#you shut them down and you hate them for it

[tiramissyoucake]

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Continued from this (Mark begs reader in the rain), felt appropriate♡ tried to keep it gender neutral, no proof reading, Mark wants that cookie so fucking bad, penetrative, barely any prep, pronebone, headlock, good boy usage but like only once, no one cums this is a cliffhanger ending. I hate this but I hope u like it I'm gonna go pass out

You had no idea what possessed you, what forced your hand to open your doors to him, how he managed to even land his lips on yours again and more importantly; why it made your heart flutter and your stomach erupt with butterflies.

Mark Grayson had the ability to appeal to your libido for his own gain, you learned that the hard way during your previous relationship, and from the feel of his hand slipping into your shorts as he suffocated your mouth, he retained that ability somehow— you were convinced he was some incubus in disguise of a half human half viltrumite loser.

"Don't you miss me?" He mumbled as he ushered your back to the armrest on the couch, his knee keeping your legs parted as he climbed over you. "I missed you, fuck- I missed you so much..." his hand moved back and forth in your shorts— he shouldn't be touching you like this, you should stop him.

You should shove him off, open your eyes and stop leaning your head back as he toyed with you however he pleased, flesh rubbing against flesh almost purring under the sound of rustling and squelching fabric; your shorts and his wet sleeve from the rain.

"We can't." You gasped, your hand weakly wrapped around his wrist. "Mark- we shouldn't-"

"Why not?" He almost whined, lips grazing yours. "You want me." His hand almost jolted against you, like he was too happy to touch you again. "As much as I want you."

You didn't answer. Deep down, you knew he was right, as pathetic as he seemed, you were just as pathetic for letting him in. Your eyelids finally let you look at him as his hand withdrew, Mark tugged the wet sweater off him— peeling it off his skin as the water glistened off of him, now he really looked like some fantasy hottie only a demon could conjure.

The shirt landed on the ground, his hands immediately invading your body, feeling you as he hissed. "Take it off," he muttered. "All of it." Your hands complied.

For a moment, Mark's hands finally retracted from you to watch you strip— a hazy look in his eye that you couldn't discern. The moment your shirt was off, his lips were on yours again. His hands gripped your wrists, guiding them around his body as a silent way to ask for you to reciprocate, he couldn't exactly ask you to while stuffing his tongue into your mouth.

You shut your eyes to kiss him and when you opened them at the feeling of air whip around you for a moment, he let you down on your bed. "... how'd you..?"

"We've been together for a while," he smiled for the first time tonight. "I know your place like the back of my hand." And he was on you again, you could feel his hands harshly wrestle off your clothes as if silently asking you to help— you got to removing the remainder of your clothes and he moaned into your mouth as his own focused on tearing off his pants.

You heard a 'fwip', cloth thrown aside too quickly and Mark sat up on his knees to push you back onto your mattress. "Jeez, Mark—"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry- I just miss you so fucking much." He didn't sound apologetic, his hand coming down to spread the beading pre-cum over his tip. "You have no idea how bad these past few months have been..."

The sight was unfair; he looked at you from above with hearts in his eyes, like you were both his spouse and his favourite pornstar. his hand furiously fisting his cock as his chest rose and fell, his skin flushed pretty pink that matched the tip of his dick, his lips were glossy with a mix of your and his spit. They parted so he could ask you;

"C-can I try something...?" It was adorable how he was still hesitant when it came to sex. "I sorta... learned it for you.."

You raised one eyebrow, intrigued. "Okay.. what?"

"Can you lay on your stomach for me?"

You had an idea of where this was going, following his instructions you heard him suck in a gust of air.

"Yes, just like that... lift your hips a little.." he continued, moving over you and aiming his tip to your inviting hole, you could feel him nudge.

"This is what you had in mind..?" His arms caged around you as he lowered himself. "Yeah... figured you'd be into it.."

You wanted to let out a patronising laugh just to poke fun to that pathetic pup, it quickly turned into a shocked cross between a yelp and an exclamation as his cock slipped its head through. "F-Fuck..! Sorry- just.. gimme a sec.."

You thought he'd pull out, not inch the rest in, Mark grit his teeth, groaning as he felt that familiar warmth- the one he dreamed of enveloping him again instead of the palm of his hand. Your hands clung to the sheets beneath you as he moved until his hips were against yours, skin to skin.

"Y-you're... the worst..." You managed to pant, the length of his dick managing to sap away your intelligence. He laughed and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "I am, I know..." he whimpered, his hips jerking impulsively.

Mark let out a moan at the first proper thrust, then another at the second, the third, until his hips started plapping against yours softly with his breath mixing with groans. "I'm the worst, god- I'm fucking horrible.."

"Mark, oh..! Fuck- Mark!" Your mouth only knew cusses and his name, the impact of his hips causing you to rock back and forth, his arm hooking around your neck to stabilise you. "I'm the worst for ever letting you go... I love you, god, I love you so much."

You said nothing, what could you say? Your throat was constricted by his arm as he held you in a stable but not painful headlock, his cock hammering into you, the skin slapping steadily getting louder with his moans. "I love you baby," he announced, proneboning you until your body was jelly. "You love me too, right?"

Your moans and grunts were your only response. He hummed and kissed your cheek, disgustingly sweet. "It's okay, you don't have to say anything, your body's responding just. Fine!" His hips bucked hard against you as he annunciated his words. Your tightening was driving him insane.

Legs shaking, you hold onto his arm with one hand as the other clutches the sheets. "Mark..! Mark!!" The tip of his cock hit all the right places, you couldn't think, noise filled your head; the sheets rustling, skin slapping, Mark moaning and announcing his love in your ear, arms shuffling against your ears and the storm booming outside.

"I'm never leaving you," he declared with a gasp, tugging you close as his nose buried against your skin. "Shit— can you let me stay the night..? Please— aren't I being a good boy? Aren't you feeling so good right now?" His hips snapped against you once more, eliciting a yelp from you. "Say yes. Please. Mmf, I know you want to. Just say yes- please say yes. Say yes."

You were in for a long night.

[ninikrumbs]

The look of love, the rush of blood

Sukuna x reader. est relationship. down bad Sukuna

BoyfriendSukuna wasn't clingy or needy. He's not the type to cry over a day without seeing you, nor is he the type to pester you with constant messages or calls about your where abouts and annoying you to come see him. A simple text about your plans for the day or even a post it note on the fridge -for the days you slept over which was almost everyday - was enough for him. He was possessive, but he can survive a day or two without you.

Or so he thought.

BoyfriendSukuna was dropping you off your best friends house for an impromptu sleepover. Your best friend just got dumped and now you need to be her shoulder to cry on or whatever. That was fine or at least it was until you mentioned that you didn't know when you'll be sleeping over his place cause apparently these things "take time" and are "unpredictable."

Surprising even himself, he didn't like that. He didn't like that at all. He realized if you weren't sleeping over his apartment, he'd usually crawl into your bed late at night. Still he thought it wasn't a necessity, that falling asleep next to you was a want not a need. Yet now that he doesn't have that option..

Vein throbbing, Sukuna can give your best friend tonight, but tomorrow you will be back on his bed where you belong.

You were saying your final goodbyes in front of his car window. Eyes bright and laced with a warmth he believes you only reserve for him, "Bye, Kuna! Ill give you updates everyday!"

He grits his teeth. Why did it sound like you were going on a month long cruise?

"Oi." He calls out before you could turn around.

Tilting your head, "Kuna?"

For a moment he kept quiet. Carmine eyes taking their time drinking you in, having his fill of you as if he won't see you for weeks. They snap to back to your pretty face, tracing every slope and curve. "Come closer, brat."

And you do which makes his lips curl a bit. Always so obedient for him.

With his left hand, his touch firm yet gentle on the back of your head as he pushes your face towards his.

Soft lips against his rough ones, kissing you long and fervently, devouring you whole in one kiss. He feels you melting into it, whimpering such pretty sounds into his mouth. The tension finally eases out of him and it takes everything in him to pull away.

"Ill pick you up tomorrow," He murmurs against your lips, breath mingling with yours.

You blink. Once. Twice, "But Kuna-"

He cuts you off with another kiss, but softer this time. Gentle even. "No buts, brat. Ill pick you up tomorrow evening at the latest. She gets no more than that. You can visit here everyday for all I care, but you're sleeping with me."

A knowing smile teases your lips, "Are you gonna miss me that much, Kuna?"

"Shut up." He grunts, rolling your eyes at how pleased you look.

You burst out laughing and he hates at how pathetically melts at the sound. How it makes his insides warm like some love sick fool.

After brushing a imaginary tear from your eye, you lean back to his face and press a soft kiss on his cheek. "Don't worry. Ill have one of our other friends sleepover tomorrow night."

"Whatever."

Your smile widens into a grin, "I'll just tell them my big bad boyfriend can't sleep without me."

"Don't you dare-"

You run towards the door before he could do anything, laughter ringing out the driveway. And the way you smile makes his chest tighten in the most pathetic way.

The moment you disappear from view. He groans, dragging a hand down his face.

Fuck.

He didn't realized he was so down bad that going home without you felt like a life sentence.

So pathetic. So damn pathetic for you.

[rmview]

cold shoulders, SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader  ( masterlist )

summary — how the stray kids boys react when you give them the cold shoulder after an argument and don’t forgive easily!

contents — angst, hurt, ignoring.

bang ˠ chan

chan wasn’t used to you giving him the cold shoulder. not like this. sure — you’d gotten mad at him before, bickered over small things, had moments where you huffed and turned away when he got too bossy or distant. but this? this silence was heavier. this was you not replying to his texts. not looking at him when he spoke. moving past him in the apartment like he was invisible. it killed him. 

the fight had been over something stupid. some late night at the studio when you’d begged him to come home, just one evening, just one dinner together after weeks of him being locked up in those four walls with nothing but music and stress weighing on his shoulders. and instead of agreeing, instead of apologizing, he’d snapped. told you you were being clingy. that he didn’t have time to babysit feelings when deadlines were crushing him. 

the moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. but his pride, tired and overworked and frustrated, wouldn’t let him back down. 

now here he was — two days later — watching you move around the kitchen, headphones in, ignoring the way his gaze followed your every step. he left your favorite drink by your side of the bed. it stayed untouched. ordered takeout from that place you loved. you barely touched the food. every attempt he made to bridge the space between you, you quietly shut down. 

but chan wasn’t the type to give up. not when it came to you. he hovered in the doorway that night, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, hair a mess from restless fingers. “y/n,” he called softly, voice rough with the apology he couldn’t quite force out yet. 

you didn’t turn around. 

“i know you’re mad… and you should be,” he sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “i was a dick. i let stress get to my head and said shit i didn’t mean. you didn’t deserve that.” 

nothing. 

chan bit his lip, stepping closer. “i hate this, you know. us… not talking. it’s driving me insane.” when you didn’t respond, still scrolling through your phone, he sighed and sank onto the couch across from you, resting his head in his hands. “i miss you,” he mumbled into his palms. 

that made you pause. just for a second. but you didn’t say anything, didn’t soften. and honestly? he understood. because this wasn’t about a quick sorry and moving on. this was about trust. about how you’d begged for a little time, a little space in his life that wasn’t buried under pressure, and he’d brushed you aside like you didn’t matter. 

so, for the first time in a long time, bang chan decided to wait. no grand speech. no half-assed jokes to make you smile. just him, sitting quietly, hoping you’d let him earn your forgiveness the hard way. and if it took days, weeks — hell, months — he wasn’t going anywhere. because losing you, even for a second, was worse than any deadline. 

felix ˠ

felix had never seen you like this. 

you’d always been soft with him. even when you were frustrated, even when you rolled your eyes at his teasing or swatted his arm when he clung to you like an overgrown puppy, you never… iced him out. but after the fight last night — if you could even call it a fight — you’d shut down. completely. 

he stood outside your room for what felt like forever, his hand hovering near the door, chewing on his lip as he debated knocking for the hundredth time. the light from under the door flickered with your tv, shadows moving. he knew you were awake. knew you’d heard him when he came in earlier, when he called your name softly, voice heavy with regret. but you hadn’t answered. felix wasn’t used to this kind of distance. 

it had started over something small — it always did. he’d made a joke. some careless, teasing remark about how you were “too sensitive,” when you opened up about something that had been bothering you. he hadn’t meant it to sting, but the moment your expression fell, the guilt had hit him like a brick wall. and instead of apologizing properly, he’d awkwardly laughed it off, hoping you’d do the same. 

but you didn’t. you went quiet. and now, hours later, you still hadn’t said a word. 

felix paced the hallway, glancing at the door every few seconds. his chest hurt in that tight, awful way it did when things felt wrong. when people he cared about pulled away. he hated conflict. hated when the air between him and someone he loved felt heavy. 

so he grabbed his phone, sent a message. 

i’m sorry, angel. i messed up. can we talk? 

read. no reply. 

he sighed, leaning his forehead against the cool wood of your door. “y/n,” he whispered, voice cracking. “please don’t hate me.” 

still nothing. 

felix sank to the floor, back against the wall, fingers picking at the sleeve of his hoodie. he scrolled through your shared photos, stupid videos you’d taken of him half-asleep on the couch, goofy selfies he’d demanded after a coffee run, little snapshots of a relationship that had been his safe place. and now it felt like the walls were crumbling. 

he stayed there for what felt like hours, the house eerily silent except for the faint hum of your tv. he didn’t try to force his way in. didn’t flood you with texts or beg you to come out. felix wasn’t that type. he knew sometimes people needed space. but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. 

before heading back to his room, he slid a note under your door — his handwriting messy and rushed. 

i know i hurt you. i’ll wait. however long it takes. i just… i need you to know you mean everything to me. i’ll do better, i promise.

and then he left the hallway in silence, hoping you’d read it. hoping one day you’d believe it. because losing you over one stupid, thoughtless moment? that was the kind of thing felix knew he’d never forgive himself for. 

lee ˠ know 

lee know wasn’t used to being ignored. especially not by you. 

you’d always been the person who called him out, pushed past his walls when no one else dared to. the one who teased him right back when he got sarcastic, who softened him with a smile when his words were sharp. but now… now you wouldn’t even look at him, and it was all his fault. 

the fight had started ugly. tension building all week, small frustrations piling up until he said something he shouldn’t have. something cruel. defensive. his voice had been cold when he’d spat, “maybe if you weren’t always acting like you know everything, we wouldn’t be fighting all the damn time.” 

and the second he saw the way your face fell — the way you’d swallowed hard, biting your lip like you were forcing yourself not to break — his heart had dropped straight to his stomach. especially since you didn’t yell back. didn’t cry. you went silent. and that silence hurt worse than any words you could’ve thrown at him. 

now, hours later, you’d locked yourself in your room, your phone untouched on the counter. every time he passed by your door, the knot in his stomach tightened. the part of him that always needed to win, to have the last word, crumbled under the weight of how badly he’d messed up. 

lee know paced the living room, restless. he thought about leaving — giving you space, like maybe that would help — but he couldn’t do it. not with the way your silence haunted the house. not with the memory of your eyes flickering, just for a second, like he was someone you didn’t recognize anymore. 

