#I want to but I just keep feeling like every day will be like this and nothing will ever improve | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

prettyboykatsuki · 2 days ago

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give it to me like you need it, baby | zayne (lnds)

❅ tags ; afab + fem!reader (referred to with she/her several times), established relationship, vague depiction of medical injury, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, fingering, unprotected sex, reader is very spoiled skjdds, 18+

❅ wc ; 5.7k (???????????)

❅ a/n ; i started playing this game 48 hours ago. i am out of my mind. sorry. please no spoilers for now JKSDJD. also shoutout to @acerathia who imbued me with even more zayne brainworms that resulted in this KJDSKJ

this is just porn. no plot like fr at all!! dont think too hard about anything!!!! also sorry if the characterization is inconsistent </3

❅ synopsis ; refusing to take your prescribed pain meds, you suggest a different type of pain relief from zayne to heal your injuries.

“You should be more careful,”

Zayne’s voice is even. It’s the first thing to greet you when you wake up from your most recent round of medication. There’s a pleasant clarity that comes with every tone and intonation, that somehow manages to trample the thick fog in your brain after waking up from your last round of narcotics.

The pain has settled, from a sharp throb to a dull ache but it’s there. You glance around the room for some way to tell the time. There’s still light out but your limbs feel heavy, so you must’ve been asleep for a while.

“It’s almost evening,” Zayne says, like he’s reading your mind. He sits at the stool at your side with an expression, eyes softened with worry. “An hour or so till sunset.”

“Right,” You reply. You wince as you sit up, bruised sides still tender and head heavy. You rub your eyelids, a deep pressure in your skull—just behind them, as you readjust to the remnants of light in the room. “Shit, it hurts.”

“It’s been enough time between doses, so you’ll need to take them again soon for the pain.” Zayne says.

Your lips curl instantly, shaking your head. “No way. I don’t want to take them again.”

Zayne stares at you for a while. “You wouldn’t have to take them at all had you taken the necessary precautions in the first place so I fear there’s little choice in the matter. The pain will be hard to manage without the medications,”

“Are you nagging me, Doctor?”

He shakes his head. “I’m treating you. Your injury is substantial and I don’t want you to do anything to aggravate it. Nor do I want you to suffer needlessly” And then, a little softer. “I don’t like prescribing such a strong dosage either.”

“But you did.”

“Because my patient is severely injury and I’m worried for her quality of life,” Zayne says, firm but not unkind. “Perhaps if said patient took more care to preserve themselves, I could prescribe something lighter.”

“Are you holding a grudge against me?”

“Against your recklessness, yes.”

You pout unthinkingly. “I’m sorry. Don’t be angry.”

Zayne reaches his hand towards the corner of your mouth, pressing his thumb into the line of your frown. “I never said I was angry. Just worried. Don’t trouble yourself.”

“Then who should I trouble?”

Zayne doesn’t reply to you, though he does smile light enough for you to catch sight of it in the dim lights. He goes back into physician mode before you get a chance to say more, and you’re too tired to give him your usual banter.

There’s a beat of silence between you where Zayne is writing something down on pen and paper while you daydream aimlessly. He’s probably documenting your injuries for record keeping in the system. Encountering an anomaly in your line of work is deceptively common but there hadnt been any exact records on anything like your specific incident. Bits and pieces of stray information but that’s all. Nothing cohesive. While it appears to be normal albeit impressive bruising and broken bones, the unit still thought it best to be monitored.

(That, along with Zaynes general tendency to fuss over your state, mean you’ve been in this position for a few weeks now. Zayne has taken one of his usual work days off just to tend to you.)

Despite the effort you've put into recovering, sustaining a massive injury has made you feel stir crazy and has not gotten rid of the pain entirely - causing you to wince when you move in the wrong way way. Noticing the way you deflate, Zayne looks up from his papers. He pauses, studying you and the large bruise up your side.

“Take your medicine”

“Don’t wanna,” You say petulantly, eyes closed.

Zayne pauses then sighs as you stubbornly turn him away. He weighs his options before moving on to focus on your injury. You’re conscious of the hand he has underneath your shirt. How delicately he moves, scarred digits touching like you’re porcelain. You don’t think he does it on purpose, or because he underestimates you. Rather, treating you preciously is the easiest manner of being for him. Still, it does make you pout.

“That’s a nasty bruise even for your line of work. Don't be stubborn.”

You shake your head.

“I’m tough. I can take some pain. It’s better than being groggy at least. Feels like my heads been full of cotton for weeks.”

“You say that because the medication is working. It’s dulling the pain enough for it to be tolerable even though it can feel unpleasant at times. It’s going to worsen again, gradually, if you don’t keep on the dosage schedule.”

You open your eyes again to look at him. It’s hard to refute his points, even more so when he makes it so obvious his concerns lie solely in your well-being. But you really, really hate the way it’s making you feel. You feel like you’ve been hit by a crr in general but the added sluggishness from narcotics is too much. Enough to be stubborn and childish about even the most sound advice. You shake your head again, trying to think of a solution to appease you both.

It doesn’t last long since you quickly get lost in another train of thought as a result of your brain fog.

When your mind catches up with reality, your eyes flutter open to a worried looking Zayne. Half-conscious, you feel keenly aware of his presence. Of his hands resting on your sides and the heat that lingers when he moves them. His hands are covered in tens of small scars, fingers thick and long while managing to be elegant. A precision to him. To his features, to his movements, to his actions.

“Something on your mind?”

“Hm…?”

His lips quirk. “You’ve got a look about you,”

“I was just thinking of alternatives on how to manage pain.”

“Another medication you mean?”

You shake your head, smiling crookedly.

“There are different kinds of pain relief, right? Something more… holistic.”

“Holisitic?”

Opting to answer his question another way, you let out an exaggerated noise of relief. “Your hand feels nice doc,”

Zayne, quick on the uptake, hums to himself not showing any reaction.

“Does holistic feel like the appropriate vocabulary for what you’re implying?”

“Maybe… something more physical.”

“I see.” He hums. “And how would something that puts strain on your body improve your injury?”

“Improving my mood is also an important part of recovery.”

Zayne sighs. “Please be more mindful about my position as your doctor.”

“You sound like you’re considering it when you don’t reject me outright.”

“Tsk.”

He sits up from the stool he’d been sat on while tending to you, instead choosing to sit beside you in bed. You’re propped up in a mess of pillows and blankets, pressed close to the wall. There’s more than enough room for Zayne. The bed creaks under his weight as he stretches his legs, back against the headboard. You turn your head to look at him.

A long silence falls between you, not uncomfortable. Heavy rather, with tension. Zayne, quick to indulge you, brings a hand up to cradle your face. His hand is cool against your hot skin, big palms cupping your cheek. He hums under his breath, hazel-green eyes tracing the outlines of your features. You keen into his palms and he laughs again, deeper. Richer.

“I’m not against the suggested methods perse,” Zayne says slowly, holding your gaze while his thumb traces your lip. “Only that it may encourage your recklessness, should I give it to you. You’ve been cooped up in here for so long, I suppose needed some more stimulus isn’t far fetched.”

“I’ll be more mindful.” You promise, giving him the wettest puppy eyes you can while you nod enthusiastically.

“I won’t forgive you otherwise.”

He leans in. Just enough to tease. You frown.

“Zayne,”

His eyes meet your again, heating shooting through your spine.

“Impatient, foolish, reckless. What should I do with a patient like you?”

“Spoil me.” You reply shamelessly. His lips quirk up. “I take well to bribery.”

“Is that really the most effective method?” Zayne pretends to ponder.

You nod. “Promise I’ll be on my best behavior, Doctor.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” Zayne says, tone soft with affection. He holds a hand out for you. “ Come.”

Zayne tells you to move, but bears no intention of making you do so on your own. He wraps an arm around your back carefully - mindful of the tenderness in your ribs and side. He draws you into his lap with ease, your head tucked against his chest with his chin resting atop of your head. Your legs are drawn across his lap lazily, voice reverberating through your tired limbs as he speaks.

“Comfortable? No pain?”

You make an affirmative noise to him, cozying up in the way least straining to your body.

He’s patient as he undresses you from the waist down - and you allow him, basking in the silent attention. In tattered sleepwear and half-sick, you barely move as the fabric rolls and peels all the to your knees - lazily lifting your legs to take them off along with your underwear in one swift go. A wave of embarrassment tugs at you, self-conscious as you nuzzle further into Zayne’s arms. Paradoxically finding comfort in the same person whose making your feverishness burn brighter, you let your hand clench weekly in his shirt.

Naked, Zayne brings the hand not supporting your back up to your face. He holds your chin between thumb and forefinger and tilts your head towards him - a chaste kiss promising more. Your eyes lock for a heartbeat until you look away, shy. He lets you lean back further, lazier - until he’s at the right angle to hover over you to kiss you all the better.

Contrary to the other ways he touches you, most times Zayne kisses you is fierce. Once, twice - to ease you into the pace of his mouth before you find your lips pulled open. It’s the only thing that he does this way, needy from the start. Your lips press to his sweetly, a noise of surprise slipping that Zayne swallows in the next go. His lips are soft and pleasantly cool to the touch.

Your hands grip tighter trying to find purchase in the overwhelming want of it. Slow and sticky kisses that make the back of your feel fuzzy, the kind that lingers in the minutes you’re parted. His breath is warm, faint with the smell of mint.

The coy, cool demeanor you took suggesting this, fades—melts every inch of you. Your body goes slack with arousal underneath the assault, his tongue slipping against yours deeper and deeper. He gets breathy when he kisses, a longing sigh as you keen up into his mouth or suck his tongue - your body eager to be as wrapped up in the attention as you can.

There’s something about this in particular that makes you feel pampered. Tucked away, safely. Zayne is familiar with the act of bending to your whims and your affirmed relationship has only made him more easily compelled.

His free hand rests just above where your body longs to be touched. Deliberately above the navel, he slides over the softness of your belly. Traveling up slowly, his hand squeezes both sides of your chest. You can’t get enough air to say anything about how good it feels, so you whine instead - canting your hips to air for friction. Zayne laughs softly against your mouth.

Less turned on, you think you would bicker with him about it. Turn your nose up at him for being so rude. Melted in his arms like lust liquified, you don’t know if you gave it in you.

Deft fingers tweak your nipples underneath the thin fabric of your shirt. Zayne notices it for the first time touching you. He makes a face, faux disapproval causing his lip to curl.

“Wearing clothes like this with everything so visible. On top of your injury, you’ll get sick.”

The words carry no weight or bite, playful at best. As if to prove a point, Zayne goes back over your clothes to touch them again. His thumb rubs across your hard nipples, your body shuddering from the rough texture at the fabric alongside Zayne’s fingers. He rubs them carefully, slowly. Pays attention to each one before settling on teasing the side more sensitive to the other. He knows the way to touch you, please you down to the minutia. It makes you so wet you can hardly stand it. You squeeze your legs together with a frown.

“I said spoil me. This is torture.”

Your words are petulant even to your own ears. Zayne barely bites back a smile.

“I wonder if your words about torture will hold up against your body if I touch you,” He kisses your temple to placate you, a hand at your waist to prove his point. “Patience,”

“I can’t be patient,” You say, frowning. Zayne gives you an imperceptible look before leaning down, his voice close to your ear.

“Should I help you then? Tell you how good it’ll feel if you sit through it obediently and allow me to have my way with you, hm? You like the sound of my voice right,”

You let out a mewl. Zayne laughs.

“Sit then, and wait for me to take care of you.” Zayne says gently. He kisses the corner of your mouth, trailing his kisses down to your jaw and neck. Bites so softly at the junction of your neck and shoulders, his voice a salve to your pent up lust. “Let me soothe the pain with pleasure.”

You can’t be sure if it’s mercy or not, that your demands make Zayne more relentless in his fondling of your body. His hand doesn’t go further than your waistband. But they squeeze and grope all where he can reach. Cycling through hot, deep kisses that leave you breathless - toes curling up in fluffy socks unconsciously aching for more—and sweet, loving pecks to encourage you to put up with it a little longer.

What keeps you tethered is the promise of pleasure, the assurance that Zayne always gives you what you ask for no matter how long or how much he may tease you until he does. It’ll be yours since you wanted it.

You’ll manage to cum when he feels like it’s right. So you play into it. Beg sweetly in between sighs to touch you. Need you, need your hands, wanna feel even better.

You like feeling Zayne get impatient, no matter how gradual or how slow. It never loses the thrill. The subtle gestures that his control is slipping away for you so slowly. Always worth the full brunt of your effort when you see his resolve slowly unravel - becoming sloppier in short doses. Sometimes, you get lucky enough to push him far enough and let go completely.

“Spread your legs,” Zayne pants, desperate to get his hands on you. You do instinctually, gasping as soon as your swollen, throbbing clit brushes so lightly against his middle finger. His fingers are longer than yours - bigger and thicker. He rubs against your slit gently, feeling for how wet you are. It makes a noise as he slides through your folds, fingertip resting at your clit as he gives it a soft stroke.

“Zayne,” You gasp his name. “Please,”

No words follow your demand, but Zayne always makes good on his promises. Before you can think to whine again, he finds the spot that brings you pleasure the quickest and rubs soft circles into it. Steady pace paired with a complete understanding of the ins and outs of your body. Your pussy flutters in reply, whole body jolting from the contact. Pleasure seeps into you like the running flow of water, subtle but steady - the heat of your body melting the preciseness of Zayne’s ice. You feel a brief pain in your ribs, but its overwhelmed by the pleasure fizzling through you as Zayne rubs your clit in circular strokes.

You rut against his hand, aching for more but Zayne keeps pace.

You wonder how something can feel so different at the hands of someone else. How something you usually do alone and feel alright pleasure from can make you feel like this - like you’re burning from the inside when all he’s using is his hands.

Zayne, sensing the buildup before you do, presses your mouths together again. He’s gentle this time but you’re desperate, a hand holding onto his face while you get nearer and nearer to cumming.

You know you’re on the edge when your muscles begin to tighten, mind rousing to the rush of dopamine and oxytocin. You pant his name sloppy as your mouth tests the syllables. Over and over and over as Zayne brings you to the peak. He’s quiet, laser focused on where his finger play with your needy pussy. Everything inside of you goes taut before you begin to unravel. Deep waves of rapture wash over you, from head to toe. Your cum spills, flows in thick sticky strands until you’re so wet you can feel it between your thighs and ass.

You take a shuddering breath upon your first release, trying to settle your mind through the aftershocks of powerful orgasm

You barely get a chance to breathe before you feel Zayne’s hand on your waist again.

“You’ve a few more for me, right?” Zayne says, voice latent with unprecedented lust. You feel something hard pressing against your thighs, making you squirm. “Only once won’t be an effective treatment for a patient in so much pain.”

You don’t get a chance to recover your strength before you feel Zayne’s hands come down between your legs. Despite your efforts to run from it, Zayne holds you firm with his arm. Holds you in a way that won’t let you escape from it no matter how much you may try. B

efore you can finish riding your first high - the pads of his fingers find your clit once more. He goes to touch you indirectly, aware of your sensitivity and only heeding so much caution

The lack of direct friction is frustrating. Like he’s deliberately avoiding touching you where exactly you need while still making you feel good, a forceful staccato to an orgasm rather than a direct line to one. It feels good, it does— but it’s not enough.

It makes you want more. With Zayne, you can’t be sure if its intentional or not.

Your mind is too cloudy to speak to him, so you whine instead. Zayne has a talent for making you like that. Touching you in a way that renders your speech useless, forces you to lean on what you know. Leaves you nothing to ask him with except your body, your carnality, to get what you want. Everything you could possibly desire is yours if you shed your pride and ask. If you can’t ask, all you need to do is what you’re doing now—spread your legs and let him see just how much of a mess he makes you. Zayne makes it easy for you. Fucks you in vulnerable, precise measures. He moves with the confidence necessary to wield a scalpel, uses it to take you apart perfectly before mending you to put together.

No one knows how to build you up again how Zayne does. Who else is paying such close attention?

Your voice comes out shaking when you come around your second consecutive orgasm. The previous grogginess has been completely washed away, taken over by a stronger feeling of euphoria. Cumming again in such rapid succession blindsides you. Your mouth is fallen open. Silent, broken moans sound as the sensations starts to stir again in your core. Your belly is honeyed with lust - the muscles in your calves tensing hard as you thrash your legs around aiming not to lose your mind to the pleasure. Zayne is the only force keeping you upright in his arms and on his lap.

He tsks, half between sympathetic and teasing as you squeeze you thighs around his hand. “Stop squirming. You’ll hurt yourself. If your treatment proves to worsen your injuries and then we’ll have to stop—effective immediately.”

Your voice comes out so unfamiliar and desperate, you barely know it as yours. “No, no, no don’t stop please, Zayne—”

“Then,” His voice is raspy against your ear, deeperer. Stained with lust. “Hold still and cum.”

You force your body as still as possible at Zayne’s word. Your hands grip tight onto his shirt, stretching the material out with how hard you grip. You cry out as the knot inside of you untangles and frays.

Zayne kisses you right as you get to the edge, forcing his tongue deep in your mouth to keep you from biting through your lip. You cum as soon as you feel your tongues touch, kissing deeply.

You curl up this time in reaction to the gratification, your whole body folding in on itself. You can feel your pussy clench around nothing as you do, aching for something more. Like electricity sparking through the water, your pleasure is constant yet splintering.

Pin-point accuracy leaves your mind completely muddled in the aftermath. When you manage to look up at Zayne, desire mixed with longing and affection puff up in your chest. It’s the way he looks down at you in the afterglow. Such sharp, intense eyes and strong features. Almost shattered, ruined with a restrained lust. Despite himself, despite being at his mercy, despite being weakened from healing wounds - Zayne holds you gentle. Puts you first even at odds with himself.

You crane your neck up half tired to kiss him first. It’s nauseatingly gentle but doesn’t do enough to express your feelings. A mix of gratitude and compliance founded in mutual trust. You want to give yourself to him over and over and over - enough to wash away his worries. At the same time, you want him to want you so madly he abandons his usual restraint.

