#as a human with needs such as ''snack'' or ''break'' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neighbourscat · 7 months ago

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𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 , nicholas alexander chavez

THE LIFE-CHANGING EDIT.

𓈒 ˙ ꪆৎ ꣹ ۫ 𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . celeb!nicholas c. X non-celeb!black!fem!reader || second person ( you, yours, you’re ) + lowercase intended.

+ synopsis. when watching horror movies with your boyfriend leaves you waking throughout the night, you resort to social media to distract you from your disturbing thoughts. scrolling and scrolling, you find yourself on the steamy side of tiktok; your boyfriend the face of this new era.

+ cw. brief description of horror documentary ( no specific title ). mature language! established relationship, painfully horny reader // somnophilia, unprotected sex, dirty talk, cock-warming for a bit, multiple orgasms + orgasm denial, creampie.

+ nali’s notes; pure filth. wordcount :: 2.6k+

+ to be played: back to sleep, chris brown. || alternative: p power, gunna ( no drake, ver ).

THE LIFE-CHANGING EDIT.

you knew you shouldn’t have gave into your boyfriend’s request for a ‘horror movie’ night. it was the first night of october, so you figured why not ( and you regret that ). you prepared trays of snacks; anything you could find in the pantry: chocolate covered pretzels, leftover tostitos chips and spicy cheese dip — which you couldn’t eat at all, unfortunately. you couldn’t understand how your boyfriend could watch those scenes and continue to stuff his face. like the one with the human man meat-grinding another human man; breaking him down to bits and pieces in order to better dispose of him.

after the second and final movie, you told nicholas to lock up once more — your level of paranoia astronomical. there would be no recovering from those movies, especially not in the month of october — “no one is coming in here,” nicholas said for the fifth time, teasingly, crunching up the empty bag of tostitos. “you don’t know that,” you had said, peeking through the cozy throw blanket. you were sitting criss-crossed, nicholas’s pumpkin-blanket outlined around your face and body.

nicholas laughed to himself, licking at his salty fingers. you saw as he turned his back toward you and started for the kitchen to wash his hands — leaving you all alone in the living area. you tensed, scrunching your knees up to your chest and becoming a tight ball.

on any regular night — when your imagination wasn’t filled with slideshows of dismembered human bodies ( mostly children’s. you swore tv-people couldn’t show that shit on television, even if it was all makeup ) or a creature that melted people and used their gushy remains to grow in height, weight, and strength — you would have the window blinds snapped closed, leaving you and your boyfriend in pitch black darkness.

not tonight. fuck that.

after jumping into bed and diving under the blanket, you demanded your boyfriend to open the blinds — and to leave them wide open. you felt like a small girl again, needing her nightlight and closet doors firmly closed. the jackets that you and nicholas had hooked on the walls were also placed into the closet. the reason why they were out on the wall in the first place, was because there was no room in the closet. but nicholas made room — needing to shut your complaining.

you were in and out of sleep for the next four hours. twisting and turning, latching yourself onto nicholas’ arm or his torso, scrolling through instagram and tiktok; sending your close friends reels and responding to fan accounts of nicholas’ — but you straightened up a bit when an edit took over your screen.

without a second thought, without a slight consideration or hesitation — you hearted the video, added it to your favourites, saved the video to your phone, and commented an excessive amount of heart-eye emojis. and when you scrolled up . .. . you scrolled back down to rewatch the edit. you propped yourself onto an elbow, letting it play and play over and over again. and suddenly, the dark hadn’t been so scary anymore. you kept the volume down low, the lyrics of ‘p-power’ by gunna faint; as well as the moaning in the background.

you pulled your eyes from your phone screen, only for a second at the low sound of nicholas tugging the blanket up to his chest. he rolled onto his side and let out a low breath, the moonlight illuminating his features. you raked your fingers through his hair and with your other hand, you swiped over to view the profile and watched more edits of your boyfriend — finding that over thirty minutes had gone; thirty minutes of watching your boyfriend do his job ( hotly ).

nicholas turned onto his backside once again, pushing the blanket downward and away from his bare chest. his sleeping form was always . .. . too tempting not to feel a little tingling on your insides. nicholas liked sleeping with only his briefs on and no matter how normal that was, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander around; even more so after liking and saving all of those edits.

there was something about actually having him here beside you. there’s something in the way his body was ( so toned and muscular ) spread out on his side of the bed and the way his face is as calm as the waters of a lake during a summer evening, or maybe . .. . it was the little tent between his legs that his boxers revealed, that increased your body temperature.

turning off your phone, you felt bad for being turned on just by the way he looked when he was asleep . .. . perhaps it was the effect love had on you or it was just another kink or the velocity edits, you didn’t know yet, but the aching burn in your stomach didn’t stop you from cuddling up beside him.

you rested your head on his spread arm and snuggled your face into the crook of his neck. the familiar scent made you smile and, for a short moment, you thought you could stay like this. maybe this is what you needed; the warmth of his relaxed body calmed you for a while, but then . .. . your hand moved like it had a mind of its own.

you trailed your fingers along his collarbones and he hummed in his sleep, shifting a bit. he looked so . .. . so cute, you couldn’t stop yourself from travelling far south, to caress his chest and abdomen as softly as possible, trying not to wake him up. and in this very moment, you felt like the luckiest woman on the planet; touching on the man that millions were so very attracted to.

you felt every muscle of his abdomen, which made your bottom lip get trapped between your teeth, to prevent a sigh from leaving you. mindlessly, you scooched in closer — your hand needed to go further down, past his sharp v-line, but you weren’t sure. your hand itched for it. for him, but your mind wouldn’t allow it just yet.

and when the slightly lined abs flexed under your touch, you immediately checked his face, afraid that you might’ve woken him —

— but his closed eyes and steady breathing told you otherwise. so, your arm moved to his exposed thigh. his skin was warm, and as you caressed and fondled with his body, the sinful thought of taking his cock out and stroking him, made you press your thighs together. the moans that would fall from his soft lips and the way he’d buck his hips up begging for more, using your soft hand to chase and tip over the edge, only made your breathing heavier.

and the thought of his brown eyes on you as you gently kissed his fiery tip and pumped the rest of him drove you crazy, to say the least. you could picture it . .. . but you wanted to taste it even more; you wanted to feel him shiver as your mouth wrapped around him. you wanted his world to center around you, your name heavy on his tongue, viscous and filling his mouth like honey until he was drowning in a pool of ecstasy.

you wanted him to cup the sides of your head in his big hands — his fingers holding your braids together in a messy ponytail — and start thrusting himself into the slick warmth of your mouth, pathetically using your throat as his own personal fleshlight, the constant flow of his thick precum and your saliva leaking onto the bed sheets. you wanted to hear him groan deep within the pits of his chest . .. .

but you closed your eyes, restricting yourself to only imagine. your mind no longer filled with horrible images of bloody corpses, but of nicholas fucking himself up into your body over and over again — the crotch of your panties were damp and at this point, you hadn’t realized how your grip on his thigh had tightened or how the muscles rippling through his skin had stiffened.

“ . .. . get on top . ..” his sleepy voice, raspy and deep, rang in your ears and you snapped your head toward him, wide-eyed. the burn in your stomach ached even more at the sight of nicholas’ still closed eyes and messy brown hair. you pushed yourself up a bit, staring down at his face. you poked at his cheek and he rubbed his eyes with a groan. he gave his thighs a pat, at which you got the message: come, and straddled his waist without any question or trouble.

“i’m sorry . .. .” you apologized lowly, feeling guilty for being the reason he was no longer sound asleep. nicholas shook his head, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and answered quietly, “don’t be sorry, pretty.” and then, “take what you need,” nicholas said under his breath and the tone made your eyes fall heavy. “you can take me.”

you leaned in and pecked his cheek, but as you pulled away he chased after your lips with a soft pout. a slow, open-mouthed kiss was all it took for the sigh you’d been holding back to finally escape you and when it did, his grip on your hips tightened. his fingers dug and dug into your brown skin, his pulse thumping and pounding. nicholas moved you a smidge, just enough to have you sitting right over his bulge — and his legs trembled, “shhit .. .” breaking the kiss.

you found his mouth again. and as you kissed; his tongue delving between your lips, your hand slid to the grown arousal — his breath hitched as your hand brushed against his hardness through the thin fabric. and you dipped your hand passed the waistband — taking him out of the obstacle that the underwear was.

you gave a clean up and down pump of your hand and nicholas groaned lowly into your mouth. as you gave another and another, he ripped his lips away from yours and tilted his head back into the pillow, the heat and pressure of your hand too delicious. it was almost too much to bear.

his muscles tensed and his breathing became shallow and ragged. nicholas could feel the intensity and pleasure building within him with every stroke of your hand. “need’ta . .. .” he mumbled, his voice low and strained. “holy shitt-oh fuck.” nicholas bit down on his lower lip, eyelids fluttering shut. he needed to be inside of you. he needed to feel your body wrapped around him. he needed you like he needed to breathe.

and when he felt your hand no longer pumping, he opened his eyes — staring up at the ceiling. “wha-what happened?” he had asked, coming to lift up . .. . and his voice died to a scratchy whisper at the feeling of you lining him up between your pussy lips. you moved your wrist; rubbing him side to side, his tip kissing at your clit and just almost pushing into your slit, collecting your syrupy slick — shivers washed your spine.

if it wasn’t for his arms helping, you wouldn’t have started pushing down. nicholas guided your hips down and the sight of his cock disappearing within you was just as overwhelming as the feel of your ribbed walls. “oh. .. . fuckkk.” he groaned deeply, his nails digging into your flesh even harder — the tightness and warmth of you brought tears to his eyes. nicholas could barely keep himself from bucking up into you . .. . but he wanted you to set the pace. he wanted you in control.

“y-you’re squeezing,” he muttered cutely, in a breathless whisper.

you hadn’t realized how needy you were until nicholas was shifting underneath you, burying his cock to the hilt — you felt full all over. you resisted the urge to pound down on him for the sake of his still sleepy daze. your hands landed on his chest for support and you raised your hips slowly.

the wetness of your cunt was enough to slip him in and out with ease — smooth gliding and a wet little smack when you touched down — and soon, you picked the pace up, just enough to hear his deep, guttural moans. you rode him slowly, feeling his tip reach deep at this angle while he eyed you with a drowsy stare. nicholas was losing his mind, his eyes now practically rolling in the back of his head. nicholas released a sharp, low breath, staring up at you then, “you’re makin’ it so hard to keep still . ..”

“you don’t even know,” he said, gritting his teeth.

raising your hips, it took quite some effort to pull him out that far because he was so girthy. your walls were literally pulling at his cock as if you didn’t want to let him go. which you didn’t. you did it slowly, terribly slow, every millimetre had your pussy lips tracing another facet of him.

a breathy moan fell from your lips, which made nicholas force you faster down on him and you clenched, instantly. “let me do it . .. .” he pleaded — the wet, squelchy sounds that came from where your body met his, was quiet enough to indicate lazy, early morning sex between lovers, and the rhythm was not a particularly quick one, but one to make the burn in your stomach feel like it’ll soon be on fire.

“let me, baby.” as you were about to give attention to your clit, nicholas planted his feet into the mattress and snapped his hips up, hitting your g-stop instantly. a muffled cry filled the room and the sudden lack of energy made you fall over him. nicholas snaked both arms around your waist and pulled you in closer, holding you firmly against his chest. “nngh-! just like that!” you whined.

your body worked with his, chasing after release.

"f-fuck-nic, please.. ." your jaw clenched so hard, you thought you were moments away from breaking your teeth.

he wanted to kiss you so badly, but the position was too good and he loved seeing the way your lips formed a small ‘O�� with every few thrusts. “baby . .. . shit, i need you’ta cum.” it was his way of hinting that he was struggling and he hoped you would understand it. “want’cha’ta look at me when you cum .. . okay?”

you gave him an eager nod, holding onto his forearms; you felt his arms flex and strain with how fast he was ramming into you. you wanted to hold it in until he came with you, but nicholas got the pump just right — your breaths were short — and you were having trouble keeping your eyes on his. it didn’t take too much longer to have you thrashing and shivering and cunning so hard. he doesn’t stop then.

his heavy breaths got mixed with curses at the feeling of your walls clenching continuously. nicholas continued to move his cock in and out of you, digging and scratching deep — hitting the spots that he knows only his tip can touch. “cum again . .. .”

“need’a feel it again.” the moonlight and his sweat made him shine, highlighting the sharpness to his jaw, the tension in his arms as he lifted you up by an inch; a slight new angle. wet skin slapping was all that could overshadow your moans and pleas. but he could hear you; loud and clear. his attention was all on you.

you might have tried to say something but your incoherent mumbles weren't meant for him to understand. because of his desperate need to keep you tethered as him, he still does not stop. you're howling, and curling into him, and cunt frothing with an orgasm lost into the next.

“s-shhit, you feel so fucking good,” he mumbled, heaving a breathless sigh. nicholas slowed his hips then; your pussy clenched so hard, so tight, that he could barely move. your clit screamed with the beating and thudding of your heart, loud in your ears and blocking the harsh cries and breathy gasps tearing from your throat.

stifled cries tickled nicholas’ neck, one hand holding your head, you trembled with your nails clawing in his shoulders for strength. he jerked up and gripped your ass tightly, but instead of forcing you to your limits till he came in you, he stilled himself — just sitting inside of you like this burned . .. . so good. nicholas had never felt so close to you, so intimately connected. he could lose himself in you forever.

nicholas was right there, quiet moans escaping him as more time passed. but it was evident that he was still holding out — you could feel his cock twitching. your hands cupped his cheeks, your fingers gently scratching the back of his ears. “why are you torturin’ yourself? hmm?” you asked softly, resting your forehead against his.

he came harder when he denied himself. “th’ build up.” it came out quiet and short and he knew if he stayed like this that he wouldn’t last much longer. “cum, baby . .. .” you pleaded, “please .. .” you squeezed him in just the right way that his chest was rising and falling rapidly. and then he couldn’t hold it in anymore — he was where he wanted to be.

“holy fuck-i’m gonna cum.” his voice was desperate.

the plastic band holding him back from his orgasm snapped as he thrusted particularly deep, and he arched his back off of the bed — letting him reach just a little deeper, just enough to send him over the edge again, more curses spilled from his lips. white filled his vision, red hot pleasure searing his body from head to toe, and you kissed him through it.

you knew you could fall asleep now.

#nali’s ᡣ𐭩 #black reader #black writers #nicholas chavez x black!reader #smut #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez X blackreader smut #black women #nicholas chavez smut #nicholas alexander chavez

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nightingale-prompts · 8 months ago

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Interdimensional Babysitter - DC x DP prompt

Danny used to be feared. He was respected. People coward before him.

Then he decided to help some heroes.

Now they casually call on him for help and advice.

Ir was a decent break from duties and being treated like a young bratty prince by the Observers when he wanted to make changes in the realms.

The biggest mistake was giving the Justice League a small portal to a pocket dimension Danny had made for relaxing and storing trinkets he finds on his adventures.

Currently, the Titans are using it as a clubhouse. Now the all the games have been moved, someone has been using his extremely rare (for humans to get) snacks are going missing and there was green fur on his weighted blankets.

Then there were the little ones. Robin and Superboy. They were the biggest pains Danny had faced yet.

Danny could be working in his observatory and reorganizing the path of stars when they barged in and asked for a new toy to play with.

Well, Danny called them toys but they were just tools he didn't need. The kids thought they were some epic powerful device.

Danny had given them a small pocket portal this time. It would let them add a new room to the pocket dimension and put whatever they want in it. It would give them whatever they wanted so Danny didn't need to be bothered.

