help that your wellness expert was the hottest guy you had ever seen, built like a god, his body quite literally sculpted from marble. 

Valentin would greet you with his usual warm smile, but all you could think was how good he’d look in your bed.

It was ridiculous—he was just doing his job, providing the wellness guidance you’d signed up for, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice dropped just slightly when he spoke to you, it made everything feel charged.

He kept flirting with you, his touches lingering just a second too long when he adjusted your posture during sessions, the playful glint in his eyes, and the way he smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe it was wishful thinking or because you were touch-starved, but you loved the attention he gave you. 

When he laughed at your dry jokes like they were the funniest thing he’d heard all day, or when his hand brushed the small of your back and stayed there, when he’d correct your form, it made you feel something. 

You weren’t stupid. You knew the rules. Guests and staff weren’t supposed to do anything. But when he stood too close during meditation or whispered encouragement against the shell of your ear, your resolve thinned just a little more.

It only got worse when he booked you in for an energy massage with him.

You were too conscious of the fact that he was looking over your body, too aware of how close he was without actually touching you. The space between his hands and your skin felt charged, like static before a storm.

It was supposed to be healing or energy work or breathwork or whatever he’d called it—but all you could think about was how your heart wouldn’t stop racing. How his presence was riling you up and doing very little to relax you.

Your breath hitched as you felt his hands glide slowly down, still not touching, just hovering. But you could swear you felt every movement like a whisper across your skin. You notice the quick rise and fall of your chest and wonder if he notices too, or if the sound of your heart pounding in your ears is loud enough for him to hear.

And so, the horny thoughts returned. You think about how his beautiful hands would feel wrapped around your throat, or how it would be if he just reached down and kissed you. Would you spontaneously combust on the spot? You might.

“You seem tense.”

You peek your eyes open at him, realising that your body had become as hard and firm as a brick wall.

“N-no, I'm great,” You say before squeezing your eyes shut again, unable to look at his handsome face any longer. 

He chuckles softly, and the sound skims down your spine like velvet. “Sure doesn’t feel like it,” he says, voice dipping a little too low to be innocent. His hands hover just above your ribs now, and your breath hitches again, your whole body wound tight like a coil.

“If you keep holding yourself like that,” he murmurs, “you’re going to snap.”

You take a deep breath and try to shove the thought down—that you wouldn’t mind if he were the one to make you snap.

𖤓𖤓𖤓

You don't leave your villa the whole day, and it's such a waste, but all you feel capable of is crying. It wasn't often that you'd be alone, and it was suffocating. Even if your ex-husband was cold and distant and seemingly the most boring man on the planet, at least he was there. His silence filled the space, and sometimes that felt like enough.

Now, the silence feels like a scream you can’t shut out.

You spiral the rest of the day.

In your bed, staring at the ceiling like it holds answers. In the pool, letting the water cradle you because nothing else does. And even on your kitchen island, knees tucked to your chest, trying to hold yourself together between sips of wine and waves of regret.

The place feels too quiet and empty.

But the sudden thought of Valentin fills you with warmth again as you lie in your bed, his image lingering in your mind. The thought of his body brings you back to life and out of your crying streak. You had only seen him shirtless once, but the image had burned itself into your memory. It stuck with you, the way his abs seemed to curve, the tattoos on his chest, each one telling its own story, and the way his v-line tapered down, teasing you with its sharp angles.

It had your thighs squeezing together, and you know you shouldn’t, but you can’t resist trying to quell your need. Your fingers slide into your bikini bottoms and over your aching core. The desperate sound you make surprises you, but doesn’t stop you from touching yourself. You quieten your moans against your fist even though there was no one there. 

Rocking against nothing but your hand and pillow, but thinking of what it would be like if his thigh. Imagining him caging you in with his arms and he looks down at you, loving how much you want him, how much you need him. The way he would talk to you, how well you would take any instruction he gave you. 

His physique was breathtaking; even his hands were sculpted, capable of both grace and power. You wanted them to be your new necklace, their touch lingering on your skin, leaving marks that they'd leave behind as a constant reminder of how hard he fucked you.

