#even if I accepted both of their relationships

[poisonf0rest]

Overc*mming Writer's Block 3

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐕

♱⋅── zayne x reader

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

♱⋅── word count: 10.8k holy

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

art credit to @/chimmyming on X

“So, you and Dr. Zayne?”

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

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

“Vi, you are the hospital gossip.”

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

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

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

“Rooting for a nonexistent relationship?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ms. author: Is this a threat?

Another text follows immediately after.

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

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

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

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

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

His reply is swift, almost immediate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The response is almost immediate.

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

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

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

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

Another buzz.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another buzz.

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

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

ms. author: I am writing.

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

ms. author: Gasp. Excuse you—

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

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

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

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

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

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

grumpy snowman: Because you love it when I win.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t need a lecture.”

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

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

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

And then, Zayne drops to his knees before you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let go of me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brat.”

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

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

So then he does it again.

A pitched gasp.

A broken moan.

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

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

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

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

You’re already stripped bare from the chest down. 

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

You, however, are too impatient.

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

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

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

And not just for this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck me.”

Silence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next time, though.

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

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

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

If only he could see how wet you were already.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zayne all but sobs at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sight breaks him.

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

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

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

But no, that won't do.

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

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

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

“S’pretty, Zayne.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like what you see, doctor?"

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

“You love it.”

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

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

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

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

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

Were you more than happy to oblige. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. No, no, no that won’t do.

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

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

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

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

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

"Y-you're close, aren't you, my sweet boy?" You ask, the words coming out strained as Zayne fucks up into you. Pumping upwards, it’s like he wasn’t even trying every time his weeping head rams your sensitive spots. Just stuffing you full of his cock he denied you for so long, furious enough to mold you to his very shape. "C'mon, cum for me, Zayne. In me, please–ah."

You pull away even as his lips chase yours, arching your back so that your full weight grinds back on his hips. Zayne all but whimpers at the change in angle, his hands gripping the bed sheets as he tries not to starve off his orgasm. 

"Please, please," he groans, his jaw clenching.

"Look at me, Zayne."

He does, and his pupils are so blown, his eyes nearly black.

"Cum for me, baby," you beg again, grinding down against him as his hand comes up to grope your chest the same moment your palm leaves to cup his balls, and that's all it takes.

Zayne comes, a cry ripped from his throat, his cock throbbing inside of you. You can feel the sheer warmth filling you, his seed spilling out and leaking onto the sheets, and god, there’s so much of it that cum squirts out from between the two of you, splattering up his abs and your thighs. 

He’s trembling, head falling back as his hips jolt and stutter, still fucking up into you as though it can’t bear to part. You’re probably not helping with the way you still rocking on his length, your cunt milking his orgasm, and he can't take it, it's too much, too fucking good, he can't stop, never wants to.

But, fuck, one look at his face, and you already want him to cum again.

Zayne looks like sin, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead, his body writhing and straining as he gasps for breath, his skin shining in the afterglow of his release. The muscles of his neck are taut, veins pulsing and straining, his lips bitten red. He is fucking gorgeous, and the thought that he has done this for you, to you, has another wave of arousal shooting up your spine. 

“You…” Zayne’s brows pinch together, but his voice is low, dangerous. Unyielding. “You didn’t cum.”

“I already did, besides I-I ah, Zayne—!”

You’re cut off by your own pussy, lewd squelching accompanying every brutal thrust Zayne overstimulates the both of you with, bullying his own cum out of you with each rhythmless thrust back in. He plants his feet into the mattress, thrusting his hips up as you claw at his shoulders, chest, the slap of skin on skin ringing in your ears.

“No, that isn’t-” Zayne’s words slur, feverish and mindless as his gaze zero’s in to where the two of you meet, the sound of every wet, messy thrust and the slight bulge he now sees in time to his thrusts. “Not enough. With me. Please, hah, cum with me, love.”

Transfixed, one hand drifts to the bulge at your navel, and before he can stop himself, he grinds the heel of his palm against it. Immediately, overbearing pressure shoots up your spine, a broken scream leaving you as you tremble above him, arching violently forward. 

You try and speak, protests leaving as nothing more than garbled whimpers as you claw at Zayne’s wrist, trying and failing to pry his punishing grip off you. 

He doesn’t relent.

How could he, when you’ve finally given him yourself? When this was everything he’s denied himself and more? 

Fuck control, fuck discipline, fuck holding himself back. Zayne wants you. 

Vision blurry, drool dribbling down the corner of your mouth, your combined cum gushes out of your overfilled pussy and spreads in a lewd little pool beneath you. It’s all you can do to take it, Zayne overstimulating the both of you to insanity, but his hips keep the same punishing rhythm. Two slow, deep thrusts before something snaps and he hammers into you twice. Thrice. Then begins all over. 

It’s effortless, the way he bounces your body up and down with one hand, the other remaining pressed against your abdomen, massaging the outline of his dick showing through with every grind forward, rolling your clit between his forefinger and thumb. 

Large hands splay your thighs wider, closer, impossibly stretching you out until all you can feel is Zayne, Zayne, Zayne. You don’t realize you’re chanting his name out loud too. And you never felt more gloriously out of control than when he abruptly jerks his thigh upwards– driving you right along with it– hitting your cervix all at once.

There’s no rhythm. Not anymore. You’re hardly lucid, dropping your full weight down just to meet Zayne’s cock as he pulls you down prone atop of him to catch your mouth in an open kiss as he hits your g-spot again. And again. And again and again and—

“Love,” he all but moans it into your lips, low and broken and oh so addicting. “My love, please.” God, he’s still so painfully hard but the feeling of you fluttering around him, getting tighter each time he calls you love, must be a sort of heaven. “Please– hah, fuck– cum. Cum all over my cock.”

You whine, surging forward to kiss him again, and he feels it, couldn’t do or think of anything but it as you cum around his cock for the first time. 

Zayne’s eyes open even as you continue to suck and lick into his mouth, brows furrowed and vision blurring, lost in every hot pulse of your walls as they coaxed him further and further in, your release squirting against him as you struggle to drag your hips off him again, pussy sucking his cock in deeper, unwilling to let him go. 

Shaking, his hands find their way back to your hips, settling over the light bruises as he guides you up and down again, startling you as you moan into his lips. 

“Zayne,” you whine his name between kisses, strings of spit snapping between you, Zayne chasing hazily after your mouth before you cup his face in your hands. 

God, the sound of his name on your lips is enough to have him keening, pressing his forehead to yours as his entire body trembles. 

You’re coming again before you even realize it, vision spinning in and out as Zayne continues to fuck you through it. Zayne makes a noise, something between a moan and a whimper, his hips slowing despite himself. 

You're gorgeous, the sight of you atop him, still slurring out compliments, and it's too much, fuck, too fucking much, too fucking perfect, his perfect woman. 

With a final snap of his hips, Zayne comes alongside you. 

His orgasm has him gasping and his entire body bows forward, arms wrapping around your middle as he buries his face in your shoulder, kissing into the tender flesh as he just keeps cumming. 

He can't find the need to hold back this time. Not when the pleasure is so intense that his vision is turning white, not when your cunt is hot and pulsing and clenching around him, not when the praise and encouragement keep pouring out of your lips, whispering into the crook of his neck, "good job, Zayne, such a good boy for me, you did so well, my sweet boy, my love, hah, I love you."

When you finally come down from your high your body is sore and aching, the feeling of his hot cum deep inside making you whine, the sensation so much better than his fingers or toys, so much more warm and full.

Zayne’s arms are wrapped protectively across you, hugging you down atop of him even as his cock remains motionless within you, not an inch of skin untouched as his hands rub careful circles down your spine and thighs. 

You nuzzle closer, whispering more nonsensical praises into Zayne’s hair, raising a shaking arm to comb through it as he still keeps his face tucks into your shoulder, hidden and shaking softly still. 

A shift, and you feel his hot breath on your neck, a sudden drop of wetness against your skin, and you realize with a start that Zayne is crying.

He’s crying. Soft, unrestrained sobs muffle into your shoulder as he tucks you close, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck between breaths. You let him. You curl up as close as you can get onto his lap and then closer still, one hand raking through his hair in gentle reverence as you let him cry.

It is silent, save for the sound of his sobs and his labored breaths.

"I love you, Zayne," you say, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. "You really are perfect, thank you, thank you."

You kiss his forehead, then down his cheek and jaw until he finally relaxes under you. Tracing lazy patterns up and down his chest, you coax him down until he finally raises his eyes to meet yours with a flutter of tear-stained kisses to your palm. 

The first thing you notice is the way his cheeks are flushed, his eyes wavering and hazy. The second is the way his lips are swollen, the marks on his neck and chest blooming darker with each passing minute. The third is how the sweat on his skin is beginning to dry, making his hair stick up in all sorts of directions.

The fourth is the look on his face.

The look on his face is soft, tender, and unsure. Nothing like the infallible surgeon the whole city reveres, or the smart-mouthed mentor you’ve grown to admire and respect. Just Zayne. 

You brush the damp locks away from his eyes, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips, and he melts, his body falling forward onto you as he curls you into his side, tucking you down onto the bed alongside him.

“Stay with me?” He asks, his voice low, as though afraid to ask. Afraid to know.

Always. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

[thebestsetter]

If Isagi knew his old teammate had invited him to hang out just to talk shit, he would have thought twice about coming.

"I mean, c'mon dude!" Tada, one of the players from his old team, said "You scored an excuse-me goal like that with pure luck and nothing else!"

"Excuse-me goal...?" Isagi muttered, clearly confused about what his friend meant

"Yeah! You used up all your luck on that one, not gonna lie"

If it had ended like that, Isagi would have still managed to accept it.

People have different views about his plays, so it's okay for him to think it was pure luck. He's probably just too stupid to even understand what Isagi did, even if he explained it to him.

Isagi would be just fine if his teammate didn't say anything else.

If only Tada had stopped there.

"And don't even get me started about your sudden relationship!" He said, smirking at Isagi "(Name), isn't it? Japan U-20's manager who trained the Blue Lock team for a while?" He nudged Yoichi with his shoulder "She's hot, bro. Man, you're just way too lucky! This amount of fortune should be illegal or something!"

Luck? Luck?

Isagi was dumbfounded. He didn't even react to what the guy said.

The beginning of your relationship wasn't based on his luck. If anything, it started because of how unlucky he is.

Because honestly, he doesn't want anyone to know that you two met because he entered the wrong restroom.

The restrooms were still being built in the blue lcok facility and all, so there weren't any signs indicating which was the female's one and which was the male's. Therefore, it was a 50/50 chance of entering the right one. The men's one.

Also, most people on the facility were men. There were basically only 2 girls: you, a manager who had already worked on Japan's U-20 and was just curious about the Blue Lock project, and Anri, Blue Lock's official manager. What was the possibility that he'd enter the wrong bathroom and see any of you two there?

It seemed pretty high, actually.

And he hates this story because not only did he enter the wrong bathroom, he managed to convince you this was the men's one and that the other one was for the women.

Let's just say you both ended up bounding over restroom trauma.

See? It isn't a cute, movie-like love story.

Luck? There was no way he got with you by being lucky. He fought for you.

He was the one who suggested you should be Blue Lock's manager for a short period of time. He was the one who had to build up courage to ask for your phone number after training with you for weeks. He was the one who dedicated the last goal of the match to you, all sweating and smiling.

Luck? Be for fucking real. Isagi knit the threads of fate himself until all he could see in it was your name and face.

But, sometimes, he thought about your relationship deeper. Because if he met you through his mischance, why does it feel so great to have you in his arms?

According to the dicitionary, bad luck is "an unfortunate state that results from unfavorable outcomes". When he looks at you, though, arms stretching towards him, he doesn't see any "unfavorable outcome".

Was it really bad luck, after all? Or was it all his luck dressed up as misfortune?

"Isagi? You good there, man?" Tada asked, waving his hand in front of Isagi's face

Yoichi finally smiled, looking at his former teammate after snapping out of his daydreams.

"You know what? Maybe I am, indeed, very lucky"

You know what they say: unlucky in cards, lucky in love.

But when Yoichi comes home, seeing you in his jersey, cooking for him and watching one of his old games, he can't help but wonder.

Maybe he's lucky in both.

[floatyflowers]

Platonic yandere older brother Alexei Vronsky from Anna Karenina?

The grand chandelier illuminates the opulent ballroom as laughter and music fill the air, yet you feel Alexei’s oppressive presence even in the crowd.

He’s been by your side all evening, subtly deterring every potential dance partner with a sharp glance or a polite but firm comment.

As another young gentleman approaches to ask for a dance, Alexei smoothly intercepts, his charming yet menacing demeanor leaving no room for argument. His quiet words,

"My sister isn’t accepting offers tonight," carry an unmistakable finality.

When you finally snap and confront him, seething with frustration.

"You don't have to be like that, I haven't danced with anyone since my arrival nor have I danced with anyone at any ball."

Alexei leans down and whispers with a cold smirk,

"You don’t need them, little one. You have me."

"You can't control me forever, Alexei," you state, your voice low enough to not draw attention.

"If you try, I’ll tell everyone about your little… affair with Anna Karenina."

Alexei’s lips curved into a dangerous smirk.

"Do you think I care for their judgment? Say what you like, dear sister. It changes nothing."

As the waltz began to play, you tugged your wrist free, your temper boiling.

"Do you think your obsession with controlling me is noble? Or is it just as selfish as your secret meetings with her?" Alexei leaned closer, his smirk never faltering.

"You’re bold tonight, sister, but let me remind you, no one would believe you, they all see you as the innocent little flower, untainted and sweet. Do you think they’ll take your word over mine? Now, go back to your seat, or I’ll make sure you regret this."

Determined not to let him win, you continue threatening him.

"You underestimate me, Alexei."

You smile at him tauntingly.

"I know exactly how to make them listen, a few whispered words in the right ears, and your precious reputation will crumble. What will she think when her name is dragged through the mud because of you?"

For the first time, a flicker of something dark passed over Alexei's face, but it vanished just as quickly.

"Do you think I care about her reputation?" he asked, his smirk returning, though his eyes glinted coldly.

"I care about you, and I won’t let anyone touch what’s mine.

"Go ahead," he murmured, gesturing toward the crowd.

"Make your scene, but remember this whatever you do will reflect on our family. Every rumor, every scandal will tarnish your name as much as mine."

His hand moves towards the golden lock you are wearing, opening it to reveal his and your picture together when you both were children.

"So, by all means, let us enjoy the night and dance with each other and only each other."

With that Alexei leads you to the dance floor in the middle of the ballroom.

Anna Karenina and Kitty Shcherbatsky watch you and your brother dance, realising that they could never be close to the handsome man as you are to him.

Only if the relationship is purely platonic.

[insidekatmind]

Between the two of us ~ Virgil Van Dijk

Wearning: +18,smut

Request: yes!

It’s a hot summer in Liverpool. Your father, a lifelong football fan, takes you to a barbecue hosted by some of his old friends. Among the guests is Virgil van Dijk, one of the most famous defenders in the world. He’s 33, a charming and charismatic man, with a smile that seems to be able to melt even the coldest ice.

You’re 22, a university student trying to figure out what to do with your life. You’re not a football fan, but you know his name and his success. Despite the age difference and the fact that he’s a friend of your father’s, there’s something about him that draws you in.

You meet him at the buffet table, both of you busy serving you food.

“I didn’t think your father had such an adult daughter,” Virgil says, looking at you with a friendly smile.

“And I didn’t think my father’s friends were that famous,” you reply in a joking tone, trying to hide your embarrassment.

He laughs. "Touché. Nice to meet you, Virgil."

"I know who you are," you say, shaking his hand. "I'm Y/N."

The rest of the night passes peacefully, but you can't shake the feeling that there's a special energy between the two of you.

---

A few days later, while you're studying in the library, you get a message on Instagram. It's from him.

Virgil: "I hope I'm not bothering you, but I just wanted to say it was nice meeting you the other night. Your dad always talks about you, but I didn't think you'd be that... interesting."

You're surprised. You hesitate for a few minutes before answering.

You: "Thanks. It was nice meeting you too. It's not every day you get to meet a soccer legend at the family barbecue."

Virgil: "Well, I'm more normal than you think. If you want, maybe we can talk a little more. I promise it won't just be football"

From that moment on, you begin texting each other almost every day. The conversations are light at first, but over time they become deeper. He tells you about his experiences, the pressures of success, and you confide in him about your insecurities as a young adult.

---

One night, he invites you to dinner. He says he wants to thank you for being a good listener. You know it would be risky to accept, but curiosity and attraction win out.

You meet at a discreet restaurant outside of town. When you see him, elegant and confident, your heart races.

"Are you nervous?" he asks with a smile.

"A little," you admit. "This isn't normal."

"I know," he says, looking into your eyes. "But something about you makes me feel like it's worth the risk."

Dinner is perfect. You talk, laugh, and share moments of silence that are never awkward. When he walks you home, he stops at the door and looks at you intently.

"I shouldn't," he says quietly, almost to himself.

"But do you want it?" you ask, challenging him with your eyes.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he leans in and kisses you.

---

From that moment on, your relationship becomes a secret. You meet when you can, away from prying eyes. He is always careful, trying to protect both his reputation and yours.