Last time he gave them a portal cutter to let them cross dimensions. It should be fairly safe and child-proof since it was a failed creation that can only go to a limited number of universes. The danger there was limited to Saturday morning cartoons level. Not that they knew that.

Danny accepted that being allies with the Justice League meant lending a hand but babysitting was a step too far. He was an all-powerful cosmic being! Why can't he just help out on missions instead of being relegated to being the info guy or the helpful spirit that gives out the power boosts? He could handle doing more than being the planetary level protector that only does things when the entirety of the earth is in danger.

Then Superman and Batman had the nerve to scold him for not keeping an eye on the kids. How was he supposed to know they would send the Joker into a dimension populated by man-eating dinosaurs? Danny was sure it would be fine anyways. The kids had a good lesson on dinosaurs, kids love dinosaurs.

Danny could have done way worse. The portal cutter didn't even give them access to parallel dimensions. Superboy didn't need to see the evil version of his father killing his friends and Robin wouldn't see Nightwing enslave the human race.

There is no pleaseing these people.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #batman #jonathan kent #damian wayne #superman

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gremlingottoosilly · 2 years ago

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What lies within (Tentacle!Monster!Konig x fem!Reader)

It's mating season for monster hybrids. Unfortunately for you, the colonel didn't have time to dump his eggs everywhere. TW and tags: Non-con, size difference, oviposition, monster hybrids, forced breeding, belly bulging, yandere Konig, possessive Konig, tentacles, double penetration. Word count: 3278

The brave new world of opportunities for monsters.

The illustrious life for those who are not afraid of being a hunter in the billion flocks of weak, stupid prey.

There are endless possibilities for the ones who decide to serve in the various armed forces specifically tailored to monsters.

And loads of other bullshit that König had to endure every day on the briefs. Propaganda, advertisement, and weak attempts to make a new generation of monster hybrids abandon their old ways and join either army or contracting forces, making them glorified mercenaries. Jaided and disillusioned, the colonel long abandoned the thoughts that service can be fun, that it can bring him something other than money and occasional bullets in various places.

“Most inclusive workplaces for monsters,” his ass. They were fed bullshit on top of other bullshit, and he is already tired of war – but there isn’t much he can do besides it. The payment is nice, he gets to eat his enemies and tears through entire units of squishy, weak humans who make perfect snacks from their useless fucking bodies.

— So. Abandoned by your team, ja?

Unfortunately for him, sometimes war operations meant that he was not supposed to eat prisoners – he was supposed to take them, hoard them into rounds, and send them for either ransom or whatever higher-ups wanted to do with them. Sometimes, it’s torture for information, sometimes, it’s attempts to bring them to their side if they are worth it.

Sometimes, he just looked in the eyes of a soft, squishy little prey and just couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger.

Well…” sometimes” is a very big word. He had never once thought about keeping the POW for himself before he met this stupidly beautiful, soft nurse with a perfect face, nice pair of legs in that ugly baggy uniform, and the most beautiful scent in the entire…

He never thought of keeping the prisoner for himself before he met you.

It was supposed to be an easy mission for you – he can see it from your lack of normal armor. Either you had no idea that KorTac had their own plans for whatever you wanted to do here, or your contractor is extremely cheap. He likes either way – you smell like a human, and he likes dumb humans who would make perfect victims. You smell and look weak, trembling, perfect fucking pray for someone like him. König didn’t feel the need to transform for this battle. Your team ran away like a bunch of bunnies before he ever fired his first shot, but he could still feel his tentacles slowly stir under his hood. He can feel his body transforming without the need to – and he feels the pressure in his lower stomach.

When was the last time he was able to put his eggs somewhere other that cold, unforgiving air?

Even the bagginess of your uniform doesn’t obscure him from looking at the sway of your hips, at the perfect surface of your tummy, and feeling the smell of your ripe, fertile body. Having a strong sense of smell always came like a curse in the team of monsters where showering after a mission isn’t something that is done by many, buy König can appreciate his nose now – he can smell how perfect you are for breeding. How scared, too.

Poor thing, probably terrified of his. König knows how he looks, even in his human form – tall, broad, bigger than any man you saw before, so much more muscular that even with your military training as a combat nurse, he could still break your spine with one hand. His size is something that made it impossible to find a partner normal ways – monsters are naturally too dominant to ever submit to him, and humans are simply too scared to deal with someone like him. He isn’t surprised, no – if anything, he understands completely.

You sob, your voice is melting with incomprehensible pleas and little whines. You are shaking under him – a poor, dumb girl who wasn’t aware that her best shot at surviving was to try and shoot his crotch off before he pulled a gun out of your hands.

— Pl…please, you can’t…you can’t do this! It’s a crime, I was on medical duty, it’s…

König likes humans because they are dumb. Civilian humans are even cuter – run around, thinking their lives are protected by sets of laws and rules that, in fact, don’t apply to the strong – and you, in your full half-military half-civvie glory, are fucking perfect. You whine and sib, tears running down your face when he presses you under him. Your hand hits the hard rocks of the ground, and he shifts slightly, dragging you closer to a softer patch of grass.

He laughs when you are trying to scramble from under him, your lower half is pinned by his weight – he is surprised you can still move. You move your pelvis, trying to get out – and he moans quietly when you start rubbing your crotch against his. You freeze, fear spreading on your face – god, he missed that feeling. When was the last time he got to actually breed someone? Or even just have sex with someone as cute?

— You really think so, Schatzen? That rules will protect you?

He moves his crotch against yours, making you sob a bit more. You’re sweet and compliant, and he just loves breaking soft things like you – it’s a desire to break, to destroy, to make you his. He knows that, technically, forcing himself on women from enemy lines really is a war crime. He also knows that if he’d managed to breed you with his eggs, monster laws would never allow you to separate after mating.

Besides, it's not like he is going to let you go, so you could tell on him. König never believed in love at first sight, but you would be a perfect vessel for his eggs and his tentacles – what else would he need from a wife, right?

— You’re pretty.

He says plainly, his hand goes to rub your chest through the fabric of your uniform. You won’t need those ugly clothes anymore – he’d make sure to buy you something nice and frail that won’t make you too uncomfortable to carry his eggs. Maybe a soft, frail dress or some of those cute maternity clothes when your body starts to change. He can’t wait to see his breasts swelling with milk – even if his unfertilized eggs won’t need it, he certainly would. Even if you’re too weak to handle his load, he’d make sure to get you a nice, firm plug and keep you on his tentacles constantly.

You start to sob even more when you understand what he is trying to do – when he rips your pants to reveal the softness of your cunt and the fragility of your [anties, you actually manage to push your legs against his dick a good few times. He is too aroused to notice – if anything, he likes how fiery you are, your little yells and loud screams for help. No one will come to aid you – he barked the orders for his soldiers to go and fuck around somewhere else while he was busy devouring his little prize. Colonel doesn’t like having an audience – if anything, he is saving your dignity right now. If anything, he is remarkably soft when he pushes one of his long, red tendrils down your body, massaging your pussy through your panties.

You’re moist already when his tentacle finds a way to your labia. What a slutty nurse you are – getting off the enemy colonel breeding you in the middle of the battlefield. Your tears mean nothing when he is too busy massaging and pressing and playing with your sticky, puffy folds – poor girl, so deprived of attention that even the weird texture of his extensions only fuels your desire.

So fragile, so perfect – and so, so wet that your adorable white panties are already become transparent, sticking to your soft pussy. When he takes you home, he’d make sure to forbid you from wearing any underwear at all – you would meet him dressing in nothing but his shirts, a hand on your tummy to support the weight of your eggs. Walls of your pussy clenching on the plug he’d make to insert in you every morning.

— Don’t…please, don’t, n…

You whine ever so sweetly, trying to close your legs so he won’t be able to touch you. It’s futile, just one of his tendrils is ten times stronger than your hands. He gets through your closed legs, buried in the moistness of your sweet, perfect pussy. You taste heavenly – just one minute enough to make him hungrier than before. König’s mating season was often postponed due to constant adrenaline rushes and things he takes to enhance his battle abilities – but he can feel eggs pressing at the inside of his body now, preparing to be released in the sweet heat of your body. But he has to prepare you first.

— Quiet now. It won’t hurt unless you want it to.

His tendrils are coming to moisten your pussy even more – sweet numbness filling your body from the lower stomach and right to your head. Knowing that you must feel dizzy and just a tad bit dumb, König can’t wait but chuckle. He likes you empty-headed, adorable dumbness in your eyes. He knows that he doesn’t know you, that you might even already have a boyfriend on the civil side of your life – but he doesn’t care. His mind doesn’t easily fall for just anyone, but if he saw a perfect vessel in you, there is no escape. At least he is nice enough to be gentle.

You whimper slightly when he pushes the first tendril inside of you. Too impatient to use his hands or tongue to make you feel a bit more at ease – after all, you are still on the battlefield, even if your friends abandoned you to get picked up by KorTac. Too impatient to soothe you with his words, he uses one of his smaller, thinner tentacles to push your pussy walls, make you squeeze him and milk for all his worth. You are wet, but not enough to take him without crying. Hot and soft, the cold texture of his extensions contrasts with your body too much – you are shaking, he can feel slight vibrations at the soft walls of yours.

Fitting him like a glove, too perfect to exist – he just wants to take you with him, to flip you on your tummy and push all of his tentacles inside. You’re tight and warm, you make him go crazy from desire. It’s weird how a strong and mighty colonel can be so charmed by just some enemy nurse, but when you whine slightly and try to adjust your body to fit more comfortably under him, he just knows that he has to take you. That, no matter how much you are crying and praying for him to stop, you want to be used by him. Perhaps, with certain training, you would want his eggs, too.

Second tendril caught you by surprise. Just when you started to adjust to the weird, slimy feeling of something writhing inside of you, spreading your tight walls around it and clashing with the heat of your insides, a second, bigger one started to press on your clenched folds. You wanted to beg, to ask him to stop – you’re too tight for this, too small, you would never be able to take even just one of his tentacles, you were…

But his tendrils press easily, he accesses lube spreading between your legs. You are sobbing from the feeling, and he is laughing. His hand goes to rip the upper part of your clothing, revealing your midriff. Fingers pressing on your tummy, just to feel his tentacles inside – he laughs when the skin of your stomach is tensed up, revealing the outlines of his extension. God, he can’t wait to make your body swell from him. Even though the eggs are not bearing his children, he can imagine you and a bunch of little ones – you’d look much better like this than pretending to be a nurse. Honestly, what were you even trying to do on the battlefield?

— Stay still, ja?

— Too much! Please, n…no more…

— Poor thing. You’ll feel so much better after I add the third one.

He knows that he is overstepping a bit, that your body isn’t used to taking something as big as his tentacles – but König also knows that his pre-cum makes you feel dizzy warm. Acting like a natural aphrodisiac, you won't be able to resist relaxing under him. The lubricant is enough to allow his other tentacle to force himself in your ass – he isn’t going to breed that hole yet, but it doesn't mean that he can’t use it.

He groans loudly when your asshole clenches around him – he had to stretch you quite a bit, that sweet numbness of his precum isn’t making you relaxed enough to take him whole, but he is managing, one agonizing centimeter after another. At the point you’re out of breath, with your face all flushed, he already knows he fucking won – he knows that you, poor, fragile thing, isn’t going anywhere. He would say that he feels horrible about forcing you like this – but this is the start of a new, better life for you. Being the bride of a monster of his rank is a dream for any lowly human like you. Can go as far as to say you’re lucky he ever laid his eyes on you.

— Stop, please…’s too much.

— You feel good, Katzen. Relax, and you’ll be even better.

— I don’t…please, just let me go, I…

— Is this your first time with a monster?

— Yes.

— Gut. Would break you in for me.

He laughs at your whimpers, his hand goes to cradle your face in an almost soft expression. He gently presses his fingers across your skin, making you all nice and warm for him – he wants to kiss you all over, but the only thing he can do in his more monstrous form is to press one of his shorter tentacles against your lips, mocking the way normal people kiss. You sob, but he presses the tip on your mouth, passing it through your teeth – you would feel better after ingesting his pre-cum, can even clench around him so more, chasing your own pleasure.

König wants you to feel good, so he presses his hand against your face, allowing you to tremble and cry as much as you want. He wants to be nice to you, so his other hand presses on your clit, finding the tense bud and breaking the nothingness between your legs. You tremble even more when he starts to spread your folds around his fingers, both of his tentacles working to milk your holes and spread you as much as possible.

He whispers sweet nothings in your ear when both of the tendrils working on your pussy suddenly change their direction – they start to spread your walls instead of just fucking it. You feel exposed and vulnerable, he can see the pink flesh and glossiness of your cunt. It’s embarrassing for you, and he knows it – but god, you’re too fucking perfect to pass.

You don’t even manage to ask him what he is doing when you feel something much larger pressing against your pussy. The biggest of his tentacles – almost as thick as an arm, pushing inside of you. He had a purpose, a desire to do something with you that you could never understand – silly humans know nothing about his biological need to push his eggs somewhere, of course, but you’re just fucking perfect. Too perfect to pass on this opportunity.

You plead and cry when he presses further, a little bump on your tummy is obvious now, with each centimeter of his tendril pushing. When he finally bottoms inside of you, pressing directly against your cervix, you are too fucked out to even think.

It’s painful, you think. Three thick tentacles roam inside your pussy, pushing and grinding against your gummy, tight walls – and another one of his extensions in your ass, writhing and massaging your insides.

It’s pleasurable, you feel. The tentacles are uneven, cold, each little bump makes you cry out from pleasure, the overwhelming feeling is something you could never achieve with a normal dick. He cradles your face and chuckles softly when you moan and cry at the same time when he gently presses his red tendril against your soft lips, and you part them because you don’t want to resist anymore. Because you can’t resist anymore.

— So good for me. Such a good girl, liked being fucked by the enemy.

— I don’t like it! He laughs at your misery, pushing his tentacles back only to fuck you harder. He can feel the tension multiply in his stomach – he feels the movement of eggs forming from inside and pushing down the biggest one of his tendrils.

When you first feel the pressure of an egg in your pussy, you want to scream.

You scratch on his hands like a wild cat, clenching on him like crazy. If he didn’t see horror and shock on your face, he��d think you wanted him. You are tight, tighter than you were before – your pussy is closing around him, not letting him go, and he can only smile to himself when he feels every little bump sending electric shocks right into your core when you feel his eggs traveling from the start of his tendrils down, to your soft, welcoming womb.

God, you will look perfect, all swollen and helpless – he can bring you a fucking collar, maybe push you on his lap and parade you as his precious wife for everyone to see. His scent lingers on your body, no matter if you want it or not. Silly human, you try to fight him like you didn’t lose the moment you let him pin your body. So perfect, he thinks of where you were before he found you. How many partners do you have, and how well would you play the role of his little breeding machine.

He massages your tummy, with each egg taking its place in your womb. Soothes tense skin and whispers sweet promises in your ear when you cry and try to push him away. So perfect, so sweet for him – he doesn’t know the fuck he lived without you.

When the last egg takes its place, making you bulge from all the weight inside of you, he can finally calm himself down enough to bring his human form partially. When he finally retracted his tentacles from your tired, sensitive body, not forgetting to press against your clit a good few times to prolong your unwanted, exhausting orgasm, he could finally press a kiss on your lips.

You’re a mess – torn clothes, covered in cum and thick transparent slime, trembling and crying softly. You close your pussy around every one of his eggs like a good girl, and he knows you would be a perfect mating partner – but god, you need a good shower and soft mattress so he can try to fuck you again in his human form, and steal all the hugs and silly affections he wanted.

— Will you let me go?

He laughs, picking you up swiftly. So fragile in his hands, he doesn’t even want to think about letting you roam freely.

— Of course not, Schatzen. Just get used to it, ja?