“y/n,” he called softly, standing outside your door, voice rough with regret. “i didn’t mean it.” 

nothing. 

he let out a heavy breath, raking a hand through his hair. “i’m… i’m bad at this, okay? at saying how i feel. and when i get scared, or—” he cut himself off, scowling at how pathetic he sounded. “i push people away. but i don’t wanna push you away.” 

silence. the kind that made his chest ache in a way he didn’t know how to fix. 

lee know leaned his forehead against the door. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, his pride cracking wide open. “for being a dick. for not knowing how to handle someone who actually… cares about me.” 

he stayed there, listening to the quiet hum of your music inside. he could picture you lying on the bed, headphones in, pretending you didn’t hear him. and honestly, maybe he deserved it. deserved to stew in it a little. but that didn’t stop the urge to fix it. 

“look,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “i don’t expect you to forgive me right now. hell, i don’t know if you ever will. but i’m not gonna pretend like it doesn’t matter to me. because it does.” 

his fingers brushed against the doorknob before he pulled away. “i’ll wait,” he said, softer now. “and when you’re ready to yell at me or cuss me out or whatever… i’ll be here.” 

and then he left, the hollow ache in his chest heavier than it had been in years. because losing you? that wasn’t something lee know could stomach. 

hyun ˠ jin 

hyunjin wasn’t good at waiting. you hadn’t said a word to him since the fight. not a glance, not a muttered complaint, not a teasing shove. the silence was brutal — worse than any shouting match you’d ever had, worse than when you used to push each other’s buttons just to see who’d crack first. but this time, it was different, because he’d gone too far. 

the words still echoed in his head, laced with heat and spite. he’d been tired. stressed. the comeback preparations were gnawing at his nerves, and the last thing he wanted was to drag you into it. but you’d called him out — like you always did when he started spiraling — and instead of leaning on you, he shoved you away. 

“maybe it’s easier if you just stay out of my life,” he’d snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. 

the moment the words left his mouth, he felt it. that gut-wrenching regret, the instant knowledge that he didn’t mean it — not for a second. but it was too late. he watched the light drain from your face, watched your jaw clench like you were holding back tears. and then you left, the soft click of the door behind you feeling louder than any slammed one. 

now, hours later, the apartment was too quiet. the lack of your presence gnawed at him. hyunjin sat on the couch, a sketchbook in his lap, though his pencil hadn’t moved in ages. he kept glancing at his phone, willing it to light up with your name. an angry text. a scathing message. anything. but nothing came. 

“y/n,” he muttered to himself, scrubbing a hand down his face. “god, i’m such an idiot.” 

he finally got up, heart pounding, and padded toward your room. the door was cracked open, but you weren’t inside. the bed still made, the window slightly ajar. he bit his lip, guilt settling heavier in his chest. “can we… can we talk?” he asked softly, though the room stayed empty. 

hyunjin sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “i don’t know why i always do this. push people away when i’m hurting. you didn’t deserve that. you didn’t deserve any of it.” 

he blinked hard, his throat tight. the sketchbook in his hands felt heavier than ever. he flipped it open, revealing the latest page — a half-finished sketch of you. quietly beautiful, eyes crinkled in laughter like the way you used to look at him. 

“i keep trying to pretend i’m okay on my own,” he continued, voice breaking a little. “but the truth is… i’m not. not without you.” 

the silence felt suffocating. he left the sketchbook on your bed, open to that page, and stepped back. he didn’t expect you to forgive him right away. honestly, he wasn’t even sure if you’d come back tonight. yet he still hoped.

“whenever you’re ready,” hyunjin whispered, backing out of the room. “i’ll be here, waiting.” and for once, he meant to wait. 

jeong ˠ in 

jeongin knew the second the words left his mouth that he’d regret them. 

but in the heat of the moment — heart pounding, frustration thick in his chest — he hadn’t cared. he just wanted to win the argument. he wanted you to stop looking at him with that wounded expression, to stop making him feel like the bad guy. 

“i don’t even know why i bother with you sometimes,” he’d muttered bitterly, storming out before he could see the way your face crumpled. and now, he wished he hadn’t. because it had been two days. two entire days. 

you’d ignored his texts, left his calls unanswered, even avoided the group chat the two of you usually spammed with memes and inside jokes. at the dorm, he caught himself glancing at your contact every few minutes, wondering if maybe you’d just decide to yell at him and get it over with. anything would’ve been better than this complete, aching silence. 

jeongin hated this. hated not hearing your laugh. hated knowing he was the reason you weren’t smiling. he sat alone on the rooftop that night, hoodie pulled up, fiddling with his phone while his stomach churned. the city lights blurred below him, and every notification made his heart stutter — hoping, praying it was you. but it never was. 

“damn it,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. he remembered the way you always brought him snacks after a long practice. the way you’d mock him for being dramatic but still hug him when he was down. the little things he took for granted until now. and now? he might’ve lost you for good because of his stupid temper. 

he scrolled through your old messages, fingers trembling a little when he reached a picture you’d sent a week ago — you and him at the arcade, grinning like idiots with matching plushies on your heads. his throat burned. 

“i didn’t mean it, y/n,” he whispered into the night. “i was angry. and scared. and stupid.” he bit his lip, hesitating before typing out yet another message. 

i miss you. i’m sorry.

he stared at the words, thumb hovering over the send button, before eventually locking his phone without sending it. because he knew sorry wouldn’t be enough this time. not right away. but jeongin wasn’t giving up. 

tomorrow, he’d wait outside your place with your favorite pastries. he’d sit in front of your door if he had to, leave notes, beg your forgiveness with every cheesy rom-com move he could think of. because losing you wasn’t an option. not to him. 

“i’ll fix this,” he promised quietly to the empty sky. “no matter what it takes.” 

han ˠ

han wasn’t used to you ignoring him. you were the one person who never made him feel like he was “too much.” the one who laughed at his dumb jokes, let him ramble at three a.m., and knew how to calm his overthinking when it spun out of control. but now… the silence was unbearable. 

he could still hear his own voice from that night, sharp and reckless in the heat of the argument. “you always do this! acting like you’re perfect when you’re just as messed up as the rest of us. maybe i need someone who isn’t always breathing down my neck.” 

the minute it came out, he regretted it. your face had fallen — not angry, just quietly devastated. and that hurt worse than if you’d screamed. yet instead of apologizing, han did what he always did when he didn’t know how to handle emotions: he ran. left before you could reply, thinking he’d cool off, come back, and fix it later. 

except later never came, because now you weren’t replying. not to his spam messages. not to the voice notes he left you at midnight. not to the random memes or his half-baked apologies typed and deleted a hundred times. 

even when he tried casually showing up outside your building with bubble tea like it was just another day, your roommate told him you didn’t want to see him. and han… han was spiraling. 

“idiot,” he cursed himself, pacing his room for the tenth time that night. his phone buzzed with group chat nonsense, and he barely glanced at it. his world felt a little too quiet without you in it. 

he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling as the weight of everything sank in. you made him better. you kept him grounded when his brain turned against him. you were the only one who understood that when han cracked a joke, it sometimes meant he was falling apart underneath. and now? he might’ve ruined that. 

“i miss you,” he whispered into the emptiness of his room. his chest ached when he scrolled to your contact, thumb trembling as he typed. 

i get it if you don’t wanna talk. but please… can you just tell me if you’re okay? that’s all i need.

he sent it this time. didn’t care if it made him look desperate, because han jisung would rather be a fool in love than lose you forever. 

tomorrow, if you didn’t reply, he’d show up anyway. bring your favorite snacks, stand outside your door like a lovesick puppy, and refuse to leave until you opened it. he didn’t know how to be okay without you. and maybe he didn’t deserve you, but he wasn’t going to give up. not this time. 

seung ˠ min 

seungmin never expected you to forgive him easily. he knew you. you didn’t play games. if something hurt, you wouldn’t pretend it didn’t. but this… this silence hurt more than he was prepared for. he could still hear the words he’d thrown that night, laced with frustration and pride. “if you can’t handle being with someone like me, maybe you shouldn’t be with me at all.” 

he didn’t mean it. god, he didn’t mean it. it was the kind of thing you said in a moment where your pride bruised before your heart could catch up. you’d been calling him out for shutting down when he was stressed, for acting like he didn’t care. and instead of explaining that he cared too much, seungmin pushed back. 

it wasn’t his style to beg for forgiveness. he thought time and space would cool things down, that maybe in a day or two you’d send a dry text like, ‘you’re still an asshole.’ 

but nothing came. no good morning text. no sarcastic comeback in the group chat. no midnight video call asking if he ate. seungmin felt the emptiness in ways he didn’t know how to name. the apartment was too quiet without your teasing remarks. the coffee he made tasted wrong without your constant complaint that it was “too bitter, like your personality.” even the ridiculous variety shows you forced him to watch alone felt dull. 

he found himself checking his phone every few minutes, not even pretending it was for anything else. days passed like this. and though his pride tried to convince him it was fine, his heart knew better. you weren’t ignoring him to win a fight. you were hurt and he was the one who did it. 

seungmin sat on his couch one evening, your favorite snack in a bag beside him — he’d instinctively grabbed it on his grocery run. without thinking, he opened his messages. 

i’m not good at this. but i’m sorry. i said something i didn’t mean because i was scared you’d leave first. i get it if you don’t want to talk to me now, but… i miss you. and i’ll wait.

he sent it before his overthinking could stop him. then he stared at the screen. waited. hoped. even if you didn’t forgive him soon, seungmin promised himself he’d show up. in his own quiet, stubborn, seungmin way — one snack, one dry text, one poorly hidden soft moment at a time. because you mattered more than his pride ever could. 

chang ˠ bin 

changbin could deal with shouting. hell, he preferred it. if you screamed at him, told him he was an idiot, threw a pillow in his face and called him names — at least it meant you still cared enough to be mad. but this? this silence? it was killing him. 

it had started after that stupid fight. something small and dumb at first — he came home late from practice without texting, you were already upset from a bad day, words escalated, tempers flared. and in the heat of it, he’d let frustration speak for him. 

“if being with me’s such a burden, maybe you shouldn’t be.” the second it left his mouth, changbin wanted to snatch the words out of the air and swallow them whole. 

but your face… the way it fell, the way your eyes glossed over, like you physically felt those words hit you — he knew he fucked up. and now, three days later, you hadn’t answered his texts. you didn’t pick up his calls. he even sent you a voice note because you always teased him about how he sounded in them — but even that, left on read. 

when you crossed paths at the company building by accident, you didn’t spare him a glance. didn’t even acknowledge his presence. that crushed him more than he thought possible. 

in public, changbin still smiled, still cracked jokes with the boys, but they could see something was off. he was quieter. distracted. constantly checking his phone like a man waiting on a miracle. 

back home, your absence was everywhere. the sweatshirt you left on his chair. the playlist you made still queued on his speaker. your favorite mug untouched on the shelf. he missed you so bad it made his chest ache. 

one night, unable to take it anymore, changbin grabbed his keys and headed to your apartment. his hand shook when he knocked, heart pounding like it was trying to break out of his ribcage. 

you opened the door, expression guarded, arms crossed like a barrier between you and the storm he brought. 

“i know you don’t wanna hear from me,” changbin started, voice rough. “and you don’t owe me anything. but… i had no right to say what i did. i was pissed, and i took it out on you, and that’s not okay.” 

you stayed silent, but your eyes glistened. 

“i miss you. everything about you. even your nagging, even your bad taste in tv shows. i miss you so much it hurts.” he took a breath, chest tight. “i’m not here to beg. i’m here to tell you i’m sorry. and… that no matter how long it takes, i’ll be waiting for you to forgive me. ‘cause you’re it for me.” 

your gaze faltered for a second, and in that tiny crack, changbin let hope slip in. he didn’t know when — or if — you’d let him back in. but he’d wait. because some people are worth it, and for changbin, you always would be. 

notes: aww poor guys xp but anon wanted them to suffer so that’s all they’ll do this fic xD no part 2!

