#actually what i would REALLY love and i think i’ve said this before

[truelovepolinator]

So, Nicola said the words. Now what? Well, I’m still sat on the Lido deck enjoying my Piña Colada.

First, I want to say, I restrict my Lukola musings to this place (and the discord I recently joined). I’m not sharing my theories out in the big, wide world out of respect for them. I don’t want either my certainty or my candor about the game our lovebirds are playing (out of necessity) to hurt them in any way.

That’s why I’m so glad to have found this place. The quiet, little tumblr community and the serious, closed-lip Lukola community is relatively small and respectful. True blue shippers understand what’s happening and we keep the faith (and keep our mouths shut to the outside world). My musings are for this group alone.

I mention this because I believe that anyone reading my blog, or fellow bloggers, who feel that Lukola is real and happening now, both love and respect Nic and Luke. We want them to be happy.

We support Lukola in making the choices that are good for them. Let them say and do what they need to in order to keep themselves safe and peaceful. If we’re rooting for their happiness and success, then we need to let them publicly create the narrative that enables them to do that.

But for those of us on the ship, we sometimes need to prop each other up and remind us all why we’re willing to sail these sometimes choppy seas. With yesterday’s release of the Gold Derby interview, and the much discussed “just friends” line, now seems like one of those times.

Because rest assured, friends, this line is no cause for concern. I know the jakolas are celebrating this as a win, and good for them. I’m glad they’re happy. They’re saying (and will continue saying) that we’re delusional. “After everything we’ve seen,” they’ll say, “she finally said the words you’ve been waiting for. Now do you see?” Cool. We can agree to disagree, and I support them in their opinions.

Because I know exactly what I see.

I’ve covered the reasons NicLuke would lie about/cover up their relationship several times, but with this latest interview, those reasons bear a quick review:

- Nic is a feminist who doesn’t want to be defined by her relationship or a man. She doesn’t want to be “someone’s girlfriend” (or wife), which she has said explicitly.

- Nic has always been intensely private about her love life (even before she was an uber famous It Girl). Would she really decide to change that now when the spotlight is even brighter?

- Not wanting to be branded as a couple and lose their identities. Both Nic and Luke are hitting new levels of success with Season 3. They need to capitalize on that as individual actors respected for their performances.

- Nicola is the moment. She deserves her time in the sun without being reduced to half of a famous couple (even if the other half is “perfect” Luke)

- Luke is a hot guy with newly opened doors after season 3. The SMA spread helped cement that perception. Remaining “single” publicly helps maintain that persona, increasing his marketability.

- Public scrutiny and pressure on famous couples is enormous. There’s an expectation of perfection when, spoiler alert, they’re actually human beings who probably get pretty messy sometimes like everyone else. And might even have had a messy road to this point that they’d rather not lay bare to the world. Scrutiny also means every action gets judged, and should things not work out (heaven forbid!), the whole world would watch their heartbreak.

And those are just the highlights.

In addition to all of this, there are even more reasons they might want to be extra careful and private right now:

- Nicola is nominated for a major acting award, by her peers no less. The absolute last thing she’d want would be for industry peers to dismiss her performance because they think she was actually in love with Luke, not acting. We’ve all watched it (doubtless many times) and know how beautiful and nuanced both their performances were throughout, covering the gamut of emotions with huge range, regardless of any personal feelings they may have had at the time. But “story” is important in an awards race and she definitely does not want THAT to be the perceived story.

- Besides which, quite apart from actually winning the award, just the nomination will open doors for her. But again, she needs to detach from that story to ensure she’s taken seriously.

- There’s also the delicate other matter that is 1,000% reason enough to batten down the hatches and shut down the scrutiny asap.

But if people are still anxious, here are a few more things I’ve been reflecting on that have reassured me and might just reassure you as well:

- The video where Bessie says, “A couple of people fell in looove, I gueeesss.” I mentioned this in my previous blog (linked below) and @dianis307817 asked about it, so I’ll attach it at the bottom for your delight and reassurance (that part specifically is at the end)

- I had a little switch flip yesterday about Nicola’s “a lot of people want me to marry Luke” comment in the Time interview. We all said then, “Nic, we just wanted you to be together. Nobody (fans) was talking about marriage! That’s all you, girl.” But yesterday, I processed it in a different context and thought, “that’s what a mom who says ‘that’s the one’ says to her daughter.” I thought about this briefly back when this first came out, but something about it clicked into place for me yesterday. Marriage is the thing friends and family push when they know she’s with the right guy. And she didn’t say, “a lot of people want me to BE with Luke” or “get together with Luke.” She said marriage, which is predicated on them already being in the relationship. (I’m sure others thought about it this way previously, but this clarity in this moment for me was useful perspective.) As we see again and again, Nic has been telling us all along.

- In that interview and in Paris, she is STILL WEARING THAT RING. And in fact, in Paris, she had a small gold ring on her left ring finger, which we saw when she was caught spontaneously for the magic trick. That finger change could purely be due to the delicate matter. But a gold ring of any ilk, Claddagh or otherwise, on that specific finger is 👀

- Notably, she removed her rings entirely at the Dior show when she knew she’d be photographed extensively. Or again, possibly for the above mentioned reason.

- And finally, there continue to be signs of the delicate matter that I prefer not discuss. But she’s not wearing acrylics lately (interview or Paris), she had non-alcoholic beer at the Big Boys premiere, and several of the designs she’s worn have had an M (not size Medium) on them. Also, she hedged in the interview about who would go to the SAG Awards, saying she wasn’t sure about the shooting schedule. But since she’s the only solo nominee and LW, if Shondaland is sending a contingent, they would definitely clear her schedule to be in it. So why hedge — if she’s able to travel?

To me, all of the above assure me the story has been and continues to be consistent.

Indeed, saying “just a friend” is entirely consistent with the camouflage strategy to date. All the reasons she’s avoided being open about the relationship until this time are all the reasons she would finally force herself to lie in this moment.

In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say the questions were agreed upon in advance and she was prepared with that answer, braced and ready to say what she has to say. Gold Derby is very much an industry awards focused site, featuring and hyping nominees. Interviews generally focus on *the work.* It’s not an entertainment gossip site or morning TV show. All these months later, when NicLuke hasn’t been seen together in 6+ months and the larger cultural conversation has very much moved on from World Tour chemistry, would an industry guy really still be asking a salacious question about her love life? And expecting that she would spontaneously admit to something *now* when she hasn’t uttered so much as a single peep until now? It feels much more like a set-up to give her the opportunity to explicitly say the words she hoped she could avoid saying.

Nic has said before that she finds it really hard to be disingenuous, and I think anyone who’s watched her for more than five minutes can see that. She’s so authentic and as real as she can be, which is why until now she’s found a hundred different ways to deflect the question without saying, “just friends.” She didn’t want to say those words because they’re not true. But when push comes to shove… when the crucial privacy of her family at a critical time is at stake… let alone careers and future gigs and maybe even awards are at stake… she will do what she needs to do. She will smile and say the words she doesn’t want to say.

Remember, Tomdaya said they were “just friends,” too. Have you seen the ring on Zendaya’s finger recently? And speaking of rings, have you seen the ring on Nic’s finger?

Meanwhile, right after the begrudging “just friends” line, she’s asked if there’s anything wrong with Luke. Do you see the way her face lights up when she says he’s perfect? That’s her real answer. She can’t even find one single thing to tease him about? Not a single flaw that she would reveal to the world? Something small and good natured? That’s a girl in love and I don’t care what you say.

Let the antis and the jakolas and everyone else think what they want. It just doesn’t matter. And in fact, the more people who buy those stories (including all the variants of the story), the better for Nicola and Luke. People believing those stories is the goal and helps protect them. Especially Nicola, whom I believe needs safety and peace more than ever right now.

As always, we don’t know them, and I allow for the possibility that I could be wrong. But despite Nic’s protestations (the lady doth protest too much, methinks), I’m sitting tight on the Lukola, ordering another drink.

Only Nic and Luke matter and they get to write the public story. I still believe they will come out some day, when they’re ready. When they feel safe, when they feel secure, when they have less risk to their professional brands and careers. Nicola has never gone public with her love life before, and she will always want to be private. As does Luke now, clearly. But I believe they will want to share their truth at some point, and they know how much we want to share in their joy. But it has to be on their terms.

In the meantime, for anyone who needs shoring up, let this bolster you. The ship sails on.

Here’s the full interview if you haven’t seen it or would like a rewatch:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=tBPOWQYU2sQ

[jeonscatalyst]

https://www.tumblr.com/jeonscatalyst/774011165218144256/us-jikook-signed-up-as-buddies-they-will-be?source=share

I know many will say I'm being anti or wtv but i still haven't fully believed they sleep in the same room not because i don't want to or anything but it's just that we don't have any idea about the internal room arrangements and i have seen some (jk solos) posting ss from that website where soldiers talk about their experiences and i have seen different soldiers have different experiences. Even companions saying they weren't in the same unit as their companion etc. i mean that's what i have have read from those ss and since I'm not korean and I don't have anyone personally telling me how it goes in sk military I'm always 50/50 witj all the information that comes unless it's confirmed solidly.

Jimin said "conversation with jungkook before going to bed" now this can mean that they both sleep in the same room or they don't is also an interpretation because he could be talking with jungkook u know like hangout a little (like jk said they both go away from other soldiers to sing out loud) and then go separate ways to their respective rooms. I mean that's also an option so idk how much they're sleeping together side by side but what we 100% know is that they both see each other daily, talk to each other about their future about armys, they go away from others to have their little time together to sing to talk etc and that's sooo beautiful.

Hi anon,

With all due respect, no one gives a tiny rats ass what you believe. There comes a point when people like you need to step out of your imaginations and accept reality for what it is. The fact that you are citing what JJKs say or post as your source already tells me all I need to know because no single person who cares about Jimin and Jungkook together takes what any of their solos says about them as a pair seriously. So you just exposed yourself as an anti by telling me that your source of information is the same people who hate Jimin more than they love Jungkook and would do and say anything to prove that they hate each other.

When we first learned that Jungkook was assigned as a cook, what happened? People like you immediately spun baseless narratives, claiming that cooks sleep in separate areas, follow different schedules, and wake up or go to bed at different times…therefore insisting that Jikook couldn’t be together.

Before that, you were certain that Jimin and Jungkook would be separated after basic training, yet they themselves debunked that claim. Jungkook further disproved your theories about cooks being in separate sleeping quarters and following different routines when he shared that he sings with Jimin in the shower. If he truly had a different schedule…waking up or going to bed earlier than Jimin, how would they be showering at the same time? If cooks were actually separated from the rest, how would they even have the opportunity to do that?

Then, you once again claimed that Jimin and Jungkook don’t sleep in the same dorm, only for Jimin to talk about the conversations they have before going to bed. Hell they even talked on AYS about sleeping next to each other and stuff….yet here you are again, pushing another illogical narrative.

If you insist on engaging in mental gymnastics, let me ask you this: What would be the point of the buddy system if buddies who enlisted together to rely on each other and make military life easier for each other only ended up being separated? What purpose would that serve? I’ve told you before…forget everything you think you know about the Korean military and stop applying those assumptions to Jimin and Jungkook. They enlisted under the buddy program, which changes things for them. Maybe in general, other recruits sleep separately. Maybe other cooks really do follow different schedules. But none of that applies to Jimin and Jungkook because they are enlisted as buddies and there would be no purpose to them going through that process which landed them in the front lines of they only ended up getting separated which defeats the purpose.

Why is it so important for you to insist that they don’t share a dorm? Why go to such great lengths to prove otherwise? I understand that having Jimin and Jungkook themselves debunk the falsehoods you’ve clung to is difficult for you to accept. That must be painful. If I were in your position, I’d probably feel the same. But, darling, it’s time to accept reality. It’s not just anyone contradicting your claims…it’s Jimin and Jungkook themselves. They are the ones actually experiencing military life, not you. You don’t get to dictate their actions or interpret their words based on your personal preferences.

They’ve told you plainly: they are together. They shower together, sing together, and have discussions before bed. You can either accept that truth or continue raising your blood pressure trying to deny it. The choice is entirely yours.

[mullermilkshake]

PART TWO - Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader x Satoru Gojo

Gojo worms his way inside. Tags -Yandere!Reader,Thoughts on murder,References to poison,Knives and cutting,Threats of burning,Mentions of masturbation,Threats of decapitation,Coercive behaviour,Yandere,Sexual tension

How did you convince Kento to allow Satoru Gojo into his home again?

Oh right, apparently you and Gojo became acquaintances after he ‘quit’ his job at that restaurant and by a random extremely slim chance, he took a job up at the coffee shop.

Kento was far too intelligent to fall for it, so how did he? You remembered how much you tried to convince him otherwise, but with Gojo breathing down your neck threatening Kento’s life, you didn’t exactly have a choice.

I’m going to kill that bastard in his sleep one of these days. Gojo’s muscular build put you at a disadvantage, but there were other ways you could skin a cat. Poison for example, just drop it in his drink and watch him choke over the entree before he had a chance to grab the fork from the napkin and stick Kento with it.

Maybe the old fashion throat slit would better suit a man of his calibre? The joy you’d get from seeing him struggle underneath you with all that fear in his eyes brought you more joy than presents on Christmas.

Though in the little time you’d known Gojo for, something told you that he’d like that.

Sadistic son of a bitch. 

“Can you pass me the salt please, Darling?”

You blinked at him and registered what he asked for. “Yes- yes, of course.”

“Thank you.” He took the shaker and watched Gojo with a suspicious side eye. “So, Gojo. How are you finding your new job at the coffee shop? It’s quite a different change of pace from an upscale restaurant.”

Gojo watched you just the same. “Well, life’s short right? I’ve always loved a challenge.”

How was it that only you could sense the weight of the atmosphere? Kento just didn’t react to it, or he just didn’t let on. All you wanted to do was scream out and tell him what a deranged man Gojo was. The thing about Satoru Gojo you gauged fairly quickly was how he followed through with his promises. One little promise and Utahime had been off work for two weeks refusing to see anyone.

She never came in the day after she started gushing over Kento and made a comment that upset you. You never got a chance to shove a small hessian pouch of decaf coffee beans down her throat so that she choked and lost her voice. Gojo did something far worse.

He stole that opportunity to get Utahime out of the way entirely and never told you what he did. Such a dramatic man who ruined the experience for you. 

“I'm actually thinking of leaving the coffee shop. Put my qualifications to good use.” You said, fiddling with your fork to throw Gojo off.

“You’re thinking of pursuing an academic role?” Kento smiled softly and rested his hand on your exposed knee. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah, I can go into teaching straightaway really. I’m thinking of applying for some positions before the next school year.”

Take that you creepy bastard. 

Gojo had not said one word, you noticed his jaw clenching as leant on his hand off to the right. You could see the subtle change in his eyes, something Kento obviously did not see. Anger? Rage? Or…

You looked down at Kento’s arm, his hand had moved from your knee and now hung off the back of your chair, thumbing a little dip of your neck delicately as though on instinct.

He’s so affectionate, how can anyone get more perfect than him? 

The man across the table grasped his fork in his hand to make his knuckles white as though it was made in the form of a warning. ‘Don’t mess with me.’ 

You sat back into Kento’s hand and folded your arms, watching him in the sudden silence to respond. ‘Try me you ignorant prick.’ 

“I dunno,” Gojo composed himself. “If you left now, we’d lose one pretty… good barista if you ask me.” 

His grip never faltered and it was close to shaking, trembling at his strength. A behaviour to exhibit strength and show the weaker one what damage he could do. Deer did the exact same thing, rutting with each other until they claimed victory to show those weaker not to fuck about or they’d get impaled. Sort of the same as that fork in his hand although not as small and discreet. 

Oh, and deers got to fuck their counterparts after. 

Something you dreaded thinking about because you wanted to forget about it. Gojo’s speech in the bathroom, his closeness and blunt nature admitting he wanted you. Like… wanted you. You simply denied him that and look where it got you, the man was a menace and never let up until you’d grown sick of him showing up at the coffee shop.

Fucking stalker, nowhere near chivalrous like Kento. 

And the fact that he knew your dark side, the one you struggled keeping tied up like someone who inconvenienced Kento in some way shoved in the trunk of your car, made it difficult to process. It grew more and more problematic the longer he was in your's and Kento’s lives. Holy fuck, you really wanted to kill that man, climb over the table and launch yourself like a flapping fish right in his face and ram your thumbs into his blue eyes until they ran red.

Satoru Gojo knew that too. That was his trademark, counteracting and predicting anything you threw at him. Knowing what you wanted before you knew you wanted it. Hell, he even told you he loved you.

That was supposed to be Kento’s line. And he stole it.

A big moment you could never forgive Gojo for.

“You are very good in your job role, but I’ll support you in whatever line of work you choose.” Kento pulled away and finished what was left on his plate. “An academic role is a great step forward for you.”

“Nanami, why don’t you talk about what you do as a job, huh? I don’t think she’s mentioned it before.” Gojo spoke your name with such a drawl you almost kicked him under the table.

“I’m in stocks and shares-”

“Oh!” You gasped and caught yourself too late.

“Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah.” You weren’t, Gojo’s foot found your leg. “I just forgot that I was meant to prepare dessert before we sat down- I’m so silly, I’m sorry Ken. I’ll go out and do it now.”

Kento held out his hand and offered to let you stay seated. “It’s alright, I’ll go and sort it. You stay here. I’ll get more wine too.”

“Thank you, baby.” Watching him walk away with a sweet smile, your face dropped once he was out of ear shot.

You practically shouted at Gojo with the most delicate whisper ever. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” 

He got closer to the table and watched you with the most adoring eyes from anybody you had ever seen with a smile to match. “Y’know, it’s funny how in sync we are.”

However, you had no time for it, your eyes darted back and forth from the kitchen to the dining table. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I have qualifications in teaching too.” He grinned at your falling expression.

No. He couldn’t follow you there too, could he? You were stretched thin enough as it was, grasping at straws to get your footing in repelling him and keeping Kento away from his grip. And here he was inserting himself into your life.

“Leave us alone, I don’t want any of this.” 

Gojo’s expression fell for just a second, you almost missed it before he put his mask back on. “Don’t lie to me.”

“You ruin this for me and I’ll fucking kill you… I worked too hard to make sure I could be with him, I won’t let anything get in between us, especially not you.” 

“Here we are.” Kento brought through three plates and a wine bottle under his arm. “Now, where was I? Oh, stocks and shares, that’s what you were interested in, right?”

“Mhm,” Gojo nodded and stabbed his dessert with his fork. “Tell me all about it.”