---

You were at home lying on the sofa cuddling with him, it was his day off and he had decided to spend it with you

Virgil lay beside you on the sofa, his arm casually draped around your shoulder. His eyes were half-closed, and a contented smile played on his lips as he watched you in silence. The warm sunlight streamed through the window, casting a cozy glow over the room.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, he spoke up, his voice quiet and low.

"You know," he began, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm, "I've been meaning to ask you something."

"what darling?" you say looking at him sweetly.

Virgil paused his finger drawings on your arm and sat up slightly to meet your gaze.

"Well," he began with a hint of uncertainty in his voice, "I've been thinking about this for a while now, and I just want to make sure we're on the same page."

He looked at you intently, his eyes searching your face for any hint of what you might be thinking.

"I know it's not easy," he said, his tone growing more serious, "and there are going to be challenges. People talking, paparazzi, all that nonsense."

He leaned closer, resting his forehead against yours.

"But I'm willing to face all of that if it means being with you. I'm willing to face anything for you."

He was silent for a moment, his gaze locked with yours, waiting for your response.

"Do you want our relationship to go public?" you asked softly with a hint of surprise.

Virgil chuckled softly at your question, a mixture of relief and nerves in his voice.

"Yes, I do," he confessed, his fingers intertwining with yours. "I know it's a big step, and it might be difficult. But I want the world to know that I'm with you. I want to be able to hold your hand on the streets of Liverpool, without worrying who's watching."

He looked into your eyes again, his gaze intense and earnest.

your heart beats fast at his words. "I want it too but what do we say to my father? he's one of your friends". Virgil's expression softened a little, and he nodded in understanding.

"I know," he sighed, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. "Your father is my friend, and he definitely won't be happy at first. But we can't let that stop us."

He paused, thinking for a moment.

"We need to talk to him together. Face to face. But we need to be careful about how we do it. He might react strongly, but if we remain calm and honest, I think we can make him understand."

"I can't guarantee he'll be happy, or that he won't be angry at first. But he's a man of reason."

He raised your hand to his lips, gently kissing the back of it.

"Let's just... find the right moment, and have a calm, respectful conversation with him. And maybe, just maybe, he'll see that we're good for each other, and he'll give us his blessing."

Tou nod sweetly and kiss him Virgil smiled warmly as you kissed him, his hand moving to cup your cheek. He held the kiss for a moment, savoring the sweetness of the moment.

When he finally pulled away, his gaze was full of tenderness.

"I'm glad you feel the same way," he said quietly. "We'll figure it out together. Whatever happens, we're in this together, alright?"

"yes whatever happens" .

Virgil wrapped his arms around you tightly, pulling you into an embrace. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply as if trying to commit your scent to memory.

"No matter what obstacles we face," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in his chest, "we'll face them together. We're a team now, you and I. And nothing can stand in our way.

You smile and kiss him sweetly.As the kiss deepens, Virgil's body moves to hover over yours. His hands, strong and warm, gently push you back onto the sofa, his weight pressing down on you with a delicious force.

His breath is hot against your skin as his lips move down the side of your neck, finding the sensitive spot that makes you shiver.

Virgil takes his time, his mouth lavishing attention on your neck and shoulders, planting kisses that leave trails of fire wherever they go. His hands roam over your body, tracing a path from your hips to your waist, pausing to caress your curves through the fabric of your clothes.

The sound of your moans only fuels the fire building between you two. His hips responded instinctively to your movement, pressing into you with a low grumble of pleasure.

He lifted his head to look into your eyes, his own gaze dark and intense.

"You make it difficult to hold back," he murmured, his voice thick with want.

"I don't want you to hold back" you say looking at him.Virgil chuckled at your response, a sound laced with both lust and admiration.

"No restraint, huh?" he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Good. Because I can't seem to resist you when you talk like that, cara."

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above yours.

"So, you want me to lose control, is that it?"

"Yes please" you said looking at him with lust and he smiles. "yes what babygirl?" he asks and to tease you he rubs his hardness on your intimacy "please daddy" you say moaning.

Virgil grins at your response and rewards your boldness with a sharper, more insistent movement of his hips.

"That's more like it," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Keep talking like that and you'll get exactly what you want."

He leans in close, his mouth finding that sensitive spot on your neck again, while his hand glides under the hem of your shirt, drawing lazy circles on your skin."You like being a good girl for me, is that it?"

"yes daddy please make me feel good".Virgil growls at your words, his hand tightening its grip on your hip.

"You want me to make you feel good, huh?" he says, his lips now traveling down your collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses in their path.

He presses himself against you again, this time with even more intent, his body moving against yours in a rhythmic, primal dance.

"I'm going to make you feel so good, baby girl. You won't be able to think of anything else but me."

You look at him longingly and bite your lip. His hands move to the hem of your shirt, and he slowly pulls it up, revealing more and more of your skin to his hungry gaze.

"I love the way you look at me," he whispers, his eyes roaming over your body. "Like you want to devour me."

He ducks his head to plant a trail of kisses down your stomach, his lips leaving a burning trail of desire in their wake.

His hands find the buttons on your jeans, and he quickly undoes them, tugging them downward. His fingers dance over the skin of your legs, tracing patterns on your thighs as he moves back up to your hips, his body covering yours again.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, "so perfect."

He captures your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue seeking and claiming possession of your mouth.

You moan desperately into the kiss wanting more. "Please daddy taste me" you beg him

Virgil's eyes darkened at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"You're a needy little thing, aren't you?" he says, a smirk on his lips. "But I like that. A lot. And I did promise to make you feel good, didn't I?"

He moves down your body again, his lips ghosting over your skin as he goes.

"I'm going to taste you... and touch you... and make you forget your own name."

Virgil's lips and tongue explore you with an expertise that can only come from practice, but it's obvious he knows exactly what he's doing. He takes his time, his mouth mapping out every inch of you, drawing gasps and moans with each flick of his tongue.

He watches you, his eyes flickering up to your face every so often, seemingly enjoying the effect he's having on you.

"You taste so sweet," he murmurs against your skin..

You moan loudly and squeeze your thighs over his face

Virgil groans again, the sound muffled by your body, but the effect is clear. He seems to be enjoying your reactions just as much as you are.

“You’re killing me,” he mutters, his hands tightening on your thighs. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

His tongue continues its explorations, his movements becoming more insistent, more demanding. He seems to be finding all the spots that make you shiver and moan, and he’s not about to stop anytime soon.

"it's so beautiful daddy keep it up please". Virgil looks up at you, his eyes dark and intense.

“I want to hear you say my name,” he murmurs. “I want to hear you say it over and over again until it’s the only thing you can think of.”

His mouth returns to your body, his tongue and lips working over you with a newfound urgency. He seems intent on making you forget everything except his name.

"Virgil" you moan loudly pulling his hair .Virgil's response is immediate and primal.

He growls against your skin, his hands squeezing your hips in possessive response to hearing you say his name.

“Louder,” he commands, his voice gruff. “I want to hear how much you want me.”

You moan and push your hips into his face "Virgil" you moan. "That's it," he growls, his words vibrating against your flesh. "Say it again. I want to hear you scream my name."

His tongue and mouth work with a new intensity now, drawing out sounds from you that you didn’t even know you were capable of making.

"I want you to know who's making you feel like this," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "Who you belong to."

You scream loudly feeling the orgasm approaching "Virgil I belong to you only to you, you are making me feel so good".

Virgil hears your words, and it's like fuel to the fire that's burning within him. His eyes lock onto yours, his gaze intense and possessive.

"That's right," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "You belong to me. You're mine. And I'm never letting you go."

His mouth returns to your body, his movements becoming more rapid, more urgent, as if he's determined to send you over the edge.

Virgil feels the tension in your body, and he knows he's close to his goal.

"Come for me," he commands, his words a hot, rough whisper against your skin. "Come for me, like the good girl you are."

His tongue and lips continue their assault, working to push you to orgasm.

Virgil feels your body tighten and arch against him, and he knows he's pushed you over the edge.

He holds you tight, his arms wrapped around you as you shudder through your climax, his mouth still working against you, prolonging the pleasurable sensations.

He looks down at you, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"God, you're perfect," he murmurs, his voice a little hoarse. "I loved watching you come for my tongue".

He leans down to kiss you, his lips gentle but possessive.

"You taste so sweet," he murmurs, his mouth moving to your neck, planting soft kisses along your jawline. "I could do that all day."

You whimper in response and hug him.Virgil returns your embrace, pulling you close against him. His body is warm and solid against yours, the feel of his skin against yours sending a shiver through you.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

"You're too good for me," he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin. "I don't deserve you."

"instead yes love, I love you" you say sweetly .Virgil lifts his head, his expression one of tender surprise at your words.

"You... you love me?" he asks, his voice almost hesitant as if he isn't quite sure he heard you correctly.

Virgil's expression softens, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt or falsehood. When he doesn't find any, a wide, boyish grin spreads across his face.

"You love me," he repeats, as if still trying to wrap his head around the idea. "You really love me."

He pulls you tighter against him, his arms wrapping around you in a fierce hug.

Virgil's grin widens as you kiss his head. He looks up at you, his gaze warm and tender.

"You're too good to me," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

He buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, as if trying to memorise the smell of you.

"It's me who wonders what I did to deserve you" you say softly. Virgil's grip on you tightens at your words, and he lifts his head to look at you again, his expression a mixture of disbelief and affection.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "You're kind, and generous, and loving... and you love me."

He pulls you even closer to him, his arms practically crushing you against his chest.

The two of you remain like this for some time, simply enjoying the warmth and comfort of each other's embrace.

Virgil's heartbeat feels steady and strong against your ear, a soothing rhythm that almost lullabys you into a doze.

He holds you tightly, his hands rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back. He doesn't seem in any hurry to let go.

[oatmealwrites]

NSFW Holiday Hoes: [Frat JJK AU] Nanami x F! Reader

Eating Holiday Cookies!

Finance Student! Frat Treasurer! Nanami x F! Reader

Trying to save money in the frat's budget for all the expensive parties Gojo keeps throwing, you offer to help bake cookies for the next function instead of buying them. Though Nanami has something sweeter in mind he'd like to eat…

Tags: porn with plot, friends to lovers, helpless pining?, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, condom, condom breaks, pull out method, hickies, neck kissing, established relationship at end, gojo is a rat, haibara and ieiri are in on it, MDNI, 18+

Holiday Hoes Masterlist

Word Count: 9.4k

kinda rushed? LMAO

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mariah Carey plays on the television of your shared apartment while you and Ieiri sit on the wooden floorboards humming along. Rolls of various wrapping paper litter the floor along with colorful bows, scissors, pens, and a few holiday snacks while the light smoke from her cigarette drafts in the air. 

“Pass the tape.”

“–Here.”

You seal one side of the box in front of you, tape sticking to each end of your fingertips while Ieiri struggles to tie a golden bow to the strap of a gift bag. Iori had left an additional pile of holiday gifts that needed wrapping beside you on the couch, apologizing while she ran out the door to her part-time job. 

“This is going to take forever…”

You don’t bother looking up from your position with tape covering all five fingers on one of your hands and instead remain focused on folding a loose piece of wrapping paper. “Hmmm? At least finals are done so we have the time.”

Ieiri sighs and finishes the small bow before sliding the gift bag near the love seat and looking at the mountain of boxes that remained stacked beside you both. The song shifts to one off of a Micheal Buble album and you hum along absentmindedly, back hunched over in focus despite the uncomfortable position. 

Despite the 25th passing several days ago, most of your friends have begun to trickle back to campus from their break, creating the perfect opportunity for your belated holiday parties.

“Well,” Ieiri leans over and slides a small shoebox-sized gift closer to her before placing it on a roll of wrapping paper that was laid flat. “Maybe after this we can–”

Ring!

You both pause and look over to Ieiri’s phone lying on the coffee table and now vibrating against the glass with an incoming call. Placing the last few pieces of tape on the side of the box, you flip it over and look around for a spare marker while Ieiri accepts the call and places it on speaker.

“Haibara? You’re on speaker.”

She resumes her task and slides the blade of the scissors up the roll like a hot knife through butter while you continue your search for a Sharpie.

“Hey! Are you busy at the moment?”

“Mmmm just wrapping some gifts. What’s up?”

Like second nature, Ieiri notices you looking under the couch searching to see if it had rolled underneath and silently reaches for a marker at her side and passes it to you.

“Ah, perfect! So not too busy then…”

“Huh? Get to the point.”

Haibara’s voice is light and airy despite him obviously being frantic as the receiver shuffles against something a few times and Kento can be heard in the background yelling at somebody.

“Well it’s the budget again…”

You refrain a snort and pop the cap off the marker while Ieiri rolls her eyes and begins taping sides of the box. “That idiot Satoru again? Seriously, I don't understand why you guys are even surprised at this point.”

“I mean it’s not surprising but it left Kento and I in a tight spot–”

“–What do you mean you needed the rental to have a hot tub? Satoru–”

You bite your lip at the sound, and you and Ieiri finally let out a few laughs when she mutes the call. This isn’t the first time Satoru had gone over Kento’s head for a party budget, despite him being the treasurer, but it always left a mess of issues for Kento and Haibara to clean up. 

“Ok, and why did you think to call me?”

Haibara shuffles a bit on the other end, trying to get Kento out of earshot and avoid any further interruptions. “Satoru is offering to cover the alcohol costs, but that still leaves the function budget empty to cover food and supplies.”

Ieiri hums and flips the gift around to begin taping the other side. “Soooo?”

“So what if you guys helped us? Maybe see if you know anyone with winter lights for the decorations and if you can come by the apartment to plan it?”

“‘Guys’?”

“Hm? I assume you’re with Y/N”

You offer a short ‘hey’ and slide the finished present over to the other pile of completed gifts and stretch the knot forming in your shoulder muscles. 

“Please? Just come by and see what you can do to help us with food and decorations. We’ll be in your debt!!”

Ieiri looks up at you, the mountain of boxes yet to be wrapped, and then back at you once more; Micheal Buble continues singing in the background and a harsh wind has picked up outside. You’re beyond comfortable staying in for the day, but the stupid smirk your roommate shoots you is enough to kick her with your foot. 

It wasn’t a secret between the both of you that you found the blonde, sleep deprived, and stressed out frat treasurer incredibly hot. A top of his class graduate student getting his master’s in finance, there were rumors he had even dabbled in some education courses in his undergrad years. Also the big to JJK’s newest pledge Yuji and personal mentor to other member Ino, Kento was a well rounded man who was liked by nearly everyone. To top off an intelligent, book loving personality, he was beyond ripped. 

Ieiri giggles a bit and you reach to throw a paper bow at her, scoffing when it barely gets a few inches away from your hand before weakly falling to the ground. Kento was adored by nearly everyone, and that also meant there was a limited chance he would actually reciprocate the thoughts you had about him. You had bumped into each other often on campus and grabbed lunch when said events occurred, but besides that and assisting in cleaning up the budget, the man rarely messaged you outside of working hours. 

Maybe you had been on a few coffee and study ‘dates’ but the real meaning of the d-word was yet to be determined. 

“Yea I think we should be able to swing by~” She ducks as you make a swipe for the phone and kicks you back with her foot pressed against your gut,. “–You’re at your apartment right? We’ll be right over.”

The call ends and you give her a light shove before standing up fully and stretching the soreness from your back. Ieiri giggles slightly and whistles at the mountain of gifts yet to be processed while standing up as well. 

“I’ll go–”

“–I already knew you would”

You roll your eyes at her interruption and continue, “if you promise not to do that thing you and Haibara always do when we hang out.”

Ieiri pads over to the kitchen and pours a glass of water while tapping her chin and feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do! You and Haibara always fuck off whenever it’s the four of us and leave Kento and I alone.”

“Maybe we just happened to get busy. Besides, it’s doing you a favor.”

You scoff and walk over to the coat closet and flip through your winter jackets before pulling out a puffer and knit scarf. While yes, you had absolutely 0 game when it came to asking Kento out to things, being “conveniently” stranded with him didn’t exactly produce many moments of casual opportunity for an initiative. 

If he wanted to make a move wouldn’t he make one during those moments as well?

“Whatever, but we can’t be there long– Iori will kill us if we don’t finish wrapping those in time for the Secret Santa.”

Ieiri shrugs and puts out the last of her cigarette on the ceramic ashtray you got her for Christmas last year before slipping on her own coat. 

“Fine, fine… I guess I’m driving too huh?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Kento and Haibara’s apartment is in a cozy complex near the university’s business building and nestled between a variety of coffee shops, boutiques, and restaurants. Along with the best bakery Kento has ever shown you. You barely ring the buzzer for their unit number before Haibara quickly ushers you inside through the intercom and the front door buzzes indicating it’s unlocked. 

“Must be serious.”

Ieiri calls the elevator and pushes the button for the 7th floor while you use the mirrored walls to smooth out your hair which the winter wind has pushed in every direction. Checking your casual outfit of jeans, white t-shirt, and holly red cardigan underneath the parka, the elevator dings and you both step out.

“Can you stop that? You look fine.”

“Fine? I look like I’ve been run over by a snowplow.”

“Yea, well that’s how you always look. So just rela–”

You nudge Ieiri in the ribs and stop in front of the unit number 7-3 for only 5 seconds before Haibara swings it open; your hand still raised to knock against the wood slowly falls down in surprise. 

“Thank goodness! Now get in here!”