Ultimately, your mind settles on the desire to make him feel good in whatever way you possibly can. You rub deliberately against the hard-on pressed against your thigh. Mellowed from cumming twice, you speak your thoughts frankly.

“Fuck me.”

He shakes his head. “You’ll really aggravate your injuries that way. I’d …. like too but I—”

“Zayne,” You repeat, serious. “Fuck me, please.”

He’s silent for a moment, eyes closed.

“Want you to make me cum again,” You say, then add. “Wanna cum while you’re inside of me.”

“You—” He takes in a sharp breath. “You can really be so—”

“Zayne,”

“Don’t call my name like that,” Zayne says on a sigh, rubbing your lower lip. “I’ve already conceded. Quit your pouting.”

You smile at him, eyes wet with sincere joy. He lets out a strangled groan, followed by a sigh. “Given your injuries, you being on top would be best as to not cause anymore pain to you. Move gently.”

“Will you help?”

Zayne nods at you. “You don’t have to ask.”

As promised, his touch is gentle as he takes you off his lap. His hands and arms give the necessary support to keep from further agitating your wounds- supporting your spine to ease yourself onto his strong lap with. It’s a wide fit to get your thighs over his lap but Zayne takes precaution.

Zayne pushes you to stand on your knees while you straddle him. He makes you lean on one side of him, your torso resting on one of his shoulders while you’re pressed slightly against the headboard. Uncertain of what he’s doing, you yelp in surprise when you feel his hands slide between your legs. One on your hips, securing you - the other one teasing your slit.

“It’ll hurt if I put it in right away.” He clarifies.

“I can take it.”

Zayne is quiet at that, choosing to ignore both your whining and the soft sway of your hips in a poor attempt to get him to fuck you quicker. Meticulously, Zayne slips his fingers into his mouth covering them with saliva first, before drawing them through the mess of slick between your thighs. Making his digits as wet as possible, he rubs your pussy until he finds your tight hole. You can feel your cunt pulse at the contact, taking in a soft breath as he eases the first finger inside of you. They’re thick. Thicker than yours by enough that you can feel some resistance as he works just his middle finger into you slowly. Patiently fucking it in and out until he’s all the way down to knuckle.

When it’s easy to fuck you on one, he adds another - repeating the process until both fingers fit inside of you easily. The stretch leaves your breath hitching, thighs trembling slightly in anticipation.

“One more should be—”

“No,” You say immediately. “It’s enough already.”

“You know very well it’s not.”

“I can take it,” You coax, sitting back down properly onto Zayne’s lap, half naked. You rub yourself over the strained fabric of his sweats, wetting them with your own arousal. You’re pleased when you notice his own pre-cum staining them too. “Zayne.”

Rubbing his temple, he holds you by your hips. You wrap your arms haphazardly around his neck as he casts his eyes towards you. Holding his gaze, you frown—face flush and lips pouty. He sighs, a noise of discontent slipping as his hands reach back and squeeze your ass - drawing you even closer to him. He closes his eyes, forehead resting on your shoulder.

“What good is it taking such good care of your body as your physician when you’re so quick to throw it away in front of me, hm?” Zayne scolds half-heartedtly. You smile at him sheepishly, your eyes meeting.

He gives you a look, silent, encouraging you to take what you need first.

Your hands are shaky as they reach the front of Zayne’s waistband, tugging until they slide down his thighs - along with his boxers in one smooth motion. Your thighs pressed together at the now familiar sight of his cock. Your thighs weaken at the sight of it, impressive length and girth - curved just right and too heavy to stand on its own. You reach out to touch it, a soft stroke to feel how hard it gets. It makes you gasp, feeling how it throbs between your fingers. Zayne suppresses a groan as your palm smooths over the tip.

“Have you changed your mind?”

You shake your head rapidly. Zayne lets out a breathless sigh against your collar bone.

“Stubborn thing you are.”

“Zayne,” You peek at him through your lashes. “Can I?”

He holds you close to him, careful not to grip you too hard. “Slowly.”

You nod your head, pulling yourself forward on his lap to line the tip of his cock with your entrance.

A long, shaky breath leaves your lips as you feel the tip of his cock slip against your folds. Adjusting to be sitting up a little more, you ease yourself down on Zayne’s hard length. You feel your pussy flutter in anticipation of being full. Placing our hands on Zayne’s shoulders, you ever so slowly slide yourself down on his cock.

You both take a sharp inhale as the head of Zayne’s cock stretches your cunt open wide. Just the head is overwhelming, your thighs trembling as you do your best to take all of him inside of you. Your voice tremble, working yourself down inch by inch - desperately trying to adjust. His cock is big, too big - always more than you remember it being. You feel it up to your throat.

So focused on taking it, you nearly miss the sounds leaving Zayne’s mouth each time you manage to take a little more of him. His voice is trembling, hot against your skin as he muffles each groan and sigh into your shoulder. His hands are tight with restraint as he holds you, trying his best to hold himself together.

It takes you a beat or two. Long, restrained moments of silence before your body finally takes it. You moan as you bottom out, cock stretching your needy pussy out completely. You stay like that for even longer, longer than you would normally.

“Aren’t going to move?”

You give Zayne a look. “I don’t know if it’s possible.”

“Spoiled girl.” Zayne tsks.

Wordlessly, he uses his strength to slide you off of his cock in one go. Whining at the sudden feeling of loss - he fucks you back onto him. Carefully placing his hands on the most unmarred parts of your hips, Zayne fucks you on his cock with the same ease of a toy.

After a few thrusts, your body adjusts to the feeling. You can feel the specific motion when it goes from a dull ache to a dull feeling of pleasure. Your waist goes completely weak in Zayne’s grasp as he fucks his cock up into you with controlled movements. Undulating just enough to make you gasp. Practiced with the full weight and gravity of his hips - but painstakingly measured so that it doesn’t hurt. It’s not slow, or fast - but a rhythmic inbetween that makes it hard for your mind to keep up.

If there was such a thing as getting fucked perfectly, you think Zayne is fulfilling it by all measures.

The way he’s fucking the warm, slick heat of your cunt feels good beyond word. It’s relentlessly consistent, head sliding against your sweet spot with ease. Precision guides his thrusts like it does everything else. Euphoria suffuses through your limbs as you get yourself fucked open on it.

The sound of his echoes in the room as Zayne keeps pace. You’re moaning loud now, shameless as the sensation builds and builds and builds but never quite hits its peak. You feel so full, but you need something else to get yo over the edge.

“You want to cum like this, didn’t you?” Zayne says, matter-of-fact despite the level of calm in his voice. His face betrays the composure in his voice. “Touch yourself. Make yourself cum in front of me.”

Shakily, your hand finds itself between your bodies.You find your swollen clit for the last time and carefully rub between your fingers. It makes you gasp outright, nearly falling forward from the impact. Pleasure no longer plateauing, something bounds again inside of you.

You can feel it coming this time. On the edge from the minute Zayne started fucking you to now, your body has been winding itself tighter and tighter until a knot formed right in the swell of your belly again. There’s something about this one that feels so much deeper then when you came before, something more overwhelming to it. He fucks you in places you could never reach, makes you cum like that too.

You throw your head back noisily when you finally match your fingers to Zayne’s throat.

“Fuck,” You hiss, trying your best not to lose the feeling. “Zayne, g-gonna—”

Zaynes voice borders on a growl. “Cum for me.”

One last time, your body finds release as Zayne holds you down on his cock and grinds into your g-spot while you cum again. Your nails dig into Zayne’s shoulders, holding onto him for life as your body wracks with shivers once more. Your last orgasm is the most overwhelming, the aftershocks feel like they last for minutes at a time instead of a seconds.

Zayne cums quickly after you, panting into your neck like he’d been waiting the entire time for you to cum first before finishing. You feel content as his seed spills into your pussy for the last time.

A beat of silence passes between you before you speak again,

“Thank you for the medicine doc,” You hum. “I feel all better.”

Zayne simply goes along with you like alwys. “It’s what I’m here for.”

After getting fucked good enough to knock out only a few moments after you came a third time, you aren’t exactly sure where or how you were going to wake up.

When you do wake up though, your bruised and battered body - while still in dull pain, is being cradled by someone else. You feel clean too. Your clothes are changed and your skin is cool to the touch like someone’s been wiping you down and keeping an eye on you.

Yawning, you open your eyes to the familiar sight of your partner. Zayne glances down at you without word. You feel his arm around your waist like a secure weight, tucking yourself into him.

Zayne’s first question is predictable. “How are you feeling, love?”

Your heart flutters clumsily at the overt tenderness. “...Hurts a lot. It’s bearable though.”

Zayne laughs as he notices your attitude. “What happened the my bold lover from a few hours ago? So bold she invited me to bed without hesitation?”

Your face feels hot, warmth tingling from your ears down to your neck. “I was doped on a lot of narcotics so somehow… and sex is different from this you know?”

“This…?”

“Acting like a proper boyfriend when you’re always so…” You trail off. “Don’t you think that’s unfair?”

“Are you saying I’m usually an improper boyfriend?”

“Yes,” You say flatly, though you dont really mean it. Zayne chuckles. “At least you’re less…”

“Kind? Honest?”

“Playful,” You reply. Shy, you bury your face in his shirt. “You’re not honest but you’re always kind. You’re in too good of a mood.”

“Will you be more comfortable if I act as usual?”

You wrap your arms around his torso, hugging him gently. “This side of you isn’t so bad either.”

“I’m spoiling my very unruly patient.” He hums. He leans down, a hand cradling the back of your head as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “So listen well to doctors orders and rest a bit longer. We’ll have dinner together in a bit so just rest.”

As if caught by a spell, the mention of rest against has your eyes feeling heavy. You nod without thinking about it.

“Hm… ‘kay,” You mumble. “Thank you… for taking care of me….”

Zayne waits a beat or two before pressing another kiss to your temple, waiting for your breathing to even before he speaks.

“As if it’s something to thank me for,”

#zayne x reader #zayne lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #zayne smut #writing tag #post of shame. goodnight

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moonlightwritingf1 · 2 days ago

Text

The Fine Line Between Hate and Desire | LN4

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N, a journalist covering a charity golf event, clashes with Formula 1 star Lando Norris, whose playful arrogance sparks heated banter. As the day progresses, their tension shifts into undeniable attraction, leaving Y/N torn between resisting his charm and surrendering to the unexpected connection.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ word count ━━━━━━━ 4.1k

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the pristine greens of the Monaco Golf Club. Y/N adjusted her sunglasses, squinting against the glare as she scanned the crowd. This wasn’t her idea of an exciting assignment—covering a charity golf event featuring Formula 1’s golden boy, Lando Norris. She sighed, gripping her iPad. She was here to focus on the event’s charitable aspect, but she could already feel her patience waning.

She spotted him at the first tee, surrounded by fans, sponsors, and fellow golfers. Lando was unmistakable in a bright orange polo that clashed loudly with his McLaren cap and white shorts. He radiated confidence, his grin wide as he chatted and waved to the crowd. Typical, she thought, marching toward him while adjusting her press badge.

As if sensing her approach, Lando turned and locked eyes with her, his smirk growing. “Ah, the press is here! And who do we have? Y/N, right?”

She nodded curtly. “Mr. Norris,” she replied, her tone clipped. “Ready to lose gracefully today?”

He leaned casually on his driver, the epitome of unbothered. “Oh, I don’t lose. Especially not to journalists.”

A few onlookers chuckled, and Y/N felt her cheeks warm, but she refused to back down. “We’ll see about that. Just try not to embarrass yourself. Wouldn’t want another viral video of you missing a putt.”

Lando laughed, clearly relishing the exchange. “Careful, love. You keep talking like that, and I might think you enjoy my company.”

“In your dreams,” she shot back, her tone sharp.

Unfazed, Lando strolled to the tee, tipping an imaginary hat to the crowd before taking his shot. The ball soared effortlessly, landing perfectly on the fairway. Applause erupted, and Lando turned to her with a wink. “Another perfect shot. Impressed yet?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, pretending to jot something in her notes on her iPad. “I’m sure it’s easy when the only thing on your mind is yourself.”

“Ouch.” He feigned offense, his smirk widening. “I like a bit of bite, though.”

She ignored him and stepped back, but he followed, leaning closer as he lowered his voice. “You could just admit you’re impressed. Everyone is.”

Y/N glared, stepping out of his proximity. “Impressed? By your ego, maybe. I’ve seen better swings from amateurs.”

His chuckle was low and rich, sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine. “Flirting already? You’re full of surprises.”

“Flirting?” she scoffed, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Norris.”

Lando grinned, his confidence unwavering. “We’ll see about that.”

Despite herself, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something—was it intrigue or annoyance? Either way, she pushed it aside, determined to stay focused on her work, even if Lando seemed equally determined to test her resolve.

The day dragged on, and the tension between them only grew. Every time Y/N thought she’d managed to avoid him, Lando seemed to materialize out of nowhere, always with some snarky comment or playful jab. By the time they reached the ninth hole, she was ready to strangle him with his own club.

She was standing off to the side, jotting down notes on her iPad, when he appeared beside her. “You know,” he said, his voice low and annoyingly smooth, “you’re even more beautiful when you’re annoyed.”

Y/N froze, her fingers hovering over the screen. She turned to glare at him, but the intensity in his gaze caught her off guard. There was something there—something she couldn’t quite place. Amusement? Curiosity? Or… something else?

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Norris,” she said, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness.

He tilted his head, studying her. “Who says I’m flattering you? Maybe I’m just stating a fact.” He took a step closer, and suddenly the air between them felt charged, electric. “Or maybe,” he continued, his voice dropping to a murmur, “I’m just trying to figure out why you hate me so much.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Damn him. Why did he have to be so infuriatingly charming?

The day dragged on, each hole bringing more of Lando’s infuriating charm and Y/N’s biting comebacks. By the time the tournament wrapped up, the tension between them was palpable. They found themselves alone near the clubhouse, the late afternoon sun bathing everything in a warm, amber light.

“Still not impressed?” Lando asked, leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His white polo clung to his torso, revealing the defined muscles beneath. Y/N hated how good he looked.

“Not even close,” she replied, though her voice wavered slightly. She hated that too.

Lando pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them in a few strides. He stopped just inches away, his blue- green eyes locking with hers. “You’re lying,” he said softly, his tone dripping with confidence. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Y/N tried to step back, but her heel caught on the edge of the pavement. She stumbled, and Lando’s hand shot out, catching her by the waist. His grip was firm, almost possessive, and it sent a jolt through her.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Wouldn’t want you falling for me too quickly.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out. His proximity was overwhelming, his cologne filling her senses. She hated how he made her feel—confused, flustered, weak.

Lando tilted his head, studying her. “You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you sure do get awfully quiet when I’m this close.”

“I don’t—” she started, but he cut her off with a laugh.

“Yes, you do. And you know what? I think you like it.”

Y/N shook her head, trying to regain her composure. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” His hand slid up her side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. “Then why hasn’t slapped me yet?”

She didn’t have an answer for that. Her heart was pounding, her mind racing. She wanted to push him away, to tell him off, but her body betrayed her, leaning ever so slightly into his touch.

Lando’s smirk returned, triumphant. “That’s what I thought.”

Before she could protest, he closed the gap between them, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. It was demanding, dominant, and entirely unexpected. Y/N froze for a moment, then let out a soft moan as his tongue brushed against hers. Her hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer as if they had a mind of their own.

When he finally pulled away, they were both breathing heavily. Lando’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Told you,” he whispered, his voice husky. “You’re mine now.”

Y/N tried to argue, but he silenced her with another kiss, deeper this time. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve as if memorizing her. She should’ve stopped him, but the way he touched her—with such confidence, such control—made her melt.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless. Lando looked at her, his eyes dark with desire. “Come with me,” he said, his voice rough.

She hesitated, but only for a second. Then she nodded, letting him lead her away from the crowd, toward somewhere more private. Her mind raced, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, but one thought kept repeating itself: What am I doing?

They ended up in a secluded corner of the clubhouse, hidden from prying eyes. Lando pressed her against the wall, his hands roaming hungrily over her body.

Lando’s hands didn’t stop moving, his fingers trailing up the curve of her waist, skimming the edge of her blouse. His breath was warm against her ear as he murmured, “You talk so much shit during the day, but look at you now. Can’t even form a sentence.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but all that came out was a shaky exhale as his lips brushed the sensitive skin just below her jawline. Her body betrayed her, pressing closer despite the voice in her head screaming to pull away.

“Admit it,” he growled, his tone low and commanding. “You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you? All those sarcastic little comments—just your way of trying to convince yourself you don’t want me.”

Her cheeks burned. She wanted to deny it, to push him off and walk away with her pride intact, but the way he looked at her—like he already knew every secret she’d ever kept—made it impossible. His confidence was infuriating, intoxicating.

“I don’t—” she started, but he cut her off with a sharp, possessive kiss that left her dizzy.

“Don’t lie to me,” Lando said, pulling back just enough to let his words sink in. His thumb traced her bottom lip, his eyes locked on hers. “You can pretend all you want, but I see right through you. You want this.”

Her heart hammered in her chest, every nerve in her body alight. She hated how easily he could unravel her, how quickly he’d turned their banter into something electric. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to stop him.

His hands slid down to her hips, gripping tightly as he pressed her harder against the wall. The roughness of his touch sent a shockwave of arousal through her, and she bit her lip to stifle a gasp.

“Get on your knees,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Her eyes widened, her stomach flipping at the intensity in his gaze. “What?”

“You heard me.” There was a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, smug and self-assured. “On. Your. Knees.”

For a moment, she hesitated, her mind racing. This wasn’t her. She didn’t do things like this. But then his hand tightened on her hip, and something inside her shattered.

Slowly, she sank to her knees, her skirt pooling around her thighs. The air between them felt charged, thick with tension as she stared up at him. He loomed above her, his blue-green eyes dark with hunger, and she felt impossibly small under his scrutiny.