If anyone walked now, it would have seemed like the two were getting along going back and forth batting between sentences and random questions. It looked like Kento tolerated Gojo and actually seemed happy enough to give him answers to his stupid questions.

However, under the table was a different story entirely. Gojo took every opportunity to rub your leg with his foot as absentmindedly as Kento did with his little adoring touches.

I’m fucked. 

You managed to tolerate twenty minutes of torture before excusing yourself to the bathroom. It was a risk, though with how early in this weird fucked aquaintanceship with Gojo went, you surmised that he’d leave Kento to collect the dishes when he stated that he’d clear up. Only for a minute. 

So, you disappeared and plopped yourself down on the toilet just waiting for your breaths to settle. This theory, because it was not guaranteed, never stopped your beating heart from fluttering and not in a good way. What if he did hurt him?

Holding a breath, you stood up and went for the door lock, hesitating and shaking yourself out of it. The danger for Kento was too great to sit hidden up in a fucking toilet. Taking a second to observe your surroundings, you noticed a glass file by the sink. One of yours you left here.

Perfect. 

Siipping it into your grasp, you fiddled with the lock and opened it. The thought of just threatening Gojo made you feel much better. But Gojo stood right in front of you when the door opened. 

Before you could make contact with the file to his neck, he wrapped his slender fingers around your wrists and shoved you back in the bathroom, clicking the door closed behind him.

“That nail file is pretty cute. Wanna give me a manicure or act really scary to get me off?” He got so close, nose to nose full of his hot breath and cologne.

“Get off of me.” He resisted your struggles and squeezed a little tighter to make you wince. “I said get off.” 

Gojo smirked so smugly, his eyes darted about your face and could not keep still. “You think you’re pretty funny letting him touch you that way in front of me. There’s nothing stoppin’ me from walking downstairs and taking his sweet little head for myself to watch me while I jerk off to your picture. A trophy if you will. Would you like that?”

Your eyes darted to the glow of the downstairs lamp, clattering dishes in the distance. “Don’t touch him, or I’m setting you on fire in your sleep.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He could have kissed you, yet he refrained and watched you behind his lidded eyes. “I’m going to make your life more interesting around here and you’ll thank me for it. Y’know why?”

“Stop it.”

He readjusted himself as you pulled away and forced you up against the wall again. “There’s something in you that enjoys this, otherwise you would have told me to hit the sidewalk and ignored me completely. Now I’m tolerating Nanami for the time being because I couldn’t bear to see that pretty face sad, but soon enough when he outlives his usefulness, I’ll kill him.”

You almost growled in response. “Try me.”

“I’d love to.” He pulled away and strolled out of the bathroom leaving you there to contemplate your life.

Like a puppy you followed him downstairs to keep him from doing anything. Kento stood over the threshold of the kitchen, wiping a dish over.

Gojo spoke up before you ever could. “Thanks for showing me around, I got a little lost.”

What a lying bastard- shithead- prick- asshole. “It’s no worry, I forgot where the bathroom was when I first came over.”

“Were you snooping around my wine collection, Gojo?”

“Guilty!” He threw up his hands with a childish grin. “I’m not much of a drinker but I appreciate a collection when I see one.”

“You’re a collector?”

Gojo shook his hand a little to measure his indecisiveness. “Sort of…”

Even though he faced away from you, his eyes were glaring in your direction on some sort of reflective surface. “I like collecting trophies. Anything really, I’m good at everything I put my mind to. It’s like I said before, I love a challenge.”

Tag list - @nanamineedstherapy, @indiewritesxoxo

Hi! 😊

Your writing is so immersive that it feels cinematic—like watching a movie unfold in real time. I love how you always manage to surprise me with plot twists that I never see coming! It’s such a refreshing change from knowing exactly where the story is headed.

I’d absolutely love if you could give Yandere!Reader another go with Nanamin. I think it would be fascinating since Nanami’s level-headedness might keep him from suspecting her. And if you're open to poly ships, it’d be thrilling to add Gojo into the mix with a twist—Yandere!Reader x Nanami x Gojo, but with Gojo secretly yandere all along. Maybe he’s been stalking both of them, planning for the perfect moment to reveal his obsession and orchestrating their “first meeting” to suit his agenda. I’ll leave the rest to your creativity, as I’m sure you’ll bring unexpected layers and depth!

Thank you for considering this! I’m so grateful for all the hard work you put into your stories. 😊🌸

Thanks so much for the kind words! It really means a lot. I love trying to write it all cinematic and doing things that go against the grain because my brain is twisted lol.

I can definitely do that, I hope you enjoy it!

Kento Nanami x Reader x Satoru Gojo

TAGS- Yandere!Reader,Yandere!Gojo,Stalking,Thoughts of killing people,Yandere!thoughts and motives,Masking,Graphic depictions of violence and mentions of damage to eyes.

One americano, two shots of espresso and two pumps of vanilla. Every day at seven thirty five. But not on Sundays sometimes because meetings run over. 

“Oh! I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going- oh god look at your suit, it must be expensive right?”

It was about time you made proper contact with Kento Nanami. You watched on in awe at his stance, brushing the coffee away from his suit in such a way it made the mundane action sexy. Lustrous. Like he was trying to make the way he allowed a strand of hair to fall past his forehead almost purposefully. With an intent to send you crazy.

Good thing you weren’t like those fangirls you often saw on television, crawling about the stage because a man gyrated over his mic. No, you were merely a coffee barista. A damn good one at that. Well, except for spilling coffee all over Kento’s suit.

But how else were you going to get his attention?

You were barely hanging on as it was watching the others make his drink to order. That’s why you made this one for him.

Jesus fucking hell Utahime It’s two pumps of vanilla. I swear I could kill that bitch right now. Shove head under the hot water valve and watch her eyes burn out the sockets.

It was a little drastic, even for you, but if anyone just saw the way Utahime was talking to Kento they would have assumed the two were dating or something. Kento Nanami was single. Definitely single.

The last girl he wanted to date just never made it to that coffee date on time.

None of his other dates did either.

“It’s fine, really.” The first sentence he spoke to you wasn't ‘thank you’ or his coffee order.

A formulated sentence.

Well, that was five months ago. Kento Nanami made the right choice that day to accept your invitation for a drink. Just like you planned. All seemed well and good for a time before you were noticing something strange when out in public.

White hair.

It was all you seemed to ever see. Out in the store or late night trip to the movies, hooked up to Kento’s arm during a scary or suspenseful part. It just seemed to be there, though you never knew who it belonged to. Never a face to linger for a second to make the connection. Just nothing. It tickled the back of your neck, putting you on the defense as though Kento was in danger. What sort of fucked up person would stalk someone? The idea of it was deranged, sick at the thought that someone was watching him, watching you with him.

White hair. You just couldn’t place it.

“Ken, love! What do you think of this dress?!” You called from upstairs, slipping on your shoes and smoothing down the hem of the fabric.

“I’m sure it’s perfect-” He paused, looking you up and down as though studying every inch of your body before he forgot what it looked like.

“Do I look pretty?”

He nodded slowly, stepping close to sit his hand on your waist. “You look beautiful.”

Hearing Kento say such kind and wonderful things made your night, heck, your entire week. Who gave a crap what anyone else thought? Just Kento was more than what you needed to prove that he liked you very much. You loved him of course, but that was love at first sight. Counting down the agonising days until he said it back to you, when you told him all the time in your head or whilst he slept. It took restraint not to slip up and make him doubt things.

So difficult not to say it for the man you loved.

“Thank you.” You giggled at his touch, planting a kiss on your temple with a husky growl in his throat.

“Maybe we should leave dinner tonight? I can’t possibly see how I’ll cope without taking you back to mine straight away. Too beautiful.”

“Restrain yourself, Ken. Someone might think you’re in love with me or something!” Your ecstatic grin sat just in front of your face as though to mask your brain away.

Say it… just say it please. Tell me you love me. I need to hear it. 

His attentive smile made your stomach flip when he pulled you close and spun you around to face the mirror. “If they saw your smile, they would understand what a lovely person you are. And see how I can’t resist you when you’re in a dress like this.”

Oh dear. Maybe some other time. 

“Well,” You kept that mask on and pulled away from him. “Should we get going then? Don’t want to be late.”

“Of course.” 

Kento drove straight to the restaurant, quite an upscale place for no occasion. Maybe there was? Perhaps Kento had something planned that you were unaware of, something spontaneous or quite the opposite. A planned surprise? It was practically the night of your five month month anniversary after all, two hundred wonderful days spent seeing each other and having astronomical sex. 

You didn’t get your hopes up and held your breath when he climbed out of the car and opened the door for you. So special. So dedicated to your comfort with the slightest touch from his fingers on the small of your back. Adrenaline made everything ten times more acute, aware of everything and anything you walked by and as you seated yourself at the table facing Kento, your heart beat so fast. Five months was a long time when you had waited longer to be with him.

You were basically in a relationship with him for well over a year by now it seemed, surely that was long enough to hear those three words?

“Can I get you any drinks?” The waitress grinned at Kento and then at you.

Why him first? He was the most handsome man you had ever seen, but what right did this bitch have setting eyes on him? You ignored the irritation and blinked it away for now, letting Kento speak for you and took a moment to observe the room.

White hair.

A flash of it and you would have missed it had you turned away to scowl at the waitress again. White hair like you were imagining it.

“Darling?”

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?” Kento slid his hand forward and offered it to you. “You seem distant.”

“I’m fine.” You were not, but took his hand anyway. “It’s a little chilly in here, don’t you think?”

“I’ll ask them to turn the heat up, will that be alright?” 

He’s so considerate. “That would be great, thank you.”

You played it off and ignored the itch on the back of your neck, being watched did not agree with you. Kento sat still and his head tilted to the side a little, studying you again whilst his free hand rummaged into his suit pocket.

“I have something for you.” He pulled out a little box. “I know we haven’t been dating that long, but I wanted to get you something I hope you’ll like. If it’s too early, please let me know.”

A box. A small little box. It was light in your hand, velvet to the touch and firm enough that it must have come from those places that sold rings for stupid money. One little box, something so small which held your heart right in Kento’s pocket.

Is he proposing? Please tell me he’s proposing. It means he loves me, right? 

“Ken… What-” A pair of earrings.

“I know you lost one from the pair you always said you wore, so I wanted to get you a new pair. I hope it’s appropriate.”

You forbid yourself to be disappointed, because it wasn’t about the hope that a ring sat nestled perfectly in this box. You put up your mask and smiled sweetly enough to satisfy him. “It is. Thank you so much, I love them!”

He’ll propose some day. 

“Here are your drinks.” 

The waitress took Kento’s drink off first and placed it right in front of him. Then she placed yours down off to the side. She was doing it on purpose, you were sure of it. The steak knife on the table looked pretty good to shove straight in her neck- 

She cleared her throat and placed the tray under her arm. “I’ll be back in a moment to see what you'd like to order.”

“Thank you.” Kento paid no mind to it and took a sip of his wine. “This is a nice vintage, I think we should go to one of those wine tasting evenings. It’s a good place to get to know each other more.”

You did not need to know Kento more. You knew practically everything about him in the four months he stepped into your life physically. 

He liked to drink, hence the wine tasting suggestion. Kento also enjoyed cooking, especially as he lived alone in his apartment, but he also enjoyed dishing up delicacies in your own kitchen. His birthday was July third and he had a particular interest in the arts, like music and theatre. A man of many tastes. 

“Hello there, can I get you something to eat?” A voice of a man you did not recognise came into ear shot.

“I think we might need a minute. Our waitress is taking our order.”

White hair.

You looked up and saw white hair, only this time it did not disappear. The white hair had a face, a blue eyed porcelain complexion with a smooth grin. The man stood taller than Kento dressed in a suit and staff ID.

“I’m sorry, she suddenly became unwell and had to go home. I’ll be taking your order tonight.” He smiled again and made eye contact with you. “My name is Satoru Gojo and I will do everything I can to make sure your night is perfect.”

Gojo. His gaze over you was the exact same distinct feeling of being preyed on. His cutting glare just behind the loose strands of hair over his forehead that looked softer than a cloud. You didn’t know what to make of this, but at least that waitress was gone. You really thought you were going to have to do something about her.

“Alright then. I’ll be back momentarily.”

“Ken, I’m just going to use the restroom, if he comes back before then, can you order me…” You took a brief glance at the menu and chose anything you first landed your eyes on. Gojo wandered off towards the opposite end of the restaurant, somewhere not where the kitchen was. “The steak? I’ll have it however it’s recommended.”

“Alright.”

You took off and made your way over towards the restroom, noting that he had disappeared. Crap. You wanted answers to why it seemed like that man was following you, stalking Kento for no apparent reason.

Would you need to do something about this guy? He was taller than you realised, so he must have been stronger too. You were not super strong by a long stretch, but when pushed enough to the limit, it drove you to do things you thought your body was not capable of.

Just look at the last waitress that brought the wrong drink and almost spilt it all over him just last week. So much blood and she was still wailing after you shoved your stiletto heel in her face.

People never learn. 

By the time you reached the restroom, the stalls were all empty besides one. The long wall length mirror outlined them all like little match boxes opened after use, showing the amber light inside for an ambient glow.

“How did I know that I’d find you in here, hm?” Gojo’s voice echoed throughout the restroom.

It startled you enough to move towards the door and lock it, backing away from the closed door and sitting your back flush with the slate grey tiles adjacent to it.

The toilet stall opened and he came out much less cheerful than he was outside, hands tight in his trouser pockets. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Who are you?”

“It’s funny, no one else ever seems to notice me when I don't want them to. But your instincts are hot on it every time, aren’t they?”

“Tell me who you are.” 

This wasn’t a show of weakness or a moment that revealed your vulnerabilities. When you glared back in his eyes, it was Kento you thought of. If this man was here to hurt him, well, you’d fucking kill him. Out in the back alley, no witnesses and back in time for your steak and boyfriend you’d do anything for. To kill for three times over already. Yes, you’d do it if the opportunity called for it.

“Y’know, I was so ready to come and kick the shit out of that guy when I saw that little box he gave you, but I see right through that little charade you got goin’ on. I've been watching' you a while now.” By now, he’d taken precisely four steps towards you, taking the opportunity to lean against the row of inbuilt sinks. “You’re exactly like me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you need to stop stalking me and my boyfriend. I’ll call the police.”

Gojo’s laugh made your stomach lurch. This guy was a whole new level of crazy you had never seen before. “That’s cute. You’re cute. But no, I’m not stalking him, just you.”

“Then stop doing that.”

“Why, aren’t you scared that I might do what I just said I was goin’ to do? He looks strong but when he has his hands all over you, it sorta drives me crazy.”

Gojo would not make it past the restroom door if he intended on hurting Kento. Yet, why did you contemplate that you’d rather take on the waitress instead of him right now?

Shaking the doubts away, you imagined the scenarios that may occur should you get hold of another steak knife or any other sharp object really. One of the heavy statues in the foyer could prove adequate to crush his head or even one of those little blow torches for creme brûlée right to his face.

For now, your mask dropped, and for a time you could breathe a little. Pretending to be happy all the time was difficult work and holding back on punching anyone who gave eyes at Kento took practice and great restraint. “If you go near him at all, I’ll kill you. I won’t just kill you though, it’ll be worse than torture.”

Gojo stepped closer to you and looked down as though you were a child to be patronised. “That’s my girl. Now, why don’t you introduce me to your little boyfriend so we can make this more official, huh?”

He’d backed you into a corner, right up against the wall. “I meant what I said. Don’t come near us.”

“And I know you have the same urges as me, you think no one sees, but I do. I see you. You won’t have to pretend around me. I’ll even do all your dirty work, that’s what I enjoy most.” He placed his palm on the wall beside your head, leaning in so his mouth was right next to your ear. 

“Lets get this fucked up little love triangle kickin’ hm?

[rispwr]

A thin line between love and hate - KNJ - mini

Pairings : knj x fem! Reader

Genre : flufffff, students au, frienemies to lovers,

Contents : alot of bickering, just kissing, love letters, confusion, buzz cut namjoon, academic rival! Namjoon, he is down baddd (in secret).

Synopsis : 100 reasons to leave but 1 reason to stay.

Notes : this is a test post if i should actually continue this story so tell me what you all think!!

“Read this when you get home, Namjoon,” I said, handing him the letter.

“What-” he started, but I quickly cut him off. “I don’t accept any responses that aren’t written in a letter,” I said fast, my heart pounding so loudly I swore he could hear it.

He chuckled, his eyes falling on the envelope, and I immediately regretted the kiss mark I had stamped on it earlier. “To: Namjoon, from: the gorgeous one and only,” he read out loud with an annoying grin. “Are you gonna finally confess your undying love for me, my Miss ‘Gorgeous One and Only’?” he teased.

I rolled my eyes and hit him lightly on the chest. “I-I’ll go home,” I stammered, spinning on my heel to leave, but before I could take another step, he grabbed my arm.

“Wait,” he said, turning me back toward him. His gaze softened as he studied my face like he was trying to figure out what I wasn’t saying. Then, out of nowhere, he pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, then my neck.

“What are you doing?” I squealed, slapping his hand away.

“You’re not the mean Y/N I know. Are you sick or something?” he asked, tilting his head like he was genuinely concerned.

“Good god, Namjoon, I am not mean,” I groaned, flipping my hair dramatically.

“Yes, you are,” he shot back.

“No, I’m not!”

“You called my hair ‘freshly cut grass if you burn it to crisps.’”

I clamped my mouth shut, refusing to argue with him anymore. “Just- just go home, get unready, read the letter, then think about it and write back to me,” I said, rolling my eyes again for good measure.

“And if I don’t write back?” he teased, the corner of his mouth twitching into that smirk I hated and… didn’t hate.

“Then don’t,” I said quickly, spinning around and walking away before he could see how red my face was.

Behind me, I heard him chuckling softly, and I didn’t need to look back to know he was still standing there, watching me.

——

The letter

“Dear, namjoon.

I don’t even know how to start this. I’ve written and rewritten this letter a hundred times in my head, but now that it’s finally in front of me, I feel like I can’t find the right words. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe there aren’t any perfect words for this mess of feelings I have for you.

I guess I should start with the truth. this was supposed to be a list of all the reasons why I should leave you alone. A list of all the ways you make me so mad, so frustrated, so impossibly confused that I want to walk away and never look back. I thought if I wrote it all down, I’d finally convince myself to let you go. But the problem is, every reason I came up with to leave you somehow turned into a reason

I couldn’t.