As you imagine his hands choking you, imagining losing the ability to breathe because of him, your fingers move faster. You beg for air or release, you don’t know what, all you know is that you want to beg for him. 

“Please…” you say to yourself, your breath hitching and wishing it was his touch on you.

You arch on the bed, as you dig your heels into the mattress. The image of his toned muscles, firm and defined, becomes clearer in your mind, igniting a fire inside you that only grows with each passing second.

You finish with a strangled moan, literally, your hand had snaked around your neck and squeezed until you came undone. The shame catches up to you relatively quickly but it was a no technology resort, it’s not like you can look at porn. 

𖤓𖤓𖤓

Later that evening, you hear a knock on the door and stumble towards it. 

It's Valentin, and of course, you look like a hot mess. 

“Oh, hi.”

“You missed breakfast and all of your sessions today. Are you feeling alright?” He says with his usual smile, and a hint of concern.

You blink, trying to focus on his face, your hand still on the doorframe to steady yourself.

“I… yeah. Just didn’t sleep well,” you mumble, trying to pull your bathrobe tighter around yourself, suddenly very aware of your messy hair and the lingering smell of wine. The swimsuit, bathrobe combo was a dead giveaway that nothing was alright.

Valentin tilts his head, eyes soft but sharp; he doesn’t miss much. “Didn’t sleep, or didn’t want to get out of bed?”

You let out a dry laugh, too tired to pretend. “Little bit of both.”

He nods slowly, then steps forward just enough that you can feel the concern radiating off him. “May I come in?”

You nod and move aside, watching him as he looks around, and you’re glad that you’ve kept the place clean. He sits next to you on the couch, your knees just barely touching but close enough for you to take notice. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” You say feigning ignorance, maybe if you ignored it, then you’d get away with it, but unfortunately, Valentin is perceptive.

“Whatever has you wound up so tight?”

He lets his hand on your shoulder, sending tingles down to the base of your spine. You swallow, suddenly all too aware of how close he is, of how warm his hand feels even through the fabric.

Moving soothing circles, his hands glide over your back, which sends a strange warmth through you, making the hair on your neck stand on end.

“I’m not that wound up. I’m loose, super loose,” you joke, trying to downplay the tension you feel, but your voice betrays you, a hint of nervousness creeping in.

He smirks and pauses for just a moment, as if weighing his next move, then moves closer to you, his presence engulfing you.

“I don’t like leaving my clients unsatisfied,” he says, his voice low and teasing. You can’t help but think of the double entendre and let out a weak chuckle.

“What is causing you so much stress? I felt it during your massage the other day,” he asks, his tone gentle but direct, as though he's already seen right through you. 

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “My ex-husband. This is my first trip without him, without anyone, actually, and it’s just been… lonely, I guess?”

He pauses, then gently presses, “You miss him?”

You shake your head, the words coming out more easily now, though still tinged with vulnerability. “Not him, specifically, but just someone. I miss the feeling of having someone, of being…”

“Touched?” he finishes for you, his voice quieter now.

You look over to find him already staring at you, his gaze not just warm but intense. The customer service smile is gone, replaced with something more raw, more fiery. His eyes seem to pierce through you, as if he's seen more than you're letting on.

“I… I suppose,” you admit, your voice faltering. The heat between you both shifts, thickening, making it harder to ignore the pull that’s growing stronger with each passing second.

“Did he not make you feel good?” His voice, low and seductive, slid through the air, making your pulse race. The sound of it, deep and smooth, made everything inside you tighten.

At this point, your knees bumped into one another, inching closer to him with every passing second. You hadn’t even noticed how the space between you had shrunk, his presence so overwhelming that it felt as if you couldn’t breathe without feeling him.

His cologne, subtle yet intoxicating, made you dizzy. Just being this close to him was enough to send your thoughts spiralling.

You wanted to scream.

“Not really,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper. You’re surprised you’re even able to get the words out the way he’s looking at you, his eyes dark, focused entirely on you, and that intensity…it’s almost like he can see through every wall you've built.

You feel your pulse quicken, your breath shallow. His gaze is hypnotic, pulling you in, making everything else fade away. The words hang in the air between you, charged with something unspoken, something you’re not sure you’re ready to face.