“Good girl,” he purred, reaching down to brush a strand of hair from her face. The praise sent a shiver down her spine, and she hated how much it affected her. “Now, let’s see if that sharp mouth of yours is good for anything else.”

Lando’s fingers tightened in her hair, pulling just enough to make her gasp. His other hand traced the line of her jaw, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip as he gazed down at her with a smug smirk. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “All that fire earlier, and now you’re kneeling for me like the good little girl I knew you could be.”

Y/N’s chest heaved as she glared up at him, but the heat in her eyes was tinged with something else—something raw and undeniable. She hated how much his dominance thrilled her, how the way he looked at her made her pulse race. “I’m not—” she started, but he cut her off with a sharp tug on her hair.

“Oh, you are,” he interrupted, his tone laced with amusement. “You can pretend all you want, but we both know you love this. Love being under my control.” He tilted her head back further, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You’ve been thinking about it all day, haven’t you? Imagining what it would feel like to have me put you in your place.”

Her cheeks burned, but she couldn’t deny it. Every sarcastic remark, every heated glance—it had all been leading to this moment. And now, here she was, completely at his mercy.

Lando let go of her hair long enough to unbutton his pants, the sound of his zipper lowering sending a shiver down her spine. He pushed his boxers down just enough to free himself, and Y/N’s breath caught at the sight of him. Thick, already hard, and practically begging for her attention. He gripped himself, giving a slow stroke as he watched her reaction. “Go on,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Touch me. Feel what you’ve been driving me crazy over all day.”

Reluctantly, she reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed against him. The warmth of his skin, the hardness beneath her touch—it sent a jolt through her, and she quickly pulled her hand back. But Lando wasn’t having it. He grabbed her wrist, guiding her hand back to him. “Don’t be shy,” he teased, his smirk widening. “You wanted this as much as I did. Now show me how bad you want it.”

His grip on her wrist tightened, forcing her to wrap her fingers around him. He groaned softly as she hesitantly began to move her hand, her strokes tentative at first but growing bolder as she felt him twitch in response. “That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice rougher now. “Just like that.”

But Lando wasn’t content with just her hand. He released her wrist, only to thread his fingers through her hair again, guiding her closer. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. When she hesitated, he tugged sharply on her hair, making her wince. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

Swallowing hard, she obeyed, parting her lips as he brought himself to her mouth. He didn’t give her time to adjust, pressing forward until the tip of him brushed against her tongue. “Suck,” he commanded, his voice firm.

She took him into her mouth, the taste of him overwhelming her senses as he slid deeper. He groaned, his hips jerking forward as he pushed himself further, until she felt him hit the back of her throat. Her eyes watered, and she gagged slightly, but Lando’s grip on her hair kept her in place. “Oh, fuck,” he breathed, his voice strained. “You look so good like this, choking on my cock.”

He started to move, thrusting shallowly as she struggled to take him. Each time he pushed deeper, she gagged again, tears welling in her eyes. But instead of stopping, Lonly seemed to grow more turned on by her discomfort. “That’s it,” he growled, his hips picking up speed. “Take it like a good girl. You wanted to play games with me all day? Well, this is what you get.”

Her hands clung to his thighs for support as he continued to use her mouth, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared the edge. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he muttered, his breathing ragged. “Can’t believe how easily you folded for me. All that attitude, and now here you are, on your knees, gagging on my dick like the slut I always knew you were.”

His words should’ve made her angry, but instead, they only fueled the fire burning inside her. She moaned around him, the vibrations drawing a loud groan from his lips. “Shit, Y/N,” he hissed, his grip on her hair tightening almost painfully. “You’re going to make me come if you keep that up.”

He pulled back abruptly, leaving her gasping for air as he stroked himself furiously. “Beg for it,” he demanded, his voice dark and commanding. “Tell me how much you want me to finish in your pretty little mouth.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She was too overwhelmed, too lost in the haze of desire and humiliation to form a coherent thought. Lando’s smirk returned, and he gave her a knowing look. “Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his tone mocking. “You’ve already come this far. Don’t tell me you’re going to chicken out now.”

Something in his tone snapped her out of her daze, and she glared up at him, her defiance returning despite the situation. “Fuck you,” she spat, her voice hoarse.

But Lando only laughed, low and deep. “Oh, I think you’re the one getting fucked here,” he shot back, gripping her chin tightly. “Now stop being stubborn and beg. Or do I need to remind you who’s in charge?”

She hesitated, torn between her pride and the undeniable thrill of submitting to him. Finally, she gave in, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please, Lando. I want it.”

His grin widened, triumphant and utterly arrogant. “Louder,” he urged, his tone teasing. “Let me hear how much you need it.”

“Please,” she repeated, louder this time, her cheeks burning with shame. “I want you to come in my mouth. Please, Lando.”

His groan sent a bolt of heat straight through her, and he guided himself back to her lips. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. “Now swallow everything I give you.”

Her lips wrapped around him once more, the heat of his arousal filling her mouth as she took him deeper, her tongue working in slow, deliberate strokes. His hands gripped her hair tightly, guiding her movements with a firmness that left no room for hesitation. She could feel him throbbing against her tongue, his heavy breaths echoing above her as he watched her with those piercing blue-green eyes.

“That’s it,” Lando murmured, his voice low and commanding. “Take all of me. Show me how much you want this.”

“Look at you,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension and something darker, more possessive. “Kneeling there like you were made for it. Tell me, Y/N, did you think about this when you were writing all those biting remarks about me? Did you imagine me bending you to my will?”

She whimpered softly, the sound muffled by his length filling her mouth. Her pride was long gone, replaced by a strange mix of shame and desire that only fueled her actions. Her hands, which had been resting limply at her sides, moved almost instinctively to his hips, her fingers brushing against the taut muscles there. He smirked down at her, his confidence radiating like a forcefield.

“Go on,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Feel me. Isn’t this what you wanted? To see what I’m made of?”

Her fingers trembled as they trailed up his abdomen, feeling the hard ridges of his abs beneath his shirt. She hated how much she wanted to touch him, how badly she needed to prove to herself that he was just as flawless as he claimed to be. And he was—every inch of him was sculpted perfection, from the defined lines of his chest to the strength in his thighs. She bit back a moan as her hands explored him, her mouth still working him fervently.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his voice rough with need. “Take it all. Show me how much you want it.”

She obeyed, her tongue swirling around him, her lips pressing tightly as she worked him with a skill that surprised even herself. Lando’s head fell back, a moan slipping past his lips as he watched her with half-lidded eyes.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice strained. “You’re so fucking good at this. All that attitude, all that sass… and now this. Who would’ve thought?”

She couldn’t deny it, not with the way her body responded to him, not with the wet heat pooling between her own legs as she knelt before him. Her pride screamed at her to stop, to pull away and tell him exactly where he could shove his arrogance, but her body betrayed her. She wanted this—wanted him—more than she cared to admit.

The humiliation burned in her chest, but so did something else—something hotter, wilder. She sucked harder, her hands gripping his thighs for balance as she took him deeper, her throat relaxing around him. His groans grew louder, more desperate, and she felt a thrill of power knowing she was unraveling him just as much as he had undone her.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his hips thrusting shallowly into her mouth. “All that fight, all that bullshit… and look at you now. On your knees, swallowing me like a good girl.”

Her nails dug into his thighs, but she didn’t stop. If anything, she doubled down, her movements becoming frantic, hungry. She wanted to hear him lose control, wanted to feel him come undone because of her.

Lando chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying the power he held over her. “You’re so fucking easy,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “All it took was a little push, and here you are, on your knees for me. Tell me, darling—how does it feel to know I could have you anytime I want?”

Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t stop. Instead, she took him deeper, her throat relaxing as she swallowed him whole. His breath hitched, and his grip on her hair tightened, pulling her closer. “Fuck,” he breathed, his voice trembling for the first time since this began. “You’re good at this. Better than I expected.”

The praise sent a thrill through her, and she doubled her efforts, her tongue swirling around him as she sucked him harder, faster. His groans grew louder, more desperate, and she knew he was close. She could feel it in the way his body tensed, in the way his hips began to thrust ever so slightly into her mouth.

“Don’t stop,” he commanded, his voice rough with need. “Keep going. Fucking swallow it all when I come.”

She obeyed without hesitation, her moans vibrating against him as she felt him swell in her mouth. He cursed under his breath, and then he was spilling himself down her throat, his release hot and thick as she drank every drop. She didn’t dare pull away, not even when he shuddered violently above her, his hands tightening painfully in her hair.

When he finally stilled, she leaned back slightly, letting him slip from her lips. She opened her mouth, showing him the evidence of his release still coating her tongue. His eyes darkened with something primal, something hungry, and he let out a low, appreciative laugh.

“Good girl,” he purred, his thumb brushing against her bottom lip. “Didn’t think you had it in you, but you proved me wrong. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

She swallowed hard, her heart racing as she looked up at him. His expression was unreadable now, a mix of satisfaction and something else—something softer, almost tender. But then the moment passed, and the familiar cocky grin returned to his face.

“Bet you never thought you’d end up like this, huh?” he said, running a hand through his messy hair. “On your knees for some arrogant arsehole you claim to hate. Admit it—you like this. You like being my little plaything.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him he was wrong, but the words caught in her throat. Because deep down, she knew he was right. She hated him, yes, but there was no denying the thrill that coursed through her every time he looked at her like that, every time he touched her with that possessive roughness.

His smirk widened, as if he could read her thoughts. “See? I told you. You’re mine now, whether you like it or not.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back, her voice husky despite her best efforts. “This doesn’t change anything.”

Lando laughed, the sound rich and warm, and she hated how much she liked it. “Keep telling yourself that, love,” he said, his hand catching her chin and tilting her face to meet his gaze. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek, his touch unexpectedly gentle. “But we both know the truth—you’re mine now.”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was far gentler than she would have expected from him. It lasted only a moment, but it was enough to leave her reeling, her mind struggling to reconcile the man before her with the arrogant prick she thought she knew.

And then he pulled away, his grin returning as he offered her a hand to help her up. “Come on,” he said, his tone light now, almost playful. “Let’s get out of here before someone catches us.”

She hesitated, torn between pride and the undeniable pull he had on her. Finally, she slipped her hand into his, allowing him to help her up. With effortless ease, he draped an arm over her shoulders, drawing her closer as they strolled away. His warmth radiated through her, a quiet comfort she hadn’t expected.

Glancing down at her, his eyes sparkled with mischief. “You know,” he began, his tone light and teasing, “I might just keep you around. You’re too much fun to let go.”

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Norris. This doesn’t mean I like you.”

He laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Sure, darling. Keep telling yourself that. But we both know the truth.”

His fingers brushed against her cheek, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “And I can’t wait to prove it to you again.”

350 notes · View notes

incomplete-leclerc · 3 days ago

Text

　𝗔𝗙𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝟭 𝗚𝗥𝗜𝗗.　formula one · #f1

　　　the f1 grid drivers' favourite ways to show affection.

genres : fluff ... established relationships ... f1 grid x reader (lando norris, kimi antonelli, charles leclerc, carlos sainz, oscar piastri, ollie bearman included).　word count : 1.2k (around 200 per driver).　warnings : kissing in carlos' ... just cute fluff ... not proofread.　 note : these are finally done yay!! super happy to be posting this, and hopefully more headcanons otw soon.　　　( masterlist )　( taglist )

　𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗢 𝗡𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗜𝗦 · 𝗧𝗢𝗨𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗔𝗜𝗥

You love tousling Lando’s curls, taking any chance you can to mess up his hair. But he loves to do it in return and it eventually became your love language. Always calling each other funny names like idiot, muppet, moron, or dummy, but it all comes from a place of affection, and you’ve grown quite attached to the names.

Lando also loves trying to style your hair, whether it’s short or long, he figures he can do something with it. He can successfully do a ponytail, and you’ve tried to teach him braiding to… limited success. But what he does love is hair accessories (bows, clips, ribbons, headbands, anything he can get his hands on). But, of course, you turn the tables on him eventually and he ends up with pink hair clips all over his dark curls which look both adorable and silly. He might say he doesn’t like them, but deep down, he would let you have full reign over his hair again just to see the excited smile on your face and contagious giggles.

After tough races or when you’re both tired, playing with Lando’s hair makes him super drowsy, and he’ll often fall asleep on your lap. You let him doze off whenever he wants, but not before snapping a few cute pictures of him for future teasing.

　𝗞𝗜𝗠𝗜 𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗢𝗡𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗜 · 𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗦

Kimi needs to hold your hand whenever possible. Needs seems like an exaggeration, and indeed, Ollie ruthlessly teases him whenever it gets mentioned, but no other word quite describes it perfectly. Whenever there is an opportunity to clasp his hand with yours, he takes it.

When you get up to go out the door, his hand leads you outside. When you’re standing in line to get food, his thumb traces your knuckles. Before he gets into his car for a race, he gives your hand one last little squeeze for good luck. It became more than just a mere gesture over the years. It’s his habit now. Kimi holds your hand so often that it feels wrong when he doesn’t have the option.He loves the feeling of your soft skin, the fact that it keeps you two close but not too close. He can keep it on the downlow as well, hidden away from cameras, and it still works when he has his helmet on (which is where kisses fall short). It’s the perfect mix of romantic and subtle. When he needs comfort, he already has your touch, and when he feels extra affectionate, he can press a small kiss to the back of your hand. Hand holding is Kimi’s way to show affection.

　𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗟𝗘𝗦 𝗟𝗘𝗖𝗟𝗘𝗥𝗖 · 𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘

Charles loves your face. He loves to look at it, hold it, kiss it, see it scrunch up in annoyance or melt with a look of love because of him. And there’s something so gentle and careful in the way he cradles your jaw or brushes his thumb over your cheek. It has butterflies swarming to your stomach at the sight of his smile. You can tell he adores every feature of you, watching his green eyes study your face so lovingly, because it’s his favourite thing to look at. Sometimes Charles swears he could drown in your eyes because of how beautiful they are. I just can’t look away from you, mon ange.

He’ll press kisses to your forehead, or lead your face closer to his so he can give you a kiss on the lips. It is usually only during quiet intimate moments, after a long day, or during a romantic date, that you both get completely lost in each other’s eyes, finding some sense of calm by getting lost in the way he looks at you. There’s overflowing love in each look and gaze, and only the sweetest words would fall from his lips during these moments.

　𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗟𝗢𝗦 𝗦𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗭 · 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗦

Some would save romantic kisses on the lips for a special moment, but not Carlos. He will make up any excuse to kiss you every hour of the day. And he quite literally does. Every moment calls for a kiss from Carlos, whether it was a race win, waking up in the morning, before a meal, during his morning coffee— he really finds excuses at any time of the day.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the taste of your lips, and he really hopes he never does. Because that would be tragic as far as he’s concerned.

There have been multiple times when he showed up to work with lipstick smudged on the side of his lips that he never noticed (he likes to interrupt you when you do your makeup). You rarely tell him when it happens because you think it’s funnier to send him off oblivious.

He likes all the romantic moments between you two, but especially when he gets lost in a kiss, holding you gently in his arms, sometimes swaying back and forth. The laughter in between kisses and touches that speak a million silent words. Those are the moments that Carlos adores and thinks back to often whenever he daydreams.

　𝗢𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗥 𝗣𝗜𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗜 · 𝗙𝗢𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗦

Oscar shows his affection in the way his eyes are always on you; in the way he is always listening to whatever you have to say like it’s the most important thing, even if it was a silly comment that didn’t matter; in the way there is always a smile playing on his lips as he watches you do anything.

His attentiveness speaks for itself. Perhaps he isn’t the most overly romantic person. He likes things to be simple. But you could never doubt how much he cares, because it’s clear every single day.He really doesn’t think he’s that obvious with how much he is endeared by you, but practically everyone else can tell by how much Oscar stares. If you follow his line of sight, it’ll almost always lead to you, and even you tease him about this. Not like anything would stop him, though. He’s just too fond of you, and you love the genuine smiles that can always be found plastered on his face. People say Oscar doesn’t show much emotion, but with you, he can’t help but let the happiness and affection that he feels show on his face.

　𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗡 · 𝗛𝗨𝗚𝗦

Fitting to his name, Ollie likes to give you bear hugs at least once a day. After winning a race, he’ll come running and scoop you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet at times. Hugs that sway back and forth and knock the breath out of you— those are the kinds he adores.

Although he’s very good at being gentle, his excitement manifests itself into his hold on you, and he sometimes forgets exactly how strong he is. But you love how he gets swept away with the emotions of it and though you might shriek in shock at times, you trust Ollie with your life. He would never drop you.

On a calmer day with less adrenaline, he likes back hugs, following you around the house attached like a koala. He’s quite clingy, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. His schedule forces him away from you often enough that you savour the moments you get with him to just be close and romantic. The regularity of you missing him only feeds your affection whenever you are together, and over time, the feeling of being in Ollie’s arms becomes more familiar than home to you.

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jjsloverre · 2 days ago

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jj letting you touch him soft

in which�� you and jj start having your daily cuddling talks and you ask jj if you can touch him while he’s soft…

warnings: smut, oral (m!receiving) p in v (wrap it) creampie, fluff, switch!jj

___________________________________________________________

it wasn’t an unusual thing for you and jj to talk sexually, he always told you about his hookups, and vice versa. (even though the only person he talks about that he hooked up with was you)

“y’know there’s one thing i’ve always wanted to do?” you ask jj softly, your voice barley audible. he looks down at you, cuddling you closer. “what’s up?”

“i wanna touch your dick while it’s soft, that’s it”

“oh.. uh what made you wanna do that?”

“i dunno, im sorry”

“nah ima let you, cmon you got it”

you carefully pulled his sweatpants down. and of course, he wasn’t wearing underwear. you look at his soft dick, you instantly shoot your hand out to touch it, wrap your tiny fingers around it and stroke his soft member.

