#always feeling too much and not enough at the same time

[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.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flirts: Christmas

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Reader

Summary: Christmas in the Flirts Universe

"Hey, you," Mapi says," You're home early. I thought you were going to go see Patri."

You just stick your thumb up at her from your position face down on the sofa.

"Come on," Mapi laughs," Up you get. I want a cuddle."

You roll over, lifting your legs briefly to invite Mapi into the space.

"Not even a proper cuddle?" She jokes," Is that what I'm worth to you? Your legs?"

You groan dramatically as she pulls you up, arms wrapping around your body until her head is pillowed on your chest and your fingers are gently carding through her hair.

You don't want to admit it out loud but you need this hug too.

"When's Ingrid home?"

"She's still at that photoshoot," Mapi complains," Sometimes, I wish she wasn't so pretty so she's at home more with us. I don't need photographers trying to steal our girlfriend."

"Funny," You say," I'm sure she thinks the same about the girls that try to chat you up at the bar."

Mapi winks. "And those first time pet owners who just fall at your feet during check ups."

You roll your eyes in mirth. "Well, after the attack you two did to my neck last week, I'm sure all competition has been scared off."

Mapi grins, eyes narrowed as she stares at your neck. The hickeys have all faded now but she can still imagine exactly where they went on your skin - one of her and Ingrid's greatest artworks.

"Are you sure?" Mapi's fingers brush your thigh. "I mean, how can we be sure? Competition can come back."

You give her a look, brows raised pointedly as she nibbles at your neck. "I can't go back into work with my neck uncovered. I'll have to cover it with a scarf."

"it's winter. You should be wearing a scarf anyway. This just gives you a good excuse!"

She pushes you flat on your back, straddling your hips as her mouth reattaches to the sensitive skin on your neck.

That's how Ingrid finds you, thought with less clothing, as she steps through the door.

"You two can't wait for me?" She teases as she hangs up her coat and takes off her boots. "Having all the fun without me?"

Mapi barely pulls away from you, still close enough to feel her breath on your lips, as she responds," You know you're always welcome to join."

"Hmm...I don't think that sofa will fit all three of us, not in the ways I want you two in anyway. Come. We'll take this to bed."

It's hours later when you finally, properly, separate from your lovers, head pillowed on Ingrid's bare chest as she draws absentminded swirls on your arm with her fingertips.

The light glow of the fake Christmas tree in the corner of the room is the only thing illuminating the walls. The light bounces along the curves and angles of Mapi and Ingrid's faces, bathing them in ethereal light so much that you just can't help but stare.

It's so calm and so beautiful that you find yourself relaxing, all tension melting from your bones before you check your phone and the illusion is shattered.

"What is it?" Ingrid asks, feeling your muscles tense against your own.

"It's nothing," You say quickly - too quickly for Ingrid's liking.

"You can tell us," She coaxes gently," What's wrong? We'll help you fix it."

"Unless you're going to be able to fix years worth of parental disappointment..." You say bitterly before sighing," No, it's nothing. I promise. Don't worry about it. Ignore me."

Mapi lifts her head up from where it was resting on Ingrid's shoulder. "You're not looking forward to going home for Christmas?"

"I...I don't know," You admit," Christmas isn't...I mean...I don't know. Patri wants me to come home with her but..." You press your face into Ingrid's skin. "I'm sick of arguing with her about it."

"You're arguing with Patri?" Ingrid asks," I don't think you've ever said that before."

"Every Christmas." You grind out the words. "I was smart enough for medical school, you know. I could have gotten in. I think that's what everyone expected of me."

"But you wanted to be a vet instead?" Mapi's hand captures one of your own, lacing your fingers together tightly and squeezing.

"I don't think my parents ever really got over it. I don't think Patri's parents really got over it either. A footballer and a doctor. It's every family's dream."

Ingrid frowns though you can't see it from the way you've buried your face in her chest.

"Your parents don't deserve you," She says simply," And Patri shouldn't make you go home with her if you don't want to."

"What else am I meant to do?"

"Come with us," Mapi says," I know you said no when we first asked but that's when you were planning on seeing your family. Come to Norway with us. We'll spend Christmas together."

"I don't want to intrude-"

"You won't be," Ingrid cuts in," You're a part of this relationship and if you're not going home then you shouldn't spend Christmas alone. We don't have to go to Norway. We can stay here. Together."

"I can't ask that of you."

"You're not asking. We're offering."

"And your parents won't mind one extra?"

"Ingrid's parents have been trying to meet you for months now," Mapi says," And you can finally meet Hector!"

Ingrid laughs. "My parents might make you give him a check up though. He's going deaf, we think."

"Really, I don't have to-"

"We want you there," Mapi insists," If you'll let us take you."

You smile, leaning over Ingrid to kiss Mapi gently before moving back to do the same with Ingrid.

"I'd love to come to Norway with you both."

[earlysunshines]

thief!

minatozaki sana x fem!reader

synopsis: everything you own is actually sana's, obviously. she's your girlfriend after all.

warnings: nooone ; pure fluff ; lovebirds homos lalalalla ugh sana my love ; not proofread

a/n: HAPPY SANA DAAYYYY how could i miss it?? here's my once in a blue moon sana fic loool

long, acrylic nails gently scraping against your scalp earn a soft hum from your lips.

sana feels your hand snaking around her waist further, tightening your hold on her as if she were your personal teddybear. a small smile forms on her lips, her eyes open just a bit more, and her fingers work to move your bedhead away from your face.

"cute," sana mumbles, turning ever so slightly just so you can rest your head on her shoulder comfier.

your lips are parted just barely, your nose buried in the hoodie sana is wearing, and the only thing in filling the silence is your slow breathing. you mutter something incoherent, and sana hums confusedly as if you'd really answer. she laughs, massaging your scalp just a tiny bit harder.

"mmm," you groan, enjoying the feeling even as you're asleep against her. she feels your leg moving over one of hers and under the other, then feels you tugging her closer.

wow, she really is your teddy bear, huh?

sana blinks hard, shutting her eyes tightly before rubbing them with her free hand. she looks outside, the sunlight shining brightly through the blinds. it seems to be noon—maybe if you two hadn't binged three episodes of some kdrama last night you'd be awake earlier.

"baby," sana says softly, her voice like honey. "it's late, let's wake up."

"mmmmmmm," you drag on your groan, clinging to her tighter. sana knows you heard her, but sana is sure that you did not process a single word from her.

"baby," sana giggles quietly, "gosh, you're gripping onto me like i’ll run off."

"what if you do," you mutter tiredly. "it's too early for this..."

sana pats your head twice, then checks the small digital clock on the bedside counter. the clock reads 12:21 pm. early would be... well, incorrect to a general consensus.

"it's noon... c'mon, we can cuddle more after we run some errands."

"sanaaaaaa..." you drag out sleepily, shifting so you can rest your nose in the crook of her neck. you breathe in deeply, taking in the scent of roses and something sweeter. "it's your birthday..."

"and we're already halfway through."

"are you saying that me clinging onto you isn't enough? is this not the best way to spend your morning on your birthday?"

"well no..." sana starts, then kisses your head before continuing, "but i would love to do a little more than just stay in bed like this with the love of my life—as much as i love her."

"you're evil."

"you're just like a koala, always so sleepy." sana chuckles before pinching your cheek. she pulls away just a bit to examine your face, eyes still closed with a smile on your face. she presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, then to your cheek, and a quick peck to your lips. "five minutes... birthday girl says no longer than that."

"fine, fine." you sigh, opening your eyes (finally) and blinking a few times to focus your view. wow. you must've fallen asleep next to an angel, because she's still in the same bed as you and looking as cute as ever with her puffy morning face and soft smile.

your hand reaches over instinctively to rest on her cheek, knuckles dragging against her soft skin.

"awake yet?" sana asks.

"has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?" you say in awe, sounding like a fool in love. "because you look beautiful miss minatozaki."

sana rolls her eyes, then pinches your cheek again. you chuckle weakly, still groggy from sleep.

your eyes drift to the hoodie she has on. the shade of gray and the design look oddly familiar, so you use your hand to rub the material. the hoodie also looks a little large for sana, and then it hits you:

"is that my hoodie?" you question.

sana blushes. "what are you talking about."

"that's my hoodie... isn't it?"

"well technically it's our hoodie."

"and who declared that?"

"the universe, obviously." sana says through a smile that leaves your whole body feeling all tingly. "ever since we became girlfriends it was basically in the contract."

"i don't remember signing any agreement saying that you can take my clothes whenever."

"you don't? because i do." sana has that stupid grin on her face, the same one she always has before she says something both idiotic and heartwarming. "remember when we kissed for the first time? yeah, that was the signature."

"really now?"

sana nods. "and when you kissed me again it renewed the contract. and when we makeout with tongue and share saliva and all that—"

"grrrooossss!" you say, knowing you quite literally did everything the night before.

"—it basically sealed that contract through the exchange of dna."

"so you're saying french kissing is what makes it acceptable for you to steal not only my hoodie, but also my t-shirts, jewelry—i even saw you in my socks! is that really—"

"well not just french kissing. normal kissing too."

"you're such an idiot." you push her away and sana makes a high-pitched noise that's in between a groan and a squeal. then, you scoot over and pepper her face with kisses. "i love you, now let's get up, you've convinced me." you mumble, "i can't take all this kissy talk in the morning."

"afternoon." she corrects. sana pushes you away so she can hold your face with both hands, squishing your cheeks like she's pressing a sandwich in between her hands. she smiles, eyes crinkling at the ends and all that.

—

the birthday girl had requested that you give her a piggyback ride to the bathroom. after being set down on the counter so gently, brushing her teeth with you in between her legs as she sat down near the sink, and being able to kiss you so easily after she finished her skincare; sana had requested that you carry her everywhere the rest of the morning, both on your back and bridal style.

now she's being placed gently on the couch while you head back to the kitchen to grab the cups of teas for you to enjoy as you cuddled close on the couch catching up with messages. sana let you rest on her shoulder throughout the whole ten minutes of responding to friends and family, even sneaking a picture while you were focused on some game you've been into on your phone.

in the midst of it all, both of your stomachs growl at the same time.

you and sana glance at each other before bursting out laughing.

"someone's hungry," you tease, poking at sana's stomach. sana rolls her eyes before you add, "i guess that means we should go out for brunch, huh?"

"maybe..." sana kisses your forehead and finishes her tea. "let me fix my hair and get changed, i'm too lazy for makeup."

"you're already so perfect without makeup."

sana snickers. "stop being so smitten, loser."

"hey!"

—

"is that my—"

"maybe." sana says, zipping up the puffer jacket that's not only oversized on her but also the exact same model as the one you had bought the month before. it's definitely your jacket, but sana looks cuter in it. maybe the contract is real.

"thief." you roll your eyes before putting the hood up on her, it falls over her eyes and right above her nose. "you'll catch a cold."

"you're so caring, what a lover."

"gross." you groan playfully, earning a disgustingly adorable pout from sana. you glance at the beanie on her head after she fixes the hood, it looks oddly familiar. "is that...?"

"contract."

you giggle. "right."

sana puts her shoes on, then reaches for your hand before she opens the door. you zip up your work jacket before intertwining your hands and heading out together.

maybe your girlfriend is a thief. throughout the day you start to notice that the tinted lip balm she uses after brunch is most definitely the same balm that momo had gifted you a few days prior. you also notice the t-shirt under her, scratch that, your jacket that is also yours. you let her have that one, though, it was too small for you anyway, and sana rocked the perfect fit.

you don't think on it too much, that your girlfriend is an experienced clothes stealer borrower, because one: it's her birthday, so you might as well give her today. and two: she looks ridiculously good in everything that's yours.

maybe it's not stealing if she belongs to you too. she's your girlfriend, and with every kiss shared throughout the day it makes you realize that maybe that contract isn't just something stupid made up from the lingering drowsiness after waking up.

whatever it is, you could really care less. it's sana's day and if sana has a smile on her face—who cares if your wardrobe is shrinking day by day.

[creamecafe]

hii could u write something for Dae-ho set in the mingle game and its basically just him protecting reader and always keeping them at his side. 🫶🫶🫶

"As long as I'm here, no one can hurt you"

Summary: What the request says

Pairing: Dae-Ho x GN!Reader (No pronouns used)

Warnings: fluff, comfort, pining

Word Count:

Author's Note: Thank you so much for requesting. I hope you enjoy!

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

It's a miracle that you have made it to the third game. You were sure you were going to die in the second game, but thanks to the team you had, you were more than determined to still stay alive

Out of all them, there was one that you kept looking at. Dae-Ho. You couldn't help but find him cute. This certainly wasn't the place to have feelings as you could die before telling him.

It was the same for Dae-Ho, trying to make sure everyone is ok and that the team survives. But it was something with you.

He felt safe with you, and wanted to protect you. Even if it meant giving his life for you.

The announcement for the third game came, you were worried, but wanted it to be over it. Dae-Ho noticed you being anxious and asked if you okay

"Are you okay?"

You stopped zoning out and looked at him with your heart pounding.

"What? Y-yes I'm ok thank you." Nodding trying to reassure yourself.

"I think this might be the last game I play in." You chuckled knowing deep inside you dreaded the idea

"Hey look at me."

You did as he said. "Don't say that, you have us."

He held out your hand to hold it. You looked at it and hesitated putting your hand out but you held it. A tight squeeze was given but not too rough. It was a sign of reassuring.

He gives you a smile and you did too not of full happiness but someone is here to care about you.

All of you guys were called for the game. You got up and stayed close to Dae-Ho. He looked back at you and nodded. You did the same.

It was the same, climbing up those colorful but dreading stairs to the next game. Every minute or two, Dae-Ho made sure you were right behind him.

You finally reached the game and saw a carousel in the middle with horses and so many doors of different bright colors for a Pre-K setting.

"Welcome to your third game." The woman's voice from the previous games you heard came on the speakers.

"The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

Turning your head to look at Dae-Ho, he's already looking at you.