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #konig mw2 #reader insert #yandere cod #male yandere

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saudadeko · 2 years ago

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ADHD tips from a girlie who was diagnosed in her late twenties and has had little to no support since and is being so brave about it:

1) Make it easy, make it accessible, and make it appealing. If anything this is the most important thing, all tips going forward are based around this concept.

2) That thing you think would help you but you haven’t bought/done it yet because you’re technically surviving without it? Buy it, you need it. It doesn’t matter if people around you might think it’s wasteful or that you’re lazy, you’re not, just do it, trust me.

3) Expanding on tip #2, if you’re like me and eggs are your main source of protein because they’re quick and easy and feeding yourself is a near insurmountable task- buy yourself an electric egg cooker, make a bunch of hard boiled eggs and keep them in your fridge for quick and easy protein to add to any meal (handful of crackers, a hard boiled egg and a banana? 5 star meal right there. Or mash them up with some mayo for egg salad sandwiches). Other easy proteins include: potstickers (put them in instant ramen), edamame (they have microwaveable snack packs), chickpeas (put in salads!), beans (can of beans microwaved with shredded cheese and some tortilla chips), peanut butter (with crackers, apple and cheese, adult lunchable style), and tofu (cut into cubes, throw them into a ziplock with some seasoning and potato starch, shake that shit up and bake it until crispy).

4) Spend a little extra (if you are able) on daily use items that excite you, it will make you more likely to remember/want to do said daily task. For example: the only reason I remember to use sunscreen is because I bought some fancy japanese sunscreen that smells like roses so I get excited to use it, same for laundry detergent and body wash! there’s a gajillion different body wash scents out there, switch it up!

5) If there’s a task you continuously struggle with take a moment to think about which part of the task is making it difficult, it could be something even as small as “I don’t put my dirty clothes in the hamper because my hamper has a lid on it and lifting the lid is one step too many-”, sounds a little stupid huh? But trust your gut, it’s not stupid if it works. See tip #2 and BUY A HAMPER WITHOUT A LID.

6) If you are having trouble starting a task, break the task down further, sometimes the way I start a task is just by going “Ok step 1) stand up-“ and so forth. Don’t worry about the task as a whole just take it one step at a time.

7) If you’re halfway through a task and have to stop, leave it out. All this, “Put things away when you’re done with them.” is bullshit. you will be much more likely to finish the task if restarting it is easier because you left it out plus it’s a visual reminder. You can also create faux deadlines like “I gotta finish this project before my friend comes over on tuesday because after I finish it I can clean off the dinner table.” etc.

8) It’s okay to outsource tasks and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, humans are designed to ask for, and to require help (what do babies do when they’re first born?? cry for help!!) ask for help and receive help without shame, if it makes your life better, you are WINNING.

9) If you have one big overwhelming task that you think you need to get done before anything else, but you feel motivated to do other tasks, do those other tasks first, it’s okay. Otherwise in all likelihood (at least in my case) you’ll put everything off until the last minute and then have to do said overwhelming task and those other tasks won’t get done at all. Doing those smaller tasks also lowers the mental load and you can use them as a motivation launch pad to tackle bigger things.

10) If you notice you tend to not put something away/forget to do something, perhaps consider moving and storing the item closer to where it ultimately ends up or where you are more likely to see it. For example, my makeup, pills, and mail are all stored on my desk because that’s where I tend to do my makeup, take my pills and deal with my mail. I used to store my pills in my bathroom medicine cabinet but all too often I would forget because they weren’t in my line of sight. Now that they’re on my desk, I have multiple chances per day to pass by them, go “oh I gotta take those.” and take them.

11) Open storage, open storage, OPEN STORAGE.

12) Motivation can look like all kinds of things. sometimes the only reason I get out of bed is because I remember I have a fun snack and I get to go eat it if I get up. It’s okay to lean into those simple “animal-brain” type motivators, you’ll eat because then you can use that fun new kitchen gadget you got a daiso? Neat. you’ll shower because then you can paint your nails that fun new color you got? Fantastic. You’ll go to the dmv and do that annoying thing because you’ll take yourself out for boba after? Superb. Lean-IN to those small motivators, they aren’t stupid or childish, they are VITAL.

13) Don’t buy into the cult of “if it’s worth doing, do it properly” it’s guaranteed to set you up for failure. If it’s worth doing, do it in whatever capacity you are able to. I put sunscreen on once a day because that’s fucking better than not doing it at all and I sure as all hell will fail at reapplying it multiple times a day. If it’s worth doing, do it half-assed babieeee.

Go forth and prosper!!! xoxo ✌️🩵

#adhd #actually adhd #living with adhd #adhd tips #felt like writing these out for reference as needed

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docdudo · 6 months ago

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Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 5)

You were never one to complain. Living in the foster system means accepting all kinds of shit that comes with being an orphan in a stranger's house.

You almost never received any presents. It was rare the times you did get something at your placements, but if you did, it was a hand me down. Like the thin blue jacket you came wearing, that was a present from a divorced mother who kids were already too big for the jacket. Or the white dress that a christian family gave to you so you could go to church with them 'dressed appropriately'.

Well, you couldn't complain about that one. The simple white dress is to this day your 'fanciest' piece of clothing.

You wouldn't say you were that much of a picky eater either, but you certainly didn't like all kinds of food... which is pratically torture in the system. You just learned to push all kinds of food down your throat quietly, and if it was truly too bad for you to manage? You would simply come up with a weak excuse and run away from the food.

Being any kind of picky eater in the system was torture. Even worse if you have allergies. You knew a boy at your last group home that was allergic to glutten and peanuts, and he was basically as thin as you were. He was still bigger, being a cat hybrid and all, but at least you knew you weren't the only one suffering at these houses.

So imagine your surprise when John, the big dragon hybrid, spend his whole morning gently coaxing you to go shopping with him and Simon, to get 'things you might need', and 'snacks you might like to eat', and even 'go grab lunch at the mall'.

At first, you were too nervous and anxious to say anything, mostly just staring back at him as you fidgeted quietly in place. It took Johnny joining the conversation excitedly, Kyle sending you stupid thumbs up quietly from the living room couch, and Simon picking up the keys to their car while looking at you expectantly for you to finally agree to go with them.

So here you were, walking between two giants of men at a big and loaded shopping center, nervously trying to keep your pace matched up to theirs as Simon made sure to keep a hand enveloped tightly around your much smaller hand.

Worse of all? A lot of people were looking your way. Big hybrids like Price and Ghost weren't unnusual, but the small little human holding their hand surely was. Not only human, but a human under the care of hybrids. You wanted to burry your head in a deep hole and never come out.

"Darlin'." John's deep and purred voice called your attention immediatly as you looked up at him quietly. "Don't try and wander off, understood?"

You nod quietly, slightly intimidated by his tone and serious face.

"Good baby." He purrs out, giant hand coming down on your head as he messes slightly with the small strands there. "Now, sweetness, let's buy you some things."

"I... I really d-don't need anything..." You murmur quietly, a bit anxious about them wasting money on you.

Both of them looked at you with those serious expressions for a few seconds, considering you. John smiled slightly as he compromised, lifting both hands up.

"Then let's look around, if we find something, then that's good." His laugh is deep, slow and rough. It's clear the smoke from his dragon side had some effect on his throat. That, and he probably smoked cigars and cigarettes too.

You just nodded quietly, not willing to go against his word, as you three kept walking around. That is, until Simon grunted, fixing the surgical mask on his face and looking down like he was thinking of something.

".......what...?" You murmur softly, confused.

"I think you're breaking Simon's back, hun." John laughed deeply, shaking his head slightly.

"W-Wha...?"

"You're too small for me to hold your hand confortably." The wraith deadpanned. "Stay still."

"W-Wait, wh- Aah!"

You were stunned for a second, as you were suddenly held high up. Big, thick arms held your legs easily, making you sit in the crook of his elbow, as he held you to his side like a toddler. It was enough to shut your little squeak of surprise as you were just in shock now.

"Simon, I told you to be gentle." The dragon smirked slightly, tho his voice a bit more rough than usual as it seems to always have an edge of a growl on it.

"I am." The wraith grunted quietly as he started to walk once again. "This is the best option for the both of us. Right, luv?"

"A-Ah... I..." You were too flustered to properly say anything, but you still nodded your head slowly, trying to settle on his arms.

"See?" Simon smirked under his mask to John, as the older man simply rolled his eyes with a smile on his face.

"Say, darlin'. Do you like ice cream?" John offers out of nowhere as he smiles confidently, ignoring Simon's remark.

".....some flavors, yeah..." You mumble back, a little arm holding on Simon's shoulder as you looked around quietly, trying to ignore other people's looks.

"What's your favorite?" He asks easily, taking a different path as Simon followed close behind.

"...Vanilla is good..."

"Good, then vanilla is what you're gonna get." He answers simply, with the confidance you don't think you have ever seen on anyone else.

"...it's... it's really okay if you don't..." You try quietly, only to see him shaking his head slowly, looking over his shoulder that didn't have the wing, expression serious and stoic as his rough voice murmured.

"I provide to my hoard, little hatchling. It would do you good to remember that."

Those words, spoken in that way, was enough to immediatly shut you up, your body instinctively curling on itself (more on Simon really) at the sigh of an intimidating predator.

Tho, Simon didn't let you suffer in your fear and anxiety, as his big and wide palm settled on your small back, pulling you closer to his chest for confort as he was speaking, slow and quiet, even if his voice always sounded rough.

"Price's not mad, fledgling. Stay calm. He's not mad, much less mad at you. He's just a protective bastard." He snorted quietly, bouncing you a little on his arms to help you calm down.

"Watch it, Riley." Price mumbled, tho he had a small smile on his face as he slowed his pace a bit to stand by you and Simon, big hand now being placed on your upper back, which was a slightly shock due to how warm it felt. Simon was wearing gloves, but he felt much cooler. "And i'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to scare you."

He was also doing that subtle baby voice, keeping his voice much quieter as he leaned in and gently nudged half of his face against yours, making you freeze a bit at the action. It really felt like a big animal was trying to be apologetic.

"If Kyle was here, you would've gotten an ear full." Simon commented simply as he watched, amused.

"Thank god he isn't." John huffs a little, stepping back. "I don't need mother hen scolding me for this. I didn't even growl." And now, he was leaning slightly closer again, that quiet and gentle tone coming back as he looked at your small, nervous face. "I'm not that scary, am I, darlin'?"

"'Course you are, for a small little thing like this?" Simon laughs roughly, shaking his head, his grip in you getting firmer.

"I-I'm not scared..." You mumble quietly, playing a bit with the sweater that they lent it to you yesterday, not making eye contact with either of them.

"Of course not, darlin'..." John cooed deeply, tho his tone made it clear that he wasn't taking your answer seriously, rubbing your head gently. "Come on."

In the end, they got you a vanilla ice cream on a big cone, that you were licking it quietly. They were speaking with eachother as they planned what next things to buy, and what stores to visit. You weren't paying that much attention, just focusing on your vanilla ice cream as Simon carried you around.

You got used to him carrying you, and now, you were much more confortable on his hold.

"Baby, look here." John's voice once again called your attention as you lifted your head from the ice cream to stare at him. "What do you think of this blanket?"

You tilted your head to the side, slightly confused, but you reached for the soft blanket he brough close, feeling the fuzzy, confortable texture.

"It's... good." You mumble, unsure about what to say.

"Just good?" John asked, considering your answer, looking between you and the blanket, before putting it back in place. "Let's see others, then."

You were not entirely sure what John was trying to do. Maybe buy you a blanket, but... you already had lots of blankets on the bed they gave you. And on the weird nest on the middle too.

Still, you got distracted once again with the ice cream in your tiny hold, going back to licking it. You were already getting a bit full... you were never the biggest fan of ice cream, you got tired of it fast. So, as you looked quietly to the side to stare at Simon's face, you gently brought the cone close to his face, making him look at you passively.

"Do you want a bit...?" You mumble softly, only to see the man pushing his surgical mask to his chin and taking a big bite out of the ice cream you were holding in front of his face.

You managed to see his scary, pointy and large teeth, the slightly too long and sharp tongue at the action, making you instinctively shudder on his hold. It was natural, a human watching their predator showing their dangerous teeth like it was nothing. Still, you were thankful for his help.

"Oww...." You turned a bit alarmed to John's direction as you heard the dragon's deep croon, his eyes getting half-lidded and pupils dilating. "Always soft for the hatchlings, aren't you, Simon?"

Simon just hums, swallowing the ice cream and licking his lips simply, keeping his serious expression.

"I'm used to being the kids' trashcan." He... joked? You were not sure, since he kept his face and tone so stony, but by John's laugh, you deduced it was a joke.

"Here, hun, how does this blanket feel?" John asks as he brings another fuzzy blanket close, light blue and full of colorful little dots.

"Good... confortable..." You mumble, feeling the material.

"Hmmm...." John considered once again, humming as he squinted his eyes.

"John, you know humans don't nest. She's not going to have hard instincts towards blankets." Simon comments, almost bored as te took another bite of your almost finished ice cream.

"I know, it's just... different to see it." John nods slightly before shrugging. "Do you like this color, little one?"

You just nod quietly, now understanding a bit more what was going on. Indeed, you shouldn't expect nesting instincts from a human, but even you could tell when the blanket was confortable and made from a good material.

"Come on, doll. Let's see what else we can find for you before having lunch." John mumbles softly, leaning close once again, quickly kissing Simon on the lips, who kissed back easily, and then kissing you on the forehead gently.

They were... very nice. Even if a bit scary.

Part 4 / Part 6

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dcxdpdabbles · 3 months ago

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#holiday request Sorry, it's me again! I't just that I really, really love your writing and I forgot to mention "Alley boyfriends" and "Alfred's Boy". If you could update either of those I would be very grateful <3 <3 <3

The first sign that something is wrong is finding Damian with a bow and arrow in the tallest room at Wayne Manor. Or, more specifically, seeing the boy aiming the arrow out the window in the direction of Dick and Danny cuddling in a backyard hammock.

Thankfully, he had been fast enough to snatch the arrow from the air before it went anywhere near the cuddling duo. Damian insisted he wasn't aiming for either of them- just the strings holding the hammock up.

The reason? Dick had gone over the agreed-upon cuddle time, and Damian wanted to make him stop. Bruce knew it was just because he was jealous.

Bruce had seen his youngest making doe eyes at Danny earlier that morning while the boy was doing his daily chores. He's been more energetic since Wes left and was willing to share his half-human status with the Wayne household after a talk with Alfred.

All of his children took the news well. They had many teammates who weren't human, but Bruce could tell Danny was still afraid to tell them the truth. Despite the many times Danny provided support in the Batcave and knew of said teammates, he still feared that he would be the exception to their acceptance.

It seemed his parents had left more prominent scars than Danny had been willing to show.

After a brief but vague- Alfred made it a point that his contact did not want Danny stating what he was until it was safe to do so- the Waynes got the gist that Danny needed cuddles.

Almost all his youngest had quickly offered their services, but Alfred and Bruce stopped it. The two men created a cuddling schedule, like a meal plan, to help Danny regain a healthier state, along with the few older ones, excluding Jason.

His second eldest had been highly offended to not be on the schedule, but Alfred calmed him with a whisper. "Think about how hilarious this will be to watch?" Jason had returned to his romance novel, cackling like a loon.

He was easy to manipulate.

Alfred forbade Bruce from telling Jason about Danny's slight crush. The reason was that Clockwork had already spoken to Alfred about it being a passing fancy, and it was safer for Danny's kind to not be rejected until later. Bruce burned with many questions, but he would never dare investigate Alfred or his affairs.

He respected him too much.

Now, if only his kids would behave.

"Damian Wayne, we do not shoot arrows at our siblings." Bruce scolds, wagging a finger at the boy's pouting face.