“if you wanted to give me a handjob, coulda just asked… i never say no to you” the blonde boy said with a breathy moan. “no i wanna suck” you got between his legs and let his soft dick disappear in your mouth. jj quickly got hard.

“fuck mama, keep goin… just like that baby cmon, you can take it.” jj started to roughly fuck your face. he went faster and faster until he exploded down your throat with a loud moan. “lay down, you’re getting fucked.”

“i missed fuckin’ this pretty pussy…” without a warning, jj went balls deep inside you, unable to hold back any longer. he was rough fucking you for the first time, and damn did it feel good. “you squeezin’ me so tight… that pretty pussy don’t ever want me to leave huh?”

you were so drunk from his dick the only thing you could do is babble your moans. he laughed and went as deep as he could inside you, hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. you screamed in utter pleasure, you weren’t sure if you could take his rough fucking anymore. you push him back as best as you could. “nuh uh, you takin this shit mama, you gon take every inch i fuckin’ give you..” with that, he rubs tight circles on your clit, making you cum on the spot, a white ring covered his dick when he pulled out.

“fuck im puttin my dick back in..” he smashed his dick back inside you, pounding into you like there was no tomorrow. he went so deep inside you, even your eyes were rolling in the back of your head. after what felt like eternity, jj busted his load deep inside your womb. his eyes rolling back as his intense orgasm crashed over him.

“cmere, touch lil man now” he smiles as he guides your tiny shaken hands to his softening dick. “how it feel?” you squeeze him a bit, he moans in response. “i like it when you’re soft, it’s cute.”

“be happy then cause this isn’t an everyday thing.”

“yes it is and you know it, tomorrow i’m gonna touch your soft tiny dick tomorrow watch me.”

___________________________________________________________

-a/n: i feel this is a little short but i’ll have something up longer in a few days!

taglist: @sturniologirlzz @sturns-mermaid @aaliyahsturniolo @ethanthequeefqueen @sophand4n4

more bsf!jj x sweetheart!reader here

feel free to request anything!”

#obx jj #jj fluff #jj maybank fic #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #outerbanks jj #jj maybank #obx #outerbanks

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redshiftsinger · 16 hours ago

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Celebrities are human beings with weird jobs.

Like any group of human beings, the demographic "celebrities" contains both good people and assholes. Which can be further broken down into "good people whose good-person-ness is easy to see", "cranky/blunt but with a heart of gold under the rough exterior", "people who are mostly good-intentioned but often kinda fucking clueless", "people who are kind of assholes sometimes but not in any really serious ways, just like, interpersonally rude", "people who deliberately exploit others for personal gain", and "psychopaths who manage to convincingly pretend to be good people for years or even decades before the general public finds out they're actually psychopaths". And a bunch more shades of nuance.

Every single celebrity is just One Person and every individual person's actions are the actions of that one person, not of the demographic they belong to. Gaiman's actions are his own responsibility, not anyone else's unless they willfully, knowingly enabled. And he had a lot of people fooled for a very long time. Just because someone worked with him in the past doesn't mean they knew and kept it quiet. Abusers very often don't let most of the people they interact with day to day know about the abuse they engage in. It's kept quiet, it's hidden behind lies and omissions and the pretense of being A Good Person Who Would Never. Because they know it's wrong and unacceptable and that being caught at it would suck for them.

Remember that you don't (or might not) really know celebrities you're a fan of, you only see the face they show to the public. How much that's like the person they are in private varies wildly -- and having a public persona that's kept very separate from their personal life doesn't necessarily mean they're a bad person, it might just mean they like their privacy. Like, I don't know Dolly Parton but I would assume she's probably genuinely a good person. And also, I know I probably wouldn't even be able to recognize her if I saw her out of her Public Persona, because she goes to greater lengths than most celebrities to preserve her ability to move through public spaces unrecognized when she wants to, and her Persona includes a whole look, not just behavior and mannerisms. Some pretend to be very open about their personal life while actually most of what they show is a facade. Some are very reclusive and preserve their privacy by simply not appearing in public. And some are actually relatively open books. It's just another area in which the entire spectrum of human preference and choice can be represented. But anyway, odds are, you don't know them just because you've watched every interview they've ever done and met them at fan events a few times. Those are Public Persona settings.

And even if you do know them, even if they're actually very open-book types, they still don't know you and aren't your friend, no matter how you feel about them. And it's always healthy to keep perspective on that. Parasocial relationships aren't inherently bad, but they can become a problem for your mental health if you pin too much onto them. They're not meant to be load-bearing the way actual friendships are.

also. re: neil gaiman. for all the people wondering, "what if the celebrity I like turns out to be like him?" I just want to say a few more things-

now is a good time to evaluate your relationships with celebrities or internet personalities. this is just like, a healthy thing to do in general; I do it on a regular basis when considering the celebrities whose work I like. take a minute to think about how you feel about those people, and ask yourself how personal your attachment is to them. if you feel attached to them as you would a friend, family member, or partner, you may need to confront that.

if a celebrity you like turns out to have done something reprehensible, that doesn't make you a bad person for liking them in the past. you likely didn't know. if you loved neil gaiman's writing, and even if you still do, you don't have to feel guilty about it. however, you may want to reevaluate continuing to support them financially.

I deliberately said "celebrities whose work I like" earlier, because that's an important distinction to make- a celebrity's work is just their job. you can admire their work, and it can be very important to you, but at the end of the day, they are not their work. people will talk about "separating the art from the artist" when someone does something awful like gaiman, but I think this might even apply to celebrities you admire. for instance, I'm a big fan of tom waits' music. he has a very entertaining stage persona and is an extremely talented artist. as far as I'm aware, tom waits hasn't had any major controversies. but even so, it's important for me to remember that I adore tom waits' artistry, not tom waits himself. I do not want to become personally attached to someone I do not know.

just because neil gaiman did something awful, or because any number of celebrities did something awful, doesn't mean that you should be automatically suspicious of the ones that don't have allegations against them. it does mean that you should be wary of how you should attach to them, but it doesn't do to be paranoid about, for example, david tennant, because you were wounded by neil gaiman's actions. it does mean that you shouldn't form a parasocial attachment to david tennant (or anyone else), but it doesn't mean that he's also secretly an abuser, too.

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pandapetals · 2 days ago

Text

Faking It

During sex, you fake an orgasm causing Logan to spiral. Once he confronts you about it, he wants to prove he can make you feel good without faking it.

logan howlett x fem!reader - established relationship, no reader description, no y/n used, faking an orgasm, self-loathing logan, slight angst, imagined worst logan but this gives dofp!logan too, vibes, smut, feral logan, p in v sex, oral, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie

a/n: idea from @yxtkiwiyxt - it ate away at my brain and being on my period really caused this to be born

divider credit: @enchanthings

Logan could feel everything. Every shift in your body, every flicker in your expression, every whispered contradiction between what you said and felt. He didn’t just sense when you lied—he absorbed it, like static in the air before a storm.

Now, with your body beneath his, every nerve in him was attuned to you. The heat of your skin pressed against his, the rhythmic creak of the mattress, the broken gasps you offered him—it was intoxicating. Yet it wasn’t enough. Something was off.

The faint furrow of your brow was his first clue. At first, he thought it was pleasure, that delicious kind of tension that came right before you unraveled. But then he felt the subtle stiffness in your thighs, the shallow way you breathed, and a flicker of doubt crackled through his chest. The feral part of him that craved, that demanded—urged him forward, driving him to thrust harder, deeper, desperate to coax something real out of you. He growled low in your ear, his voice rough with need.

“C’mon, pretty girl… make a mess for me,” he rasped, his teeth grazing the delicate line of your jaw.

You whimpered, but it wasn’t the sound he was chasing. And when the moan came—high-pitched, trembling, but hollow—it hit him like a cold slap to the face. It wasn’t real. He knew it wasn’t real.

His hands tightened on your hips as frustration swirled with something darker, something that felt too close to shame. His feral side snarled inside him, demanding he keep going, demanding release, and for one selfish, fleeting moment, he gave in. He pushed through, riding the edge until he spilled into you with a broken groan, collapsing onto the bed beside you as his chest heaved.

The room felt too quiet after, too still. Your fingers trailed idly over his chest, your touch soft and featherlight, but Logan’s body felt stiff beneath your hand. He turned his head, searching your face in the dim light, and when you offered a lazy smile, it was like glass shattering in his chest.

“I make you feel good, gorgeous?” he asked, his voice low and soft, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe he didn’t want to hear the answer.

“Uh-huh,” you murmured, snuggling closer to him like it was nothing. Like the lie wasn’t still hanging heavy in the air between you.

Logan wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t oblivious. That tiny, fake little moan echoed in his ears, replaying like a bad song on repeat. And it hurt. God, it hurt. He’d been in your bed, in your body, but not once had he felt like he was truly with you. Not tonight.

Still, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there as his thoughts churned. He held you close, feeling your breathing slow as sleep crept in, and though his arms tightened around you protectively, his mind refused to rest.

Why had you faked it? Was it him? Something he’d done—or something he hadn’t done? Did you not trust him enough to tell him? The questions coiled in his gut, twisting and knotting until frustration and hurt blurred together in a haze of anger. And yet, despite the heat crawling under his skin, he couldn’t bring himself to wake you. Not now.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Logan didn’t let things go easily—especially not when it came to you.

But figuring out how to bring it up? That wasn’t his strong suit. For a whole day, he sat on it, the frustration gnawing at him like a splinter buried too deep to pull out. He replayed every moment in his head: the way your body tensed, the way your fake moan had grated against his ears, the way you had smiled afterward like nothing had happened. By the time the sun had begun to set again, the weight of it had him wound so tight it felt like a rubber band about to snap. And, unfortunately for Wade, Logan’s rubber band tended to snap loudly.

The bar was dimly lit, its usual haze of stale beer and cigarette smoke clinging to the air. Logan sat nursing a whiskey he’d barely touched, his mood written all over his face. Wade, of course, was oblivious—or maybe just ignoring it. He leaned on the counter beside Logan, rambling on about some escapade Logan hadn’t bothered to keep track of. His jaw clenched tighter with every passing second until Wade finally poked the wrong bear.

“You’ve been pissy all day,” Wade said, squinting at Logan like he was examining a strange animal. “Let me guess, you finally found someone who doesn’t think your claws are sexy? Or—oh, wait—” Wade’s face lit up with a spark of mischief. “You’re telling me you couldn’t make your girlfriend orgasm?”

Logan stiffened.

“Oh, peanut,” Wade gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like he was genuinely heartbroken. “Say it ain’t so! The big bad Wolverine, all growls and muscles, and—nothing? Nada? No fireworks?”

Logan’s hand slammed down on the bar, the sound sharp enough to make a few heads turn. He rounded on Wade, eyes blazing, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about, so maybe shut your damn mouth before I shut it for you.”

Wade blinked, and there was a beat of silence—a rare occurrence for him. But it lasted all of two seconds before his lips quirked into a grin. “Ohhhh, I hit a nerve, didn’t I? Don’t worry, champ, it happens to the best of us. Well, not to me, obviously, but—”

“Wade.” Logan’s tone cut through the air like a blade. The room seemed to drop a few degrees as Logan pushed himself up from the barstool, his knuckles white against the edge of the counter. Wade threw up his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright! Geez, no need to go full Wolverine on me.” Wade stepped back, but not without muttering under his breath, “Touchy subject, huh?”

Logan ignored him. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the bar, his mind racing. Wade might be an idiot, but even idiots could land a hit when they weren’t aiming. The truth was, the jab had struck too close to home. He didn’t care about the idea of failure, not really—not when it came to anyone else. But with you? It felt like a crack in something he hadn’t even realized was fragile.

When Logan got back to your shared space, you were curled up on the couch, your feet tucked under you as you watched TV. The sight of you—so calm, so untouched by the storm that had been raging inside him all day—made something snap loose in his chest. He couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Can we talk?” His voice was gruff, but quieter than you expected, almost hesitant.

You glanced up, surprised. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, pacing a little before settling on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Last night,” he started, his voice strained. “Somethin’ was off. I know it. You know it. And I can’t stop thinkin’ about it.”

Your stomach twisted, guilt pooling in your chest. “Logan, I—”

“You faked it,” he said bluntly, cutting to the heart of it. His eyes finally lifted to meet yours, and the vulnerability there nearly knocked the wind out of you. “Why?”

The word hung in the air between you.

You swallowed hard, turning the TV off and shifting in your seat. “It wasn’t you,” you said quickly, wanting to get that part out first. “I mean, it wasn’t because of you. It’s… me.”

His brow furrowed, and he leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest as he studied you. “What does that mean?”

You took a deep breath, your hands twisting in your lap. “I’ve been in my head lately,” you admitted. “I’ve been… struggling. With work, with stress, with feeling like I’m enough. And I guess last night, I just—” You hesitated, looking away. “I didn’t want you to feel like you weren’t enough. So I faked it.”

Logan stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled a low sound that was more frustration with himself than anything else. “Darlin’,” he said, his voice softer now. “You don’t have to fake anything with me. Ever.”

“I know,” you whispered, your throat tight. “I just… I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” Logan’s voice sharpened, and he leaned forward again, his hands reaching out to take yours. “You think that’s what this is about? I don’t care about some… performance. I care about you. And if somethin’s wrong, I wanna know. I wanna fix it, not pretend it doesn’t exist.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you gave a small nod. “I’m sorry,” you murmured.

He shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. Just… tell me when something’s wrong, okay?” His thumbs brushed over your knuckles, his voice softening again.

You managed a small smile, squeezing his hands. “Okay.”

Logan’s lips brushed your forehead before he pulled you into his arms. His touch was warm, and grounding, but there was something beneath it—something deliberate. His hands settled on your hips like he was afraid you might pull away.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “let me make you feel good.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “Logan, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine—”

He cut you off with a shake of his head, his thumb brushing over the curve of your waist. “No, you’re not,” he said plainly, his tone gruff but tender. His eyes met yours, intense and unwavering, and his lips quirked into a faint smirk. “You’re stressed. I can see it. I can feel it.”

Your breath hitched as his hands slid down your arms, calloused fingertips trailing a path that sent shivers racing across your skin. “Let me take care of you,” he said, his voice softer now, more coaxing.

And honestly? There was no denying it. The idea of Logan worshipping your body—of losing yourself in the way he always seemed to know exactly what you needed—was too tempting to resist. You swallowed hard, your lips parting slightly as his gaze dropped to your mouth.

“I mean…” You tried to keep your voice steady, but it wavered as his hands slid lower, settling on the backs of your thighs. “If you insist…”

Logan let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Oh, I insist,” he drawled, his grip tightening just enough to make your stomach flip. Before you could process the thought, he was lifting you with ease, his strength as effortless as it was intoxicating.

The world tilted as he carried you to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He laid you down with a kind of reverence that made your chest ache, his broad frame hovering over you. His lips found the delicate curve of your neck, and your breath hitched as he kissed his way down, the scrape of his stubble sending sparks skittering across your skin.

By the time his hands found the waistband of your underwear, you were already melting under his touch. He peeled them off slowly, his eyes darkening as they roamed your bare skin. “You’re so damn beautiful,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice thick with desire.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words dissolved into a soft gasp as his lips trailed lower, his mouth hot and insistent against your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, grounding you as he shifted lower, and the anticipation coiled in your stomach like a live wire.

“Logan,” you whispered, his name slipping from your lips like a plea.

He glanced up at you, his smirk returning as he settled between your thighs. “Relax, darlin’,” he murmured, his hands spreading your legs with deliberate care. “Let me take my time with you.”

The first press of his mouth was soft and exploratory, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Logan was nothing if not thorough, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes that left you breathless. He watched your every reaction, the flicker of his eyes on you making it clear he was entirely in control—but completely devoted to you.

Your hands tangled in his hair as the tension inside you built, his name falling from your lips in broken whispers. He hummed against you, the vibrations making you arch into him, and he responded by gripping your hips tighter, holding you in place as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

And when you finally came undone, shuddering and gasping beneath him, Logan didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice trembling as your body shook with aftershocks.

“Not done with you yet, pretty girl,” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly. His lips curved into a wicked grin, and before you could catch your breath, he dipped his head again, his mouth finding you with renewed purpose.

Time blurred after that, the world narrowing to the feel of him, the sound of him, the way he seemed utterly consumed by the act of worshipping every inch of you. By the time he finally let you catch your breath, your body was boneless, your mind a haze of blissful exhaustion.

Logan crawled up the bed, his lips brushing over your temple as he pulled you into his arms. His hands, still warm and steady, skimmed over your back, grounding you in the aftermath of it all.

“Better?” he asked, his voice soft now, full of quiet satisfaction.

You let out a shaky laugh, burying your face in his chest. “You could say that,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin.

Logan chuckled softly as he kissed the top of your head. His hand rested against the small of your back, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Good,” he murmured, his tone laced with smug satisfaction but dripping with affection. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

You nodded weakly, still catching your breath, your body feeling boneless in the aftermath of his touch. Every nerve was still humming, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself. But then you felt it—a shift in the air, a change in the weight of the bed as Logan leaned forward.

Your eyes fluttered open just in time to see the smirk tugging at his lips, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. He hovered above you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his body.

His lips brushed over yours in a soft kiss making your heart stutter. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely above a whimper.

“I know,” he replied, his breath warm against your lips. “But I’m not done with you yet.” His voice was a low growl, rough edges softened by something tender and utterly consuming. “I just want to make you feel so good.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your head sinking back into the pillows. “You did, Logan. I promise—”

He cut you off with a smirk, the curve of his lips playful and dangerous. “Okay, then,” he drawled, his tone dropping to something darker, something that sent a shiver down your spine. “If you’re good, I want to hear you whimper my name.”

Before you could protest—or agree—his hand slid down your body, his touch slow and deliberate. His calloused fingertips brushed over your stomach, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, before they dipped lower, tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

Your breath hitched, your body instinctively arching toward him as his hand moved closer, teasing and torturously slow. Logan’s gaze never left yours, and the intensity in his eyes made your pulse race.