You quickly look away not to make the situation worse. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable as well.

"All players, please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds."

"Oh this game? We used to play something similar on school trips. We formed groups by hugging." Jung-bae exclaimed.

"Yeah. Instead of hugging, we go into those rooms" Dae-Ho mentioned.

"If the number is bigger than six, we'll get the additional people we need." Gi-Hun

And if it's less than that? You thought in your mind

"But what if it's smaller than five? Like three or four

You turned your head to Dae-Ho. It's like he read your mind exactly.

"No matter what happens, don't panic. Let's stay calm," Young-il nods. "We'll make it out together. Here."

Those words echoing in your mind, there wasn't enough time to doubt if your group would stick with you.

You've seen how quickly people are to turn against each other especially in the Red Light, Green Light.

But you're more than determined to stay alive, just to see Dae-Ho's face every chance you get.

Young-il puts the back side of hand out to form a truce. One by one, everyone is putting their hands on top of each other. You were the last one.

"Y/N. Are you in?" Gi-Hun asks.

Dae-Ho looks at you with worry in his eyes. You had no choice and no knowledge of trusting others in this game, so you put your hand out on top.

Dae-Ho becomes relieved at this.

"One, two, three. Victory at all costs."

Sighing at this with relief, you guys begin to spread out. The carousel is starting to spin

People scream out in fear. Lights go out and the light in the middle where horses out lights ups and music plays.

Children are singing about holding hands and ringing around.

Dae-Ho holds your hand lightly. He grazes your hand with his thumb. You don't look at him, as you fear you'll die doing so.

It suddenly stops. The number is 9. People are running out frantically pairing in groups of 9. Dae-Ho doesn't let go of your hand.

"We need 3 more." You said. Your group ran looking for 3 more.

A old lady, her son and another woman goes up to you guys.

"Are you guys 3?" Young-il asks

"Yes we're." The old lady nods frantically.

"Quickly we got to get into a room" Gi Hun exclaims

Your feet were starting to move, but the grip of Dae-Ho holding your hand made you move even faster.

All of you guys rushed into a room and closed the door. The room was filled with heavy breaths. There was a click on the lock meaning that the room was closed and nobody can get in or out.

Right now, you have never been more grateful to be alive in playing a game

It wasn't long before you heard gunshots, and it was safe to assume it was those who didn't pair up or get into rooms in time.

Now that you're safe, you look at Dae-Ho and he does too.

"Is everyone ok?" Dae-Ho asks

There was a lot of yes. That answer might change throughout the game seeing how long each of us might last.

The door lock clicked and you guys were allowed to come out. There were bodies on the floors and blood splattered. "Take off your mind off those bodies or you'll be one of them" Your mind was telling yourself.

"We got this" Dae-Ho talks to you

"We do" You smiled. Don't know how many smiles it will take to keep going, but you're ready to prove his point.

The game started again and the carousel spins. You hold out to Dae-Ho's hand.

Now the number was 4. Young-il grabs Jung-Bae and goes to find two more people. That's left Gi-Hun, Jun-Hee, Dae-Ho and you left.

There was no time to waste. All four you ran to a room and locked yourself in. Gi-Hun was looking around for Young-il. You pulled him back in.

The gunshots came again. The lesser the number, the more likely people will betray each other.

How long this game will last, you don't know. All you know is that you have people here to help you. Even if it's just one person, it makes all the difference.

The doors clicked and it was time for another round. The panic and adrenaline of it all keeps coming back. But Dae-Ho is making sure you're by his side, even if he may die in the game as well.

Six the group was. Dae-Ho said you and him were going to go and find another group. Luckily you did and you managed to still be alive locked in a room.

Now it all came down to the very last game. There were less people than the game started. You wanted to finish this for once and for all. While the carousel was spinning and music playing, you place yourself in movement ready to run and holding Dae-Ho's hand.

"2" The voice said.

It felt like time was going slow once it announced the number. Everybody is rushing to get into a room. Time's running out.

You felt a hand pull you back and you fell to the ground. Dae-Ho heard your scream and saw someone trying to stop you from going into a room. Someone else was already in the room that you guys were planning to go into.

Dae-Ho could go into the room and that would already make it two. But he's made it too far to leave you.

He ran and punched the guy that pushed you. He put you back on your feet and dragged the other guy out. He slammed the door shut and the timer just came to zero. The guy on the other side begs and bangs on the door.

A pink guard shoots him and the noises stop.

"Are you ok?" Dae-Ho rushes to you.

Still shaken at what happened, at the fact you almost died if it wasn't for him to save you, you nodded.

"Yes I am. Thank you."

There was a moment of silence between you too as you were catching your breaths.

The door clicked and you both came out.

"Y/N! Dae-Ho!" Both of your names were being called

Gi-Hun, Young-il, Jung-Bae and Jun-Hee run up to you guys and you all hug each other.

"I'm so glad you guys are ok." Jun-Hee smiles

You're also relieved that everyone else is fine and made it out alive. You could return back to the dorms.

Walking down back the stairs and into the dorms, everyone was mostly silent but some talked.

You ran up and tapped Dae-Ho on the shoulder.

"Hey Dae-Ho?"

"Yes Y/N?"

"You could have gone into the room where the other guy before you dragged him out, why didn't you?"

Dae-Ho took a pause before responding.

"I have lost many people when I was a marine, seen people get killed in front of me. I can't let it happen to you."

He starts to become close to you but not too close.

"As long as I'm still alive, I'll make sure you're fine. That's a promise I tend to keep Y/N."

Those words stuck with you. You could die in the next game, but right here at this moment is a reason to keep going.

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[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Crawl Into Place

~1k words

There is an itch in his bones when he's away from you. Jason can't put it into words, at least not in a way that doesn't make him sound crazy.

His fingers always twitch towards where you are. He can be halfway across Gotham and knee deep in the sewers, tracking a lead, and he'll just– reach for you. He can't help it.

There's a part of him that's missing, when you're not there. The familiar blanket of anxiety that always seems to well up from the pit of his stomach returns. His shoulders tense, and his throat tightens, and nothing seems right and everything is wrong, and he doesn't know what to do, and then he'll finally get home.

And it all disappears. His world comes down to a single focus– a clarity that only exists in your presence. Sometimes, you'll be awake, offering him a smile and hug and a mug of hot liquid. Sometimes, you'll be asleep, curled in the center of your bed, and tucked away from the horrors that linger in the shadows.

(Either way, he finds himself frozen in awe every time, stunned by the fact that you're still there, always there– waiting for him to return)

You asked him once, if he had a preference. And honestly, he doesn't. Jason just thrives when you're there. Awake. Asleep. That floaty place somewhere in between where you know enough to reach for him but not enough to speak. It doesn't matter, as long as you're there.

He needs that– you. He feels the claws of desperation sink into his flesh when he's without you. There is no sanctuary without your arms, no rest when your steady breathing isn't filling his ears.

He's never been so attached, so solely reliant on one person until you.

At first, he hated it. He's Jason Todd, Red Hood, ex-crime boss turned vigilante, and he's what? Dependent on whether or not you're around? He's happier when you're happy?

It was an embarrassment, a weight, something indescribable and unknowable. But now he can't think of anything better. You bring peace. He doesn't know how, but you do. Now he craves the smell of your soap, the softness of your weight against his, the heat of your touch, the taste of your skin on his tongue.

So he stashes his busted gear in his safe house, showers off the grime and the dirt, and he makes the staggered trek home to you. It would be easy to collapse on the old, dusted couch, of course. But it's worth every aching step when he'll end the night in your bed– at your side.

(He'll never give you a reason to believe he doesn't want to be there over everything else)

Something in his soul just settles at your closeness. A piece of him that never fits quite right in his chest snaps into place.

It's freeing, to have somewhere where he feels like he's truly meant to be. And in finding that with you, there isn't a thing in this world or the next that would keep him from being near you.

It's a big statement. He knows it, knows it could scare you off or be too heavy. So he doesn't speak it. He just stations himself in the same room as you, follows you from task to task, curls around you when he finally crawls into bed at night.

There is never a time when he's too weary to carry himself back to you, never a mission too grand to keep him from holding you close. Not in this world or the next.

It becomes a mantra for him, of sorts. In this world, he savors every second with you. In this world, he gets impatient when he's away for too long– gone too long without feeling your warmth. In this world, he loves you. And he will in the next.

He doesn't think you realize just how much he feels for you, how much his very essence is tied to you. And maybe it's better that you don't.

It's easier to let you laugh and joke about needing a bigger bed if he always sleeps next to you. (As if he'd entertain the idea, he likes being tangled so close he can feel the very rise and fall of your chest)

It's easier to let you tease him about being clingy when he curls his fingers into yours and lifts them to press a kiss to the back of your hand. (He loves the way you go shy no matter how many times he does it)

It's easier to let you put a doormat under your window sill and tell him to wipe his feet when he comes in, because having to vacuum every morning is getting real old. (He's happy to take off his boots wherever you want. He'll clean away the filth he leaves too, as long as he gets to stay)

Learning how you take your tea is easy. Learning what blankets go in what order on your bed is simple. Learning which closet you keep your jackets is thoughtless. Learning where you like to sit and read is quick.

What isn't easy is putting it all into words. How could he explain that the fractured parts of him mend together when the air filled with your laughter? How could he tell you that every step he takes is with the intent to return to you?

He can't say it. Doesn't know how. So he kisses your temple before he leaves your room. He holds you so close under the sheets that you might as well be one, even if the sun has been up for hours and his stomach is starting to growl. He engraves every smile and every word you gift him with onto his heart.

And he loves. No matter where the mission takes him. No matter how far he strays from your side. No matter how many nights and days he has to go without you. No matter what he has to do.

He finds his way back to you. He whispers his devotion into the shadows of the night and into the curve of your throat when your mind is too clouded with sleep to really understand what he's saying. He presses kisses filled with promises to your ear and vows he'll always be around to do so.

He breathes out his confession into the dark like he's scared something will break if he says it too loud. He loves you. So much. Maybe too much. But in this world and the next, he belongs next to you.

[gyaruhana]

can I ask for player 333 (myung-gi) sfw and nsfw headcanons 🙏

Myung-gi/Player 333 - Headcannons

Synopsis: sfw and nsfw headcannons for Myung-gi!

A/N: I tried my best for him !! Everytime i see him though all i think about is Jongwoo from Strangers From Hell since it's the same actor. Although they are still the same with their sassiness anyway

Warnings: smutty content, he's a little bit rough, mentions of enjoying cum/eating out,

SFW:

➠ Where to start with this sassy idiot??

➠ He really tries to be a good boyfriend.. He’s so doting and caring and ALWAYS has his eye on you to make sure you’re safe..

➠ He makes some poor investments in crypto and every time feels super guilty since he told you that the both of you would be rich as hell if you just invested.

➠ Of course, he always makes up for it by going out with you somewhere

➠ Please reassure this man that you won’t decide to leave him one day

➠ He always gets so nervous whenever you two argue because he can’t help but argue back and always ends up saying things he just doesn’t mean..

➠ Cuddles after arguments for sure because he needs to feel you to know that you aren’t going anywhere.

➠ He’s a glare-at-a-distance typa jealous

➠ If anyone flirts with you he’s staring them down looking so annoyed !!

➠ He’s not like super big on PDA so he wouldn’t just walk up to you and start kissing you but he would totally grab your wrist and not-so-politely excuse the both of you before dragging you away

➠ FOR THE RECORD !! Just because he’s not big on pda doesn’t mean he’s not kissing you in public.

➠ While he’s not going to make out with you he’ll totally give you quick kisses

➠ Also so much hand holding so he can keep you close.. 

➠ Overall, just a sassy sweetheart who makes some mistakes but always makes it up to you in the end

NSFW:

➠ I’m gonna say this once and I’m gonna say it loudly,

➠ Angry sex

➠ Okay, I know I just said he was a sweetheart but when he’s jealous it’s a different story

➠ He fucks you like he’s trying to make sure you know your all his while also trying to make himself believe your his ??

➠ He’s not very loud, just some small grunts here and there but you can still very much hear when he’s whispering in your ear about how you’re his.

➠ He expects you to say that you’re his too. He needs to hear you admitting that you belong to him.

➠ He also enjoys it when you beg for him to cum inside you. It just really turns him on to see you beg to have your stomach bloated with his cum.

➠ Also likes to eat you out so he can taste you.. You just taste so good to him and it drives him crazy

➠ Honestly likes to overstimulate himself when fucking you because he loves being so close to you and, no matter how sensitive he gets, he doesn’t stop till he collapses on top of you

➠ On a different note.. He actually enjoys being the sub sometimes

➠ He just likes having you take control and make him feel good bc it reassures him that you love him

➠ Still quiet but is more whiny when he’s submissive

➠ Doesn’t do choking but probably still wants either you hand around his throat gently when you ride him or his hand around your throat when he’s fucking into you

➠ I feel like he’s not super bothered where he releases his cum but also tries not to be too messy

➠ Gentle afterwards by the way !! Cute little aftercare where he mainly just holds you and plays with your hair..

➠ Overall, he’s a jealous switch and sort of vanilla

"mine, mine, mine- all mine," he says as he thrusts into you with his face buried into your neck. He had been going for far too long by now. Every time he released his cum inside you he just kept going like it wasn't enough. He was tired and sweaty but his hips kept moving as if his movements weren't his own. He could barely hold himself up now. "Holy fuck, please let me cum. I wanna fill you up, baby,"

[curlyfriesgalore]

the tulpar's very own "mom" & "dad."

i sent an anon message to a user (iykyk 🫣) about the reader dating curly while being a co-captain/pilot alongside him. they're seen as the mom and dad of the group because of their positions as leaders, and daisuke claimed they both had major facebook mom energy. definitely not self-projecting.

the two rolled with it, but discovered that they liked it way more than they realized, eventually calling each other mommy and daddy in their own space.

★ this is a list of headcanons and what is essentially a one-shot that's broken up into bullets. although, fair warning, i wrote A LOT, so there's so much to scroll through under the cut. anyway, the first half is sfw and other is nsfw.