I hate the way you tease me. You’re always making these cutting little comments, smirking like it’s a game to see how far you can push me before I snap. You make me feel small sometimes, and I hate that. But then, when it really matters, you’re so damn gentle. Like that time I twisted my ankle during practice, and you carried me all the way to the nurse’s office without saying a word. You didn’t laugh at me or tease me that time. You just stayed.

I hate how you always say you’d never stick around for someone like me. You said once that the day you stay by my side would be the day you die. But when I got sick last month, you were the first one at my door. You stayed up all night, making sure I had everything I needed. I remember the way your hand brushed against mine when you gave me medicine, and I hated how much that simple touch made me feel safe.

I hate how you act like you don’t care. Like nothing about me matters to you. “I don’t care who likes you,” you said once. But I’ve seen the way your eyes darken when someone flirts with me. I’ve seen you bite back comments when someone gets too close. You don’t care, right? Then why do I catch you watching me like you’re afraid I might slip through your fingers?

I hate how we’re always competing. I hate how every test, every class, every little thing turns into a battle between us. You drive me insane. And then I found out you purposely bombed the math competition last year so I could win. Do you have any idea how furious that made me? How much it made me want to scream at you and then cry? You’re the only person who could make me feel so many things at once.

God, I hate how you always roll your eyes whenever someone brings up the idea of us being together. Like the thought of kissing me is the worst thing that could ever happen to you. But the way you looked at me that night on the rooftop, don’t think I didn’t notice. You looked at me like you were trying to memorize the curve of my lips, like you were imagining what it would feel like to finally cross that line we’ve been toeing for years.

I hate the faces you make when people tease us. You make it so obvious you want everyone to stop talking about it, like the idea of us is something ridiculous. But then there are the moments when you don’t realize I’m watching. Like when we were studying in the library, and you stare at me a little too long before shaking your head and going back to your book. I wonder what you’re thinking in those moments.

Do you remember the picnic you planned last spring? You pretended like it was no big deal, like you were just being “nice.” But you remembered everything. my favorite snacks, my favorite flowers, even that stupid song I said reminded me of summer. You don’t just pay attention, Namjoon. You remember. You care. You say you hate me, but your actions… they say something completely different.

That’s what this all comes down to, isn’t it? Your actions. You can say you hate me a thousand times, but every single thing you do tells me the opposite. You tease me, but you’re the first person to comfort me when I’m upset. You push me away, but you’re always there when I need someone to lean on. You say you don’t care, but you’ve made it impossible for me to believe that.

You make me question everything myself, my feelings, you. I hate how much power you have over me. I hate how you make me feel vulnerable, like my heart is constantly in your hands. But most of all, I hate how much I love you for it.

Namjoon, I could list a hundred reasons why I should walk away from you. A hundred reasons why I should hate you. But there’s one reason I can’t.

You.

Because for all your contradictions and flaws, for all the ways you drive me absolutely insane, you’ve shown me something no one else ever has. what it means to be seen. Truly seen. You see me, and that’s why I stay.

So, yeah, I hate you. But I love you more. And I think maybe I always will.

Love, Y/N”

———-

The response

Dear, Y/N

I don’t even know where to start. Is this a confession? A declaration? Or just me finally telling the truth? Whatever it is, it feels like I’m submitting an essay to you, and if I know you well enough, you’re probably laughing at the thought. Or rolling your eyes. Either way, here I am.

You really had to go and write that letter, didn’t you? I read it five times before I could even process what you were saying. I’d look at the words, try to let them sink in, and then find myself going back to the beginning because I didn’t trust myself to read it right the first time. And now, here I am, trying to figure out how to say everything I’ve been keeping inside for way too long.

I’m going to be honest. I’ve been so confused. About you. About us. About everything. It feels like my entire existence has been one long argument with myself. I’ve tried so hard to hate you. I’ve tried. But it’s like every time I convince myself that I’ve won the fight, you do something that tears me apart all over again.

The more I’ve tried to hate you, the more I’ve fallen for you. And I hate that. I hate that love and hate are built on such a thin, fragile line, because I’ve been walking that line since the day we met. And the truth is, I’m ready to cross it. I think I crossed it a long time ago.

Do you remember the math competition last year? Of course you do. you brought it up in your letter. You think I tanked it for you because I wanted you to win. But it wasn’t about the win, Y/N. It was about you. You think you’re the only one who notices things? I’ve been paying attention to you since the day we met. The way you light up when you succeed. The way your hands shake when you’re nervous but you try to hide it. The way you care so deeply about everything, even when you act like you don’t.

I saw that fire in you, and I knew that you deserved that win. You deserved everything. Even if it meant giving up my own shot at SNU Because what’s a scholarship to me when I can see you reach for the stars and actually touch them?

I don’t know how to talk to you without fumbling over my words. So I make fun of you instead. I say stupid things like, “I’d never stay by your side” or “kissing you would be a mistake,” because the alternative is saying, “You terrify me.”

You terrify me because you make me want things I’ve never wanted before. You make me want to be better, softer, more vulnerable. And I hate that vulnerability, but I’d give it all to you if you asked.

The truth is, I loved you before we even met. Remember your debate 4 years ago? I saw you before you ever saw me. You were standing at the front of the room, flipping through your notes with this look of determination on your face. You bit your lip when you were focused, and I thought to myself, There she is. There’s the person who’s going to turn my whole world upside down.

And you did. Not in the way I imagined this back and forth, this endless teasing and fighting but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Every insult, every sarcastic comment, every time you rolled your eyes at me it’s all brought me closer to you. Closer to this moment.

Guess i was right. It was a confession for your undying love for me.

I love you, I’ve loved you since watching that debate, since before I even knew what love was supposed to feel like. And I love you even more now. I love you more than I hate how messy this all is. I love you more than I care about making sense of it. I love you more than I could ever put into words, and trust me, I’ve tried.

This is my response to your letter. It’s messy and chaotic, just like us. But it’s real. It’s me. And it’s all for you.

Always, Namjoon

——

“Here. Here’s the response to your love letter,” Namjoon said, holding out an envelope in my favorite color: purple.

“Wow-“ I started, but before I could say anything else, he pulled me in and kissed me.

I froze for a second, completely caught off guard, but then I melted into it, my hands instinctively wrapping around his neck. His grip on my waist tightened, like he didn’t want to let go. When he finally pulled away, his eyes locked on mine, and I could feel my face burning.

“That’s my physical response to you,” he teased, his smirk making me feel even more flustered.

“And this is your verbal response?” I asked, glancing down at the letter in my hands, trying to tease him back but failing miserably because I couldn’t stop smiling.

He grinned, watching as I nervously started to open the envelope. “Wait- don’t open it here,” he said, stopping my hand.

I looked at him, confused. “Why not?”

“Let’s go somewhere nicer,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Our place? Han River?”

My eyes lit up, and a big smile spread across my face as I nodded. “Okay”

Bonus part

“Joonnn! I’m not prepared!” I squealed, half laughing, half dying of embarrassment as Namjoon hovered over me, his lips pressing soft kisses to my neck.

“What are you talking about?” he mumbled between kisses, his voice low and teasing.

“I haven’t shaved, okay? And- and I’m not even wearing nice undies right now… I’m wearing my grandma undies,” I blurted out, my voice dropping into a whisper by the end, mortified.

Namjoon pulled back just slightly, raising an eyebrow at me. “So what? I like nature,” he said, deadpan.

My jaw dropped. “Oh my god, stop- ” I burst into laughter, shoving at his chest. “I won’t be able to look at nature the same way ever again, you crazy man!”

“Crazy? Me? Well i am for you,” he whispered dramatically, his lips moving lower as his hands found my waist. I gasped, half in shock, half trying to wriggle away from his hold.

“Are you insane?” I whisper yelled, my hands tangling in his hair to pull him back up. But he just looked at me with that stupid smirk of his.

“Do you not wanna do it? I can stop, baby,” he said, his voice soft and genuine, but the way he was grinning made it clear he was enjoying my mortification a little too much.

I groaned, hiding my face in my hands before blurting out, “Just- just let me go to the bathroom real quick!”

Before he could say anything else, I scrambled off the bed and bolted to the bathroom like my life depended on it, slamming the door shut behind me.

When I finally came out, after way too long debating if I could ever look him in the eye again, Namjoon was already lying in bed, grinning like an idiot. “What took you so long, Grandma Undies?”

“Namjoon!” I yelled, throwing a pillow at him as he laughed, pulling me into his arms.

In the end, nothing happened. We just ended up cuddling to sleep, his arms wrapped tightly around me while he whispered about how much he loved me. And honestly? That was more than enough.

[teddywesworl]

different anon but re: sex scenes ask, i’m curious to see how you lay out things to outline for continuity of characterization, and what the drive and stakes are in a scene to avoid the sexual archetypes. would you mind sharing what that process looks like for you? really admire your technical breakdowns of writing (yes even and especially when they end up being ‘controversial’)

ok so. I had to take this ask to a word doc to get all my thoughts in order, so that’s your fair warning about how involved my answer is going to be.

First off, I gotta say I always think it’s funny and strange which “takes” of mine get people in a twist, because it’s very frequently the really basic foundational stuff that you would be taught in the first week or two of any introductory fiction writing class. One time, multiple people blocked me on twitter for saying that every paragraph should serve the whole and that readers will get bored if you go on tangents that have nothing to do with the core drive of the story. There was a qrt with the ‘no fun allowed’ robot. I was basically explaining what “kill your darlings” actually means, but even that was too much.

That said, I think the key to continuity of character in sex scenes is very simple: treat sex as any other action, and treat sex scenes like any other scene.

Naturally, that’s easier said than done, because it contains within itself a pair of mandates:

Get your character fundamentals down before attempting to apply them to sex, and

Deconstruct your own relationship with DHSM archetypes.

Yes, sorry, the almost three hour long Contrapoints Twilight video really is the best framework I’ve ever encountered for breaking down cultural norms concerning sex in fiction (and irl tbh), and I think it’s required viewing for anyone who really wants to deliberately subvert those norms.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Step one: character fundamentals.

In the simplest possible terms, good smut is character work. You’re taking blorbo and putting them in a situation. Often, this is a deeply vulnerable situation wrapped up in a lot of emotions. What kind of emotions are they feeling? Do they feel vulnerable? How do they respond to that vulnerability? Are the blorbos boning out of love? Affection? Frustration? Fear of loss? Is it a hatefuck? Multiple of the above? That’s layer one.

Next layer down: are both (or however many) parties here for the same reason, or are their motivations and experiences different? Everyone in a story has their own drives which may be in conflict with one another or, at the very least, play off of one another in interesting ways; the same principle should apply to sex scenes.

Example.

This is from chapter 2 of baseless fabric:

Rook’s fingers bury themselves in Lucanis’s hair, her nails scraping his scalp. “I’ll show you,” she says, and then—oh, yes—tongues and teeth and spit! Rook’s arms around Lucanis’s neck. Arching backs and sweet sighs and a pleasure that fogs Lucanis’s mind. Rook pulls at Lucanis, and Lucanis tries to keep his hips away. He is embarrassed at how quickly he has grown hard; he is alarmed that he could be so forward, so presumptuous as to expose himself in this way and to seek this kind of pleasure in her. Why? asks Spite. It is for her. She came to you for this. Lucanis struggles against this reasoning, though he knows that Spite is correct. That strange despair deep within grows fat on this knowledge. He is still afraid, and it was such long and difficult work to accept that he would never be desired in this way by a person he desired in turn.

Three parties are involved in this scene: Spite, Lucanis, and Rook.

Spite has no sexual attraction or sex drive per se, because he is a non-corporeal entity to whom those concepts are kind of alien, but he enjoys physical pleasure and has an emotional attachment to both Lucanis and Rook, so there’s no reason to believe he wouldn’t enjoy sex. He experiences everything Lucanis’s body does, and he has a front row seat to the inner workings of Lucanis’s fucked up little brain. In the video game as written, one could argue that Spite’s core drive is essentially to help Lucanis first survive and then recover from extraordinary trauma (out of. Spite. literally). He picks apart Lucanis’s fear and self-hatred and exposes all of it to Rook, in full confidence that Rook can fix it.

Lucanis, meanwhile, is a big ol’ demi virgin who (I was just talking w @ofcrowsanddragons about this last night) has come to view his own basic human needs as monstrous. It’s dangerous for him to need anything. Even sleep! He’s had both physical and emotional vulnerability drilled out of him from a very young age! He can’t let anyone know he needs! What if his needs are exploited? What if someone notices he needs something and takes advantage? For Lucanis, I imagine that allowing himself to be vulnerable in a safe, controlled way that feels good, with someone he trusts entirely, would be… woof. Very intense.

Rook is the wild card in terms of fanfic and character study, because, as a customizable PC, she could be anything. And she might be physically undescribed in my fics, but the character choices I’ve made aren’t by mistake; I’m writing about The Lucanis Romance, after all, and that provides opportunities for Rook to play both partner and foil. And so: my Rook is sexually experienced, shameless, and a bit vulgar, and she grew up poor. She’s Lucanis’s opposite in a lot of ways, and she serves to highlight his hangups by contrast. He talks down at himself for “seeking pleasure in her,” while her desire for him is uncomplicated. She wants this guy. She cares for him. It feels good when he touches her. On its own, maybe that’s not super interesting fodder for fiction, but she and Spite force Lucanis to reckon with his irrational self-talk and maladaptive coping mechanisms. She can get away with being a bit two-dimensional, because her main function in the story is to challenge his perspective.

The climax (lol) of the fic is arguably the following line in chapter 3: “The despair of fulfillment, the anguish of joy—he thinks he is not made for such things, and so he fights them, even desperate as he is to submit.” Everything in this first encounter between Lucanis and Rook builds toward that final evolution of the idea that Lucanis fears his own emotional needs and resists their fulfillment.

Et voila: Lucanis’s character is examined and has the opportunity to develop through sex!

Still, I admit, all of this is easier said than done. Character study of any kind takes practice to get a feel for, and writing effective character-driven sex requires that you be aware of your own relationship with culturally imposed norms.

Step two: becoming an archetype understander

Watch the Contrapoints video if you haven’t. Yes, in full. I promise it’s worth it. But if you want to save it for later and keep reading this post now, DHSM stands for Default Heterosexual Sado-Masochism, and it’s an extremely useful framework for understanding how patriarchal romantic and sexual roles are organized.

Natalie Wynn defines DHSM as “a division of sexuality into bipolar roles,” as follows:

She goes on: “In reality, none of these roles are interchangeable or even necessarily correlated. Being masculine does not imply being a top, and neither imply being dominant. […] But in DHSM, these roles are assumed to be bundled together and assumed to belong to the sexuality of men.”

I contend that when we are reading E-rated fanfiction and we cross that jarring threshold from in-character plot to out-of-character smut, we have most often just encountered the author deferring to cultural sex scene-writing norms prescribed by DHSM. And, importantly, the sex scene doesn’t have to be heterosexual for DHSM to be in the room!

One of the most important things you can do as you’re writing sex is to ensure that you are aware of the cultural pressure to conform to this false dichotomy.  Notice I didn’t even say ‘don’t conform;’ there are certainly ways to examine & play with DHSM while nominally conforming to it. However, DHSM is omnipresent as a basic assumption in mainstream romance and romantic subplot, and you may be surprised at the extent to which the average person automatically reaches for it while writing. In fact, once you start seeing it, you may not be able to stop.

One of the things I really like about Lucanis as a character is his relationship to DHSM. He’s an assassin, arguably a professional predator. He is extremely rich, and he ends the story with a nation-shaping amount of political power. He is also, quite literally, possessed. His whole personal arc is about his fraught relationship with agency. His romance arc requires that you, the player, pursue him to a much more dramatic degree than any of the other companions, just to get to the point of acknowledged flirtation. He breaks the assumed role. He looks like the Latin Lover trope sprouted wings; but that’s not him.

This is, frankly, why a large proportion of the Rookanis ao3 tag bums me out: there’s so much fic in there that pulls back toward that assumption of bipolarity, flattening him as a result. Lucanis as an aggressive or dominant lover does nothing for me, because I feel that it misunderstands his approach to intimacy.

Now what?

I’ve just said an embarrassing number of words about writing pornography. But how does one synthesize all this stuff?

Here’s an exercise I recommend:

Pick a pairing of your choice and consider each character’s relationship with the DHSM dichotomy. Deliberately run down those columns above and decide which character more closely matches each descriptor in each pair, individually—if they match either, which they may not! Examine the ways in which that pairing might break bipolarity.

Then, try to come up with a sexual scenario that demonstrates that break in DHSM. This is a valuable exercise because it attacks both points simultaneously: it forces you to think of your character fundamentals, and it directly challenges the archetypes.

To use the same baseless fabric example, Rook is clearly the pursuer, but she’s got an exhibitionist streak, and she very much desires penetration:

She leans back, rests her weight on her hands, and deliberately opens the vee of her thighs. Her chemise drapes across them, and it hides very little. There is a shadow beneath, intensified by the flicker of the hearth, and Lucanis’s eye is drawn inexorably down—

Later in the same scene, Spite's POV refers to the act of penetrating Rook as surrender:

The body knows what to do. The instinct for it is ancient and innate, and the rhythm is made at the conjunction of Lucanis’s flesh and heart and mind. It is surrender, a hopeless exposure of underbelly and throat, and it feels good. Lucanis plants one hand on the table and rolls his hips.

Lucanis also acknowledges, multiple times, that he had his own preconceived notions about how sex is supposed to go, which Rook has challenged. For example:

Rook hums and smiles and closes the narrow gap between them. What begins as a simple press of lips develops into the luxuriant slide of tongues, Lucanis pushing the hem of her chemise up so he can bury his hand between her thighs. Rook hooks a knee over Lucanis’s hip and tugs him in until he acquiesces and thrusts into her. It is all slow and lazy. Soft. It feels the way Lucanis always thought it should, except in the ways he couldn’t have foreseen. His body aches from the violence of the previous day, and Rook’s must, as well; the pleasure cuts through the pain, colors it, transforms it into something almost sweet. Rook’s arms coil around him, and she makes the most beautiful little sounds.

(Uh oh, buddy! That's a little masochistic of you!)

If you are working deliberately to improve your character-driven sex scenes, I strongly recommend starting with short (up to like 3k words) ficlets as practice. Pick a trope or two to toss in for extra “put the blorbos in situations” sauce. Forced proximity! Drunken confessions! Hurt/comfort! Fuck or die! Etc. All great fun. Alternately, sometimes you will simply be possessed by the knowledge that certain characters will have certain kinks. Like Lucanis and somnophilia (you get it, right? I don’t even have to explain why. Isn’t that neat?).