“Logan…” you moaned softly, his name slipping from your lips like a reflex as his fingers finally slid between your thighs.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble of satisfaction. His touch was firm but unhurried, exploring you with a focus that made your head spin. His thumb moved in a way that had your legs trembling, and when his fingers pressed exactly where you needed them, your back arched off the mattress, a gasp spilling from your lips.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself, as if he couldn’t quite believe the way you were unraveling beneath him. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, the tension coiling tighter with every stroke.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak—all you could do was feel. Logan was relentless, his lips brushing against your neck, your collarbone, and your shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses that made your skin tingle. He alternated between soft and demanding, his touch a perfect balance of control and devotion.

“Logan,” you whimpered again, your voice breaking on the syllable as the pressure built impossibly high, teetering on the edge of something devastatingly good.

“There it is,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire, his lips ghosting over your ear. “That’s my girl.”

The words sent a jolt of heat straight through you, and with one more perfectly placed movement of his hand, you shattered. Your body arched into him as pleasure crashed over you, wave after wave, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

Logan didn’t stop right away—he worked you through it, his hands steady, his lips murmuring quiet praises against your skin as you rode out the high. By the time the tremors subsided, you were trembling, your body utterly spent.

He finally pulled his hand away, his touch leaving a trail of warmth in its absence. Logan leaned down, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss.

“Still with me, darlin’?” he asked, his voice soft, his smirk replaced with something gentler as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You managed a weak nod, your body still buzzing, and Logan chuckled, the sound warm and rumbling.

“Good,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms. His hand slid up your back, holding you close as your head rested against his chest. “Because I think you’ve got one more in you.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your cheeks flushing.

“What?” Logan murmured, his smirk teasing and wicked as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. His breath was warm against your skin, and the way his lips lingered made your stomach twist with anticipation. “Told you, I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could reply, his hands began their slow descent, tracing the curves of your body with deliberate care. His palms were warm and rough, gliding over your hips and your thighs. Every touch felt like a promise he had no intention of breaking.

“Logan…” you started, but your words dissolved into a shaky exhale as his fingers found the sensitive spot just above your knee, kneading gently before sliding higher.

He shifted above you, his movements unhurried, his gaze dark and hungry as he took in the sight of you sprawled beneath him. “You can take it,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You watched as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants, the fabric slipping down his hips in one fluid motion. The sight of him, the sheer confidence in how he moved, made your breath catch. He tossed the pants aside without a second thought, his smirk deepening as he leaned back over you, his body heat radiating against your skin.

“Give me one more,” he murmured, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear. His tone was soft but commanding, his words rolling over you like a wave, pulling you under.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, though it was breathless, tinged with disbelief at his sheer audacity. “I thought this was supposed to be about me feeling good,” you teased, your voice light, though your heart was pounding.

Logan’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin, but his eyes burned with intent. “Oh, it is,” he drawled, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling you flush against him. “But I’m pretty damn sure you’ll feel real good giving me what I want.”

The heat in his gaze sent a fresh rush of anticipation coursing through you, and you felt your teasing resolve falter. His fingers trailed over your skin, mapping every inch of you as if he were committing it to memory. When he shifted lower, pressing his lips to your collarbone, then to the soft curve of your breast, his mouth was hot and insistent, each kiss drawing soft gasps from your lips.

You barely had time to process the way his teeth grazed over your skin, sending sparks skittering down your spine, before his hips pressed against yours, his body slotting against yours perfectly. His movements were slow at first like he was savoring every reaction he pulled from you.

Then Logan whispered, husky and dripping with that dark, primal edge, “I want you to feel it everywhere, darlin’—every inch, every second. No faking this time.”

Your breath hitched, the intensity in his voice making your head spin, your body arching into him in a silent plea. Logan’s lips curved into a knowing smirk against your skin. His hands were everywhere—gripping, teasing, worshiping—making it impossible to think, let alone resist the pull of him.

As his mouth found yours, the kiss was all-consuming with the addictive mix of dominance and tenderness only Logan could manage. You clung to him, your hands sliding over the planes of his back, your nails digging in just enough to make him groan against your lips.

“You feelin’ good yet?” he teased, his voice low and rough, thick with need. His lips hovered over yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath, but not quite touching, a maddening taunt that sent a fresh wave of anticipation rolling through you.

Your fingers curled against his shoulders, desperate to ground yourself as his pace shifted. He moved deeper, his hips rolling in a way that made your back arch off the bed, a gasp tumbling from your lips before you could stop it. The deliberate rhythm he’d kept moments ago began to unravel, his movements growing more intense, more insistent.

“Logan,” you whimpered, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, shaky and breathless.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he growled, his voice rumbling in his chest like a distant storm. His lips brushed over your jawline, leaving a trail of heat as they trailed down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. When his teeth grazed your skin, a soft cry escaped you, your body tightening beneath him.

He groaned low, the sound vibrating against your neck, as your nails dug deeper into the muscles of his back. “So good for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with praise.

Your response came in broken gasps and soft whimpers, your head falling back as the sensations overwhelmed you. Each thrust was deliberate, calculated, but they grew harder, deeper, until your body melted into the mattress, pliant and trembling under him.

The tension in your stomach coiled tighter, white-hot, and electric until it felt like you might come undone. You couldn’t think, speak—could barely even hold on—your body responding to him instinctively, as though it were made just for this.

“Look at me,” Logan rasped, his voice pulling you back to him. Your eyes fluttered open, dazed, to find his gaze locked on yours, burning and unrelenting. “That’s it, pretty girl. I want to see you.”

His hips pressed into you again, hitting the spot so devastating that your eyes rolled back and a broken cry escaped your lips. You clung to him, your body trembling as pleasure surged through you, raw and overwhelming. His name spilled from your mouth in a whisper, soft and reverent, and it only seemed to spur him on.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his voice rough and frayed, his movements driving you higher and higher. “Just like that.”

When you finally broke, the world seemed to splinter apart, the sensation crashing over you in waves so intense you could hardly breathe. Your body arched into his, your thighs shaking as your release consumed you, dragging you under.

Logan slowed, his touch gentler now as you trembled in his arms. He pressed soft kisses to your neck, shoulder, and temple, breathing heavily and unevenly against your skin.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now, warm and teasing as his lips ghosted over yours.

You managed a weak nod, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks, and he chuckled, his breath tickling your cheek.

“That’s my girl,” he said, his tone low and full of quiet pride. He tucked you closer against him, his arms wrapping around you protectively, and you let yourself melt into his warmth, utterly spent but completely safe in his embrace.

#logan howlett #wolverine #x men logan #x men wolverine #james logan howlett #logan howlett x you #logan x reader #hugh jackman #marvel #logan howlett fic #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fanfiction #logan wolverine #the wolverine #logan james howlett #james howlett #logan howlet smut #logan smut #logan xmen

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syluriar · 2 days ago

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drying hair - sylus x mc reader

sypnosis: literally just sylus drying your hair because he's whipped for you.

a/n: just had this cute thought of sylus drying your hair because for me personally i'm not a fan of it, and that's just one of the reasons why sylus would do it for you, other than that he loves the hell out of you. also not proud how i eneded this, writing has been a bitch latley because my brain won't work with me :( also no grammer check because i'm TIRED.

contains: mc!reader. sylus teasing you but you tease him back. call back to grassland romance. you thinking on your feelings for sylus. just bascially fluff.

word count: 1366

“Can I dry your hair, sweetie?”

It was a simple question, but it made you freeze and look at Sylus, who was towering above you from your seasted position at your desk, hair dryer in hand and ready to go.

Curiosity filled you at his offer, and other times you would have followed it, bothering Sylus until he either revealed why or you would do your own investigation.

But your arms were already aching from the towel drying, and you really did want to relax today after a grueling day fighting Wanders and filling reports. You had planned the rest of the day for ultimate relaxation and the only thing that would make it worse was drying your hair, a process you had to admit was not enjoyable for you.

So if you can get out of it, why not?

“Ok,” You give him a nod. “Sure.”

And Sylus looked…absolutely delighted. His eyes shined and his smile was pure and you pondered why he’s reacting that way to do something for you, then again could you really be surprised? He’s made it known that he is at your beck and call, anything you want he’ll get you. You’re positive that if you asked him that you wanted a specific food item that can only be obtained within it’s country, Sylus would get it for you the next day.

Those gestures still made you nervous as you weren’t used to such things, but at least now you graciously accept them instead of telling him off and refusing his gifts. Now it was cheeks burning and heart pounding, and your still quite puzzled on how your feelings for him have changed.

You forget about the hair dryer until it’s turned on in his hands, the buzzing pulls you our of your thoughts and focuses on the man now behind you. His free hand threads through your damp hair, fingernails just grazing your skull and you hold back a shiver of delight at the touch.

“Hold still now, kitten.”

The warm air hits you like a gentle breeze as Sylus starts the task, his fingers gentle as they part your hair to reach every part, the dryer not staying in one place too long to avoid a burning sensation on your skull.

With your hands empty, your fingers fidget together, unsure of what to do. You have the twitch you squirm which you fight against, so you keep your eyes down, focusing on the flower pattern on your silk nightgown, another gift from Sylus.

You hear a chuckle lined with amusement that spreads embarrassment through your body. “Head up, sweetie.”

You can imagine the look on his face, that teasing smirk with creased corners at his eyes that holds mirth. You swallow and push back your fluster as you raise your head, your eyes promptly looking back into the mirror and ranking over the state of your hair, only to catch his own staring back at you.

They’re enchanting, like ruby gems that only shine for you. Flowers dead in a field that will only bloom in your presence, something poisonous that is only sweet on your tongue. The way he looks at you was as if you were the only thing that existed in the universe, the way they radiate and all the emotions they hold just for you is…exhilarating.

A silent gasp leaves your lips when you notice how long you’ve been staring at Sylus through the mirror, and how he’s been staring back. His hand slides from your hair to your bare shoulder, his touch sending a shock of electricity through your body.

“You’ve been staring for a while, kitten. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

You push the comment, trying not to let him get under your skin. “Just making sure you know what your doing. Messing with my hair isn’t something you should do.”

“Oh?” He’s teasing again, that damn smirk back on his lips. His eyes leave yours as he threads his fingers through your hair again. “I assure you, sweetie, that I would never mess with your hair, or don’t you remember what I said back in the Grasslands?”

“I like your hair.”

Of course you remember that, you remember everything that happened when the two of you were transported to another place, either back in time or another universe, your still not quite sure, but you were thankful for it nonetheless. It was a turning point for your relationship with Sylus, where you allowed the two of you to go closer and accepted that your feelings towards him were growing.

“...I remember.” Your cheeks burning as you admit it - remember it. His fingers grazed through your hair like he’s doing now. “I also remember you saying that you would work on your braiding skills.”

He hums, which isn’t as off-key as his singing, thankfully. “But to do that I would need a lot of time practicing on your hair to honor my skills.” He looks back at you through the mirror, catching your still eyes. “Would you give me your permission, kitten?”

You imagine it, days of Sylus’ fingers combing through your hair as he braids the threads, tutorials playing as he watches intensely, pins and all sorts on your desk to hold his work in place. You imagine yourself, helping him through it all, teasing him when he’s stuck and cheering him up if something goes wrong.

It feels nice, domestic even.

You can’t help but smile at it, your stomach filled with butterflies at the thought of doing such things with Sylus.

“I would.”

He gives a huff of amusement, but the smile on his lips is pure and real. Perhaps he’s been thinking of such things with you, and it makes you feel giddy.

He goes back to drying your hair and you close your eyes, finally relaxing. You allow yourself to sink into his touch as his fingers comb through your hair, enjoying how gentle and peaceful it makes you feel.

“All done.” Sylus clicks off the dryer and you open your eyes to look at yourself in the mirror, ranking over the state of your now dried hair

You hum. “Not bad for your first time.”

“I’ll take that,” He chuckles. “Though like I said before, I would need to practice more on you to get it right.”

“You have permission for that as well.”

“Good.”

His fingers are back in your hair and your amazed how at ease it makes you feel, giving him permission to touch your hair more might be better for yourself rather than him.

Though you wonder…

You turn and look at him, redness on your cheeks as you retort. “As long as I can do the same to your hair.”

He looks surprised by your words and it makes you feel smug as you don’t get that reaction often. But he finally smiles and cups your cheeks, bringing your face so close to his that his nose brushes against yours. “You can do that and more to me, sweetie. I’ll never say no to you.”

Now your sure your a blushing mess, if not by your burning cheeks, then certainly by your pulsing heart that your positive Sylus hears.

God, how does this man make you feel this way so easily?

To hide it all you tease him back. “That’s a pretty big statement to say Sylus. Never say no to me? I wonder how far I can go with that.”

“I look forward to finding out, kitten.” He replies before leaning back, but not before booping your nose. “Now it’s time for bed. I remember a certain someone saying they were going to sleep early to improve their health.”

You don’t even get up from the chair as Sylus has you in his arms in seconds, a squeal of surprise leaving your lips as he carries you to the bed, laying you down gently and settling down beside you..

“Rest now.” His arms wrap around your waist, holding you to his chest as you cuddle under the silk sheets. “We have fun days ahead of us, so make sure not to be tired once they come.”

#mine #love and deepspace #my writing #sylus #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #sylus needs more fluff fanfics

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igorluvr · 3 days ago

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Can you do some with nam gyu?

‘ HERE WITH ME

PAIRING: nam-gyu x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: when you enter the Squid Games, you encounter a particular group of people, and to your surprise, one of them takes a special liking to you.

CONTENT: heavyyyy fluff, he’s a big softie for u, reader replaces gyeong su oops, love at first sight aww, shy!reader, both fall in love too fast

AUTHORS NOTE: first fic !! i didn’t know what to write abt so i came up with my own plot i hope u enjoyyy !!

word count: [1k]

AFTER the first game, you lost all motivation to keep going. Hours felt like days, eating felt like a chore, and you felt horrible for leaving your little sister alone in the world. You told her it would be just a couple days, that “big sis would be back soon,” but now you knew that you might never reunite—at least not in this lifetime.

Everything felt disgusting. You ran to the bathroom and cried for what felt like hours, feeling like vomiting as you scrubbed the blood and guts off your skin, washing so hard you swore some of the blood was yours. The walk back to your room felt like a death sentence as the smell of bodies grew stronger.

Sitting on your bed, you stared into space, trying to distract your mind from all the carnage. It felt as if the world outside was dead silent, with nothing happening beyond your little bubble. Hunger stabbed at your stomach as everyone else lay asleep. Using the dark, quiet room as an escape, you imagined floating in space, where nothing could hurt you, finally alone with your thoughts and soul.

That peace was abruptly shattered when the lights suddenly blared on, like a siren reminding you of where you were. “Damn,” you thought, “I stayed up the whole night?” The pink-suited guards lined everyone up and loaded them into the colorful hallway, leading to the next game. You weren’t sure if it was due to hunger, lack of sleep, or pure terror, but you felt weak as you walked up the steps, each stomp taking a toll on your body.

You heard from the previous winner that you would be playing dalgona, but when you entered the next room, you were met with two circular rainbows and six lanes. The announcer instructed everyone to form groups of five. Even though you hadn't played many games as a child, it was common sense to know dalgona was not a team game. Had the man lied? Was this really it? You glanced at him, noticing a look of dismay on his face. Maybe he didn’t know either.

As the timer began, everyone formed their groups, leaving you standing alone. The minutes ticked by, and your nervousness grew. You knew waiting for someone to pick you was wrong, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak up. Meeting new people had always been tough, and the pressure was tenfold now.

Just as you accepted your fate, a group of four approached you: a tall man with purple hair, a pretty boy with dark, long hair, a girl covered in piercings, and a boy who resembled a baby deer. The man with purple hair introduced himself as Thanos, but you zoned out, fixated on his friend. He stared deeply into your eyes as he fiddled with his rings. You tried to avoid eye contact, but every time you looked up, he was already watching you.

“Um, hellooooo? You deaf or somethin?” Thanos quipped. You snapped back to reality as he explained he wanted you on his team. You nodded, mainly out of necessity, but agreeing nonetheless.

The teams sat in neat rows, preparing for the games ahead. You overheard conversations about who would play which game, but your new team was strangely silent. Thanos and his friend chatted about a necklace, while the other two focused on the competitors. Your nerves ramped up, and you fidgeted with the sleeves of your jacket. The longer-haired boy suddenly tapped your shoulder.

“Hey, you okay?” he murmured. Usually, you would’ve said you were okay, but in this situation, what was the point of lying? You shook your head, and concern washed over his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly. All you could do was shrug. Suddenly, he took your hands and kissed them gently. The warmth spread across your face, leaving you feeling flushed and exposed. Did he know how his words affected you? Were you developing feelings in a place like this?

“It’s all gonna be okay, darling, I promise,” he reassured you. Just then, the girl beside you, Se-mi, interrupted.

“Hey, how about instead of drooling over her, we figure out our games?” she scoffed. You watched as Nam-gyu shot her a venomous glare, transforming his expression entirely.

“Nobody was talking to you, bitch,” he spat, his sudden coldness making your mind whirl. Why was he hostile with her yet soft with you?

As if nothing had happened, he turned back to you. “Which game are you best at, sweetheart?” You barely whispered your answer: “Um... gong-gi, I think.” He immediately understood, and soon after, your team’s games were decided.

Se-mi would play ddakji first, Min-su would follow with flying stone, you’d go next with gong-gi, Nam-gyu would play spinning top, and Thanos would go last with jegi.

When your team was called, fear washed over you. As your knees weakened, you felt Nam-gyu squeeze your shoulder. “Don’t worry, baby, you’re gonna do great.” His words bolstered your confidence more than you could admit.

Each game passed swiftly, and your team finished with eight seconds to spare. As you crossed the finish line, Nam-gyu launched himself at you, wrapping his arms around your waist, making you bounce with excitement. You were enveloped in his scent, overpowering the stench of blood around you. The touch of his hands melted away your worries, and for a moment, you felt truly safe.