☆ gen tags: fem! reader (she/her) who loves being captain and doesn't know what's popular these days. reader and curly are in their early 30s. no crash au. curly wants to have a family with you. jimmy is a janitor here LMAO.

★ nsfw tags MDNI: mommy (mama) kink. daddy kink. role switching but leans into fdom/msub. curly secretly got a thing for breeding 🫢.

[any feedback on my writing is much appreciated btw! since i'm doing this to improve —iris🌠]

sfw.

★ the dynamic.

you and curly met through working at pony express. both of you were equally capable captains and pilots of your respective ships, bonding over the responsibilities and pressures of your roles.

curly adored your genuine drive for this job. you were so passionate about bringing out the best in people and enjoyed micro-organizing every little detail, making sure everything went smoothly.

meanwhile, he was just good at talking, which you would always praise, but he never found much pride in what he does. however, it paid immensely well, and, at the very least, he got to indulge in his love for astronomy at every waking hour, distracting himself enough from cycling through his depressive thoughts.

so, he's not complaining. plus, he gets to ogle at and hang out with the prettiest and coolest person at pony express.

(sure, he had jimmy, so he wasn't always so alone with his mind, but with you in his life, he might actually have a chance at settling down. though, curly was getting ahead of himself. he'll try to drop his future family fantasies for now... juuust until he's sure he can bag you).

curly finds your way of leading to be so endearing and... intimidating, honestly. while he was calm and compromising, you were firm and authoritarian. you were never swayed by incompetence and planted a strong ground when navigating discourse between crewmates, but, at the same time, you were nurturing. you have an air of deep kindness and wise guidance that sends him reeling. he'd openly tell you how much he admired that, but would never admit that he daydreams of how hot you looked when you ordered your crew around. he's got to stay professional, after all!

at some point, the two of you were paired for a 3-month long-haul flight. you, the captain, and he, the co-captain. one thing lead to another and without the company's knowledge, you two fell for each other.

how could you not? you two had all the elements of a power couple and understood each other better than anyone else. besides, he is one hunk of a man. of course you'd want to snag him for yourself, who wouldn't?

funnily enough, you guys asked to see each other in the cockpit with the same intention of declaring feelings.

and, of course, since you two were grown adults stuck on a spacecraft far too long for your libidos to handle, it only took two confessions interrupting each other, two pairs of hands holding, and two soft kisses to lead to the two of you passionately making out, with you straddling his lap as he wrapped his arms around your back.

it's been years since then, and the tulpar was just one of many long-haul trips where the two of you got to work together.

however, you guys have kept your relationship hidden for the sake of professionalism. even jimmy was dumbfounded to accidentally find out nearly a year into dating.

"dude, why the fuck do you have captain l/n in your wallet...?" jimmy squinted at the photo. his eyes scrolled down the print, coming to a halt and widening at what he saw, "wait, shut up, is that you two kissing?" his eyebrows contorted into a tense knit. his mouth gaped as he stared at curly, who stood and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "since when?!"

as curly explained himself, jimmy half-heartedly laughed as he shook his head, bemusement painting his face. whether or not he was ever happy to learn about this, curly will never know.

then, realization hit. jimmy frowned as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "oh, god, please don't tell me those stains i've been cleaning were from you guys?"

"huh?! no, no! jimmy, i swear, that wasn't us, i promise!" curly panicked, his head shaking profusely.

turns out, it was, lmfao. jimmy gave him an earful, and curly kept apologizing, embarrassed that his best friend knows a little too much about what he's been doing around the ship.

this man adored you, more than anything. the security you had in him—in yourself, most of all, was intoxicatingly comforting.

the two of you swore to stick together for as long as it takes, and have already planned out your wedding, buying a house together, changing careers (curly wants to be a stay-at-home dad, maybe freelance in something if he's got time), owning pets, raising kids (he is 100% a girl dad!!! i can see him wanting at least 2, but if you still have room for one more, he'll gladly take responsibility *wink* *wink*), etc.

curly believed that you both balanced well as parents. you would teach the kids to be brave and confident in themselves, whereas, he would help them learn to handle confrontation calmly and be friendly to all.

(he's not saying that you weren't friendly, just that, between the two of you, he specialized more in the charm department. he wasn't wrong, though! back before you guys dated, he cranked his charisma to a max, and look where that's got him now 🤭).

all of this meant everything to curly. he had quite a rough start to life, not financially but familially (how you want to interpret that is up to you). it's why he's become such a people-pleaser and tends to be a doormat, growing used to internalizing his feelings because he believed others were more deserving of pity (a belief that's been reinforced by jimmy throughout their friendship).

not to mention, how much he worried about being with someone who had to stay on earth. he felt guilty for this hypothetical person, how they'd be akin to a military spouse, waiting for god knows how long, just for curly to come back and stay for less than 6 months at a time. it sickened him to think of how that would affect his future children.

so, for him to be in a relationship with someone in the same occupation and caliber as him eased a lot of that fear. and, this is the same person who is known for her emotionally maturity, who knows how to express her thoughts and feelings, and who loves curly for all that makes him him, giving him more reasons than he already had to get down on that knee.

good GOD does he wish he could go ahead and do that already, but proposing on an aged piece of metal in outer space wasn't the most... romantic setting, as much as you jokingly insisted it was.

but, no worries, curly's got it all planned out. once you all land back on earth, curly is making sure you get your dream proposal, for that man is stopping at nothing to wed you and love you for the rest of his life!

★ the beginning to a never-ending petname.

one night, anya pulled out a pop-culture board game, one that the others understood the rules and references of fairly quickly. but, you and curly? oh, you guys needed time.

you two weren't dumb by any means, you guys were just... a little behind on the trends—trends that have been out for forever 💀.

everyone poked fun at how much you would both pause and say, "huh...?" or "w-what's that from, again?" how your brows would knit and furrow, your faces looking blank as ever. the two of you would take a slow glance at each other, then at the others, and shake your head in confusion.

admittedly, swansea was in the same boat as you two, but even he knew a couple of things better than you lot. "the benefits of raising two nerds for kids," he'd say. he liked laughing at you guys, made him feel young.

"ohh, isn't that the game you play on your gameboy, daisuke? the... you know, uh, the cute pika ball thing?" daisuke stared at curly, dumbfounded by what he was hearing.

"CAPTAIN. HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW THE NAME OF ONE OF—IF NOT—THE HIGHEST FORMS OF ART?!" he turned to you, desperation fueling his eyes. "l/n, please tell me you've at least heard of pokémon before..." daisuke exaggeratedly clasped his hands together. you sat there, pursing your lips with shifty eyes and pretended to whistle as you looked away.

"anya. swansea. i think i'm gonna faint..." he dramatically dropped himself onto the two. swansea shook his head, uncrossing his arms and pulling daisuke off his and anya's laps, "kid, you are way too dramatic for your own good."

daisuke exasperatedly commented on how you and curly were so much like his parents, clueless and far too involved in work to know his interests.

then, he thinks for a second, and finally decides that you guys were technically the parents of the ship.

"right? think about it. if the tulpar were a house and we were family, l/n and curly would be mom and dad 'cause they're responsible for us and the ship. swansea's the grandpa—oh, come on, swan, don't look at me like that!"

"i mean, you do have grandkids, swansea..."

"exactly. THANK YOU, anya. now, you get to be the cool older sister, i'm the even cooler teenage son, polle can be like... our little pet or something, and jimmy is the uncle!"

"wh-why am i the uncle?"

"'cause you know... you're... you."

"what is THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!"

as an "argument" ensued between the others, you and curly were flushing. nobody but jimmy knew of your relationship, but the fact that daisuke figuratively paired you guys as a married couple turned you into a bashful, blushing mess.

nobody noticed, really. jimmy was too busy grumbling about being seen as the weird uncle, and everyone started getting really annoyed by him. so, in classic curly and y/n fashion, you two tried to resolve the situation (curly reassured jimmy that uncles can be cool! but jimmy's frown just deepened).

the game ended, and the two of you walked to your sleeping quarters, reflecting on how it went. not bringing up the mom/dad thing just yet, but it lurked in the back of your minds.

deciding to stay in his room, you and curly changed into your pjs. you snuggled up under the covers, but he momentarily checked on some paperwork. you groaned, rolled your eyes, and patted the pillows.

"babyyy, just get into bed now." you pouted.

curly chuckled, "okay, okay... just give me ooone more sec, mama, i'll be right there—"

your eyes widened, a fuzzy warmth bubbled within you. curly quickly got embarrassed and apologized, but when you softly chuckled and reassured him that you didn't mind, he relaxed.

hearing how smoothly 'mama' rolled out his tongue unlocked something deep in you.

the truth was, curly had been calling you 'mom', 'mama', and 'mommy' in his fantasies for quite some time now. he told you, now with him in bed, how it helped him immerse himself in imagining his future with you. even in scenarios where you didn't have kids yet, it still felt so soothing to call you by those titles.

he rested his head in the crook of your neck as you circled his back with your palm, occassionally playing with the ends of his hair. as he yapped about it, trying to make it seem less of a big deal for him, you lifted his chin to face you. he instantly softened, his words faltering as you looked down on him.

"you can call me, mommy, more often if you'd like to, baby... i really don't mind." you reassured in a low voice.

curly was uncertain, but his ocean doe eyes remain glued to your deep gaze. he swallowed, "are you sure? you don't have to put up with it if you don't really like it, honey, it's okay—"

you softly hushed him, thumbing the golden hairs scattered on his cheek. "no, i mean it." you paused, hoping the following words sounded smooth, "...mommy thinks it's genuinely cute when you call me that."

curly squirmed. a whimper resided in his throat, but, as the rumbling of your voice trailed down his spine, he let a quiet, high-pitch moan escape his lips.

for a man who presents himself as someone very self-assured, he does have a hard time accepting that you were really okay with it.

however, when his hesitancy eases into normalcy, he's calling you 'mommy' and 'mama' in every other sentence. if not, all his sentences.

"hey, mommy, where'd you put my mug?"

"mama, you need to stop sleeping so late. it's bad for your health." (he's a hypocrite and he knows it).

curly's voice was naturally deep, saccharine sweet, and a bit raspy at times. but, when he called you by your motherly petnames, he'd go an octave softer, especially as the night came to a close and sleepiness was taking a toll on him. he'd sound a little dumb and incoherent, but the bass in him remained strong.

he still calls you by the classic petnames, mainly 'darling' and 'honey' since those are his other personal faves. though, minutes prior to work, he'd try to use your actual name or settle with 'babe,' so he doesn't accidentally call you 'mommy' in public. it was deeply personal for him, and if someone like jimmy caught wind of that, it would greatly upset curly, even though he would very likely tell you it was fine (just so you wouldn't chew jimmy alive).

so, when YOU began calling him, 'daddy,' it sent his mind into a haywire. (how it happened is in the nsfw section!)

he loved the safety of calling you his mommy, how it relieved the weight of his captain duties and the thoughts burdened in his mind. but, with his newfound title, he'd flip between feeling secure in your protection to wanting to do nothing but protect you. not from any real danger, perse, but, moreso, caring for each other's well-being when either of you wanted to indulge in a little less control.

it made sense that even you, the commanding leader who enjoyed delegating and dominating others (other than him), needed a break from your responsibilities and wanted curly to take the wheel for a change.

you both took turns pampering one another. he would do everything you wanted, and made sure to wrap you in his big, strong arms by the end of the day.

"rest your pretty head for me, okay, mommy? daddy's got you..." he brought the back of your hand to his lips and kissed it deeply, thumbing your knuckles with his large, calloused fingers. with his other arm, curly pressed your waist closer to his, letting you relish in his warmth.

when it was his turn, a long snuggle session, loads of praise, and kisses in every place was all he needed (don't forget to call him your good little boy! he needs his mommy's praise after a rough day at work).

"honeyyy, i've called you 'good boy' like 24 times in a rowww...!" you whined. of course you didn't mind peppering kisses on his face with the same adoring name over and over again, but now, he was just getting greedy.

curly giggled, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as he softened his sea blue eyes, "just ooone more, pleaaase, mama? please...?"

he loved how reliable the term 'daddy' felt. it gave him a little ego boost. he's always had a pretty good relationship with his masculinity, but this just added onto that like a good affirmation.

the way his mind would get so lost in replaying how you two back-and-forthed with your respective petnames. it felt like he was role-playing his future family with you in real time.

★ extras.

it became an ongoing joke with the crew, especially with daisuke. whenever you'd tell him to get back to work, he'd drawl out a long "okayyy, mommmm," but quickly apologized after swansea smacked the back of his head.

"tch, don't talk to your captain like that."

"ach! i'm sorry, I'M SORRYYY—i was kidding!!!"

anya found it silly, never really saying anything like daisuke, but since you two became good friends (both because you guys genuinely clicked and were the only women on board), she had a knack for teasing you about it. she knew something more was going on between you and curly. so, maybe, just maybe, during a psych eval, you eventually spilled to her about your relationship.

"hehe, called it."

"seriously?! how?"

"y/n... it's so obvious. i've seen you guys go into each other's rooms."

swansea didn't care. he was an actual dad, after all, and practically everyone he knew eventually became a parent one way or another. though, if you felt comfortable enough with swansea and told him about your relationship, he surprisingly wouldn't mind giving you two a piece of advice. how to keep a long-term marriage? dude's been with his wife for over 40 years and counting. raising children? please, he's done it twice. unclogging the toilet after your kids threw your deodorant down the drain? don't ask, just listen. you're much better off not knowing how.

whatever it is, ask away, but don't expect anything easy on the ears. swansea gives advice in poetic prose that borderline sounds like he's taking a jab at you.

truthfully, jimmy is somewhere in between being deeply irritated by the both of you and not giving two shits. he hates how you're sort of a curly clone, in the sense that you're also a high-performing person that everyone adores to work with. but, what's worse, is that you're so much harder to get mad at and are 100% capable of calling out his ass.

he's had to catch himself from saying anything too mean to curly multiple times. he knows he's easily replaceable, he's the janitor for god's sake, and if he said too much in front of you, he knows you'd tell pony express to fire him on the spot.

but, if we're assuming that jimmy is mentally better in the head, he'd eventually get over it and shrug off your guys' relationship, not wanting to grow envious as he does by default.

nsfw.