The man grabs both your and Ieiri’s arms and pulls you through the entryway and into the open kitchen space right by the front door. You barely have time to kick off your winter boots before Kento walks in from his bedroom and gives a pitiful look to all of you. 

Some purple bags hang under his eyes from the exhaustion of finals and a certain white-haired man’s antics, and his cheekbones seem more prominent than ever from lack of proper meals. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to come.”

“We need backup if this is going to work!”

Haibara marches back around the kitchen island and shakes Kento’s shoulders with a slight panic while Ieiri coasts past them to open a window in their living room; she opens a pack of cigarettes and pulls out a lighter.

“Ok,” you say, leaning against the kitchen island and crossing your arms at the two men. “Why don’t you just fill us in first before we strategize what kind of help you even need.”

Kento mirrors your position and rests against the sink counter directly in front of you. “With Satoru covering the alcohol costs, that leaves us trying to figure out food and decorations.”

“Ask Suguru for decorations. I know for a fact he’s got speakers, holiday lights, and a smoke machine.” Ieiri takes a drag of her cigarette from the windowsill. “He might know someone with strobes…”

You notice a slight twitch in Kento’s eyebrow but ignore it when he continues, “Well, that just leaves food.”

Haibara beams at Ieiri while she flicks the ash out of the window and Kento turns to you thinking deeply, “That idiot said he’s going to be buying 14 handles of liquor… I suppose people will be too drunk to really notice what we serve.”

“Cookies?”

Kento snaps from his thoughts and looks at you. “Cookies? I mean I guess that works…”

“And it’s fitting for the holiday spirit!” Haibara smiles while walking back over from the window.

The two men nod once to each other and begin opening their pantry, taking out basic baking ingredients and placing them on the counter.

You walk beside them and assist in searching for flour. “Any particular flavor in mind? I already know Satoru would be heartbroken if we don’t have frosted sugar cookies.”

Kento scoffs and passes you a sack of all-purpose flour, “I’m not surprised… we can make those and another recipe I know.”

Kento stands up and looks at the ingredients, while you admire the apartment and watch Ieiri walk back into the kitchen after flinging the last of her cigarette out the window. The strung up holiday lights are most likely Yuji and Ino’s doing; getting Haibara’s permission while Kento was in class. Some old ceramic animals sit in several corners of the apartment: on the bookshelves in the living room, on the small end table by the front door, and along the kitchen counter touching the backsplash.

“Swedish..?”

“Danish. They were my grandfather’s.”

You silently hum and back away from the small ceramic goose with a red ribbon around its neck  and look back at Kento who holds your gaze with a gentle admiration before turning back to the various foods on his counter. The decoration’s color scheme of red and white now makes more sense; you return to the counter next to the man while Haibara and Ieiri eyeball the ingredients and hover over her cellphone to pull up a recipe for sugar cookies.

“We’ve got enough to make these I think..shall we start?”

Immediately you break into two groups with Haibara and Ieiri making the base of the sugar cookies while you work with Kento to make the dough for the recipe he already knew. You scoffed at your roommate’s wiggling eyebrows when she immediately volunteered to help Haibara, and you now watch Kento intently while he sifts through ingredients deftly without reference.

“Geez honor roll for finance and a master baker? I bet your CV is impressive.”

“Personal hobbies aren’t typically included on resumes.”

You suck in a breath and nod once awkwardly, standing motionless at Kento’s side and silently cursing yourself for lack of better conversation.

“Thanks though,” Kento mumbles quietly, keeping his head down to focus on the mixing bowl beneath him.

Some blonde hair cascades from the swept back look it was currently fixed in and grazes the pink skin of his cheeks. You take a moment to drink in the image of him, dressed in a blue casual wool sweater, the fabric rolled up to his elbows and showing off his veiny forearms, and khaki slacks that stretched around the swell of his thighs.

“Can you pass the cinnamon?”

“Huh?”

“The cinnamon.”

You snap out of your intrusive horny thoughts and look around the counter before passing a small vial of spice to the man. You watch Kento mix together the dry ingredients, not missing the way Ieiri and Haibara chuckle amongst themselves quietly and turn up background holiday music on the bluetooth speaker. 

Shooting a glance at your roommate, your eyes only lift when the oven dings to indicate the pre-heat is complete and ready to bake.

“Ah, we’re just short of sugar…”

Haibara and Ieiri stand over their own mixing bowl and look down at the contents below; everything else has already been added to the bowl. Ieiri makes a move for the now empty sugar sack and shakes the last few granules into the mix.

“It’s probably fine.”

“The ratio will be off.” Kento moves over to the two of them and takes Ieiri’s phone to eyeball the recipe. “You need 7 parts flour to 3 parts sugar… 7:2 won’t be good.”

You look between the three of them and raise an eyebrow when Haibara and Ieiri giggle to themselves. Setting the whisk still in your own mixing bowl, you walk over to their batch of loose powder and immediately notice that it seems more than enough sugar has already been added.

“Then we’ll head to the store!”

“Yes! Wouldn’t want the cookies to be botched.”

Immediately Ieiri moves to pick up her coat from the hooks by the front door with Haibara hot on her heels and digs through a small basket for car keys. You put your hands on your hips and shoot her a glare and she makes no effort to wipe the innocent grin from her face while shuffling on a pair of winter boots.

“We’ll head to the market right now! You guys continue.”

“Yes! We won’t be too long.”

Before you can even flip them off from behind Kento’s shoulder, the two slip out the door and can be heard giggling in the halls as they walk to the elevator. 

“Those two…”

Kento pays no mind but sighs to himself before getting a large pan out and a rolling pin. “We can at least put this batch into the oven while they’re out.”

Spinning on your heels, you walk back over to the kitchen island and help scoop the dough out of the bowl and onto a cutting board. Without even speaking you both shift seamlessly to place the bowl in the sink while Kento begins to roll the dough flat.

“What recipe is this? You didn’t even need to look it up.”

“Hmm? Oh, I used to make them every year when I was younger.. They’re called brunkager.”

You rinse your fingers off and turn back to the man, now admiring the way he flats the dough with enough force to create a small bulge in the noticeable veins of his arms. 

“I don’t think I’ve heard of those.”

He hums and turns to you with a piece of raw dough pinched between his fingers; you silently take it and pop it between your lips while he watches.

“Gingerbread!”

Immediately, a small smile works its way onto his face and he turns back to the flatten dough with a knife, ready to cut shapes.

“Basically. I used to make them with my mother’s side of the family when I was young.”

“Wow.. that’s really sweet.”

A small blush works its way onto his cheeks at your compliment but he ducks his head down to let more blonde hair push further into his face to hide it. He cuts a few more shapes before offering you the knife to create your own.

The entire moment is warm and soft; Last Christmas plays in the background while Kento pushes back the sleeves of your cardigan without asking as you cut a star shape from the dough. 

“Now that I know you’re a good baker, I’ll have to ask you for cooking and finance advice.”

He doesn’t laugh while he places each shape onto the pan covered with parchment. “I’m not a personal consultant you know.”

Oh shit. Ok, maybe the conversation is still salvageable.

“--But I suppose I can help you if you really want to hear it. It’s kinda boring.”

“I don’t think so, and besides, you’re really good at it.” You stay looking down at the last few scraps of dough. “Plus, I’m trying to figure out how to save up for a car, ya know.”

Kento lets out an air of chuckle this time and arranges the last few shapes onto the pan. “Still not a consultant but,” he looks at your eyes and briefly your lips before peeling his eyes back to the cookies, “I’d be more than happy to help.”

The proximity is enough to make your cheeks warm, and Kento lifts his eyes to meet yours once more. So close you can smell the woodsy cologne he wears, you swear he’s leaning even closer with each passing second. 

Instinctively you lean in and when you’re a breath away from meeting his lips there’s a shrill phone alarm against the counter. Immediately you both backup, as if snapping out of a trance, and Kento reaches over to tap ‘accept’ with a knuckle that wasn’t covered in flour and places it on speaker.

“Heyy~ What’s up, my favorite treasurer?”

Satoru’s voice chirps through the receiver and you stifle a giggle while Kento rolls his eyes. Using the remaining dough scraps, you attempt to forge little shapes beside him.

“Making cookies since you left us with no budget to purchase food.”

“Oooo! Are you making my favorites?”

“Yes we’re making sugar cookies the way the recipe intends, no ‘extra sweet’ ones you seem to demand so much.”

A giggle is heard through the speaker and you show your final shape of an attempted gingerbread man to Kento who smiles gently and nods in indication to add it to the pan. Stepping back, you move to open the oven door.

“Anyways~~ I heard from Ieiri that Y/N’s coming to the party. Either make your move now or I’ll tell Suguru he can ask her out instead.”

Despite holding the tray and standing right in front of the oven, Kento nearly trips forward to shove them inside before pivoting to grab his phone off the counter. Not caring if flour or residual dough gets on the screen, he takes it off speaker and awkwardly rushes over to the living to continue the call.

Huh? ….Ask you out? He wanted to ask you out???

You shut the oven door and make a mental note of the time before turning to watch Kento whisper-yell into his phone while pinching the bridge of his nose. His body refuses to turn around and face the kitchen again; you stand awkwardly after washing your hands and having no imminent task to complete.

“No you idiot… Are you aware that you’re not helping whatsoever?..... Ok fine, fine… just, don’t say anything to him.”

It feels wrong to even hear half the conversation despite needing answers as to what the fuck was currently happening. The conversation lasts maybe another 90 seconds before a long sigh can be heard escaping his lips and you quickly attempt to make yourself look busy. As if you weren’t hanging onto every word.

He slides his phone into his back pocket and approaches the kitchen with an awkward look on his face, not quite making eye contact.

“I won’t pretend like you didn’t hear that idiot on the phone…and I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable,” he pauses and looks up at you apologetically. “If you would rather go home… I know Ieiri was your ride. I can order you an Uber…”

…huh?

You pause and watch the man in front of you with cheeks so warm they could fry an egg and eyes open so wide they may pop out of your skull.

“What?”

Kento locks eyes with you and moves to stand against the counter, giving several feet of respectful space, and rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean I knew I should’ve never even told Satoru anything to begin with… I understand if you have feelings for Suguru and find this as awkward as I do right now…”

It takes several moments before thoughts can be translated into a coherent and understandable sentence, though it’s not the most articulate: “You like me?”

Despite being a boiled down version of what was actually happening, Kento just raises his eyebrows at your slight forwardness before nodding curtly. 

“Yea, I do. I just… haven’t figured out how to come forward with it, until now..”

There’s a steady pause as his words sink in; the moment doesn’t even feel like reality as you stand there processing the gravity of everything before it comes crashing down.

“I feel the same,” you say as you take a careful step forward to close the distance slightly. “Ieiri always clowns me for never making any kind of move.”

“Well that makes two of us.. Haibara isn’t exactly subtle at trying to get me alone with you.”

You take another step forward and laugh at the simplicity of everything, shaking your head and not noticing the way Kento moves to close the space. He leans against the same side of the island with you and hovers inches away while he tugs your hand away from your face with a curious smile on his lips.

“What’s so funny?”

Waving slightly with your free hand, a few more giggles escape your lips while Kento moves to lean his head down towards yours.

“Are you laughing at me?” he questions playfully.

“Mmm maybe.”

You blink slowly at him once, a smile on your lips when he finally nudges his chin closer to connect your lips. Instinctively you shut your eyes and lean into the motion, a small smile on your face at how simple everything seemed.

With a few more pecks Kento backs up slightly, “it’s gonna be hard to kiss you if you keep smiling like that.”

There’s no pause for your response and he leans his head back down to kiss you once more, though not as gently as the first time. The hand that he had used to hold your hand a moment before now rests respectfully on your hips while his other pushes locks of hair away from your face.

The smile falls from your lips as you lean your head in further to match the force and your hands snake up to wrap around his neck and lazily rest on his broad shoulders. Music in the background isn’t enough to deafen the pounding heartbeat in your ears and Kento pushes further into the kiss, his nose occasionally brushing your cheek from the force. 

In a drunken haze you pull him in closer, as if it were even physically possible, and your legs pivot to push your ass flush against the counter while Kento stands between your legs. Despite the intoxicating flavor of his lips, you can’t help but notice how PG the whole moment was.

Normally this would be fine… normally. But you’ve been thinking about this man for months on end and the fact he’s keeping his hands so painfully respectful at your hips has you craving something more. 

Without disconnecting your lips, your hands snake down his sharp shoulder blades and then forearms before resting on his wrists. Before he can mumble a phrase into your lips, you push his hands down and back to rest against the swell of your ass.

Immediately, he leans back a bit and looks into your eyes. “Are you sure that’s alright?” 

He pants lightly with pupils blown so wide they look black instead of hazel. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

A chill shiver runs down your spine and you instinctively lift your hands off his wrists in slight shock. Fuck. The last thing you wanted to do was pressure him into something he didn’t want.

“O-Oh! I’m sorry…  I should’ve–”

“–No.” Kento leans forward and interrupts, “I want to do…that. To touch you and more.. But I didn’t want you to think that’s all I’m actually after.”

You pause and look up at his face, with lids half closed as you drink in the way his usual rational and put-together appearance begins to melt. 

“So what are you after?”

Kento sucks in a breath and looks around aimlessly for a moment while shaking his head; this conversation was not something he was expecting to have when Haibara had invited you and Ieiri over. 

“I wish I could do this a bit more properly but-” He looks back down at you and admires your eyes before lingering on your lips. “Something serious. Something real. I’m not really a guy who does anything like this casually.”

“Me neither. I don’t usually kiss and grind against the people I cook holiday cookies with.”

Kento actually laughs at this and leans down to peck your lips chastley, his hands still on your ass, but the pressure never increases.

“Good, the idea of anyone else being able to do this pisses me off a bit.”

“Mmmmm like Suguru?”

This causes a scoff to escape his lips and his fingers to dig slightly into the flesh of your ass, “Don’t.”

A coy smile works its way onto your lips while you return to wrap your arms around his neck and pull his mouth to hover just above yours. His lips purse slightly, in both feigned annoyance and eagerness to reconnect your mouths once more.

“Or what?”

That's all it takes for Kento to push his face forward and meet your lips with passion and sink his fingers into the flesh of your ass. It’s light at first, but when your fingers pull on the strands of his blonde hair, the pressure increases and begins to knead.

Tugging his neck down further, you tilt your head to the side and deepen the kiss, parting your lips slightly when his tongue swipes against your own. Kento isn’t sure what he enjoys more in this moment, the taste of the spiced dough on your tongue or the sweet fruity chapstick that lingers on your lips. 

Fingers squeeze and tug at the flesh of your ass and after a moment you snake one hand down to rest on his wrist and drag it up to cup your breast. Immediately the both of you groan into the kiss and Kento raises his other hand to now knead at both of your tits. 

Fingers cup the underside of your breasts while his thumb pads circle and push against your bra where your nipples harden underneath. Squeezing and palming at your tits while his tongue explores your molars is enough to cause your aching cunt to squeeze pathetically around nothing. 

“Fuck,” Kento parts from your lips and pants slightly before delving down to kiss and bite at the flesh on your neck. “Driving me insane right now baby.”

There isn’t time to linger on the pet name before he sinks his canines into your neck and begins sucking the flesh. His hands leave your tits and wrap around to squeeze at your ass while his pelvis finally grinds harder against your hips; his erection begs for some sort of friction.

Kento runs the flat of his tongue over the skin a few more times before kissing it in a weak apology for the bruise and moves on to another section of your neck. He places a few quick kisses to your pulse point right under the jaw before biting once more; his nose tickles the skin just below your ear.

“Ha.. you seem…nnghh.. Excited,” you barely groan out, head tilted back and to the side to allow more room for his ministrations. 

Kento places a few more kisses to the spot before trailing his lips down the side of your neck in search of the next place to leave another purple hickey.

“Of course I am.” His lips stop just above your collarbone as he murmurs into the flesh, “I used to get so fucking worried you would see the boner in my jeans whenever we would get lunch together… didn’t want you to think I was some sick pervert.”

You gasp when his lips suck against your flesh before breaking into a slight giggle and tugging at his hair.

“Mmmm I’m beginning to think exactly that.”

He lifts from your collarbone with a pop! from the suction and scoffs before nuzzling into the other side of your neck. Planting chaste kisses while his hands slide down and his thumbs rub circles on your hip bones. 

“Well if you knew what I was thinking… you wouldn’t be far off the mark.”

You shiver at the words and tug his hair to tilt his head upright and drag his lips to meet yours. Immediately he tilts into it further and chases after your lips every time you part to take a breath. As if addicted, his lips refuse to leave yours for more than a moment at a time, holding your hips still while he pathetically ruts his throbbing cock against the fabric of your jeans.

With one more grind against your hips that leaves your cunt drenching your panties in a desperate heat, you tug his head back. A whimper nearly escapes his lips at the action of being deprived of your lips and the sting of his hair being pulled when you look into his eyes.

You wrap one hand to cup his cheek which he instinctively leans his head into and places a chaste kiss into your palm. His eyes don’t leave yours while you both pant a few times. 

Taking a breath you slide your other hand flat down his chest and take in the softness of his wool sweater and the firmness of his pectorals and abs underneath. You break eye contact and watch your hand trail further down until your fingers trace the hem of his khakis and toy with the belt loops of the fabric.