As you walked back to the rooms, a smile formed on your lips. Was he genuinely interested in you?

When you settled into bed, a few moments of silence were interrupted by the sound of the bed creaking beside you.

"You did sooo good in gong-gi. Your hands were literally moving like a ninja" he praised, beaming with admiration. You giggled, "It was nothing, really."

He crawled closer, intertwining his fingers with yours, you loved this habit he’d picked up. “I’m so proud of you. You looked nervous, but you pushed through and helped us win,” Nam-gyu chuckled. You responded with nothing but a shy smile; words didn’t feel like enough. You turned your face the other way so he wouldn't see how much his words affected you

“Don’t hide your pretty face, you’re cute when you smile,” he said, fingers lifting your chin to meet his gaze. The compliment made you smile brightly.

“There she is—there’s my girl,” he added, inching closer until he was almost spooning you. You melted against him, relieved to have someone to stay beside in this chaos. As time passed, nothing else mattered. It was unlike how time slowed before, this time it was a comfortable passing. His hand played with your hair, scratching your scalp in a soothing rhythm.

“You remember how nervous you were when you first went up to play?” he asked, his voice low and playful. “You were a disaster, but it was the most adorable disaster I’ve ever seen.”

You chuckled softly, warmth pooling in your chest and comfortability blooming. “You were just as bad, you dropped the spinning top across the floor”

“Well, I had to make sure you didn't feel alone in your clumsiness,” he teased, his breath tickling your ear. The closeness felt intoxicating, and you turned your head slightly to catch a glimpse of him.

“You’d better not mess up like that again. You’re the only person here I actually like” you said, nudging him with your shoulder.

His gaze softened for a bit, like he was admiring you, then quickly flashed back. “Only if you promise to stay by my side forever,” he replied, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Always,” you whispered, feeling an undeniable connection grow between you.

As the laughter settled, the world around you faded into the background, like you were in your own little bubble. He leaned in closer, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead that sent a shiver down your spine.

“When we get out, I’m gonna take you to my club so we can have a proper party together, get you out of that shell” he suggested, a grin spreading across his face. “Yea?”

“Yea, I’d like that, just make sure those girls aren’t all over you” you replied, smiling against him playfully.

“Oh don’t worry, Imma show you all off. Everyone’s gonna know you’re mines.” He chuckled, proceeding to place a soft kiss on your cheek.

The more than friendly banter made your heart swell, and you cuddled into his side, feeling a fuzzy warmth. You could see a future painted vividly in your mind—one filled with laughter, love, and euphoria.

Soon, you both fell asleep in each other’s arms, wrapped in a sense of warmth and possibility. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, hope flickered in your heart, igniting the feeling that maybe, against all odds, you could find light in this dark world together. In that moment, everything felt right, and you couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else but here—with him.

#squid game #squid game 2 #nam gyu #nam gyu x reader #player 124 #player 124 x reader #choi su bong #thanos x reader #kang dae ho #kang dae ho x reader #nam gyu fluff

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postmoderntongues · 1 day ago

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I will fight a male 3x my size (usually not WIN, but still FIGHT) half a pitcher and three bumps into the night if my fight or flight gets activated and i feel like I have the option not to default to fawn. I am 5'10 260 and would not fight a four and a half foot dike with a double digit weight. I almost threw hands in a dive bar with my buddy's ex 22 minutes into the year i was hearing kill bill sirens i didnt live in that town and had nothing illegal on me i could get in a drunk new years bar fight and do community service county jail at worst and im the only one i know other than Chay's people and some college friends who hasn't been there and most likely if i was going anywhere itd be to a psych ward which i can do on my head and then her Dike intervened and I was like okay bro im not swinging its a free country and ima keep talking tho (and trying to get her to swing on me) but im not threatening anybody don't get the wrong idea (i wanted to be like *brother, my brother song form the first pokemon movie playing softly in the background* we are one in the same ive been you and you've been me so many times at this point in our lives you know how it goes doing the big bulldike thing pining after some reckless straight girl you know no woman deserves to be slapped by a man but be serious and tell me you know her as well as you claim to and there aren't a few things in her past where if another female just gave her a good old fashioned 3 stooges bop on her messy head on the deck of a dive bar it might not be completely unjustified).

Like the second this girl intervened i was like nope not doing this and then just yelled shit at the ex all night every time she tried to come back to the bar partially bc i was mad she was the reason my buddy wasnt there, i was mad she was the reason i couldnt hook up with this cute guy with more drugs and a tattoo gun at his place a few blocks away the night before bc he was the one who ruined their marriage, and also I was on a lot of stimulants for a few days in a row at that point and under stimulated and had nothing else to do to entertain myself because my people went to a drag bar and i didnt want to pay the $8 cover so i didn't know anybody and it was my first time in a bar as a single female and now i was totally unaccompanied and in a weird panicked way i thought maybe getting a little rambunctious or at least giving the impression i was ready to would keep me safe until my people came back and then later she came back and tried to intimidate me with 4 guys who were like 5'8 on their dating profile prolly and smaller than me mass wise and they were like you good? and i wa slike yea whats good you good and they were like no are you GOOD? n i was like yeah why are you good? and then i saw her and i was like you went and got dudes you really cant handle yourself as a woman and then some low blows im less proud of and then the bar closed and i got an invite to go to an afterparty and wound up getting into a great phone call with my cousin and didn't spend the night potentially joining the great majority in the same ER everybody would go for ODs before narcan because I didn't get into a dike fight that night.

I was flirting with this girl when we saw a movie together with some friends and she was flirting a lot back and like was holding my hand and sitting in my lap at one point and then my boy a few days later was like "u know shes married right" and i was like idgaf ill peg him and he was like "no she has a wife" and I was like dude if you tell a single soul what u saw at the movies ill straight up fist u, you do not say i bought her the fucking cup of tea, as far as you know she didn't get a single one of my gummy worms. In fact, both you AND chris sat between us. I don't fuck with other womens partners but i ESPECIALLY don't involve myself in dike drama. Most guys ive cucked are like kind of cool with it nd into it to some degree because males are lower animals and also perverted and fetishize lesbianism. The rest mostly just curse you out. A few will hit you. Getting shot or stabbed isn't something that's never happened in the history of lesbian fuckboys ignoring het relationships when pursued by a cute girl. Now look up the Shanda Sharer case and compare that to an infamous crime by male kids of the same age like most school shootings or even most male serial killers and ask which you'd rather die in. Best case scenario if you get involved creeping around on a lesbian your life becomes one of the bummer non-supernatural Junji ito comics but there's not an insignificant chance that your last moments will be a lot more Waita Uziga.

I fear no male. I fuck with no dike.

You're talking to somebody who once got back with a girl not in spite of the fact but literally BECAUSE she stabbed me through my jeans in the cafeteria with a pen or pencil or something (it wasn't like a big injury but the thing stuck upward in my leg and drew a miniscule drop or two of blood when i squeezed at it and put a hole in my jeans that my mom noticed but i have no doubt that when she did it she did it with the intention of driving the thing through to the bone if shed been physically able) and I was like wow thats passionate her feelings for me are strong and like 2 periods later i'd broken up with the girl i was rebounding with who she was jealous of and stabbed me over and was back with her.

I had a brief girlfriend freshman year who would literally just cut me like on the bricks in front of the dorm building where we'd smoke while she was drunk and i was either rolling or tripping or tweaking and all the punk guys i was friends with were horrified by it and then i justified it by comparing myself to GG Allen who I didn't even listen to i just know he cut onstage and these guys wouldn't know who Lucifer Valentine was so it was the most appropriate reference.

The most sadistic consensual lays ive ever had in my life were NOT cismales.

My ex's best friend also had a mentally ill bulldike doing the reverse-LUG college comphet thing as a girlfriend and she was the best but she'd make u put ur cig out on her if u smoked around her when she drank certain weekends bc she was always trying to top her score as were a bunch of the other rugby dikes who were like literally my favorite people ever to party with bc they were all heavy drinkers and i was an alcohol lightweight and i was heavy into club drugs and tripping so they were impressed by the quantities of that that i'd be on and it was like making contact with friendly foreigners but because the team captain was dating my ex's bestie we kind of shared territory and i was there for most of their first trip/roll and they taught me the fun drinking songs and a bunch of them were in the german program so i always had people on good terms to work with in a very socialization-based course and then a bunch of them started working at this evil strip club that had free womens wendsdays and a free salad bar so all summer us girls would go there for lunch every wednesday and talk to our friends who were there when it was dead and tip them like $5 or whatever we could manage a head for the salad bar since it was free and the place was empty other than us so we absorbed this large group of strippers most of whom were sapphic or at the very least so uninterested in sexual attention outside of work that they were mad fun to party with meanwhile the males all started working at this local bar and absorbed the townies including most of the bouncers and kitchen workers who also party like rockstars and the girls who came from there were also for the most part not straight and these girls were so nice and we had such a good time but also id apologize if i bumped into these fuckers in a dream i would not dare get wrong with one

again i regard no male, I disrespect no dike

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gaypirate420 · 3 days ago

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Crawling back to you// Jayce Talis

S2!Jayce Talis x AFAB!reader.

Summary: He's been away from you far too long.

Do I wanna know?- Hozier cover.

Smut/Angst/Fluff.

Everything is loud. Chaos surrounded him as he found his way away from the commune, images still flashing through his mind like a painful, torturous reminder of what he saw, of the hell he lived in for gods-knows how long.

His hammer suddenly felt heavy, he made a promise but now it weighted on his shoulders. He whimpers under his breath as his feet dragged him out of the war zone that suddenly arrived at the commune.

Jayce didn't have a destination in mind, well, maybe deep in his subconscious he did, but it was so hard to think, he can barely find his way out of the undercity. He stumbles and has to stop every couple of minutes to catch his breath, the Man of Progress reduced to a panting and stumbling mess, a man beat out of every last drop of sanity, a shell of himself.

He walks and walks, every step more erratic and desperate than the other, he wants to go home, to sleep, to wake up tomorrow and make sure all of this was a nightmare, Jayce comes to a stop, he's arrived wherever his body has taken him, leaning against a wall with shaky pants for breath and a small electric bolt of pain coming from his leg. His tired eyes look up, his mind and body in it's haze has found its way to your cottage.

He freezes, taking deep shaky breaths like he's about to have a panic attack but then he sees your shadow on the second floor, your back as you dusted off something near your window, unaware of the poor inventor that can barely stand on his feet.

But he stares, dazed hazel eyes drowning in the domestic scene, like he hasn't come from an alternate reality where you, everyone, everything was gone. Like he didn't just come from blowing a hole in the chest of his best friend. He feels like he's coming home, like those days he'll check out earlier from the workshop and come visit you and have a nice home made dinner and a well earned cuddly nap.

Jayce stumbles forward, his calloused hand pushes the little door of your fence, his hammer dragging next to the flowers of your garden. The sound of your gate opening made you jump, you turned around and gasped loudly at the sight of your missing lover. You ran, flew, probably, down the stairs frantically searching for your keys as you unlocked the door, you swan it opened and there he was.

"My love..." You whispered, your throat feeling tight. He drops his hammer and stares at you for a couple of seconds, his eyes wide and pupils blowing, you're the first one to move, bare feet stepping out of the door frame and cup his face. He froze, he hasn't been touched for so long.

Jayce broke down in an instant, his broad frame trembled as tears quickly pooled and fell from his eyes, leaving a clear trail in his dirty and scarred face. He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face on your neck, a loud ugly sob breaks from his throat.

Your own tears threaten to fall down, one of your hands runs down his back, trying to comfort him. His legs finally give out, making you and him fall to the wooden floor of your porch. Jayce keeps sobbing, repeating your name over and over like a prayer.

"I'm right here, puppy." You whispered softly, your fingers running down his hair, his face was deep in your neck, your skin muffling the cries and whines that come out of him.

You just whisper that same phrase every time he calls your name, you answer that you're right here with him, reassuring him that he hasn't gone mad, he's not a hallucination and you're real. It helps both ways, he feels real, he's here too, back in your arms after so long. His sobs die down after a couple of minutes, small hiccups left as a reminder of how hard he cried. Jayce slowly lifted his head from your neck.

"Hm..ngh-.."He tries to talk, to say something more than your name, but he can't not yet at least, his eyes are hazy and dull, he's back home physically but not mentally.

"Shhh, it's alright, my darling. Let's get inside." You whispered softly, he nodded slowly, you helped him stand up, letting him let some of his weight on you instead of his injured leg.

You don't want to hear about what happened, not yet at least, not after he just cried unconsolably for almost ten minutes. Jayce made it to the couch, you laid down with him, he returned to his previous position, curled against you with his face on your neck.

Jayce could feel your pulse, it was a little faster, he could feel your skin, your soft skin he loved to touch, how his fingers used to brush mindless patterns against it while you slept. Your hair, your beautiful hair he loved to bury his nose in. He takes a deep breath, the familiar smell of your perfume and shampoo hitting him, the inventor whimpers and holds you tighter, almost like a child clinging to a toy.

"ngh- mised ya- so much." The inventor whispered against your skin, his chapped lips trembling slightly, your fingers brushed the back of his neck, he shivered and buried his face further, the feeling of your skin against his feels so grounding.

"I missed you too, I thought I wouldn't see you again." You whisper back into his hair, feeling a small knot forming on your throat from all the bottled emotions, you gasped softly as he placed a soft kiss on your neck. Your lover sighed, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, you were clean and soft a sharp contrast with his muddy and scarred skin.

His shaky hands have a death grip on your waist, but they relax after a couple of minutes, his breathing slows down and his fingers start roaming around the sides of your waist, feeling you. His lips continue the small and featherlight kisses on your neck, you tilted your head out of instinct.

"...miss...so much..." Jayce whispered against you again, for him it feels like he can't get enough of these words, he needs to tell you how much he missed you and he needs for you to reassuring him over and over again. Your fingers run down the back of his neck making him gasp and shudder against you.

"Shhhh, you're back home, beloved." You whisper back, his body curls closer, a soft moan leaves his lips and a small gasp leaves yours when you feel something bumping your thigh.

"m'sorry, doll...m'so sorry..." He whined against you, you can feel how he's stopping himself from grinding against you, that second, that small movement sends an electric shot right through his spine and into his brain.

"That's quite alright, handsome." You spoke softly, he nodded but a small needy whine left his trembling lips.

"ngh- m'sorry...been so long, sweetheart, your fingers, you feel- ngh-" He couldn't finish his sentence because his hips betrayed him and moved on their own, a small roll against your thigh, he shivered and moaned, for such a small action, the sound that escaped him was uncharacteristically lewd.

Your hand cups his face, he leans in like a stray cat getting a pet for the first time ever. It makes your heart ache, how broken he returned, but it's also quite pleasant to hear his little breaths and whine.

"Want a hand, puppy?" You ask softly, he closes his eyes taking deep breaths as your words sink, he nods frantically.

"...please..." Jayce whines again, he tries to nuzzle closer but a shot of pain curses through his leg, making him teary eyed and bury his face back on your neck with a pathetic whimper.

"Oh, my beautiful love....shhh..." You whispered, stroking his hair to try and calm him down again, still, his need is growing impatient, he rolls his hips again, slower this time.

"I think our attention should be focused on something else, stud." You whispered pressing a soft kiss on his hair, he whined and shook his head, his big hands gripping against your sides.

"pl- nghh- please, dot, don't leave me like this..." Jayce whines against your skin, there's a sense of guilt behind the shiver that ran through your body, but it's starting to be watered down by his hands starting to wander around your waist.

"Only because you're begging so nicely." You whispered against his ear, the tall man moaned deliciously against you and nodded, he likes to beg, to cry until you give in and reward him.

Your hands went to his shoulders, pulling him away, he gasped and latched onto your waist.

"Shhh, don't worry, my love...let's just get you more comfortable." You said gently, trying to hold a chuckle as the sight of such a tall man holding onto you like a cat would be its favorite toy was quite funny. He nodded slowly, you lay him down on the couch, prepping a cushion on his head and making sure his injured leg was spread and comfortable. He didn't resist, didn't even whine in discomfort.

"Good boy, off to a great start." You whispered with a soft smirk, Jayce felt his member throbbing just from your words, he swallowed and looked up at you with glassy eyes. You leaned down, your lips meeting his forehead, then his brow.

"How I missed you- missed kissing your pretty face." You spoke against his skin, he gasped softly with each kiss, like he forgot how your lips felt and was experiencing them for the first time.

"...missed kisses too..." He whispered softly, you smiled softly, cupping his jaw, your fingers running through his beard, he sighs softly, tiling his head to give you more access to his neck.

"I like this." You whisper with a smirk, Jayce, like a puppy, tilt his head and stare at you.

"you d-do, doll?" He whispered, a little wide eyed, you nodded.

"I like it a lot." You whispered biting your lip as your smirk transformed into a mischievous grin. Jayce felt his cheeks heating up, he nodded at your words.

"I'll ke-keep it then, ngh-." Your lover mumbled, you chuckled softly, the sound of your laughter was so foreign to him but so familiar, he's been hearing it in his dreams for so long, in his delusions and hallucinations it lingered along with blurry memories of your face. His scarred lips turned into the smallest of smiles. With a slow and gentle movement, you got on his lap, your knee just below his aching member, you didn't dare to sit completely, not wanting to lean your weight on his bad leg by accident. Your face leaned closer and locked your lips with his.

It was like being lost in the sea and finally being found. Like the first rain after a hot summer.

Jayce moans against your lips, his hands holding onto you like a life line. He's hungry, starved for so long and finally is allowed to have you. His lips are rough, chapped and his beard makes the intense kiss a brand new experience. You've kissed him with some stubble before but this is a whole different level. And you're loving it.

His cock is hurting, pulsing with need, his hand wanders down to your free hand, he can't talk, his brain is going mushy with all this affection and need, you let him guide your hand, your fingers teasingly brush against the small patch of wetness on his pants.