★ mommy.

it didn't surprise you that curly loved calling you 'mommy' in bed too. he'd always say, "mommy, you're so beautiful", "m-mommy, it's too tight...!" and when he gets overwhelmed, he'd become so dazed as his dick ached, crying because his mama felt so good.

he was like pavlov's dog, only the bell was your petname and you were the meal. if either of you were ever so slightly horny and everyone was stowed away in their quarters, hearing 'mommy' reverberate out of your mouth had him squeezing his thighs.

however, he's gotten used to mostly keeping it in his pants. not letting himself get needy when it's used casually. otherwise, he'd cease to function.

he loves it when you ride him, he gets all whimpery and brain-dead, begging his mama to let him cum out of his "little" boy dick.

all he wanted was his mommy to use him, make him so overstimulated until all that was left in his empty head was you.

sometimes, he loved the feeling of reaching his orgasm more than the orgasm itself. it's that momentary numbness he gets that he enjoys chasing, how every single thought completely disappeared, leaving him into nothing but a panting mess — all of him leaking out of his cock.

★ daddy.

one night, you were laying on curly, sitting upright. he held you in his arms as you spread your legs far and wide, toes digging into the mattress, gripping onto curly's biceps for support.

and, just like curly when he called you 'mama' for the first time, you accidentally slipped out a "daddy—!" as he fingered you, knuckles-deep.

you suddenly went quiet, quickly covering a hand over your mouth.

curly's eyes widened, his fingers stilled inside of you as his heart raced in his chest... he didn't expect it, but his shock washed into dominance.

he pulled out his fingers, his tone more stern and husk as he whispered, "say that again."

you whimpered, the loss of fullness making your thighs shudder. without a single thought, you called him daddy again, and again, and again... until he flipped you onto your stomach and was back to toying with you, digging into your insides at much greater speeds than before.

when you began regularly using it, he'd grow so romantic and reserved, wanting to take his time to just worship you—peppering deep kisses from head to toe—because in his eyes, you were the most precious person in existence.

he's never rough unless you tell him to be or he knows that it'll make you cum even better, but this man just loves to be slow and sensual. it's his go-to speed.

his favorite thing to do is coo at you, asking if you like how daddy is loving you or if daddy's doing a good job at touching your little hole. even when he's assuming a dominant role, he wants your reassurance.

curly is never mean. he only likes to light-heartedly tease you whenever you'd whine for him to keep going. other than that, he was heavy on his praises, loved complimenting you till you were blushing all over.

★ taking turns.

now, you guys would call each other 'mommy' and 'daddy' regardless of the dynamic, but if either of you felt more subby, you'd settle for the classic, 'good girl,' and him, 'good boy' (or any other submissive petname you prefer).

if you're domming and he's subbing, he wants you to use up all of his cum for your pleasure. he hopes you'll let him spill all that's left in him for hours on end.

however, most of the time, he's not really built for that, only able to handle a little over a round. so, to make up for it, he'll let you get him all pent up and force him to hold it in, using his desperation as energy to serve you.

the longer you left him like that, the faster his licks and finger-fucks became.

if you're cruel, making him rut into you would send him shaking. he'd struggle so hard, needing to take breaks as he alternated between slow and steady thrusts to rough humps according to what you ordered... oh, tears were definitely rolling down his cheeks.

(don't worry, he's not hurt. it's just a lot for him to physically handle. but, for you, he'd withstand anything!)

on the off-chance that he has the energy to go longer, he wants you to use him in all positions with only a minute to breathe after each cum. he wants to lose it, make him sweaty and breathless, please. turn him into a pathetic display only for your eyes to see.

if he's domming and you're subbing, he finds it fun to deny your orgasm, loving how surprised you get whenever he'd lift your vibrator off your clit or leave his dick in you, barely moving an inch. but even then, he quickly caves in and lets you have your way because nothing turns him on more than you cumming and crying for your 'daddy.'

he doesn't do that to hurt you, after all, he hates the mere possibility of even remotely making you uncomfortable. but, when he asks whether or not mommy misses his fingers, and you'd mewl in agreement, he can't help himself from edging you.

★ curly thinking of you. (extras).

he jerks off to the idea of breeding you.

but, even though it gets his dick all wet, he won't re-enact it just yet. he doesn't want to accidentally impregnate you when neither of you were ready—especially since you're the one carrying.

even if you were incredibly horny and adamant on it, he'd keep his rationale.

"mommy... i'm not cumming inside you." he chuckled, shaking his head with his tone, firm. you whined, "but, why not?" a needy frown formed on your lips, "i just want to feel good, daddy. you said i could...!"

you grinded down on his boxers, wetness seeped through the fabric of your panties. curly stifled a groan as he felt your clothed folds slide against his tip, drenched in his pre-cum.

"i know, mommy, i know... daddy'll take care of you soon, i promise... but i'm not risking anything, okay?" he pressed a kiss on your forehead, thumbing circles on your stomach with his hands gripping your waist. "it's for your own safety, mama."

but, since this was all in his head, he could indulge in it as much as he wanted.

curly loved remembering the way your cum dripped out of your hole, how softly your pussy parted. it made him wish it was his, wanting to fill you up and let his mess soak up inside you.

he wished he could finger it back into you—or, even better, tongue-fuck it in. the thought of having you sit on his face with him lapping his cum into your walls, as you rubbed your clit against the end of his nose got him all hot and bothered.

with his hand pumping himself from base to tip, he'd think of you laying down on your back, wrapping your legs around curly's head as you pushed his mouth further into you. he'd moan into your pretty parts, purposefully deepening it so his voice would vibrate all over your pussy.

[holy shit, i wrote so much. thank you for reading all the way ♡ let me know if you guys want more captain! reader and/or mommy/daddy kink! curly —iris🌠]

[charcubed]

Okay in the genuinely least shady way possible and not trying to start a debate here: I understand the wider point OP is making but I also, personally, feel insane when I see posts about this topic phrased in this way lmaaaoooo

“queerbait tv”

???????

What, supposedly, was “queerbait TV”?

[Rhetorical question. I can rattle off the list of shows people would probably reply with, and yet I'd also probably insist that each of them is vastly different and should be viewed through a unique lens rather than compared to the others because no 2 situations are alike]

Because what this post is describing (and what some people are even understanding in the notes of it) is subtext. These discussions are often really about subtext and queercoding and thematically compelling narratives!! That’s what’s described here and it’s what people – or at the very least me personally – desperately crave!!

And look, I’m obviously not saying that advocating for gay people being openly explicitly represented on TV was or is a bad thing. Of course that’s important, whether the gay people are going on healthy dates or killing for each other lmao.

But for God's sake... this is why my repetitive rant and personal hot take is that we need to abolish the word "queerbaiting." It's done so much damage in this regard and it doesn't even fucking mean anything of consistent substance or value at this point, if it ever properly did. Once upon a time and only briefly, "queerbaiting" was intended as an accusation that corporate marketing and false advertising were deliberately being used with the intent to increase viewership of a show with no explicit follow-through or validation of queerness within the story itself. It was a type of pinkwashing for ads about TV shows – something that was actually pretty rare in the grand scheme, to be honest – not about the writing or execution of a story itself. But that potential meaning for a very specific thing quickly became entirely lost, and now the use of the word "queerbaiting" is literally just about vibes. You'd be hard-presssed to get even 10 random people to define it the same way. And more often than not, using "queerbaiting" is about derogatory vibes specifically thrown in the direction of devaluing subtext or deriding creators for whatever a fan personally considers to be a failure, disappointment, subtlety (or even too-slow burn) in a story's writing.

[Btw OP, if you're reading this, I'm really not trying to make an aggressive accusatory example out of your singular use of the word here lmao. I apologize if it feels that way. I'm working up to a point]

At the end of the day, so much of these recent takes about boring gay people on TV or ~queerbait hits harder~ route back to how, in the (still worthwhile!) pursuit of explicit representation and the implicit assumption that it's always the Best, somewhere along the way people got it in their brains that subtext and queercoding deserved vilification as the Worst. And that became the loud and prevailing opinion. Of course a lot of that also stems from personal hurt, anger, or disappointment by past TV shows which is all obviously understandable... but that's why people cling to the simplicity of the word “queerbaiting” as an umbrella anytime something's upsetting, and the accusation is often hurled with misplaced ire at creators.

Ultimately in some ways the concept of subtext became synonymous with "not good enough," and in other ways it came to be seen as something cowardly or malicious that creators put into stories to tease, bait, and disappoint fans. Nuance got lost, as well as the understanding that subtext/queercoding exist at all because they're tools used to tell (or enrich!) stories despite interference, constraints, and censorship – obstacles which have never fully gone away.

So we've ended up here: the need for whatever constitutes Good Representation – an endlessly shifting goalpost – and room for little else. The fear of all the ways stories can hurt and the advocacy for avoiding that hypothetical or potential hurt. The "all or nothing" mentally where if a ship isn't canon in the way someone personally deems acceptable – or in a way where every straight person on the planet will miraculously, mythically accept it's queer – then the story has Caused Harm and therefore doesn't have much value or can't be queer. And the overall cultural framing that subtext only exists when creators are too cowardly to do something more, rather than possibly as a creative choice to add complexities or a byproduct of censorship or both.

I find it all pretty fucked and exhausting to witness.

So, judging by [gestures broardly] the hamster wheel of bullshit out there and specifically the high note count on this post...

Here's where I land, as always:

I truly believe so many people and fandoms would free themselves if they realized that “queerbaiting” as a term is mostly bullshit, and as a concept the fear of Being Baited often robs people of finding joy and meaning in stories on their own merit. And I think they'd also free themselves a bit if they learned, understood, and acknowledged that subtext and queercoding are forms of canon. They're canon and they "count." Explicit queer storytelling is important for all the reasons we all implicitly know and understand, and of course we want to see sweeping epic character arcs reach the natural loudly queer conclusions we and the characters often deserve. But even if a story doesn't have that or get that, if you see and understand it's queer, that's still enough in its own way. It still has value, and you don't need permission or validation from anyone else to maintain that to yourself or to others.

Final apology to OP for hijacking their post. And maybe the TL;DR is I genuinely am "advocating for a return to queerbait TV" – or rather the sorts of storytelling and subtext people too often derogatorily slap with the "bait" label, past or present. Maybe people should think a little more about how stories like that were and still are good as well as often legitimately queer... and examine why there's often an implication that they're somehow not.

I am genuinely not advocating for a return to queerbait tv, I was vocally against it the whole time it was happening that was like my whole shtick for a while but it is kind of wild that when gay people weren’t allowed on tv, gay characters (who weren’t allowed to be gay) would be drinking poison for each other and killing bad guys for each other romantically and offering to go to prison in each other’s place and now that we are allowed to have gay people on tv…gay people will just be having a healthy conversation and going going on a date like normal people. Get OUT of my face with that

[v4mp-re]

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲

SUMMARY: When your childhood best friend Theodore Nott sleeps with you one night, your feelings for him over complicate the delicacy of the situation. ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇ: childhood bestfriend! Theodore Nott x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

T.W: Angst, mentions of lost of parental figure (mother), commitment issues, implications of sex, mentions of the word "porn", mentions of smoking, drinking and promiscuity, the word "fat" used with slight negative connotation, google translated Italian.

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It was as if all hell broke loose.

Ever since you've been young, your memories have been stained with that of the presence of your best friend, Theodore Nott. Influential pureblood families had to stick together, that and it just so happened that your mothers were good friends. You were about 5 when news of his mother's death came around, still remembering the tear stained cheeks belonging to none other than him.

That was the only time you'd seen him cry before.

The two did everything together, from getting their Hogwarts acceptance letters to getting sorted into the same house and forming a friend group of their own.

The group worked as sort of a combination of both your close friend groups, yours consisting of Pansy and Astoria and his of Mattheo and Lorenzo. It was just the 6 of them for a while until Pansy introduced Draco, who brought Blaise with him, and eventually joined the group as well.

Things changed in 5th year.

What at first seemed like Theodore reconnecting with his mother's death and coming to terms with it, turned into smoking, obsessive drinking and even whoring around. It wasn't something you necessarily expected either, growing up, he was always that chubby kid that you'd befriend but always depised when it came his turn to sit on the swing. Now however, he was different. He had grown, obviously, but puberty laced with Mattheo's influence, shaped him into the man he is today. And as much as you hated to admit it, he was gorgeous.

Theodore Nott. The very boy you grew up with, was now this tall, rich, Italian pureblood, slytherin boy that every girl wanted to get with, far from the ''fat geeky kid'' he used to be.

So what else could he do other than to embrace it?He had never gotten this much attention before and it wasn't as if the girls of Hogwarts were all a pain to look at, plus, Mattheo had showed him enough porn to know what to do, right?

His inexperience wasn't known to you. Surely you thought he had slept with you with the intention of wanting to get together, afterall he was your bestfriend and you both knew each other practically your whole lives. So you took his drunken kiss as a confession, the way his hands slid into your hair, how his tongue slid itself into your mouth, down to the way he looked at you as you laid there bare for him for the first time.

You should have known better.

By the time you woke up, he was gone. His presence almost non existent, except for the faint smell of him still lingering in the air, the only indicator that what happened last night wasn't a wild dream of yours. You thought nothing much of it, getting ready when the sight of your skin littered with hickeys made you freeze. You weren't drunk but you weren't necessarily sober last night either, for it being both your first times, it surely didn't felt like it. Your bodies felt like they were made for each other, and in a way you were conviced you were too.

You got ready, making sure to cover up the bruises claiming your neck as you walked to the great hall. You had been friends long enough to know that Lorenzo's love for the school's food had rubbed off on the others as well. You knew exactly where to look.

