#i don’t like thinking too hard about it :(

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, price x scam caller!reader, cyber stalking - unedited - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Can you imagine being in a rough place when a friend of a friend of a friend manages to rope you into scam calling?

And when your first target ever is John Price?

He knows something is up instantly. He knows you don’t work for a bank, not with the way your voice shakes and tumbles over your script- but he lets you think he believes you, lets you give him the runaround, even throws you one of the gift cards you’ve been told to ask for. It’s not too bad when he gets to listen to your cute voice for the duration of the call, guiding him through the steps.

Slowly and without your knowledge, he gathers information on you and the office you’re calling from- taps into your camera too. He watches you fuss and frown as he begins to mess up small tasks, then when you’re trying to get him back on track, he drops your full legal name.

The line falls silent.

“That’s you, isn’t it love?”

There’s a smile audible in his voice as you sputter with wide eyes, processing what’s happening.

“Don’t hang up-“ he orders and you comply, you can tell it wouldn’t end well if you did. “Not nice to scam old men, you hard on cash?”

You lower your voice so no one else in the room can hear. “Yes, sir.”

He’s grateful for your honesty, but he���d much rather hear a phrase like that while you’re bouncing on his lap.

“I don’t like being taken for a fool, but I’m a nice man.” His tone is self important. “Tell me- do you like this job? Do you feel good when you successfully scam other old folk?”

Through the webcam, you look about ready to cry as your head bows down into the cheap office cubicle. “S-sir, you- th-this was my first day.”

“-Shh, it’s okay love.” He coos “you’re not in trouble.”

You sniffle quietly.

“-But you do owe me back what you’ve taken. I’m not a man you steal from.”

You pale, he had sent you a pretty hefty amount- but it had already gone to the person running the operation. “I-I don’t- I can’t-“

“We can work something out.” He hums as his eyes flit over your home address on the screen in front of him, readjusting in his seat. “-Like I said, I’m a nice man. Now, go home and be good for me, have to send in some reports on your esteemed employer. I have your personal number, love. I’ll be in touch.”

[pucksandpower]

Something to Lose

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: when Lando starts driving like he has nothing left to lose after a stop-and-go penalty during the Qatar Grand Prix, you are left with no choice but to reveal that he does have something to lose … it’s currently growing inside you

Warnings: reckless driving and pregnancy

Based on this request

“Lando, calm down.”

Silence. The kind of silence that isn’t empty but buzzing with tension, the sound of static humming just underneath.

“Lando, you have to calm down.”

The voice over the radio is steady but edged with something close to panic. It’s Will, trying to sound composed and professional, but Lando doesn’t care. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel, the sweat pooling in the fabric of his gloves.

“I’m fine,” he snaps, voice tight.

“No, you’re not fine,” comes the clipped reply. “You’re driving recklessly. You’ve already been warned twice about track limits. If you don’t-”

“I know what I’m doing!”

He’s not shouting, not quite, but it’s close enough. The car ahead of him looms into view, and he narrows his eyes. He’s lost so much time, too much time. Thirty-five seconds feels like a lifetime in Formula 1, and every fiber of his being burns with the need to claw it back.

“Lando, please,” Will tries again. “This isn’t just about you. Think about the team. Think about the other drivers.”

Lando sets his jaw, foot pressing harder on the throttle as he moves into the DRS zone. He’s close enough now, gaining. He can feel the adrenaline surging, the singular focus that blocks out everything else.

Except-

“Lando, you’ve got to listen.”

This time, it’s Andrea chiming in. There’s an edge of frustration to his tone, like he knows Lando isn’t going to.

“I’m fine,” Lando says again, more clipped this time.

“You’re not.”

He doesn’t respond. The car ahead is his target, and everything else fades.

In the McLaren garage, it’s chaos. Will mutters something under his breath, Andrea runs a hand through his hair, and Zak looks close to knocking the pit wall over in frustration. The radio crackles again, another futile attempt to break through.

“He’s not listening,” someone says, their voice low but frantic.

And then-

“Get her.”

Heads snap around.

“Are you serious?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

The silence that follows speaks volumes.

A headset is shoved into your hand before you can ask any questions. The words come in a rush. "He’s not listening to us. He’s driving like … just can you talk to him? Please.”