[remmicksmuse]

remmick is obsessed with reader once she’s on her period

knock knock! you weren’t expecting remmick to come around you once your cycle started because you thought vampires hated the smell and the blood coming from you overall. once you opened the door, you could barely see his face since it was at the dead of night. the only thing you could see was in glimmering, red eyes. “hey baby, gonna let me in?”he cooed with sense of hunger in his voice. of course you would let him in, you always did. you loved the way his head would always find it’s way between your thighs in an instant, in any situation. you welcomed him in and he hummed in satisfaction. you watched his face expression to see if he knew you were bleeding. his big hands clasp the back of your thighs & lifted you up to straddle his waist and carries you upstairs to your bedroom. before he gets to your bedroom, he kissing you all over face & neck, enjoying the feeling of you squirming in his arms. he pushes the door open with his leg and shuts it behind him.

you felt a sudden pain in your tummy and it made you wince. he gently places you on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of you, rubbing your knees. you breath quickens because you’re worried to let remmick see you like this. his rough hands glide up your pretty blue & white dress. “w-wait remmick, you can’t” you stopped his head from diving in by putting your hand on his chest. he looked up at you with confusion and concern, “what’s wrong baby”. “i’m on my cycle right now” you looked at him with guilt and hoping he wouldn’t leave you disgusted. a scoff leaves his mouth and shakes his head, “i know that, i smell your leaking pussy from a mile away, darlin’ and i bet it taste even better with all that blood coming out of ya’”. you couldn’t help but gasp with surprise, “b-but that’s so nasty-”. he cut you off in an instant, “well i’m nastier so lean back”. you were hesitant but still laid back in your soft bed. his hands lifted your dress all the way up to your neck so he could give you’re desperate tits attention as well. he stood up and crawled above so he can suck & swirl his tongue your tit, fiddling your other nipple between his fingers. all the attention on your chest made your back arch. once he got you worked up and your pretty tits had marks all over them, he placed himself back between your legs. he pulled your bloody panties down and pushed your knees to your chest. he wanted to take his time since he’s never tasted you while you were bleeding and made sure you enjoyed this as well as he did. he gave you hot kisses in your inner thighs, working his way up to your heat. once he reached where you needed him most, he made a sloppy & slow kiss to your clit. he felt your hips stuttering into his mouth and reach for more. he dragged his tongue all the way from your hole to your bud. his tongue already made you twitch and threaten to close your thighs because your cycle is making you more sensitive. he felt your shaking thighs clench around his head as he lapped at your clit and snuck his big hands between them & shoving them open so he could shove his tongue deeper inside you. you felt you getting closer every time he flicked his tongue over your sensitive bud. he puts his hand over your tummy and presses down, trying to make you squirt all over his blood-covered face. the pleasure starts to get too much and you try to move his hands & head off you without shaking and whimpering under him. he slides in his thick fingers and curls them, pushing you over the edge and your cum all over his face, leaving you heaving. you sit up on you’re shoulder as you catch a glimpse of his licking his fingers clean. he whipes your blood mixed with cum on his palm and licks it off his head. the sights leaves you dizzy and you flop back into your bed, the orgasm leaving you exhausted. remmick stands up from the ground and lifts you into his lap before sitting on the bed. he pulls your dress back down for you and lets out a chuckle from your worn out expression. “next time you’re pussy’s bleeding, holler my name and i’ll clean it all up for it.”, that’s the last you hear before falling asleep in his big, warm arms.

[leriexoxo]

Angry Boys - Jisung

His Breaking Point

Tags: emotionally intense themes, including possessive behavior, emotionally messy and angry sex, mild degradation, consensual non-consent undertones, crying during sex, mentions of jealousy and emotional manipulation, overstimulation, rough handling, and soft aftercare.

Word count: 2k

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

ANGRY BOYS MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You didn’t knock.

Didn’t call ahead—You knew he’d be there.

Just slammed the door behind you like a warning shot.

Jisung was already pacing in your kitchen, hoodie half off one shoulder, lips red from chewing them raw. His eyes snapped to you the second the door shut—and they were already burning.

“Where the fuck were you?”

You dropped your bag onto the floor with a heavy thud. “Not tonight, Jisung.”

“No, fuck that. Answer me.” His voice cracked—half-shout, half-plea. “You disappear for sixteen hours with no text, no calls—nothing—and you expect me to sit here like I’m not going insane?”

Your jaw clenched. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

The silence hit like a gunshot.

His whole body flinched.

“Right,” he said. Flat. Cold. “Right. Thanks for the reminder.”

You tried to walk past him—to your room, to safety—but he stepped in front of you. Just stood there. Blocking. Breathing heavy.

His eyes were wild.

“You think I’m just some warm body to crawl into bed with when you’re bored? Something to fuck, to kill time with? Do you even see me when you look at me?”

“I never lied to you,” you hissed.

“No,” he snapped, voice going sharp. “You just dangle me.”

His hands were shaking.

“You touch me like I’m important to you,” he whispered. “You fuck me like I matter. And then you leave before I can even breathe.”

Your stomach twisted. You hated how right he sounded.

“You could’ve walked away anytime.”

He laughed—bitter and small. “I should’ve. God, I should’ve. But I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop wanting you.”

You backed up a step.

He followed.

“You’re in my head,” he said. “All the time. Every second. You act like you don’t feel it too, like this is just sex—but I see the way you shake when I touch you.”

You turned your face, voice cracking. “That doesn’t mean—”

“Then what does it mean?” His voice rose again. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this? Sit here like a fool while you fuck me, leave, and pretend I don’t exist again?”

You didn’t answer.

He took another step forward—eyes locked to yours, breathing heavy, like he was standing on a ledge.

“I’m not asking anymore,” he said. “I need to know what this is. Or I’m gonna lose my mind.”

He closed the space between you in one breath, one second—and then his hands were on your face, his mouth crashing into yours like he was trying to inhale you whole.

There was no patience.

Just heat. Teeth. Desperation.

His hand slid under your shirt like it had every right to be there, fingers digging into your skin like anchors.

“You can hate me later,” he panted against your lips. “But I need you to want me right fucking now.”

Your back hit the wall.

You moaned into his mouth.

And Jisung growled.

Your back hit the wall with a dull thud, and he kissed you like he was burning alive.

His hands didn’t hesitate—yanked your shirt over your head, tugged your waistband down like he’d already ripped you out of his fantasies a hundred times today. His mouth was still on you—jaw tight, teeth grazing skin, lips trembling between bites and kisses.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered again, voice fraying. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

Because you did.

You wanted him like this—unraveling. Furious. Needing you more than his next breath.

Your nails dragged down his chest, and he groaned deep in his throat. His cock was already hard through his sweats, pressing against your thigh with a desperation that mirrored his voice.

He pushed your legs apart and dropped to his knees without ceremony—yanked your panties to the side and dove in like a man gone mad.

“Oh—fuck—Jisung—”

He didn’t wait.

Didn’t tease.

Just sucked your clit into his mouth and rolled his tongue like he was trying to make you break fast so he could climb inside the pieces.

You slapped your hand against the wall, legs already shaking.

He moaned against you—deep, guttural, possessive—and the vibration had your hips jerking forward.

“This,” he growled, fingers pressing inside, “is mine.”

You whimpered, head dropping back.

He kept going—faster, harder—fucking you on his fingers while his tongue tore you apart. You were drenched, twitching, biting down on your lip so hard it stung.

“Don’t you dare hold back,” he snapped. “Scream. Let them know who fucking owns you.”

Your knees buckled as your orgasm slammed through you. You did scream.

And Jisung just groaned into your cunt like it was everything he needed to breathe again.

He stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and shoved his sweats down just enough.

“You’re gonna take all of it,” he muttered, jerking his cock once, twice. “Every inch. And when I’m done, you’re gonna know who the fuck you belong to.”

He didn’t wait for a response—just lifted you by the thighs, slammed you back against the wall, and sank in deep.

Your mouth fell open. No sound came out.

He filled you—thick, hot, pulsing—and then he started moving.

No rhythm. No care.

Just frantic thrusts, gasps, groans, like he was chasing something he didn’t know how to name.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you feel it too.”

You clutched his shoulders, nails digging in. “I—fuck—I feel it, Jisung—God—”

He snapped his hips harder, and your back hit the wall again.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled. “You don’t let anyone else in like this. You never fall apart like this. Just me.”

You nodded, choking on breath. “Just you—only you—fuck—”

His pace got brutal.

His forehead dropped to yours, sweat beading down his temple.

“I fucking hate how much I want you,” he whispered. “And I still want more.”

He slammed into you once, twice—your legs twitching around his waist—and then you came again, crying into his neck, whole body shaking.

He followed seconds later with a loud, broken fuck, hips stuttering, hands gripping your ass like he’d fall apart without you.

And when it was over— You both just breathed.

Shaking. Soaked. Spent.

You barely had time to catch your breath but Jisung didn’t let go, didn’t even slow down.

He carried you to the couch, still buried inside you, his face buried in your neck like he couldn’t bear to look at you—like seeing you would only crack him further.

“Jisung—” you started, but he just growled, low and broken.

“Not done,” he muttered. “I can’t stop. I won’t.”

You whimpered as he dropped you onto the cushions, dragging your hips to the edge. His cock slipped out, glistening and angry red, but he was already moving again—spitting into his hand, stroking himself with fast, angry pumps.

“I hate how much I love this,” he rasped. “Hate that I miss you even when you’re under me.”

“Ji—”

“Do you even think about me when you leave?” he asked, voice shaking now—fighting emotion and lust in equal measure. “Do you even remember what it feels like when I’m not fucking you?”

He slid back in.

Too fast. Too deep.

Your back arched with a sob.

“Because I do,” he hissed. “Every fucking time. I remember every sound. Every face you make. Every time you say my name like I matter.”

He pulled out almost all the way—then slammed in again.

You yelped, hands scrambling for something—anything—to hold onto.

“Look at me.”

You forced your eyes open.

And what you saw nearly undid you.

He looked wrecked.

Tears in his eyes. Jaw clenched so tight it trembled. Entire body trembling, like this wasn’t just fucking—it was confession.

“I know you don’t belong to me,” he whispered, slowing just enough to make the weight of each thrust sink. “But I wish you did.”

You cupped his face without thinking, thumb brushing the corner of his eye.

That broke him.

He let out a sound—half sob, half moan—and thrust deep enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

“I think I love you,” he choked. “I don’t know when it happened—I just—I fucking love you and I’m terrified you don’t feel anything.”

Your eyes stung. Your throat closed.

“I feel it,” you whispered.

He froze.

“You—?”

“I feel it,” you repeated. “Even when I try to pretend I don’t.”

Something cracked in him then—softer this time.

He kissed you like you were oxygen.

Like the entire storm inside him could finally exhale.

And then he fucked you slow.

Deep.

So deep it made you cry again.

He held you through it, whispered everything he couldn’t say before—the fear, the ache, the need. You came one more time, sobbing into his neck.

And this time when he followed—he held you close and breathed you in.

—

Sunlight found you first.

It cut through the curtains in soft streaks, warming your bare shoulder where the blanket had slipped. Jisung stirred behind you, arms still locked around your waist like he’d never let go.

His breath was slow. Shaky.

You knew he was awake.

Neither of you had slept much.

His hand twitched on your stomach, then stilled.

You could feel it—the tension. Like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you now that the storm had passed.

You turned in his arms.

His eyes were already open.

Red-rimmed. Exhausted. Still clinging to the emotion from last night like it hadn’t let him go either.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he echoed, voice hoarse.

You searched his face. “How much of that do you remember?”

He let out a small, shaky laugh. “All of it.”

You nodded. “Good.”

Silence stretched—but not heavy this time.

Just full.

You reached up and brushed his hair back from his forehead. He leaned into your touch like it hurt not to.

“I meant what I said,” you whispered.

His breath caught.

“I feel it,” you said. “I think I’ve been trying not to. Because I knew if I let it in, I’d never be able to let it go.”

Jisung exhaled like it physically left his chest. His forehead dropped to yours.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he murmured.

“You didn’t scare me.”

“I scared myself,” he said quietly. “I’ve never felt like that before. Like I was breaking apart from the inside.”

“You weren’t breaking,” you said. “You were opening.”

He smiled, pained and fragile. “Then why does it feel like it still might shatter?”

“Because it’s real,” you said. “And real things are always sharp at the edges.”

He kissed you then.

Soft. Unhurried.

The kind of kiss that said: I see you. I trust you. I want to keep doing this if you’ll let me.

You curled into him and whispered, “No more pretending.”

He tightened his arms around you. “No more hiding.”

“And if I stay this time?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Then I’ll never let you go.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Authors note: Needy Jisung?? Every. Damn. Time!! 🥹🥹 Are you enjoying the series? If you are then dont forget to encourage me with your comments and likes and reblogs! Love you guys!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @sagestarlight @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @mythicmochi @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @niki007 @swordswallower2000

[hearts4hughes]

honeybee riding rafe on the back of his truck after a long day of bickering and arguing

𖥨᩠ׄ݁.ི𒂭۪۪۪۪᳝۟ honeybee!reader

warnings: mdni ; pinv ; switch!reader ; switch!rafe

“you done running your mouth now?” rafe asks, leaning back on his elbows, boots kicked up on the back of his truck like he owns the whole damn farm…and you.

you shoot him a glare, chin tilted up in that way that drives him absolutely insane. “maybe i’m just getting started.”

he huffs a laugh, eyes dragging down your frame with no shame, tongue poking at his cheek like he’s trying not to grin. “figured. you talk all day, but never say anything useful.”

you climb up onto the tailgate anyway, ignoring how his eyes track every move you make. “maybe i wouldn’t have to talk so much if someone actually listened.”

“oh, i listen,” he says, low and full of smug certainty. “you just don’t like what i hear.”

you sit across from him, arms crossed, legs dangling. tension crackles in the quiet. the heat like summer lightning. he taps his fingers once against the metal.

“you gonna keep pretending?” he asks after a beat. “keep acting like you don’t want this?”

you raise a brow. “what exactly do you think i want, cameron?”

he grins, slow and infuriating. “me.”

you laugh, sharp and stubborn. “wow. someone’s full of himself today.”

“nah,” he shrugs. “just observant. i know that look. same one you had last week, pinned under me in your room, tryin’ so hard not to fall apart.”

you bristle at that because he’s not wrong and he knows it. god, he always knows it. “you’re delusional.”

he pushes himself forward, crowding into your space without touching you. “you’re a terrible liar.”

“you’re insufferable.”

he leans in closer, voice almost a whisper now. “you’re still here.”

you swallow hard.

he tilts his head, eyes dark, amused. “so what’s the excuse now, honeybee? gonna tell me you climbed up here just to insult me some more?”

“maybe i like watching you suffer.”

he grins wider. “oh, i’m suffering all right. poor me. stuck out here with a girl who wants me so bad she’s practically shaking with it.”

you scoff, defiant, even as your breath catches.

he reaches out, thumb brushing your jaw, and it’s almost too gentle. “you can fight me all you want,” he says softly, “but we both know how this ends.”

you don’t respond right away. you just stare at him. he’s the boy who drives you absolutely mad, who reads you like a favorite book, who always, always gets under your skin.

and when you finally make a move to jump down from the truck, he’s already pulled you against him, trapping you under his body weight.

“get off me, rafe.” your voice cracks towards the end. your face doesn’t match your words. “before you do something you regret.”

“i’ve never regretted a single thing with you, honeybee.” he presses his lips against the bare skin of your chest.

you scoff, not falling for his sweet nothings. you grab hold of his arms and within seconds, you’re straddling his hips. “who’s in charge now?” you tsk, jutting your pouty lips out.

“oh, princess of the farm likes to take control? i don’t buy it.” he laughs, deep and hardy. “you can’t even take the trash out without complaining.”