Though the sight you were greeted with wasn't necessarily pleasant.

Sitting at where you usually did, was Daphne Greengrass, a gorgeous blonde slytherin that just so happened to be the same year as you guys. Theodore's arm drapped right across her shoulder.

Mattheo, whom was previously in a conversation with Theodore, spots you almost instantly. He smiles that charming grin he always carried, one that you grew to adore, before calling you over. Theodore doesn't even glance.

With your original seat currently occupied by a girl, of which none if them had ever talked to prior, you sat beside the spare spot near Mattheo, who immediately pulls you closer to him by your hips. A gesture you normally would pull away from, yet the sight of Theodore being so cozy with another girl after the night you too had together was a new kind of pain you wish you never knew.

The insistent giggles coming from Daphne felt like a knife getting plunged deeper and deeper into your chest, knowing that the reason for said giggles was the man beside her, so carelessly whispering in her ear as his hand played with her hair.

''You're awfully quiet.'' A voice that unmistakably belonged to no other than Lorenzo. His eyes ever so slightly flickering to the way Mattheo's hand was still snaked around your waist, in which his fingers were carefully drawing patterns against the fabric of your skirt.

''I'm just tired'' You spoke, a slight smile gracing your features though your words carried a certain innuendo to it, one only Theodore could pick up, one which he ignored so openly.

Mattheo's low chuckle unmistakable, his arms moving to wrap around your waist, head nuzzled in the spot between your neck and shoulder. His breath ghosting against the surface of your neck.

Your eyes flickered to Theo, who, would once immediately tell Mattheo off, now sat occupied with the pretty blonde. His eyes fixed on hers like she was the only person that mattered. The glimpses of the night prior, the way he looked at you, how he treated you with such care, now a fleeting memory.

You felt used. Like Theodore had taken advantage of your friendship together and used it as a cheap way to test out what he already knew. Toying with a lot more than you had let on.

It was then on that you decided to distance from the Italian, something he had barely noticed until he strolled into the potions classroom, after flirting with random girls throughout the whole duration of the morning, to an empty spot which you normally occupied.

It was abnormal to him, you were his potions partner, his seat mate that allowed him to copy off you on tests, the one person who could help him pass the class, yet there you were, sitting with Mattheo instead of him.

It wasn't as if finding a new seatmate was hard, almost immediately, a brunette ravenclaw sat beside him, her friends giggling from the seat behind her, but she wasn't you.

As the class went on, Theodore found himself looking your way. His eyes would linger on the way you ever so carefully measured the ingredients and placed them to the side, a gesture that his current partner didn't care to do. How you laughed when Mattheo so dropped the eye of newt in an attempt to flirt with you.

It infuriated Theodore, but god was he too stubborn to admit it.

The smell of alcohol reeked the common room, the blasting of the music through the speakers weighing heavily on the countless of sweaty, intoxicated teenagers present, all of which, unbothered by it.

Draco had thrown possibly the 4th party in the past 4 months, all of which, you had previously attended on Theodore's insistence. This time, it was on someone's insistence, though not his.

Heels clicking with every step, you weaved towards the familiar green leather couch situated in front of the fireplace. Spotting your usual friend group, all of which slightly drunk and possibly high.

Mattheo, ever the observant, spots you almost immediately.

''For a second there I thought you wouldn't show'' His voice laced with amusement, it was clear he had probably been drinking prior, the scent of alcohol lingering with every breath he took.

He doesn't await a response before wrapping his arm around your waist, an action that doesn't go unnoticed by Theodore Nott, who in turn, pushes off the slytherin girl who was previously seated on his lap, before abruptly standing up.

You knew better than to follow after him, that Theodore Nott was no longer any of your business, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't care about him anymore.

Moving out of Mattheo's grasp under the excuse of wanting a drink, you made your way to the one place you knew Theo would be.

Theodore knew you'd come after him, you always have. The clicking of your heels an echoing reminder of your fleeting friendship. The once obnoxiously loud music now muted by the glass of the common room balcony.

You knew he'd be there, he always was. "Why are you doing this to me?" He spoke, his gaze fixed on the moonlight that reflected off the black lake, now even darker. The only flicker of light coming from his lighter as he brings it to the cigarette hanging off his lips.

"Doing what Theodore?" You spoke, your tone unconsciously laced with irritation and an air of indifference to his dishriveled appearance.

He pulls the cigarette away from his mouth, letting out a trail of smoke in it's path.

"Cazzo. (fuck) You know what I mean! You and Mattheo! Mio Dio, mi sta facendo impazzire!" (My God, it's driving me crazy) He turns to face you and for the first time tonight, you catch a glimpse of his expression.

It's been years since you've seen Theodore Nott cry, and yet here he was.

He moves towards the lounge chair, sitting at the edge, cigarette long forgotten. His shoulders shake with the kind of sorrow that you've only ever saw once in your life, his face buried in his hands.

"È come se ti stessi perdendo." (It's like I'm losing you) He mumbles ever so slightly, looking up for the first time as his gaze catches yours.

You knew there was no turning back. With your resolved crumbling at the seams, you moved to sit beside him on the chair. "I can't lose you, né a Matteo, né a nessuno" (not to Mattheo, not to anyone)

His cheeks were tear-stained as he stared out toward the lake. The party music in the background had grown faint, almost as if the world itself had narrowed to just the two of you.

But you weren’t having it.

"This isn't fair. You can't just sleep with me and then act like nothing happened! You can't just toss me aside like I was nothing and then get mad when Mattheo suddenly takes interest in me!"

"I don't get why you're bringing up that night we slept together. non è stato un grosso problema." (it wasn't a big deal)

"It was a big deal!" Your voice cracked, the weight of your emotions pouring out with every word.

"And why’s that?!" he snapped back, his voice sharp and defensive, but there was something else there—something unspoken, trembling beneath his anger.

"Because I love you!" The confession tore from your chest like a wound finally bursting open, raw and unfiltered. For a moment, the world seemed to still, the air between you heavy with the gravity of what you’d just said.

He froze, his breath hitching as his eyes searched yours. You could see it—the flicker of vulnerability in the depths of his gaze, the way his jaw tightened as if trying to hold back a storm of emotions.

"You love me?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now, as though the words were too fragile to say out loud.

"Yeah," your voice trembling but resolute. "I have loved you ever since first year, and it's killing me that you're pushing me away and acting like nothing happened!"

"Yeah, well, maybe I’m pushing you away because I don’t know how to stop myself from destroying everything good in my life!" he snapped, his voice breaking. He stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair as he paced in frustration. "You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t hate myself every second for the way I treat you?"

"Then stop doing it!" you cried, standing as well, your voice trembling with anger and pain. "Stop acting like you’re some broken thing that can’t be fixed. I see you, Theo. I’ve always seen you. And you’re not broken—you’re scared. But so am I!"

He stopped pacing, his back to you, his shoulders tense. "You don’t understand," he muttered, his voice low.

"Then make me understand!" you pleaded, stepping closer, your heart hammering in your chest. "Tell me why it’s so hard for you to believe that I love you. I’ve seen the parts of you you’re too scared to show anyone else. And I’m still here, aren’t I?"

He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his own self-loathing was finally too much to carry. "I’m scared," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’m scared of what happens if I let myself believe it—believe you. Because what if I lose you? What if I ruin it?"

"You’re already losing me," you said softly, tears slipping down your cheeks now. "Every time you push me away, every time you act like this—like we don’t matter—you’re losing me a little more."

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze fixed on the ground. Then, slowly, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I don’t want to lose you," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession.

"Then stop pushing me away," you pleaded, taking another step closer. "Stop pretending you don’t feel this too."

He hesitated, his lips parting as if to argue, but then he closed the distance between you in one swift, desperate motion. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself break in your embrace.

"I’m sorry," he murmured against your shoulder, his voice muffled but filled with raw sincerity. "I’m so sorry."

And as you held him, feeling the tension slowly leave his body, you knew that this was the beginning—not an easy one, but one where neither of you would have to carry the weight alone anymore.

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[prael]

Day 7: Rockstar

Loona/ARTMS Jinsoul x male reader smut

words: 3,223 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

Sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll. That's probably the order she would put them in.

It might seem cliché, but there's nothing new under the sun. Life on tour is an endless cycle of late-night gigs and after-parties searching for something to drink, take or fuck. It's an addiction, the lifestyle, and Jinsoul isn't an exception to the rule.

Every performance goes exactly the same: play to a sold-out crowd, have a little something backstage, give some autographs, follow the drink wherever it leads and then end the night fucking her lead guitarist. Rinse and repeat. It's easy enough to follow the routine once you've got the hang of things.

She convinced you to pick it up for the first time back in high school. She told you that you had real talent and should really give the whole music thing a shot. She said you had natural charm when you held a guitar and could make everyone in the room pay attention, so you played along because you wanted to see if her words were true or not.

As it turned out, she was right. You might have never played anything in your life before joining Jinsoul in the practice room, but you're a quick learner, talented too. You followed her instructions, listened to all the little details of what being a rockstar means and eventually made it big. Together.

It isn't like you owe her everything for helping you through this life but you appreciate everything she has done for you, nonetheless. If Jinsoul had said jump, you'd be asking her how high but unfortunately for you, you can't exactly tell her this without looking like that one crazy stalker fan (that's an entirely different story).

When you're with the others though, performing together on stage with thousands of people screaming out their love and adoration as your fingers dance up and down your fretboard, well, there are no words to describe the feeling. You're addicted. It's thrilling, nerve-racking, terrifying and amazing all at the same time.

And the truth is, you feel it just like she does. You step off the stage and reach for whatever bottle you can find because the adrenaline coursing through your veins is electrifying, but the buzz always leaves too quickly. So, in order to prolong the high, you take it back to the hotel. Groupies, liquor and the hard stuff; everything is fair game.

-

Jinsoul has her hand wrapped firmly around your waist as she brings her body close to grinding against your thigh while singing into the mic. Her breathy voice sending shivers down your spine. Your fingers continue to glide effortlessly across strings while staring out into the sea of faceless bodies cheering as they sway from side to side beneath strobe lighting.

The lead vocalist grips tightly onto your shirt as her tongue darts over your earlobe, causing your skin to prickle with sensation before leaning away again. She grins wickedly, knowing what kind of effect she can have on you before returning to strutting across the stage. She dances in time with each chord progression you create. Watching as Jinsoul plays with her fans who push forward eagerly at any opportunity, hoping their fingertips can graze hers for even half a second, she laughs. The flashing lights are flickering in a seemingly random pattern, illuminating her features and casting shadows upon them all at once.

It's the encore. Fans chanting and begging for more. All their attention fixed solely upon Jinsoul; her movements so captivatingly beautiful yet dangerously provocative. Everything about her radiates confidence—power—lust. You watch carefully when she bends down to place a chaste kiss on a fan's hand; you watch when she takes the lollipop from one guy's mouth and puts it between her teeth. Smiling smugly to herself after spitting it out back at him. And you can't help yourself either... It's impossible not to get drawn into her orbit whenever she gets like this.

As much as everyone loves a good show, it ends too soon. Everything finishes with your eyes meeting hers through sweaty bangs; hands clapping in unison along with the rest of the band as they thank the audience for coming out tonight.

A smile still remains plastered firmly on Jinsoul's lips despite how exhausted she appears after performing for hours straight. Sweat beads glisten across her brow and drip down her temple as she pants heavily from exertion but still maintains that air of invincibility and untouchability, like always.

The lights dim and you're making your way off stage with Jinsoul hot on your tail behind you. You turn around intending to compliment her performance, only managing halfway before suddenly she presses her palm flat against the wall beside your head, pinning you against it. Her eyes glint mischievously at seeing how flustered you've become, having her so close to your face again.

"I know I did amazing." She says simply, before licking her upper lip seductively.

Before you know it her hand is already wrapped around the nape of your neck pulling you toward her and into a rough kiss filled with needful desperation. Tongue sliding past yours in earnest exploration before sliding away again to drag along the roof of your mouth instead. A gasp leaves your lungs being stolen away by Jinsoul, who eagerly swallows it down as if it were nourishment enough to sustain herself completely on its own.

"I need a drink," she murmurs huskily before pulling on your wrist leading towards the dressing rooms where several bottles await you in ice.

-

Another night, another fucking blur. It started in the dressing room with your band members; congratulating themselves for playing such an incredible gig together whilst downing shots and racking lines until they forget why exactly it is that they should even celebrate anymore.

You know little of what happened between then and now. Just snapshots. An image in your mind of Jinsoul dancing on a table surrounded by strangers all cheering her name. A memory of a bathroom stall where you found yourself with your pants pulled halfway down to your knees, some girl whose face remains indistinguishable giving you sloppy head. Then there are parts where you recall talking animatedly with some fan asking what's your favourite track from their album, others asking you to sign their breasts because they didn't bring anything else to write on. More of just flashes, really—snapshots of moments lost forever amongst booze, drugs and cigarette smoke.

It must have been a miracle that got the two of you back here alone without any incident or accident happening beforehand, considering neither of you could walk properly without stumbling over something unseen every couple of steps taken forward. Regardless, however, eventually, you do reach the hotel room door, which swings open violently crashing loudly into the wall behind it. Kicked by Jinsoul, who couldn't care less about causing damage or waking people up around you because she wants nothing more right now than to get laid.

Jinsoul's lips crush against yours almost immediately, stealing your breath away just as soon as it escapes from your lungs. Teeth clash clumsily while tongues slide hungrily within each other's mouths, fighting fiercely until finally breaking apart once air becomes scarce between you both.

Your mouth travels downward along her jawline, sucking bruises into soft flesh wherever possible—finding purchase there to continue making marks upon unmarred skin otherwise unknown and wanting—a place forbidden by nature yet entirely inviting, nonetheless. Fingertips dance gracefully across her curves until her legs give out, sending the two of you falling onto the bed without caution or warning whatsoever.