Before you can even move to the button, his hand leaves your hip and holds your wrist firmly in place. You silently swallow and look back up at him.

Maybe he doesn’t want to go further… maybe he wants to leave it here.

A few more doubts swirl in your mind while you furrow your brows in thought before Kento leans in to kiss your palm against his cheek once more.

“Don’t.” He kisses your hand again. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you nod once before he tugs you into him and away from the counter. His hands run under your ass to where the flesh meets your thighs and tilts his head up.

“Jump f’me.”

Immediately you respond to the command and jump up while Kento’s arms grab the underside of your jeans and hoist you up to match your pelvis to his. Your feet don’t have time to wrap around his waist before he walks forward again and places you on the kitchen island.

Stepping back he walks to the oven and dutifully shuts off the heat before eyeing you once again like prey.

“Making cookies can wait,” he walks over and splays your thighs to stand between them. “I’d rather eat one right now…”

The way he looks down at you is enough to make your gut do cartwheels with excitement; the calm and rational man in front of you is now replaced with one desperately oozing carnal desire.

He leans down to capture your lips once more before gently pushing your back flat against the counter; he pushes the mixing bowls and dry ingredients to the side to make room. As soon as the cool marble of the counter top flushes against your warm skin, you can feel him play with the button of your jeans.

“This ok, baby?”

You peer down and admire the way he hunches over and pants lightly against your exposed navel from the way your shirt has ridden up slightly. Swallowing, you nod once more, heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Kento places a light kiss against your navel and pops the button open and slides the zipper of your jeans down.

“Usually, I’d prefer words, but,” he taps your hips to indicate for you to lift them and he drags the fabric down to your ankles and pulls them to the floor, “we can work on that later.”

Immediately you move to shut your thighs in embarrassment but his hands catch your knees and push them apart again. You whimper slightly as he hunches over a bit more to admire the way your lace panties are stained with a dark patch of arousal.

His breath is hot against your inner thighs when he takes his index finger to run up and down the patch in half amusement and half awe. 

You make a pathetic attempt to shut your thighs again. “It’s embarrassing…”

Kento stops his finger mid swipe and pushes into the fabric to sop up more of the wetness seeping from your aching cunt. You twitch at the sensation and look up at the ceiling in attempt to cool the heat in your cheeks.

“Not embarrassing,” he says as he releases the pressure and leans down to place a quick kiss to the patch before hooking his fingers around the elastic waistband. “It’s all for me… right?”

He pulls your panties down partially and taps your hips once more to indicate for you to briefly lift up again.

“Nngh..y-yea..”

Your voice is weak in your throat but the silence and lack of touch makes you tilt your head up once again to watch them man. Sitting up on your elbows briefly, you don’t miss the way he palms the fabric of your panties into a smaller bundle and slips them into the pocket of his khakis.

“Hey–”

“Mm?” Kento pushes them further into his pocket before resting his hands on your knees to keep them spread. “I didn’t mean to ruin them…”

He leans down and pants lightly against your cunt, “It’s only fair I wash them and later…promptly return them.”

Before you can make a remark that he is indeed perverted, Kento opens his mouth and licks a long stripe up your pussy. Leaning back against the counter once again at the sensation, the man between your thighs doesn’t hesitate to initiate a disgustingly sloppy french kiss against your cunt.

Lips moving against your cunt, his tongue works its way inside and moves to massage the walls of your pussy. Lifting his hands away from your knees and letting your thighs cup his ears like muffs, one hand goes to splay the opening to your cunt wider while the other rubs circles into your clit. 

“Ahhh… fuck!”

Kento’s nose rubs against the flesh where your pussy and inner thigh meet, occasionally tickling you despite the intense pressure of his mouth against you. With one more thrust of his tongue inside, he lifts his face slowly to reattach his lips to your clit.

His chin is covered in a mixture of wetness and saliva but he pays no mind; his index finger slowly inches inside while his tongue ruts against your clit. You throw your head back at the delicious stretch against his finger and twitch your hips at the sensation of his lips suckling on your nerves. 

“Fuck baby… you’re pretty tight.” He leans back and looks up at you from your thighs, eyes half closed in drunken pleasure, “gotta make sure you’re warmed up before you can take me.”

The idea of letting the put together and posed Kento have his way with you makes you clench pathetically around his finger.

He leans back once more. “Just got so much wetter.” He adds a second finger and shamelessly watches your face contort with pleasure. “Gonna be the death of me.”

You whimper at his words and grind against his fingers, the familiar knot in your abdomen getting tighter. Kento doesn’t mind the awkward half-hunched position he’s in as he increases the speed of his tongue and continues finger fucking you in attempt to find that particular spot. 

“K-Ken… nnngh FUCK..”

You can’t even mumble his whole name, too dizzy from the pleasure coursing through your veins. Feeling the knot get tighter you bite your lip and run a hand through his hair and tug at the scalp lightly before gently pushing his head back. 

Immediately, the man stops and looks up at you in worry; your slick and his saliva still coating his chin in a shiny sheen.

“I-Is everything ok?” He stands up fully and searches your face intently. “Did I hurt you?”

The soft and intimate tone of his voice spurs butterflies in your stomach and you sit up fully on the counter to face him. On instinct, Kento steps between your thighs and leans his head down to search your face; his forehead hovers only an inch above yours.

“I’m ok, Kento. Really… I am.”

You tilt your chin upward to peck his lips and he immediately latches his mouth to yours, showing all his worry and attentiveness through the action. When you lean back his lips chase yours for a moment and his eyes search yours; the taste of your own slick now coating your lips.

“I’m ok.”

“Then.. why did you–”

“–I want to come… I want you to make me cum..”

He searches your face in a brief confusion, eyebrows furrowed in a ‘V’ shape before you continue.

“I just…” The admission makes your cheeks burn, but before you can turn your head away he lifts his hand to hold your cheek and face forward. “I just… wanted to cum.. On your cock…”

Despite whispering the words, the man hovering right in front of you hears each one and opens his eyes in a slight shock before grinning.

He leans down and kisses you once again and sighs in relief, “Oh thank goodness… I was worried you were having second thoughts about me, baby.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into you again and smile up at him, “Never.”

“Good. To be fair I wasn’t sure I would even be able to stop now that we’ve started.”

The contrast of his behavior to his gentlemanly nature makes you grin and connect your lips once more before he backs up and offers a hand. Slipping your fingers in his, you slide off the counter and admire the way he bends down to collect your jeans before leading you to his bedroom.

You take a moment to admire the room while he moves to lock the door and neatly fold your pants. His bed is tidy and neat but the desk by the window is scattered with a variety of papers, coffee mugs, and trail mix containers. There’s a floor lamp that brings a warm glow to the room in addition to the natural light which makes it extremely cozy.

Despite there being maybe one article of clothing on the floor, Kento immediately moves to awkwardly organize things.

Dusting off the tops of his dresser and fixing the high school photo of him, Haibara, Suguru, and Satoru he turns to you. “Sorry for the mess… I wasn’t expecting company here today.”

You chuckle and move to admire the photo next to him, “Woa, your hair! I didn’t know you had an emo phase.”

Kento rolls his eyes and moves to smooth the pale brown comforter flatter while you drink in the rest of his room. A small record player sits on the top of a small bookshelf in the corner while his walls are neatly decorated with a variety of travel posters of places he’s been and wishes to go.

“Malaysia?” You mumble while moving to step next to him again.

“My dream vacation.”

You smile and wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss, only stopping when he backs up to pull off his sweater and undershirt in one movement. The sight of his toned body is enough to make you clench around nothing. Once the fabric is flung to the floor he reaches forward to cup your jaw and slides his tongue back into your mouth as if it was more comfortable in yours than in his.

Your legs hit the back of the bed from the force and you disconnect your lips to peel off your cardigan and sweater. You let him admire the matching lace fabric of your bra for a moment before you undo the metal clasps and drop it to the floor. 

His hands lift to knead your now uncovered tits and you moan into his mouth from the sensation when he takes his fingers to pinch your hardened nipples. Shivers running down your spine, the lack of previous release creates an extra needy whine escaping your lips.

The erection painfully pushing against the fabric of his khakis grinds into the flesh of your pelvis; when your hands move to undo the button and fly, Kento doesn’t stop you this time. Tugging the fabric to his mid thigh, his cock now pushes against the thin fly of his Calvin Klein boxer briefs. 

A dark gray patch is stained from the pre cum leaking pathetically from his tip and his hips twitch as soon as your fingers ghost the outline of his cock. Kento’s lips trail your neck while you palm his cock through the underwear; his teeth nibble the flesh behind your ear while light moans escape.

Before you can dip your hands into the waistband, Kento lightly pushes you back onto the bed and captures your lips once more. You scoot back to the pillows at the top of his bed and rest on your elbows when you watch him shimmy the boxer briefs down and free his cock to the air. And he’s definitely well endowed. 

Slightly larger than average, the thickness is enough to make your cunt clench around nothing when you imagine the delicious stretch. A noticeable blonde happy trail starts at his navel and goes down to the base of his cock, though everything is neatly trimmed.

Kento notices your stare and awkwardly smiles before giving himself a few pumps and walking back up to the bed. Before you can sit up right and welcome him back to the space with your lips on his, he backs up.

“Ah, condom.”

He pivots and opens his nightstand to dig around for a spare rubber; he nearly gives up the search until his fingers graze a familiar foil texture. Sighing gently in relief, he shuts the drawer and climbs up onto the mattress to meet you.

You meet his lips and lay down further to accommodate the way his body hovers perfectly above yours like a puzzle piece. He reaches down to rub your clit a few times while sucking gently on your neck before pulling back and sitting on his ankles.

He tugs the edge of the foil open and pulls out the lubricated condom; Kento gives a few more pumps to himself before lining his cock the ring of the rubber. Eyebrows furrowed at the motion, you both watch in a shocked horror when the edge of his thumbnail catches on the latex and rips a noticeable hole in the side.

“Fuck.”

Kento tugs it off and tosses it into his bedroom trash before digging through his nightstand again with a frustrated look.

“I don’t think there are any more… shit.”

You sit up and look at the man and gnaw on your lip. Any other time, you would use reasonable sensibility and just offer reciprocating oral between you both. That’s any other time.

“Pull out?”

Kento whips his head around so fast it nearly breaks and mumbles out, “huh?”

The desire coursing through your veins and sight of his cock makes your mind drunk. “Just pull out? Yea?”

Normally Kento would scoff and say how risky that method was in preventing unwanted pregnancies. Normally. Instead he mirrors your drunken gaze and nods slowly, “Yea… I’ll just pull out.”

He walks to the edge of the bed and pulls your ankles so your hips hover in the air in line with his pelvis. For good measure he taps his flushed pink tip to your swollen clit a few times; pearls of pre cum leaking profusely from the tip.

Locking eyes with you for a moment, he sinks in inch by inch, groaning at the sensation of hitting it raw. You lean your head back and wince slightly at the stretch while Kento’s hands immediately move to intertwine with yours.

Kento was expecting you to leave as soon as that idiot Satoru had accidentally aired his pathetic feelings, not for you to reciprocate those same desires and lay beneath him squirming while his cock splits you open. The sight is one he wants to immortalize in his memory: the way your head is thrown back in pleasure from the sting of the stretch, the little nod you make to indicate it’s ‘ok’ to move, and the beautiful way your tits bounce up and down with each thrust.

“F-fuck… Kento..”

Your legs are positioned straight up on his shoulders while he stands and thrusts into your cunt as you lay partially on his bed. There’s a mix of his eucalyptus detergent on the sheets and the raw scent of sex in the air.

His cock pushes in deeper with each thrust, bullying the opening of your cervix despite the facade of a gentleman on his face. Heavy balls slap against the underside of your ass, giving an audible ‘plap’ ‘plap’ ‘plap’ echoing in the room and sweat begins to drip down his temples. 

Each stroke has him bottoming out and pushing the stubble of his pubes against your puffy clit for the stimulation you’re craving. The sensation of his cock splitting you open and smack of skin against yours has the familiar sensation building in your abdomen. 

Looking up, Kento nearly looks pained from the concentration on his face. You raise an eyebrow but he shakes his head and lets out a shaky breath and places a chaste kiss to your ankle on his shoulder.

“I-I’m… ahhh.. Fine baby… just trying not to cum.. Haaa”

Eyebrows furrowed in deep thought, the sensation of your cunt clenching around him leaves Kento trying to imagine Satoru’s face to avoid cumming too early. He’s supposed to be a gentleman, and well… nice guys finish last right?

Swallowing thickly, Kento moves to hold one of your legs steady on his shoulder while the other rubs circles against your clit. The combination of his cock rutting against your g-spot while the pad of his thumb rubs against your nerves causes a long whine to escape your lips.

“K-kento… fuck!.. G-Gonna cum…”

A gush of arousal seeps from your cunt and your walls clench around his cock while your orgasm washes over you. Head back in pleasure while your nails dig indents into his forearms, your hips twitch to ride your orgasm.

As soon as you regain a steady breath, Kento’s hips stutter and he pulls out with a ring of your cum smudged at the base of his cock. Giving a few extra pumps, hot ropes of cum spill out and over your stomach while your name escapes his lips like prayer.

The warm and sticky sensation coats your abdomen while Kento hovers above you panting; your legs fall from his shoulders and are split around his waist. The moment is raw and vulnerable for a few moments before the post-orgasm clarity washes over both of you.

“I’ll grab a washcloth…hate that I made such a mess of you again.”

You sigh and blink wearily while sitting up on your elbows, smiling at the joke he had made. Watching Kento slip on his boxer briefs and slide out of the room to the bathroom, you exhale and lean further into the comforter of his bed in a sleepy haze.

You don’t even notice when he reopens the door with a warm washcloth in one hand and a tall glass of water in the other. “Don’t tell me you’re asleep already.”

A gentle hum leaves your lips as you sit up and watch the way he gently wipes his cum from your skin and offers you the water.

He stands back up and looks down at you sitting contently. “Though the image of you in my bed is something I can definitely get used to.”

Before you can answer, a light ‘ping!’ rings out from the pants pocket of Kento’s khakis. You can exchange a glance and he leans down to retrieve his phone and stare at his screen in shock.

“What’s wro–”

“They said they’ll be back in 5.”

Your words die in your throat and you both immediately make a break for the bathroom to clean up as fast as possible. After briefly fixing his hair, Kento leaves you to pee after you shoo him out with a, ‘no man is worth a UTI’. 

Washing your hands and briefly wiping away any smudged mascara, there’s a short courtesy knock and Kento’s hand pokes out through a crack in the door. 

“Sorry there’s no time for a shower….maybe later if you wanna stay, you can take one.”

“Thanks,” you say while grabbing the clothes and changing behind the door as if he didn’t just fuck your brains out. “I’ll be out in a second.”

The door shuts again and you toss the oversized ‘Finance Department’ shirt and JJK sweatpants on while rolling your eyes at the lack of underwear provided. You wander out of the bathroom and stop in the hallway to watch the way Haibara and Ieiri are carrying several bags of groceries into the apartment. 

“I thought you went out for sugar? What’s all this?”

Haibara slips past Kento and begins pulling out various bags of chips and snacks from the bag in front of him. “We should watch a movie while the cookies bake! So that means we needed snacks. Plus Satoru called and asked for a few things.”

Ieiri makes no attempt at an excuse and smirks when she sees the way Kento is no longer in his khakis and sweater and instead is wearing a pair of flannel sleep pants and long sleeve frat t-shirt. 

She shrugs her shoulders at the man and fishes in her pocket for a lighter. “We just needed something to do in order to stall for a bit longer.”

Your cheeks flush and you finally walk out into the kitchen and avoid the shit-eating grin on your roommate’s face. Haibara doesn’t even notice your change of clothing while Kento looks at you with a warm smile on his lips. 

Ieiri lets out a low whistle, “Nice clothes.”

Haibara stops from putting soft drinks in the fridge and now finally notices your attire and raises an eyebrow at it. Both he and Ieiri exchange glances before Kento raises his hand to pause their imminent bombarde of questions. “There’s nothing wrong with my girlfriend wearing my clothes.”

“Girlfriend?!”

“Girlfriend?!”

GIRLFRIEND?

Ieiri and Haibara mirror your internal confusion while Kento idly walks to the oven to resume the heat needed to finish baking the cookies. He holds himself as if he had just reported the weather and moves to slide a hand around your waist and tug you into him.

“Geez! What did we miss?”

“I don’t think we wanna know.”

Haibara winces at Ieiri’s crude words and shakes his head to avoid imagining his roommate and friend banging in the apartment. Kento rolls his eyes while Ieiri moves to finalize the last of the sugar cookie recipe and prepare a pan.

You seamlessly move to help her cut a few shapes and don’t miss the way Haibara breaks from his mortifying realization to shoot a thumbs up to his roommate. The moment is warm and familial, the group now working as a team of 4 instead of two groups of 2. 

By the time you take out the brunkager and put the sugar cookies in the oven, Haibara pads over to the living to flip through a variety of movies. Ieiri follows him to open the window and lean out the edge to light another cigarette and blow the smoke outside. 

You sigh comfortably and reach to grab a cookie and blow gently on it, slightly wincing when the delicious flavor burns your tastebuds from the temperature. 

“Careful…we’re not trying to make your tongue swollen.”