“oh, you shut your mouth, cameron.” you begin to unbutton his jeans, sliding the zipper down smooth, and tugging them down his muscular thighs. “you’re nothin’ but a way for me to get off.”

his smirk deepens, his hands removing your shirt as you berate him. “keep goin’, you’re turning me on, sweetheart.”

he’s letting you have your little power trip because he already knows how it ends.

you shoot him a look, one he probably deserves, but he just grins wider, smug as hell. hands behind his head now like he’s lounging at the beach, not under you in the middle of nowhere with dirt on his jeans and sin in his smile.

“you’re so full of it,” you mutter.

“full of something,” he fires back, cocky as ever. “and soon you will be too.”

your jaw ticks. you hate how easily he gets under your skin, how every line is a taunt wrapped in a dare. and worse, you hate how your body betrays you for it.

he feels it. you know he does. because when your hips shift, his hands snap up to your waist like instinct, like claim.

“yeah,” he murmurs, voice lower now, like it’s just for you. “that’s more like it. stop pretendin’, honeybee. you like it when i run my mouth.”

“only thing i like is shutting you up,” you shoot back.

he chuckles, breath hot against your collarbone as he yanks you closer. “then do it.”

you take the bandana from around his neck and place it in his mouth like a gag. your hands reach down into his boxers, pulling himself out. he bites down against the gag, the slight breeze in the air only adding to the overstimulation. his hips buck as you rub up and down his cock.

the next article of clothing to go is your lacy thong. rafe’s heart skips a beat as his tip brushes against your folds. you let out a deep breath, rubbing him against your clit.

his complaints were muffled by the bandana between his lips, causing you to smirk.

“what? have something to say, cowboy?” you taunt, sinking down on just his reddened tip. his eyes roll back, hips stuttering, eliciting a giggle from you. “didn’t think so.”

finally, you lowered yourself on his dick. he squeezed her thighs hard enough to leave bruises—you’d have to lie to her daddy about that later. he stretched you to the brink. your mind was flooded with pleasure and pain. your hadn’t even started moving and your legs were already shaking.

“why do douchebags always have the biggest dicks?” you moan as take his last inch.

a smirk possessed his face at your words, his ego growing as he finally admired the view. you were on top of him, clad in only a bralette and cowboy boots, taking all of him inside of you.

it became increasingly harder to contain himself. all he wanted to do was flip you over, pin you down, and make you forget your own name. he wanted to consume your thoughts. he wanted all of you.

when you finally adjusted to his girth, you started bouncing up and down. you threw your head back, hair wild against the wind. you stationed your hands on his chest and arched into him. every time your pussy clenched, his breath stuttered.

“you like this, rafey?” you feigned innocence, moving faster up and down. he bit down hard, using all his strength not to nod. instead, he gripped your waist hard and began thrusting up into you. his pace was fast. skin slapping and moans filled the empty space surrounding the two of you.

“holyshit,” you gripped his biceps, making crescent shaped indents in the skin. his cock bullied your g-spot, hitting it each time he pushed back inside. every thrust knocked the air from your lungs.

he grunted against the fabric, moving his hips back against yours like he needed it. your walls were velvet around his greedy cock. it ached inside of you, molding you to each and every vein.

the elastic band in your stomach began to snap. your reached down to thread your fingers through his hair. he pulled you into a bear hug, fucking you roughly through your orgasm. and when the band snapped, the remnants dripped down his length. still, he held your limp body in his arms. it wasn’t long until he was emptying his seed into your womb.

you climb off him slow. your smirk from before gone as you tug your shirt back on without sparing him a glance.

“told you,” he murmurs, ripping the bandana from his mouth. “you can play boss all you want—’til the real one shows up.”

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @13hischiers @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @xoxosblogsblog @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles

[keirareidss]

steamy situation - a.h

♡ summary: while on a case, you get trapped in a sauna with your boss pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, flirting, reader is a little shit, inaccurate information wc: 2.4k

You don't know how you got here. Well, that's a lie, you knew how you got here. You just don't know what you did to make God hate you enough to put you in a situation where you're hot and sweating with your boss that you just happen to have a huge crush on. Or maybe it was a blessing in disguise.

You'd had a crush on him since the day you joined the team. You remember the exact moment in time that you realized it. You stood across from him at his desk in his office, him on the other side, standing to greet you. You shook his hand, so much larger than yours, and looked into his gorgeous brown eyes and you knew, this man was going to ruin your life.

"8 bodies have shown up in Fort Collins Colorado. They vary in age, gender, and race." JJ stood at the front of the round table, introducing your next case.

"How did they die?" Hotch asks, inspecting the pictures in the file in front of him.

"That's what's so interesting. There were multiple forms of killing but they were all related to heat. Burning, electrical, one of them even died in a tanning bed." JJ lists.

"Maybe it's some sort of cleansing routine. Many serial killers that choose burning as their signature are doing it to cleanse the victim of their sins." Spencer explains.

"So the unsub could be connected to all of these people somehow? Like, maybe they wronged him in some way." You suggest.

"Potentially. Wheels up in 30." Hotch said, shutting the file and leaving the room. Your eyes trailed after him, following the way his muscles strain under his shirt, the way his trousers fit deliciously around his thighs. Someone snaps in front of your face and you look up to see Morgan grinning at you.

"What?"

"You're burning holes into him with your eyes. Maybe chill out a bit lover girl." He chuckles, passing by you. You stand up, sighing as you follow him out.

It was hot. It was so hot (Understatement of the year). You sat on the ground with your back pressed against the wall. You had unbuttoned your shirt and tied your hair up in an attempt to cool down but it wasn't working. The constant increase in temperature inside the sauna, coupled with the sight of your boss sat across from you, the top few buttons of his shirt undone, blazer still on to maintain professionalism, sweat dripping down his forehead, it's safe to say you were suffering.

"Hotch you could take the blazer off, it's just the two of us." You suggest. He could take the shirt off too dammit. Maybe the pants while he's at it.

"I'm fine." He grumbles.

"Oh please. You're sweltering and you know it." He sighs before stripping himself of his jacket. Jesus Christ its like your own little strip tease.

"Happy?" Hotch raised an eyebrow at you as he rolled up his sleeves. Hands. Forearms. Veins. You can't do this.

"Very." You said, your voice rough. You couldn't tear your eyes off of him. Aaron Hotchner was like no man you had met before. Sure, you'd dated before but they were all just boys. This, this was a man. He was a gentleman. He'd pull your chair out for you, hold the door for you, one time he'd even buckled your seat belt for you in the SUV, though he claimed it was just a habit with Jack.

He was like this perfect man that was everything you'd ever wanted but you couldn't have him because 'interpersonal relationships between bosses and employees are strictly prohibited' or whatever. It didn't stop you from wanting him to bend you over his desk and fuck you like there's no tomorrow every time you walk into his office. Something about the thin line between privacy and the chance of someone walking in was incredibly exciting to you.

Fuck, you needed to get out of here before you jumped his bones. All you had to do was wait for the team to get here before the two of you dies of heat stroke.

"Morgan, Prentiss, head to the morgue. You and I will go to the Spa." Hotch ordered, looking at you.

The two of you headed to the SUV to make your way to the Spa where the most recent victim was murdered in the tanning bed. You glanced over at Hotch but your gaze got stuck on him when he put his hand on the back of your seat, turning to reverse the car into the road. Why did he have to be such a whore?

"So how does someone die in a tanning bed?" You asked, trying to keep your horny mind on the case.

"Intentional electrical malfunction." Hotch answered.

"So you would have to know how to work a tanning bed to make it kill someone?"

"Potentially. It could also be someone with electrical experience."

"Hmm." You stared out the window instead of at the man sitting next to you. How were you expected to work with someone as hot as he was? It was unfair. It wasn't like he felt the same way about you. Come on, he's almost 15 years older than you, has a child, and he's been married. Even if he did want you, he would never in a million years make an advance on you. What did you have to offer him?

The car pulled up outside the Spa and you got out, glancing over the car at Hotch. The two of you went inside where Hotch talked to the woman at the front desk as you stared at his neck. You wanted to kiss it, to bite it or lick it. You wanted to-

"Alright, we'll just take a look around." Aaron's voice broke through your thoughts. You followed him, not noticing that the receptionist had snuck away from the desk. You looked around the spa, not finding anything out of the ordinary.

"What is that room?" You asked, nodding to a room in the back and Hotch followed your gaze.

"I don't know. Let's check it out." You followed him to the back, waiting for him to open the door. He steps in slowly and you follow him in.

"Just a sauna." You sighed, your shoulders deflating. Suddenly, the door slammed behind you and you whipped around, seeing the receptionist shoving a broom into the door handle. "No! Shit!" You rushed forward, trying to push the door open. It doesn't budge and you look up, making eye contact with the receptionist who grins at you, reaching out to press a button. The lights brighten as the sauna turns up.

You turn to look at Hotch and see he's already watching you. His face was blank but you could see a hint of worry. He strode across the small room, shoving harshly at the door. It doesn't budge. Your breathing quickens a bit as Hotch curses under his breath. He turns to you, digging into his pocket for his phone that always looks so small in his hand.

"Don't worry. I'll call the team. We'll get out of here." Hotch says, dialing Rossi's number and holding the phone to his ear. He pulls it away almost immediately, frowning down at it. You look at him, concerned.

"No signal." He mutters.

"Oh god." You whine, letting your head drop back against the wall.

"It'll be fine."

"Can we turn this off somehow?" You asked, looking around the sauna for an off switch or something.

"I don't see anything." Hotch says. You let out a helpless sigh. Trapped in a sauna with no signal and your team has no clue that you're in here.

"Why aren't they back yet?" Morgan asks. It's been nearly an hour since the two of you left.

"Maybe they're stuck in traffic. We have to keep working." Rossi said.

"What if something happened?" Derek asked. "Neither of them are answering the phone."

"Call Penelope, see if she can track their phones." Rossi said. Derek sighed, stepping aside to phone their resident tech savvy genius.

"What have you got for me, you sexy god of sculpted chocolate?"

"Hey babygirl, could you track Hotch's phone for me?"

"Why exactly do you need me to track Mr. Bossman's phone?"

"They've been gone for almost an hour and they're not answering their cells." Penelope starts typing away, but she comes up with nothing.

"Sorry gorgeous. His phone must be off."

"Hmm. Thanks Garcia." Derek says before hanging up. What could make Hotch turn off his phone? There must be something else going on.

"It's so hot." You whined. You'd been stuck in the sauna for about 30 minutes. Hotch stayed silent. His shirt was unbuttoned and his blazer was off and you could see the bit of sweaty skin that was peaking through the three open buttons of his shirt. His gaze moved to you, sliding up and down your form. "Is the team even coming? What if they don't find us in time? I mean, the receptionist is the unsub, right? So she can tell them we're not here and then they won't find us until-"

"You're spiraling again." Hotch mutters.

"Am not." You said. He raises an eyebrow at you and you sigh. "Well, sorry if I'm freaking out a little bit, but we're about to die in a sauna."

"You're being dramatic." You scoff.

"Right. Glad I can always count on you to make me feel better." You met Aaron's gaze and watched as it turned to something else. Something you couldn't name.

"You know... I see the way you look at me." Hotch said suddenly.

"What?"

"The lingering gazes. The 'fuck me' eyes." Your eyes widen at his language.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You chuckled nervously.

"Sure you do."

"Alright, fine. But don't pretend you don't look at me the same way." He doesn't say anything, just tilts his head, staring at you with that intense gaze. "Come on. Don't tell me this is the first time you've got all hot and sweaty for me."

"It is."

"You sure? Tell me you haven't thought about me late at night." You crawl over to him, straddling his lap. "Tell me that you haven't thought about coming into my hotel room and fucking me." Aaron stared up into your eyes, clenching his fists at his sides to restrain himself from grabbing you. "Tell me you haven't been awake lately at night and decided to touch yourself to the thought of me."

"No." He grits out. You lean in, brushing your lips against his, almost able to forget about how hot it is.

"Liar." You whisper and he leans up, crashing his lips into yours. You kissed him back just as fervently, threading your fingers into his hair, slightly damp with sweat. His hands find your waist, gripping tightly. He pulls away, breathing heavily.

"This- this isn't professional." Aaron's chest heaved as he stared up at you, eyes filled with lust.

"Do you want to stop?"

"Fuck no." He kissed you again and you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, biting down on it. You shifted on his lap, feeling the zipper of his trousers rubbing against your core perfectly. You started slowly grinding down onto him, making him moan into your mouth. "Shit, you're- ngh, so good." Aaron groaned, letting his head fall back against the door. You leaned down to kiss his neck, sucking a bite mark underneath his collar. His hands, holding your hips tightly, were helping you move back and forth over his hard length, straining in his pants.

"Tell me... Do you ever think about me?" You asked, letting your head fall back slightly.

"All the time." Hotch grunts.

"Yeah?" A small smile creeps onto your face. "When?" You ask, wanting to tease him a little bit. Give him a taste of his own medicine. Now that you knew that he knew about your longing gazes you wondered if he'd been trying to look hot on purpose.

"When you wear those tight skirts of yours. Or when you get all focused on your paperwork and you get that furrow in your eyebrow. Or when you're listening to Reid's rambling and you look like you're actually interested."

"Because I am. And I was really thinking more like sexy things."

"Oh yeah?" Hotch chuckles breathlessly. "Alright. Whenever you walk into my office and lean over my desk to tease me, all I want to do is bend you over and fuck you on it. How's that?" You swear your heart skips about.

"That's better." You said before moaning. Hotch leaned forward, unbuttoning your shirt more to kiss down your chest. He sucked marks on your breast, moaning softly into your skin. "God- fuck, I'm close." You whined, moving your hips faster. Hotch grunted bucking his hips up to meet you when you both heard shouting.

"Where are they? Hotch!" Morgan was outside, shouting both of your names. Shit. Just your luck that they found you before you got to cum. This might have been your only chance to fuck your boss and you never even got to see his cock. You scrambled off of Hotch's lap and you both stood up, starting to bang on the door.

"Hey! In here!" You shouted. A moment later, you saw Derek's face appear in the small window of the sauna and you heard the broom sliding out of the handle. The door was yanked open and you both stumbled out into the cool refreshing air. You took a deep breath and felt your clothes sticking to you from the sweat.