She's pulling off her ripped jeans. You're helping remove everything else until she sits before you fully exposed wearing nothing but those sinful fishnet stockings covering perfectly toned calves leading upward towards her thighs. They contrast beautifully against her flawless pale complexion; smooth as marble but warm beneath your touch, unlike the cold stone ever could hope to achieve.

Time and time again, no matter how often you've done this exact thing, seeing her bare like this never fails to amaze you. This angelic creature baring herself shamelessly beneath bright lights—openly inviting your gaze as though daring it not to look elsewhere but at her. And god knows how difficult resisting temptation truly is...

"Fucking come on." Her speech is slurred.

Her impatience shows clearly through alcohol-glazed eyes staring expectantly up at yours, silently pleading desperately for action. She doesn't need to ask twice, though; you gladly oblige, willingly pressing palms firmly upon inner thighs. Pushing gently outward, spreading wide welcoming hips before pressing two fingers roughly inside her slick, wet cunt.

Jinsoul's body arches upwards off the bedding instantly from pleasure, throwing her head backwards against pillows as loud moans escape parted lips. You're sloppy. Messy. Drunkenly probing into her pussy, desperately trying to hit that spot deep within her core, which always manages to drive her absolutely insane.

"No," she groans in frustration. "Fuck me." Every word she speaks takes an effort to enunciate clearly, each syllable struggling against the haze clouding her mind from reason. "Fingers aren't enough..."

You understand immediately what she means when she looks at you with those half-lidded eyes filled with need; lustful desire burning intensely within pupils dilated to full width now. She wants you to fuck her. Hard. With your cock buried deep inside her until she forgets everything else, but how amazing it feels being filled completely by you.

And so, you oblige once more... removing fingers covered entirely, coated thickly in Jinsoul's juices before quickly fumbling at your trousers. Undoing zippers hastily and pulling them down past your knees where they fall onto carpet flooring forgotten alongside all other articles removed already.

She's watching you undress, her eyes roaming your body with their haze. Lips curling upwards into a smirk before licking over teeth, hungrily anticipating what comes next. She knows exactly what she wants from you. Knows just how badly she needs it right now, too.

She sees you're ready, and without a word, she climbs onto all fours. Leaning forward on hands and knees before lowering her face onto the sheets below, presenting herself fully exposed before you, waiting eagerly for what comes next. And as soon as your tip brushes against her entrance, wetting itself upon her lips, it's all so familiar to you. You've been here a hundred times before.

You slap down hard onto her ass, making the skin turn pink. Jinsoul yelps out, surprised, but enjoys the sensation nonetheless. You repeat this several more times until her butt cheeks burn deep crimson under contact with each strike delivered forcefully across them. She groans loudly with each blow struck upon sensitive flesh, causing pain mixed deliciously together alongside pleasure.

When done playing games, finally, you grab her hips firmly—tightly enough that fingerprints will remain bruised tomorrow morning—before plunging forward into Jinsoul's cunt, burying yourself balls-deep within her core instantly. She always says sex after a show is special. Whether it's the adrenaline, the drink, the drugs or whatever the hell else that fuels you, you give it to her good every single time.

Your thrusts become rough and quick almost immediately. Skin slapping loudly together with each movement made forcefully enough to cause ripples across flesh bouncing back from the impact. It's messy. Dirty. Filthy. But Jinsoul loves every minute of being fucked hard like this—every moment spent pounding into her pussy again and again relentlessly.

She feels so good around you. Hot. Tight. Wet. Your cock slides smoothly between slick folds, easily finding purchase within soft walls stretching accommodatingly around its size. She moans loudly, screaming obscenities with each thrust given, encouraging you further until eventually, she climaxes, screaming out your name in ecstasy.

Jinsoul collapses forward onto the bedding below, completely spent from orgasm. But you're still as hard as ever. You follow her down, boning her into the bed with your pelvis slapping hard against her ass cheeks, smashing them repeatedly against skin reddened by prior contact already.

She gasps in shock at feeling you still going, unable to do much else except accept how wonderfully incredible it feels being fucked senselessly. You pound away at her pussy, relentlessly continuing your assault. Thrusts becoming faster now, quicker in pace. You can't be sure, but you think she's cumming again. The way her body shudders uncontrollably beneath you, convulsing violently while her voice cracks mid-moan. She cries out in ecstasy, calling for god knows who or what, but fuck if it doesn't make you want to finish too.

You're entranced in ecstasy, lost within a haze of pleasure coursing through every nerve ending within your body. And before long, you're cumming hard into her cunt. You're collapsing down against her. Chest to back. Her willing body pressed into the bed beneath you. But still, somehow, she manages to reach backwards, grabbing tightly onto your arm with one hand, pulling you closer towards her until your lips meet hers once more.

Your tongues dance together in perfect sync, tasting one another intensely as they battle for dominance between mouths. Kisses become sloppy. Desperate. You both need more from each other than you currently have within yourselves to give.

And finally, when you break away, breathing heavily, she murmurs, "Nothing beats this, right? Nothing... feels better than fucking you."

You know she's right. Nothing does come close to how amazing it feels to be inside her.

-

The next morning you wake up with your head throbbing painfully, feeling hungover as hell. Not a lot of the night before remains in your head except for vague images of Jinsoul dancing on tables surrounded by admirers cheering her name, or maybe you were the one doing all that. You don't remember.

You roll your head to the side. To the empty space beside you.

"Jinsoul?"

There's a numb tremor that runs up your body—a feeling caught somewhere between confusion and pleasure.

You find yourself reaching out to touch her, wanting desperately to feel the warmth radiating from her skin but instead finding nothing except cold air and soft sheets. She's gone. It's not like this is the first time this has happened though...

"I'm right here, idiot," she says softly.

She wraps her mouth around your cock again, slowly bobbing her head up and down along its length. There's the feeling again. It's her; dragged out of your sleepy haze one suck at a time until finally you're able to fully appreciate everything about it.

Her tongue laps over the tip. Her hand strokes gently at the base while the other plays with your balls. It's fucking amazing. It always is whenever she does this. You watch as she takes you completely into her mouth, wrapping her lips around you before slowly pulling back off. Her cheeks hollow slightly as she sucks hard on the head, causing you to groan loudly and buck your hips upward involuntarily.

She looks up at you through thick lashes. Her eyes were stained with last night's makeup; mascara smudged across her face creating dark circles around her irises, but still somehow managing to retain their natural beauty despite that fact. You smile at her and she smiles back, before taking you deep once more.

Your hands grip tightly onto the bed sheets beside you as she begins pumping faster now, bobbing her head up and down your length with renewed vigour. What a way to wake up in the morning, huh?

"Fuck," you hiss between clenched teeth. "Keep going."

Your hips thrust up again, causing Jinsoul to gag slightly at the sudden movement suddenly coming from beneath her. She looks up at you, meeting your eyes again before winking playfully.

She pushes her throat onto you until her lips meet the base of your cock. You moan loudly, unable to contain yourself any longer and reach out, grabbing roughly onto her hair, forcing her head forward even further.

She gags once more but doesn't stop moving her mouth up and down along your shaft. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer. You don't know how much longer you can last like this, so you tug firmly at Jinsoul's locks again; signalling to her that you're about to cum.

She releases you from her mouth with a loud pop, then wastes no time in crawling over you. Straddling her hips above yours, she guides you to her entrance before lowering herself onto you. Her cunt is already a mess, wet with excitement, and stained with last night's debauchery. It doesn't bother her, riding you like this in the morning. She loves it.

The sight of her naked body bouncing on top of yours is enough to make anyone lose their mind and fuck if you don't want to see this every damn day of your life. The way her tits bounce in tandem with each movement made, how her mouth hangs open slightly in ecstasy as she throws her head back, letting out a moan now and then. Fuck, she's so goddamn sexy.

She knows what she's doing, too. Knows how to draw this out as long as possible, prolonging your pleasure for as long as she can without breaking eye contact with you. She rides you hard; hips thrusting forward aggressively, then slowing to a laboured grind that leaves you reeling for more.

"Good morning," she coos seductively.

You're mesmerised by her—completely hypnotised by everything about her. And before long, you're reaching out, grabbing onto her waist, guiding her movements as best as you can manage.

She leans over and kisses you hungrily while continuing to fuck herself on top of your cock. Her tongue pushes into your mouth, swirling around inside, tasting every inch available. The kiss is hot, wet and messy, but perfect, nonetheless.

Jinsoul breaks away from you and places her hands on either side of your head, steadying herself as she rides you harder and faster now, bringing both of you closer and closer towards orgasm. Your fingers dig into her skin, gripping tightly onto flesh for purchase as you feel yourself nearing climax.

It's too much. It's all too fucking good. You can't take anymore. You're not going to last another second longer. You need release. Desperately.

At the very last, you buck her off, throw her down to the bed and climb to your knees, hovering over her as you begin jacking yourself off furiously. The sight of her lying there, legs spread wide open, waiting patiently for you to cum on her only intensifies the sensation building within your core.

"Fuck!"

With one final cry, you erupt onto Jinsoul's stomach, painting white streaks across taut skin stretched taut across toned abs. Up to her tits too, ropes of cum covering pink nipples standing erect beneath it. You collapse next to her, completely spent from exertion. She laughs softly, running fingertips through damp hair and sticking messily to her forehead before wiping away sweat beads dripping down her chin.

"You always finish quick when we do this in the morning," she whispers teasingly.

You laugh too. "You just look too good."

She rolls over, planting a quick kiss on your lips. "Good enough to give me another in the shower?"

You grin.

She matches it with a knowing stare.

This is the life.

[songbirdseung]

silly boy / park sunghoon

your "friends" keep telling you that your new boyfriend is too much of a shy nerd for you, but they don't know how much of a man the silly boy is.

the bar tonight was much quieter than usual, just a few people spread out in the tiny, cozy bar. quiet background music accompanied the murmurs of different conversations shared throughout the room. you were with your friends, laughing and chatting, having a good time, when all of a sudden, the smile on your face faded into a small frown. the conversation had shifted to your boyfriend, sunghoon.

sunghoon, park sunghoon. your boyfriend of two amazing years. he was currently at home, in his home office, working late. while you were out here with your friends, the same friends who never truly understood why you’d started a relationship with him in the first place.

don’t get them wrong—they thought he was gorgeous, practically model material, but sunghoon’s quiet, reserved nature wasn’t their idea of "boyfriend material." they’d often remind you that you deserved someone affectionate, someone who’d shower you with love openly and without hesitation, someone who wouldn’t be shy about showing the world how much they adored you.

but their words always went in one ear and out the other. because they didn’t see what you saw. they didn’t see how, behind closed doors, in the quiet moments away from the world, sunghoon clung to you like glue—superglue, even. he wasn’t loud about his love, but it was there, steady and unwavering, in every little thing he did. it never bothered you how he presented himself to others; his love for you was real, even if it wasn’t on display for everyone to see.

"i can’t believe you’ve made it this long with him," one of your friends said, breaking your thoughts.

you sighed, rolling your eyes. the urge to speak up, to defend him, bubbled in your chest. "you guys just don’t get it," you said, your tone calm but firm.

"we’re not trying to be mean," another friend chimed in, raising her hands defensively. "it’s just… don’t you want someone who’s a little more… present? someone who’ll shower you with affection all the time?"

you leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms. "he does show affection. just not in the way you expect him to. not everyone has to be loud about love to mean it."

"but, yn," another friend interjected, "you’re the kind of person who loves big gestures, who deserves to feel like the center of someone’s world."

"and i do," you countered, your voice a little sharper this time. "just because he doesn’t yell it from the rooftops doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me. it’s in the little things. like how he texts me to remind me to eat when he knows I’m busy. or how he’ll wake up early to make sure my coffee is ready before I leave. or how he never lets me go to bed upset, even if it means staying up all night to talk it out. you guys don’t see that side of him because he doesn’t show it to everyone. he shows it to me, and that’s enough."

your friends exchanged glances, clearly unsure of how to respond.

"look," you said, your tone softening, "i appreciate that you care about me. but sunghoon and i, we work. and that’s all that matters."

just then, your phone buzzed on the table. you glanced at the screen and felt your heart flutter at the sight of his name. the message was simple: "don’t stay out too late. i miss you."

a small smile crept onto your face as you typed back a quick reply. your friends noticed the change in your expression but didn’t say anything.

"he’s not perfect," you admitted, putting your phone down. "but he’s perfect for me."

the conversation shifted back to lighter topics after that, but as the night wore on, you found yourself glancing at your phone more often than usual.

later, as you walked into your apartment, you saw him waiting for you in the living room, still in his work clothes, his laptop closed on the coffee table. his eyes lit up when he saw you, and without a word, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if you’d been gone for weeks.

"missed you," he murmured against your hair.

"i missed you too," you whispered back, your heart swelling with warmth.

and in that moment, wrapped in his arms, you were reminded all over again why their opinions didn’t matter. because this? this was love. quiet, steady, and unshakable.

[materialised]

LUFFY'S HEADCANONS (SFW & NSFW )

: I write these because I can't stand my feelings whenever I see his bright smile in every episode so I gotta express my own thoughts. Honestly I wish I have a boyfriend like him in my life pfft- Like whoever gonna dislike a honest boy like him, right? Oh I love Luffy so much ><

Caution: Minors DO NOT INTERACT. English is not my first language but I hope you guys like this. Oh and it's pretty long, I didn't count at all.

◜⁑✢⁑±⁑✢⁑」

SFW - Oh sure our boy is sweet and lovely.

Luffy, who always greet you with a smile whenever he sees you around and uses his ability of Gomu Gomu to wrap his arms around you tightly.

His love language is skinship. He loves touching you, holding hand while walking together, leaning his chin over your shoulder when you are chatting with Nami and wait until you notice, turn your head then he gonna smile at you so purely.

Ever since he was a kid, he didn't like to take nap so much unless he was extremely tired and need a short nap time to refill his energy but after you two were together, Luffy usually naps with you, Nami and Ussop often saw two of you resting on each other's head while sleeping on the deck. "They look so cute", said Nami.