“Oh, is there something else you want my tongue to do?”

Kento stutters slightly and nudges you in the ribs indicating the risky behavior considering the proximity of your friends while rolling his eyes.

“There are a million things I could think of, and if we had more time, I would’ve loved for a few of them to happen.”

You smile and move to rinse your hands off in the sink, enjoying the background ambience of Ieiri and Haibara arguing over whether to watch ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’ or ‘Home Alone’. 

Kento remains leaning against the counter while watching you. “I mean it. Both things actually.”

You wipe your hands on the kitchen towel and raise an eyebrow while waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t enjoy quickies or casual flings… I want more time with you,” he puts his arm out to grab you into him, “with you as my girlfriend.”

There’s no response needed when you lift your chin to press a kiss to his lips and giggle when Haibara and Ieiri groan from the couch.

“Ugh! Didn’t you guys already fuck it out of your systems? I’m not ready to be an aunt yet.”

“Not on the kitchen island! What about our deposit if you break it?”

Kento scoffs and moves to walk you to the couch to join your complaining comrades; he sits on the right side against the armrest and pulls you in between his legs to partially lay against his chest.

The moment is cozy and relaxing as the sun begins to dip and brings a warm glow in the apartment while a blistering wind picks up outside. Ieiri reaches for a few chips while Haibara gets comfy on the side love seat and hits ‘play’ on the remote.

“Wait..” he looks up between you and Ieiri. “I already knew Kento grew up making cookies and that’s why he enjoys doing it so much now… but what about you guys?”

Your own roommate shrugs, “I guess I like the parties? Secret Santas are kinda fun once the alcohol is flowing.”

Haibara hums at the answer and turns his attention to you; Kento places a chaste kiss on the back of your neck and traces circles on your hip bones where the waistband of the sweatpants sit.  You turn to Kento and smirk, “Well considering Kento likes eating making cookies…. I’d say I like sleigh rides.”

TY for ur patience for this series! I've been busy but still wanna finish this into the mid-january timeline (also why was writing kento lowkey harder than I thot it was gonna be)

[ Next up -> Oncology student! Frat President! Fwb Satoru x Reader

Holiday season is always referred to as 'cuffing season' though he never really saw the point. Why want a real relationship when your casual affair offers everything he wants... or so he thought. Matching sweaters, gift wrapping, and sipping hot cocoa definitely isn't casual.. but it's all he wants for Christmas this year. ]

my other series are still ongoing i promise!

likes/reblogs/comments all appreicated ☆:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:☆

-oatmeal

[dickgraysonsptsd]

dick grayson, money, and control

i am so obsessed with dick's relationship with money... the more post-crisis comics i read the more i believe that dick sees offers of money, especially from the rich or powerful, as an attempt to exert control over him. in part because bruce, intentionally or not, had dick in a position where dick was entirely dependent on him for housing and money for most of his life, and has directly used giving or taking away resources to punish or control dick before.

disclaimer: i'm using a LOT of chuck dixon comics here because of his heavy involvement in building out dick's personal history in the 90s/00s. as a reminder chuck dixon is an alt-right homophobic qanon creep and deserves no respect

early days as robin

in robin (1992) annual #4 (dixon's version of the dick's origin story), dick is taken in by bruce but almost immediately feels out of place and unwanted in bruce's home. he thinks of himself as bruce's "christmas puppy" and is certain that as soon as his parents' killer is caught, bruce will send him back:

dick doesn't feel any sense of permanence in bruce's life early on. that's understandable given the multiple traumas he's been through, and the impermanence itself isn't what i want to focus on here—for our purposes, the way dick's sense of instability is framed here is as an adopted pet. a christmas puppy. an animal, an impulse buy.

even at age 8, dick understands there's a massive gulf in power between himself and bruce—bruce has a giant home, while dick doesn't see the manor as "home" because he's always expecting to be sent back into the system. bruce is the person adopting a puppy, while dick is the puppy. their power imbalance is implicitly tied to bruce's immense wealth and dick's complete lack of status outside of being bruce's ward.

in robin: year one #3 (also by dixon), leslie and dick talk about how bruce doesn't mind giving handouts, but neither of them want to go to him for them:

Leslie: That's why I had you come to General for tests. They have equipment I just can't afford yet. And I'm not about to go to Bruce for another handout Dick: He wouldn't mind. Leslie: That doesn't make it any easier. Dick: Yeah. I know what you mean.

leslie says another handout, meaning that bruce has already funded her here, and dick too has received financial support from bruce as robin and as his ward. but they both don't want to go back for more money, despite knowing that bruce "wouldn't mind"—there's a deeper issue here than whether or not bruce minds it or can afford it. it's not "easy" for leslie or dick to accept bruce's money, even though it's easy for bruce to give it.

to me, this means dick still doesn't see his new level of wealth (or, more accurately, his new access to bruce's level of wealth) as a normal, secure part of his life. i don't know if he ever really does, though eventually he'll come to rely on a line of credit from bruce in his teen titan days.

the firing (nightwing: year one version)

in nightwing (1996) #101, the first issue of dixon's nightwing: year one arc, bruce fires dick as robin. in #102, dick goes to clark for advice, and clark is shocked at the news:

Clark: How can he fire you? Dick: He said, "you're fired." Clark: It's not a job. Dick: It is to Bruce. His cave. His car. His rules. He pays the bills, Clark. And in his eyes I screwed up.

i think we can trace some of dick's intense dislike for taking money from the rich to this version of the firing—in dick's eyes, by accepting bruce's cave, car, and money to pay the bills, dick gave bruce the power to then take those things away from him. bruce was able to fire dick from robin because bruce's resources enabled robin. if dick had been funding robin himself, if it had been dick's cave and car, bruce couldn't have taken it away from him. (when he later moves to blüdhaven, dick takes the first possible opportunity to establish a lair in his apartment and build his own car, rebuilding these resources on his own terms.)

notably, at the end of the actual firing issue (#101), bruce orders dick to leave behind the new robin suit alfred made for him, connecting the firing directly to bruce taking back something given to dick:

here dick gets a very memorable lesson that gifts of financial support and equipment—or workplace resources, if you look at it from the "robin is a job" perspective that bruce takes in this story—can be given with good intentions, but later used as leverage to punish and control.

moving to blüdhaven

nightwing (1996) #3 by chuck dixon was written years before dixon wrote nightwing: year one (above), so it's not totally consistent with it, but dixon was clearly already thinking about dick's relationship with bruce's money when he wrote dick moving to blüdhaven:

Operator: I'm not showing a credit history, Mr. Grayson. Date of birth? A man your age and there's nothing on my screen. You'll need to send us a certified check for one thousand dollars before we can approve electrical service. Dick: I'll get one to you this afternoon.

Dick: Everyone wants cash because Dick Grayson doesn't exist. I guess they're right. Seems like I hardly know him. Kory or Alfred always handled this stuff for me. And for years I've had to rely on a line of credit paid for by Bruce. Seems like I've been on fast forward since the night my parents died.

dick moves to blüdhaven without a credit history and without any financial records in his name at all, as far as i can tell. "dick grayson doesn't exist." he's been reliant on other people financially, either to manage his money or for the money itself, and now he's establishing independence as a solo operation by starting to handle all of that himself. and he's establishing that independence as dick grayson, not just as nightwing.

(also, "on fast forward since the night my parents died"—really juicy to me that dick's lack of financial independence gets linked to how quickly he grows up after his parents' deaths!!)

soon dick gets a job bartending and grins thinking about "the look on bruce's face":

Dick: I actually have a job. Can't wait to see the look on Bruce's face.

which is a fun moment of "just moved out of my parent's place and i finally got my first job!!" freedom to me (though he's been out of the manor for years at this point).

dick and team funding

we now jump forward to 2003. in titans/young justice: graduation day #1, megacorp optitron offers a massive amount of funding to the titans and young justice. dick is immediately skeptical and assumes that optitron will gradually start to use their financial leverage over the titans to "[get] us fighting their own little wars"—it's clear that he's tying together receiving money with being controlled.

Roy: Think of what we could accomplish— Dick: With a gigantic pile of money? No thanks. It begins with them just funding us. Then they've got us fighting their own little wars. I'm sure there's some land rights issue in Asia that they'd love for us to tackle.

donna makes it clear that she's well aware of dick's feelings about the rich, and implies that his bias against them is affecting his decisions around optitron:

Donna: You have a chip on your shoulder about the rich. That and corporations. Dick: What do you mean by that? Donna: What do you think I mean by that?

and all that evidence of dick's view of money-as-control aside... dick wasn't wrong to be skeptical about ulterior motives!! in outsiders (2003) #21, it's revealed that the offer of funding from optitron in titans/young justice: graduation day was at bruce's behest:

so the entire funding offer in graduation day was part of an elaborate deception by bruce to pay for dick's team without letting dick find out about it. bruce later says he meant well by doing this, but dick is so angry about it that there's clearly a deeper issue here for dick:

Narration: And those who know [that Optitron is owned by Batman] are having a very hard time buying the "hands-off approach." Dick: I'll kill him. Roy: Settle down. Dick: Don't tell me to settle down, Roy. He did this again. He always does this.

"he did this again. he always does this." 👀👀👀

in one of my favorite scenes ever, dick confronts bruce in an explosive rage about his ownership of optitron and specifically calls out bruce being deceptive and manipulative (outsiders [2003] #21):

Dick: What exactly is your compulsion, your burning desire to deceive, lie, and manipulate the only people who give a good god damn about you!?

you should really read this issue if you haven't, it's amazing!! i can't summarize the complex weird conversation bruce and dick have here, it has so many layers, but the point is that dick IMMEDIATELY and VERY EMOTIONALLY takes bruce forcing his money on dick('s team) as bruce being a manipulative control freak.

and like, yeah, we know dick can and does overreact to bruce, but the way he overreacts to bruce here... i am immediately connecting this on the red string board in my mind back to bruce firing dick and dick establishing independence from him in nightwing (1996)!! dick worked hard for that independence!! and then bruce made dick take his money even though dick didn't want to, even though dick has these well-established issues around bruce's money, and he brewed up this whole deception around it because he knew dick didn't want it!! of COURSE dick sees that as bruce being willfully a huge fucking controlling bastard to him!!! GOD!!!!!

[fangsandfeels]

I gained the next level of appreciation for how well Dragon Age 2 understood trauma, the ugly side of it.

I don't blame Fenris. I understand why after enduring years and years of abuse, humiliation, having your autonomy, your memories, everything that constituted you including your own name stripped away from you, you have no empathy for anyone reminiscent of your abusers - especially if nobody came to save you in the end and you are the only one fighting for your life and freedom. I understand why upon hearing how someone (who reminds you of your abusers) suffers unfairly, the only thing you can say is "Good" - and lash out at anyone trying to tell you off for it. Where all these fucking preachers were when you were suffering? Why even in the land that is supposed to be different from your own hellhole, your word and your experience still don't matter?

I don't blame Anders. I understand why after being betrayed by your own parent, after the decades of listening how you must suffer for the sin of being born, being confined to isolation, being treated like a monster while being a child, being denied the simplest of comforts, you fiercely defend people who share your abilities - because nobody else would ever look out for you and them. Of course you would clash even with someone who has legitimate reasons to be negative towards people like you because your own wounds sting more than their pain. You have dealt with the Chantry's vile propaganda for so long, you no longer take things at face value. Of course, Chantry would say that the foreign land where mages rule is foul, and corrupt, and full of blood magic and demons! So many times rumors, lies, and twisted religious depictions have been used to abuse, lobotomize, and enslave you, you're no longer letting it happen - and you only believe what you see and hear. And all you see around is injustice and indifference. And you're only the one screaming into the void, raging against the horrors everybody else is willingly blind to.

I don't blame them both for losing their mind in their own ways while the rest of the group silently wondered why they couldn't just be normal.

Personally, I don't think there was any chance for them to become friends or make peace during the events of the game. The "I suffered so I don't want anyone to suffer like I did" or "I'm a bigger person" are pretty lies and half-truths at worst. At best, they are mindsets only possible after someone who suffered finally feels safe and can be out of their survival mode. Which is not really true for Fenris and Anders, even during the final act of the story.

Even on high friendship or romance, Anders is still self-destructive, ready to die at Hawke's hands after launching his plan in motion. Even with a friend/lover at his side, he is alone in his head, in his vision of the world, in his pain.

Even with proper support and help, it takes Fenris three years to accept a relationship, but it doesn't change his perspective and if you don't have enough of his trust, you lose him to his trauma-based response.

I may be overthinking it, but I am truly thankful to the game for not toning down the complex, hard and uncomfortable aspects of trauma. People have always been in love with the concept of the perfect victim (who hates only "the right" bad guys and suddenly knows when to be tolerant, nice and accepting and doesn't say any rancid and hateful shit ever), but it became particularly aggravating lately.

[faithsotherhouseofchaos]

It hurt like hell but it was hot|| Poly!landoscar x fem!witch reader

Summary

Word count — 818

This imwas one of my first fics I’ve written it’s from my old blog which was deleted

You and Lando were together first. A year later, Oscar entered the picture. Your father was an old friend of Zac Brown’s, as they had gone to high school together. When your family decided to move to England, Zac offered you a job as Lando’s assistant. The role wasn’t glamorous—it mostly involved ensuring he stayed out of trouble, made it to his interviews on time, and maintained a semblance of professionalism. Essentially, you were his babysitter, though you liked to think of yourself as more of a handler.

Lando was two years older than you and Oscar. At 24, he was still very much the charming, mischievous boy he’d always been, though with a touch of maturity brought on by his career. You and Oscar, both 22, were younger but no less ambitious. Lando had a way of making everyone around him feel both exasperated and utterly charmed, a combination that proved irresistible to you.

The first time Lando discovered you were a witch was, unsurprisingly, a chaotic accident. He had sneaked up on you one afternoon, intending to scare you for laughs. Startled, your magic flared instinctively, and before you realized what had happened, Lando was flung across the room, landing with a loud thud. Horrified, you rushed to him, stammering apologies and preparing for the inevitable rejection. Instead, Lando groaned, sat up, and with that trademark cheeky grin, said, “As much as that hurt, it was pretty hot.”

That comment left you red-faced and speechless, but it also marked the start of something special. Over time, Lando became fascinated with your magic, eagerly asking questions and helping you practice spells. He loved watching you work with your powers, his enthusiasm making you feel seen and appreciated in a way no one else ever had.

A few months into your relationship, you started having vivid dreams. Dreams where Oscar wasn’t just part of your friend group but part of your relationship with Lando. At first, you dismissed them, thinking it was your subconscious playing tricks on you. But as the dreams persisted, you began to recognize them for what they were: glimpses into a possible future.

When you finally worked up the courage to tell Lando about the dreams, you were nervous. You worried he’d be angry or jealous, but to your surprise, he was intrigued. By now, Lando understood your dreams carried a weight beyond simple imagination. He trusted you, and instead of reacting negatively, he listened, considered, and ultimately accepted it.

Oscar, meanwhile, had his own complicated feelings. He thought you were beautiful, a captivating force of nature, and he couldn’t help but admire Lando, too. But knowing you were together made him push those feelings deep down, determined not to be the person who came between two people he cared about. As a result, he kept his distance, avoiding you both whenever he could.

But you had an advantage Oscar didn’t know about—your telepathic abilities. You could sense emotions, and Oscar’s feelings for both you and Lando burned bright, no matter how much he tried to suppress them. When you shared this with Lando, the two of you decided to confront the situation head-on.

You invited Oscar over for dinner at your shared apartment. He arrived, visibly nervous but trying his best to act casual. The evening went smoothly, though tension lingered in the air. After dinner, you and Lando exchanged a knowing glance before addressing the elephant in the room.

“We have something to tell you, Oscar,” Lando started.

Oscar raised an eyebrow, his apprehension clear. “Oh? What is it?”

“We have feelings for you,” you said, voice steady but soft.

Oscar blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “Oh.”

“And,” you continued, “I know you have feelings for us too. That’s okay, Oscar. We like you—a lot.”

Oscar opened his mouth to protest but stopped when Lando chimed in. “There’s something else we want to share with you.”

“What is it?” Oscar asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

You took a deep breath, holding out your hand. A flicker of flame appeared in your palm, dancing for a moment before fading away. “I’m a witch.”

Oscar’s eyes widened in awe, his earlier nerves momentarily forgotten. “That… that was amazing.”

Lando grinned. “Yeah, it is. Though, to be fair, I found out the hard way.”

“How?” Oscar asked, looking between the two of you.

“She threw me across the room when I startled her,” Lando said with a laugh. “Hurt like hell, but worth it.”

That night marked the beginning of something new. For Oscar, it was a revelation—not just about your powers but about the dynamic between the three of you. He realized that being with you and Lando meant life would never be dull or ordinary. It would be filled with magic, laughter, and a connection unlike anything he’d ever known.

[anassemblageofpassions]

Something I really loved about the wicked movie was how it highlighted how compassionate and self sacrificing Elphaba really is.

She only has her position in the school because of her talent for sorcery, and Morrible is the one who let her in, and still, at a word from nessa, she threatened to quit and potentially lose her position at school, her whole life and her whole future, just to do something nice for galinda, who has treated her like garbage for the entire time that she’s known her.