His lips part slightly, like he's about to say something, but instead, he moves a little closer, his presence swallowing up the space between you. 

“You deserve to feel good,” he says, his voice soft but filled with something deeper, more intense. His hand gently caresses your cheek, his fingertips light against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I do?” The vulnerability in your voice makes you look innocent and unsure, like you're almost waiting for him to reassure you.

He lifts you onto his lap, the movement smooth and easy, as if he’s done this a hundred times before. Your hands instinctively rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips, the solid muscle of him through the fabric of his shirt.

“Of course you do, will you let me?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter out, the excitement getting to you, a mix of anticipation and nervousness swirling in your chest. He cups your face and kisses you, the softness of his lips against yours leaving you wanting more.

The kiss deepens, and you smile into it, the warmth between you spreading like wildfire. You almost pass away on the spot when you feel his hand gently rest on your throat, not squeezing or grabbing really, but caressing. If only he knew the effect it had on you, how it sent a wave of heat through your body, how wet you had gotten from a touch that small. 

When you pull back just slightly, he notices the way your gaze lingers on his body, almost as if you can’t help it. Every inch of him, every defined line, every curve of muscle, draws your eyes in with a fascination that feels urgent.

“You want to touch?” he asks, his voice low and inviting, a hint of challenge in it.

You nod, unable to speak, your breath catching in your throat. He smiles softly, then takes your hand, guiding it under his shirt. The warmth of his skin meets your fingers, smooth and solid, and you feel the hard contours of his muscles, each movement stirring something inside you.

His skin feels like fire beneath your touch, and as your hand moves slowly over him, you can’t help but marvel at how real it all feels. He watches you intently, his eyes dark with something that makes your heart race.

You bite your lip and start unbuttoning his shirt, fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. As each button comes undone, you feel the heat between you rise, the tension thickening with every inch of skin you reveal.

He lets go of your wrist, his hands resting on your thighs as he sits back, watching you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. The moment you have his shirt off, he lifts you effortlessly and takes you to your kitchen island.

“Valentin!” You yelp, startled by the sudden shift, the cool surface of the island sending a shiver through your body as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

He smirks, his hands resting gently on your thighs, keeping you close as his eyes search yours. “Relax,” he murmurs, his voice husky, “I’ve got you.”

He pushes off your bathrobe, the soft fabric sliding away to reveal more of your skin, leaving you exposed to his touch. You’re breathless when you feel his fingers climb up your back to undo your bikini top, his lips trailing along your chest.

“Fuck,” you sigh out unable to say anything else. 

You had to applaud Valentin’s attention to detail, kissing and gently testing you until he found what made you shiver, then attacking it with a kind of precision that left you breathless.

He found this one spot on your neck, a place you hadn’t even known was sensitive, but it was like a switch had flipped. The moment his lips brushed it, the sensation rippled through you, a rush of warmth and need, making your body tense, then melt. 

“You like it when I touch you, when I…” His voice trails off, sucking a mark onto your neck and you wish that others could see it. 

“You know I do,” you breathe, your words barely a whisper, the truth slipping from your lips with a desperation you can't hide.

He starts making his way down your body, and you hope it wasn't obvious that it had been so long since you were last touched.

“Relax, there’s nothing to stress about,” Valentin says as if reading your mind. He tugs off your underwear and starts to take it slow. His kisses against your thighs climbing higher until he reaches your pussy. You shiver at the first touch and don’t stop shaking after, especially when he looks up at you like he’s intent on devouring you.

“Please, Valentin,” You moan out, and he doesn’t disappoint. He pulls back and starts fingering you, his long fingers curling inside you until they reach that spot that makes you whine. 

He’s still looking up at you, taking in all of your reactions, the way you tremble at even the smallest things he does. 

“You’re so beautiful, I don't know how your ex could keep his hands off you.”