After Carrot "garchu" Luffy few times before and he remembered that, he's trying that on you, too. Hands around your waist and "garchu" you, nuzzling his cheek against yours playfully while smiling so hard.

Shares his foods with you, whatever he has in front of the table - meat, drinks, sweets,... He's gonna let you take bites and looking at you with a happy face. He loves foods, but he loves you more and happy to make his lovely girlfriend full with foods - that's how he shows his love towards you.

Luffy can eats anything and drinks anything, he wasn't a picky one, but, he loves your hot chocolate you made him. When the weather seems colder than usual, you will take a hint of that and go to the kitchen, making hot chocolates for the crew and Luffy always have the largest cup with lots of marshmallows on top. That's how you show your love in return.

Telling you all of his thoughts, his story, his worries, he trusted so so much because you love him so much. He lets you know the other side of his, his thoughts were his emotions and intelligence.

"I like you (y/n)", "I love you (y/n)", "You're adorable, (y/n)", "This looks so much like you, (y/n)!", and plenty more of love-words he told you. He loves calling you by your real name, "baby", "babe" are also okay but he prefers calling each other by real name better. Not the romance one knows how to talk as if he was writing a poetry but straightforward, short and always success to make your cheeks turn red.

Eyes don't lie. He is like a walking-radar, must say since he can sense your presence real quick and tells the crew that "(Y/n) is here" before you appear.

Loves resting on your thighs, feeling your fingertips brushing his hair down his features.

Luffy loves hearing your heartbeat, your warmth, the softness of your chest against his head, so soft, so tender, so warm, so rapidly same as his heartbeat when he's around you.

"Glad I have you, (y/n)", he mumbled as kissing your lips under the moon in a sleepless night.

NSFW - The more he loves you, the harder he fucks you.

「۰۪۪۫۫●۪۫۰⊰❈☸❈☾۰۪۪۫۫●۪۫۰」

He loves you, he fucks you, he loves you so damn much that those silly and normal skinship aren't enough anymore. He needs to fuck you deep and raw, makes you cum so good, cum several times on his cock. And that's the first thought made his priority SNAPPED.

You always on his mind, no matter what. How many times you appear in his head? Uncountable. Luffy thinking about you day and night, he even uses his imagine and he knows he fucked when you started appeared in his wet dream, lewdest dream he ever had after that long time hitting his own puberty. And he so honest about that, he shared with you without any embarrassment because he trusted you no matter what. And you? Not even mad at your boyfriend, instead you explored the fact that Luffy also have lust and needs.

Inexperienced, indeed, he is still a virgin, he never felt a touch of woman before since he's not interested in those stuffs. Yet, after being in relationship with you, he found himself thinking about sex nonstop.

Masturbate after fight, he has to relieve the stress out.

Luffy eats, sleeps like a baby, which is healthy one so his cum taste good, not bitter, not sour, taste like nothing but the white egg-yolk. However, not masturbate often so his cum really thick. You loves swallowing his cum and he enjoys it, too.

He is a virgin but when its come to a real fuck, he wasn't. He ain't playing like a shy boy who doesn't know what to do, he sees your body as a new island for him to explore inch by inch, every dips and curves on your body, he has to touch them all - the curve of your shoulders, your breasts, your ribcage, your waist, your hips, the swell of your asscheeks and your backside got him swallowed in excitement. You're beautiful, what that's people say? Breathtaking, yeah that's one.

How he touch you for the first time? Luffy's taking his time groping your beasts, rolling your hardened nipples between his slight calloused fingers to see your reaction before move to next place on your body. He didn't think much during it, he lets his primal desire takes the lead of his whole muscles. A soft moan escaped your lips as his warm palm brushing your breasts just bringing his desire closer, getting hard under his jeans for sure. After kissing your waist, he slowly pried your legs open, revealed yourself fully to him.

If Luffy must describe what he was saw, then there is it: your arousal a smearing both your inner thighs; really messy, soft, plumb thighs made him wants to take a bite as if there were two delicious cakes in front of him. Then your private part, puffy wet folds drenched with clear discharge, your small aching clit and your cunthole timidly hiding under the wet folds - leaking. Using his thumb to open yourself to him, a slight pink and red shade of your vagina throbbing, clenching around nothing under his gazed. He was staring so long, studied your body and your most sensitive part, carved them deep into his brain that makes you blush so damn much before takes off his shirt. "L-luffy... It's so embarrassing if you keep staring like that...", you watching him between your spread-opened thighs with deep shade of red but won't close your legs because you know he won't let you do that. "It's pretty, (y/n). This little hole of yours keeps throbbing ya know that?", Luffy rubbing his palm against your soft mound, eyes drooping and his voice harsher than previous moment.

Luffy fucks you raw, always. He likes it rough and balls deep, he hates the silence especially during sex. He wants to hear the lewd sounds of wet skin slapping against skin, the bed squeaking under you both and your moans. Moans for him, more and more, don't be shy, he loves your shaky voice calling out his name. Luffy loves the sounds of your pussy squelching while taking his cock and he probably says it out.

Dirty talk? Nah, he doesn't even have to try because he IS the dirty one. He says what he saw, your pussy so red and swollen and his cum oozed out our cunthole? He definitely said it out: "Looking at my cum leaking out your pussy, (y/n), shit, that's a lot, babe." And said that with a straight face with toying with your clit.

Oh he such a sweet soul but oh so a dirtiest, nastiest one. "Your pussy is so red, babe, let me suck your clit.", and didn't wait for your response but buried his face into your abused red pussy lips.

He fucks with any new idea came up his mind. For example, he told you to masturbate for him on his bed, then he freed his cock, fingers wrapped firmly around his length and stroking up and down along with the movement of your fingers thrusting in and out your hole until you both reached the peak, Luffy used his free hand to keep your legs opened wide and cumming on your bare pussy. Each thick rope of white, hot cum spurting on your clit, pussy lips and some on your mound and some goes inside your pussy but he won't stop. Luffy nudging the head of his cock against your cum-covered pussy to smear his cum all over your cunt, even teasing you by collected some cum on his cockhead and pushing the tip inside. After that, he asked you to put your panties back on and walking around with his cum still on your pussy like that.

Likes teasing you by grinding his dark pubic hair against your sensitive clit. That was hot to him, he could do that for hour to make you whimper and brows knitted together.

Another one, Luffy loves tapping his cockhead on your clit, or your cunthole to feel your thighs shaking, hips jolt upward and dragging his tip up and down your slit. He doesn't know why he did that himself but "It's hot, slap my cock on your pussy like this making me want to cum so hard, babe."

What his dick looks like? Well, over average size, maybe > 16cm (6,3 inches), tanned, and really thick (almost 5 inches). Slightly curved to the right, dark red tip and few veins running on underside. Not trimmed, he leaves it natural and he found another reason to leave it that way - tease your clit. In general, his cock taste good tho, same as his cum and fit in your mouth and fist perfectly.

His stamina is amazing, look at how long he had fought Kaido so we can say that he can fucks you that long enough. He can goes round to round, he fucks you fast and rough like a rabbit in heat without hesitation and he won't let you take a break to chase your breath during it.

Result: your pussy all red and sore, but oddly satisfied since you boyfriend made you cum so hard, multiple times. You still in the haze and fucked out, his cum dripped down the sheets from your pussy. Don't worry if you gonna get pregnant, Luffy surely wife you up, you gonna carry his baby and be his wife even in another life! And about Luffy? Our boy fell asleep fast, snoring already but in the morning he wakes up, he will give you your aftercare.

So that's all >< that's what I got in my head right now lol. If you enjoy this little pieces of mine, don't forget to let me know your thought about this. Love you and have a great day <33

[disasterofastory]

Ache [poly!141 x reader]

It’s an urge you can’t ignore anymore. It gnaws at your mind and burrows deep into your bones until they ache. It claws at your skin, making it feel too tight and too foreign; like an armor you've outgrown but can't shed. Your body has forgotten how to rest, and your soul is just as restless, pacing circles inside you, searching for escape.

So when you can't bear it anymore, the vast emptiness of your chest, you strip your life down to its bare skeleton. All the things that once defined you are reduced to whatever fits in the trunk of your car. And you don’t look back, not even once, because looking back might undo you.

That’s how you find yourself here, standing on the porch of a farm you only found by chance, thanks to a snippet of conversation overheard at a gas station miles away. The air smells of earth and hay, carried on a soft breeze that nudges the creaking rocking chairs into motion. In front of one of them, they are all mismatched, there is an old coffee mug, chipped and stained, serving as an ashtray.

You knock, loud and desperate. The sound shatters the quiet like a stone thrown into the still water. For a moment, nothing happens, and you are left staring at the peeling paint on the door, almost starting to wonder if this is a mistake.

Then it opens.

You become face-to-face with a man who is broad-shouldered and sun-weathered. His presence is as solid as the land around you. His funny hat is slightly askew over his face framed by an impressive beard. He blinks at you. “Can I help you, miss?”

And then, it all spills out. Words tumble from your lips, frantic and jagged. Each one is sharp with the frustration and exhaustion that have been festering inside you for years. You talk and talk, unable to stop because you don’t know how to hold it back anymore, or how to describe the burning ache that feels like it’s eating you alive. You tell him how your life doesn’t feel like your own anymore, how it itches and stings like a poorly healed wound. You confess the tiredness, that bone-deep, soul-deep weariness that presses on you heavier with every passing second. And you admit that you don’t know the first thing about farming, but the world, too loud and too fast, beyond this porch is drowning you and you can’t keep up anymore.

Your words are met with a heavy silence. You stop, your hands twisting nervously at your sides, the weight of everything you’ve just confessed sinking in. When you finally look up, you are no longer facing just one man but four. They stand there, still as statues, eyes wide as if you’ve just dropped a live grenade at their feet.

And, somehow, they let you stay.

Kyle’s the first to agree. He’s got a soft spot for women in distress. Always has. It doesn’t matter if this life isn’t for you in the end; he won’t let you leave until he knows you are steady enough to stand on your own.

Johnny adopts strays without thinking anyway. They already have too many cats, dogs, and more than a few animals that no one else wants. What’s one more?

Simon, sharp-eyed and quiet, sees the desperation burning in you, the same raw, untamed fire that once drove him to join the army. The way you claw at yourself as if trying to peel away layers of your existence to become something, anything, new. It hits too close to home. Letting you walk away would feel like turning his back on the version of himself he barely survived.

And John? John doesn’t say much, but then, he doesn’t need to. He just knows. His eyes hold an understanding as if he’s seen this kind of desperation before (ghost). He sees the quiet fire behind your exhaustion, the need to start over because continuing as you were is no longer an option. He knows you will fit here, in a way you can't even explain yet.

“Guess you’d better come in,” he finally says, stepping aside to make room.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you breathe.

[yoitsjay]

Hey I absolutely LOVE you…….(r) writing style. Do/Can you make a fic about what makes BatBoys feel like “home” with reader? Like relationship wise. If this doesn’t make sense I’m sorry, this m first time making a request 😭✌️. Ty's!

No it makes sense! Thank you for the request!

Like Home

Summary: How you're the batboys home.

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff

Bruce Wayne:

To Bruce Wayne, home isn't a place. Its you.

Typically Bruce is wary of genuine, committed relationships, his kids definitely warned him about people dating him just for his money, but when he met you, right off the bat you were so different.

From the moment you rushed to pay for dinner before Bruce could was the moment he knew he wanted you.

Home to Bruce is waking up in the morning with you still fast asleep in his arms, lips parted slightly as soft snores escape your lips. Home to him is holding you from behind as you cook breakfast for everyone instead of Alfred.

Home to him is holding you close as he- (we won't finish that sentence)

you, and all the things you do, big or small, mean the world to him, and he wants things to stay like this forever…

Dick Grayson:

Home to Dick Grayson is freedom, or it was until he met you.

He had bumped into you in a coffee shop and you were in a pretty heated argument with one of the other patrons there, defending an elderly lady who was only just trying to buy coffee.

When the guy had raised his hand to you, Dick was about to step in and stop the fight, only to see you deflect the blow, twist the mans wrist and pin him to the wall within seconds.

After that he had to ask for your number.

Then on patrol the following evening, a new hero arrived in gotham, someone oddly familiar to him.

You and Dick started working together on patrol, and in person too, since you had been one of the new interns at Wayne Enterprises, so it was a good excuse to see you more often. Though you both had no idea about each others identities until one really rough battle… and to make a long story short you ended up in his apartment, kissing him when you had accidentally knocked his mask off.

“Dick!?”

You ended up revealing yourself that night, too, and after that, you and Dick started dating. Being with you, fighting alongside you, and cherishing freedom quickly changed to cherishing you, wanting you to be his forever. You became something he wanted to come back to alive every night… and that was good enough for him.

Jason Todd:

You had always been his home. From the moment you met Jason as kids, he always loved you, cared for you, and you did the same.

When he died you were broken, you mourned for who knows how long, and everyone knew that your spark had died along with Jason.

When he came back, you were stunned.

You had just gotten home from work, and noticed your living room window wide open, and in the room itself stood a large man.

You wasted no time in attacking. Jason and you trained together as kids, and after his death you continued training under Bruce and Dick, so you liked to think you were pretty good.

But for some reason your intruder wasnt hitting you back.

He only fell to his knees and he hugged your waist tightly.

“I’m home- im home- im so sorry-” He whispered, and you froze.

“Jason…?”

“Im home baby, im not leavin’ you again”

you both cried, for a while probably, but despite the tears, the trauma he revealed to you, you did nothing but comfort and love him, and hold him close as he cried into your chest about how much he missed you.

he found his home in you a long time ago… “If only i hadnt been so reckless, i would have never lost you-”

“you didnt lose me Jason, ive been here, waiting for the time i could see you again… it came alot sooner… Screw you Thalia Al Ghul, and thank you for bringing my Jason back to me”

Tim Drake:

You had Tim had been dating for a few years at this point, it had been more on the arranged side, Your father and Bruce were really close friends, and they had agreed after finding out that you and Tim were the same age and both single, that you two had to at least meet, and talk and get to know each other.