Elphaba is willing to give up every piece of herself to anyone in need, to anyone who shows her loved ones—and not even herself—a sliver of compassion that she has scarcely experienced. And this is shown in her relationship with glinda, where Glinda gives her an inch and she gives her a mile. She loves so, so deeply and she has experienced so little of it in return. When she finally receives love, she gives with her entire self, and she gives her entire self away to those who are suffering unjustly. Her entire future, her one chance at acceptance by everyone.

She respects Glindas choice not to go with her because she loves her so much. Elphaba can read everyone to a T except for the people that she loves. Give Elphaba a sliver of love and you can do no wrong in her eyes.

Look at how she treats Glinda before she falls in love with her. She becomes blind to her faults the way she is to nessas. The way she is to Madame Morribles until it’s too late.

And that’s what makes her relationship with Fiyero interesting too. She sees who he truly he is and falls in love with him before he gives her love in turn, and even though he has nothing to gain from it, he falls in love with her in turn. He is the one to take the step towards her versus her running to him the way she does with nessa and later Glinda.

And it is after she receives this true love and loses it that she loses herself entirely. On top of everyone else she has lost. She loved wholeheartedly and she gave her self to the world and the world destroyed the people she loved for it. Without her love, there is no Elphaba. No good deed is the ultimate shattering of Elphaba Thropp, and she never recovers after. Even when she discovers Fiyero is alive, she knows she has lost herself because she cannot give anymore of herself than she already has because now that she has experienced true love she cannot lose it. Even if she loses her other true love in the process. Because she does love glinda, maybe even more than she does Fiyero. But it is the last sliver of herself that doesn’t tell Glinda the truth, that sets her on a journey to fix oz. The last remnants of Elphaba Thropp, her last selfless act, even though she is screaming to tell her, to let Glinda know.

Elphaba and glinda end their respective journeys where the other started. Elphaba cannot fight anymore, and Glindas fight has just begun. But both are equally broken. They have lost each other, but Elphaba has gained community with Fiyero while glinda is forever alone, because no one will ever be able to understand the truth that elphaba always knew that she now does. Glinda surrendered the most fulfilling relationship of her life with the most incredible person she had ever met to the man she so desperately clung to, who she had already lost when she made the decision to abandon the woman he loved.

Elphaba never regained herself after fiyeros “death”, after nessas death, after Dr Dillamonds destruction, after Glindas abandonment. She fought to cling to herself through it all, through her entire, miserable life, but in the end, she lost. She realized that she as herself could do no good in the world, not for the animals, not for her loved ones, not for love, so what was the point of it all? So she started her suicide campaign to get her sisters/mothers shoes back even at the cost of an innocents life, when the whole time she was supposed to be fighting for innocents. I believe she would have driven herself to her actual death if not for fiyeros note.

His survival was the only thing she had left to cling to. Because even with all the love and forgiveness she espoused and truly believed, whatever glinda did by then would never have been enough. Their relationship had been through too much. And that’s the tragedy of it all, isn’t it?

[ddandelionfluff]

moonlit recollections | viktor x reader

modern-ish? au; fluff; no relationship established; it's my first time posting pls forgive any mistakes; englishmajor!reader; inspired by Astrophil and Stella Sonnet 71

***

Who will in fairest book of nature know

You knock on his door at two in the morning, startling him out of the coffee-fueled haze he had been in for the past few days. Your voice carries through the thin door, asking if he was still awake. Joints creaking, Viktor pulls himself out of his desk, self-consciously smoothing out his too-wrinkled shirt and running his hands through his too-long hair as he opens the door, stopping quickly. The inside of his dorm is a mess, and if you saw it, you’d probably start trying to help him clean.  

He draws a breath as you look at him and laugh, the corners of your eyes crinkling as they trace his hair.

“You look rough.” An admonishment.

He shrugs.

“I have an exam tomorrow,” An apology.

“Which is why I’m here,” You say by way of explanation, which does not actually explain anything.

His brows furrow as he leans against the frame, taking some pressure off his leg. “I do not understand. We did not have a study session planned today.”

And even if you did, it wouldn’t have been at two in the morning.

You laugh again, a short, incredulous sound, and Viktor wishes he was funnier so he could be credited for it more often.

“No, genius, I’m here to get you to take a break. Also, you did miss our last session, so you owe me.”

How virtue may best lodged in beauty be

So here he was, following you through the dark university buildings as you, for the lack of a better word, broke into the arts lounge.

“It’s not breaking in if I’ve got the keys,” You justify, keys jingling in your hands. Viktor studies you as you fiddle with them, your face scrunched and tongue poking through your lips in concentration. You hadn’t taken off the lip oil you usually wore for moisture, and it glittered under the flashlight’s scrutiny.

“Hmm?” He says, realizing that you had said something, and that you were standing.

“Is the sleep deprivation getting to you, Viktor?” You tilt your head, eyes roving over his face, searching for the obvious signs of exhaustion painting his features. The purple under his eyes, drawing his face in even harsher lines, the line of tension between his brows. The way his features tended to draw into themselves like a plant unwatered. He watches you watch him, tracing your lips, touchless, trying to remember a word that wasn’t your name.

“I think it is,” He admits softly, afraid of letting you catch onto him.

You smile, hands finding the doorknob and twisting. You leaves the lights off, navigating through memory and the stray light of streetlamps streaming in. Viktor stumbles behind you, feeling his way through clumsily.

The doors to the balcony had been left open, a major oversight you grumble about as you slide them open. The air is chilly, making you shiver as it slithers past the warmth of your sweater. His sweater, Viktor notices. He had lent it to you a week ago, at your last session.

 Let him but learn of love to read in thee,

You had shown up to the library soaked through, the rain outside painting the world gray with its weeping. You tried to hide the shivering, but it was clear in the way you clenched your teeth, body drawn together with tension as you laughed off his concern.

“I don’t need my sweater, go change in the bathroom,” He had offered, both pitiful and exasperated at your lack of planning. With a sheepish smile, you had accepted the help, promising to return it as soon as possible.

Sunk into worn leather couches warmed by the nearby fireplace, you’d almost disappeared under the wool. As your hands danced across the page of the textbook in your lap, underlining and annotating the poem as you explained the basics of close-reading, Viktor couldn’t help but notice how you halted to push the sleeves up now and then as they got in the way.

It was supposed to be an easy class, but as of late, it had been taking up more time than his core courses. Not that Viktor could be bothered. You two had been in the library for hours now, on the couches near the fireplace—a frequent haunt. It was the best place to curl up with your anthologies in your laps, the lack of tables allowing  forcing Viktor to lean closer to see what you were pointing at, and—unbeknownst to him, for you to sit so your thigh would press up against his. Though he wasn’t aware of your design, he was plenty aware of the electricity firing up his nerves, even when the warmth of the fire threatened to drag him under.

He yawned, confused. Not only because he couldn’t make sense of your explanation or the sonnet itself, but also because he wasn’t used to the extreme bouts of fatigue that overtook him around you. It must be the literature, he had thought to himself, the words were literally putting him to sleep.

Stella, those fair lines which true goodness show.

“Tired?” You’d asked, sounding equally exhausted and perhaps a little hopeful. But Viktor had shaken his head—he’d needed to get through it that night, for the test was less than twenty-four hours away. The first one, his chance to set a standard for himself and to make an impression.

“Confused. I still do not understand what this last line adds to the poem. It is so…” Viktor had sighed, mouthing the line. “…random.”

“Well,” You’d started, tucking away a stray strand of hair. “If you look at the rest of the sonnet, Astrophil has been focusing on the virtuous parts of his love for Stella, basing it in admiration of her character and beauty from this very pure, respectful perspective. Almost like he was worshipping a deity rather than, I don’t know, loving a person. Keeping that in mind, what do you think the sudden interjection of desire might mean?”

Even half-asleep, you made the perfect teacher. Viktor wondered if he was making you question your decision to be an educator with his idiocy. Mulling over your words, he’d tried to formulate a response that would please you.

There shall he find all vices' overthrow,

That was the most difficult part of this subject—finding an appropriate answer. In his field, there was only ever one. But here? It felt like he was shooting in the dark, randomly putting together semblances of analysis in hopes of making the puzzle fit. It frustrated him.

“Hm,”—is what came out. Sighing, he’d tried again.

“Well, desire in this case would refer to a…carnal feeling, would it not?” The word was awkward against his tongue as he’d looked to you for approval, lighting up slightly when you nodded. Congratulations, you absolute genius, you remembered a basic definition, he thought sarcastically. It was a clear testament to his skills that even such a rudimentary recollection made you happy.

“Desire expresses, well, a desire for sustenance,” He’d continued. “So, it is being starved by the virtue of Astrophil’s love for Stella, then? Is that it?”

You smiled, teeth peeking out from behind your gloss-painted lips. “That is one interpretation, and a pretty good one at that.” Then, you’d paused, leaving Viktor confused again. A good interpretation did not mean the best one.

Not by rude force, but sweetest sovereignty

“Some might say that it’s a reminder that any true love can’t just be focused on virtue and purity, but also needs to encompass more carnal, ‘lowly’ aspects to be complete.” You explained, noticing his look. “But it really doesn’t matter what interpretation you argue for, as long as you have a strong argument.”

“But which is the better answer?” Viktor had asked incredulously, a hand threading through his hair.  

You laughed lightly. “There isn’t one, I suppose. Just whatever you can argue for.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.” He said with finality.

You shrugged as you scribbled down the analysis in his margins, leaning over so your hair was too close to Viktor’s face. He drew in a sharp breath, smelling the fresh scent of your shampoo.

“It’s just an exercise in close-reading, Viktor. The entire point is to discover the poem,”—you’d punctuated this statement with a flourish of your hand, rings glinting—"not to tie it up and beat it until it gives you the ‘right’ answer.”

Your voice had taken on that trademark gentleness, the tone it always took when you talked about anything you loved. Poetry, your favourite book, even a particularly good cup of coffee. It made Viktor’s chest ache, like it was pulling into itself, trying to shy away from you. He wondered if you could ever talk about him in that tone.

He’d been silent too long, eyes resting on your face absentmindedly. You laughed, snapping your fingers in front of him. He startled, sheepish. You’d been talking.

“Wanna call it a night?” You’d asked, shifting to face him properly, knees still tucked under your thighs.

Viktor had shaken his head. “No, I still do not feel entirely confident about this test,”

“Relax, Viktor, it’s only worth four points. Have fun with it,” You yawned, leaning your head against the couch, right beside his shoulder.

He’d mimicked you, leaning his head back to relieve the ache in his neck. “I would have thought that our semester-long acquaintance would have shown you how impossible that is.”

You had shrugged, blinking slowly. “Worth a try,”

Silence was a blanket over the two of you, your eyes shut lightly while Viktor tried to draw his away. He’d dreaded the end of this quiet, when you inevitably opened your eyes and sighed, a complaint about how you still had to go home and make dinner slipping from your lips. And Viktor had, once again, been too afraid to betray himself, to ask if you wanted to come over for dinner, to punctuate that question with the fact that his place was closer anyway. Instead, he’d stolen glances as you packed up, stopped you from returning his sweater, assuring you he’d just take it later.  

Of reason, from whose light those night-birds fly;

“Do you remember when we first met? You looked exactly like how you do right now,” On the balcony, you pull him out of his thoughts, leaning against the railing. He steps forward to join you, the cold metal a welcome shock compared to the nearly uncomfortable warmth your presence inspired in him.

“Are you trying to tell me I look horrible?” He replies flatly.

You shrug, smiling. “Maybe,”

He laughs, swallowing the faint bitter taste of self consciousness as he takes his place beside you.

That inward sun in thine eyes shineth so.

He’d been late on the first day, having to brace far too many stairs for his liking. The night before had been spent sleepless with pain in his leg, and the stairs that morning only made it worse. The only seat left was beside you, in the second row of all places. Cane thumping embarrassingly as the professor paused, Viktor had dropped beside you, trying his best not to disturb your arm as he settled in. The old hall, tucked away in the windowless basement of the Arts department, had creaky chairs and tiny pull-out desks, quite different from the state-of-the-art labs Viktor was used to. Despite his best efforts, his arm bumped against yours as he brought out his notebook.

You’d startled slightly, throwing him a small smile as he muttered a hasty apology. He began trying to decipher the page number by looking at your book, half-hidden by the arm you rested your head on. Unfortunately, you’d noticed that too. With another kind smile, you’d reached over and turned the book to the right page, pointing to the exact sonnet being discussed.

Though he thanked you, the lecture still flew over his head.

He could feel your eyes on him as you put your things away extra slowly, as if to match his pace in an attempt to not embarrass him further. If so, it didn’t work. He’d been painfully aware of the delay he was causing.

 “Are you in this faculty?” You’d asked as Viktor stood up. He was a deer caught in headlights as you swung your bag onto your shoulder.

“No, this class is, eh, a required option,” He’d said, feeling the paradox of the category.

“Really? The engineering students usually take the lower-level literature courses.”

“How do you know I’m in engineering?” Viktor had asked. Being easily discerned didn’t sound like a good thing.

You’d laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s only because I know most of the literature students, we’re a pretty small group.”

“Fair, but I could be in maths, or biology,” He’d titled his head. Around him, new students had started piling into the room. The two of you had been standing here for a while now.

“Well, you smell like motor oil and formaldehyde, so I think I got it half right.” You’d winked, stepping past him. You smelled like jasmine and books.  “I’ll see you around?”

And, not content to be perfection's heir,

And you had seen him around. The next lecture, you’d grabbed a seat closer to the entrance, saving the one beside you for him. He saw you as soon he entered, drawn to familiarity. Stopping just a step away, he noticed the bag, self-consciousness seeping in for a second as he wondered if he wasn’t as welcome as your last conversation had led him to believe. Perhaps that was just politeness, to help him save face? He had taken up a lot of your time.

Somewhere in the middle of his internal conflict, you had looked up from your book.

“Oh, hi, I saved you a seat!” You’d said cheerfully, a hint of tension in your smile. Later, you would tell him you were afraid to come off as too eager to be his friend. He found it unbelievable that someone could be embarrassed of wanting to be kind.

Viktor had never been so grateful for both his inability to decipher literature or his disability than the effect it had on his friendship with you. After the egregiously long reading list was distributed, you’d turned to him:

“I was thinking of going to get the books after class, do you want to come with? There’s quite a lot of them, so it would be easier for us to carry them together.”

Only when you were walking back to his dorm did he realize that in his eagerness to form an acquaintance, he had skipped over something quite obvious.

“You do not need help carrying these,” He said, slightly accusatory.  In one arm he carried a tower of half of the total required books, and, he realized again, only the thinnest ones.

 “Well, I didn’t want to come off as patronizing by asking you if you needed help,” You said, voice strained. From embarrassment or the effort, he could not tell. “Besides, my reasoning was so half-assed, I thought you saw through it.”

Viktor’s annoyance had only lasted a second before he noticed the breathlessness in your voice, no doubt from carrying almost double the weight you’d have to if you’d bought only your own books.

“Well then, I think I owe you for this,” He’d said, trying to keep his voice even. The truth was, even with you taking on so much of the burden, his arms and legs ached. There was no way he could’ve made it all the way back without your help. “Thank you.”

Now, you were definitely embarrassed. “You don’t have to thank me, any friend would do the same.”

Friend. He had other friends, but Viktor had still warmed at the fact that you’d decided his company was worth pursuing.

Thyself, dost strive all minds that way to move,

Now, here you were, a semester’s worth of study sessions and late-night talks later, still finding each other’s company worthy. Even as you stood silently, admiring the city’s skyline, basking in the presence of the other wordlessly.

“I must apologize,” Viktor begins suddenly. You shoot him a quizzical look but let him continue.

“For missing our last session,” He explains. Now your lips part, but Viktor continues. “No matter how busy I had been, I should’ve let you know I couldn’t make it. But I had just returned from an exam after two sleepless nights and fell asleep despite myself.”

You turn towards him, concern drawing your eyebrows together. “Viktor, why would you need to apologize for getting sleep? Speaking of which, why are you depriving yourself of rest?”

“I need to study, you know how it is,” He waves a dismissive hand, trying not to get anxious over the fact that he was currently wasting time.

“I must admit, I do not know how it is,” You reply. It was true, Viktor had noticed the delicate balance you struck in your own life, somehow always finding the time to socialize and keep yourself healthy without failing all your courses. Though you always said it was because your degree was easier, Viktor didn’t believe it.

“Unfortunately,” He sighs exaggeratedly, “we cannot all be gods of excellent time management.”

You laugh. “Not time management, just an easier program,”

Viktor shakes his head. “After taking just one of the courses that make up your schedule, I must disagree. I would have failed without you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, sure, Vik.”

The nickname makes his heart stutter, even though you’d used it a thousand times. The lack of sleep truly was getting to him. In the silence that followed (because he couldn’t think of how to continue), you sigh.

“What’s the end for you, Vik?” You ask, looking at him sideways. “What’s the point of all this—the sleepless nights, the skipped meals, the self abandonment?”

The question was uncharacteristically heavy, and he wonders for a moment if he should inquire after you. But then again, it was half-past two and you were here, with him, instead of getting the minimum eight hours of rest you subscribed to, so perhaps that was a non-question.

Instead, he ponders the question you’d asked, mulling the words over in his mouth before speaking. He hadn’t really vocalized it before. “Well, I want to help people, I suppose. Help them and be remembered for it.”