Jayce lets out a wet and completely lewd sound, his whole body shudders and throws his head back into the cushion. You shudder with excitement, biting your cheek as your fingers undo his pants and finally release his throbbing and leaking cock from his boxers. He moans softly as your fingers brush against his bare skin.

"Nghh- d-doll, please, please, hurts-" He manages to whimper out, his eyes flutter as your hand wraps around his cock, the slow movement makes him whine.

"Good boy, I'll go slow." You whispered softly, leaning back down to meet his lips again, this time the kiss is slower, more soft, he pants and moans against your mouth as your hand moves up and down, stroking his sensitive length.

"s-sweetheart..." He called between gasps and pants, you pulled away slightly, your hand still stroking now a tad faster.

"Yes, baby?" You whisper, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead, making his eyes flutter a little bit. Some small shots of cum start leaking already, but you keep stroking, he opened his mouth to talk but only moans came out as you speedy your rhythm, his eyes roll back, his leg started shaking.

His eyes widen, his fingers burying on your skins as he throws his head back, a long shot of cum spitting out of his throbbing cock painting part of your arm white.

"ngh-! Hmmm! D-doll oh!" Tears form on his hazel eyes as another load of his cum shot, he moans against the cushion.

"Good boy, there you go, my lovely." You whispered, peppering kisses on the side of his face. He pants desperately, almost gasping for air, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead. The praise goes straight to his brain, his cock still hard and throbbing against your hand.

"Inside you, please, beautiful." He muttered, his hands clinging to your sides like a life line. You stare at him, as you ponder his request, your thumb wiping the tears off his face. You would be lying if all this moaning and crying didn't leave you needy for more.

"Want to be inside me, baby?" You asked softly with a smirk, he nods frantically with a whimper, he mumbles 'please' over and over rapidly, like a prayer. You shushed him by pressing soft kisses on his lips, with a couple of smooth movements your pants and underwear were off. He stares up at you, scanning your features, every little thing that was slowly becoming foggy on his memory when he was in that cave.

Jayce's eyes roam down at your fingers rubbing onto your sensitivity, your soft moans filling your ears as you make yourself wetter, he leans in and steals a couple of kisses, making you gasp softly and smile softly.

"Mhm...pretty..." He whimpered out between pants, your hand returned to his cock, stroking again as you positioned yourself better.

"Wanna taste you..." He adds with a whine. You shushed him gently, cupping his face.

"Another time, my love." You whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, his fingers buried deep on your skin, the neediness and strong cling onto you was making you feel so good already. With a soft gasp you went down, his aching member sliding into your wet folds pretty easily. Jayce moaned softly, his healthy leg moved slightly to find a better position, the small movement was enough to bury himself deeper and make you whimper in pleasure.

It's been so long since he filled you so nicely, but you two were like puzzle pieces, perfectly fitting.

"Oh- mhm- I missed you so much, puppy." You gasped softly before starting rocking your hips, his eyes roll in the most delicious way, his mouth slightly open as he pants and moans softly with the slow rhythmic movement.

Your whole body tingles with pleasure, this is slower and far gentler than you've ever been with each other, but after such a long time it felt so good. Almost as good as the first kiss, the first time his hands wandered around your body.

"s-nhg- so good." He mumbled almost mindlessly between moans, his hips moving alongside yours for a couple of seconds. Jayce was exhausted, incredibly so but he needed this so badly. The way you felt around him, your soft sounds and movements made the tiredness dissipate for a moment. He can pretend he's just with you, there's nothing wrong, not when you're with him, your lips touching every inch of his face and your hands caressing him.

Unsurprisingly, the pleasure became too much, his hands gripped around your hips harder and pushed you down, making you moan and tug on his hair involuntarily. With a couple of pushes from his, his leg started to shake, tears built again around his eyes.

"Doll-"

"I know, puppy, you can come." You panted softly, biting your lip as his hips become a little faster and aggressive. A small sob breaks through him before morphing in with a moan, he gasps and leans his head back on the cushion, his seed shooting inside you, the grip on your hips weakness. It felt so heavenly, the gentle throbbing along his sweet sounds were enough to leave you satisfied, Jayce was whispering curses to himself as he finally found relief.

"G-good boy- so good, my love." You whispered shakily, leaning down to rest your forehead against his, some droplets of sweat trailing down his face. His thumbs ran gentle circles against your skin, just feeling you and grounding himself back to reality.

"Love y'so much." Jayce murmurs softly, the pooled tears falling down silently along his cheeks.

"I love you too, puppy." You whispered back, you pulled away from his forehead and tried to untangle your from his body.

"No, pl-please, sweetheart." Jayce murmurs, his voice thick and a little sleepy, he tugs you back in, making you chuckle and nuzzle your face on his chest.

"Just a minute more." He says, keeping himself inside you, one of his hands traveling up to your hair, his chapped lips resting on top of your hair.

"Just let me feel you."

Taglist: @pickuptruck01 @sseleniaa

A/N: IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG, I hope y'all like it, I went in deep with the feelings instead of the smut I'm so so sorry.

#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x gender neutral reader #arcane smut #jayce arcane #jayce talis #jayce talis arcane #arcane jayce #jayce talis x reader #jayce talis x you #x gn reader #x gender neutral reader #jayce talis smut #jayce talis season 2

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silksongeveryday · 1 day ago

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Drawing Hornet everyday until Silksong comes out - Day 700!

Choosing not to do anything fancy for this milestone since 2 year anniversary is coming up soon anyway and would prefer the big artwork be done then. Also I’m too tired to do one lmao.

Some general updates and announcements below the cut:

Hornet’s Strange Adventures:

While initially my plan was to have the whole base game done by January, life likes to get in the way. I have made zero progress since my last major update about barely getting things into the game engine I chose. Going forward, it’s possible this project will not be done any time soon but it will happen eventually. (I almost sound as bad as team cherry lol). Progress will be a lot slower than I want unfortunately since I’m kinda burned out at this point.

Continuing Hornet Journal Series/changes:

So I’m still technically on this project currently. While at the beginning it was fun and ambitious, I can definitely feel the burnout from it too. I do want to finish this project to the end, but I refuse to make myself post it every day because that’s made me more and more upset about having to just get it done instead of enjoying it. So going forward with this project, I plan to only post Journal Entries about once or twice a week with large batches of entries in one drawing until it’s done. Even if it happens after my two year anniversary. (Though it’s likely it’ll still finish before then I believe.) This is just so I don’t get absolutely exhausted from this again.

General life stuff:

So I meant to mention this on my main but I was too emotionally exhausted to explain it and didn’t feel like to afterward. I member of my close family passed away a few days after christmas. We already knew this was coming so it’s actually why I took a break from my big project with the journal series around that time and haven’t been able to really pick it back up until now. It’s also the reason a lot of general doodles have been posted late and/or are not that high of effort. I’m just tired.

And this kinda leads into my next thing.

Taking an actual break:

1 month left. That’s how long I plan to keep doing daily doodles for. Once my 2 year anniversary hits, I’m no longer planning to post every day. As you can imagine, posting something every day for two years can take a toll and life has changed a lot since two years ago. I really want to move on to bigger things now and keeping this blog running at constant speed hasn’t allowed me to do that. So I’ve made the decision that I’ll be taking a long break from that.

Will I return to daily doodles ever? Yes, technically.

My plan is start daily doodles back up only when a Silksong release date is announced (if it ever is.) Ptherwise my art/doodles will be posted very infrequently, especially at the beginning when taking my break. For sake of mental health and creative burnout with this blog, this is the best decision I could reasonably come too

—

But thank you all for your wonderful and continued support of this blog!! I look forward to the last official month of daily doodles!

#silksongeveryday #ssed #hollow knight #silksong #hk hornet #hollow knight hornet #silksong hornet #hollow knight fanart #hk fanart #hornet journal series #ssed hornet cyoa

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pretty-little-mind33 · 3 days ago

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Sergei Kravinoff x mutant fem!reader

Summary: Sergei is captured and his only source of salvation and light is the young woman who visits him every day to bring him food and heal his wounds.

Genre: hurt and comfort <3

Warnings: reader has healing abilities, kidnapping, torture, blood, violence, drugging, shitty men, protective!Sergei

~ thank you 💜anon for this idea! i didn't make it smut but i hope you like it anyways ~

SERGEI KRAVINOFF MASTERLIST

The Hunter. They'd captured The Hunter by.

That was all you knew from the hushed whispers as they guarded your door. His name caused excitement around the compound and your curiosity was piqued. You stand from your small cot, limping over as the blood from your leg spills from the bandages. You press your palm against your door, catching snippets of the conversation in Russian, as you hold your breath.

When you hear the latch to your door snap, you stumble back. The man with the scar enters, a smirk on his face. "Ah, you're up. Good. We have a new guest. You know what to do," he walks over and caresses your cheek, causing you to flinch, and he glances down at your leg. "And don't let him get close to you, not like the last one. Understand, pet? Cleaning you up was a fuckin' mess."

You nod, earning you a light tap on your cheek as he gestures for his men to come in with a tray of food.

The Hunter's cell is grim and dark, the drip of water from the ceiling is heard in the corner. Your eyes widen when you see him. He's suspended from his arms, rusty chains digging into his skin. He's shirtless, scratches and gashes of various stages litter his back and shoulders. He's breathing deeply as you walk in. He turns his head a little, catching your eyes and he lets out a sharp laugh, spitting out more blood.

"Is this some kind of joke?" He coughs up more blood, seeing the food on the tray. You circle to the front, resting the tray on the ground as you look up at him again. "They send you in to do the dirty work, принцесса (princess)?"

You don't answer him, instead glancing at the security of the chains holding him. They're strong. Unbreakable you would guess and you look into his eyes again. You tear some of the bread and stand up, walking closer. Unlike many other prisoners, this one doesn't immediately lunge for you. He seems to be keeping his strength, simply observing your movements. You hold out the bread for him to bite out of your hand, but he spits blood at your shoes instead.

"I don't need your food," he growls and tugs on the chains, turning his torso as he hisses in pain. You see a large gash on his side and your expression softens. You're here to heal him, at least so he doesn't die until he gives them the information they want.

"I can help," you whisper, walking forward and reaching your hand to touch his side. The man inhales, readying himself to push you down—to do anything. He doesn't trust you. However, that plan falls through when he sees a glimpse of the bruising on your cheek. Someone has already hit you. He falters and then he gasps when your cold hand presses against the wound.

"Shh," you soothe, bracing yourself, "this will only hurt for a moment. I promise."

"What are you—"

He grunts, feeling something sting and turns his head as best he can, twisting his torso. You pull your hand away, revealing the mostly healed wound. It's still badly bruised and you explain; "I can't heal the bruising. I c-can only help the process."

You sound scared of him and he looks back over to you, eyes dark. You just healed him. He looks at your hand and he sees that they're shaking. His eyebrows scrunch as he examines you. You're breathing heavily, looking exhausted.

It drained you.

Suddenly, there is a loud bang on the door, and a man's voice booms into the room and orders you back out in Russian. You catch your breath, holding out the bread for the man to take. You still want him to eat at least a little. Once he reluctantly eats the bread from your hand, you grab the tray and hurry out the door.

The man hears the shout and he grimaces, pulling on his chains again. The wound doesn't hurt as much and his head is reeling from what had just happened.

Who were you?

* * *

The next time Sergei sees you, he's chained to the wall, blood trickling down the side of his head. He hears the door enter and he smells you instantly. You smell sweet, not like the men who come in who stink of death and sweat. He turns his head, cracking a smile, as blood drips from his mouth. You set the tray down, kneeling in front of him on the dirty ground. Sergei's smile drops when he sees more bruising around your cheeks. They're hurting you too. His blood boils and he tries to fight against the chains once more, his body weak.

He watches you silently as you take a syringe from the tray. Your hand is trembling and you look up at him. He knows what the liquid is, usually the men administer it when they torture him. It weakens him, making it impossible for him to break the chains that hold him in place. He growls like a hurt animal and you rest your hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, testing the syringe as the green liquid pours out and drips onto the ground. "They think you'll put up less of a fight if it's me—"

Sergei narrows his eyes, the gold irises flickering underneath the surface, and he snarls; "Don't do this," he says but you gently push his head to the side, your hand on his forehead as you sink the needle into his neck. He grunts. No wonder the men are asking you to do this; it's dangerous for you. He could easily turn his head and bite you in this position. Usually, they prick him in the leg or somewhere safe that still works, but not as well as it could. They're becoming impatient it seems and they're now willing to turn you into a pawn. Perhaps, that's the reason he doesn't hurt you. He knows what that's like.

"I'm really sorry," you sob, holding his head as your hand trembles even more. Once the liquid is gone, you pull away. He looks calmer now, the drug already working. You drop the syringe and break some more bread. "Please eat," you whisper, pressing the stale bread to his lips, as if trying to counteract the drug by feeding him.

He opens his eyes, reluctantly listening to you as he eats a bite. "They're hurting you too," he says and you shift uncomfortably, avoiding his intense glare. "Why? And why can't you heal yourself?" He'd noticed your limp the moment you walked and smelled the blood from your knee, even underneath your pants. You're injured.

You sit back, touching the bruising along your eye, and look up at him. "You aren't the only prisoner they give that horrid liquid to," you whisper, looking at the syringe and then tilting your head and showing him the needle mark on your neck. "They like m-my ability, but only in moderation—"

Sergei groans, his chest burning with anger. He shakes his head when he sees you begin to clean up. "Who? Who are they?! Who has me!? I can help you—if you—wait—stop—" he watches you walk out helplessly. He groans again from the pain in his side as he shifts his position. Sergei realizes you haven't healed him today. He supposes that would go against the point of the fucking drug.

Hours later, when he finally falls asleep, all he dreams of is you.

* * *

"What is your name?" Sergei asks one evening as you run a warm cloth on his face, wiping away the dried blood from the beating he'd received. He hasn't cracked yet, not that he will. You startle a little, not expecting him to ask you that question. You glance up, meeting his gaze, and you whisper your name.

"Kraven," he introduces. He wants to tell you his real name, but he doesn't know if he can fully trust you. Sergei winces when you swipe your hand across a cut on his cheek, healing the small wound. He pulls against the chains keeping his arms up. He groans, realizing it's useless. "How long have you been here, Y/n?"

You move to rub the cloth on his bare torso, going even quieter. "A year."

"Do you have a family?"

You shrug, turning away and preparing that damned drug again. The men have given up administering it and have charged you with that task instead. Sergei grimaces and when you look up, your hand gently turning his head like it always does, he doesn't fight you. Instead, he whispers, "Y/n, don't give it to me. I can get us both out of here. I won't hurt you. I promise." He's not entirely sure how long he's been here but he's desperate now. He locks eyes with you, almost pleasing.

You wrap your arm around his nape, shifting and your voice shakes when you whisper, "They're watching. There is a camera— it can't hear us but it can see us."

Sergei winces, feeling you prepare the syringe; however, he pauses when he looks to the side and sees that the needle is near the bare skin of your arm, the one covering his nape. "They make sure it's g-gone, this is the only way. Will your powers regenerate in one night?"

Sergei nods, his blue eyes are wide and he's a little alarmed when you administer the drug to yourself.

"They're watching us. Please, you have to pretend I gave it to you if you want this to work."

"Will the drug hurt you?" he asks, knowing you're purposefully hiding what you're doing to the camera in the corner of the ceiling.

You shake your head, pulling away and hiding the mark on your arm with your sleeve. "No– I just won't be able to use my powers for a while. It's okay. That's all it does. That's what it's been doing to you—weakening you." You gather your supplies with shaking hands as Sergei breathes heavily, keeping his body calm as you said.

"I won't let them hurt you again," Sergei promises before you leave. You turn around to look at him, your eyes sad, as he whispers, "I'll find you, принцесса (princess)."

* * *

"Wake up, Hunter." Sergei hears a loud bang as a metal pipe slams against the wall near his head. His eyes shoot open, his body not feeling as weak anymore and his gaze locks onto the two men who've been torturing him these past days. His eyes narrow and his hand twitches in the chains but his heart leaps when one of the men, the one with the scar on his lip, pulls you from behind the other man, his hand in your hair. "We have some exciting news," the man sings-songs and adds, "since ya seem so fond of each other."

Sergei's eyes frantically bounce from your scared expression to the men holding you, his jaw clenching.

"Since you don't quite break when we break you, we must change our method, you understand," the other man laughs, unsheathing a knife and running it in your hair. You squeeze your eyes shut, controlling your breathing. "Now, if you continue not to give us anything, we'll just have to break your little girlfriend instead. And," the man laughs, "we promise with the damage we'll cause she won't have time to heal herself—"

Sergei's eyes narrow. The men are too busy laughing at the tears that fall from your eyes to notice the glimmer of gold behind his irises—but you do. You hold your breath, unsure what's about to happen but you know it can't be good considering that the drug you'd been giving him for the past week had faded so quickly. Sergei licks his lips, his sharp fangs showing for a second before he lunges for the men, the chains previously holding him easily ripping.

You gasp, falling to the ground as you grasp the floor, scooting to the opposite side of the room, pressing your back to the wall as you watch as Kraven tears into one of the men's throats, growling like an animal would. You scream, covering your eyes with shaky hands as gunshots ring out and you hear more growls and ripping.

Once the scream stops, you feel someone's presence over you. You peek through your fingers, your gaze stuck on the splatter of blood across his features. His eyes have returned to their normal blue and he crouches down, like an animal showing its submission as his knuckles skim your cheeks and wipe away your tears.

"Are you okay?" He mutters, his voice hoarse. You nod hesitantly and when he scoops his hand under your knees and your back, you accept and wrap your arms around his neck.

"I'm here," he whispers.

Your hands tremble and you nod, finding your voice as you squeeze your eyes shut again so you don't see the lifeless bodies he'd left in his wake as he walks to the exit. However, you can't bring yourself to feel pity; those men had tortured him. And they'd tortured you for even longer. "Thank you, Kraven," you say quietly and he holds you tighter.