The unexpected warmth of his words has a surprising effect on you, leaving you momentarily speechless. Chuckling at how cute you are, he goes back to licking at your folds, which are dripping with your need for him. Adding a third finger as he stretches you out so good, you start bucking against his face. The combination of his tongue and his fingers was too much. It was like being consumed, every nerve on high alert, your body humming and buzzing with energy. He lets you ride his face, working you up closer to an orgasm, but before you can get there, he pulls away.

“I was so close.”

“Not yet,” Valentin says, his voice steady, almost teasing.

“But–”

“Not. Yet.” His words are final, leaving no room for argument..

Effortlessly carrying you, he bends you over the kitchen counter, the sudden move making you gulp. Your chest lays against the counter, your nipples hardening at the touch of the cool surface as your ass sticks out for his viewing pleasure. 

He lines himself up with your hole but refuses to give you what you want. Teasing you by not putting it all the way, but grinding against you with his hard member. 

“I can’t wait anymore,” You whine as you try to push back against him, needing to feel him, to feel his cock pulsing inside of you. 

A large crack rings out when he slaps your butt, “Patient.”

That stops you in your tracks and you quieten down, biting back the moan you wanted to let out. The juxtaposition of his usual wellness expert act and the Valentin in front of you now makes you dizzy. He soothes your pain, caressing your ass as he continues moving his hips against yours. The movements lull you into a false sense of security before he finally pushes in. His thick cock, filling you up completely, your walls tightening around it.

He doesn’t hold back, no hesitation or restraint, as he takes what he wants. You grip the counter, your arms shaking as you drool. Any sense you had, is fucked out of you. Your legs twitch as you try and squirm, but he holds them in place, not allowing you any reprieve. 

“You need to stay still.”

“How can I, when you–?” You’re cut off by a particularly strong thrust that hits your sweet spot, shutting you up again, and you can’t help but think he did that on purpose.

"That's better," he comments, his voice low and satisfied, as he gently pets your head, his touch almost tender in contrast to what was happening. “Otherwise, I would’ve had to tie you up.” 

“Fuck me,” You breathe out, half to him and half to yourself as your head lolls against the surface behind you. The thought of him, tying you up in silk ties and having his way with you, had you wanting to squirm all over the place. 

“Your ex doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he says, and you cannot deny how good it feels to hear him say that. You had been ignored for too long, made to feel invisible, and now, his words are like a balm to a wound you didn��t even realise was there.

He pulls you back from the counter, and you’re grateful that he’s still holding you; otherwise, there’d be a you-sized puddle on the floor. He helps you back over to the kitchen island and lays you down, feeding his cock into you again. You had no idea how much you missed him inside of you until he started moving his hips against yours. 

You scream out, his pace relentless and unflinching. He wasn’t afraid to take control; he revelled in it, pushing you to your limits. You fight to keep your eyes open, your gaze trailing down his arm, the veins in his muscles flexing as he moves. Down to his hands on your thigh as the other works on your clit, expertly keeping you on the edge. They were strong and masculine, like he could pick you up and toss you around wherever he wanted.

“Choke me,” You blurt out in a moment of weakness. 

Pausing for a moment, he takes in your hungry expression, before you can wonder if you’ve gone too far, he holds your throat in his strong hand. He was almost too eager to oblige, revelling in how you reacted, how your breath hitched and faltered under his control. He would squeeze and release with each thrust, making your eyes roll back. You had never been the most adventurous in the bedroom, always preferring the safety of familiarity, but now, being completely at his mercy, it felt different—electric.

“You aren’t as innocent as you look,” he says, amused, as he looks over your wrecked form. 

It’s like you’re a puppet the way he pulls you up by the throat, not in a harsh way, but with an undeniable dominance that makes your breath catch. His hands are gentle but firm as they guide you. You feel boneless, like you’ve lost control of everything except the way your body reacts to him.

“Beg me.”

His tone is blunt and uncompromising.

"Please, I need to, I need..." You start to say, but the words get caught in your throat. His eyes meet yours, dark and intense, as if he’s reading the unspoken words on your lips before squeezing that little bit harder. The lights around you flutter as you, struggling to breathe, can only make desperate gasps come out. 

“Try again,” he says, his voice smooth, almost soothing, the calming aura he exudes cutting through the fact that he was currently choking you. His grip loosens slightly, just enough for you to breathe, the pressure on your throat easing, but not entirely.