"Are you two alright?" Morgan asked. Hotch answered for you as you glanced towards the front where Prentiss was arresting the receptionist. The rest was a blur, the dizziness catching up to you from the effects of the sauna, but you remember catching Hotch's eye as you all went outside, finding police cars and an ambulance. He looked at you with an emotion in his eyes that you couldn't name. And when you got back to the office, Aaron paused at your desk, leaning closer to you.

"Meet me in my office after everyone leaves." He murmured, passing by you and heading to his office. You stared after him, heart thrumming in your chest with anticipation of what's to come.

[wosospacegirl]

ohhhhh also a katie x caitlin x reader sickfic would be cute 🤭 maybe reader is sleeping in the middle and katie and caitlin wake up to her burning up in the middle of the night and start taking her temperature etc. reader ofc is grumpy and delirious like ”get the fuck off me i’m trying to sleep” and katie’s there like ”can you just swallow this ibuprofen so we can all go back to sleep 😑”

-🦦

Sick - Katie x Caitlin x reader

Word count: 1k

a/n: sorry if this is a little off, I've been with a headache the whole day

..

Y/n had been grumpy all day. 

The kind of grumpy where everything sounded too loud and too bright, and her head throbbed like there was a tiny drummer behind her eyes. 

She had snapped at Caitlin during breakfast, mumbled through the warm-up, and by the time they were halfway through gym work, she was lying flat on a mat with her arm over her eyes.

“Just a headache,” she muttered.

But when she asked Renée if she could skip cooldown and sleep on the bench in the locker room, Caitlin’s eyebrows furrowed.

Katie didn’t even joke. 

That’s when they knew something was actually wrong.

Katie and Caitlin had practically dragged her to the Arsenal nurse, who confirmed what they were already suspecting: the flu. 

Low-grade fever, congestion, and a headache Y/n swore could kill a lesser woman.

She was grumpy the entire ride home, grumbling as they swung by the pharmacy.

 Katie got her water and a bag of meds; Caitlin kept a hand on her back as she walked like a proper zombie across the flat.

By the time they got in, she barely made it to the sofa before collapsing face-first into the cushions.

Katie lay down beside her without a word, pulling the duvet over them both, her arm slinging across Y/n’s waist. It was warm. 

Y/n hated how good it felt.

Katie snorted from her spot behind her on the sofa, arm slung over Y/n’s waist like she was making sure she didn’t crawl away. 

“Not before dinner,” she muttered, nuzzling into her hoodie to hide a tired smile.

Ten minutes later, Caitlin appeared with the bowl in hand and a look of determined care. She knelt beside the sofa, spoon in the bowl already.

“Come on. Just a few bites.”

“No,” Y/n grumbled, squeezing her eyes shut dramatically. “Soup is disgusting. I would rather chew glass.”

“You said you would rather die five minutes ago,” Katie pointed out helpfully. “Glass is a step up, I think you're already feeling a little better!!”

“Stop helping,” Y/n snapped weakly, already burrowing deeper under the blanket like she could escape them both.

Caitlin tried again. “Please? Just three spoonfuls. You need something warm in you, baby.”

Y/n groaned again, turning away. “I’ll eat literally anything else. Just not—” she gagged dramatically, “soup.”

She felt Caitlin sigh, felt the sofa shift as the auustralian sat down beside her legs, cradling the bowl between her hands, clearly not ready to give up. 

But it was Katie who moved first.

She leaned down, brushing warm lips against Y/n’s burning cheek. 

“Please, baby?” she said softly, voice low and unusually tender. “Just a few spoonfuls. For me?”

Y/n blinked, eyes cracking open, her brain fuzzy from fever but still functioning enough to notice something strange. “You’re being… weirdly nice.”

Katie shrugged, clearly trying to look casual but failing as she tucked a strand of hair behind Y/n’s ear. “You’re sick.”

“Yeah, but you’re never this soft.”

Katie rolled her eyes, but her hand didn’t leave Y/n’s cheek. “That’s why I’m never soft. You get all suspicious.”

Y/n smiled a little, a reluctant pull at the corners of her lips. “Hmm, whatever…you kissed me. I’ll eat your dumb soup.”

Caitlin beamed and moved in with the spoon before she could change her mind.

That night, Y/n fell asleep between them, head still hot, body trembling under the duvet.

Caitlin fed her slowly, gently, until the bowl was empty.Katie pressed a thermometer under her arm.

At 3 am, Y/n woke up drenched in sweat.

Her skin felt like it was on fire, her t-shirt clinging uncomfortably to her back. Her head pounded.

She blinked blearily into the dark, trying to orient herself—only to find both Caitlin and Katie hovering over her like two over-concerned vultures.

“What the—Jesus,” she croaked, her voice raspy and dry. “Get the fuck off me, I’m trying to sleep.”

Caitlin knelt beside the bed, worry written all over her face even in the low light. 

“You’re burning up,” she whispered, gently brushing sweaty strands of hair away from Y/n’s forehead, her touch soft and cool against overheated skin.

Y/n winced and turned her face into the pillow. “Stop touching me.”

Katie didn’t look the least bit fazed.

She stood on the other side of the bed, holding out a glass of water and a small pill between two fingers.

“Can you just swallow this ibuprofen so we can all go back to sleep?” she deadpanned, eyes half-lidded with sleep and her accent thicker than usual.

Y/n rolled onto her back dramatically, groaning as she took the water with trembling hands. “I hate both of you.”

Katie leaned down and kissed her forehead, not caring that she was a literal furnace. “We know,” she said. “Now take the fucking pill.”

Y/n swallowed it with a grimace, gulped the rest of the water, and then collapsed back onto the pillows like it had taken everything out of her.

Caitlin gently tugged the damp t-shirt off her, replacing it with one of her own soft hoodies before crawling back under the covers. 

Katie followed suit, tossing the duvet back over all three of them and shifting until Y/n was cocooned between them again.

And when she woke up several hours later—her head still fuzzy but the fever mostly broken—she found Caitlin curled into her chest, softly snoring, arm draped protectively over her waist. .

Katie was lying on her side, one hand loosely wrapped around Y/n’s fingers, like she had never let go even in sleep.

Y/n didn’t say anything. She just lay there, letting herself be held.

And even though she was still exhausted and sore all over… she felt just a bit better.

[jishyucks]

was not, were not, is — ldh

pairing. haechan x reader  genre. friends to implied lovers, drunk confession wc. 1.5k summary. sober you would beat you up if she heard the bullshit spilling from your mouth; in which alcohol is both your best friend and your worst enemy warnings. excessive amount of fluff, reader’s drunk as hell, Donghyuck’s love language is acts of service  an. a little warm up writing before I start writing longer fics again—I REALLY like the drunk confession microtrope,,, this whole thing was either written at 5AM on my work breaks or 5AM bc my sleep schedule is fucked up,,, pls enjoy!

You couldn’t give any less of a fuck that the bare soles of your feet were touching the cool pavement. 

In fact, you couldn’t give any less of a fuck about anything.

Mind hazy, still tipsy from the shots your cousin had shoved in your hands, you briefly recall Donghyuck telling you that your mom had requested to bring you home—something about staying back to help clean up the venue and something about crashing out?—who the hell cares. 

You let out a snort for no reason.

Maybe you should’ve brought extra shoes.

But again, you don’t care.

Donghyuck tails you, not too far behind. His hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, a smile playing lightly upon his lips as he watched you stumble under the lights of the venue. He knows he should be at your side in case you lose your balance, but it hadn’t even been five minutes since you declined his arm.

“You sure you don’t want to wear my shoes?” 

You stop in your tracks and look back at him. It’s only now that you notice how sweaty the man was, bangs stuck to his forehead from all the dancing. This could also explain why your feet were killing you, “What shoes would you wear?”

He holds up the pair of heels dangling from his fingers, “Yours.” 

You scoff and continue walking, “You in heels? Funny.”

And although your intentions were to offend Donghyuck, the smile on his face stays put, “Well, if it means you could walk comfortably, then I’d endure that pain and embarrassment.” 

You roll your eyes, using all the strength in your entire body to not physically react to Donghyuck’s choice of words, “Please never say that ever again.” 

“I’m serious,” he responds, “Also, I told you about bringing extra shoes.” 

Donghyuck’s eyes trail further down the walkway, noting down that the parking lot was inching closer and closer. He recalls from this morning that the parking lot was sprinkled with pebbles. He frowns, “Can you please just put my shoes on?” 

“I’m fine, Hyuck,” you groan, “I think that the car isn’t even far from here.” 

“You’re right but…” 

You hear him sigh out deeply before you hear his footsteps pick up in pace, the heels of his dress shoes clicking against the pavement. The alcohol pulls your eyes shut for just a moment, and when you finally gain control of them again, you find your best friend kneeling down in front of you, back turned towards you, “Get on.” 

“Hyuck, I said I was fine,” you attempt to walk around him, but the man somehow predicts which way you’re going and scoots right in front of you. 

“And I said to get on,” he orders gently, “Please.” 

The ‘please’ causes you to giggle and you find yourself staring at the back of his head, dwindling on a few possible answers. His hair looks soft, like something you’d want to reach out and touch. “Don’t wanna… risk you dropping me.”

If you weren’t completely insane for your best friend, you would’ve hopped onto his back no problem. Hell, with the alcohol you felt a little bit bolder than usual, but nothing could mistake that little kick in your heartbeat telling you that if you decided to take his offer, you’d probably melt the second you make contact with him. 

“I’ll throw a tantrum if you don’t,” Donghyuck threatens (was that even considered a threat?), “C’mon.”

“I hate you,” you mutter. But your actions completely contradict your words as you carefully secure yourself onto Donghyuck’s back, arms wrapping right around his neck. He follows in pursuit, hooking his arms right under your knees before he stands up. “You suck.” 

“See, it isn’t so bad,” he laughs, “I’m strong. I won’t drop you.”

Your brain’s telling you to mock him back, but your words falter because you’re hit by Donghyuck’s perfume. Fuck—of course he smells good. You can’t remember a time that he didn’t. 

It takes every ounce of your sobriety to not bury your face in Donghyuck’s hair. 

“I actually had fun,” Donghyuck begins, referring to the wedding, “Honestly, I was scared to meet your other relatives. You always talk about them and they sound scary. But I actually had fun.” 

“That’s good,” you reply quietly, almost dazed, “I’m glad you had fun.” 

Your head flops onto Donghyuck’s shoulder, hair falling in front of your face and tickling his ear. His car finally comes into view and Donghyuck wastes no time to swing the door open. 

“There you go, Princess,” Donghyuck jokes. He lowers you down gently, allowing you to plop into the passenger seat. Once he’s sure you’re seated, he turns around to face you, combing the mess of hair away from your face. “Comfy?” 

“What if I said no?” You giggle, head falling back against the headrest. 

Another sigh leaves Donghyuck’s lips and he pokes your side, “Then I’d do whatever it takes to make you comfy.” 

“Quit talking like that,” you groan.

He hums, “Like what?” 

The leather seat squeaks when you shift to face the other way, letting your eyes draw close. 

Fatigue was definitely catching up. 

I don’t know… you think, Just… like that. 

And although your mind struggles to piece letters together to word how you were feeling, your heart knows exactly what you were thinking about. 

Donghyuck shuts the door and his shadow crosses the light leaking through your eyelids. The driver’s door clicks open and then Donghyuck’s settling in the seat next to yours. 

“Well…” You hear his foot hit the brake before he taps at the button to start the car, “Did you have fun?” 

“Mmmm…” your lips form a pout, suddenly hit by the events of the wedding. You feel like you’re teetering between sobriety and intoxication, unsure whether or not you should be genuine, “Yo.” 

Donghyuck raises a brow and tilts his head at you, “Yo?” 

“Yes and no,” you clarify, almost as if he was supposed to know what you meant, “I had fun but didn’t.” 

Again, Donghyuck’s eyebrow jerks, “Whatever you say.” He’s unsure whether he should wait for you to settle before he pulls out of the parking spot. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?” You whine. One of your eyelids draws open, just enough to peek out at him. 

He huffs, playing along, “…why?”

“I had fun because my cousin and her partner were cute and the dancing and the drinks, the games and everything…” You list, “But also, I didn’t have fun because all I could think about was the fact that I may never find the love they have.” 

Your best friend lets your words sink in, trying to make sense of it while stringing together the right words to say—ones that wouldn’t give it away. 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you will find that love you want.” 

Then tears start leaking out of the corners of your eyes and Donghyuck doesn’t hesitate to reach over to wipe them away. He can’t help but laugh, watching as you’ve finally reached your crying phase, simply meaning that you’d pass out next, “Why are you crying? I’m telling you the truth, you know.” 

You shrug sluggishly, “I don’t completely doubt you, Hyuckie.” Another tear slips out and you feel the pad of Donghyuck’s thumb swipe across your cheek. 

“Then why are you crying?” he frowns. 

“Well, what if…” you trail, “What if the love I want is with you?” You’re too far gone to even realize what you’ve just said, “I just feel like it’ll all be wrong if it wasn’t with you…” 

The pounding in Donghyuck’s ears almost drown out your voice. You’re speaking so quietly that he needs to lean in to hear you. 

Another tear—wipe.

“It’d be weird if it wasn’t your hand I was holding, if it wasn’t you I was waking up to, if the kisses I was getting weren't from your lips…” 

Your eyes remain close and the more you speak, the more spaced out the words come out your mouth. Sober you would not believe what you were confessing to a sober Donghyuck.

“I want you to love me,” you finally confess, like saying it out loud validated all your feelings, “And everyday I feel like that’s too much to ask.” 

“We should talk about this another time, Y/N.” 

You groan at his response, almost as if you weren’t satisfied with his answer. But before he could get another word out, he watches as your head flops onto your own shoulder. 

“Of course,” Donghyuck chuckles to himself, shaking his head. He reaches over and pulls the lever to recline your chair, letting your head fall back comfortably, “There you go… comfy…” 

Donghyuck sits back in his seat and admires you for a moment, a delicate frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

He wishes you weren’t drunk and saying these words, afraid that when the alcohol wasn’t running through your body, that none of them would even mean anything to you. 

Because if the love you wanted was with him, he’d do anything—everything—to give it to you.