You agreed, Tim was more reluctant.

Turns out you and him were already friends. You had been close in High School, though you both never revealed much about your family lives, so being rich in Gotham kind of flew under the radar.

You and Tim both laughed about it over lunch, though in that time you really started to get to know each other. Had you always been so beautiful?

After a little bit, he asked you out officially. You said yes, and your relationship evolved into something he couldn't ever give up. Similar to Bruce, he found comfort in the littlest things. The way you held him ran your fingers through his hair and made his shoulders sag in relaxation. That was home to him.

Damian Wayne:

Damian Wayne hated you.

he despised you, and you had no idea why.

You were Alfred’s niece, and after your parents had died you had come to gotham to stay with Alfred since he had become your legal guardian.

You tried to mind your own business, you helped alfred clean, became a maid of sorts to earn your keep, even though Bruce, more than once assured you that you didnt need to worry. You still did.

Damian took advantage of that and took advantage of the whole maid aspect, you did a lot for that guy and yet, he despised you.

Then he found out that you had been asked out on a date by someone from Gotham Academy, a school you both went too.

“You’re not allowed.”

Damian stated as he walked up to you in the manor, and you looked over from where you were cleaning. “Huh?” You questioned, unsure as to what he was talking about.

“Your not allowed to go on a date with that child. Your my girlfriend now.” Damian stated, and your eyes went wide.

You kinda… just couldnt say no.

after that Damian started treating you a lot nicer, he did a lot of small things for you, payed attention to the things you looked at or liked, and more often then not, the same item would be on your bed.

he found comfort in the things you did for him, and you had no idea, but he treated you like dog shit because of his fat crush on you.

what… The… fuck.

Tag list:

All: @only-my-unexistent-fiances @francesfarhadi

Batfam:

Bruce Wayne: @ilaiise

Dick Grayson: @ilaiise

Jason Todd: @ilaiise

Tim Drake: @ilaiise

Damian Wayne: @ilaiise

[midastouch013]

"So f**king stupid"

Based on this request

Summary: You've been neglecting your pregnant wife for a while now, and so when you come home early from a mission, what do you realize?

Warnings: Pregnant Nat, Angst, Hurt, Insecurity, Stupid reader. hurt/comfort. Minor swearing

малютка - Little one

--

It had been weeks since Natasha had felt the warmth of your embrace for more than a fleeting moment. Your once bustling mornings, where you’d share quiet cups of coffee and stolen glances, had become a distant memory. Instead, Natasha watched the clock tick as she waited for you to finish whatever mission or task had consumed your attention for the day.

When you finally appeared, it was never long enough. Five minutes for a rushed lunch, barely enough time to talk, before you’d sprint off for another meeting, debriefing with Steve, or diving into Tony’s chaos. Natasha tried not to take it personally, but as the days passed, she couldn’t help but feel like she was being left behind.

She had suggested lunch together, but you were too caught up. "I have five minutes, and then I need to brief Steve on the mission,” you had said, eyes scanning the files in your hands as you quickly stuffed the sandwich into your mouth.

"Five minutes," Natasha echoed, the sting of disappointment lacing her words. She didn't want to argue or demand more of you, but the gap between the two of you felt insurmountable now. The movie night you had planned, a quiet, cozy evening for the two of you, never came to fruition. “I can’t, babe. I’m helping Tony with the team’s weapons. I’ll make it up to you,” you had promised, but the days turned into weeks, and Natasha was left curled up on the couch, movie tickets long forgotten.

Then came the nights—quiet nights. Natasha would curl up in bed, waiting for you, her eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. You’d pass through the door just as she was about to fall asleep, your face flushed from running through the day’s tasks. She’d offer a smile, but you would always say the same thing.

“Don’t wait up. I have a ton of files to go through.”

And Natasha would nod, pretending everything was fine, even as she lay in the dark, alone.

Sometimes, other members of the team would come by, but they were too busy to stay long, and Natasha wasn’t about to burden them with her own loneliness. She didn’t want to be the needy partner who demanded attention. So, she tried to fill the silence by keeping busy, like working on her own training or catching up with Clint, but even that didn’t erase the quiet emptiness she felt in your absence.

You hadn’t realized. Or maybe, you hadn’t noticed how much you’d drifted away. Your focus was on the mission, on keeping the team safe, on the work that needed to be done, and Natasha understood that. She wasn’t angry with you. But somewhere between the late nights and early mornings, she had slipped through the cracks.

And with the passing weeks, Natasha's growing discomfort seemed to only intensify. She had always been strong, capable, but the changes happening in her body, combined with your increasing absence, were slowly eating away at her. She tried to brush it off, to remain the confident, fierce Black Widow, but deep down, doubts gnawed at her.

Her body had changed as the baby grew, and she could feel her insecurities creeping in. The soft curves, the slight roundness in her belly, the changes she couldn’t ignore. She knew, intellectually, that it was natural, that this was a process she was supposed to embrace. But all she could see was the woman she once was slipping further and further from view, replaced by someone unfamiliar.

And you, the person she needed most, were always busy. You were still there, but you weren’t really there. You’d rush in and out, offering half-hearted apologies when you saw the sadness in her eyes, but it never seemed enough. She didn’t want to burden you more, didn’t want to add to your already overflowing plate, so she remained silent, trying to make do with the little moments she could grab in between your tasks.

But then, as the days stretched into weeks, something shifted. The way you looked at her, or maybe the way you didn’t look at her. It was subtle at first, but Natasha started to feel invisible. Was it the baby? Was she no longer desirable to you? The fear of you losing interest in her started to fester deep inside. She knew you loved her, but that didn’t make the pain of being neglected any less real.

She tried to convince herself that it was just the stress, the weight of being an Avenger, but the fear of you leaving her, especially with the baby on the way, made her chest tighten. And it all festered until that fateful night.

--

It wasn't that late but the house was dark and quiet, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound as you slipped inside. The mission had wrapped up early, for once, and instead of your usual routine of staying to finish reports or help Tony tweak weapons, you’d decided to come home. Natasha had been on your mind all day, you missed her and wanted to see your favourite person and soon-to-be other favourite person (your baby) again.

As you walked down the hallway toward your bedroom, you noticed the faint light seeping through the slightly ajar door. You slowed, intending to surprise her, but the soft sound of her voice made you pause.

Natasha was talking. No, she was… whispering.

You peeked through the crack in the door, and your heart clenched at the sight. She was sitting up in bed, her arms wrapped protectively around her swollen belly, her head bowed as though in deep conversation. Her voice was thick with emotion, barely above a whisper, but every word carried the weight of her pain.

“Hey, малютка,” she began, her tone soft and vulnerable in a way you hadn’t heard in months. “It’s just us again tonight. I guess that’s nothing new, huh?”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. She thought she was alone, pouring her heart out to the child growing inside her.

“I know she’s busy. She’s saving the world, like always. And I’m so proud of her. I really am,” Natasha said, her hand rubbing gentle circles over her belly. “But it’s hard, you know? Feeling like I’m the only one here. Like she’s forgotten about us.”

Your chest tightened, the guilt clawing at your insides as you stayed rooted in place, unable to interrupt her.

“Maybe it’s me,” Natasha continued, her voice cracking. “Maybe she’s just... not attracted to me anymore. I mean, look at me.” She let out a hollow laugh, one that sounded more like a sob. “I’m not the same woman she married. I’m bigger, slower, more emotional. I cry at stupid things like movies now. I wouldn’t blame her if she looked at me and thought, ‘This isn’t who I fell in love with.’”

“No, Nat,” you whispered under your breath, tears stinging your eyes.

“She probably thinks I’m too clingy,” Natasha said after a long pause. “But it’s just... I miss her. I miss the way she used to hold me, talk to me, look at me like I was her entire world. And now... now I feel like I’m just another thing on her to-do list.”

You wanted to burst in, to tell her how wrong she was, but you couldn’t move. Her words pinned you in place, each one hitting you like a punch to the gut.

Natasha’s voice softened again, almost a whisper. “I’m scared, малютка . What if she leaves? What if she realizes she doesn’t want this life, doesn’t want me... or you?”

Your knees nearly buckled as she continued, her words slicing through you like shards of glass.

“I’m trying to be strong for us. But some days, I feel like I’m falling apart.” Natasha sniffled, her voice trembling. “I just hope... I hope you’ll know how much I love you. Even if she doesn’t stay, you’ll always have me. I promise, okay?”

That was it. You couldn’t take another second of her pain. Pushing the door open, you stepped inside, and Natasha’s head snapped up, her tear-streaked face a mixture of shock and mortification.

“Y/N?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “How long have you been standing there?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The lump in your throat was too thick, and the shame was too heavy. Instead, you crossed the room in a few quick strides, sinking to your knees in front of her.

“Tasha,” you choked out, your voice breaking, unable to conjure any words.

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head quickly, reaching for your hands. “No, Y/N, I didn’t mean—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice trembling with emotion. “Don’t do that. Don’t try to downplay it. I’ve been so blind, so caught up in everything else, that I didn’t even see how much I’ve hurt you.”

Your eyes glistened as you looked up at her, your heart breaking at the sight of her swollen belly and the raw pain in her eyes. “I’ve been such a selfish idiot, Nat. You’re my wife. You’re carrying our child, and I’ve been neglecting you. I let you feel alone, and I let you doubt yourself. God, I’m so fucking stupid.”

Natasha tried to squeeze your hands, to reassure you, but it only made you feel worse. “I know you’re busy,” she began, her voice soft and hesitant. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, don’t,” you pleaded, cutting her off. “Please don’t make excuses for me. I don’t deserve it. I’ve been putting everything else first when it should have been you. I’ve been taking you for granted, and I hate myself for it.”

She hesitated, her lips trembling, and you could see the walls she’d tried to build around her pain start to crumble. “I just... I didn’t want to be a burden,” she admitted quietly.

“You could never be a burden,” you said firmly, cupping her face in your hands. “You and our baby are the most important things in my life. And I’ve been so stupid, Nat. I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I didn’t realize what I was doing to you, to us.”

“I’m so sorry, I—please forgive me, Nat. I promise, I promise, I’ll be here. I’ll be here for you, for the baby. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

She looked up at you, her eyes filled with tears of her own, and for a moment, she was silent. But then she nodded, slowly, her face softening with the first real sense of relief you’d seen from her in weeks.

“You mean it?” Her voice was small, fragile, but hopeful.

“I mean it,” you whispered, pulling her into your arms, holding her tightly. “I’ll be here, Nat. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. You’ll never feel alone again.”

She melted into your embrace, her arms wrapping around you as her tears fell silently against your skin.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I’ve missed you so much.”

"I missed you too", you whispered back with a kiss to her forehead.

And you held her tighter, never wanting to let go. The weight of the past weeks hung between you, but in that moment, as you both finally allowed the distance between you to close, it felt like there was hope. Hope that, despite everything, you could fix this. You could be the partner she deserved. The mother of your child. The one she needed.

And you’d never make her feel alone again.

[quarterlifekitty]

Desperate times

Based on the results of this post and poll

cw: dark content. Kidnapping, threats, drugging, noncon, restraint, the whole shebang.

❌ Gaz is starting to feel a little disheartened, babe. You don’t seem as committed to making this work as he is… But that’s okay. He told you he loved you, and love means always being willing to put in the effort, yeah? So if the public approaches aren’t working, maybe you need something more private. It’s easy to get one of his mates to follow you around bars, wait for the perfect moment, and slip something in your drink. It’s easy to know when on the walk home there won’t be any witnesses. The hard part is going to be training you out of hissing and spitting when he gives you sweet words and gentle touches. That’s no way for a bird to treat her man, not when he’s gone through so much for her.

❌Soap is starting to feel a little… restless. This was fun at first, this game of trying to win you back, of cornering you like he was some kind of creep, but now? He just wants his bonnie. He needs you, and he knows you’ll never be as happy with anyone else as you are with him. He starts right from when you wake up after that night of reigniting your passions. You’re saying things you don’t mean, things you’ll regret— and he’s never been able to keep his cool when you get emotional. So if he wraps his hands around your throat and squeezes until you still, he can’t be the only one to blame. Now, he’ll be the first to admit that his worship of your body last night was just a wee bit lackluster… he was too excited for the main event. When you wake up, tied to his bed and gagged, he won’t be making the same mistake. In fact, best start on it now.

⭕️ Ghost doesn’t keep it casual. He doesn’t take baby steps. Just as soon as you return one of his calls, you can barely say hello before he says “I’m comin’ over, dovie.” You’ve never seen him smile like he did on that day before, and quite frankly, you never want to see it again. He looks sick. Drunk on just his proximity to you. He attacks you with his mouth once you answer the door, grunting between heaving breaths that he knew, knew you’d come around, knew you were a good girl, knew you’d never wanna force him to do something he didn’t want to do. He takes you on a few surfaces before he can finally pull his mind together enough to take you to a real bed. Tells you he’s gonna put a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly so this can’t happen again, because honestly? He doesn’t wanna tell you what will happen if it does.

❌Nikolai thought it was cute at first, seeing you try to play at being the big, strong, independent girl. But while his love for you is endless, his patience isn’t. The longer he lets this go on, the more training you’ll need when you come back. So he decides to do the merciful thing, and take you home. It’s a shame you didn’t behave— he would’ve let you sit in the passenger seat with his hand on your thigh the way you used to love. Instead he had to drag you into the back, chemicals soaked in the cloth he put over your mouth and nose. It doesn’t do well for a princess to be out of her tower. No, it isn’t good for anyone, least of all the princess. You don’t realize the dragon is collared and chained to you, that’s okay— he’ll just have to put you in a collar and chains of your own while you get used to things again. Maybe you’d be a little happier with your life inside if you had something little and sweet to take care of, like he does? He could get you that, malýshka. You don’t even need to ask.

I was thinking of making this the last in the series, but maybe we can push it further?