"But you let Drake throw a spoon at Girl Row!" Damian whines, crossing his arms. In moments like this, Bruce is violently reminded that for all his advanced vocabulary and intelligence, his son is still a fourteen-year-old teenager who could act childish.

"I did not let Tim do anything. He's ground for throwing things at Harper." Bruce sighs, rubbing his right temple. A pounding headache was starting to build up there. "Just because she came to watch Danny's cooking lesson with Tim and Cullen and chose to give Danny a quick snack with her hug does not mean Tim had a right to throw utensils."

"It wasn't even aimed at her head," Tim mutters from the hallway. His punishment for his behavior was that he was to stay within the six feet radius of Bruce. It was the only surefire way to ensure Tim wasn't up to something, like working on case work or plotting to overthrow a small government.

Bruce would break out the kid's leash if he tried to run again.

It was hilarious when Tim was thirteen, and the kid leash still had the same threat level at seventeen as it did then.

"That's another week," Bruce tells him.

"What!? I didn't even do anything!"

"Two weeks."

"Come on!"

"Three weeks." Bruce drawls, which causes Damian to smile until his father looks him in the eye. "I don't know why you seem too amused. You're grown for two weeks as well, young man."

Damian throws his arms up, wisely keeping his mouth shut as he steps with Tim. Now Bruce had two kids he couldn't let out of his sight, and they did something crazy. He marches them out of the room towards his office, where he plans on getting some work done and putting them both to do some extra class studying.

They pass by Jason, who looks like the cat that got the cream at their obvious grounding. He waves a couple of tickets in the air. "It seems like you brats are grounded. Too bad, I was about to invite you to show at the planetarium."

"Why would I waste my time there?" Damian scoffs as Tim glares. Bruce feels his headache growing stronger as Jason smugly proclaims.

"Danny is a huge star nerd. He was excited to finally see the show now that he was feeling better. He wanted us all to go together, but you'll have to miss it since you're still getting grounded at your age." Jason mocks, walking away while shaking his head. Bruce has only a few seconds to wonder why his second is like this, and then Tim and Damian explode with pleas to let them join the rest of the children.

He stays firm in their punishment, but he honestly doesn't feel safe by the way the two, right in front of him, start putting their difference aside and communicate with mere glances a plan of escape. Bruce wishes their corporation wouldn't come at the expense of his sanity.

He glances out the window, watching Dick and Danny talk, and it hits him suddenly that Dick is making that face he usually reserves for staring at baby ducks and baby elephants. His eldest was forming a deeper bond with the boy, which could mean several things, but the center of it all was what made him such a good leader.

Dick was breaching the walls Danny had built so strongly around him.

By tonight, Bruce would not be surprised if Dick started calling Danny his little brother. Coupled with the effort Jason put in to get Danny out of the house and around more people, the boy was healing in a way he so desperately needed.

He was so proud of them. Bruce is so glad the kids allowed him into their lives in moments like these. They saved him more times than he counted, and he does not, meanwhile, being Batman.

The kids saved Bruce Wayne, and he hopes they will save Danny Fenton similarly if the younger boy allows it. Not just because he's Alfred's boy but because he is a Wayne in a different shade.

Danny's face lights up with a smile, looking far more alive than ever before, and Bruce's eyes soften. Then they harden when he spots Steph creeping closer to the hammock from behind some bushes, a garden hose in her hand.

"No! No, no!" He shouts, running down the hallway with Tim and Damian behind. "Don't even think about it, young lady!"

#dcxdpdabbles #Alfred's boy #Part 8 #Bruce's pov #Jason is having the time of his life #The cuddle buddy schedule is causing wars #Danny opening up to them #The clam before the storm #Tim and Damian are losing their minds #Jason is unaware he's part of the plot #Bruce's blood preasure is through the roof

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your-local-simp-writers · 4 months ago

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Home in the Chaos

Word Count: 1024

Warnings: None

Sonic the Hedgehog x Fem! Reader

Note- You are human for this one, and their relationship is more platonic. Also this takes place during the movie timeline!

Also yall should check our our latest poll ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The cozy living room of the Wachowski household was a whirlwind of activity. Knuckles, Tails, and Sonic were abuzz with energy as you tried to keep up. As Jojo’s babysitter and the honorary fourth member of this ragtag group, your days were anything but ordinary. Between Tails' tech experiments, Knuckles' newfound obsession with braiding, and Sonic's endless antics, you often found yourself being pulled in every direction.

Today was no different. Knuckles sat behind you on the couch, his large hands clumsily attempting to braid your hair with an intensity that could rival a championship match. "I do not understand why humans have so much hair," he grumbled, his brows furrowed. "It is like battling a wild beast."

You laughed, glancing over at Tails, who was sprawled out in front of you as you gently brushed his fluffy tails. "It's not that bad, Knuckles. And Tails, hold still—you keep twitching!"

“Does this hurt?” you asked, pulling through a particularly stubborn knot.

Tails winced slightly but shook his head. “Nope! Just tickles a little. But thanks for helping—I’ve been meaning to take better care of them. Gotta stay aerodynamic, you know?”

Knuckles, sitting behind you on the couch, furrowed his brow in concentration as he fumbled with a section of your hair. “Braiding is no simple task,” he declared, his tone serious.

You laughed, glancing over your shoulder. “You’re doing great, Knux. Just… maybe don’t pull so tight?”

“Noted,” he said solemnly, adjusting his grip.

Across the room, Sonic was perched on the armrest of the couch, tapping his foot impatiently. “Hey, Y/N,” he called, leaning forward. “when you’re done playing hairdresser, how about we do something fun? I’ve got this really cool idea we should try—”

“Just a minute, Sonic,” you said, not looking up from Tails’ fur.

Sonic froze mid-step, the ball caught in his gloved hand. His ears drooped slightly as he flopped onto the armrest of the couch, kicking his legs lazily. “Sure. No rush,” he muttered, but the slump in his posture betrayed his disappointment.

Knuckles glanced at Sonic, his crimson face betraying a rare flicker of sympathy. “The blue one grows restless. Perhaps we should take him on a hunt?”

“A hunt for what, Knuckles?” Tails asked, clearly amused.

Knuckles puffed out his chest. “For purpose!”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Maybe we’ll plan something after I finish here, okay?”

...

As the day wore on, you found yourself in the kitchen, preparing sandwiches and snacks for everyone. The kitchen was warm and alive, the aroma of freshly chopped herbs mingling with the distant hum of conversation and laughter spilling in from the living room. Tails’ excited rambling about his latest gadget punctuated Knuckles’ booming declarations, and every now and then, a peal of laughter rippled through the air. It was the kind of noise that made the house feel less like walls and more like a heart—beating, alive, and full.

Sonic lingered near the counter, his hand idly drumming against its edge. His usual easy grin was there, but you noticed the subtle edge to it—like he was trying to hold something back.

“Need help?” he asked casually, though the slight upward tilt of his voice betrayed him.

“Sure,” you replied, pointing toward the stack of plates. “Can you grab those for me?”

In a flash, he zipped across the room, the plates balanced precariously in his arms as he stopped so close that you had to catch yourself against the counter.

“Whoa!” you exclaimed, your laugh breaking the momentary surprise.

“Sorry!” Sonic said quickly, his ears flattening as he shuffled back a step. His usual cocky demeanor faltered, replaced by a sheepish glance your way.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, your laugh softening. “Just… maybe slow down a bit?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his hand brushing over the white band of his glove. “Yeah… sorry,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

Sonic hopped onto one of the kitchen chairs, the bounce in his step noticeably missing. He swung his legs slightly, his eyes avoiding yours as he fiddled with his gloves, the silence settling between you.

“You alright?” you asked, tilting your head to get a better look at his face.

He hesitated, his fingers pausing mid-fidget. “It’s just… I don’t know,” he began, his voice low and uncertain. “I guess I feel like I’m kinda… left out sometimes.”

The confession hit you like a weight, and you felt your chest tighten. Setting the knife down, you pulled a chair next to him, your movement slow and deliberate.

“Sonic, I’m so sorry,” you said softly, your hand resting gently on his arm. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

He shrugged, though the gesture lacked its usual confidence. When he finally looked at you, his green eyes were unguarded, vulnerable in a way that felt rare and precious.

“I know you don’t mean to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… Tails has all his gadgets, and Knuckles has his whole ‘warrior thing.’ Sometimes it feels like… like I don’t really fit anywhere.”

The ache in his words settled heavily in the space between you. You leaned forward, squeezing his arm gently.

“Sonic,” you said, your voice firm yet kind, “you’re just as important as Tails and Knuckles. You don’t have to have gadgets or a warrior thing to matter. You’re you. And I care about you—just as much as them. You’re family to me.”

He blinked, his eyes wide as if the words caught him off guard. Slowly, a small, genuine smile spread across his face.

“Really?” he asked, his voice tentative but hopeful.

“Really,” you affirmed with a nod. “And families? They don’t pick favorites.”

He grinned then, the kind of grin that made his eyes light up and the room feel just a bit brighter. Without a word, he leaned in, wrapping his arms around you in a hug that was both spontaneous and deeply sincere.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

You hugged him back, your hand rubbing small circles on his back. “Anytime, Blue Blur,” you replied, your smile mirroring his.

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luv-lock · 10 days ago

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ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤCATCH ME, KEEP MEㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Wally West x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Wally doesn’t fall hard at first.

Not really. He’s a people person, used to talking to everyone. Charming, fast-talking, always the loudest in the room—but when he meets you? You don’t flinch at his confidence. You look him dead in the eye, half-bored, half-amused, and say, “You talk a lot.”

And that’s it. That’s the moment.

The silence you leave in your wake buzzes louder than his speed ever could.

He starts noticing you everywhere.

You aren’t trying to stand out, and that’s what kills him. While the world is screaming for attention, you just exist—quiet, steady, untouchable. You don’t need to chase validation, and that burns something unfamiliar into Wally’s chest.

He tells himself it’s just a crush. One of many. He’s had dozens. He’s charming like that, right?

But no. This one sticks.

He starts moving at your pace.

Literally. Wally West—the Fastest Man Alive—slows down just to match your steps. You walk? He walks. You take the long way home? He memorizes every corner of it. You like quiet places? Suddenly, Wally knows every hidden rooftop in the city.

He starts showing up in places he swears he was “just passing through.”

He’s lying. He calculated every path to run into you.

The obsession sneaks in like a thief.

He remembers every little thing: your favorite snack, the way you tie your hair when you’re irritated, the exact inflection in your voice when you’re sarcastic. He collects those details like trophies, files them away like a case he needs to solve.

And god help the guy who flirts with you. Wally’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s an edge to it. A twitch in his fingers. A flash in his eyes.

Fast as he is, he’s even faster when he’s angry.

He gets possessive in ways he can’t explain.

He doesn’t mean to sound jealous. But when you talk about other guys? Other heroes?

“You think Nightwing’s hot?”

“He’s got nice hair, I guess,” you shrug.

That’s it. Dick’s getting his shampoo swapped out and his uniform ‘accidentally’ burned.

He knows it’s irrational. He just doesn’t care.

He doesn’t need to be around you all the time. But he wants to.

There’s a difference. He’s still Wally—funny, fast, loyal—but something about you makes everything else dim.

You become his constant. His gravity. His anchor. The world could end, but if you're safe? He'll laugh through the apocalypse.

And if you're not?

Well. That’s a problem no one wants to see the end of.

He watches you when you’re not looking.

Not in a creepy way (okay, maybe a little). But he stares. Long, intense, unwavering. Because when you’re not paying attention, you’re real. Soft. Human. And that’s when he wants you most.

You once caught him doing it.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“…Like what?”

“Like you’re hungry.”

He grins. “Maybe I am.”

You laughed, but it wasn’t a joke.

When he touches you, it’s always gentle.

His hands are made to break the sound barrier, but when he brushes your skin, it’s like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. He touches you like you’re sacred. Like you’re the only thing that makes him feel human in the blur of the world.

He wants to be close. All the time. Arm around your waist. Pinky brushing yours. His jacket on your shoulders. His heartbeat synced to yours.

It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

He gets scared of how much he loves you.

Because it’s not just a crush anymore. You’ve carved your name into the core of him. Wally would tear the world apart for you. He’d time travel, bend physics, throw away the League, burn everything just to keep you close.

He’s terrified of losing you. Of you not loving him back. Of you realizing what he really is underneath: a boy who never stops running because he’s scared of standing still.

But with you? He wants to stand still.

He confesses in a way only he could.

He grabs your face in his hands, eyes wild, chest heaving like he just ran to the ends of the Earth.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you,” he blurts out. “And it’s driving me insane. I’m not good at this—waiting, wanting—but if you told me to slow down, I would. If you told me to stop, I would. Just—don’t leave me behind.”

And when you kiss him?

Time. Stops.

After the kiss, he changes.

Not in the loud, obvious way. Wally still jokes, still grins, still makes the room warmer just by being in it—but something in his eyes shifts. He looks at you like you’re not just his girlfriend—you’re his reason.

And he tells you that.

Not once. Not twice.

Every single day.

“I’d die for you,” he says like it’s a fact, not a metaphor. “And if someone tries to take you from me—well… they’d better be faster than me.”

His obsession turns quiet. Dangerous. Protective.

You don’t notice the little things at first.

Like how your co-worker suddenly transferred the day after he got a little too flirty.

Or how your phone never dies anymore, no matter how often you forget to charge it.

(He swaps batteries in your sleep. Replaces your charger. Monitors the voltage. You don’t know.)

Or how your ex texts you, and the message deletes itself before you can open it.

(He’s been in your phone. In your cloud. He’s faster than any firewall.)

You never feel unsafe. You just feel… watched. But it’s Wally, right? Your Wally. He wouldn’t—

He doesn’t trust anyone with you.

Not your friends. Not the League. Not even Barry.

He masks it well, with smiles and sarcasm, but under the surface, he’s seething. Every time someone makes you laugh, every time they touch your shoulder or stand too close, he catalogues it. Keeps score.

And later, when no one’s around, he whispers,

“You know you don’t need them, right? You have me. I’m all you’ll ever need.”

He’s not asking. He’s reminding.

He has nightmares. About losing you.

They start slow—harmless, even. You walking away. Forgetting his name. Laughing with someone else. But they escalate quickly.

You dying. You screaming. You reaching for him as he’s too slow.

(He’s never too slow.)

He wakes up drenched in sweat, vibrating from head to toe, fists clenched hard enough to bruise his own palms. Some nights he just stares at you sleeping, watching your chest rise and fall, whispering—

“I won’t let it happen. I promise. I promise. I won’t lose you.”

He starts testing you.

Little things. Subtle.

“What would you do if I disappeared?”

“Would you still love me if I wasn’t a hero?”

“Would you run away with me right now? No questions asked?”

He watches every flicker in your eyes. Measures your every breath.

You always say the right thing. But he’s waiting. Waiting to see if you’ll betray him.

He hopes you don’t. He prays you don’t.

Because if you do?

He already has a plan.

He starts talking about the future.

But not in the dreamy, romantic way. Not with rings or white dresses or picket fences.

No. Wally’s version of forever is you and him against the world. You don’t need a big house. You don’t need anyone else. You just need him.

“We could disappear,” he murmurs into your skin one night. “I could take you so far no one would find us. Ever. Just me and you, baby. Nothing else. Doesn’t that sound perfect?”

You laugh, a little unsure.

But he doesn’t laugh back.

If anyone hurts you? Even emotionally?

They. Vanish.

He doesn’t kill. He doesn’t need to. He’s smarter than that. Faster.

But you better believe they never show their face again. Maybe they get blackmailed. Maybe they’re framed. Maybe they wake up halfway across the country with no memory of how they got there.

You ask Wally if he knows anything.