As a side benefit, doing this exercise thoughtfully will make you better at character writing more generally. No, really. Spending this time analyzing characters’ relationships to intimacy will help you understand what makes them tick in so many other ways.

Let me sum up.

So, in summary: good smut is character work, and you need your character fundamentals first. However, cultural norms impose the division of sexuality into bipolar roles. Breaking that bipolarity subverts a subconscious expectation, adds tension and interest, and forces both writer and reader to really think about the characters in front of them.

Does that……. Does that answer your question about process?? I swear I didn’t start with the intent to write two thousand earth words about this. And also, I don’t typically sit down and think to myself “how will I break DHSM today?” I have enough practice at this point (and a deep enough obsession with the function of social power) that my disdain for DHSM automatically inserts itself into basically everything I write. I do think these two pieces (1. character first and 2. fuck DHSM) make up the foundation of how I approach smut, though, so hopefully this has been a useful response!!

[luvyurself]

family matter

a/n : inspired by this post from @cabbagethegoldfish because I just found it silly and cute ‼️

c/w : she/her pronouns used, polygamy(?), you are dating all the brothers cause I love them all teehee, ‼️ NO INC$ET ‼️ reader is said to have four brothers and a little sister, kind of projecting lolol, just fluff and silliness

the table was just as lively as ever, filled with random chatter and bickering of everyone’s day and what not.

she listened as mammon talked on and on to asmo across the table while subconsciously fiddling with beel’s fingers as he sat next to her.

the sixth born didn’t mind, he had no trouble stuffing his face with using only one hand. he would flex his fingers under hers from time to time.

she was also right next to lucifer, by his order (and not because he loved to have her physically next to him), as he also listened to what his brothers were talking about.

she stuck some food into her mouth, tuning in to what was being discussed.

“you know what can liven this place up-“ mammon began, sticking his fork into his food and pointing with it, “a pet.”

lucifer rose a hand up, “no. you can barely take care of yourself, mammon.” he ignored his younger brother sputtering at the insult, “and besides, we have cerbeus.”

“that thing is barley a pet!” asmo spoke, gripping his arms tightly, “we can’t even go down there without the risk of getting eaten alive!”

the oldest held back an eye roll, “and may I remind you of levi’s old pet?” levi flinched at the call back, looking up from his phone, “he-hey! don’t bring henry 1.0 into this!”

satan snorted a bit, a grin stretched on his lips. “don’t think I forgot about your hoarding problem, satan.”

green eyes snapped towards the end of the table, his grin gone as he scoffed, “I do not have a hoarding problem, lucifer.”

“I’ve woken up with more cat hair in my mouth in your room than anywhere.” belphie mumbled, eyes closed as he leaned on his palm.

satan rolled his eyes, grumbling something to himself as he stabbed his fork into his food.

she listened on for a little while more, before she cleared her throat. “my brothers actually had like….how much was it-four or five lizards.”

she pulled her hand away and began counting on her fingers, “actually we had a dog, four lizards, a tortoise, a bearded dragon, and oh- another dog.”

a hum escaped her lips, “I wonder how they’re doing.” she mumbled to herself, putting her hand down as she began to eat again.

it was only after a minute that the table grew quiet, her gaze moving upwards to find them all staring at her. she covered her mouth with one hand, a bit of food in her mouth as she swallowed, “….what?”

beel scooted a bit closer to her, “what did you say right now?” he spoke, stuffing his mouth with food afterwards.

“about the pets, oh, that I had like-“

“no no no, sweetheart-“ asmo grinned, cupping his hands together as he leaned onto the table, a grin on his face, “you said something about…brothers?”

her brows furrowed, nodding her head, “oh, yeah, I have brothers, a little sister too.” the avatar of lust gasped, a little squeal escaping his lips.

lucifer rose a brow, “you never mentioned anything about siblings.” she gave a awkward smile and a small shrug, “ah, well….it never got brought up.”

mammon leaned back into his chair, “really? you could had atleast told me, I mean, we’ve basically told each other everything!” he bit his lip in thought after a moment, “I mean, not everything, but you know-!”

satan propped his hand on his chin, “you mentioned brothers…how much do you have?” he asked, his tone a bit curious.

she tapped her finger on the table, feeling her smile grow a little wider, “four.”

levi sputtered a bit, finally giving his full attention, “fuh-four?! you had to deal with four brothers?!”

belphie grumbled a bit at the loud noise, though he seemed more awake than usual, “no wonder she can put up with us so easily.”

beel laughed a bit at that, turning to face his twin, “yeah, she has experience with brother stupidity.” he looked back at her again, “and you have a little sister?”

she nodded, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers, “ye-yeah,” she cleared her throat, “I have five siblings, I’m the second oldest.”

mammon grinned at that, “I didn’t know you were a second born too! no wonder we are so good together.” he pressed a hand to his chest, “second oldest are obviously the best ones.”

his younger brothers all groaned at that, lucifer shifting to pick up his wine glass as a tiny grin spread across his lips, “so, you come from a big family, hm?”

and with that, a whole flurry of questions were unloaded on her. all coming from different sides of her.

“how did you deal with so much brothers?”

“do any of them like anime?”

“family dinners must be fulfilling to feed that much.”

“imagine taking trips with that much siblings! did you all fit in a car?”

she shrunk a bit in her chair, feeling her ears grow warmer as she tried her best to answer the questions.

lucifer watched with a grin all the while, seeing how much his brothers seemed so invested in her families life.

“you know,” he started off, making the table go silent as he took another sip of wine, “it’s only cordial to….meet your parents as well.”

she let out a awkward laugh, “ah-ah? meet-meet my parents?” she stuttered, not knowing if he was actually joking or not.

he nodded, “of course, it’s only natural if we meet our girlfriends parents and family, is it not?” his grin grew a bit more, his tone ever the more serious as it always is.

asmo clapped a that, squealing, “ohh, we just have to go!” he cupped his cheek as he dreamily sighed, “a trip to the human world to meet your family, and to think what they can show us about you,”

he began to list off the things out loud, “childhood stories, family history, baby pictures-“ he then cut himself off with a gasp, slamming his hands on the table as he let out a squeal once more, “baby pictures! oh I bet you were adorable!”

she blinked, “wha-what are you-“

“hey, parents love showing their kids partners baby photos.” mammon pointed out, getting excited too, “I bet if we asked, they would show us her whole photo album!”

levi giggled a bit, hiding his face with his hands as his voice came through, “ahhh! cute-cuteness overload!”

beel spoke with his mouth full, “we should start packing.” his voice was muffled a bit, but his brothers knew what he said.

before she could stop anyone, satan stood up, sly grin on his face, “I’m already on it.” he then turned and began walking out, the others following.

“no-no wait, guys-!”

“I’m keeping a picture for when we get back!” levi began, making asmo whine, “no fair! I want one too!”

mammon ran after them, “I call standing next to her when lucifer makes the portal!”

“we already called it.” beel spoke, walking passed him with belphie next to him, “snooze you lose, mammon,” the youngest spoke, yawing a bit as mammon groaned, “hey! I’m older, so I have more authority!”

soon enough, it was just her and lucifer at the table. she shot a look at him, who still had that stupid handsome grin on his face, “why didn’t you say anything?”

he hummed, grabbing a napkin and wiping his mouth with it, “who am I to crush their spirits?” he spoke, standing up from his chair and walking behind her.

“where are you going?” she asked, following him with her eyes as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“well, what else? going to inform diavolo of our….upcoming trip.” he rubbed the spot for a bit, before moving the hand to her hair and brushing through it and walking away, “better begin packing.”

she watched as he walked away, hearing his footsteps echo until it was finally quiet. she groaned and rested her head on the table, letting out a long sigh.

she should have just kept her mouth shut.

[hopefullyyoursmcg]

Hii!! 🤖 Anon here (sorry I’ve not been active😭)

I‘ve been thinking about which Batboy would make the most sense to be the Baby daddy and to be honest I have no clue.

I think in a way it could all fit and make sense really.

For instance:

Dick has always tried to have some sort of connection with Routine!Reader, an perhaps it was never really in a sibling way because of the distance between them both.

Jason and Routine!Reader weren’t even raised at the same time within the manor, and by the time they met properly she was already past the age of wanting any connections.

Tim already had pre-existing obsessive tendencies surrounding her, from what I can tell, and probably has had the most interactions with her due to their similarities.

But I’d love to know what you think! I really loved your response to my previous ask about these three being romantic yanderes in this fic because I think there’s so much potential that should be explored by writers because, to a point, some of these platonic fics just seem so repetitive. Let’s change up the dynamics a bit y’know?

Ok good news, I put up a poll and it looks like you will still get some Romantic batboys.

Now let's get into the romantic potential of the batboys.

Now first of all, as Rountine! reader did not grow up anywhere near the three boys(because one was busy, one was dead and the other was doing his own thing until the actual moment they meet) or she was just at the time where she couldn't give a damn.

Dick, as you said, couldn't really grow close to the reader due to not spending time with her when they were younger. However, when he was trying to be better and be close to the growing family, routine!reader just didn't want to be near him. She did not look annoyed, nor did she look angry, she just looked at him like he was nothing. In the past when Routine Reader was at a family dinner(which she didn't want to be there) Dick would try to talk to her, but she gave him nothing. Now thinking about how dick actually realizes it is a whole new battle. I like to believe that he would realize what his feeling is while he's trying to sleep and all he can think of is Routine! reader's cold face staring at him.

Now as I said many times before, Jason was dead when she was brought in. But they meet after his vengeance arc, at the manor library. Now reader and Jason were neutral with each other at first because Reader at that point had the mindset of "if they don't care about me, I don't care about them" and Jason just wanted the new books that Alfred told him about, but that didn't mean he didn't stop and stare. Now after feeding Jason some extra pork chops you had cooked, that's when the feelings started to show. Jason, to put it lightly, is a fucked up guy. Who wouldn't be after what he went through? And fucked up guys, do fucked up things. For example, he wouldn't leave you alone unless you cooked him something, and even if you still didn't cook for him, he would stare at you, no matter what you were doing. Jason's feelings for Rountine! reader aren't normal romantic, but I like to think that one of the main components in his feelings towards reader is how reader cooks. On the very rare occasion when Jason gets reader to cook for him, as he watches them cook, it kinda heals him? Does that make sense? Like he's just sitting there waiting to be fed, and it just feels normal and quiet.

Tim's obsession with the reader came from wanting to research reader and how she thinks. Basically like a lab rat. And you are right when you said she had more of an interaction with him. As both of them during their early teen years, grew up together in the manor. But it wouldn't be until maybe a year after he became Robin that he met Rountine!reader in the kitchen. As time passes on, the more private research Tim has done about the reader. Which is a very small folder of nearly nothing. Besides her full name, date of birth, a list of friends, and other small things, that was pretty much it. Every so often if he has the time, he tries to find something new about Routine! reader, which is nearly impossible she doesn't even have any social media accounts. Tim sees Rontine!reader as a perfect puzzle, and he want figure out how she ticks.

(hope ya like it 🤖)

[eldizzle69]

“You were a wonderful experience, you were…you were everything..”

masterlist

including :: sho, Romeo, Haru, Haku, Jin, Lyca

Or…. In which, after your curse takes over you, the guys get asked about you(their lover)

—Shohei Haizono

•it purely depends on whose asking really

•if it’s some random person, he’s gonna be like when we first met him and get really defensive.

•but if it’s someone he knows pretty closely then he’ll just smile and say something vague.

•either way, thinking of you would be a fond time for him

•you were everything to him, so he’ll cherish your memory.

The tension was strong, it had been a Simple question, one with no malice. “Hey Sho, who was the honor student?” One of the new freshman ghouls had asked him. And despite it being a harmless question, it filled the room with a deep tension.

“What’s it matter to you?” His words were harsh, aggression evident in his tone. The question was most definitely NOT appreciated.

“W-well,” the ghoul sputtered, “I just— I’ve heard so much about them! All good things!” The freshmen seemed panicked, obviously scared by Sho’s aggressive response.

“Better be..” Sho muttered, turning and walking briskly away from his underclassmen. He didn’t answer the question he didn’t wanna talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about you.

Instead, he would keep your memories in his head, waiting for the day you could be together again

—Romeo Lucci

•immediate fit

•it becomes well known in Sinostra, and other houses, that your name is to not be mentioned near Romeo

•that is unless you want to feel the wrath of Romeo.

•god forbid someone say something bad about you. Bullets will be flying

•your memory just hurts so much he doesn’t know how to process his emotions, so he just gets pissed.

“Who pissed Fico off?,” the Sinostra student asked in a hushed whisper, only to be met his a harsh response. The other student sent him a glare, “Shhh, He’ll hear you! Do you wanna die and take me with you?”

“Sorry…. He just seemed angrier than usual,” was all the student could say as he rubbed the back of his neck. The other student only shook his head before giving a actual response, “some general admission students mention…. Them..”

Shock spread over the students face as he gaped at his coworker, “were they stupid?”

“Had to be, they even called them a gold digg—“

“What are you idiots talking about!” Came a booming voice as the door, Romeo’s door, was kicked open from the inside. The students cursed under their breath but said out a quick “nothing!”

Th irritation on Romeo’s face was evident in his glare, “if all your going to do it talk on the clock, get out of here!” He yelled, doing well to push down the bubbling emotions deep within him.

The turned back into his office with a click of the door. Suddenly, the room felt gloomier, felt lonelier. It had felt this way since you had left him, leaving nothing more than your memory and a strange looking anomaly in your place.

—Haku Kusanagi

•Probably someone who would be a little shocked when he’s asked about you by a randomly student

•I can see Haku giving a small really, nothing too detailed

•he might even ask the student to not ask again, or ask around about you. Kinda like he did when mc mentioned the clash in the Hotarubi episode

•he loves thinking about you, but he also knows your memory hurts him and many others so he doesn’t want people getting too comfortable with your name.

•he loved you more than anything, and it was clear to the other students by the looks in his eyes.

“That’s not the question I was expecting,” Haku did his best to laugh, the sound that came out was strained and semi uncomfortable. The other students seemed to stop and realize they shouldn’t have asked that

“Sorry Haku, i was just told if i wanted to know about who the ‘honor student’ was to ask you,” the student mumbled sheepishly.

Haku waved his hands dismissively, “it’s alright, but you probably shouldn’t go around asking about them,” he said with his usual expression. What was different was his eyes, they were soft and seemed almost far away in thought. Suddenly the student that asked was consumed with guilt, feeling as though they stepped on fragile glass.

“ Alright….i won’t,” came a mutter followed by a swift goodbye as they excused themselves.

Plopping down on the floor Haku couldn’t help but lean back with a groan, “even now, you’re still on everyone’s mind.”

—Haru Sagara

•hella shocked when someone asks about you

•he’s doing his best to pretend your curse taking over you doesn’t bother him, and he thinks he’s done a pretty good job

•maybe that made people a little too comfortable with your name around him

•I’m stuck between him giving a sweet, vague answer, and just changing the subject completely.

•either way, he can’t just keep working and pretending he’s okay forever.

Haru was a busy man, who else would take care of the park? He loved you, he really did, but if he started lacking now what would happen to Jabberwock? Sadly, he hasn’t got time to properly grieve.

So that’s how he found himself entertaining a group of Frostheim girls one evening. They had become regular patrons, ones that he was great full too.

“Hey Haru, I heard you were close with the former honor student,” one of them said. Quickly the other girl responded in his place, “ ahhh no way, if they were close wouldn’t he have taken time off to grieve.?”

He was quick to change the subject, offering them a look at his newest purchase. A new animal he had started taking care of. But their words stuck in his head and vaguely he wondered if maybe he wasn’t doing your memory justice.

Maybe Haru had let things build up, because his emotions took over him later that night as he looked at pictures of the two of you. Maybe a few days off would do him some good? He would,d have to talk to Towa…

—Jin Kamurai

•how tf did they even get close enough to ask him that?

•no matter who it is he’s going to be pissy about it

•either he’ll just silently glare at them or he’ll tell them to leave very roughly.

•of course the Frostheim students are going to gossip about you, but they better not do it near Jin

•he has a large amount of influence, so anything said about you won’t be taken lightly.

Frostheim students was know for their gossip. They spread everything by word of mouth, but there was one thing that everyone knew to keep their mouth shut about. And that was you.

No one remembers when it became an u spoken rule, but one family after another, anyone who mentioned you in a negative light seemed to meet ruin.

But this student really thought she was something. A few small conversations (business conversations Jin was forced to partake in) with Jin and suddenly she thought she was immune and could say whatever she wanted.

Busting into his room the girl sobbed loudly, a sound that gave him a headache. Jin couldn’t make any words out of her sob filled ramble. It seemed her words came to bite her back

“Get out,” he said coldly, not even bothering to get up from his couch. “B-but-“

“Go,” he barked and this time the girl flinched. Looked at Jin one last time she cried herself out the door, and Jin just laid there.

Looking back, he regretted treating you so coldly when you first came to his room, but it was too late for regrets. You weren’t here anymore, and he’d have to live with his actions.

—Lyca Colt

•I see him being kinda like Sho, it really just depends on who’s asking.

•he’s not close with a lot of people so you really only see his standoffish answer

•like he might growl at them and ask what’s it to them

•Lyca is the number one defender of you and he won’t let anyone use your name lightly

•you were a wonderful experience just as much as you were everything to him.

“The honor student?” Lyca said in a questioning manner, almost as if he hadn’t known what the new student was asking him. New students, and new friends, all things Lyca was unfamiliar with. But these were also things you had always wanted him to experience, you had told him as such. So these were things he tried to welcome with open arms.

So why did he feel so upset when he was asked about you? Why was he so upset when this new student asked who you had been? Lyca soon realized he was scared, scared of anyone saying bad things about you. That wasn’t something you deserved. That was something Lyca had done his best to protect you from, even when your not here.

“Right! I’ve heard so much about the honor student, but have no idea who they were!” And with these words all his fear and upset feelings went away. His grin became toothy as a smile spread across his face.

“There were my lover,” Lyca manger out with his grin spreading over his face ever more than it already had.

He used the words you had taught him, the world ‘lover’ now deeply engrained in his brain.

Okay so maybe I didn’t do that well with haru’s but I TRIED

[the-bi-space-ace]

for the Title tag game - please god tell me about Echo Dies I love me some good angst-

:) I’m excited to tell you about the angst

It’s going to be a chapter fic around 5-7 chapters opening with the batch returning from a mission. They’re beaten up, injured, disoriented, but one of them is missing.

Echo.