[bonbonly]

at this point, i might become a grid bunny with how much i need all of them 🤞🤞🤞🤞

the anon who said about reader being some of the driver's secret was cooking, honestly

but imagine reader being a grid bunny and just like,,,,,

everyone taking turns at her. everyone knows her. god, even the reporters sometimes get their turns on her when they ask the drivers the right questions?? and them fucking her completely mad when they're being bothered by inconvenient questions???

and the public doesn't bat an eye at how the same girl seems to hop from garage to garage bcs she is such a good friend of the drivers!!!

bonus points if she is a reporter herself.

btw i'm ovulating, sorry, my mind doesn't stop. i just--- need them so bad it's unhealthy.

— 🍡

DO NOT APOLOGIZE STOP THIS IS GOLD

bon's thoughts (18+)

imagine pissing off one of the drivers bc the questions are so clearly stacked against them, personally id shit on charles for fun and praise max right at his face (think of austria 2019 LMFAO) and as soon as I pass by the garage by myself, imma need charles to drag me off to his room to fuck me hard and teach me my place.

charles would be the quickest to use a reporter as a stress relief, that man is drowning in his own depression youre just a fleshlight to him.

max would be softer now that he's a dad, he'd be cocky and might just shut you down in interviews but he'd be gentle in almost a mocking way because he knows if you're in the arms of anyone else, they're gonna stuff your cunt till you're shaking and sobbing.

lewis who'd usually treat you like a princess just listened to what charles said and that man has you in a chokehold, slapping your tits as his hips snap against your ass. he wont say anything, he'll be dead quiet but you'll be screaming your lungs out with the amount of times he's gonna make you cum.

oscars chill, definitely would be the type to give your cunt some rest but because of your stupid questions sometimes he'll make you suck his cock and if you're not doing a good job, he'll shove his whole length down your throat and merely go "tsk tsk tsk you can do better than that love."

lando hates your ass for trying to make it seem like he's falling off or whatever the media's doing to him and he's probably second to charles with how they're fucking you roughly, his thick cock sliding into your ass as he's filming you on his phone, talking about how much of a slut you are and how everyone should see how you're so quick to melt as soon as someone's cock is inside you

call me a fucking slut (bc i am one) but imagine pissing off toto wolff with some dumbass question and so now that beast of a man is having you on the ground, spread out for him, his thick cock sliding along your folds as you're whimpering at the size of him.

tsk tsk tsk if only you kept your pretty little mouth shut baby.

[mywritersmind]

WEEKENDS HAPPEN - KA12

summary : kimi hasn’t had the weekend anyone was expecting. luckily, you’re there to comfort the youngest driver.

listen up : quick kissing. angst kinda. kimi’s weekend wasn’t horrible but still a bit sad. here’s a cute short i wrote. wolff!reader

words : 675

⋆｡‧˚⋆

It’s tough. Formula one is tough. Sometimes you just have one of those weekends. I know it and so do the drivers.

So does Kimi.

I walk into the driver's room without waiting for him to let me in. He’s sitting on the therapy table, his head leaning against the wall, his suit still on, and a towel around his neck. He doesn’t look at me.

I shut the door behind me. My fathers voice is echoing in my head as I do the one thing he hates; leaving me and Kimi alone.

“K-”

“I’m fine.” He says quickly, “It’s fine. Bit of bad luck.”

“Kimi…” I try again, walking closer. His eyes are shut now.

“P1 to P10 yesterday.” He finally looks at me, his curls damp and unruly like always, “P2 to P6 today. It’s not a DNF or crash- but fuck, Wolff. It still hurts.” I can tell it does, I can see it in the way his eyes droop and his brows tighten.

“I know. I know-” I sigh, pulling my hands out of my pockets and resting them on his knees, “you know it’s not the worst, but it sucks. I get that.”

“But you don’t-”

“Just because I've never been in that situation doesn’t mean I don’t have empathy for it.” Our eyes stay locked for a second, then two, then three.

I motion for him to scoot closer, and he does.

I unstrap the velcro around his neck, unzipping the rest of his suit after. He watches me, watches my hands. “Undressing me already?” His tone is soft and humorous, despite the anger I know he’s feeling. My hand goes farther down, ending at his waist but keeping my hands on him.

He takes one of my hands off his suit. Turning it over slowly, he outlines the indents in my palm before slipping his hand into mine.

His skin is warm, his hand bigger than mine in the comforting way only understood after feeling his touch on mine.

“I’m sorry about today.” I can’t help but say it. My dad always tells me to not apologize, especially after not having done anything. But sometimes even Toto Wolff is wrong.

“Don’t apologize.” His eyes are still on our hands, “You were the best part of it, anyway.” A part of my heart just about splits open.

Not because Kimi’s breaking my heart. More like I'm breaking my own.

“I really don’t deserve you, Antonelli.” I say his last name as armor around my soft words.

He tilts his head back up to me, his face just inches from mine now. “You deserve everything, Wolff.”

He waits for me. I know he does because he’s the perfect person for me. So I kiss him first, smooth, slow… I kiss him like I love him. Maybe I do.

He cups my cheek, not rushing or wanting me to get on my knees, he touches me like he never wants to let go. He touches me like he loves me.

His lips are soft and I can feel my lipgloss leaving me after every kiss. I pull away first, biting my lip to force myself not to go back to him.

He doesn’t try again, just scoots back and nods to the place next to him. I climb up, leaning my head against his shoulder as his hand finds my knee. “Italy next week.” I say hopefully, “You’ve got that.”

“It’s a lot of pressure.” He mumbles, rubbing his thumb over my skin mindlessly, “But good. I like pressure. Especially with a pretty girl putting it on me.”

I smile at this, “Lucky for you… I'm free on the eighteenth.” He laughs, tugging my leg closer to him and putting his head against mine.

We stay like that for God knows how long- just listening to each other breathing while the fan circulates the room. Later on, I look at Kimi and realize that he’s already watching me. “I don’t know what’d I do without you. I’m serious about that.”

[bjlipss]

— bug, part iii.

contents: college!sukuna x weird!reader. weird as in just odd and confusing behaviour but nonetheless cute, nothing pervy-weird. reader wears glasses because yes. really awkward and silly hehe. also there is a use of “girlfriend” in here so ig fem reader should be mentioned.

part ii <- part iii -> part iv

he finds you again by accident.

or maybe not. maybe he took the long way on purpose. maybe he passed the vending machines on his way to nowhere in particular just to see if you’d be there again. he tells himself he doesn’t know.

but you’re there. sitting on the floor with your back to the wall, knees pulled to your chest, hood up. it’s raining today. the hem of your jeans is damp. there’s a closed umbrella beside you and a half-eaten rice ball in your hand. you look half asleep, half haunted. a little like a ghost, a little like a kid left behind at a train station.

he stands there for a second. quiet.

you look up like you heard his thoughts, not his footsteps.

“…hi.”

it’s soft. a little hoarse. like you haven’t used your voice much today.

he shifts. runs a hand through his hair. clicks his tongue.

then wordlessly slides down the wall to sit next to you.

you don’t say anything for a while. neither does he.

the rain patters against the windows. people pass by outside with umbrellas and hunched shoulders. inside, it’s warm. still. slightly buzzing from the vending machine beside you.

you nudge the rice ball toward him.

“you can have the rest. i ate the good side.”

he squints at it. “…the good side?”

“the side with more filling.”

he snorts. then drags a hand down his face like he hates himself for laughing. he doesn’t take the rice ball, but he lets it sit there between you. just in case.

you lean your head back against the wall. sigh softly through your nose.

“you ever feel like you’re the only real person in a world full of cardboard cutouts?”

he glances at you. frowns. “…what?”

you don’t look at him. just blink up at the ceiling. “like everyone’s just going through the motions. classes, clubs, whatever. and you’re just… weird. wrong. floating.”

he doesn’t answer right away.

his knee knocks into yours gently when he shifts. not on purpose. probably.

“…no,” he says eventually. “i usually just think people are stupid.”

you smile, slow and cracked and real. “same thing.”

your eyes drift shut after that. you stop talking. stop moving. a couple of minutes later, your breathing evens out and your head falls forward, glasses threatening to slide down the slope of your nose and hair framing your face.

he watches you out of the corner of his eye like you might disappear if he looks too directly.

but you don’t.

you just stay. strange and quiet. steady.

and for some reason he does, too.

—

it happens on thursday.

campus is loud today—midterms are eating everyone alive, and there’s that frantic, twitchy energy in the air that only college kids and caffeinated panic can produce. sukuna’s cutting through the quad with his usual scowl, earbuds in, hoodie up, bag slung low over one shoulder like he might swing it at someone if they breathe wrong.

you fall into step beside him like you always do now.

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t greet you, either. just shoves one earbud deeper in and keeps walking like he didn’t notice you materialize beside him with your juice box and some kind of fuzzy creature drawn in black ink across your sleeve.

you’re quiet today, too. not humming. not talking.

just there. like always.

but people are noticing now.

a group of girls near the psych building glance over. one of them giggles.

“is that sukuna? holy shit, he has a girlfriend?”

sukuna hears it even with his earbuds in.

his jaw flexes. not because he cares what they think—he doesn’t. he never has—but because the word sticks in his head like gum. girlfriend.

he glances sideways at you.

you’re squinting at a leaf on the ground. then up at the sky. like you’re thinking about something profound. or nothing at all.

he waits for you to say something. to react.

you don’t. you never do.

and that’s what makes it worse somehow—how unaffected you are. how unbothered you seem by the fact that you, the weird vending machine cryptid with banana rituals and penjamin the pen, are being seen next to him.

you don’t look embarrassed. you don’t ask if you should walk somewhere else. you just keep sipping your juice and watching the clouds.

“you know people think you’re, like…” he mutters suddenly, “my problem or something.”

you blink at him. “am i?”

he scowls. “you tell me. you started this.”

you consider this. “you’re right.”

you reach into your bag and pull out a folded paper star. it’s red. a little crumpled.

“this one’s for stress. i read that if you keep it in your pocket, it absorbs negativity.”

he stares at it. then at you.

then at the girls still watching from across the quad.

he takes the star without saying anything and shoves it deep into his pocket.

the girls stop giggling after that.

you beam, unbothered and unchanged, and start telling him about a dream you had last night involving a talking vending machine and a raccoon in a top hat.

he listens. wants to be annoyed but finds himself smirking anyway.

[blingblong55]

The Behavioral Constant - Simon Riley

---- F!Reader, fluff, intelligent!Reader, slow!burn, fluff, soft!ghost ----

A/N: this is for the girlies who have too much to say about a topic but have no one to talk to. I hope you find something who can take the time to listen <3

I think the stars belong to the believers.

Simon met you at an odd time. You were the smart one on the team. He rarely saw you, but when he did, the way you spoke always amazed him. You were beautifully awkward and a little too honest. You didn’t try to impress people, and maybe that’s what impressed him most. You didn’t fill the room with false confidence or loud opinions, didn’t dress things up or dumb them down. You just said what needed to be said, often with too much detail and zero filter. Where others postured, you simply explained. And if someone interrupted you, cut you off because your thought was too long, too weird, too “not the time”, you’d flinch and go quiet, like you’d forgotten the rules of when to speak.

Simon hated that part.

Not because you were wrong. You were never bad. But because people didn’t bother to listen. And every time someone tried to shut you down, it made him want to lean in closer and ask you to keep going.

So he did.

It started small. A question here, a follow-up there. Always after the others had gone, while the room was quiet and the scent of gun oil or instant coffee still lingered in the air. You’d be gathering your notes, mumbling to yourself when his voice would cut through: “Back up a second,” he’d say. “You mentioned something about behavioural drift in insurgent cells?” You’d blink, like you hadn’t expected anyone to be listening that closely. And then you’d talk. God, you could talk. Not in the way people ramble. 

You spoke like a river, fast, winding, sometimes overwhelming, but always going somewhere. You knew how systems worked, how people cracked, how whole operations could hinge on what seemed like trivia. You had a doctorate in military behavioural strategy, a brain made of maps and timelines, a way of pulling chaos into a pattern.

To everyone else, you were a specialist. An analyst. A civilian brain was brought in when the mission got complicated. But to Simon, you were something rarer. You saw things. Not just tactically. You saw people. You saw him.

The first time you looked at him too long, it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. It wasn’t romantic. Not at first. It was something else, curiosity. You tilted your head slightly like he was a formula you hadn’t cracked yet. And then, so casually it felt like a punch to the ribs, you said:

“You don’t flinch like the others do.” He’d frowned. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean when I say too much. When I over-explain. Most people shut down. But you… it’s like you lean in.”

Simon didn’t know what to say to that. He wanted to tell you that he liked the sound of your voice. That it helped calm the noise in his head. That when you talked, his pulse slowed, because for once someone else was holding the weight of knowing too much. But all he said was, “Yeah, well. I like context.” You gave a small smile, barely a curve of your lips. And it stayed with him for hours after you'd gone.

The thing was, Simon Riley didn’t look forward to people. Not in his line of work. He tolerated, trusted, followed, led. But looking forward to someone? That was a luxury.

Until you.

When the Task Force needed intel from your department, Simon felt it in his chest. That strange pull. That flicker of anticipation he refused to name. He’d catch himself checking his watch, counting how long until you'd arrive, listening for the click of your boots down the hall.

When you showed up—overcaffeinated, a bit dishevelled, muttering corrections to your notes—he felt something that unnerved him.

Ease.

You didn’t pretend around him. You didn’t try to be likeable or charismatic or even tactful. You just were. And in the quiet hours between mission prep and extraction, between debriefs and long silences on base, Simon found himself caring in ways he hadn’t meant to. He started noticing small things.

You tapped your pen when you were thinking. But the inside of your cheek when someone questioned your analysis. Smiled at dogs on the tarmac without realizing it. Wrote in a shorthand so complicated, that even the best codebreakers on base gave up. He noticed how you apologized when you got excited—how you’d stop mid-sentence and say, “Sorry, that was probably too much,” and look down like you regretted knowing things.

And he hated that too.

So he stopped you, every time. “Don’t be sorry,” he’d say.

And when you looked up at him, unsure, he’d offer something rare for him, his full attention. “Tell me the rest.” There was a moment, small, quiet, but it changed everything.

You were sitting side by side in a near-empty command tent, three days into a joint operation that had gone sideways. Everyone was tense, sleep-deprived, and tempers short. You were talking him through a revised plan of action, sketching out behavioural predictors for the local cell. Your hands moved when you spoke, quick and focused, fingers smudged with ink.