You hum in understanding, expecting him to continue. And he does.

“I suppose I’ve felt…invisible. For most of my life, that is. Most people were embarrassed of looking at me, and the universe itself seemed to be telling me that I didn’t matter. So I made myself matter. Became the smartest in the room, the most accomplished, excelling intellectually so that no one had a chance to notice anything else.”

“Did it work?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

“I…do not know,” He admits, laughing slightly. “The recognition, the awards, the opportunities—they help, but the attention only lasts a few minutes, and it’s always…incomplete.”

“How so?”

He hesitates slightly, scared of the words about to leave him. “People don’t see all of you, I suppose. Just your mind, and your work. They still shy away from all the parts of you that don’t fit in,” He motions towards the cane still clutched in his hand, and the leg that now ached tenfold.

You hum in understanding, your eyes now finding his. “Like people only value you for what you can do, rather than who you are.”

“Exactly.” For a moment, Viktor is in awe of your ability to understand people, before he notices the tension in your shoulders and the tight way you’d said those words.

“What about you?” He asks. “What do you hope to achieve from all this?” 

Who mark in thee what is in thee most fair.

You take a breath, exhaling deeply as you look around. “Same as you, I suppose.”

“I was referring specifically to all this,” He waves a hand, gesticulating to your surroundings. “Taking care of so many people, in so many small ways. It must add up. It must take time away from studying, from actually working towards your goals.”

You laugh, but it’s more of a formality than genuine mirth. “I don’t really have big goals like you, a need to be remembered in history for doing something great. I don’t care about a classroom of kids studying history decades in the future, I care about my siblings remembering me the moment they’re, I don’t know, illegally drunk and have no ride. I want to love and be loved now, in the immediate. Screw legacy, or whatever,”

 Somewhere during your brief monologue, the fire behind your eyes had started blazing again. The traitorous ally that was the air in his lungs betrays him, as it usually does around you, but Viktor wouldn’t be surprised if he could just survive on the sight of you alone. Your shoulders tense, face taught, defenses raised, a vestige of having to defend your choices and your life from those who could never truly understand you. As much as he wished to reach out, ease the tension holding you tight, it was exhilarating to witness—the ferocity that inspired your love.

“What?” Your eyes meet his, finally, after roving everywhere else for the past few minutes. He realizes he’s been staring too long, too quietly. Licking his lips, coming up empty for words. Woops.

“Is there something on my face?”

A shake of the head. “No, no. You’re fine,”

“Alright,” You say, suspicious. “You don’t think I’m stupid, do you?”

“Of course not!” Viktor scrambles to correct you. “I was just…at a loss for words.”

“Whatever you say, Vikkie-boy,” You sigh, faking exasperation.

Viktor cringes at the nickname, which was novel.  “Please never use that term again.”

You pout, a teasing glint in your eye as you lean towards him. “Aw, you don’t like my new pet name?”

“Yes,” Viktor replies, deadpan. Partially because he cannot, with any self-respect, entertain such a monstrous butchering of his name, and because you were entirely too close to him. Close enough that he can see the pores in your skin and the pupils of your eyes, and the glittering liquid in your waterline.

So while thy beauty draws thy heart to love,

He catches the exact moment you notice it too, the proximity. Your gaze flits somewhere lower, and though he would like to flatter himself, Viktor resists the thought that comes. He hears your breath falter, tripping before correcting itself, your lips parted slightly.

Another thought, loud and overwhelming. Much harder to resist. Much harder to think past. So he doesn’t—think, that is. Doesn’t speak. Lets the silence and your confusion stretch on for a few more moments as he takes you in.

“You’re acting a bit strange,” You say, voice and eyes low. It sounds divine.  He could listen to it all night. “You wanna go to bed?”  

As fast thy virtue bends that love to good:

Viktor shakes his head. There’s never been anything he was surer of. Perhaps he should feel a bit guilty that through your profession of your morals, your defense of your values, he could only think of stepping closer to you. Of taking your breath away. Of, perhaps, taking care of you, for once. Repay you for all your favours. Perhaps he should feel guilty that instead of engaging with you intellectually, he could only think of softness, in your hair, your lips, your skin. But then again—

He recalls dimly the poem that started this all, its lines blurring past him to the beat of his own heart.

But "Ah," Desire still cries, "Give me some food!"

He could do it. Step closer, quiet the tidal waves in his mind that left him so mute. There was a ninety-five percent chance you wouldn’t mind, a similar chance you would enjoy it.

It wouldn’t feel like a forest fire, he could imagine that much. A hearth, perhaps. Steady and warm and comforting, the warm space between your lips where your breath mingles with his—peppermint and coffee, the taste of the chocolate you’d been nibbling before a palimpsest he could trace with his tongue.

He could do it.

Could he?

[sadiestarrs]

practise makes perfect

just a short fluff drabble (blurb?) about hanging out with ellie and she finds out you've never kissed anyone. this is NOT my best work but I wanted to write it (it's also proofread) so enjoy <333

wc: 1.1k

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

early evening rays from the end of the day pushed the afternoon out, leaving only cool breeze to blow through your window. ellie sat on your bed, too focused on the video game she was playing to notice your obvious annoyance and frustration at the words in your textbook jumbling up on the page.

another message lights up your phone: your ex just added a photo to their story. you angrily slam it down on the table, even more agitated by the image of her at a candlelit dinner with someone else.

"woah there, i'm sure your phone did nothing wrong."

ellie looks up for a few seconds at a time, drawn to the game but concerned with what you're going through. ultimately, she pauses and grabs your phone from the desk, opening it with ease as she remembers your password.

"oh shit."

you hear empathy in her voice as she continues scrolling through your ex's Instagram, laughing at every little post that she deems cringy. "I can't believe you actually dated her. i mean-what did you even like?"

"she was nice to me, okay? im just an idiot for not seeing that it was one-sided." you think back to all the times she cancelled on you or just forgot when you were meant to hang out. luckily, ellie was a saving grace and always ready to accompany you to the library or cafe.

"there must have been something good. was she a good kisser?"

you struggle with how to answer that. despite being together for five months, you never kissed her, not even once. hell, you couldn't even remember how or when you got "together".

"we never kissed," you answer, slightly embarrassed but okay with ellie knowing. "never??" she replies, more shocked than you had expected.

"it was a short relationship, i don't even think I liked her." you try to change the conversation but ellie remains stuck on what you had revealed.

"have you kissed anyone? like-ever?"

your cheeks flush, not wanting to answer the question or even be in the room at that moment. the silence that washes over the both of you answers ellie's question.

you were no stranger to the adventures she had been on. when ellie wasn't with you, she was with some other girl, solidifying your position as the friend with no love life. you didn't mind it though, at least she provided insight into what relationships were like. but late at night, you couldn't help but let your mind wonder what it would feel like to be with ellie, to be next to her in bed—romantically, to feel her hands on your body in ways other than a hug-

"you wanna try?"

that is when you look up at her, more confused and slightly scared. would she find a friend just for you to kiss them?

"what do you mean? do you have people on speed dial for kissing?" you try to mask your pounding heart and unravelling composure with humour, but it fails miserably.

"i wish," she jokes, "but no, seriously. do you wanna kiss me? for practice?"

right. practise.

ellie williams was asking if you wanted to kiss her for—practice? you try to recap and sort things out in your mind, but nothing makes any sense.

gingerly, you shrug, not sure how she would see you if you eagerly accepted. stay calm and composed. even chanting that thousands of times doesn't help, somehow making you more nervous.

"sure, i guess."

you're unsure of what to do from there, more silence entering the room. you settle for sitting next to her on your bed, surprised at how unfamiliar it felt at that moment. ellie laughs at your awkwardness, stopping once she senses that you're unsure.

"you don't have to, you know, it was just a suggestion."

"no— no, it's fine. i want to."

without another word, ellie raises her hand for the side of your face, gently cupping your cheek to move it closer. you barely notice when your lips connect, a soft touching of lips in the most gentle way you have ever felt. there's no real indication as to why she's being so gentle, but it feels nice in the moment, reminding you of when she'd hold your hand whilst walking you home at night.

"is this okay?" she asks, eyes slightly fluttering open to see you smiling. "more than okay," you mumble, focused on returning to kissing.

ellie chuckles at your eagerness, but obliges, moving closer so that all the surface area of your lips are touching. you can't help but wonder what it would feel like if she just added more pressure, enough to fully make your heart throb

her hand slowly trails down to your waist, a firm grip holding you tighter than she ever had before. "do you wanna, um, get on top?"

"w-what?"

"I'm sorry, it's just that if you were to kiss someone, it would be better to demonstrate from that position."

you listen to her ramble and try to justify herself and let out a laugh for the first time. the idea of straddling ellie sends shock waves through your system, but you still do it, scared to fully put your weight down.

ellie quickly shuts down that fear, holding both sides of you waist and letting her hands slide up your shirt, fiddling with the clasps of your bra. "is this okay?" she asks again. "yes, ellie, it's perfect. now stop hesitating and help me practise."

a new found confidence takes over your body, your arms gaining a mind of their own and wrapping around her neck. with confirmation that you were into it, ellie quickly returns to what she had been doing with the addition of your neck and collarbone.

she had been your bestfriend for years, constantly helping and carrying you through the hardest of times and failed crushes. and here she was, teaching you how to kiss someone else.

with how long she continues working at your neck, you had enough information to last a life time. you don't tell her to stop, however, enjoying the prickly feeling. "did you know that you smell really good, like vanilla or—"

she's too enthralled to focus on her words, finally unhooking your bra and tossing it to the floor.

"i think we might need more practice sessions, you know, something makes something perfect or whatever."

idk how to feel abt this one but its cute nonetheless!! reblogs always appreciated + thank you for reading<33

[gabessquishytum]

So I just thought about a Dreamling Avatar The Last Airbender AU. Dream was born in a highranking fire nation family (maybe even the royal family) and lived a fairly normal if secluded life, and of course he's been trained to perfection when it comes to firebending. Only, on his 16th birthday it turns out he's also the Avatar.

Dream is not a fan of that. He already feels useless despite his status in the fire nation and now he's the one who's supposed to bring the world balance? He can't even balance his own feelings. Even the greatest Avatars could never bring peace to the world for more than a few years (at best a few decades) in a row, how is he supposed to do that? But he knows he has no choice and so he goes on his journey to learn the other elements. And while he learns the elements to perfection as well, his journey just proves what he already knew: He's a mess and unfit to bring balance to anyone.

As he learned air bending, he fell in love with his teacher - the nun Nada. Unfortunately, while she loved him back, she decided to remain a nun and to follow her duties to her people rather than running away with Dream. Dream was so upset about it that he unintentionally burned her and left the temple in shame, not even checking if she was okay in his haste to get away. He's still ashamed of what he did back then and hasn't visited an air temple since.

He promised himself that the same would not happen again - and yet, as he went to the water tribe to study his next element, he fell head over heels in love again. This time with the daughter of the chief, Calliope. Their relationship started so well, too - both of them understood each other, knowing what it was like to grow up protected and secluded, as well as with many (annoying) siblings. They even discover a shared love for creating ice sculptures, sometimes spending their entire time together just one-upping each other in who can make the prettiest one of all. Dream is so certain of his love that he even carves a betrothel necklace for Calliope, who gladly accepts it. However, seeing this, her father and sisters give her a stern talking to, warning her that she shouldn't go through with it, maybe even having heared what Dream did to poor Nada and fearing that he might do the same to her. Calliope is disappointed by her family's lack of support, and even considers just running away with Dream anyway. But in the end, her loyalty will always be to her family and her tribe and so she hands the necklace back to Dream.

Dream, utterly heartbroken, done with this world, and continuing simply because he knows he has to (and what else is there to do, anyway?), goes to the earth kingdom to learn his final element. He's so tired of his heartache. In an effort to prevent the inevitable, he decides to look for a teacher who's all alone. A man. With no daughters or sisters or cousins or whoever else to fall in love with. Someone who will teach Dream to bend earth as quickly as possible so he can finally be done with this, go back home, and wait for the world to (hopefully never) call for his help.

Luckily, he stumbles across Hob. Hob is an amazing earth bender, if not a formally trained one, and he spends his life wandering all across the world on his own. He uses his bending for banditry to get by and otherwise just wants to see the world. He doesn't really have a goal, though originally he just wanted to get as far away as possible from the woman (Eleanor) who broke his heart. It's really a miracle Dream found him at all.

Despite earth not being his naturally opposing element, it's the one Dream struggles the most with. He supposes it's because of the needed mindset. Earthbenders are known to be proud, and Dream feels he has no reason to be. To bend earth you have to face the element, and while Dream doesn't exactly run away, it's less in a I'm standing my grounds against it way and more in a I don't care if I get smothered to death by this boulder way. Hob knows that this is not a good attitude to have while bending earth (or any other element, he suspects), so he forced Dream to take a break from learning the elements and tries to teach him how to enjoy life instead. He manages to fascinate Dream with all his stories, to get him to look at the world (if not yet humanity) with awe, and Dream even opens up about some of his trauma, trusting that Hob will be there for him.

And one day, as Dream watches his earth bending master train, shirtless and sweating, his hair in a messy bun, Dream realizes he's in love. And he's scared. This is not good. He's done this before, twice even, and this is going to be a catastrophy. Damn it, he chose Hob specifically to prevent this! Why can't he ever be normal?

He spirals so hard that he accidentily enters the Avatar state for the first time in his life. He feels endless power flowing through him, uncontrolled, and he has only one throught: He can't hurt Hob. He needs to get away.

In his condition, this thought is all he needs to basically catapult himself away, flying through the air at an incredible speed, looking for somewhere to hide. He lands on top of a mountain, at the entrance of a cave and collapses. By the time he wakes up again, and remembers what happened, he decides it's not worth it to get up again. He's only gonna hurt someone or get hurt himself anyway. And so he remains, lying on the entry to that cave, not even properly shielded against wind or rain, just staying in the fetal position for days. And that's how Hob finds him.

This is such a great idea, and I love the way you've described each of Dream’s experiences in his training!!! I could really visualise each one. I am also going to link the art you made for it here, because it's magnificent and I am low-key obsessed with Earthbender Hob!!!!

I love the idea of Hob laboriously climbing the mountain in search of Dream, utterly relieved to finally find him. He scoops Dream up and hugs him so tight, and Dream is so exhausted and emotionally drained he just sinks into it and whimpers. He's ashamed of himself for being so weak. But Hob doesn't see it as weakness, not at all. He's just so incredibly, deeply relieved. He promises Dream that everything will be okay. He also tells Dream that he loves him. He has absolutely no idea if Dream loves him back (Hob is not the most observant Earthbender in the world). He just wants Dream to know that he IS loved. He'll gladly carry Dream down the mountain and take care of him until he feels better. Hob thought that he'd be happy to be alone for the rest of his life, but it's not true - he wants to be with Dream. As friends or allies or something more, whatever he can get. He wants to be with his forever.

It's a miracle that Dream doesn't go into the Avatar state all over again. Fortunately he's too drained and tired to do anything but wrap his arms around Hob’s shoulders. He has no idea what the future might hold, but the knowledge that he can have Hob forever... that makes it all a little easier to deal with. He suddenly feels quite willing to save the world. Because suddenly, the world really does feel worth saving.

[justunlucky]

As much as I like Judy Garrick I will never try to dismiss the fact that Jay and Joan not being able to have a bio child was very important and very special to some people. Seeing a relationship last that long without children can be confirming to some people, seeing the struggles of wanting a bio child and not being able to have one can validate and comfort people in a way. Help make them feel less alone.

What I shall not stand for is people saying Judy picked Bart out. Bart wasn't even kicked out his stuff was just moved. "I'll take these things to Wally's until Bart comes back,"Jay basically said he expects Bart to come back. I mean in the last issue you can see Bart and Judy playing games together. That shows that they accept Bart back into their house.

Personally I would love to see something with both Bart and Judy in it because both or two of my favorite characters Bart being what got me into DC and Judy being basically the only thing I ever post about on this app. But also because Judy and Bart have very similar personalities the difference being ones from the past and the other is from the future.

Ways that Judy Garrick could have been introduced that doesn't break canon and completely alienates foster children.

1.) She is not Jay and Joan's biological child - she is instead a niece or cousin of one of them and she obtained powers in ways not unlike Wally. This keeps the long-standing and important canon that Jay and Joan are infertile.

2.) She is an adopted child of both of them and again she obtained powers in similar ways to Wally. This again, maintains the important long-standing canon of Jay and Joan's inability to conceive.

3.) This is the big one; Jay does not remove all of Bart's belongings from his house upon arrival of Judy - he instead moves them to a guest bedroom thus allowing Judy the access to her old room, and makes space for the other fostered person and allowing him space in the home.

[thethronezone]

Love the Primarchs as fathers. How do you think they’d react when or if their kid starts having crushes, maybe wanting to date?

Watch this man age ten thousand years the moment his kid admits they have someone the like. Mortarion looks haunted. Genuinely asks himself where he went wrong raising his child. It takes a long time for him to accept that his kid is getting older and wants, ugh, those kinds of relationships. Just give him some time and he will gradually warm up to the idea. He just has to accept the fact his kid is becoming their own person.