Echo is gone. They saw him die. Hunter is certain he heard his heart stop (whether that’s true or his own brain trying to rationalize it for him is another case entirely) but when they get back they have to tell Rex who was the one utilizing them for this mission. He seems… off about the news but it could just be that he has to be in ‘Captain’ mode and grief is not something he can handle right now.

Crosshair, however, notices something is off with him and afterwards when they have a moment alone Crosshair confronts him. They have a really stilted conversation but it all comes down to one thing:

They know Echo isn’t dead. They can both feel it, even if it’s not logical, even if the rest of the batch is 100% sure of what they saw.

This prompts them to create a plan, steal a ship and go on a completely unsanctioned mission to retrieve a trooper that may or may not be alive. I want to live in this moment where they are both so convinced he’s alive that they’d do anything to prove it and get him back but truthfully he could actually be dead and they’re just too grief stricken to make peace with that.

The batch follows them to try and find them before they get caught for stealing a ship and going back into enemy territory when their orders are to stay put. It’ll be a good mix of Crosshair and Rex, who are constantly fighting and at odds but are putting it aside for Echo, someone they both care so much about that they’d do this, and the batch who is having their own interpersonal conflicts, feelings about being left behind when they would have helped, and pressure to get those two back and under control before something happens to them.

I have a scene set up for Crosshair and Rex where they are kind of at each other’s throats. Tensions are high, they aren’t getting along. And they have a fight that mirrors the one they had when they rescued Echo the first time. Rex throws the things Crosshair said back then in his face and Crosshair says whatever he can to hit Rex where it hurts. They’re stuck together, though, so they have to work it out. For Echo’s sake if nothing else. I even have a few lines of that argument and fragile resolution planned:

Rex: What was it you said about him? That he’s just a reg?

Crosshair: You’re the one that left him for dead the first time! Do you really think you can make up for it by going back this time?

~~ and a very fragile truce ~~

Rex: Look, all that matters now is getting him back. If we have a problem no we don’t. Once he’s home we’ll deal with this issue between us but until then shut up. Got it?

They’re struggling throughout this whole thing but I promise by the end they’ll come to understand each other.

I love this fic and am very excited to start writing it. I’ve got another chapter fic to write before this one but I’m hoping to start posting it sometime in June :)

Thanks for asking!!!

WIP Title Ask

[britcision]

Tell you what tho

I read Lord of the Rings when I was 10… and 11… because it took me that long to finish it

And I do remember reading it, and I remember being a little confused by the tangents and the history and geography and speed reading those bits trying to find the adventure, and first seeing the movies and knowing the story

But I hadn’t read them since

And I know the movies well enough that I can identify which scenes in the extended version weren’t in the theatrical release and which weren’t in the original shorter extended version

But reading the first book again now as an adult… I am absolutely reading it for all those tangents and the history and geography to devour the entire world and I’m barely interested in the Ring and the quest

And all of it feels new

Like, I very specifically remember single lines pretty much at random through the book so every time I’m sorta getting lost in “wow I don’t remember this at all” suddenly I’m finishing the next sentence before I turn the page

And I think that says something about growth and aging and time

Because I was always a little nerd, my bedtime stories were Discworld before I could talk, I read Lord of the Rings solely because it had 1000 pages and I considered that a challenge and I stuck to it even when I wasn’t all that interested in the extended lore because of that

(May Tolkien forgive me, but I was 10!)

And back then I was reading for The Quest and The Story Of The Fellowship and things that were happening now

And so little of it stuck with me that it’s almost all new all over again, and I’m discovering all of this wonderful extended lore and devouring the history and yeah the Silmarillion’s gonna come after the full trilogy and it’s all new to me

And it’s also so familiar

I remember half the songs, but I hadn’t remembered they were Tolkien’s

I just… kept singing them. I can do most of Gilgalad’s from memory, but I couldn’t swear that’s how you spell the name

And part of it is that my family also used to do the radio editions of Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit on long drives or as family time in the evening, and I really did only read the actual book once

(Possibly not long after we finished the radio drama version, which is why I was so confused by the extended Shire adventures)

So it might just be that I know the now so well already, that’s so familiar, that I can finally focus on the rest of the world

But I think it’s also because the older I’ve gotten, the more I want to look behind the curtain. To see the lore, the making of, how things work and connect and see everything that made the story of now possible in everything I see

The more I read the more I see Tolkien’s hand, his pen, his values and what he believed mattered, and he was right. It matters to care for the land and the world and growing things, even if it doesn’t have monetary value. It matters to choose to do good, even with no reward

It matters to take your time, to do things the right way instead of the easy or cheap way, to cherish and value everything that lives, however small. It matters to care, more than anything shiny and golden

And also yes I am also learning that the way I write apparently has a lot more in common with Tolkien than I thought, so you can all blame him for the length of Dead And Loving It and all the lore and my need to expand the universe in every direction and obsess over every connection

I’m certainly nowhere near on his level, but even in a book I only read once… I think Tolkien shaped quite a lot of what I consider good quality writing and world building

And I think he’d appreciate that

And from now on I’ll be explaining my utter refusal to cut any “unnecessary” perspectives or world building with “would you have edited Tolkien?” Because the answer’s always “nope” his publisher said so

[j-esbian]

every day i wait for a return to ethersea btw

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[redgoldblue]

.

[hellfireeddiemunson]

i have bad melted soup brain today and i hate it

[seonghwaddict]

save a horse, ride your best friend — song mingi

in which your best friend can’t believe you’ve never ridden a dick before, so he takes it upon himself to teach you.

best friend!song mingi x fem!reader. requested by anon. genre. slight fluff. smut. best friends to friends with benefits. warnings. explicit sexual content mdni, inexperienced!reader, thigh riding, fingering, use of a dildo, big dick!mingi, multiple orgasms, unprotected, creampie, swearing, nicknames (baby, angel, pretty). wc. 4k. rating. mature.

lilo’s notes. this was requested a while ago but i’ve been putting it off because… i’ve never written anything about toys being used so uh, i was worried about the pacing and stuff. i wasn’t sure if you meant for them to be in an established relationship, so i went for the fwb route. IMPORTANT!!!! i lost access to my google account bc of a stupid mistake, if you sent in a request through my google form and would still like me to see it, please send it as an ask <33 i remember a few of them, but do send yours in just in case!!

listening to. need to know, doja cat // if u think i’m pretty, artemas // moonlight, kali uchis

masterlist.

it was a regular saturday evening. you were on a video call with your best friend, mingi, talking about anything that came to mind as you each ate a bowl of ramen as if you were really in the same room. he really only lived a couple buildings away, a two minute walk at most, but actually joining you in your apartment didn’t cross his mind until something interesting was brought up.

you weren’t sure what led to the conversation, but somehow it steered into the direction of something less innocent as you found yourself talking about an embarrassing date you’d gone on a while ago. recounting the story, laughing together, soon turned into a conversation about what each of you like in bed.

“oh, it’s just amazing,” mingi laughed as he gulped down a mouthful of water, momentarily pausing his rambling about how much he loves it when someone rides his dick. he ran a his hand through his short, washed-out pink hair, “honestly, my favourite thing ever since it probably feels just as good for whoever is, y’know, riding.”

based on everything he’s said so far, you came to the conclusion that he was more into giving than receiving, that he got off on seeing all the pleasure he can give his partner. so, it made sense he’d choose to mention the fact that riding him would feel good. not that you would know.

“can i admit something?”

he looked up from his bowl, sharp eyes looking almost hopeful as he nodded.

you looked around your kitchen jokingly, pretending to make sure no one sense was listened as you leaned closer a whispered, your hand cupping the side of your mouth.

“i’ve never done that before.”

his jaw dropped at that, letting out a small laugh. “you’re kidding.”

“no, really,” you insisted, going back to eating casually as if you were having the most normal conversation in the world with your best friend, “i really haven’t done… much, so i can’t confirm or deny your theory.”

“huh.” he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he thought for a moment. his head tilted and it was then that you felt how warm your cheeks felt, how your thighs were pressed together under the counter. of course, he was well aware of the fact that you had much less experience than him, only knowing about two people you had slept with. but damn. he clicked his tongue and shook his head ever so slightly. “that won’t do.”

furrowing your eyebrows, you opened your mouth to ask him what he had meant by that. he beat you to it before you could get a word out.

“i can… teach you, if you want?”

you blinked at your screen, resting your wrist on your countertop and gripping your chopsticks a little too hard. a silence followed his offer, though it wasn’t awkward. in fact, he could see you genuinely considering it as you thought it over. eventually, you gave him a tiny nod.

“i mean,” you shrugged, shifting your eyes away shyly, “sure, i guess. why not?”

he grinned, trying to hide it as he shoved a mouthful of noodles into his mouth and shoved his bowl aside. he chewed, swallowed then got up and made sure to bring his phone with him. you recognised his hallways then bedroom as he walked through his apartment. “i’ll be there in like 15, i need to buy something on the way. just wait there, and where something comfortable and… um, accessible.”

you nodded, despite your confusion, and he hung up. accessible? you looked down at your clothing—or rather, lack thereof. since you were home and not expecting anyone, you’d settled on wearing just a shirt you stole from mingi that was too large for him and much larger for you, and panties. you lifted the hem of the worn shirt, assessing how much of your dignity you’d lose if he saw your pink hello kitty undergarments that you only wore if you were doing laundry.

you could already hear him giggling at the sight.

groaning and cursing under your breath, you dropped the shirt and sped to your bedroom to dig through your closet in hopes of finding something a little more appealing. after making a mess of one of your closet’s drawers, you finally pulled out a pair of less offensive panties. they were made of soft cotton; a muted light blue with thin white lace trim, the cut shaped more like a bikini than what you call your grandma underwear.

deciding they were flattering enough, you slipped off your hello kitty pair—ignoring the embarrassing amount of wetness creating a wet patch right where it was pressed against your core—and replaced it with the new pair. as you untwisted the waistband and adjusted it to fit properly, your doorbell rang and you froze on the spot before pulling yourself together and heading to open the door.

the walk to the door felt abnormally long as you stumbled over on wobbly knees. admittedly, you were a little nervous. sure, there have been times where you wanted to do some more than friendly activities with mingi, but you never actually thought it was happen. yet here you were, opening the door for him so he could come in and show you what being a cowgirl feels like.

“hey,” he greeted you softly, stepping into your home and closing the door behind him. you noticed a small plastic bag in his hand, eying it curiously as you watched him kick off his shoes and hang up his coat. once that was of the way, he took one of your hands in your free one and pulled you to where he knew your bedroom was.

once there, he set the bag down on your bedside table and dragged you to stand between his knees as he took a seat on the edge of your bed. he looked you over, lingering on the familiar t-shirt.

“so you’re the one that took this shirt, huh?” he quirked an eyebrow, glancing up at you as he released your hand and brought both of his to your hips. his thumbs caressed the curve of your waist over the shirt. “it was my favourite.”

you laughed softly, “clearly you didn’t care enough if i was able to keep it for three years without you noticing.”

“you little thief.” his nose scrunched as he glared at you jokingly, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“if you really want it back, you can always take it.”

“nah, it’s fine, keep it. it looks cuter on you anyway.” he took a breath and gave you another once over, humming appreciatively when he moved his hands up higher, dragging the shirt with it until he caught a glimpse of your panties. you tensed, caught off guard by how close he felt. “i need you to relax a little, how about i help you loosen up, yeah?”

you nodded, averting your gaze but returning it to him when you felt him pull you onto his lap. he slotted one of his legs between yours, easing you down to straddle his thigh. his hands ran up and down your sides and few times before resting on your bare thighs, your breath stuttered and he held back a smile.

“are you still okay with this?” he asked quietly, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his your shirt. “if i do anything that makes you uncomfortable, just tell me and i’ll stop immediately and we can just watch a movie or something, okay?” when you only nodded, he continued, “i need you to say it, please.”

“i’m okay with this,” you muttered in return, resting you hands on his biceps, “and i’ll let you know if i need you to stop.”

“good, now…” without waiting any longer, he leaned forward to attach his lips to your neck, his hands slowly beginning to rock you back and forth on his lap.

you sucked in a sharp breath and clung into his arms a little tighter, your stomach fluttering at the feeling of your clothed cunt on his firm thigh, your panties dragging against your clit with ease thanks to how wet you already were. he lifted you slightly as he pulled you towards him, pushing you down as he pushed, the varying pressure making your lips part in a soft whimper. he nearly groaned at the sound, moving his lips right below your ear.

“you know,” he rasped between the licks and kisses, “i can’t deny that i’ve wanted to fuck you for a long, long time now.”

“r-really?”

mingi chuckled as he pulled back to look at your face, half surprised and half needy. he noticed that if he relaxed his hands, you’d continue grinding against his thigh.

“yeah, really. i mean, look at you,” he glanced down, one of his hands lifting the hem of your shirt to watch you ride his thigh slowly, a dark wet patch forming right where your leaking pussy sat. he bit his lip, “you look so perfect… and i bet you’d feel perfect, too.”

you nearly whined at that, fucking yourself on his thigh just a little faster as he sucked a dark mark right above your collarbone before returning to mutter dirty words into your ear.

“i know practically everything about you and your cute little body, you know. better than anyone else,” one of his hands inched it’s way up your thighs, brushing against the edge of your panties, “i’ll make you feel so good, angel, i promise.”

“mingi?” you whimpered, prompting him to lean back a little to look at you with a curious tilt of his head and a raised brow. “if you don’t shut up and kiss me right now, i might lose my mind so… please.”

his beautifully plump lips stretched into a smile as he wasted no time in practically pouncing forward and smashing his lips against yours. it started a little slow as you got acquainted with each other, despite the fact you could feel a nearing orgasm as a knot in your stomach drew tighter with each roll of your hips, but soon the kiss turned hungry.

he groaned into your mouth as you let his tongue explore, making you let out a quiet moan. mingi knew he wouldn’t be able to kiss anyone ever again. you, his best friend of all people, had the most inviting lips he’s ever felt. so inviting, so perfect and so soft. he thought everything about was soft. his hand slipped just under the edge of your panties as his other one made your grinds slow down.

you didn’t mind the slow pace, knowing just a few more rocks of your hips would have you tipping over the edge. but he evidently had other plans as he finally made your hips still completely. you pulled away from his lips with a pout. if you were trying to make him feel bad, it backfired terribly.

all he could think of as he looks at your swollen, red, wet, pouty lips is how much prettier they’d look wrapped around his cock. but he could save that for another time.

“there’s no need to rush, baby,” he chuckled, wiping some saliva away from your bottom lip.

eventually, when he was sure you had calmed down enough, he lifted you off his lap a little and turned to lay you down on your back, pressed against the comfortable mattress as he kneeled on the edge. he gripped your knees and bent them, pushing them closer to your chest with his eyes zeroed in on where your slick was leaking through your panties.

with one hand keeping your knees together and elevated, he ran his other over the fabric, pressing down on where he knew your clot would be and elicit a sweet little moan as you squirmed beneath him. he thought you were so cute like this, you looked so flustered as he gave you nothing but featherlight touches where you needed him most. for now.

“don’t get all shy on me now,” he cooed as he glanced up and noticed you covering your face with your hands, “let me see you, pretty.”

he didn’t continue his touches until you finally removed your hands, giving him a nice view of your abused lips and round eyes, pupils blown wide with lust in a way that had something stirring in his abdomen. and his pants.

he let down your knees for a moment so both of his hands could slip under the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. he actually moaned when he saw the strings of arousal clutching onto the fabric as he dragged it away, snapping when he got too far.

“you’re so pretty, baby,” he murmured, watching your entrance squeeze around nothing, making more slick drip out.

after tossing it aside, he wasted no time in getting your knees back to the previous position and running his fingers through your folds.

“oh, fuck,” he groaned, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as you let out a moan when he tapped against your clit, “you’re soaked.”

he glanced up at you, wanting to see your face as he slowly pushed in too fingers and catching a glimpse of your hard nipples poking through your shirt. your face contorted for s fraction of s second before relaxing, your head tipping back against the mattress as you let out a whine.

he choked back a moan at the tight walls around his middle and ring fingers, the fingers of his other hand digging into your thighs. “sh-shit… you’re so tight. i’m gonna have to stretch you out first, okay?”

you nodded mindlessly, too distracted by his fingers prodding at your sweet spot to care about any words he may have said. but you furrowed your eyebrows and lifted your head when you felt both his hands leave you, finding him reaching for the bag. your curiosity outweighed your disappointment as he pulled something out.

it was a dildo. about as thick and long as the biggest person you had before, and made of what looked to be transparent silicon. your insides tightened at the sight, somehow the thought of him seemingly buying this just for you turning you on even more.

he returned to kneeling at the edge of your bed, leaning down to loop his arm around your waist and lift you up to place a pillow under your hips before letting lay back down.

“couldn’t find one my size, but this should be fine,” he held the dildo and ran the tip through your pussy, collecting wetness as you shuddered, “my cock will just have to stretch you the rest of the way.”

you breath hitched at the implication of his words. so he was bigger than that? your thighs pressed together at the thought of being completely stuffed by him. he chuckled, separating your knees enough for him to have a clear view of your pussy, pulsing and dripping and begging for his attention.

he began slipping the toy into you, filling you up inch by inch and watching your needy hole stretch around it and swallow it up. the sight had him choking back a moan, biting down on his bottom lip.

the stretch had your back arching and pushing yourself against it desperately, feeling like that alone could get you to finish. it only took a few deep strokes for your pussy to get used to the size, squeezing and writhing around it until you couldn’t handle it anymore. your arousal coated it quickly and seeped out with each stroke, squelching sounds filling the room that shot straight to his dick.

when you finally came, your toes curled and your body twitched as you let out a string of and whines and moans, little curses slipping between. he watched with fascination as you came undone right beneath him, not wanting to wait any longer to be inside you. he shoved the toy deep inside you, leaving it there as he leaned back for a moment to discard his clothes, slipping his hoodie and sweatpants off.

when you were brought back to your senses, you found yourself on his lap again, straddling his hips this time as he sat with his back against your headboard. you felt his erectile straining against his boxers and pressing against your core. you couldn’t help but rock your hips against his slowly.