Then you paused. And you looked at him. Looked.

“You’re not what I expected,” you said quietly.

Simon raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“I thought you’d be colder. Scarier.”

He tilted his head slightly, masking the flicker in his chest. “Disappointed?”

“No,” you said. “Just surprised. You listen. That’s rare.”

Simon didn’t answer right away. He wanted to tell you he didn’t listen to everyone and that he chose to listen to you. That your voice had become something he looked for when the world got too loud. But he only said, “You’re not what I expected either.” And he meant it more than you’d ever know.

Later, when the mission ended and the dust settled, Simon found himself reaching for excuses to call your team: little things, clarifications, follow-ups, and reasons to hear your voice crackle through the comms.

And when he saw you again—days, weeks later—it was always the same. That quiet thrill. That moment of pause, like the air shifted in the room.

No one else noticed.

But he did.

A/N: I have too many ideas for the title so part 2's title will be different.

Tags: @liyanahelena @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @Krinoid24 @iruzias @frazie99 @night-mare-owl-79 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @defnotlpuluvyou @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @willowaftxn83-87 @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @pbcartii @Llelannie @Macnches2 @bbyfimmie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @kaoyamamegami @nobodys-coffee @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @anonxasian @born4biriyani @sleepyycatt @believeinthefireflies95 @noodlezz-bedo @alexaseeraj @trinthealternate @azkza @gh0st-hunt2r @VampyTheGoth @mariededenie @metalfangirl @nastya-toy

[revelboo]

Since we’re sharing pets now I have 2 and they’re both horrible and evil (I love them to death)

The fat cat is Hera and the pathetic dog is Millie and they’re my babies (they hate everyone) ❤️

Yk who also hates everyone? Es soundwave

*smoothly requests more of him*

🤣 sure! I still have so many of these to go through and it’s helping distract me from my attempt to lighten my brown hair a tiny bit (I got distracted and left the dye in way too long and greatly underestimated how much red was naturally in my hair and it’s either laugh or cry now)

Son Of A Gun Pt 11

ES Soundwave x Reader

• “What’s he like? Rumble?” You don’t really want to talk to him, but working in silence aside from him snapping orders at you is wearing at you. You thought about asking Frenzy and Lazerbeak, but since they don’t seem to know Soundwave is trying to fix the other cassette, it might be too cruel to ask them. The pain might still be too fresh. Know they feel it, they’ve been talking to you before and in the middle of a story, would hesitate, misstepping. About to mention their brother.

• “Don’t pretend you care,” he growls, servos curling into a fist and you ignore him. Doesn’t know what you’re playing at, but you don’t actually care. Probably looking for a way to hurt him. To get him to let down his defenses. Conniving little creature just like all of your kind, like the one who lured Megatron into betraying them all.

• Jaw working, you take a deep breath. Know he’s trying to pick a fight and you’re not going to give him the satisfaction. Or maybe he’s still hurting, too. “We don’t have to be enemies.” If the cassettes are like big, anger issues daddy’s kids, then he has to be grieving still, desperate to do everything he can for his kid. He’s a jerk, but you’re positive he loves them.

• “We’re not friends or allies,” he counters, smacking a hand on the workbench to make you drop a tool. Taking a vicious delight when your fingers tremble slightly when you bend to pick it up. Doesn’t want or need your pity. You’re nothing. An insignificant little stray Lazerbeak harassed him into keeping. “You’re expendable.”

• “He looks kind of like Frenzy,” you say, hearing him growl a warning and ignoring it. “I bet he was a musician, too.” Why can’t you stop talking? Have a tendency to babble when you’re scared and he’s terrifying all the time, but common sense is screaming at you to shut up. “Why instruments? Did you guys have a little family band?” And he lunges to send you backpedaling to avoid his servos when he grabs for you.

• Why won’t you just shut up? Furious, he tries to catch you and you go stumbling back. Sees your eyes widen as your foot finds nothing but air, the shock on your face as your pitch backwards. Will you die from this height? Doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. Of you die, he doesn’t have to put up with the cruel blasphemy of taking care of an enemy. So why is he moving, throwing himself against the work bench, reaching and servos catching you before you hit?

Previous

[leriexoxo]

Angry Boys - Chan

Now Be A Good Girl

Tags: dom chan, angst, blow job deepthroat, bondage, unprotected sex, edging, oral sex, slight degradation, smut 18+

Word count: 4k

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

ANGRY BOYS MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You weren’t supposed to go out.

That was the only rule he gave you tonight.

He was busy working late in the studio, and when you texted “I’m bored,” he replied fast and sharp:

“Stay home. Don’t make me come get you.”

But you didn’t listen.

You got dressed.

Put on that little top he hates—tight, black, cropped way too high.

And you left.

⸻

You knew you fucked up the second the door closed.

Not slammed. Not banged.

Just… clicked shut.

It was quiet. You didn’t even turn around—you didn’t have to. You could feel him behind you. The weight of his presence. The fury he wore like a second skin.

The same fury he never said out loud.

That was the worst thing about Bang Chan.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t threaten. Didn’t explode.

He watched and he waited.

And when he was mad? Really, truly pissed?

He got quiet, scarily quiet.

Like right now.

You stood in the middle of the kitchen, fingers still wrapped around a glass of water you suddenly didn’t need anymore.

Your voice cracked first.

“Chan, I—”

“Where were you?”

Three words. Low. Measured. Like a warning wrapped in silk.

You swallowed hard, staring down at the countertop. “Out.”

“Not what I asked.”

You flinched.

He hadn’t even moved, and still, your entire body tensed like prey sensing a predator.

“I was with friends,” you said, softer now.

“Whose?”

You hesitated and he stepped forward.

Your breath caught.

“I told you not to go,” he murmured. “Didn’t I?”

You nodded.

“And you went anyway.”

You nodded again.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

You turned then, slowly, unsure why your legs were shaking. “I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to—”

“To what?” His head tilted. “Piss me off? Test me? Show me how little you think of my rules?”

Your mouth opened. No sound came out.

That’s when he smiled.

Not the sweet, boyish smile you were used to.

No. This one was sharp. Slow. Dangerous.

The kind of smile you’d never seen on him before.

It made your stomach drop.

“I see,” he said softly, dragging the words out like honey.

He stepped forward again. One step. Then another.

You backed into the counter.

He didn’t stop.

“I give you rules,” he continued, “because I know how this works. I know how you work. I know what happens when you get bored.”

“Chan…”

“And what do you do?” He was close now. Too close. “You run off to some guy’s house. Let him touch what isn’t his.”

“I didn’t— No one touched me—”

Chan’s eyes darkened.

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast. You didn’t understand why your thighs were clenching together. Why your pulse was racing in fear—or was it something else entirely?

Then his voice dropped to a whisper.

“Take your clothes off.”

Your lips parted. “What?”

He leaned in. His breath hit your cheek. “Now.”

You didn’t move.

He exhaled a humorless laugh.

“Still so stubborn.”

Then, without another word, he turned around and walked away.

You blinked.

Where was he going?

But he didn’t leave. He went to the living room. Sat down in the middle of the couch. Then spoke loud enough for you to hear:

“You’ve got ten seconds to come kneel. If I get to ten, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

Your entire body pulsed.

That was the moment you realized…

This wasn’t casual anymore.

This wasn’t the friends-with-benefits arrangement you thought you had control over.

This was Chan, taking the reins you dropped the second you disobeyed him.

And he wasn’t going to give them back.

You didn’t even remember moving. One second you were frozen in the kitchen, heart punching your ribs. The next, you were walking—no, drifting—toward him like your body knew what to do even if your mind didn’t.

Ten seconds had passed. Probably more. He hadn’t called out again. He didn’t need to.

You found him on the couch, legs spread wide, head tilted back, one arm draped along the backrest like a king on a throne.

Your place was already waiting for you.

On the floor. Between his knees.

You stopped in front of him, fists clenched at your sides, your pride flaring up in one last flicker.

He looked at you then.

Not your face. Not your eyes.

He looked down.

“You’re not kneeling.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Then don’t act like one.”

That landed like a slap. Your breath caught. He didn’t take it back.

The silence that followed stretched razor-thin.

And then, slowly, like the smallest white flag—

You sank.

First to your knees. Then to your heels. Hands in your lap. Eyes cast low.

There was a sharp inhale. His.

A beat. Maybe two.

Then he leaned forward.

“You disobeyed me,” he said quietly. “And then you lied to me. And now you’re on your knees.”

You nodded once. Shame bloomed low in your stomach—but it curled up with heat too.

He reached out and tilted your chin up.

His gaze was fire and ice.

“Do you think I like punishing you?”

“I…” You swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t.”

His thumb brushed your bottom lip.

“But I will.”

You almost whimpered.

He stood up, moving around you like a wolf circling its prey. The air behind you shifted as he knelt, leaned in, whispered at your ear.

“I want you to sit with it,” he murmured. “The guilt. The tension. The ache.”

Goosebumps swept your skin.

“I want you to feel how different everything is now. This isn’t just casual anymore, is it?”

You shook your head, lips trembling.

“Say it.”

“It’s not casual anymore.”

“Why?”

You blinked, breath stuttering. “Because I broke the rules.”

His hand slid down your arm, slow and deliberate.

“Because you’re mine,” he said. “And you’re going to learn exactly what that means.”

“I’m sorry”

“You want to play games?” His voice was low—barely above a growl. “Then open that bratty mouth and show me how sorry you are.”

He didn’t wait for you to obey.

Chan stood up, pulled his cock free, and slapped it across your face with a sharp smack that made your cheek sting. You flinched, but he grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced you to look up at him.

“That’s right,” he sneered. “Eyes on me while I fuck that pretty little throat raw.”

You barely got your mouth open before he shoved his cock in, thick and heavy, filling your tongue and pushing deep without hesitation. You gagged around him instantly, but he didn’t ease up—not even a little.

“You thought you could act like a fucking brat and not pay for it?”

He shoved deeper.

“Now look at you. Exactly where you belong.”

You choked, drool already spilling down your chin as his hips snapped forward again—rough, punishing thrusts that didn’t give you space to breathe. His grip in your hair was brutal, controlling every movement of your head, using you like you were nothing but a hole to fuck the rage out of.

“Cry for me,” he bit out. “I want to see tears. I want you wrecked.”

And you were—mascara running, jaw aching, throat tight around his cock as he kept pushing deeper, harder. He slapped the base of his cock against your lips again just to watch you flinch and moan, then shoved it back down your throat until your eyes rolled.

“You hear that?” he grunted, voice ragged with control. “That sloppy little gag? That’s the sound of you being put in your fucking place.”

You gasped when he pulled out suddenly, your body sagging with the rush of air.

But it didn’t last.

He slapped his cock across your tear-streaked face again, then shoved it back into your mouth—deeper this time, holding your head still as he forced you to take every inch.

“Fucking useless unless you’ve got my dick in your throat, huh?”

You moaned around him. Shameful. Desperate.

“You better cum from this,” he growled. “You better be soaking the floor while I fuck your face or I swear—”

He cut himself off with a curse, thrusting once, twice—then groaning as his cock twitched deep in your throat. Your eyes watered harder, lungs burning as you swallowed around him like you were made for it.

And even as you choked, you reached between your legs, rubbing yourself frantically—because fuck, this was what you needed.

He yanked you off him with a wet pop, spit and cum dripping from your lips as he stared down at your wrecked face.

“You’re not done,” he hissed. “Get on the couch. Now.”

⸻

You were already begging and he hadn’t even touched you properly.

The sharp look in Chan’s eyes was enough to undo every ounce of bravado you had left. You backed up a step—then another—bare feet scuffing against the floor as you tried to put space between the two of you.

“Don’t,” you whispered, voice shaky.

His stare dropped to your trembling legs, then dragged up your body with slow, dangerous precision. His jaw flexed once—tight, controlled—before he moved.

You turned to run. It was pure instinct.

But you didn’t get far.

In seconds he was behind you, one strong arm hooking around your waist as he dragged you back against his chest. His other hand clamped down over your mouth as you let out a gasp, muffled and desperate.

“I warned you,” he breathed against your ear. “Didn’t I?”

You shook your head frantically, but he ignored it.

He lifted you—just picked you up like you weighed nothing—and tossed you onto the bed. Your breath caught, wrists scrambling to push up, but Chan was already crawling over you, his thighs caging yours in, his hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you down.

“Stay,” he said, low and clipped.

Your heart was pounding.

You heard him shift behind you, the sound of fabric rustling—and when you turned your head to look, he was already looping a long strip of black cloth between his fingers.

“No—wait, I—”

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, using the cloth to bind them together. His knot was tight and fast, practiced.

“Too late for begging now,” he said. “You wanted to act like a brat?”

You whimpered.

“Then I’ll treat you like one.”

Chan sat back on his heels behind you, dragging your hips up into the air with a single, rough tug. Your chest stayed flush against the mattress, arms stretched out above your head, wrists locked tight in the soft fabric. You could barely move.

“Look at you,” he muttered, staring down at your soaked thighs. “Soaked, and I haven’t even touched you.”

He palmed your ass, spreading you open, watching the way you clenched. You whined, trying to push your face into the sheets.

He landed a hard slap across your skin.

You gasped, body jerking.

“That’s not where your attention belongs.”

He spanked you again—harder—and then again, until you were crying out with every strike, breathless and squirming.

“You backtalked,” he growled. Smack. “You disobeyed.” Smack. “And now you’re gonna take every second of this.”

He leaned down, his chest warm against your spine.

“You’re gonna thank me for it too.”

You swallowed hard, barely able to think through the sting and heat of his hands. “Th-Thank you,” you whispered.

He chuckled—cold, low.

“Not yet.”

And then you felt it—his fingers, slipping between your legs, stroking through your slick folds, teasing you with slow, cruel pressure that didn’t give you what you needed. You cried out, frustrated, your wrists straining against the binds.

But Chan was patient. So fucking patient.

“You don’t get my cock,” he murmured, “until you’ve earned it.”

Your wrists ached in the best way—tied tight, stretched out, your whole body bent into a position you couldn’t fight even if you tried. Not that you would.

Not when you felt Chan kneel behind you again, his rough hands trailing up your thighs like he was deciding what to devour first.