Fulgrim is both the biggest hype man and the biggest critic. Because when his kid tells him then have a crush on someone he'll be so excited for them and he will want to hear all the details. Where did you meet? What's their name? What do you like about them? And then he will tear that poor crush to shreds with his words alone. "Dear, open your EYES. They are a 6.5 at BEST. Is that a mullet? Ugh, that's so last century. And they are HOW tall? Honey, you deserve better than that."

Don't tell Angron, he's just going to challenge them to a fight. If someone wants to court his child, then they have to first prove their mettle in bloody combat! Might kill them. By accident of course. Is actually not that opposed to his kid dating someone, he just wants that person to be strong enough to fight by their side. Very critical of every crush. Will kill someone for breaking his kid's heart(s). The type of father to sit in the corner, polishing his gun, while staring down his kid's crush.

At first, Magnus is nothing but supportive. He thinks it's wonderful that his kid is growing as a person and discovering new avenues of life. Slowly starts to hate the crush though. Just does not think that they are good enough for his kid. Magnus is a very proud man and that pride extends to his kid, who only deserves the best. "What do you even see in them? They can't even summon lightning!" Tries to set his kid up with prominent scholars instead. "What about this one? They are a master of theoretical quantum physics."

Perturabo straight up goes "no" when his kid tells him they have caught feelings for someone and they want to court this person. He's not saying this to be cruel but he genuinely does not think that it is in his kid's best interest to enter a relationship. They are busy with their studies, with training, they won't have time for courting. Forbids his kid from pursuing any sort of further relationship with this person and if he finds out that they have disobeyed him, he won't hesitate to separate the two.

Alpharius and Omegon knew about the crush before his kid told them about it. Still acts surprised when they tell them and asks who's caught their kid's eye, even though at this point they know EVERYTHING about this person. I am talking living family, blood type, height, weight, biggest fears, life aspirations, the last time they wet the bed. If they approve of the person, they will be supportive. If they don't, then they will pretend to be supportive but actually sabotage the relationship at every turn. Oh no, the crush missed their date? What a shame. (They were sedated by an Alpha Legion member and placed in a cupboard.)

When Lorgar learns that his kid is experiencing romantic love for the first time, he's happy for them. He just urges them to be careful, that love does not always turn out the way you want it to. Otherwise 100% supportive. Will patiently listen to his kid when they talk about their crush and gives them his honest advice, which is actually pretty solid. Secretly a bit sad that his kid is growing up so quickly but he won't say this out loud since he knows it's just a natural part of life.

Horus is like "Hell yeah, grandkids!" and his kid has to stop him and remind him that they haven't even entered the relationship yet. They don't even know if the other person likes them in that way! To which Horus goes "Of course they like you, you're my kid!" Honestly thinks his kid could get any person in the Imperium if they wanted to. Is however very critical of who they date but won't say anything about it if his kid seems genuinely happy with them.

HAHAHA. No. Konrad will not allow it. He will not hear it! Who is it? He'll kill them! Tell him! Konrad probably has the worst reaction out of all the Primarchs. Does he want his kid to be happy? Yes, more than anything. But Konrad genuinely believes people are naturally evil and selfish and is 100% sure that his child is going to end up betrayed in some terrible way. Just wants to protect his kid.

Admittedly, Sanguinius is not very optimistic about it at first. Not that he isn't supportive of his kid's feelings! Love is wonderful! But he can't help but worry that the other person will try and use them, seeing them as a way to rise in life. So while he supports his kid, he will secretly keep an eye out. Outside, he's all smiles and innocent questions ("Oh, where are they from? What are they like?") but at the same time he's highly critical of this other person. He wants to protect his kid from getting their heart broken.

For Corvus, this revelation that his kid has a crush on someone strikes him like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. Like, he completely forgot that his kid may one day develop an inclination towards romantic feelings and relationships. Quickly accepts it though. Kinda. He keeps a close eye on this other person they are interested in, not getting directly involved but making sure they are a stand up person and has honest intentions. Doesn't tell his kid that he's essentially spying on their crush but he knows that they know.

Ferrus is like "Ok? What do you want me to do about it?" Look, he's not going to stop his kid from forming romantic relationships or admonish them for having those kinds of feelings in the first place. It's their life, he can't control every aspect of it nor does he want to. As long as they don't let these feeling and relationships get in the way of what's actually important, they can do whatever they like.

Zero change in facial expression from my guy Rogal Dorn. Nods his head. "So it's like that." LIKE WHAT, DORN? EXPLAIN YOUR LINE OF THOUGHT, PLEASE. They will never know what Rogal thinks about their crush until one day, after he's met them for the first time, he goes "I do not like that person. They covered in my presence." And then he straight up tells his kid that they need to get a better taste in partners!

Watch Vulkan break down in tears. His little baby is so grown up! Already has their first crush! It feels like just yesterday that he would sing them lullabies and tuck them in at night! Just very emotional about it. He's happy for his kid, gives them his blessing to date whoever they want, he just can't help but feel like his kid is growing up too fast. Will however give their crush the scariest, most passive aggressive shovel talk you can imagine. Vulkan does not mess around when it comes to his kid's feelings after all.

At first, Lion appears fully uninterested when his kid tells him then have a crush on someone. If they prod him for a response he will give them a "I see" at best and just a dismissive grunt at worst. So, that means he doesn't give a shit, right? NAH. That crush of theirs are gonna be visited in the middle of the night by the Primarch of the 1st Legion himself, standing at the end of their bed, threatening to behead them and their whole family if they break his child's heart(s). Will then act like normal when, the next day, his kid brings up how nice their crush suddenly is to them.

Leman immediately wants to meet the person, even if it's just a person his kid has a crush on. Don't worry, he's not gonna do anything! Just wanna make sure that they are a good guy! Lies, he totally wanna intimidate them. Not because of any malicious reason, he wants to test their mettle. Will act all nice and cheery in front of his kid but the moment they look elsewhere, he will subtly threaten the crush, flashing his teeth and showing off his strength. If they don't faint and actually stand their ground, then he will accept them with open arms! If they cover in fear? Well, the wolves could use a new chew toy... Joking! He's joking. (Is he though?)

Honestly, Jaghatai is so chill about it. Teases his kid about it a little but is genuinely supportive of them exploring this avenue of life. Get out there, try things out, meet people, figure stuff out! As long as the other person is an honest and upstanding individual, he don't care who they are. Serf, soldier, scholar, artist, they are all good! Gives good courting and dating advice.

Roboute gives his kid 'the Talk'. It's the most awkward and stilted conversation he's ever had. At the end of it, he lays a hand on their shoulder and pats it like they are a horse or a well trained dog. "Good talk." Is supportive of his kid pursuing relationships, just very awkward and Roboute-y about it. Gives them books about romance and dating so they can 'study'. Also tries to give them advice, though it's not always very good. "Bring them flowers. Baselines likes flowers." "Dad, they are allergic." "... Plastic flowers?"

[cinnamonest]

Anon at literally any given moment my brain is consumed with thoughts of Goro, I have so many Goro concepts that gnaw at my mind at all times

One specific one though is a PhantomThief!Darling.

One of his classmates, perhaps, even though you don’t see him that much given his frequent absences, or someone he met through his ventures in the entertainment industry. Someone he managed to get close to, was able to talk to him enough that he opened up to you, and as much as it frustrates him to acknowledge even just to himself, he has an emotional attachment.

Regardless, his beloved darling, the one person that brings him some semblance of joy and comfort in his life, the one person he allows himself to feel genuine affection for, who doesn't get pushed back to arm's length like everyone else. And thereby, someone he's vulnerable to, someone he trusts, someone he holds dear, even if he hasn't been honest with you about the full extent of those feelings.

That’s why it makes him so angry, when he finds out.

The first time, it catches him so off-guard, the whole composed presentation he usually carefully maintains, completely slips off for a second, leaving him stunned and slack-jawed.

He was going to meet you, you know, to catch up, and you gladly accepted that. You said something about how you felt guilty for taking up his time — it’s admittedly quite comforting, being able to read between the lines, knowing you see yourself as below him in status and likely feel grateful that someone like him would give you time and attention.

So to round the corner and see you smiling and laughing and talking to someone, the way his eyes casually travel over to see exactly who you’re facing, who you’re talking with so happily — he freezes mid-step, shoulders tensing up, smile dropping in an instant, the second he lays eyes on that godforsaken pair of big glasses and frizzy hair.

He recovers before you actually spot him, but you still notice tension in his voice and posture nonetheless — you can dismiss it as simply a rough day, maybe.

I wasn’t aware the two of you even knew each other. Small world, isn’t it?

You say you just happened to run into the guy while waiting. What a coincidence.

And Joker doesn’t linger either, he seems to recognize the awkward atmosphere, makes a quick exit with a nod and a farewell of assurance that he’ll see you both later, a statement that makes Goro bite his tongue.

It takes every ounce of self-control he has not to delve into endless questions on the exact circumstances and details of your relationship with him. He tries to tell himself he’s better off not knowing the details — anything you tell him will only keep him up all night, playing out visuals in his head. Even as it is, he knows that the image of you smiling like that will linger in his head for weeks on end, every second of remembrance filling his gut with a pit of bitter irritation.

It feels pathetic. It is pathetic, and he knows it. That only makes it that much worse, the sense of shame and embarrassment weighing down like an anchor in his chest, a burning, discomforting sensation.

But he refrains. Keeps the evening as normal as possible, tries to pretend as if he saw nothing, as if the interaction didn’t happen, he fights the urge and fights the urge and in the end, it comes spilling out anyway, so awkwardly and ill-timed that he has to resist the urge to slam his head into the wall right there out of self-directed frustration.

By the way, how exactly do you two know each other…?

It was a question he was better off not asking. You first need clarification of who he’s referring to — dammit, it’s been so long it wasn’t clear, and does that make it obvious that it’s been bothering him all evening…? — and even then, your answer is dodgy, avoidant, vague.

He doesn’t like the implications of that.

Why do you not want him to know? What specifically are you avoiding telling him? There’s only really two possibilities — either you’re fucking the guy and the truth would make that fact obvious, or you know, and the real story would explain exactly how.

And if you know, that might just mean you’re involved.

He’s not sure which possibility makes his stomach churn worse.

He has enough self-control to not make his suspicions too obvious, to let the matter go and not press further. It’s not until another conversation, another day, that he brings up the matter more directly, finding a convenient avenue to bring up the matter via a trail of conversation about his work.

By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you… what are your feelings on the Phantom Thieves?

You give an answer that’s overall disapproving. Just complex enough to lend you a sense of intellectualism, but overall well-aligned with his own public statements.

A little too well, actually.

Like you’re just telling him what you think he wants to hear.

He grinds his teeth and beneath the table his fingers curl and dig into his thigh, but his pleasant smile doesn’t falter.

The suspicion that you’re not being fully transparent with him eats away at him. It keeps him awake all night, that night.

He doesn’t tell you about the second time he sees you together. That time, it’s by coincidence that you manage to cross paths, and he manages to go unnoticed — watching as you converse with the whole group of them together. You seem awfully comfortable with them. Like you’re used to being a part of this group. Like you've interacted with the lot of them many times before.

It makes his skin crawl. It makes his mind race with questions. It makes his thoughts drift to unpleasant things.

But he’s only finally vindicated within the metaverse itself. Once he actually, finally sees it with his own eyes, stalking behind the band of thieves, and lo and behold, there you are.

It feels so damn satisfying to be right, to have that vindication, that sort of I-knew-it rush of euphoria — and at the same time, the absolute rage is practically blinding, all-consuming. He’s left standing still, watching, blood running cold through his veins.

Look at you. Jumping all around, fighting shadows, complete with a fitting little outfit and all. It’s endearing, adorable even.

It makes him feel sick.

He’s known you longer. He’s done a lot for you in the past. And the thanks he gets from you is total betrayal. Allying yourself with the people working against him, knowingly, knowing how he feels about it, knowing it’s working against him directly — and you still have the audacity to see him regularly, to lie to him, to pretend like you’re on his side of things. You're actively deceiving him, and fully content with doing so.

The bitterness and spite that wells up in his chest is petulant, and he knows that. That makes the myriad of emotions that much more frustrating — to feel such unadulterated rage, yet that anger itself is embarrassing, makes him feel humiliated just to acknowledge his own feelings — and that intensifies the rage itself because it's your fault he feels that way, a self-perpetuating cycle of negativity.

And moreover, as childish as the thought feels, he can't help but succumb to the bitterness of the notion that you essentially have chosen them over him.

Is it merely ideological? Is that it? You just truly believe in their cause? Do you just like them more? Did he do something to lose favor with you? Did you never care for him that much at all? Is it circumstantial, they helped you and now you're helping them? And if that's it, why did it have to be the Phantom Thieves that helped you? Why didn't you go to him?

Why?

But all that restraint and self-control he exercises so perfectly externally takes a lot of effort. Internally, he gives in quite easily to letting his mind wander.

It’s so easy to cave to the fury, let himself be consumed by hateful thoughts and fantasies of vengeance, even the darkest and most petulant ones.

He’s always planned on killing them. He could make you watch. He knows he couldn't bring himself to kill you, but maybe he could make you think he's going to. Or he could threaten to turn you in, make you face the possibility of prison time. It would be satisfying, to see the fear etched onto your face. To see you grovel at his feet.

And if he gave you the choice — would you choose him, or to die with them? Would you betray them for him, if it meant being spared? Would you help him achieve his own goals, if it came down to it?

Maybe you'd say you’re sorry. Maybe you'd cry. He thinks he'd like that.

In fact, the more he thinks it through, the more it comes together, the more plausible it seems.

It will be easy. Just give him some time, and he'll ensure the circumstances work out perfectly to give him the opportunity to execute his fantasies down to the exact details.

And maybe if you beg for it, he can even forgive you, too.

[lasnevadaslaborunion]

Okay, finally caught up on the full VOD and here are some messy thoughts

...

So. UHHH. On a gut emotional level, I fucking hated that lmao. Whole chapter of my life finished with a bang and a whimper. Las Nevadas Labor Union is over, y'all. The boss just deny, defend, deposed himself. Holy shit.

On an intellectual, thematic level... I... can't really... argue with that? Like, we didn't actually expect a character that cc!Q explicitly said was inspired by Walter White to receive a happy ending or a functional relationship, did we? We were really high on our copium supply, good grief.

I could, and still might, write a whole meta about how c!Quackity has been passively suicidal with a foreshortened sense of future for a very long time. As far back as Doomsday, he didn't care if he lost his life, as long as he got to watch those who hurt him go down first. He declared so many times that he would die with his country. He was incessantly compared to c!Wilbur, both by other characters and by the narrative itself. He was fucking terrified of being betrayed again, but he always expected it, and moreover did nothing to prevent it. He told c!Foolish and c!Purpled outright that they would have every right to kill him for what he did to them. Didn't even consider making himself immortal with the revival book, instead focusing on making sure c!Dream would no longer have it. Didn't fight back when Slime killed him. Doubled down on his mistakes, and in hindsight rationalized everything as inevitable. Wrested back control the only way he knew how, following another's model. Las Nevadas was a broken institution, built by a man who had given up on fixing anything. His story was always about the self-perpetuating cycle of power and abuse.

This... isn't shocking, unfortunately. If anything, it was too obvious an ending.

I won't go too deep into the OOC implications, because they will make me sound... way more parasocial than I want to be. But I don't think it's controversial to say that the DSMP holds a lot of complicated, difficult, bittersweet memories for many of its former members. It does not surprise me at all that the ending cc!Q chose for his arc was an unhappy one. There are several possible conclusions I would have greatly preferred, but none could have realistically happened without Certain People returning. I wonder how aware the creator was of that, and how much those emotions bled into the writing.

And while I'm... still not certain how I feel about c!Quackity blowing himself up even after being given a second chance (I will always prefer "live and try to do better" à la Bojack Horseman for characters like this), I see the in-universe logic behind it, and everything up to that point was completely in character. Right down to his denial of having ever done the deed, boasting that his enemies deemed him important enough to kill, while ironically taking hollow pride in denying them the chance to take the revenge he so desperately sought for himself, showing no mercy to who he maybe subconsciously believed was his greatest obstacle to true glory... ughhh, c!Quackity makes me so fucking SAD you guys-

Ahem. Anyway. Could he have forgiven himself? Would he have ever accepted the forgiveness of others? Perhaps, perhaps not. In two other lives, those he unknowingly gave a second chance to, he did. q!Quackity went on living for the sake of someone he loved, knowing he, too, was loved. k!Quackity went on living until he found justice, knowing he did not deserve to be wronged. c!Quackity... what other legacy would he have left? Does he know what he truly wanted, before all that fear and hunger for control tainted his heart? Was he content to know someone would remember him with a shred of fondness? That he left a single positive impact? That his life did have a purpose?What if he knew that even some of those with the most reason to hate him still wanted him to be better?

I suppose one might imagine an open-ended resolution, exchanging that last shot of c!Q's last life vanishing with him riding Boner/Ossium away from the explosion and into the sunset to build a better legacy. What would that new legacy look like? I have no idea. I don't think he knows yet, either. But we can pick our favorite based on the day. Time travel is real, and canon is made up. We can do what we want forever now. Enjoy.

...

He's not a fucking gringo, though. c!Quackity is Mexican, importantly so, full fucking stop. Stop infecting him with more Trump particles than he already had. "Oh great, a foreigner" honestly FUCK you Alex. 0/10 for that