“do you ever ride your pillow?” he asked suddenly, voice dropped what felt like two octaves lower than his regular tone. your eyes widened at the question but you nodded. he nodded too, his hands finding your ass and helping you grind against his clothes length. “this is a lot like that, except you have something in you… and it’s more of an up and down movement… and i’m obviously not a pillow… still, there’s really no right way to do it, just go slow and you’ll figure out what works and what doesn’t. plus, i’m here to guide you.”

he gave your ass a squeeze as if to punctuate his sentence, massaging the soft flesh in his palms. when you felt ready, you dropped your hands from his shoulders to his boxers, palming his length a few times before hooking your fingers into the fabric and dragging it down until his cock sprung out.

he definitely wasn’t lying when he said it would stretch you more than the already-big dildo. he was definitely a lot bigger than anyone else you’ve been with, well over average. you nearly dropped at the sight, wrapping your hand around him and jerking him off, eyes fixated on the angry red tip leaking precum as you passed your thumb over it.

the muscles of his abs rippled and squeezed as your worked your hands on his cock, his head thrown back against the headboard and letting out stuttering moans. all the sounds he made encourage you to sit up on your knees, guiding him through your folds and whimpering as you finally sank down on him carefully.

the two of you moaned at the same time, him at how well you squeezed around him and you at how well he stretched you. you stopped when you reached just halfway, unsure whether or not you’d be able to fit more. his hips jerked slightly as his hands squeezed your hips.

“come on, baby,” he moaned softly, looking up at you with encouraging eyes, “just a little more… we can make it fit, right? just breathe.”

you nodded and as you took a deep breath, he used his hold on your to sink you further down until he finally bottomed out. he cursed silently, the back of his head finding the headboard again as you whined and dropped yours onto his shoulder.

you felt his tip pushing against your cervix, the new feeling making a lump form in your throat as you blinked back tears. this time it took a while to get used to the stretch before you tried grinding back and forth. it was slow, almost painfully so. he was amazed that despite stretching you with two different things, you were still so unbelievably tight, hugging him in a death grip as your raised your hips an inch before dropping down again.

your soft noises were muffled by his shoulder as your hands rested on his biceps, panting and squeezing gently as every inch of him dragged against the sensitive spongy patch in your walls every time you grinded on him. soon enough you were able to lift yourself to his tip and drop all the way down, your wetness letting him slip in and out with ease.

still, you kept the pace torturously slow, savouring each bounce and grind. his hands had left your hips at some point, exploring your body under your shirt, massaging your breasts and tweaking your nipples. he lifted the fabric but kept it on your as he watched your tits bounce temptingly, your puffy pink nipples making his mouth water as he pushed himself forward to take one into his mouth.

your hips stuttered as he sucked and nibbled at your nipples, throwing your head back and arching into his touch as your grinds grew sloppy. he felt your decreasing pace, using the hand that wasn’t teasing your other breast to guide your hips once more. he angled you slightly differently in a way that made your clit press against his pelvis each time he bottomed out, the speed of your grinds picking up quickly as his hips bucked up to meet yours.

his lips detached from your bruised breasts with a popping sound as he leaned up to capture your lips in his once again. it wasn’t much of a kiss, more teeth and tongue and moans and groans than anything else as you swallowed each other’s sounds.

you finished first, pushing yourself down hard and stilling, filling yourself with his throbbing cock and pressing your clit against him. he held you tightly, burying his face in your neck to suck at all the spot he knew would get your to writhe. many tickling fights contributed to his knowledge on all your sensitive spots.

your body twitched as you returned to bouncing on his length, your juices looking at his base. the overstimulation burned a little, making your thighs and knees quiver, but you were determined to get him to finish too. and by the looks of it, it shouldn’t take much longer.

“shit, baby,” he said, halfway between a whimper and a moan, fingertips digging into your hips as he threw his head back in bliss, “‘m so close— fuck, you feel s-so good.”

his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, bottom lip caught between his teeth. his cheeks and the tip of his ears flushed a deep red, his plush lips a few shades darker and coated in your mixed saliva from your kisses. as you adjusted the angle of your hips, something in him snapped, grabbing your hips tighter and taking over. he took over your movements, thrusting his hips up desperately as you fell forward onto his chest with the sudden change in intensity. his tip pushed itself against your g-spot continually, another knot tightening in your stomach.

the wet sounds of your cunt and your skin slapping against his egged him on until finally he felt like he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“baby, p-please— fuck— please, can i cum i-inside you?” he begged through a groan, “i— please, angel, i-i can’t wait any longer.”

you nodded against his chest with a whine, you were on the pill anyway. not a second later, he released into you, filling you up with stuttering hips. he pulled you down, flush against him and keeping you there as he emptied himself with softly muttered curses, his head dropping to press open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder.

it felt new to you, the warmth making you squirm until you came again without warning. it was much weaker this time but still enough to make you shake in his arms, panting softly after letting out a strangled moan against his skin.

after a few long moments of trying to recover from the shared orgasm, he lifted his head, one of his hands cupping your chin to tilt your head to look at him.

“so,” he started, lips stretched into a smile, “how’d that feel?”

“fucking amazing.” you rolled your eyes at how smug he looked after your confession, not protesting as he leaned forward to kiss you.

this one was much softer than the previous kisses you shared, much more tender. it was a lot shorter too, he pulled away first to rest his forehead against yours.

“yeah?” he whispered, kissing the corner of your lips, “just wait until i hit it from the back.”

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf

[poisonf0rest]

Overc*mming Writer's Block 3

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐕

♱⋅── zayne x reader

♱⋅── about: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, it’s safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with “inspiration” for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. Partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji

♱⋅── word count: 10.8k holy

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, bondage, oral, pussydrunk zayne, PRAISE kink, breeding kink, actual sex this time, no more blue balling, nightly rendezvous card

art credit to @/chimmyming on X

“So, you and Dr. Zayne?”

You damn near choke on your salad. Coughing, you place your fork down before turning to glare at Anvi. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She smiles, as if that was confirmation enough. “I’ve heard a thing or two from hospital gossips—“

“Vi, you are the hospital gossip.”

“—that the cold, yet steaming hot doctor was finally seen accepting the company of someone else. Not to mention at the gala last weekend he was by your side all night long. Or so I was told.” 

Anvi leans in, smiling wide enough to burst her pretty face as you scowl down at your lunch, unable to meet her eyes. Fighting to keep your voice even, you nudge her off, stabbing a carrot. “You’re ridiculous. I’m not involved with Dr. Zayne, he’s too—“ Attentive? Intelligent? God don’t think of him eating you out right now. “He’s not my type.”

You feel your ears burn, but by the grace of some god Anvi doesn’t seem to notice. Pouting she sighs and sinks back into the cafeteria booth. “Aww man, I was really rooting for you, too.”

“Rooting for a nonexistent relationship?” 

Anvi’s about to say something, big doe eyes almost frantically darting between yours before she huffs and shakes her head, something akin to pity tightening her smile.

You raise a brow but she only shrugs, going back to picking at her lunch. “Just as well, a relationship between a resident and her boss would be quite the juicy scandal. Something straight out of a romcom, no?” 

Laughter rips from your chest, the sheer irony of both her words and your reality too much to bear. Anvi’s windshield wiper giggles join your own, and soon the two of you are wheezing under your breath as you get side-eyed by the other surgeons trying to enjoy their lunch. 

Really, whoever your author was had a fucked up sense of humor. 

But the moment is ruined by the buzz of your pager, and you barely say bye to Anvi before you’re rushed to the operating bay. 

As of today, you have two days to finish your manuscript. 

Today's shift was exhausting, but you’ve learned early into your career that writing is a discipline, and as fickle of a muse as inspiration is, a writer cannot simply wait for her to grace you with her presence. Whether you feel like it or not, this book has to get done. 

Besides, what better mindset was there to churn out unhinged shenanigans than when you’re delirious and half-asleep, tucked away in the on-call room? 

Okay, so perhaps not the best place to be, but logically if your shift finished only minutes ago and you had to page in at five AM yet again, you’re better off just staying here rather than driving back to your apartment and all the way back to the hospital again.

Opening your personal laptop, you tab onto your novel's draft, the flashing cursor taunting you as your editor’s comments blur into an overwhelming mess of red. While you’ve worked your way through just about half of her six-thousand comments, that still leaves far too many, especially on your novel’s villain slash love interest as the trope always goes. 

You’re halfway through cutting cringey dialogue on a specific scene, but your thoughts keep drifting. Your conversation with Anvi keeps playing in your mind— romcom, dating, scandal, boss. You suppress the heat rising in your chest, trying to ignore the reality you really don't want to face. 

Zayne is… too much. Too intelligent, too caring, too perfect at catching you off guard.

Shaking your head, you try re-focusing, but between sleep deprivation and the realization that you haven’t actually done anything physical with Zayne for nearly a week, you get far too distracted. 

It’s not that you haven’t seen him since the gala. Far from it, really. Nearly every night if your shifts happen to end around the same time, he offers to drive you home. And when your shifts don’t align, you always make the effort to cook something together, breakfast or dinner, at ungodly hours of the morning or evening. And if neither of those happened, you would watch a movie, at least for a few minutes till one or both of you fell asleep on your ratty couch. 

God, you’re a fool. You can’t help but want him by your side even now, loving the way he reacts to your inappropriate comments, loving the way he scoffs at your jokes, loving the way he notices even the most minute things about you. And yet there’s a distance you can’t explain, a growing space you’re both too afraid to fill.

You close your laptop with a soft sigh, rubbing your eyes as you lay back on the small cot, trying to block out the nagging ache in your chest.

Your phone buzzes from under the cot, and you glance at it absently. You nearly jump at Zayne’s icon flashing on your screen.

grumpy snowman: Under recent developments I’d like to inform you of two things. One, you are banned from the hospital all of tomorrow under strict orders by me. Two, I currently have Mr. Whiskers held hostage, and should you fail to return home by 02:59 I will be forced to perform pulmonary bypass puncture and stop his heart. 

Dumbfounded, you stare at Zayne’s text, blinking in confusion. Did your sleep deprivation just hallucinate a text? Violently shaking your head, you look back at your phone with slightly spinning vision just to confirm that no, this was very much real and Zayne has very much lost it. 

ms. author: Is this a threat?

Another text follows immediately after.

grumpy snowman: Consider it your last chance. Come back and save him, or else... this may as well be his final night. 

An image sends then, your favorite calico cat plushy all tied up with what appears to be Zayne’s tie, dangling the poor thing as though being held hostage. Your gaze lingers for longer than it should on how Zayne’s hands look in the dim lighting of the photo, so busy trailing up the veins on his lithe fingers that you nearly miss his next text. 

grumpy snowman: I’ve already called an Uber. It’s waiting outside. 

You snort into the empty room, rolling to sit up straight.He’s the last person you’d expect to pull this sort of thing. It’s nothing short of ridiculous, but truly you don’t know the last time you’ve smiled this wide, and it’s precisely the distraction you need right now, especially if he’s already gone through the trouble of organizing it all himself. But like you’d go down without a fight. 

ms. author: You’re being ridiculous, you’d never hurt Mr. Whiskers you devil. You don’t have the guts.

His reply is swift, almost immediate.

grumpy snowman: Do I now? Care to test that theory?

You can practically hear the smugness in his text, the playful challenge laced with a quiet but unmistakable sincerity. Your heart gives an unexpected flutter, the weight in your chest easing, if only slightly. Quite a villain, indeed.

You know what Zayne’s doing. He’s not just playing around; he’s pulling you out of your head, out of the self-imposed spiral you’ve yet again been retreating into. You’ve spent the better half of the week in it. 

You bite your lip, considering your options. On one hand, you could brush him off—continue working, ignore the text, but something inside of you craves this attention. Craves his uncharacteristic ridiculousness. Craves the break from your mind that he’s offering.

ms. author: If you harm a single fur on my son’s head I’ll put an end to your tyranny myself.

Zayne doesn’t waste a second, sending only a single warning: Hurry. 

You stand, grabbing your jacket and keys, and only then do you second guess this. The easy, safe choice would be to stay buried in your work, it would be to politely decline and place must-needed distance and formality back. 

But for the first time in a while there’s something you want more than work, and as you slip out of the on-call room, the image of Mr. Whiskers hanging helplessly from Zayne’s tie is enough to pull you out of the hospital.

You push your front door open, the silence of your apartment making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The lights are off— odd, considering you could have sworn you left a lamp on. You always do, a force of habit since you live in a slightly less safe area of Linkon. Oh, the things you do for cheaper rent. 

Pausing, your eyes scan the deceptively empty hallway and kitchen. Everything feels still, almost eerie, and your pulse quickens as you take your shoes off, right beside Zayne’s much larger dress shoes, to venture further into your apartment. 

The faintest creak of floorboards makes you freeze. Your heart stutters slightly, the scare making you grip your chest as you whirl around, cursing out your cowardice. You’ve seen worse things wheeled into the ER. Please, get a grip. 

You shake off the nerves just as your phone buzzes in your pocket, breaking the silence once more.

grumpy snowman: You’re cutting it close. Five minutes before Mr. Whiskers meets an untimely demise.

You can't help the amused snort that escapes you, the tension in your body breaking.

ms. author: You really went this far? What now, villain?

The response is almost immediate.

grumpy snowman: It’s a matter of life or death. I hope you're prepared.

Another photo attachment follows—your favorite Christmas blanket thrown over the couch cushions in disarray, the faintest corner of Mr. Whiskers peeking out beneath it. The living room. You shake your head, muttering under your breath about the audacity of smug geniuses with far too much time on their hands.

You make your way to the living room in the dark, you flick on a lamp as you approach the couch. Lifting the blanket to find… nothing but a sticky note.

It reads, in painfully pretty cursive: Nice try, but you’ll have to be quicker.

Another buzz.

grumpy snowman: You fell for that as well? I expected better. Already 02:56, time’s running out.

You scoff, unable to stop yourself from laughing despite the absurdity.

ms. author: Do you even have anything better to do?

grumpy snowman: Not lately. Someone’s been too busy to properly entertain me.

You read it once, twice, and still something in your chest squeezes painfully at that.

Folding up the note, you stare at the text a moment longer before you hear the echoing click of a door. It’s coming from upstairs. 

Another buzz.

grumpy snowman: While you’re lost in thought again, care to explain why you’ve been running yourself into the ground? 

You pause, stalling as you make your way to your stairs.

ms. author: I am writing.

grumpy snowman: Poorly, if you’re overworking. Can’t imagine the tension’s working out if it’s still stuck in your head.

ms. author: Gasp. Excuse you—

Another buzz interrupts, just as you make it to your bedroom door, old wood announcing your arrival with a groan. The culprit has to be just behind it. 

grumpy snowman: 3 minutes remaining. Mr. Whiskers won’t be around much longer.

You can practically feel Zayne’s grin through the phone, and for a brief moment, you’re glad he’s here, even if it’s all in jest. He’s right although you might never admit it; this whole absurd situation—your plushie, the stupid texts, the teasing—has done what no amount of coffee or sleepless daydreaming could.

ms. author: If you harm a single fur on my son’s head, I swear I’ll come for you.

Your hand latches onto your bedroom handle, biting your lip as you pause to type one last jab. 

ms. author: I don’t know why I’m indulging you.

grumpy snowman: Because you love it when I win.

A laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. Shaking your head, you push the door open.

Your bedroom is dim, the curtains drawn, but moonlight spills through the dusky purple veils, illuminating the bed.

Perched atop lies Mr. Whiskers, your darling calico plushie sitting in the center, fully unharmed even though his crystalline eyes speak of unimaginable horrors at the hands of his captor. 

Before you can grab him, movement from the corner of the room nearly startles you into jumping halfway across the room. Zayne, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watches you with a slight upturned grin that makes your stomach twist.

“You’re a horrible villain.” You huff, all but lunging on your bed to hug Mr. Whiskers to your chest like a shield.

His lips twitch into a smile, the bastard, and you can't help but notice how handsome he looks with his hair a little mussed and his glasses slipping down his nose. He doesn’t have his coat or suit jacket on, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, a sight you haven’t grown tired of.

God, you really have a thing for forearms. Or maybe it’s just a thing for Zayne.

“Since we’re critiquing each other, you’re not much of a hero. Hiding behind a plushie doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.” 

“Confidence isn’t my priority right now.” You clutch Mr. Whiskers tighter, narrowing your eyes. He’s not here to talk about morals and heroism, though. “I’ve been fine. Nothing more than proofreading left… that and a few problem-children scenes.”

“Then consider this me fulfilling my half of the contract,” Zayne says, effortlessly seeing past your usual bullshit. “For someone who claims they’re adequately inspired, you’ve been more distant than usual.”

“I don’t need a lecture.”

“No lecture.” He steps closer, “I just missed you.”

Again, Zayne's words catch you off guard, so blunt they make your chest ache. No empty flattery, no pretty words, simply stated as though they were facts. 

He takes another step forward, and you have to lean back on your elbows— nearly lying back on the bed— to maintain eye contact as he looms above you. 

And then, Zayne drops to his knees before you.

It’s a far more graceful movement than it has any right to be, all six foot something of him kneeling against the foot of your bed as you instinctively make room for him there. Slowly, his hands come up to your thighs, the two of you slotting together with ease.

“Admit it,” Zayne whispers, the sweet, minty heat of his breath caressing your lips as you shiver, leaning closer despite yourself. “This helped.” A wry smile, “and that I make a convincing villain.”

“What’s this, is the doctor Zayne fishing for compliments?”

“I don’t need compliments. I just want you to stop pretending in front of me– no more performances.” 

Heat rises to your face, and your stomach twists. He's too close, he's always too close, but god, why has this domesticity become so natural around him? 

Despite yourself, you look down at his hands again, taking in how easily his scarred palms cup your thighs, the pale contrast of his skin against yours. Lithe, long fingers, and the memory of how well they’ve treated you. You swear he must feel your heart pound where his thumbs brush circles against your inner thighs, your body nothing but responsive for him. 

But if he does, he spares you the embarrassment. Zayne only continues to look up into your face, and just as you begin thinking of equally inappropriate jokes or fun facts to break the silence, Zayne moves closer, his knee pressing between your thighs as the mattress dips to accommodate his weight. 

“Perhaps there is a performance you could help me with, since you’re clearly the expert here.”

You blink, one step behind Zayne’s master plan yet again. “What- help you?”

“Yes. See, I’ve been thinking about my next move as a villain, and…” Before you can even follow Zayne’s words, Mr. Whiskers is yanked from your grasp once more. One hand raises him into the air and the other lunges for your outstretched arms, pinning them to the bed as it creaks and groans under the sudden assault. “I think I’ll take Mr. Whiskers as my captive once again.”

A soft gasp leaves your lips as Zayne shifts above you, his knee grinding up just enough to have you aching between your legs. Everything spins, torn between the desire to rescue Mr. Whiskers and the overwhelming urge to give in, to pull Zayne closer, to finally, finally fuck him yourself.

But before you can decide, the hand pinning your wrists tightens, his thumb rubbing circles as he effortlessly restrains you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you curse, though the tremor in your voice betrays your excitement.