He just kisses your forehead and says,

“You don’t have to worry about people like that anymore. I’ll always protect you.”

And god help you, it makes you feel safe.

He keeps something of yours with him. Always.

A strand of hair. A necklace. The first note you wrote him. The chapstick you lost. He keeps it in a little box, hidden in a place no one can find. A shrine, almost.

When he misses you (which is always), he opens it. Smiles to himself. Breathes you in.

You are his god. His everything.

And he loves you too much to let you go.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

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shaiyasstuff · 1 month ago

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pretend | zayne

synopsis : In a tale of academic burnout, fried chicken, and poor impulse control, chaos incarnate—that’s you—somehow convinces your emotionally constipated med-student best friend to drink half a beer—which, shockingly, nearly kills him. Queue: slow realization that maybe, just maybe, you’ve both been idiots in love this whole time. content : fluff, drunk zayne, i wrote this with absolute zeal in mind, college!au

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands in the air like you just won an Oscar for Most Sleep-Deprived Human Alive.

Across the table, Zayne lifts a brow and smirks—annoyingly composed for someone who just witnessed you spiral through caffeine-fueled thesis chaos.

“I’m finally done,” you announce dramatically, like you just ended a war. “Let’s go out tonight. I need meat on sticks and bad decisions.”

Zayne closes his book with a soft thud, taking off his glasses in that maddeningly slow, deliberate way—like he knows exactly what he’s doing to your blood pressure.

“I pity the skewers who will die by your hand tonight,” he deadpans.

You snort. “I pity you, who’ll have to witness me demolish a six-pack like a college frat bro on a redemption arc.”

It wasn’t a dig. It was a fact.

Zayne doesn’t drink—ever.

You’re convinced his blood is 80% black coffee and quiet judgment.

So, naturally, you’d assigned him the title of Sir Zayne, Protector of Drunk Y/N, a role he never officially accepted but continues to perform with the patience of a long-suffering saint and the sighs of a man who has seen too much.

Honestly? If that’s not love, you don’t know what is.

But you and Zayne never crossed the line.

Not because he didn’t want to—at least, you hoped that was the case—but because you never let it happen.

Courtesy of your own sparkling cocktail of overthinking, self-doubt, and the lingering fear of ruining something good.

Zayne was tall, handsome, smart—the kind of man who made professors nod in approval and grandmothers sigh wistfully.

And you? You were the chaotic best friend with a penchant for questionable snack combos and emotional repression.

You’d watched him grow up beside you, shedding his shy, bookish shell to become the quietly confident man sitting across from you now.

The same man who still gave you his hoodie when you complained about the cold and remembered your coffee order down to the sugar granules.

And sure, you said you loved each other. Threw it around between jokes and “don’t die today” texts.

But it was always buffered by a safe, platonic bubble wrap. You never dared to mean it the way your heart did—aching and wistful, quietly begging for something more.

Because admitting it out loud?

That would change everything.

And some things felt too fragile to risk breaking.

“I’m gonna take one very relaxing shower and meet you there, cool?” you say, slinging your backpack over your shoulder like the protagonist of a teen drama walking off into the sunset—except sweatier and more sleep-deprived.

Zayne gives you a look, all cool and composed as usual. “Don’t make me wait again.”

You gasp, offended. “It was one time!”

But he’s already walking off like he just won that round—he probably did, and you’re left chasing after him, muttering something about false accusations and revisionist history.

Back at your dorm, you kick the door shut with your foot, strip off the layers of thesis-fueled misery, and step into the shower.

The hot water hits your skin, and for the first time in weeks, your shoulders unclench.

Your body, a battlefield of all-nighters, instant noodles, and bad posture, finally starts to forgive you.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t just be about beer and skewers.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d let yourself hope for something more.

You step out into the cool night air, tugging your hoodie sleeves over your hands and rubbing them together like a gremlin summoning warmth.

The city hums quietly around you—streetlights flickering, distant honks, the occasional bark of a dog that clearly has beef with the moon.

It doesn’t take long to reach the barbecue stall, that familiar greasy heaven you and Zayne have treated like your unofficial therapy spot for years.

And there he is, already seated inside, calm and collected like he hadn’t just been abandoned seventeen minutes ago. Your favorite order of fried chicken sits next to him, still warm.

Because of course it does.

You beam, tapping him on the shoulder before plopping down beside him. “Was I late?”

He doesn’t even look at you. “By 17 minutes, yes.”

You snort, already digging into the chicken like a woman possessed. “Big deal,” you mutter through a mouthful of food, completely unapologetic.

Zayne simply shakes his head, the corners of his lips twitching in the ghost of a smile.

You were chaos, and somehow, he always made room for it.

“So, what are your grand post-thesis plans, Doctor Zayne?” you ask, popping open a can with a dramatic pshhht that echoes like a battle cry into the night.

Zayne glances at you, then at the can in your hand like it personally offended his morals. “Hopefully not babysitting a tipsy gremlin.”

You raise your can in mock salute. “Too late. You signed up for this the day you let me copy your homework in seventh grade.”

He exhales through his nose, which is Zayne-speak for you’re unbearable, but I’ve made peace with it. “I’m thinking of applying for that research position at the hospital. Maybe specialize in cardiac surgery.”

You pause mid-sip, impressed. “Heart guy, huh? Makes sense. You’ve already stolen mine.”

He gives you a slow, pointed look.

You grin. “Kidding. Kind of.”

He doesn’t reply, just leans back and sips his coffee—the man’s choice of poison—and you wonder, just for a second, if maybe your heart wasn’t the only one on the table tonight.

Who were you kidding? Of course it isn’t.

If there was anything Zayne was good at—aside from saving lives, surviving on black coffee, and giving you judgmental looks—it was being honest. Blunt, even.

The guy didn’t know how to sugarcoat if his life depended on it.

So if he felt anything beyond friendship, he would’ve said something… right?

He wouldn’t just sit across from you night after night, remembering your order, walking you home, and quietly watching over you like some emotionally constipated guardian angel—unless it really was just friendship.

Right?

You shove another piece of chicken into your mouth, suddenly feeling very attacked by your own thoughts.

Maybe you were reading too much into it.

Maybe the long stares and rare half-smiles meant nothing.

Maybe he looked at everyone like that.

…Or maybe he didn’t.

But knowing Zayne?

If he wanted something more, he would’ve told you.

And that’s the part that hurts the most.

You finish your chicken in record time, like a seasoned warrior who’s trained her whole life for this exact moment.

Zayne watches you with the mild horror of someone witnessing a natural disaster unfold in slow motion.

“With all that grease you eat,” he scoffs, sipping his drink with far too much elegance, “it’s a wonder you’re still so thin.”

You wipe your mouth with a napkin and flash him a smug, greasy-lipped grin. “Courtesy of late-night study marathons and crippling stress. Better than any diet plan.”

He shakes his head, muttering something about clogged arteries and self-destruction, but the corners of his mouth twitch in that way that tells you he’s more amused than annoyed.

You lean back, arms stretched, feeling the food coma start to settle in. The air between you buzzes with something unspoken—comfortable, familiar, and maybe just a little tragic.

Like always.

You take a long sip from your beer can, eyes narrowing playfully at him over the rim. “You know, you should really start seeing someone.”

Zayne doesn’t even blink. He just turns his head, gives you that pointed, deadpan look—the one that says I’m humoring you, but only barely. “I am perfectly fine, single.”

You snort. “Yeah, perfectly fine sitting alone in your apartment reading medical journals and judging me for my life choices.”

He raises a brow. “Someone has to.”

You laugh, nudging his leg under the table. “Seriously, though. You’re handsome, smart, stable. Tragic levels of emotionally unavailable, but that’s practically a dating app requirement these days.”

Zayne doesn’t respond right away. Just takes a calm sip of his coffee, gaze lingering on you a second too long.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right kind of chaos,” he murmurs.

And just like that, you forget how to breathe.

You quickly look away, composing yourself with the grace of someone pretending not to be internally combusting.

The heat crawling up your neck? Yeah, definitely the alcohol. Totally not because of that look or that line.

You take another sip, stalling. “Seriously? I always thought you’d go for the quiet, put-together type. You know, the kind who alphabetizes her spice rack and drinks herbal tea.”

Zayne hums, eyes still on you. “I already have enough order in my life. Why would I want more of that?”

You blink, caught off guard. “So… chaos is the goal?”

He tilts his head slightly, a rare glint of mischief in his gaze. “Not chaos. Just… someone who makes life feel a little less dull. Someone who challenges me. Keeps me on my toes.”

You let out a breathy laugh, unsure if it’s the beer, the tension, or just him.

“Sounds exhausting,” you mutter.

He smiles. “Not if it’s the right person.”

And suddenly, you’re not so sure you can blame the warmth in your chest on the alcohol anymore.

You push all your thoughts aside—shove them into that dark mental closet labeled Feelings: Do Not Open.

With a practiced grin, you raise your can in mock toast. “Well, be sure to send me an invitation to the wedding,” you quip, voice light, smile lighter.

For someone who lives and breathes chaos, you’ve gotten remarkably good at pretending things don’t get to you.

Zayne just smirks, as if he sees right through the performance. And then—without a word—he reaches for a can of beer.

Pop.

The sound cuts through the air like a record scratch. You freeze, staring at him like he just broke the laws of physics.

“Wait, are you—what—you’re drinking?”

He shrugs, raising the can to his lips. “It’s just one.”

You gape. “You’ve lectured me for years about alcohol rotting brains.”

He glances at you, his voice calm. “Maybe I just needed a reason.”

And this time, it’s not just your cheeks that feel warm. It’s everything.

You cough, almost choking on your drink. “Are you sure?”

Zayne glances at the can in his hand, then back at you with that maddeningly unreadable expression. “What, afraid I’ll lose my sense of control?”

You blink. “Yes! That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Who are you and what have you done with ‘water-only’ Zayne?”

He takes a slow sip, completely unfazed. “It’s just beer.”

“You say that like I didn’t once watch you refuse soda because it had too many bubbles.”

He shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Or maybe you’re trying to impress someone.”

He doesn’t answer. Just leans back in his seat, eyes still on you—calm, unreadable, dangerous in the way that makes your heart skip.

And now you’re the one who needs another drink.

Soon enough, Zayne learns the harsh truth of his choices.

Because not even halfway through the can, the damage is done—his face flushed a deep, telltale red, his breath coming in shallow little huffs like he’s just walked through a wind tunnel.

You glance over at him mid-sip, eyebrows shooting up.

“…You good?”

“I’m fine,” he says, voice stiff and defensive—classic Zayne—but he’s blinking too much, his back too straight, like he’s focusing really, really hard on staying upright.

You stare. “You’ve had half a can.”

He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the collar of his shirt as if the night air suddenly turned tropical. “I didn’t eat much today,” he mutters, clearly struggling to save face. “Also, the ground feels… uneven.”

You nearly snort beer up your nose. “The ground is fine. You are uneven.”

His glare is valiant, but his ears are glowing, and he’s gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing tethering him to Earth.

“I told you this would happen,” you say, half-concerned, half-delighted. “You’re like a lightweight legend.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his flushed face. “Remind me never to do this again.”

You lean your cheek into your palm, grinning. “Remind me to never let you not do this again.”

He exhales sharply—half sigh, half chuckle—and despite the mess he’s in, there’s still that look in his eyes.

Soft. Open. A little reckless.

And God help you, it suits him.

The night carries on, as nights with you usually do—spiraling steadily into chaos.

One of your many bad decisions includes convincing Zayne to finish the rest of that cursed can. He protests, of course—weakly, half-heartedly, with the conviction of a man who already knows he’s lost.

“I really shouldn’t—”

“Just a little more,” you grin, shoving it toward him like it’s a dare and not a crime against his entire system.

He sighs, long and resigned, then tips the can back with the tragic acceptance of someone walking into a trap they dug themselves.

Moments later, he’s slumped over the table, forehead resting on his arm, a soft groan escaping him. “I think I’m dying.”

You? You’re no help.

You’re already tipsy, which means your moral compass has long since clocked out. You’re doubled over with laughter, wheezing uncontrollably at the sight of composed, stoic, impossible-to-rattle Zayne looking one sip away from meeting God.

“You look like a Victorian lady with the vapors,” you cackle.

“I hate you,” he mumbles into the table.

“This is love,” you giggle, nearly falling off your stool.

And despite the headache he’ll definitely have tomorrow, he doesn’t argue. Not really.

After a few more cans—questionable choices all around—you find yourself leaning back in your seat, finishing the last of your skewers with drunken determination.

The stall’s almost empty now, the night stretching quiet and still around you, save for the low hum of streetlights and the occasional car passing by.

Zayne, meanwhile, is completely knocked out beside you.

Head lolled to the side, glasses tucked away somewhere, lips parted slightly as he breathes slow and deep.

His usually sharp features are softened, flushed, and peaceful in a way that makes your chest squeeze a little too tightly.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked cute like this.

But you do know better, so you just shake your head and smirk at the very real mess you helped create.

Tossing the empty skewer stick aside, you slide off your seat with a wobble, then crouch beside him.

You nudge his shoulder gently. “Come on, let’s go,” you whisper, voice low, a little fond, a little guilty.

He doesn’t budge.

Just lets out a tiny groan, eyelids fluttering like he’s having an incredibly dramatic dream about betrayal and liver damage.

You sigh, laughing under your breath. “This is what I get for enabling you, huh?”

Still, you loop an arm under his and begin to help him up—because even if he’s heavier than you remember and absolutely no help at all, he’s still your idiot to carry home.

And for once, he lets you.

You somehow manage to haul him upright—well, half-upright—his arm slung over your shoulders as he leans most of his weight on you.

He mumbles something incoherent against your hair, something that sounds like “never again” but could also be “chicken skewers are evil.” Hard to tell.

His dorm’s way too far, and in his current state, he’d probably collapse somewhere tragic and inconvenient—like the middle of the sidewalk or a bush with questionable origins.

So, you make the executive decision.

“My place it is,” you mutter, shifting his weight and starting the slow, awkward shuffle back toward your dorm.

He stumbles once or twice, groaning like a disgruntled old man, and you stifle a laugh.

“This is karma,” you tell him, breathless from both the effort and the ridiculousness of it all. “For every time you judged my life choices.”

He doesn’t respond, just leans more heavily into you—like he knows you’ll carry him anyway.

And you do.

Step by step, wordlessly and willingly, until your dorm door finally clicks open and you ease him inside, one breath, one stubborn heartbeat at a time.

You finally manage to plop him down onto your bed with the grace of someone who’s done this exact thing zero times and is running purely on muscle memory and spite.

Zayne flops back like a ragdoll, one arm splayed dramatically over his eyes, as if the sheer emotional weight of the night has bested him.

You shake your head, chest heaving, cheeks still warm from your own drinks. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

Crossing the room, you grab your water bottle—your trusty, slightly dented savior—and take several deep gulps yourself before crouching at the edge of the bed.

Then, without thinking twice, you press it gently to his lips.

“Here,” you say, voice softer now. “It’ll help you feel better.”

Zayne makes a vague, pitiful noise. But he drinks, eyes still closed, brows faintly scrunched like he’s never tasted water before in his life.

You hold it steady, watching him carefully, your expression torn between amused and quietly tender.

It’s such a stupid, intimate moment.

And somehow, it feels like more than it should.

To your horror, he downs the entire bottle. Every last drop.

“Hey—hey! That’s mine!” you protest, trying to pry it from his hands, but Zayne holds it like a lifeline, drinking until it gives a dramatic little hollow gulp at the end.

He sets it down with an exaggerated sigh, flopping back against your pillows like he just climbed a mountain.

“You have legs,” you grumble, snatching the empty bottle. “The water dispenser is literally down the hall.”