“Please, Valentin. I’m begging you, I need you,” You sputter out, and from the smirk on his face, he’s satisfied.  

He lets go of your throat, taking in as much air as you can, only for it to be knocked right out of you when he angles his hips to a spot that’s never been hit before. You surge forward, screaming his name so hard, you’re surprised your voice isn’t hoarse. You find yourself squirming again, and he holds you closer. “I know you can take it,” He looks you in the eyes, “Be a good girl and take it for me.”

Not wanting to disappoint, you nod eagerly, “I can take it.”

He smiles approvingly and continues to ravish you, toes curling at the pleasure he is giving you, wanting you to commit this feeling to memory. 

Pulling you off the counter, and supporting you with his arms, he lifts you up and down on his cock to meet his thrusts. You’re not surprised that you started crying; in fact, you’re surprised you didn’t start crying earlier. The pleasure rising in you is like a volcano waiting to erupt, with every roll of his hips and moan against your ear. You grip onto his back, your fingers digging in, the muscles beneath your touch flexing as you pull him closer, urging him deeper. You can’t lie, but you wanted to leave your mark on him as much as he did on you. 

“Never been so…” You whimper out, your words trailing into nothingness as the feeling of him overwhelms you, leaving you speechless.

And just like that, his dark gaze locks onto yours, watching with a mixture of satisfaction and something far deeper, as though he’s taking in every part of you.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, his voice low and filled with praise as he peppers kisses along your chest, the arms around your waist gripping you like a boa constrictor. 

But you yearn for his touch and the next move, teetering on the edge of something beyond control, your body shaking with the need for release.

After a few more thrusts, you finish feeling temporarily weightless, like you were floating on a cloud, your senses overwhelmed by the release. But even as your body trembles from the aftershocks, he doesn’t stop. Instead, choosing to drive you, force you past the limits of what you’ve ever felt before, as he lavishes your body with kisses and marks. Marks that you’ll see in the morning and would bring back to this moment. So you surrender yourself to him. Let him have his fill of you because you didn’t want him to stop. 

You'd give him anything not to stop.

Masterlist

[spitinsideme]

Sugar mommy Ragatha and sugar baby Pomni!

OH I FUCKING LOVE RHOSE DESIGNS @nobody-nexus CAMW UP WITH FOR THOSE TWL !!! i like sugae mommies and sugar babies dynamic where they aftually love each other and the money really is jusr a bonus thats not really necesary but eagatha dkes ir anyways bwcaus shw likes spoiling pomni .. i will bw doing that scene in their fanfic woth the "youre staring, sweetheart" but for nlw i wnated to do this

ragatha cant keeo it iin her pants she needs to stop taking pomni inaide the cafe with full daylight and customers

[starrr-dusttt]

9 (shit nine?) People you'd like to get to know better. i don't even know 9 people on tumblr duh

favorite color: burgundy, olive and black

currently watching: nothing atm, but i have some shows on hold/twl: Criminal Minds, Modern Family, Defending Jacob

last song: Winner by Conan Grey

last movie: Red, White and Royal Blue and The Meg 2

currently reading: ALOT of stuff both fanfics and novels so fanfics are: Oh my (let me look at those eyes) by Gorgeousgreymatter, Didn't See That Coming by knittersrevolt. The novels are: Say I Do by Skyler Snow, The Divorce by Nicole Strycharz, Two Weeks Notice by Whitney G.

sweet/spicy/savory: Spicy and savory, i have a limit for spicy food as an Asian it is high and there are some things i dont like in savory but sweet ranks the lowest

relationship status: SO SINGLE. like i don't even have a crush on anyone duh

current obsession: hmmm nothing rn, i don't really have current obsessions more like long term potentially permanent obsessions. rn im fixated on buying some throwing knives

last thing i googled: the site for powerpuff avatars, and the more cooler thing was event that happened in world history that are still mysteries

currently working on: my medical entrance exam prep man, i wanna just sac myself but whatever, along with it my new sterek series im excited for writing them

zero pressure tags: @observaureium @hotchxreid @gay-in-a-jar

thanks for mentioning me @starzzyeyed

[himboskywalker]

There isn’t enough sharing a single bed content for Obikin. I need more scenarios of nineteen year old just knighted Anakin going on a mission with Obi-Wan where there’s a miscommunication with their hosts and they’re put in a ridiculously small single bunk. And they’re still figuring out the new dynamic of Anakin being knighted and it’s a little weird but he’s still young enough to be susceptible to wet dreams.