"Sergei," he says, "My name is Sergei."

You hum, resting your eyes as your head falls onto his chest. When you open your eyes again, you're in a truck. Sergei is on the phone, talking in Russian, and you understand snippets of his conversation. You're buckled in, your head resting on the passenger window as the headlights from the other cars blind you. You groan, your head is pounding. "You slept for hours, is that normal, принцесса (princess)?" Sergei asks, putting his phone in his pocket as he continues to drive.

"Where are we?"

"Russia," Sergei says and he looks at you with a worried expression, "We've always been in Russia—did you not know where they were holding you?" You shake your head, a little embarrassed. You really didn't know. Sergei clicks his tongue and runs a hand over his face. He's cleaned himself up, the blood is gone and he looks in much better form. He senses you staring and he looks over, "I made some calls. My brother—he has connections," he tells you, explaining the truck.

"Where are you taking me?" you ask quietly.

Sergei's eyes narrow. "My home," he pauses, "just so you can rest, I'm not sure how long that drug will last on you, but once you're better, I can take you home."

"Home," you whisper and look down at your lap, picking at your nails. "I have no home."

Sergei is quiet as he looks at the road again. "Well, you can stay with me then. I'll take care of you."

Silence looms over you as the truck rolls along icy roads, the hum of the engine filling the air. You glance at Sergei again, your gaze softening. He looks different now—calmer, more composed, less weak and frazzled. His knuckles are no longer bloodied, his breaths even now, and yet, there is something simmering underneath, like a fire that hasn't quite burned out.

"You really don't have to do that," you tell him, staring out the window. "You have already done enough."

He just chuckles, low and rough. "Enough? I went through hell, принцесса (princess), I'm not stopping now." He glances at you, his eyes sharp as they lock onto yours and his voice almost wavers when he says. "You saved me first. I owe you."

You press your lips together, unsure how to respond. He sounds so serious, as if nothing you say would sway him. You decide not to speak. Your body is heavy with exhaustion, the aftermath of the drug still dulling your senses. You sigh and shut your eyes, leaning your head against the window again as the lights from outside lull you asleep.

Once the truck finally stops, you wake to the sound of Sergei opening your door. Snow crunches under his boots as he reaches in and effortlessly lifts you into his arms again, ignoring your half-hearted protests.

"Stop fussing, will you," he mutters, his voice softer now. "You're still weak."

The large house he carries you into is cool, the scent of pine and something faintly sweet greeting you. It's a small but comfortable cabin, filled with old family trinkets and photos of a family of four; two young boys sitting on their mother's knee.

Sergei wordlessly sets you down on a couch, draping a blanket over your shoulders before crouching and starting a well-needed fire. Once the flames crackle, he turns and his hands hover over your knees, uncertain, as if he's not surewhere to begin.

Finally, he lifts his arms and brushes some hair back from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Rest," he commands. His tone is calm and serious but the corners of his mouth twitch upward as if he's hiding a small smile. "I will make us food."

You still don't say a word as you watch him retreat to the kitchen, the tension in your chest easing for the first time in a long while. The danger is gone, replaced with a warmth you haven't felt. You glance around the room and you realize that for the first time in a long long time, you feel completely safe.

You smile softly, watching the fire burn and listening to Sergei walk around the kitchen.

#sergei kravinoff #sergei kravinoff x fem!reader #sergei kravinoff x you #sergei kravinoff x reader #sergei kravinoff fanfic #sergei kravinoff fanfiction #kraven the hunter #kraven the hunter x fem!reader #kraven the hunter x reader #kraven marvel #marvel kraven the hunter #kraven the hunter x y/n #kraven x reader #kraven movie #aaron taylor johnson

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beyondthetemples-ooc · 18 hours ago

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I took it for my OCs because this just has Such a Good Exploration of Their Aesthetics and Motivations that I wanted to see what they'd get!

Dove:

(wait how did Dove get the same result as me, I think all of her answers were different???) Anyways:

a ring

you’ve made the band simple and beautiful, and inlaid just the details needed to make it special. not too gaudy, not too plain. it’s a ring meant to last forever, meant to be worn forever; when you put it on someone, it wraps around their finger perfectly, delights them. you’ve tried to make it something that people will keep. you needn’t have worried: no matter who you put it on, with time, it starts to wrap tighter around their finger. starts to cling. starts to constrict. you can’t take it off of them, when they beg you to get them free; their skin starts to redden, to bruise, to go black. the only time they manage to get it off is when the finger goes with it. as a sign of devotion, it leaves a strong impression. nobody that you pledge yourself to leaves without a mark.

(This result is weirdly fitting for her, considering she spends a solid 3 chapters fretting that her husband choosing to live his life with her is costing him his health and may well cost him his life. And the sad thing is, she's not entirely wrong.)

Srentha:

statue

bit by bit, you carve away the shape of a person, a figure that starts to feel more real the more material that you cut from around it. you make the legs, the arms, the torso, the head; this is your masterwork, your galatea. as you are carving the face, something slips; your hand, maybe, or a fault in the material, a defect in your tool. it leaves a slight chip across the figure’s smooth cheekbone. it has already been carved. it cannot be removed. you finish the rest of the statue. it is wonderful, by all accounts; if you can muster the ability to show it to others, they tell you that it’s a beautiful piece of art. you can’t take your eyes off the chip, though. the mark. no matter where you are in the room, your gaze finds it again, unerringly. you stare at it for hours. you dream of it at night. no matter how lovely the figure may be, no matter how beautiful the face, the imperfection haunts you. you start to hate what you’ve made. hate the mark. hate the figure as a whole. when you are alone with the piece, your fingers start to twitch. when you look down at a pile of smashed stone, you can’t tell if you are still caught in one of your desperate dreams. one of your hopeful nightmares. in the rubble, you can see a piece of the face. the chip still remains.

(So the pride in his creations is ABSOLUTELY Srentha! Being haunted by one mistake... It's not canon, but I could see it being so in his nightmares.)

a doll

you’ve made it to be as approachable as you can. a comely face, a soft body, made to be held and be played with and be loved. it looks a bit like you; the way that all things look like their creators, you suppose. you offer it to someone else. they smile with a polite amount of teeth and no warmth when they decline your offer. you give it away. you find it on your doorstep again, days later, slightly damaged. stepped on. no matter who you hand it to, no matter who you entrust with it, it ends up in your arms again, worse for wear every time. that is the conclusion that you have to come to. you are the only one who will hold it gently. the only one who will keep it. but even you don’t really want it anymore, do you? you resent it and feel your heart break for it all at the same time. it’s hard to love a thing that nobody else will. it’s hard not to think that there’s a reason it continues to be discarded. you know this better than you know how to say.

(...oh that would HURT her. She's an oddball, quirky to the point of being disconcerting sometimes, but she struggles to find her place in the world. Having a doll that also struggles to find its place would make it like she put eerily much of herself into it...)

Kary:

a sword

it’s a beautiful thing, truly. the edge shines, razor-sharp, and the hilt gleams with polish. it looks like something that only you could have created. it looks like a part of you, made metal and melted into a blade. every detail and decoration along the hilt makes it really and truly yours. when you use it, it works just as any sword should, right up until the final hit; and then it fails. the final stroke through the dragon’s neck. the final strike against the chains. the final slice through an enemy. right as you need it, truly, it slips. or it catches against something. or it breaks. it fails you, in the end, and through the disaster, you’re not sure if you’re glad to see the dreadful thing finally shatter or heartbroken that it couldn’t stay.

(Imagine the sword is Kary's self-reliance and It's Absolutely True.)

quiz enjoyers! i am now inviting you to come create something in my workshop❕

#oc rebloggables #personality quiz #uquiz

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nmakii · 2 days ago

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strayed from the main idea of this drabble… oops.

sae itoshi, who loves calling his girl ‘amorcita’. that’s fine, and all. it’s romantic, but he likes calling you his princess much more.

princess is more than just a pet name to him though. because to him, you’re truly a princess, graceful and beautiful despite your faults; someone who deserves to be given the world. he’d go to the ends of the earth to find something that doesn’t exist if you asked him to find it.

it’s not much of an exaggeration when you say that he’s down bad.

he is— he’s just very good at hiding it. he doesn’t boast about you loudly in the ways that someone like that devil— shidou— might, but he instead manages to offhandedly relate any conversation topic to you.

oddly enough, the only other time sae’s ever as talkative or passionate about something other than football, is when he’s talking about you.

that additional time where aiku asked shidou why he was making funny faces in the locker room? after that, sae mentioned, “my princess makes weird faces too. when she’s sleeping, her cheek is always pressed up to me, and it leaves a red mark in the morning. and, she can never manage to keep her mouth closed when she’s asleep. once, i was able to feed her while she was asleep.” and he sighed, silently smiling at the funny memory.

in his first interview after going public with you as his girlfriend, he immediately jumped at the opportunity to mention you. he had always thought that these interviews were an unnecessary hassle. he’s a good football player, and he’ll let his work speak for itself. “right! soo… sae, how are you adjusting to your new team?” the interviewer asks. sae thinks for a moment, his lower lip raising in a slight pout as he thinks of how to answer. “…the center forward has incredible dribbling skills, i’ll admit that. but, his shot range and goal chance percentage are awful. the rate at which he can score goals is still lukewarm.” he sighs disappointedly, “the best striker in the world seems to have not had his awakening yet. it’s annoying, but the city isn’t so bad. there’s a french bakery near my apartment that my princess and i like to frequent. she loves those flaky croissants with chocolate in them— pain au chocolat, but i tend to just get their house black coffee.” he’s recalling your typical order as if it’s the back of his hand, and the flow of his speech is much more relaxed than when he had been speaking about his new team.

and at this point, the interviewer is confused. “pardon… your ‘princess’?” he repeats, trying to confirm what he heard. sae nods, “yes, my princess; my girlfriend. she really likes those chocolate croissants. she eats about a fourth of it in just one bite. and when some hot chocolate from the inside burns her on the lip, she complains a bit and asks me to kiss it better. it’s really cheesy on her part, but i guess i don’t mind if it’s for her.” even sae doesn’t know just what he’s saying. he didn’t mean to reveal this much about how he feels. …yet, here he was, going on like a pining gentleman in love, and remembering how the softness of your lips felt against his as the piping hot chocolate pressed and stuck onto his lips as well.

in his eyes, you’re as close to perfection as there ever will be. it didn’t matter whether or not your physical appearance changed, or if you suddenly decided to change your career path— as long as you stayed as who you are, he’d be at your side.

and to be worthy of such a perfect human being; his princess. he has to become a king— a king of the field. one who domineers the field with his spatial awareness alone, and passes to the one who can keep up with his vision; the greatest egoist. that’s who he needs to become in order to earn your love; to become worthy of being the one that gets to love you every day and every night.

but even so, it’d still never be enough for him. you always make him want to push his limits further, and show you just how amazing he is.

sae’s really down bad for his princess.

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leona-hawthorne · 3 days ago

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lorenzo berkshire: how a relationship would be with my favorite male manipulator <3

(@mattnott this came out of the chat we had the other day LMAO ily zoya)

on the surface, lorenzo berkshire is just that guy. he’s effortlessly charming, polite, intelligent, and the kind of person who could convince anyone he’s the perfect human being. he’s the type who walks into a room and immediately draws everyone in—not by being loud or flashy, but by knowing exactly how to make himself seem approachable, kind, and maybe even a little vulnerable. but all of it is just a mask.

enzo is a master manipulator. he knows exactly how to get what he wants, and he does it by making people think they’re in control. he doesn’t argue or beg; instead, he plants ideas like seeds in your mind. “if that’s what you think is best,” he’ll say with a soft smile, knowing full fucking well you’ll second-guess yourself. he makes you feel like every decision was yours, even though he’s been guiding you the whole time. and the worst part? you don’t even realize it until it’s too late.

emotional manipulation and guilt-tripping

enzo doesn’t argue outright, but he’s an expert at making you feel like everything is your fault. when you expresses your feelings or doubts about your relationship, he deflects and twists the narrative.

“you’re overthinking again, love. you always do this—it’s like you’re looking for reasons to fight.”

“after everything i’ve done for you, this is how you see me? it just doesn’t seem fair, babe.”

the constant emotional exhaustion of always questioning yourself and feeling like the villain slowly pushes you to the edge.

subtle isolation

enzo doesn’t tell you to stop seeing your friends or family straight up—that would be too obvious. instead, he plants seeds of doubt about them, turning you against the people who care about you.

“it’s just… don’t you think your friends don’t really understand you? they don’t see the real you like i do. they’re only here for a good time. they wouldn’t stick with you when things are hard, like i do.”

“your sister’s always been jealous of you. it’s kind of obvious when you think about it. in fact… i think i she was flirting with me at the lake trip last weekend…”

over time, you feel more and more alone, with enzo as the only person left in your corner—and even that’s suffocating.

his temper leaks through

enzo prides himself on being calm and composed, but even he can’t keep the mask on forever. when you push back—when you really challenge him—his anger surfaces.

“you think you’re better than me now? after all i’ve done just to make you happy? you should be grateful i’m still putting up with you. no one else would.”

“you don’t get to treat me like this. i deserve better than your constant doubts.”

while he doesn't resort to outright aggression, the quiet, cutting anger and emotional coldness are enough to make you feel small and utterly helpless against him.

hypercritical tendencies

at first, enzo is the type to shower you with compliments. but once he has you, the nitpicking starts. he frames his criticisms as “helping” you or “protecting” you, but they’re really about control. he wants to cut you down until his words are the only form of validation you trust; the only ones that matter.

“that dress is nice, but it’s not really your color, is it?”

“i just think you’d be happier if you didn’t spend so much time on things that don’t matter.”

it’s not that he truly thinks badly of you; it’s just his way of slowly implementing his control. the constant criticism erodes your self-esteem, making you wonder if you’re ever enough for him.

dismisses your autonomy

enzo frames his controlling nature as “taking care of you” or “looking out for you,” but it’s really about stripping away your agency.

he might make decisions for you without asking, like ordering for you at a restaurant or canceling your plans because he thinks you “needs rest.” you simply don’t get a say.

“i only did it because i know what’s best for you. you’d do the same for me if you cared as much as i do.”

over time, you realize you don’t have control over your own life anymore—and that terrifies you.

you start to feel like you’re losing your identity. the things you love—your hobbies, your friends, even your sense of self—have all been swallowed up by enzo’s world.

his fear of losing control turns ugly

when you start pulling away, enzo’s fear of losing you makes him tighten his grip. he might start tracking your whereabouts, showing up uninvited, or trying to manipulate you into staying.

“you’re not yourself lately, baby. i think you need me more than ever right now.”

“are you seriously leaving me after everything we’ve been through? i thought you were better than this. i thought you loved me—was it all a joke to you?”

his desperation exposes just how deeply insane, how utterly selfish he really is—and how dangerous it is to stay—but you still can’t help loving him.

the breaking point: seeing the mask slip

your breaking point comes when you finally see enzo for what he truly is. maybe it’s a moment of anger where his charm gives way to cold cruelty. maybe it’s realizing how isolated you’ve become or maybe it’s catching him in a lie.

“you know what? you’ll never find someone like me again. you’ll never find someone who loves you the way i do—or touches you the way i do.”

“go ahead and leave. but don’t come crawling back when you realize no one else will put up with you.”

and suddenly, the illusion you’ve clung to—the one where enzo is perfect, where his love is worth the pain—is shattered.

enzo doesn’t beg you to stay. no, he’s far more subtle. he sets the stage so that if you even think about leaving, the world around you becomes a constant reminder of him. your friends adore him. “enzo’s perfect for you,” they say, oblivious to his carefully crafted facade, oblivious to the fact that he doesn’t even want them within 50 feet of you. your family loves him because he’s gone out of his way to charm them. “he’s such a gentleman,” your mom gushes after he brings her flowers for no reason at all.

and when you confront him? he doesn’t argue. he doesn’t yell. instead, he sighs, looking at you with those soft, sad eyes. “i just wish you’d trust me,” he says, and suddenly you’re the one apologizing.

and enzo’s love isn’t love—it’s obsession. he doesn’t just want to be with you; he wants to consume you. he integrates himself so deeply into your life that it feels impossible to untangle yourself from him.

he’ll listen to all your favorite songs and tell you how much he loves them too. “this one reminds me of you,” he’ll say, and suddenly, every melody feels like it belongs to him.

he’ll watch all your favorite shows, quote them back to you, and make inside jokes so that even your comfort series becomes a part of his web.

he’ll charm your friends and family until they’re all on his side. “you’re lucky to have him,” they’ll say when you confide in them. and if you ever leave? they’ll tell you you’re making one of the biggest mistakes of your life.

“i just don’t understand,” he’ll say if you call him out. “everything i’ve ever done was for you. because i love you.”

and here’s the thing about enzo: even when he’s truly, deeply in love, he’s still toxic. love doesn’t magically make him a better person—it just changes the way he manipulates you. instead of using his charm to pull you in, he’ll use his insecurities to keep you there. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he whispers, and it sounds more like a warning than a confession. almost like he’s saying he’d become worthless without you.

but love does soften him in some ways. his need for control isn’t about power anymore; it’s about fear. he’s terrified of losing you, so he holds on tighter. he’s still manipulative, still controlling, but now it’s because he genuinely believes he can’t live without you.

enzo’s love is messy and overwhelming. it’s the kind of love that makes you feel like you’re drowning, but at the same time, you can’t imagine living without it. and that’s the tragedy of lorenzo berkshire: no matter what he does, you can’t help but love him anyway. even when you see his true colors, you’re already too far gone.

navigation. masterlist. lorenzo berkshire masterlist.

#lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys #lorenzo berkshire x you #lorenzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire x you #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire x y/n #lorenzo berkshire fanfic #slytherin #harry potter #louis partridge #character analysis #lorenzo berkshire x female reader

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