“It’s too far,” he mumbles, eyes closed again. “Your bed is nice. I’m dying. Let me die hydrated.”

You roll your eyes, turning to set the bottle aside—and then pause when you feel the weight shift beside you.

Zayne suddenly sits up.

You glance over and freeze. He’s staring at you.

Not blinking. Not swaying. Just… staring.

A little too intently. A little too seriously.

“…What?” you squeak, completely thrown.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just keeps looking at you like you’ve said something outrageous.

Or like he just realized something important.

And suddenly, the room feels a little too quiet.

A little too close.

He stares into your eyes, and for a moment, everything else fades—the buzz of alcohol, the low hum of the city outside, even the dull ache in your limbs.

Then, slowly, his hands reach out and grasp your arms—not rough, not urgent, but firm enough to make your breath hitch. Before you can say a word, he pulls himself to his feet, swaying just slightly, and starts walking.

Pushing you back with each quiet, deliberate step.

You move without thinking, heart hammering in your chest as your knees bump into the edge of your desk.

You’re trapped between the wood at your back and the look in his eyes—sharp, unreadable, burning through the haze of the night.

“Zayne…” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re warning him or yourself.

He doesn’t answer. He just stands there, too close, the heat of him bleeding into your skin, his hands still lingering on your arms like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

And in that moment, you swear the entire world narrows to the space between you.

And whether it’s the alcohol or the truth breaking free—

You can’t tell the difference anymore.

“Uhm… are you okay?” you ask, your voice uncertain, breath catching in your throat as you stare up at him.

Zayne shakes his head, just once. “No.”

You blink, concern flaring. “What’s wro—”

But you don’t get to finish.

He closes the distance between you in a heartbeat, hands moving to cradle your face as his lips crash against yours.

It’s not soft. Not hesitant.

It’s hungry.

Like he’s been holding it back for far too long. Like something inside him finally snapped loose.

Your back presses harder against the desk as he leans in, kissing you like he’s afraid this moment will slip away if he doesn’t take all of it now.

And for a second—just a second—you forget everything else.

The drinks. The laughter. The years of pretending.

All that exists is the heat of his mouth on yours and the staggering, undeniable truth of it.

His lips crash into yours before you can even finish your sentence—urgent, messy, filled with too much longing and too little clarity. It catches you off guard, your breath stolen, your thoughts scattering like the loose papers on your desk.

At first, you freeze.

Then your hands move to his chest, trying to push him back. “Zayne—wait—”

But he’s already pulling you closer, an arm slipping around your waist, the other sweeping across your desk in one rushed, careless motion—books, pens, everything clattering to the floor.

He grabs your hips and lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the desk like it’s instinct, like he’s done this a thousand times in his head.

“Zayne, stop!” you protest, voice sharp now, your palms pressed firmly against him.

And just like that, he halts—everything in him going still.

His breath is ragged, face flushed, eyes wide with a dawning realization as he looks at you—really looks.

Silence stretches between you.

Then he slowly steps back, as if waking from something he didn’t mean to fall into.

“…I’m sorry,” he says, voice low, shaken. “I shouldn’t have—”

You don’t answer right away. You’re still catching your breath, still feeling the echo of what just happened.

Because part of you is furious.

And part of you is trembling.

And somewhere, buried beneath it all, part of you wanted it.

But not like this.

Not drunk.

Not blurred.

And certainly not like something he’ll regret in the morning.

You try to steady the shaking in your voice, the racing in your chest, and force out a laugh—thin, awkward, strained.

“See?” you say, trying to make light of it, to patch over the tension like you always do. “This is exactly why you should get a girlfriend. Someone to… I don’t know, handle all that bottled-up intensity.”

But he doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look away.

Instead, his gaze sharpens—sober, unwavering, cutting right through your joke like it never existed.

“I don’t want one,” he says.

Simple. Final.

The room falls quiet again. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expect.

Your smile fades a little, the humor faltering on your lips. “Then what do you want?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

But his eyes never leave yours.

And that silence says more than words ever could.

“I want you,” he says quietly, each word deliberate, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

His eyes stay locked on yours as he takes a step closer.

“Only you.”

Your breath catches—completely, helplessly.

There’s no teasing in his tone, no drunken slur, no hesitation.

Just the raw, unfiltered truth of it. It lands in your chest like a drop of ink in water, spreading fast and uncontrollably.

You should say something. Anything.

But your voice is gone, swallowed by the weight of his words and the way he’s looking at you now—like you’re the only thing in the world worth reaching for.

You’d spent so long convincing yourself that he didn’t feel this. That he couldn’t.

But now?

He’s standing in front of you like he’s known all along.

And like he’s finally tired of pretending he doesn’t.

You open your mouth, stammering, grasping for something logical to say—anything to bring the air back into your lungs, to slow your racing heart.

“Zayne, you’re—this is just the alcohol talking, you don’t mean—”

But he cuts you off, his voice low and steady.

“I’m done pretending.”

The words hit you like a sudden shift in gravity.

There’s no hesitation in him now.

No trace of the usual restraint he always wore like armor. He’s standing there—bare, honest, and dangerously close.

You search his face for some sign of doubt, some crack you can cling to. But there’s nothing.

Just the truth laid out between you, heavy and real.

And your heart doesn’t know whether to run or leap.

“I don’t want this to happen just because you’re drunk,” you whisper, barely able to look at him.

It comes out softer than you mean it to—fragile, almost trembling—because beneath all the banter, beneath all the years of pretending, you’ve always been afraid of this exact moment.

Of wanting it too much and it not being real.

Zayne’s expression doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens—his gaze steady, clear, unwavering.

“I’m not drunk enough to forget this,” he says quietly. “And definitely not drunk enough to lie.”

You look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, you don’t see the walls he always kept between you. They’re gone. Just like that.

What’s left is him.

And the truth you’d both been trying so hard not to touch.

His hand reaches up, fingers brushing against your skin as he gently tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. His touch is careful—soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

“It’s hard to see you trying to push me away,” he says, voice low and raw. “All the time.”

Your eyes widen, guilt and surprise rushing in at once. “I just thought…”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your lips, eyes searching yours like he’s waiting for you to see what he’s been trying to show you all along.

“No more thinking,” he murmurs.

Then he kisses you again—but this time, it’s slow.

Careful. Like he’s trying to tell you everything he couldn’t say with words.

And when he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far. His forehead rests against yours, the space between you now completely, irreversibly gone.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “about earlier.”

A pause.

“But I’m not sorry for this.”

And just like that, you close your eyes and let it all fall away—the fear, the doubt, the need to overthink every moment.

Because for once, the truth is simple.

He’s here.

He chose you.

And despite everything you tried to convince yourself, despite all the ways you kept your heart guarded—you want him too.

You exhale, slow and shaky, forehead still pressed to his, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like an anchor.

No more pretending.

No more running.

You let yourself fall—not blindly, but willingly. Into him.

Into this.

Into whatever comes next.

masterlist

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valentinedrifter · 2 months ago

Text

Days with Sakura: Routine

male reader x Miyawaki Sakura

~8.6k words

A/N: Thanks to @msafterhours for reviewing the first section, much appreciated! I did not spend most of my time looking at Smash Bros combos.

Enjoy!

“Yo!”

You slam her down to the ground so hard the impact makes her go up into the air before you give her a kick to the back and she’s falling, reeling from the hits, desperately trying to steady herself because she knows that this is spiraling into something she can’t control, something that can make her lose.

And she absolutely despises losing.

But you don’t let her. Not when this is a chance at triumph. At claiming the crown that was rightfully yours. At winning.

So you jump, diving down, chasing her into the abyss to send a dropkick that connects to her stomach, the air in her lungs forcefully exhaled as she flies into the air once more, body out cold, acceptance on her face as she’s been beaten.

But you won’t leave it at that. You wanted, no, needed to be sure that you’ve won this fight because you’re petty like that, wanting to humiliate her, to set the tone for your next duel.

That’s why when you throw this insane left hook that hits her right in the face, absolutely rocking her shit, you feel the pressure in your chest gone, replaced by this intense joy that gets you to close your eyes and smile in bliss as one word rings out.

“Game!”

—

“And that,” You’re giving finger-guns in her direction. “Is a win for me.”

Sakura’s shaking her head, placing down her controller and giving you an exaggerated set of claps. “Good for you, just need to beat me-” She’s glancing down at your makeshift scoreboard, composed of chips stacked up on two plates. “-two more times to even it out.”

Ever since Chaewon re-debuted in Le Sserafim and introduced you to Sakura, who immediately found out that you also played video games on an unhealthy level– Probably a lot more than her–this has been the norm between you two, every Saturday, five on the dot, always in your apartment.

It was awkward at first, when she sent a text saying that she’ll be coming over to, and you quote: ”Beat your ass in this new fighting game.” That awkwardness became a lot more apparent when she did come over, knocking on your door, letting herself in, console in hand asking where the TV was.

You thought she’d be all talk, so you let her set it all up while you grabbed some drinks and snacks since you might as well be polite, and came back to her handing you a controller and telling you to choose your fighter.

She then proceeds to pick this weird looking wrestling lion and grab-combos you into the next round, forcing you to forgo any sort of discomfort between the two of you and just focus on winning.

Definitely wasn’t because your ego took a hit, no.

You spend the next few hours beating the shit out of each other with a Bruce Lee wannabe, an American monk, a robot that self-implodes, and a lot more ridiculous characters before you took a break to satiate human needs, like food.

And bulgogi? That’s the bomb.

It was after that where you two started to be more than mere acquaintances that met through a mutual friend, instead becoming trusted gaming buddies who meet up every week to sit back, attempt to relax when playing games with Sakura, and actually relax after.

It’s fun, a good way to de-stress after long weekdays of dance practices and programming, where you can tell her all about your dumbass boss that keeps piling on work mid-sprint, and where she can tell you how pissed she was when she woke up early for a photoshoot that was rescheduled last minute.

You didn’t notice things changing into something more intimate until Chaewon brought it up over a call once.

“So when is Unnie gonna move in?” Chaewon’s voice rings out of your phone as you’re busying yourself with the food you’ll be eating when Sakura inevitably comes by.

“She’s not.”

“It definitely feels like it.” She’s trying to instigate something with this, you’re pretty sure. “You bought a new closet almost exclusively to store the amount of clothes that she’s stacked up there.”

You stopped mid-swing of the knife, pausing, mind racing to think of an excuse because you don’t exactly have a defense for that one. Not when you bought it because your own closet was getting overrun with her clothes rather than yours.

And you didn’t even stop to think about whether you should or shouldn’t have bought that in the first place.

“So, is she moving in?”

“No, Chaewon.” Even you can hear the bullshit coming from your mouth. “She’s not.”

And when Sakura left to head back to her dorm that day was the day you finally stopped to notice all the things she’s left at your apartment, from the second closet full of her clothes, to the toothbrush and makeup that she leaves on your bathroom counter, and in the way she acts like she’s at home whenever she visits you.

It forced you to rethink all the times she’s slept over when your sessions drag on late in the night, when she takes up residency in your guest room or straight up snoozes on your couch, leaving you alone with the task of cleaning up the mess you made together.

It feels oddly domestic when she sleeps in while you make breakfast in the morning, giving her the leftovers as takeout when she has to leave and you’re left waiting till the next weekend.

The thought of having that be a daily occurrence wasn’t uncomfortable by any means, you just didn’t know what it meant for you and her now that you started to realize everythin-

“Hey!” Sakura’s smirking, snapping her fingers in front of your face. “Last one got you tired already?”

“Not a chance.” You hit back, trying to hide the fact that you were thinking of her by hitting the ‘Choose Character’ option on the screen. “Still gotta even out the score.”

And she’s rolling her eyes as she laughs. “You seriously think you can catch up?”

“I think,” You’re confident, so sure of yourself, the high from last round’s win coming back in full force. “I can beat you-” A finger pointed. “-three times in a row.”

“Yeah?” She’s leaning in, so close you can feel her breath on your face. “Is that a bet?” The innocence in her smile didn’t feel real, and when she sees you hesitate, she bites her lip in a way that causes alarm bells to go off in your head, and that’s when you start to crumble.

“Yeah.” You’re stuttering, your composure gone, wrecked, left fumbling, so you decide to stare back at the screen to choose your fighter and avoid looking anywhere near her. “Set the rules Kkura.”

“Alright.” She’s pulling back, giggling, like she’s been waiting for this moment for so, so long. “Loser has to do anything the winner wants for the night.”

You freeze. Your head turns, Sakura’s eyes on you, full of mischief, those lips grinning, and you don’t know what the hell she’s saying-

“What?” Your mouth moves out of reflex, automatic, brain trying to catch up with what she said and she’s laughing again, finally deciding to face the screen to choose her character.

“What?” She repeats with a deeper voice, clearly mocking you, trying to get you riled up, to get you to lose control. “Too much of a pussy, nerd?”

You let out a scoff, forearms resting on your thighs as your chest leans forward and select some angry dude with daddy issues as your fighter. “Oh, it’s on now.”

You’re so focused on the game that you didn’t even notice that Sakura was giving you a look that spells trouble.

—

The match started off normal enough.

She hits you with a combo, you hit back with your own, you two trade lives till you each have one left; It feels like any regular fighting match you two have, always down to the last punch, the last block, the last mistake either one of you make before you start up another round.

And this time, you made that mistake by not blocking her grab, allowing her to set up her set of moves on your fighter. She’s jabbing, kicking, your health bar getting lower and you’re already mentally preparing to do what she wants until she drops the combo.

Wait. What?

You sneak a glance at Sakura, who’s still facing the TV, looking like she wasn’t bothered by what she did. But you know her, all those months of playing different games and you’ve never once seen her drop any sort of combo without a reaction.

Yet here she is, a poker face replacing her usual bright reaction, hands still on her controller, fingers unmoving. And she’s just waiting. Just staring at the game, waiting for you to make the next move.

Your eyes look forward, you hear shuffling from your side except you’re too focused on your character, already mashing hits, your want to win overriding anything else and before you know it you hear the words “Game!” ring out of your speakers. And then you finally look back at Sakura to gloat but you can’t make the sound come out of your mouth because holy shit.

She’s a lot more closer to you, shoulders practically touching yours, coat off her body, thrown to the side, and you see her in only a tank top that hugs her chest, showing off a hint of cleavage and the skirt that’s just teasing you with what’s underneath; Your eyes are glued to her chest cause she’s not wearing a fucking bra seeing that there’s only one set of straps on her shoulders-

“Hey, nerd.” Sakura leans her slim frame in the doorway, eyes down on her phone. “Tits or ass?”

Your mouth opens. Then it closes. The cycle repeats. “This sounds like bait.”

She lets out a sigh and waves her phone at you. “The girls are fighting over whether or not tits or ass is better.”

“Uh-huh.” You squint, before going back to typing out an email on why you’re reverting back a piece of code. It’s also a good way to distract yourself from the question. “And why does my opinion matter?”

“We need a tie breaker since Kazuha and Yunjin are adamant on ass being better-” You can definitely see why they’d be on that side. “-and we didn’t want to keep this conversation going any more than it has to, so.” She shrugs and makes these jazz hands at you, making this a lot more funnier than it actually was. “What’s the verdict?”

“Jesus Christ…” You mutter out, pinching the bridge of your nose before swiveling your chair to face her. “Can’t I just say that both are great?”

“No cop-out answers.” Her fingers are ready to type out your answer, eyes showing a glint of anticipation. “Pick.”

“Fine.” An exasperated look. “Tits. Happy?”

“Gimme a reason and I will be.” The sound of her phone’s keyboard ring out of your room.

You groan, regret already settling in as you-“Because the visual overload of tits and a pretty face look nice.” You snap back to your laptop, the embarrassment from saying that to Sakura of all people making your ears burn. The fact that she’s laughing as she leaves stresses you out even more.