“You’ve made a mess of yourself,” he muttered, running his thumb through your soaked folds.

You whimpered at the contact, body twitching.

“Didn’t even get fucked, and you’re already dripping down your legs.” His voice was low, dangerous. “What kind of girl are you, hmm?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back just enough to speak into your ear.

“Answer me.”

Your voice was broken, breathless. “Y-Yours—”

He shoved your face back into the mattress with a grunt. “That’s right.”

Then he dropped lower behind you, spreading you open like it was nothing—hands firm on your ass, forcing you wide, fully exposed.

You gasped when you felt his mouth.

His tongue licked a slow stripe from your clit to your entrance, teasing, almost gentle—but the grip on your hips said otherwise. Said you weren’t going anywhere.

And then he groaned.

The sound vibrated through your core, deep and feral.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You taste unreal.”

And then he dug in.

His mouth was ruthless, tongue working in steady, unrelenting circles over your clit while his hands held you down. Your knees trembled under the force of it. You tried to rock your hips, to chase that pressure—but he just tightened his grip until you couldn’t move an inch.

He flicked his tongue faster, then slower, dragging your orgasm right to the edge before pulling back, lips slick with you.

You whined—high and needy.

“Thought you were bratty,” he said. “Didn’t realize you were this easy.”

He lowered again, this time sucking hard on your clit, letting his nose bump against your skin as he groaned into your cunt. Your moans were broken, loud, shaking into the mattress.

And when he slipped his tongue into you, thick and slow, you screamed.

Your thighs shook, the knot in your stomach pulling tighter and tighter until—

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, pulling back just enough to speak. “Don’t you fucking come.”

You sobbed into the sheets, shaking from the denial. “C-Chan—please—”

But he dove back in, tongue moving faster, lips pulling you apart until your vision went white and your body betrayed you—

You came. Hard.

He felt it instantly—your muscles clenching around nothing, the sob that left your throat, the taste of you spilling over his tongue.

And then he froze.

He pulled back slowly, breathing hard, his mouth wet with your release.

You barely had time to gasp before he was speaking again—calm, dangerous.

“You didn’t just do that.”

Silence.

“You really came without permission.”

Your breath hitched.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and final. “You want to act like that? Fine.”

And before you could blink— He was grabbing your hips, lining himself up, and thrusting in.

The sound he made when he sank into you was feral—a low, guttural growl that vibrated through your bones. He bottomed out in one brutal thrust, hips flush to your ass, so deep you could feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice gravel. “You really came without my permission?”

You tried to speak—but all that came out was a wrecked little sob. He grabbed your bound wrists, yanked your arms back, and used them as leverage to pull you onto his cock again. Harder.

“Answer me.”

“I—I’m sorry—!”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I—I couldn’t help it—!”

He laughed—cold, dangerous. “Then let me help you.”

He dragged almost all the way out before slamming back in, again and again, every thrust deeper than the last, until your breath stuttered and your thighs shook. You were already so sensitive, so overstimulated from the orgasm he explicitly told you not to have, and he was nowhere near done.

One hand released your arms only to close around your throat, pulling you up until your back was pressed to his chest, your knees barely stable under the weight of his body.

“You like being used?” he whispered into your ear. “Being just a hole for me to fuck until I decide you’re worth more than that?”

You whined—completely at his mercy.

He tightened his grip on your neck, choking you just enough to make your vision blur at the edges.

“I said,” he snarled, hips snapping into you with punishing rhythm, “do you like being used?”

“Y-Yes, Daddy—”

That name. That name.

He groaned darkly, slamming into you so hard your toes left the ground for a second.

“Of course you do. Fucking brat.”

His free hand came down hard on your ass—smack—then again, until the skin stung, and all you could do was take it, let him rut into you while you cried out into the sheets.

Then he bent you forward again, one hand fisting your hair this time, the other dragging down your back possessively. “Look at this,” he murmured, watching your body ripple with every thrust. “Taking me so well for someone who doesn’t know how to fucking listen.”

You were babbling by now, some mix of apologies and moans and desperate pleas for more—words you didn’t even know you were saying, your body already starting to tighten again, dangerously close to coming.

He noticed. He always noticed.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, slapping your clit once, sharp and precise. You screamed.

“Please—please, I can’t—!”

“You can.” He leaned over your back, kissed your shoulder almost mockingly, then bit it. “You’ll come when I say so, and not a second before.”

Your hands struggled against the cloth binding you, but there was no escape—only the relentless rhythm of his hips, the stretch of his cock, the burn of need threatening to swallow you whole.

He pulled out suddenly, and you cried out at the loss—only to be flipped over roughly, legs pushed wide, knees to your chest. The look in his eyes was deadly.

“You want to come so badly?”

You nodded, eyes wild, begging silently.

“Then earn it.”

He shoved back in, deeper than before, and started fucking you like a man possessed. Sweat dripped from his brow, muscles tense, his voice a constant stream of filth between gritted teeth.

“Losing your fucking mind on my cock… Look at you. Crying for it.”

Your vision blurred with tears.

“Say it,” he snarled, grabbing your cheeks to force your eyes to his. “Say whose you are.”

“Y-Yours, Daddy—!”

“And who does this pussy belong to?”

“You—Only you—!”

He growled again, nearly folding you in half as he drove into you harder, faster, until you were screaming his name into the room, your second orgasm detonating like a bomb inside you, every muscle locking tight.

And this time?

He let you have it.

He watched you fall apart, eyes fixed on your trembling body as he finally gave in, pulled out just in time to stroke himself fast over your stomach, cum spilling hot and thick across your skin with a ragged moan of your name.

“Fuck… fuck—”

Then silence.

Only the sound of your shattered breathing, the tremble in your thighs.

Then soft hands untied your wrists. Warm fingers cupped your cheeks.

“Hey…” he whispered, thumb brushing away a tear. “You okay?”

You nodded, dazed.

“You really drive me insane, you know that?”

You smiled, weak and ruined.

“I like making you crazy.”

He laughed, kissed your forehead, and whispered, “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

He stayed there for a moment, just kneeling between your legs, his breathing still ragged, sweat dotting his flushed skin.

You were a mess—trembling, legs spread, slick and cum coating your thighs and stomach. But the moment he looked at you again, all that brutal dominance melted into something tender. His expression shifted.

“Hey, baby.” His voice was soft now, impossibly gentle.

He leaned down, kissed your forehead. Then your cheek. Then your lips—slow and unhurried, like he hadn’t just ruined you minutes ago.

“You okay?” he murmured against your mouth.

You nodded, but your body was still twitching.

“I’m gonna clean you up, yeah?”

You hummed in response, eyes fluttering closed as his hands moved over your body—soft now, tracing bruises with guilt-lined fingers, kissing your wrists where the cloth had pressed into your skin. He wiped between your legs with warm, damp cloths, whispering apologies when you flinched.

“There we go… good girl. You did so well.”

You should’ve been spent, drifting. But then he kissed your chest—first out of affection.

Then again.

And again.

And then he lingered, mouth warm and open over your nipple, and your eyes snapped open.

“Chan…”

He hummed around you, tongue circling before he gently sucked, wet and slow.

“I thought…” you breathed. “I thought we were done…”

He looked up, and his eyes were anything but innocent.

“I said i wasn’t.” he murmured, switching to the other breast, dragging his teeth softly over the tender skin. “And I remembered how good these taste.”

You whined, arching as his hand slipped up your ribs, cupping one breast while his mouth worked the other.

“You’re still sensitive,” he said, almost in awe. “Still twitching every time I touch you…”

“Chan—!”

“You can take it. One more.” His lips curved into a wicked grin as he latched on again, tongue flicking fast against your nipple while his fingers rolled the other.

The ache between your thighs returned like a flame sparking to life.

Your hands found his curls, tugging, and he groaned softly against your chest, only sucking harder, sloppier now—like he couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough.

Your hips shifted on instinct.

“You gonna come just from this?” he murmured against your skin. “From me sucking on your pretty tits like this?”

You moaned, and he didn’t stop—licking, sucking, kneading you like you were his personal obsession.

“I could do this all night,” he whispered. “Look at how wrecked you are already. One more, baby. Let me have one more.”

And honestly?

You were helpless to deny him.

His hand trailed down your stomach, fingers brushing over your puffy clit like a ghost. Just enough to make you jerk.

“Fuck, you’re soaked again.”

He chuckled darkly and sucked harder at your nipple, flicking the tip with his tongue before gently biting down—just enough to make your back arch.

Then his fingers returned, sliding over your folds, deliberately avoiding your clit.

“I didn’t even touch you yet,” he said, licking a circle around your nipple. “You’re dripping already.”

“Chan—” you gasped, but he cut you off with another deep suck, tongue dragging over the wet, sensitive skin as he slipped two fingers between your legs and finally rubbed tight circles on your clit.

Your whole body jolted.

“Oh my god—”

“There it is,” he purred, watching you squirm. “Look at you—hips rocking, tits bouncing while I suck on them and make you come on my fingers like a good girl.”

The pleasure was building again, sharper now, and too fast. He was sucking you like he was starving, moaning into your chest, fingers relentless on your clit while you writhed beneath him.

“C-Chan—!”

“You gonna come for me again?” he murmured, still flicking your nipple with his tongue. “Gonna soak my fingers while I suck on your pretty tits like they’re mine?”

You cried out, thighs shaking, hips jerking up as that pressure snapped.

You came—hard—legs trembling, moans strangled, head thrown back against the pillow while his fingers slowed down just enough to let you ride it out.

He didn’t stop licking your nipple, though. Didn’t stop dragging those sinful fingers in slow, wet circles.

You twitched again. And again.

Too much.

“Too much—!”

“Shh, I got you,” he whispered, lifting his head to kiss your mouth this time, swallowing your desperate whimpers. “So good. So perfect. I could fuckin’ worship this body all night.”

You collapsed, breathless, overstimulated, skin on fire—and Chan was still there, touching, kissing, whispering sweet filth like he had all the time in the world to love you apart.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Authors note: And we have come to the end of the Angry boys series! It was fun writing all that smutty angst lol 😂 NOW WE CAN START TAKING REQUESTS!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @sagestarlight @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss

[everrinsly]

a/n: i'm glad there's a few of you who also love sugar daddy suna, thank you; i really need him in this economy. we all need him haha ╰(*´︶`*)╯

~~~~~

suna may be a famous pro athlete, but he is first and foremost your best friend vibes.

and he loves spending money on you (especially on your weekly grocery hauls).

sugar daddying part 3 (450 pieces of candy and a pack of chuppets in aisle 8) with suna. long drabble. fluff. fem!reader. | not proofread.

sugar daddy suna | part 1 | part 2

more reads!

~~~~~

Maybe your first mistake was letting Suna push the cart. And your second mistake... was becoming his best friend because he had all your favorite foods and snacks memorized now—

"There's those peach-milk candies you like. Lemme grab them real quick."

"You want those fancy-ass yogurt drinks, angel? What flavor?"

"I'm gonna grab your favorite brand of udon, so we can make it later, yeah?"

"Mochi ice cream. Vanilla or matcha—actually, nah."

(He threw them both in the cart).

—so what started as a 'quick grocery run' turned into him casually knowing all the likes and dislikes of your tastebuds, speed-running your entire favorites list like it was a shopping game show.

You adored Suna, really. But it gets to a point where you're going to have to fight him at the cash register because you can't afford all of this.

"Rinnie," you sighed softly, tugging on the rolled-up sleeves of his hoodie.

“Hm?” He didn’t even turn, just kept scanning the candy aisle like a predator tracking prey, probably looking for those Hi-Chew candies he knows you love so much (he's right, it's your second favorite).

You leaned over the cart. “Why are there five packs of those fancy yogurt drinks in here—and..." you trailed off, counting. "One... two... three... four—eight?!"

You gave him a look, one that made him just want to squish your cheeks (you don't know that though).

"Rin! Why are there eight packs of peach-milk candies?!"

"You said you liked them," he said blandly.

"There's fifty pieces in each pack!" You slapped a hand against his chest.

Suna hummed, then shrugged, tossing another into the cart anyway. “Well, now you have nine. 450 pieces total. Stay sweet, angel.”

You flushed, groaning into your sleeves, which only made him grin as he pushed the cart forward with the lazy swagger and nonchalance of someone who had way too much money and not enough shame.

And then, when he tossed in your favorite seaweed snacks, your arms flailed.

“Rintarou! No—”

He blinked innocently, green eyes twinkling with mischief. “These? Oh, my bad. Thought they were for me.”

“You said they're too salty for you.”

“Yeah... but you like them. And I like you.”

Your breath caught. He didn't even look at you when he said it, too busy grabbing three of your go-to instant ramen cups.

You squinted at him, heart fluttering in your chest, just begging to be released to Suna's arms.

Suna stared down at you, like he was mentally asking 'you got anything else to say?'

You sputtered. No, you didn't have anything else to say.

Suna smirked like he'd just won a very quiet war. Then, he reached for your favorite brand of fresh milk bread and tossed it in the cart without a word.

"…You don’t even know how much this is gonna cost," you mumbled, trying to sound annoyed and failing miserably.

Suna finally turned to face you, leaning over the cart, his arms folded on the handle like he had all the time in the world.

"I literally make more per match than this whole store makes in a day."

“Still. You don’t have to—”

"I want to," he said simply.

And that shut you up again. Because you knew he meant it. Just like he meant it when he ordered your favorite takeout when you were sad. Or when he kept your favorite playlist downloaded on his phone even though he 'hated that shit.' Or when he drove forty-five minutes to your college campus just to bring you a new laptop charger because yours broke.

You sighed, cheeks warm. "You're really annoying, you know that?"

Suna smiled, a real one, slow and soft. "Yeah. But I'm your annoying."

And just like that, in the fluorescent lights of aisle 8, with your favorite snacks piled high in an overflowing cart, you felt your heart flutter in that dangerous, hopeful way it always did around him.

You didn’t say anything. He didn't say anything.

But you reached out, plucked a bag of his favorite multiflavored chuppets from the shelf and piled it on top of your snacks. Then quietly mumbled, “…Thanks, Rinnie.”

And in true Suna fashion, he pretended not to hear you, but the way his lips twitched gave him away.

Though, you weren't sure if that was caused by you or the chuppets.