“Ridiculous?” Zayne repeats, arching a brow. “Perhaps you should start taking this seriously, my dear protagonist.” He drops his voice into something rich, dark, and deliciously villainous. The hand that pins you down holds firm, the other dangles your plushie overhead with mocking menace. 

You scoff, though it comes out shakier than intended. “I could write circles around your attempts at being evil.”

“Could you?” Unbuttoning his shirt, Zayne gets only halfway before abandoning it entirely, letting the buttons skew across his chest. He watches with a growing smile as your eyes flutter downward against your better judgment. “Then why don’t you show me.”

Zayne nods to your phone, eyes narrowed from behind his glasses. “Open the doc, show me the scene. Any attempts to rescue the captive will be met with appropriate punishment.” 

The way Zayne looks down at you, waiting—daring— to see if you would make him stop, sends a sinful flutter through your core, ricocheting up your spine. No longer trusting your voice, you nod and feel the pressure loosen ever so slightly on your wrists. 

You only have time to pull your phone out from your scrub’s back pocket before Zayne captures your wrists again, the tie once used on Mr. Whiskers now knotted efficiently right above your wrists. It should be frightening, how easy it is for him to manhandle you, but you feel nothing but painful arousal at that fact.

You’re still growling out faux protests when Zayne plucks the phone from your hands, his knee keeping your hips firmly pinned against the mattress.

“Ah,” Zayne murmurs, scrolling casually through your doc. “A scene involving betrayal, a chase, and…” He raises a brow. “Passionate accusations of treachery.”

You thrash beneath him, trying to buck off his weight as your face burns in embarrassment. “Enough! You’re supposed to help, not—”

“Not what?” He glances at you briefly, lips pursed in a halfhearted attempt to mask his amusement. “Not put your villain to the test? I’ll admit I might have ulterior motives, but you’ll have to try harder than that.”

Zayne then waves the plushie just out of reach before dangling him on the windowsill for dramatic emphasis.

“I swear to god, if you harm Mr. Whiskers!”

He cuts you off with a chuckle. “Hush. You’ll want to hear this.” 

Zayne clears his throat, the smirk on his lips unmistakable as he picks up where you left off in editing your manuscript. His voice drops into a faux-sinister drawl as he begins to narrate. “‘You can hate me all you want,’ the villain growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. ‘But that fire in your eyes only makes me want to break you more.’”

It's horrible, the way he reads the words, the tone and cadence he gives the prose, and worst of all, the way his unblinking gaze remains completely, utterly, fixed on you as he speaks.

“Zayne, please, don’t- this is embarrassing,” you beg to appeal to reason, still writhing against his tie, when you realize his grip against your hips has loosened.

Zayne’s attention is momentarily diverted as he scrolls through the doc, looking for another section to read, and you kick your knee up with a shout, jabbing it into his side as the two of you tumble across the bed. 

Lunging, you manage to grab Mr. Whiskers for all of two seconds before Zayne hauls you up by your bound wrists, forcing you arms above your head as you are pulled back against him. He’s rough, forcing your spine to arch against his chest as you hiss on impact, head thrown back against Zayne’s shoulder. “Ah-ah. What did I say about attempts to rescue the captive?” 

His tone is all mockery, grip iron against your waist even though you can tell he’s still holding himself back. Feeling each hot, ragged breath against the back of your neck, the smell of ambroxan and sandalwood surrounding you. You breathe in deeper, shaking despite yourself.

“Let go of me!”

‘’Close. I believe the actual line was ‘unhand me.’”

Zayne hauls you further up the mattress, hooking your bound wrists onto the post of your bedframe as this new position forces you to face the wall, all while his free hand adjusts his glasses, scanning the next few lines. “‘I’d rather die than let you win!’ she spat, her chest heaving with defiance—” He glances at you with deadpan incredulity. “Why is everyone always heaving in these scenes? Do they all have asthma?”

“You’re the worst,” you hiss, breathless from the struggle. See? Heaving, no asthma involved, just foreplay. 

“And yet…” Zayne’s voice comes closer, and you feel his bare chest once again at your back, “you’re the one who wrote it. I’m simply giving you an immersive experience.”

“Can’t be fully immersive if I have yet to believe you, villain.” Scoffing, you turn around, craning your neck just to glare him in the eyes. “You don’t have what it takes.”

Zayne chuckles, then silence. Forcing your head towards the wall again, you feel him lean down, still out of sight despite the heat radiating off his body, his nose brushing down your bare throat as he spits out the next line.

“Brat.”

You hate how immediately your body responds to that. How you shiver and lean back despite the restraints, how a part of you wants to fight, to keep the act going, because god, the idea of letting Zayne do anything he wants to you is enough to make your head spin.

Zayne’s teeth press against your neck, just below your ear, and you whine, the sound so small and deprived that you instantly bite your tongue and curse yourself for reacting like this.

So then he does it again.

A pitched gasp.

A broken moan.

Each noise he elicits from you is another cruel victory, and when you grind your ass back against Zayne’s increasingly obvious erection, he all but tears your scrubs down your thighs, the cotton of your panties not standing a chance against his desperation. 

In truth, Zayne had never been harder in his life. Did he intentionally pick the most on-the-nose dialogue just to watch you squirm? Perhaps. But he’d be lying if he said seeing you battle against primal desire beneath him, feeling your half-hearted attempts to fight him, accidentally grinding your ass against him with every squirm didn’t make him want to push you even further. 

Every breath came out heavy, chest heaving as he continued his performative reading, large palms alternating between slapping and gently squeezing your ass. 

“You’re greedy,” a kiss against your shoulder, shucking your scrubs down your knees. “Impatient,” another kiss, this time down your spine, throwing your pants across the bedroom. “And utterly disobedient.” 

You’re already stripped bare from the chest down. 

He can't deny the sight of you in such a compromising position is a sight to behold, and the urge to keep reading just to see how far he can push you is intoxicating. Panting, he pauses only to readjust his glasses, foggy and slipping down his nose. 

You, however, are too impatient.

"Zayne, please, you got your point across. You win. Just— ah, just fuck me already."

It's the first time in nearly a week that Zayne gets to hear you ask for him, beg for him, and it's all the reminder he needs for his body to fail him, shuttering against you with a moan of his own. How did he survive so long without this? Without you? 

Your voice rings against his skull, and it’s all he ever wants to hear. Moan his name, beg for him, scream it, call it out, anything. He needs you, irreversibly.

And not just for this.

So instead, Zayne looks back at your doc one last time, reading, “To think this is the city’s great hero. How I’ll enjoy breaking you.”

With a click, your phone turns off, tossed carelessly to the floor with a heavy thud that would have sent you into a panic had Zayne not chosen that exact moment to bite into the soft flesh behind your neck, thumb instantly finding your clit. 

The sensation alone is enough to make you cry, arching further up against the bindings. His hand snakes back around your hip, grounding, just barely brushing against the heat of your cunt, and the way he breathes out a low, half-delirious chuckle at the sound of you panting his name has your core fluttering for more.

"Please, Zayne, please," you whine, and the second the pleas leave your mouth, his thumb presses delicious circles into your neglected bundle of nerves. You whine, loud and needy, the second his fingers sink inside, held up only by Zayne’s arm wrapped around your waist and the tie pinning you against the bed frame. 

“Already begging? I wonder how much more obedient you’ll be after I fuck it all out of you.” And god, Zayne wanted to mock such an obscenely written line just to watch you blush all over, because what sort of villain would actually say such a thing? 

But when he sees you whimper at his words, when you arch so willingly into his punishment, when he feels your heartbeat quicken under his fingertips, he suddenly can’t say he faults any of these romance writers, for he now knows he’d do far worse than any of their cardboard villains. 

Zayne doesn’t even need to read the next line in the doc to know exactly what he’d do next. 

All but falling to the mattress, Zayne pulls your hips up, up until you’re atop his face, sinking his tongue between your folds before dragging all the way up to your clit, sucking with enough tension to make you scream. 

Your hands burn from where they chafe and fight against the tie, bucking violently against Zayne’s face, the cold kiss of his glasses frames making you jolt as he pulls your hips toward him like it’s the last thing keeping him sane.

“No,” Zayne groans between breaths, unable to part with you as he messily kisses your inner thigh before coaxing two fingers inside you with a thrust. “Don’t run. Do not run from me.”

Every scissor of his fingers forces obscene sounds from your cunt, silenced only by Zayne’s mouth and his own muffled praises. Granted, it didn’t matter how loud he was being, not with all of your delirious moans, completely unsuppressed as Zayne’s calculated ministrations took you apart thrust by thrust. 

At least you can remember being thankful that your apartment walls were sound-proofed. Breath ragged, mind spinning, only mindlessly fighting back as you babble, “Wait, you’re so- ah- fuck. Zayne!”

Quite canonically to your villain, Zayne’s hips buck into empty air in time to every thrust of his fingers, imagining it was his cock fucking deep into you instead. It’s a line he’s fantasized about crossing time and time again. 

But that’s where it stops. Fantasy. Because just the thought of it has Zayne groaning into your cunt, the taste and feel of you alone driving him insane, a point of obsession where he cannot allow himself to go any further. He can’t. He can’t, he really shouldn’t. 

He’d never recover, he’d never stop wanting— needing you. He’s addicted enough as is.

Zayne’s shirt had almost fully unbuttoned but his trousers remained, bulging as his cock wept from its prison against his thigh, fabric dark and painfully restraining. The mere friction was too little and overstimulating all at once. Even so, he can’t help but chase the phantom feeling, grinding against nothing as you fall apart above him.

When your shaking thighs finally begin to lock around his jaw, he welcomes the cage, burrowing his face deeper as the strong arch of his nose presses against your throbbing clit. Zayne’s slick fingers are delegated to merely keeping your hips still, his tongue fucking you through your orgasm as his hips follow your same rhythm.

One touch, one touch is all he needs to cum with you, but Zayne refuses to do anything but work you through your high. He swallows the taste of you, open-mouthed and needy, a moan rumbling deep in his chest as you feel it hum through you. 

Gasping, you look down, and immediately you feel your core flutter— the sight enough to have you wishing he was back in between your thighs already.

Zayne’s entire body shakes beneath you, dark hair mused and hands digging into your hips in ways you know will leave half-moon marks. But what has you trembling is the sight of his hazel eyes eclipsed to near black, completely blown out and teary as they try and fail to focus on anything other than your pussy still fluttering above him. Something you can barely see at all, not with the amount of cum that squirted across his glasses, foggy and skewed across his nose as it too glistens with your release. 

It’s an obscene picture you only get for a moment before Zayne chucks his glasses off just to place a closer, deeper set of kisses on your cunt. Practically chasing every buck of your hips, he happily lets you ride his face until your room begins to blur yet again, weightless and utterly fucked. 

You’re panting, vision still coming back in waves as you register Zayne untying your hands, all the while kissing the light bruises that remain. 

And yet you can hardly think of anything other than the fact that he still hasn’t properly fucked you.

“Zayne,” you call, and god, something in your chest squeezes at just how fast he whips his head around, already ducking to meet your eyes as he scans down your face. There’s worry etched into his features, his eyes scanning yours like he’s already bracing for whatever you’ll say next.

“I’m sorry, I knew I should have taken better precautions. If your hands hurt I can get a salve from—”

“Fuck me.”

Silence. 

Zayne blinks, his mouth parting and eyes squinting as though he misheard– or somehow misread–  you.

“What?” he manages, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You sit up on your knees, pulling off your shirt one swift movement so you’re completely naked, then lean forward until your noses nearly touch, his eyes dropping to your breasts. The boldness only shakes him further. “I’m sorry, I can’t let you run away this time. I want—” Reaching your hand out, your fingers trail down Zayne’s bare chest, hardly even pushing for him to fall backward. And for you to follow on top. “I want to do this for you. I want you.”

Zayne’s breath is deceptively steady, and if you couldn't feel the ragged rhythm of his chest, rising and falling as it burns against your palm, you wouldn’t have believed he was affected at all. 

“You don’t-wait- have to—” he starts, but his voice breaks when your fingers trace the curve of his ribs, lips following suit as you place gentle kisses down his sternum, his slender abs, dangerously close to the v-line dipping into his pants that you can’t help but lick, smiling in delight as his words finally fail him. 

“Neither did you. You’re rather stubborn, doctor,” you insist, soft but unwavering. Resting your head against his thigh, you coax his jaw down to look at you, the palm still resting against his chest finding the erratic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. “Let me take care of you for once. Don’t you know good patients listen?”

Zayne huffs a quiet laugh, the sound strained as he looks down at you, right side of his lips curving into a faint smirk despite the way his body seems to ignite at your touch. “Bringing in our professional titles seems a little underhanded, don’t you think?” 

 “Ah, but it got your attention, didn’t it?” You don’t let him stall anyone— already he’s managed to keep this from you for weeks, really it’s a shame you haven’t stripped him earlier— letting your tongue trace the dip of his hip once more, humming as his muscles tense under the sudden attention. 

Greedy, your lips continue to worship every sharp edge and curve of Zayne’s abdomen, hands busy with his buckle until you manage to find a particularly sensitive spot just above his right hip bone. 

All his composure, all his calculated confidence, you want to break it apart until there’s nothing left but Zayne. Just Zayne. 

Zayne inhales sharply, eyes screwing shut as his mouth falls open in a picture of perfect debauchery you want etched into your mind forever. One hand fists into the sheets beside him, the other flying to your hair as your kisses turn to a dizzying mix of licks and nips. Hard enough to mark, you bite into skin, tongue flicking between your teeth, echoing across the room alongside the wet sounds of your mouth at work. 

“Ah, fuck.”

Cursing already? Perhaps this would be easier than you thought, but where’s the fun in that?

You pull back, watching Zayne blink in confusion as his hips twitch up toward your mouth, and you have to force back a laugh as he stares, bewildered, like he can hardly believe the sight in front of him.

His voice comes out huskier than before, low and coated with desire. "Why did you stop?"

You pull back just enough to look up at him, cheek resting on his thigh as you play with his zipper, never looking away from Zayne’s eyes even as they flutter closed in frustration, desperate for more. Tension practically radiates off of him, but you only smile, taking your time as you trail your fingers away from his zipper and bulge, teasing the sensitive edges of his hip and the skin peaking just over the edge of his trousers. 

“Don’t worry, doctor,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “I’ll be sure to complete your procedure just as thoroughly as you did on me.” 

Oh, and Zayne must realize how utterly fucked he is, for you won’t be letting him go not until you’ve adequately paid him back for all the times he’s deliberately edged you to the point of tears, all the times he’s reprimanded your attitude, all the sweet punishments you’ve ensured that you’re going to give back to him tenfold. 

But before he can try and sweet-talk his way into mercy, your teeth catch on his zipper, dragging it down as your free hand unlaces his belt, tossing it across the room by the time his bulge presses out from between the metal teeth all on its own.

Achingly hard already, and you haven't even begun.

The fact that you know he’s this hard just from eating you out certainly doesn’t help. 

His boxers are soaking, the obvious bulge only emphasized by the way the damp cotton seems to stick to him, and god does the size of him make your core flutter. 

Maybe next time you’ll get him to come just by eating you out. 

Next time, though.

Without warning, your fingers wrap around his cock, freeing it from the confines of his boxers. A hiss grits out through Zayne’s teeth as his jaw clicks and a vein thrums against his neck from the pressure. 

You're so used to having Zayne above you, between your legs, teasing you senseless as his fingers or tongue bring you to the edge over and over again. And now, here he is. Spread out, and all yours to ravage.

The realization alone has you throbbing, prior orgasm all but forgotten as you feel the want burn between your thighs again.

If only he could see how wet you were already.

How could he not, with the way your hips were rocking against his still-clothed thigh, searching for the friction he wouldn’t give?

And yet, despite your impatience, your eyes never leave Zayne, watching the way his muscles flex as he resists the urge to move, ever obedient for you.

"Good boy," you purr, meaning only to tease him further, but instead of the faux glare or inscrutable comment you were expecting, Zayne tenses beneath you, his cock jumping against your palm. Your eyebrows raise, a breathless giggle betraying your intentions as you lean in closer.

"Oh? Do you like that, baby? Being told just how perfect you are for me?”

You're not sure what's more arousing, the fact that Zayne is practically coming undone at your words, or the fact that he hasn't denied a thing.

God, his body feels hot. The mere praise has a dusky blush racing down his gorgeously sculpted chest all the way to the tips of his ears, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he looks down between the two of you, to where you’re still teasing the weeping slit of his dick. He moans before he could even stop himself. Fuck. 

Shivering, Zayne reaches out to grasp your wrist, and for a moment you think he's going to put a stop to your little power trip. But his hand only comes up to guide yours, urging you to pump his cock a bit faster, stopping to put more pressure against the base, and you can't help but smirk knowing he must be truly desperate if he's already rushing you to jerk him off properly. 

"My, my, doctor. I suppose I’m not the only one who’s been holding back.” You click your tongue, a teasing edge to your voice. "Were you really so desperate to feel me around your cock, hmm?"

Hazel eyes narrow at the pure filth behind your words, but you see the furrow between his brows, the way Zayne’s throat bobs as he throws his head back with a choked groan. If he looks so damn pretty now, you wonder what kind of faces he’ll make when he cums. 

“You truly are horrible,” He groans, hesitating, hands clenching into the sheets before they fly up to your waist, gently bucking his hips into your awaiting palm. “Mhm- please.”

You hum, lazily sinking to your stomach so your bare chest presses against his still-clothed thighs. With each stroke you can feel his muscles twitch beneath you, see the way his jaw clenches and unclenches, the way his hand guides yours, tightening and loosening, urging you to go faster, harder.

Your mouth waters, and the urge to taste him is far too tempting to resist. 

Plus, you’ve had enough with denying yourself, and more than enough of Zayne denying himself as well. 

So right as Zayne’s head rolls back against the pillows you rock forward, licking a slow stripe up his dick, up between the gap of your fingers where they grip his base. 

Zayne chokes on his breath, hand immediately tangling in your hair, rough enough that it has you wrenched away with a breathless whine. He groans, words shaking out in breathless huffs, “You, hah- this isn’t, fuck—”

"Ah, ah, pretty boy, let me take care of you, yeah?" You fight to come back to him, smiling as Zayne’s grip immediately loosened, and you kiss his tip in thanks.

Rubbing teasing circles into his thighs, your thumbs then move up, tracing his v-line, addicted to the way his muscles tense under your nails and to the red lines that follow. It makes you want to mark him up more. So you do, with your nails again, then with your teeth and tongue. 

“Look at how- shit- how excited you are for me. So pretty.” You lean forward, pressing wet, messy kisses just below his navel and all around his already sticky thighs, heady and coated in pre-cum. 