You are never going to live this down.

You will your eyes back up, trying to forget the fact that you were looking at her chest, so you focus on her hair that she recently dyed brown held up into a messy ponytail, on the eyeliner that makes her eyes look sharper, on her lips that are curled at the corners-

“Checking me out nerd?” She’s asking like she doesn’t know the effect she has on you, like she didn’t see your eyes roaming her body, like she didn’t see you stalking her like prey.

“No.” And you’re back to stuttering, back to avoiding her gaze like the little bitch that she’ll tell you that you are, trying and failing to center back at the bet you two have by trying to calm yourself and your hard-on down with deep breaths.

“It’s alright.” She shrugs, fingers pressing ‘Restart’ button and it’s loading back up again. “You can look all you want.” Suddenly her mouth’s on your ear, tits just about fucking your arm and she blows. “Maybe you can even touch if you win.”

She’s got your mind in all sorts of fucked that you don’t even realize that the next round’s begun. She’s already started throwing hands on the screen, trashing you all over the arena while you’re here trying to get your head back in the game, literally and figuratively.

By the time you’ve gotten your bearings back from Sakura existing next to you, she’s taken one of your lives, your character flying back into the arena and hers stopping to look at you. Taunting you, giving you a chance to fight back after you’ve mentally reset yourself.

And fight back you did. Doesn’t mean she’s gonna make it easy for you.

You’re in the middle of flinging her across the screen when you feel her shoulder brush yours, a whiff of her perfume dancing along your nose. It smelt familiar, but you’re too focused on winning to try to recall when you last got a trace of that scent.

When you manage to bump her down to her last life, she puts an elbow up on your shoulder, the sounds of buttons being smashed intensifying, along with it the smell of her perfume. It tasted sweet, fruity, with a hint of leather hiding underneath all of it-

“Which one’s better?” Sakura holds up two bottles, one red in the shape of a woman’s curves, another colored pink shaped like a heel.

“Better for what?” You’re cleaning up your living room, minutes after getting your ass handed to you in a racing game. “You’re going back to your dorm, Saku, not a show at Inkigayo.”

“Cause Kazuha wants to know what would smell better for her date tomorrow.” She hits back, shoving the heel-shaped bottle on your hands. “And you’re the only one I know that collects perfumes like they’re action figures.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie, with the way you have your perfumes strewn out across one of your bedroom desks, all of them for different occasions. “So try them out, nerd.”

“Alright, alright.” Chuckling, you spray it onto your wrist and pull it close to your nose. “This is girly as fuck.”

“No shit it’s girly as fuck, it’s a women’s perfume.” She’s rolling her eyes, pulling your wrist to smell it herself and immediately pulling away with a look of mild disgust. “Yeah that is girly as fuck.”

You hand her back the perfume and take the red one from her grasp, spraying it on your other wrist and sniffing. “A lot less girly, this one.”

Arms are crossed and eyes are narrowed at you. “Can you shut up about the girly stuff and actually give me a decent answer?”

“In a couple.” Now you’re the one rolling your eyes, alternating wrists to try and see whatever difference the two had because they smelt the same at first glance. Didn’t help that you’re not used to comparing women’s fragrances, since you are a guy and all that.

“Alright.” You grab both bottles and raise them up, the heel-shaped bottle higher. “This one is really girly, like sexy girly.” You give the bottle a little shake. “It’s fresh, a bit too powdery and sweet for my taste but not a deal breaker.” You put the bottle down on the table next to the empty cans of soft drinks you were about to throw out. “Overall, it’s a good option. Screams bold.”

You hold the curvy bottle in both hands, like you’re advertising a product in front of some big shot CEO. “Now this one-” You raise it up higher. “-is a bit similar to that, but a lot more mature, seductive, with the leather at the back of all the fruity-ness it has.”

Now both bottles are right next to each other, staring back at Sakura who’s still waiting for an actual answer. “So if it was me, you can tell Kazuha that-” You clap and point at the heel. “You pick this one if you want to wow the guy.” Then you point at the curvy bottle.

“You pick this one if you want to get fucked.”

“Game!”

Your character’s doing his victory pose, the soundtrack blaring out and the smell of her perfume that you picked out specifically for a date with a happy ending in mind still attacking your nostrils while the weight on your shoulder is heavier now.

You don’t want to look at her direction, not when she’s getting you with these small little things that she knows will drive you wild, so you reach out to the table in front of you in an attempt to cool off because your libido is at an all time high.

It sounded like a solid plan, until you hear your name being whispered out by Sakura–you hear it crystal clear–that causes you to throw the plan out the window because you turn your head and she’s right there.

Sakura’s arms are wrapped around yours, her chin on your shoulder and she’s got this smile that lights up her face, making you forget everything that’s happening between you two because she’s just so…stunning. Drop-dead gorgeous. An absolutely knockout of a woman-

“Another win for you.” Her voice, unusually soft compared to the usual teasing glint that it has, her gaze taking you in, like she was the one checking you out this time. Then it disappears, the grin you always see back in place, and she leans back to laugh.

“Guess I should step it up then.” She’s already moving, maneuvering the game to choose new characters for the both of you while you follow through on grabbing a drink, mind occupied with choosing who you’ll be using next.

So you take a few sips of your drink, counted to ten, picked a guy with long silver hair, and tried your best to put away the fact that this was becoming less of a bet and more like you’re being made to face the tension that’s slowly been rising over the months that Sakura has been meeting up with you under the guise of ‘gaming sessions’.

Now she’s forcing you to face it by using what you told her to her advantage, because she’s right next to you, wearing a top that’s on the verge of spilling her tits out because you told her you liked tits more, perfume applied meant to get her fucked because you told her it would, and it is working.

“Ready?” She clicks on the ‘Random’ map.

“For you to lose again?” You snark back. “Anytime.”

She chuckles, eyes twinkling, like she has another trick up her sleeve, and she acts. Propping her feet up onto the other end of the couch, she lays her head down on your lap, right next to your dick that you’ve been desperately trying to calm down.

And you’re spiraling once more, doing anything and everything to not let her know you have a hard-on because of her, from thinking of next week’s work, of how to set up your character’s combos, of when the last time you and Sakura were in this same exact position-

“Do you ever get lonely here?” Her head on your lap, her hair tangled on your hands, moving so gently, so soft, so soothing; It was relaxing, a change of pace from the regular program that you two always had.

It was always the same–she comes over, you two catch up a bit, play the game of the week, and have dinner. Then she’ll either get picked up by her manager or she sleeps over. It’s simple, routine, standard procedure between you and her.

This went on for the first few months that you’ve been hosting her, until she came over one time, earlier than usual. The keys rattle, the door swings, then you see her, shoulders slumped, eyes dim, body diving into yours.

You feel your shirt get wet, and you start moving on autopilot, holding her, comforting her, settling her down on the couch before she starts breaking down.

And you let her. You let her choke on the air before she breaks the dam that she’s built up, let her be this blubbering mess, let her give out these suffocating sobs. It was ugly, messy, and tissues will definitely be required but you didn’t move, didn’t speak, you were just…there.

You don’t know how long it’s been since she started bawling her eyes out or how long she’s been bottling this up; By the time she’s somewhat calmed down and her crying’s reduced to sniffling she’s moved from holding onto you for dear life to being in your lap, using the sleeve of your sweater as a makeshift tissue.

“Sometimes.” You let out, and you’re surprised at how honest you are with her. It was always light, teasing, fun between you two, never delving into the thoughts that occasionally lingered whenever Sakura would leave every weekend.

Didn’t want to make it complicated. For her or for you, well, you don’t have an answer for that.

“But I guess that’s why I play video games all the time.” You continue, brushing a hand on her bangs, showing a puffy, red, damp face. “Gives me new imaginary friends every other day.” And now you’re joking, hoping to lighten the mood, to cheer her up, maybe even to keep things uncomplicated between you two.

She lets out this weepy, shy laugh. “You are such a fucking nerd.” She stammers out in between sobs, hiding herself further into your lap. “But you’re my nerd-” She blows air through her nose, gaze staring back up at you. “-so, thanks.” And it’s the first time she’s smiled at you like that.

Lovely. Peaceful. Genuine.

Suddenly complicated didn’t feel like a bad option now.

“You alright?” Sakura’s pulling you back from the memory, back to the present, back to pretending that her head’s not right next to your cock. “Gotta give your A-game if you want to win the bet.” She chimes, shifting to get more comfortable on your lap, like it was made just for her.

Right. The bet.

“Loser has to do anything the winner wants for the night.”

The game begins.

Your fingers were moving on instinct, weeks of playing this character ingrained in your mind as you play the way that you would normally do, space out the attacks, punish whiffs, try not to die while you’re at it. It was safe, calculated, always waiting for the right time and the right place to hit her.

But your mind’s not fully in the game, always rounding back to her. To Miyawaki Sakura. You are trying to keep things simple, friendly between you two. It was kind of an unspoken rule you have for her knowing that she’s an idol, someone leagues above you, someone you cannot and should not get involved with for her sake.

Maybe even for yours because you didn’t want to make things messy. God knows how weird that would get because someone–her–didn’t feel the same way.

The sounds of the game blast through the speakers; You don’t hear it. She’s up one life to yours, hitting you with intricate combos that would take weeks–months–of practice. She pulls them off flawlessly.

Fight or Flight responses kick in your brain, one because you’re fighting back, reaching deep in your bag for moves that she hasn’t seen you do yet. Another because of her simply being right next to you.

Because she doesn’t want that anymore, does she? Not when she’s doing all of this. How she’s dressed, how she smells, how every single touch gets your heart to beat just a little faster. She wants to push things further between you, wants to have more than just the weekly meetups and competitions you have with her.

Realizing that she wants you makes something snap into place. Like it was always there, imprisoned by your own guarded thoughts and feelings. And now it’s out, and it is roaring.

You put her down to her last life, and you play like it’s the last game you’ll ever play. You don’t play it safe, not anymore, not in a very long time in your casual career, going for the ballsy, aggressive plays. You are committing everything in these last moments, and she’s losing momentum, backpedaling, trying to shake you off-

You realize something else. You want her too. Wanted her for a long time. Maybe it was when she first crashed at your couch, or when she started to leave behind her clothes around your apartment. Maybe it was the teasing after the battles of different genres, or the smiles that brighten up the end of the week. You don’t really know when, and you don’t particularly care.

Now you need to show her.

The game ends.

You relax, hands slacking, controller forgotten on the couch; Sakura’s left your lap, eyes fixed on yours, her own controller falling. Then she moves, standing up, facing you, climbing onto you.

Her hands wrapping around, holding your face, and she settles. “I guess you win.” She’s teasing, falling back to her walls, the sigh–you can tell how forced it is–that she lets out alongside her usual smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes solidifying it.

She’s unsure of where to go from here so she does the only thing she can do–fall back to her own routine. Teasing, mocking, back to pushing how far she can go with you.

She’s pretending that it’s a normal Saturday for you two, that she hasn’t tried to entice you with what she’s done, hasn’t tried to push the boundaries of this setup you have with her to its limits, that you haven’t noticed what she’s been doing to your heart.

She’s waiting for your reaction, your rejection, you.

And with what everything that’s happened? Everything you thought about her, about you, about where you stand amongst all of it?

Well, you just did what your heart is telling you to do. Make it complicated.

And the kiss that you give Sakura makes the world disappear.

—

The desk rattles. If she was bothered by the pain, she doesn’t tell you. If anything, she’s more focused on touching you. And she’s everywhere, fingertips brushing your neck, nails scratching your skin, her lips against yours; She was intense, so much so that you can get lost in the feeling, the unspoken words pouring themselves into it.

You can smell her shampoo, a sweet smell of strawberries mixing with the fruitiness of her perfume that drives you crazier. Her lips are soft, tasting like cherries, and you can’t help but have more, driving your tongue inside her mouth, connecting to hers, fighting, winning, losing. She’s a fucking treat, and you’re gonna be enjoying her to the fullest.

The sighs and moans that slip through her lips sound angelic, enjoying how you feel, how you taste, and the whine of displeasure that she lets out when you pull away make you smile.

“Why’d you stop?” She’s pulling you to her, lips on your neck, leaving small kisses, tits pressing against your chest that makes you want to take her damn shirt off. “C’mere.” And she gives you these pecks that make you want her even more, the aftertaste of her attacking your lips.

“Wanted to know how far we can go.” You managed to let out, in between the kisses, the touching, the grinding. “Might do something I’d regret.” It’s a facade. She’s sending you off the edge, and you don’t know how long you can hold it in before you take her. Mold her. Make her yours.

She laughs against your lips–shivers run down your spine–and she murmurs out your name. “Somebody forgot about the bet.” She arches back on the desk, tits popping out even more, the desire to ruin her top getting higher and higher. Her eyes gleam against the moonlight, the shadows making that lip bite she sends you utterly sinful.

“Anything you want.”

The hands on her waist move, slow, teasing upwards, your touches a promise to own her. Her breath hitches, dark anticipation bubbling up inside of her, hums and giggles dancing in the air.

They reach her chest, and you feel hard nubs poking through her top; You pinch and she mewls, hips pressing hard against yours, needy, desperate. You don’t linger, moving further up. You grip. Hungry eyes on yours.

And you pull.

Fabric gives way, tearing filling the room alongside her gasping, out of desire, surprise. Pupils dilate, bodies shuddering, and Sakura grins.

“Fuck.” She dips down, clothes in shambles, chest exposed, your hands touching everywhere; Her slim waist, tight abs, perky tits. She pulls you onto one and your mouth waters, suckling, nipping. “Finally got what you wanted, huh?” She’s taunting, voice breathy, back lifting to give you more of her. She wants this just as much as you do. “Better be worth more than my shirt, nerd.”

All the while her hands are moving, unfastening draws, pulling down pants, cupping boxers. You bite a bud, holding back a moan when her hand goes under to cup your length, nails grazing, heat running through your body, while another goes underneath your shirt, eager to discover more of you.

Even now you and her are still competing, still trying to find who’ll win this dance of debauchery. And she’s trying to take control, set the tempo–too bad you had other plans.

You bring a knee up in between her thighs in retaliation, pressing against her clothed heat. A whimper escapes, hips are rolling, begging for more. A hand, enjoying the soft flesh of her chest, squeezing, pinching, goes to the zipper of her skirt, enjoying her soft skin on the way down, sending tingles that make her buck her hips faster on your leg.

“Shit–more–” She’s losing herself in ecstasy, holding onto your arms, digging into your skin, leaving scratch marks as she fucks herself on your knee. You reach the teeth of her skirt, fingers shaky with need, and pull down, pulling your knee away to let it fall. Her hips don’t stop, rocking the air, desperate to have you back. To get her off.

“Look at you-” Fingers find heat, answering her pleas, pressing into the wet spot of her panties, a dark crimson, gasps spilling from her lips, legs trembling in relief from the pressure you’ve given back. “So fucked on this.” You give a little push inside, cloth blocking you, denying her. “Think you’re up for more?”

She nods, frantic, eager. She’s conceding defeat, resistance now a fleeting thought. You take full advantage of it.

You whip her around, bending her over the desk, a hand on the small of her back, ass wiggling because after everything, she’s still so impatient. Still dripping, still aching, still needing your touch.

A sharp crack sounds out, followed by a deep breath. She stills for a moment, shock encapsulating her entire body. It was not something she thought you’d do, yet here you are, ripping shirts, slapping ass, exceeding each and every one of Sakura’s expectations.

The exhale that she lets out is shaky, filled by desire, the drag of her nails on the desk joining it, yet she presses back, obeying the silent demand.