So Anakin wakes early in the morning plastered up against Obi-Wan’s side with a leg thrown over his master’s hips and his softened cock pressed up against his hipbone. And that’s mortifying enough but it’s the soaked wet spot down the front of his sleep pants that fills him with mortified horror,because he came in his sleep jammed up against his master’s hip. And on the reverse side Obi-Wan woke in the middle of the night when Anakin threw a leg over him and started whimpering against Obi-Wan’s throat in his sleep,and squirming his hips in little,desperate aborted thrusts. And he laid their still as a corpse with huge eyes and his pulse hammering in his throat as Anakin wound fingers in his sleep shirt and spilled hot and wet against his side with a sleepy,stifled noise.

Anyway battle royale of who’s more embarrassed and into it.

[wolken-himmel]

Hi,

This is my first time doing this so please don’t mind my awkwardness!!

1. I wanted to thank you for writing on here because your writing was what initially got me into the twl fandom. And now that the english version of the game is about to come out I’m so excited!! If your writing hadn’t popped up on my dash one day I would still have no idea what twl is.

2. Your writing is amazing. Every time I read something you write it has me giggling and kicking my legs. Hands down my favorite fanfic author.

3. I also wanted to ask how your day has been going, what you have been up to, things like that. ( if you’re comfortable with that )

🧸-anon

( if it’s alright with you I might pop back in and check you from time to time )

I-I-I- honestly, thank you so much for taking the time to write this. Like,, I can't stop smiling 😭💕 AND OF COURSE YOU CAN BE TEDDY BEAR ANON

My day has been fine! School is kinda keeping me busy again, but at least all the exams are done for this semester. And I'm really excited for the english release of twst too, so that's keeping me going right now

[helloalycia]

Hi author. I just want to thank you for the happy ending you wrote in TWL. My heart is all in awe after i finished read it. I love all your Wanda/ Leigh Shaw fanfic. Can't wait to read more of your works. 🥰 So brilliant!

this is so sweet, thank you! and thank you for reading, too, i really appreciate it 💗😊

[williamaltman]

I'm not ready for the season to end, and for the Saxlock fanfic to taper off into nothing - for people to run out of ideas. I don't wanna let go of themm. WHAT IF neither of them dies, but there's an ambiguous, even leaning towards sad ending. But then at some point, they show up in another season randomly, even just for a teeny bit, and there is HIGH KEY suggestiveness. EVEN IF THAT HAPPENS I CAN BE SATISFIED

I'm worried about the fics and the fandom as a whole too... Now, technically Saxloch doesn't have to die, cause there are *many* ships who survive despite like, the source material not featuring them or just not being around anymore... However, TWL doesn't really have much of a fandom, in the sense of inspiring fics and fanart and lots of discussion... Saxloch has become popularly completely on its own. It's kind of a miracle that we got as many fics as we have now.

So yeah, I think it might die, it certainly won't be as popular as now, but maybe we can do our best to keep it going. Running out of ideas is not a real issue in my mind, there's always more that can be done, the real issue is that people move on to other characters/ships/series/franchises.

I'm also hoping none of them die, and they go back home and we can like have it in our minds that one day they might get together!! Post-canon headcanons and fic and everything. If one of them dies I'll do a fix it anyway, I imagine many will, but it'd be so much better if we could actually imagine it happening in canon :')) and for them to really be canonically alive and well ofc lol.

I've seen people talk about them showing up in another season, and like, not impossible I guess, considering they did this with Belinda and Greg and Tanya. But I don't think we can count on it lol, it kinda feels like a distant dream... Ratliff family spinoff, too, I've seen people throw that out there lol.