Another bite, and you squeeze his balls with just enough pressure as you watch his eyes roll back in time. "I'm going to make this so, so good for you, baby.” 

Zayne all but sobs at that.

Every carefully restrained thought breaks completely at the praise, a raspy moan grinding through his teeth before his jaw falls open with every ragged huff of breath. 

“Mhm that’s it, you’re doing so well,” you say, smiling at the way his cock twitches, violently leaking, pre-cum pooling into your palm and dripping down your wrist. “So pretty, so perfect just for me.”

With one last kiss on Zayne’s tip, your hands steadies itself against his abdomen before you kitten-lick around the tip of his cock, and then greedily shove as much of his throbbing erection as you can down your throat.

Zayne tenses, gasping, and the sound sends a thrill down your spine. You press further, tongue flattening along the underside of his shaft, and fuck he’s so thick you nearly choke, forgetting to breathe in through your nose as the lack of oxygen gets to you embarrassingly fast. 

If only you had some more time to properly adjust, you'd force him to the hilt without a doubt. But patience has never been your virtue. 

You’re already edging yourself with every slow grind of your clit against Zayne’s thigh, and you can feel his desperation in every throb along the underside of his cock in your mouth, letting his tip hit the back of your throat, breaching as deep as you could allow.

Zayne begins to buck forward only to freeze halfway, a low hiss leaving him as his hand twitches against the sheets, knuckles turning white as he fights his own self-restraint as you urge him deeper into your hot mouth. Trying to pull you off him, Zayne’s hand laces through your hair as a warning, large enough to cup the back of your neck entirely, but the action only lets you take him further. 

Then he makes the fatal mistake of looking down at you, locking eyes with your teary gaze as you maintain eye contact before licking up his length, and then swallowing him back down, crying as mascara and drool runs down your chin. His hips stutter upwards, and then he catches the shallow bulge now pressing against the base of your throat. Up and down and back again.

The sight breaks him.

He throws his head back with a whine, and fuck, his sounds thrums against your skull, reverberating through your very being as he snaps, hips bucking wildly into your mouth, his powerful thighs trembling around your head. You’re being used as nothing more than a fucktoy now, hands scrambling for purchase against his abdomen for a semblance of control as you take it.

Fuck, maybe it’s the praise, because you make Zayne want to be greedy with the way you were gagging and choking around him.

The mere feeling of you drooling around his length, the way your moans come out muffled and wet with drool and his slick, like a messy kiss to his cock, has his hips stuttering deeper, arching up into your body until Zayne can practically feel the spark of his orgasm behind his eyes. 

But no, that won't do.

After all, you won’t be satisfied until he’s finally fucking himself inside you tonight. He can’t cum anywhere else. You won’t let him.

And right when you feel his cock go rigid, you tighten your hand around the base, and pull off. 

Heaving, you shakily prop yourself back onto your elbows, Zayne's length glistening with saliva between your bodies, twitching violently and leaking all across his abdomen and your chest from its angry red tip. 

“S’pretty, Zayne.”

Zayne moans, hips chasing after the heat of your mouth, hissing when all he feels is the cold air. He wants to protest, wants to ask for more, but you shush him with a kiss.

Your tongue laps across his skin, tracing the ridges of his abs, lapping the pre-cum and sweat that gathers there. You lick a trail, following the sharp cut of his hips.

"What, is that all you can take?" you ask, a teasing smirk on your face.

Zayne curses, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “Depends.” His voice is fucked rough, raw, and you never want him to stop talking. ”Was that the full treatment?” 

You hum, biting the inside of his thigh. He gasps, and it turns into a deep groan when you press an open-mouthed kiss over the forming mark.

“No,” you admit, “You’re not escaping until I get to watch you come undone.”

You smile at the shudder both your words and actions draw, the way his fingers tighten in your hair. “Ah, but not here. In me. I want you to fill me up, baby, make a mess of me. I can take it, I promise. And when you're done, I'm going to ride you until you come again. Sound good, my pretty boy?"

Zayne throws his head back with a moan, eyes squeezed painfully shut as though he can’t decide if this really is real or if a succubus was haunting his dreams to every sinful memory he has of you.

Zayne leans into your touch, following your palm as he nuzzles into you with a huff of hot breath. A little like a kitten in a man's body— a sexy body no doubt— but you wonder, not for the first time, if the reason he always holds back is simply because he was afraid. As you were. Until Zayne came to you, until he showed you what pleasure felt like.

So you take his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, and then kiss him.

He lunges up to meet you halfway, licking into your mouth, fisting into your hair, breathing in every moan and whimper of his name as he hums it right back. Needy, so damn needy for it. 

You smile through the kiss, grinding up and down his muscular thigh alongside the desperate smashing of mouths. Tongue-heavy, teeth scraping, sucking at the corner of your lips. So fucking hungry for you that he’s practically lifting you right off the mattress with just one arm. 

His mouth distractedly chases down your throat leaving opened-mouth kisses before slotting back against your lips, hot and demanding and urgent. 

“Zayne, ah—” you’re cut off with another kiss, “Mhm, please, need you,” another, Zayne looping two arms around your thighs, hiking your knees up to his shoulders, the stretch burning. “Need you in me, now.”

He moans into your open mouth at those words, eager enough that he chases you up, nearly pinning you beneath him until you break the kiss with a gasp, shoving him back down. Zayne whines at the break of your lips, brows furrowed as his back hits the mattress, trapped under you once again, panting.

"Need you, pretty boy." You whisper against his lips, and it sounds just like a promise. "Please, let me take care of you.”

Zayne takes a shaky breath, nodding, drunk on the praise and readjusts himself against the pillows. He watches, eyes half-lidded, as you straddle his waist. Rough hands find your hips and hold them steady as you settle climbing atop him, the head of his cock rubbing between the folds of your soaked cunt. 

It isn’t lost on you how Zayne can barely stop staring at the slick that trails down your thighs, all of it coating his shaft in slick as your pussy hovers over him, connecting the two of you in wet, sticky strands.

"Like what you see, doctor?"

You lick down the milky column of his neck and Zayne groans, leaning back to grant you access. "You and your smart-ass mouth."

“You love it.”

Ya, he does. He could probably cum just from watching you like this.

Leaning forward, you line his cock up with your entrance, smirking at the way his eyes narrow, heart racing beneath your palms as you balance yourself on his pecks, shamelessly groping them.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've thought about this? How many times I've imagined riding your cock, hearing the sweet noises you make as I make a mess of you?"

Zayne opens his mouth, as if to say something, but whatever it is doesn't matter, not as you guide the swollen red tip of his cock through your folds, thick tip pushing and sliding past your entrance, unable to fit even with your combined slick. Teasing, swollen pussy lips drooling right down onto his leaky head when just a simple nudge of Zayne’s squirming hips would end this torment and have you fucked flush against him— raw.

"Please," he groans, his voice raspy and hoarse, eyes fluttering closed, glassy with lust, "I can't- I can't take this. Please,” a low moan of your name has you delirious, and god, you’d give him anything he’d ask for. “I admit it, I need you. So please.”

Were you more than happy to oblige. 

Lifting yourself all the way up on your knees, you steadily apply more pressure to your entrance, working yourself further and further until you could feel your slick drip down your thighs and his cock, each movement now accompanied by an unholy squelch. You slide his cock over your cunt—back, then forward—stimulating your clit with the head each time he fucks it through your folds, desperate as your movements become rougher and more forced.

Zayne’s cock catches against your entrance once again, and a low, breathy moan escapes his lips. He could feel your cunt finally yield to the pressure of his large, overbearing cock, could feel the way your legs trembled, threatening to give way, and he can't help but wonder if this is how you would look, how you would sound and feel, when he fucked you.

As soon as he feels the flutter of your core against his tip, he knows he’s lost, the head of Zayne’s cock sliding into you with a lewd pop as you both moan. 

"Mhm, yes," you moan, voice a high-pitched keen. "Just- ah, like that."

Zayne bites his lip, fingers digging into your hips, and fuck, after being edged not once but twice today he already feels deliciously overstimulated and close, too close.

So it certainly doesn't help when you rock yourself up onto your knees, then drop yourself all the way back down his shaft, taking him all the way in until his balls slap against your ass.

You even don't wait for either of you to adjust before doing it again, and the velvety hot squeeze of your cunt has Zayne seeing stars.

“Ah, f-fuck, oh, shit. S’good Zayne,“ you coo, "Feels so good, fuck."

You’re dripping down your thighs, gushing around him like a vice as he watches his cock disappear into your cunt with a creamy white ring already at his base. 

It’s all turning Zayne delirious with the way you continue to feed him compliment after compliment. It’s all so much, too much, and a low moan is forced out of Zayne’s chest as he begins rocking his hips up to meet yours, hardly even letting you pull out before bullying his way back into you. 

Fuck, you can feel him everywhere, his cock hitting your cervix, your walls stretched tight around him, a mixture of his and your slick pooling onto his abdomen as you chase your way up and down his length.

But god, what you feel is nothing compared to how absolutely wrecked Zayne looks.

His eyes are screwed shut, chest rising and falling rapidly, the flush from his ears having spread to his gorgeously marked-up chest, his neck, the angry red tip of his cock. His brows are drawn together, jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck and shoulders strained as he holds himself back, every part of him curling up to meet yours and press you down, closer. 

But then he turns away, eyes screwed shut as you feel his tip jerk against your cervix once more. 

No. No, no, no that won’t do.

Zayne has watched you come undone countless times. He’s been a worshiper and witness to pleasures you didn’t think you could feel, and this time, you want him to be the subject of all your adoration. To finally give him back all the love he’s taught you to feel and more. 

So you lean down, cupping Zayne’s cheek with one hand as you continue to ride him. “Look at me, baby. Y-you're so, fuck, so big, Zayne, fuck—” You gasp a sharp breath as he twitches violently inside you at the praise, slurring your words. “Mhm, love your cock so much."

But you doubted he could hear you— fuck, you wouldn’t even be able to tell if Zayne was breathing at this point if it wasn’t for the throbbing of his cock against your walls in time to his erratic heartbeat— because his eyes rolled back into his skull, jaw slack as a silent moan rips from his chest, shuddering down his spine right before his hips snap up into yours, throwing you off balance, pinpointing your g-spot with cruel accuracy as you scream.

Your sounds and babble of praises have him dizzy, eyes half-lidded and hazy as he struggles to focus on your face. It almost looks like he’s about to cry, dark lashes wet with unshed tears. You’d tease him for it, had you the capacity to think at all. But no, each thrust continues to bully into that sweet, spongy spot inside you as you moan, and Zayne’s mouth falls open with a cry of his own.

You chase into it with a kiss, clashing your teeth as you feel his tongue lap against yours, sucking hard. You feel the wrecked, blissed-out smile on your face, breaking away from him just long enough for Zayne to see how ruined and turned on he’s making you.

"Y-you're close, aren't you, my sweet boy?" You ask, the words coming out strained as Zayne fucks up into you. Pumping upwards, it’s like he wasn’t even trying every time his weeping head rams your sensitive spots. Just stuffing you full of his cock he denied you for so long, furious enough to mold you to his very shape. "C'mon, cum for me, Zayne. In me, please–ah."

You pull away even as his lips chase yours, arching your back so that your full weight grinds back on his hips. Zayne all but whimpers at the change in angle, his hands gripping the bed sheets as he tries not to starve off his orgasm. 

"Please, please," he groans, his jaw clenching.

"Look at me, Zayne."

He does, and his pupils are so blown, his eyes nearly black.

"Cum for me, baby," you beg again, grinding down against him as his hand comes up to grope your chest the same moment your palm leaves to cup his balls, and that's all it takes.

Zayne comes, a cry ripped from his throat, his cock throbbing inside of you. You can feel the sheer warmth filling you, his seed spilling out and leaking onto the sheets, and god, there’s so much of it that cum squirts out from between the two of you, splattering up his abs and your thighs. 

He’s trembling, head falling back as his hips jolt and stutter, still fucking up into you as though it can’t bear to part. You’re probably not helping with the way you still rocking on his length, your cunt milking his orgasm, and he can't take it, it's too much, too fucking good, he can't stop, never wants to.

But, fuck, one look at his face, and you already want him to cum again.

Zayne looks like sin, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead, his body writhing and straining as he gasps for breath, his skin shining in the afterglow of his release. The muscles of his neck are taut, veins pulsing and straining, his lips bitten red. He is fucking gorgeous, and the thought that he has done this for you, to you, has another wave of arousal shooting up your spine. 

“You…” Zayne’s brows pinch together, but his voice is low, dangerous. Unyielding. “You didn’t cum.”

“I already did, besides I-I ah, Zayne—!”

You’re cut off by your own pussy, lewd squelching accompanying every brutal thrust Zayne overstimulates the both of you with, bullying his own cum out of you with each rhythmless thrust back in. He plants his feet into the mattress, thrusting his hips up as you claw at his shoulders, chest, the slap of skin on skin ringing in your ears.

“No, that isn’t-” Zayne’s words slur, feverish and mindless as his gaze zero’s in to where the two of you meet, the sound of every wet, messy thrust and the slight bulge he now sees in time to his thrusts. “Not enough. With me. Please, hah, cum with me, love.”

Transfixed, one hand drifts to the bulge at your navel, and before he can stop himself, he grinds the heel of his palm against it. Immediately, overbearing pressure shoots up your spine, a broken scream leaving you as you tremble above him, arching violently forward. 

You try and speak, protests leaving as nothing more than garbled whimpers as you claw at Zayne’s wrist, trying and failing to pry his punishing grip off you. 

He doesn’t relent.

How could he, when you’ve finally given him yourself? When this was everything he’s denied himself and more? 

Fuck control, fuck discipline, fuck holding himself back. Zayne wants you. 

Vision blurry, drool dribbling down the corner of your mouth, your combined cum gushes out of your overfilled pussy and spreads in a lewd little pool beneath you. It’s all you can do to take it, Zayne overstimulating the both of you to insanity, but his hips keep the same punishing rhythm. Two slow, deep thrusts before something snaps and he hammers into you twice. Thrice. Then begins all over. 

It’s effortless, the way he bounces your body up and down with one hand, the other remaining pressed against your abdomen, massaging the outline of his dick showing through with every grind forward, rolling your clit between his forefinger and thumb. 

Large hands splay your thighs wider, closer, impossibly stretching you out until all you can feel is Zayne, Zayne, Zayne. You don’t realize you’re chanting his name out loud too. And you never felt more gloriously out of control than when he abruptly jerks his thigh upwards– driving you right along with it– hitting your cervix all at once.

There’s no rhythm. Not anymore. You’re hardly lucid, dropping your full weight down just to meet Zayne’s cock as he pulls you down prone atop of him to catch your mouth in an open kiss as he hits your g-spot again. And again. And again and again and—

“Love,” he all but moans it into your lips, low and broken and oh so addicting. “My love, please.” God, he’s still so painfully hard but the feeling of you fluttering around him, getting tighter each time he calls you love, must be a sort of heaven. “Please– hah, fuck– cum. Cum all over my cock.”

You whine, surging forward to kiss him again, and he feels it, couldn’t do or think of anything but it as you cum around his cock for the first time. 

Zayne’s eyes open even as you continue to suck and lick into his mouth, brows furrowed and vision blurring, lost in every hot pulse of your walls as they coaxed him further and further in, your release squirting against him as you struggle to drag your hips off him again, pussy sucking his cock in deeper, unwilling to let him go. 

Shaking, his hands find their way back to your hips, settling over the light bruises as he guides you up and down again, startling you as you moan into his lips. 

“Zayne,” you whine his name between kisses, strings of spit snapping between you, Zayne chasing hazily after your mouth before you cup his face in your hands. 

God, the sound of his name on your lips is enough to have him keening, pressing his forehead to yours as his entire body trembles. 

You’re coming again before you even realize it, vision spinning in and out as Zayne continues to fuck you through it. Zayne makes a noise, something between a moan and a whimper, his hips slowing despite himself. 

You're gorgeous, the sight of you atop him, still slurring out compliments, and it's too much, fuck, too fucking much, too fucking perfect, his perfect woman. 

With a final snap of his hips, Zayne comes alongside you. 

His orgasm has him gasping and his entire body bows forward, arms wrapping around your middle as he buries his face in your shoulder, kissing into the tender flesh as he just keeps cumming. 

He can't find the need to hold back this time. Not when the pleasure is so intense that his vision is turning white, not when your cunt is hot and pulsing and clenching around him, not when the praise and encouragement keep pouring out of your lips, whispering into the crook of his neck, "good job, Zayne, such a good boy for me, you did so well, my sweet boy, my love, hah, I love you."

When you finally come down from your high your body is sore and aching, the feeling of his hot cum deep inside making you whine, the sensation so much better than his fingers or toys, so much more warm and full.

Zayne’s arms are wrapped protectively across you, hugging you down atop of him even as his cock remains motionless within you, not an inch of skin untouched as his hands rub careful circles down your spine and thighs. 

You nuzzle closer, whispering more nonsensical praises into Zayne’s hair, raising a shaking arm to comb through it as he still keeps his face tucks into your shoulder, hidden and shaking softly still. 

A shift, and you feel his hot breath on your neck, a sudden drop of wetness against your skin, and you realize with a start that Zayne is crying.

He’s crying. Soft, unrestrained sobs muffle into your shoulder as he tucks you close, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck between breaths. You let him. You curl up as close as you can get onto his lap and then closer still, one hand raking through his hair in gentle reverence as you let him cry.

It is silent, save for the sound of his sobs and his labored breaths.

"I love you, Zayne," you say, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. "You really are perfect, thank you, thank you."

You kiss his forehead, then down his cheek and jaw until he finally relaxes under you. Tracing lazy patterns up and down his chest, you coax him down until he finally raises his eyes to meet yours with a flutter of tear-stained kisses to your palm. 

The first thing you notice is the way his cheeks are flushed, his eyes wavering and hazy. The second is the way his lips are swollen, the marks on his neck and chest blooming darker with each passing minute. The third is how the sweat on his skin is beginning to dry, making his hair stick up in all sorts of directions.

The fourth is the look on his face.

The look on his face is soft, tender, and unsure. Nothing like the infallible surgeon the whole city reveres, or the smart-mouthed mentor you’ve grown to admire and respect. Just Zayne. 

You brush the damp locks away from his eyes, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips, and he melts, his body falling forward onto you as he curls you into his side, tucking you down onto the bed alongside him.

“Stay with me?” He asks, his voice low, as though afraid to ask. Afraid to know.

Always. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”