You wander down, hands teasing her curves before you grab a handful of her ass, squeezing, her breath quickening before your palm comes down for a second dose–the other cheek, this time, just to even things out–and she wavers, almost losing herself in the sensation. Then a giggle. Sweet, dangerous, coy, troubling, addictive.

She looks over her shoulder, strands cascading around her face, swollen lips turned upwards, eyes burning with desire, arousal, defiance. She presses back even further, ass against your bulge that’s been in dire need of release.

You don’t fight her, gripping her hips instead. You shift closer, rubbing, heat on heat, raw hunger in the air. Nobody moves. It’s a challenge, waiting for someone to crack first.

She loses, deliberate, hasty, ass circling, her voice permeating the air. “Want it–” Panting follows, desperate, whimpering. “Take it out already–”

Your chest rumbles, lips wetting, thinking about how much more you can draw this out for her. And, well, she did hate losing.

“Say please.” You ask, no, demand it from her. That one word carries so much weight for her, submission, loss, all wrapped in one syllable. She’s already lost–multiple times, in fact–but this is different. This is complete, utter defeat. She pauses, thinking, debating, eyes wide, mouth panting, lips licking. And she makes her choice.

“Please.”

You’re yanking off your underwear, cock throbbing, aching, ramrod straight, fingers hooking into her panties, dragged to the side. You thrust deep in her. Hot, wet, divine. It’s a perfect fit, like she was made for you.

She moans, loud, crumbling, hands clutching the desk, body lurching from how hard you take her. She’s wet as fuck, pussy so snug it doesn’t want to let you go. You have no intention to. A hand takes hold of her ponytail, another of her hip, and you start fucking her into the desk, hard, each thrust echoing with slick, messy slaps.

She’s intoxicating, the way she clenches you with every pull of her hair, back tensing as you pound her on the desk, hearing her moan, gasp, break; You can’t get enough of it.

Each rhythmic slap of skin to skin makes her ass ripple, spurring you on. Your movements get frantic. Her moans get louder, breaking into filthy wails. She’s flawless, even with the torn shirt, the ruined panties, the pleasure that’s tearing her apart. All wrapped in the sinful indulgence that is Sakura.

Your hold on her hair gets tighter, pulling her head back just enough to hear her cry out. You drive into her, harsher, rougher, faster. Enough to make her arms give out as she collapses on the desk. “Feel so good,” You grunt out, pressing your body flush against hers, pinning her under your weight. “Gonna make you cum, Saku-” Your hand tilts, still holding onto her ponytail, pressing her cheek on the hardwood.

“Fuck–yes–” She pants, drunk on pleasure, eyes hazily lock onto you as she drips down her thighs, staining her legs, your cock, the floor. She’s a goddamn wreck, so suffocatingly tight, slamming harder into her, desk shuddering with each thrust.

“More, yes, yes–” She babbles, repeating words, switching languages. “Don’t stop–close–fuck–” Her pussy grips you like a vice, trying to milk you, making you groan, sending you so fucking close to losing it and blowing it all inside her.

It took all your willpower to pull out, a whine ringing out before you plug three fingers in her cunt, pumping furiously. The long, shuddering scream that pierces through the room combines with the view of her arched back and trembling legs, announcing her orgasm. It shatters her, raw, explosive, pussy clamping on your fingers as you keep pushing and pulling inside of her. She looks completely, undeniably beautiful.

Her body slumps, the desk the only thing that keeps her up. You pull out of her, give her another slap on the ass, and she trembles. She’s reaching a hand out, trying to find you, grip your length, give you the same high you gave her.

You shift to the side where her head is resting, poking her cheek with your length. She looks up, eyes glazed, dark, hungry for more, before her mouth parts to have a taste of herself upon you.

She’s sensual with her tongue, dragging everywhere, indulging in the combined flavor of your precum and her cream. Cheeks hollow, gripping you, jerking slowly. She pops off of you, muttering under her breath, tongue sliding along your cock, over, under. She’s still murmuring when she ends up on your tip, giving it a smooch.

“Louder.” Another demand. She’s still blowing you when she speaks, except you can’t understand what the fuck she’s saying because she defaulted to talking Japanese.

You pull away, enough to be out of her reach. She tries to get closer but a hand on her hair denies her of you. “Speak properly, baby.”

A dopey smile appears on her face. A giddy giggle follows out.

“Breed me.”

Moments blur, and the next thing you know is Sakura sprawled on the bed–legs open–and you have her wet panties falling from your hands.

Hands take hold of her waist, curved to perfection, and you’re sliding down to her legs, hooking them up to her head, and you send it.

Giving her backshots alone almost sent you off the deep end, but this view is a hell of a contender–eyes rolled back, jaw slacking, tits bouncing–as the air is full of wet squelches and dirty moans. Hands shoot out to your neck, pulling you closer, holding onto dear life as you fuck her into the bed. Her cries, now feeding into your ear, ignites something feral inside you.

“Fucking use me–” The words fuel you, pounding harder, hands pushing her higher. “More, more, more–” She’s pulling your hair, giving you this kiss that was all tongue. A deep thrust sends her moaning into your lips as she cums. Her legs tighten, wrapping around your waist as her walls clench around you, trapping you, taking you for herself.

She falls down to the bed, basking in the afterglow, your dick still deep inside of her, feeling her spasm. She’s ruined, hair sticking on her forehead, eyeliner running, chest heaving. She looks like an angel.

You let something slip out. Three words, two seconds, one meaning. It was the truth, an absolute that you needed to tell her. Sakura focuses on you, eyes melting, cupping your face, giving you this smile–real, genuine–that tells you everything you need to know.

And she still says it anyway. The kiss that follows solidifies it.

Then her grip tightens, it doesn't matter where, and she says three completely different words that spirals you down to your baser instincts.

“Cum inside me.”

The pace you set is slower this time, gentle, showing instead of telling. All the things you want to say told through the way you hold her, fill her, fuck her. Love her.

Your hand takes solace in her waist, another cupping her breast. She hasn’t looked away from you, still holding you as you fuck her. Still moaning your name out when she kisses you in between thrusts. Still giggling like a schoolgirl on a first date.

And when you feel that pressure in your stomach rising, she hooks her arms around you, on your shoulder, your hip, as if she knows you’re about to cum. To give her everything–every thought, every word, every feeling–all in this moment.

“I want it.” A whisper. “All of it.” A name.

A kiss.

“Please.”

Your body tenses, cock pulsing as you cum inside of her. It was overwhelming, blinding. You feel it pouring into her in waves, thick, warm. You hear her moan softly, taking it all, draining you, savoring you.

You fall on top of her, body exhausted, breathing uneven. She leaves pecks on your neck, uttering all these loving words, arms still wrapped around you like a cocoon.

Three words cut through the air.

You smile against her neck, tickling her, causing her to laugh. It was, no. She is everything you could ever ask for and more.

“I love you too.”

—

After that night, things change.

Having your feelings out in the open wasn’t as complicated as you thought. If anything, it feels great.

Like when she’s cuddled up to you in the mornings, when you’re cooking dinner together, when you two go out on dates–though she still has to hide her face, she is an idol after all.

Your apartment’s livelier now, more home-y ever since Sakura’s all but moved in, more of her stuff scattered around the rooms, the guest room abandoned in favor of yours. Now the only time you have to clean it is whenever her group comes to visit the apartment. Chaewon has been insufferable ever since.

Things change. Except, it doesn’t.

You still make her breakfast when she has to leave early in the morning. Still have your weekly gaming sessions. You still do your bets, though nobody really loses anymore. Not when you or her can do whatever you two want when you win.

Like when she tied you to the bed and rode you so hard the bed frame broke-

You’ve learned over time that Sakura goes all in on things that she wants.

A new computer? She’ll buy the latest and greatest.

Knitting? She’ll get the best fabric available in the market.

Fucking you? She’ll perform like it’s a year-end performance.

And she’s gonna pull out all the stops.

Dressed in nothing but a push-up bra, a pair of fishnet thigh highs and black leather boots, the power at which she slaps you across the cheek–with consent and safe words in place, of course–makes you reel, and she hauls you all the way to your bedroom and shoves you down the mattress.

“Been waiting to do this for days.” She growls out, crawling over you, pulling your wrists together above your head with one hand, and getting a pair of fabric from the nightstand with the other.

You’re still dazed from the slap, still confused on how you got to the bed, vision blurry from how rough she’s treating you. When your vision does clear, you see this trail of saliva on her lips before she spits it out, straight to your face.

“You don’t talk till I tell you.” Sakura’s relentless, pulling one of your arms up to the headboard where she wraps the fabric around it. She does it again.

It was tight, stings like a bitch when you try to pull on it, and that gets you another slap. Another serving of her spit. “Stop fucking moving, nerd.” Then a pair of fingers shove into your mouth, wet. From spit or from her, you don’t really care.

All you know is that it’s making your cock strain against your shorts, Sakura grinning above you, and the cold air brushing your legs as she pulls your shorts and boxers down, exposing you to her.

She lines herself up on your cock, pushing your head inside, then pulling it away, teasing you with it, driving you crazy. And when she sees you squirming, hips trying to thrust into her heat, she laughs.

“So fucking desperate.” And she buries herself down into you, enveloping your entire cock, her tight, wet cunt stretching to take you in.

“Yes.” She drags it out, grinding on you, head tilting backwards, savoring how you feel inside her. “Shit-” She’s brutal in her pace. The frantic way she bounces on your cock, moving faster everytime she drops deep inside of you, rolling in between, desperate to get her high. She is definitely going to bruise your hips after.

You let out this groan out of pain, pleasure, delirium. You’re enjoying this, not as much as she does, her soaked pussy dripping down the sheets, each slick squelch blending with the slaps of your skin molding with hers and you are fucked out of your mind-

“So good-” She’s leaning down, pressing her weight against yours, lips on your ears as she whispers all the filthy things she’ll do to you.

“Could fuck you like this all night.”

“Gonna make you my bitch the entire fucking weekend.”

“Fucking love it, doncha nerd-” Her hands are on your throat, pressure non-existent, fucking herself harder onto your shaft, the creaking of the bed getting louder, bending under the pressure that is Sakura-

Crack.

The bed sinks awkwardly in the center, pressing you deeper into the mattress. But she doesn’t care. It just made her hornier, made her pussy wetter, drenching you more in her and all she can let out is this shaky, dirty laugh.

“I’ll buy a new damn bed-” She’s unrelenting, the force she’s fucking you getting harder, faster. “-Just need to cum on this goddamn cock-”

Sakura’s entire body goes up, back arching, head rolling, the pressure on your throat suddenly getting tighter just as her cunt was, and she lets out this scream that echoes around your apartment. Your legs seize up, the pleasure drowning, overwhelming you. You let

You follow her after, spurts filling her up, leaking down, mixing with hers as you’re both basking in the mess you two made, enjoying how tight her pussy is, how much she’s gushed all over you. How much she’s going to own you.

Then a laugh. “We just broke the bed.” A lick of her lips. “Might as well make the most of it.” Her hips start moving again.

Your neighbours are going to be so angry tomorrow.

Or when you used her throat for the entire day when you won that one week-

The amount of times you’ve pushed her down on her knees today was the same as the amount of times you’ve fed Sakura your cum. It’s a shame you keep losing count the moment your cock slips back into her mouth.

She’s a mess, from the cum that’s dried up all over her face, her hair, her chest, to the spit that’s coated her chin, mixing with the cum on her, the tears that have been falling from getting her face wrecked, to the panties that she’ll most likely throw out after tonight.

Yet she’s still taking your cock like a champ, face scrunched up as you’re thrusting into your latest obsession; Her wet, hot mouth.

It was addicting, like a drug you never thought you needed, seeing your cock disappearing, forced into the back of her throat and she leans into the depravity. Hell, she doubles down on it whenever she can, hollowing her cheeks, licking your balls when her mouth meets your pelvis, fucking her own face on your length when you need a break from pistoning your hips.

Which is exactly what’s happening now, when your head’s tossed back on the couch as she’s drooling all over you, hands on your thighs, her nails raking over them; She’s inhaling your cock, her nose hitting your stomach everytime she goes down on you.

“I fucking love your mouth, Kkura.” Your hands find her hair, some strands wet from the cum that’s struck them, her hazel hair a bit darker from it. Your grip gets tighter. “Can’t get enough of it.”

And your hips are moving, plowing into her mouth again and again and again and she’s bracing herself because that’s all she can do other than the fresh tears that spill out of her eyes, the broken moans she sounds out, letting you know how much she’s enjoying being treated like a fleshlight.

The view was amazingly filthy; Sakura’s jaw wide open with your shaft, balls wet from all the spit that’s flying out of her mouth, eyes never looking away from yours no matter how dirty, rough, brutal you get with her.

Then you push her head, angling her in a way that shoves you even deeper down her throat. “Face just as good as your pussy-” You’re fucking her face harder, the tears in her eyes running in droves. She’s smiling through it all, and that pushes you even more to break her completely on your cock.

You don’t give her a warning when you cum–she doesn’t need any. You just keep going, fucking her mouth, fixated on how wet and hot and tight it was, until you feel the familiar tightening of your abdomen making you go faster, deeper.

It was animalistic, how you abuse her throat like a toy, how you pull on her hair like they’re pigtails, how she’s still holding that smile through everything you’re dishing out. Then your legs started shaking, your gut getting tighter till you can’t hold it anymore; You slam her down on your cock, giving her throat another hefty coating of your cum.

She still hasn’t looked away when she’s swallowing every drop, the gulps almost audible every time your cock shoots out another batch. She’s inhaling it like air, getting all of it down inside of her before you pull out just as you let out ropes of cum on her, applying another layer of it onto her already nasty, sloppy face and she’s glowing, humming in satisfaction, degrading herself even further.

And when you’re spent, she lets out this drunk little giggle as she cleans you up of all the spit and cum that’s left. Never once breaking eye contact with you.

She’s all sorts of ruined, and you would do it again in a heartbeat.

It’s still the same traditions and routines with Sakura. Except it wasn’t.

It didn’t just feel great. It feels right. Like it completes you.

And now you’re here with her, having another one on one-a shooter game this time-and you’ve lowkey been throwing the game, missing shots that were basically free, and Sakura’s cheering, trash talking you from across the room where you set up her computer.

But you made it close. Made her sweat for it, made her work for the win, and when she does? She gives you the same grin that she always does.

Except it isn’t.

She gives you a peck on the lips, and before you can push her further, she pulls away. “My turn this time.”

And while she rummages through her closet for something, you’re smiling, stupid, fondly, loving. You don’t tell her. You don’t need to.

Not when you can spend the rest of your life showing it to her.

“Here it is!” The grin disappears on her face, replaced with something soft, gentle. Her hands are behind her back, hiding whatever she took from the closet from you.

“You trust me?” An eyebrow lifts. “I’ll let you back out from this just one time.”

You stand up, hands on her shoulders, smiling down. “You know I do, Saku.” Then you huff out a laugh. “Do we need to use safe words again?”

“Yes. Yes we do.” She’s giggling, before stepping up on her tippy toes to give you a kiss. “But I promise to take care of you for this.”

Then her smile‘s gone, this stare–serious, ominous, wicked–taking over her entire being.

And in her hands was purple, long, made of rubber.

It wasn’t the first time she’s brought a dildo to the table, but this one was…unique, to say the least. Smaller than the ones that she usually pulls out, a leather brace holding it upright; It’s pointed towards you, staring blankly. Menacingly.

And you’ve never been more scared and turned on in your life.

“Get the lube.” She states, head nodding off to the side, as if you know where it is. “I’m gonna fuck you in the ass, nerd.”

Is Miyawaki Sakura a freak? Absolutely. No question about it.

Do you love her regardless? Yeah. You do.

And you wouldn’t trade her for the world.

#sakura smut #miyawaki sakura #sakura #kpop smut #le sserafim smut #le sserafim

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