You blink, stunned, your brain trying to process what’s happening.

“On the radio? But I’m not part of the team. You’re not allowed to-”

“We’ll take the fine. Just please. He’ll listen to you.”

You hesitate, the weight of the request settling on your shoulders. Your fingers tighten around the phone. Somewhere in the pit of your stomach, there’s a familiar twinge of anxiety.

“Fine,” you say finally. “Patch me through.”

The radio buzzes, and then you hear him.

“Lando,” you say, your voice soft but firm.

There’s a beat of silence before his response.

“What?”

Just that one word, sharp and irritated. But you can hear it beneath the surface — the crack in his armor, the flicker of something vulnerable.

“Hey,” you say gently. “It’s me.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, and you press on, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You’re scaring them,” you say. “The team. They don’t know what to do with you right now.”

“I’m fine,” he says again, the words rote, mechanical.

“No, you’re not,” you counter. “Lando, I know you. I know how you get when you feel like everything’s slipping away.”

His silence is louder than anything he could say.

“You’re trying to prove something,” you continue. “I get it. But you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“You don’t understand,” he mutters, voice low and strained.

“Don’t I?” You shoot back. “I’ve seen you like this before. I know how hard it is to let go when everything feels wrong, but-”

“It’s not the same,” he interrupts. “You don’t know what it’s like out here.”

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“You’re right. I don’t. But I do know what it’s like to care about someone who doesn’t know when to stop. And right now, that’s you.”

He doesn’t answer, but you can hear his breathing, heavy and uneven.

You take a leap.

“Lando,” you say softly, almost a whisper, “think of the baby.”

The silence is deafening.

“What?” His voice cracks on the word, incredulous.

You swallow hard, your grip on the phone tightening. You hadn’t planned to say it, hadn’t even meant to — but now that the words are out, there’s no taking them back.

“I’m pregnant,” you say, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I wasn’t going to tell you like this, but Lando, please. You have to stop.”

The radio is silent for a long, agonizing moment. Then-

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “I wouldn’t joke about this.”

Another beat of silence.

“Are you serious right now?” His tone is softer now, laced with disbelief.

“Yes,” you say firmly. “I’m serious. And I’m scared, Lando. I’m scared for you, for us, for the future. But right now, I need you to stop driving like you’ve got nothing to lose.”

There’s a pause, the longest yet, and you can almost hear the wheels turning in his mind.

“I didn’t mean to-” he starts, but his voice falters.

“I know,” you say, cutting him off gently. “I know you didn’t. But you’re not just racing for yourself anymore.”

He exhales shakily, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter, almost defeated.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Okay, I’ll ease up.”

The tension in your chest loosens, just a fraction.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

The radio crackles, and the team’s voices flood back in, relieved and frantic. Lando doesn’t say much, just listens, his responses clipped but calmer.

In the garage, the atmosphere shifts. People exchange glances, half-shocked, half-relieved.

Back on track, Lando slows, just slightly. His movements are still precise, aggressive — but controlled.

And in the garage, you stand there, the phone still clutched in your hand, your heart racing.

“Is it true?” Someone asks quietly, their voice barely audible over the chaos.

You look down, swallowing hard.

“Yes,” you say softly. “It’s true.”

***

P10.

Not a podium, not even close to the result he wanted, but after the chaos of the race, it feels like a victory.

The team cheers faintly through the radio, their relief palpable. Lando barely hears it. His mind has been somewhere else since your voice cut through the static, since your words landed like a punch to the chest.

“I’ll meet you in the garage,” Will says over the radio, but Lando doesn’t respond. The car rolls to a stop in parc fermé, and he yanks off his steering wheel with more force than necessary.

The marshals wave him over toward the mandatory weight check. He doesn’t even glance at them.

“Lando!”

Their shouts barely register. He’s already pulling himself out of the car, helmet in hand, visor still down. His focus is singular, tunnel-visioned: you.

The rules? The procedures? None of that matters. Not now.

“Lando, you need to-” one of the officials tries again, but he brushes past them, moving with the kind of intensity that no one dares challenge.

His gloves hit the ground first, discarded in haste, then his balaclava. The crowd around him blurs into nothing — team personnel, photographers, journalists — none of them exist in his world right now.

He reaches the McLaren garage in record time, his breaths coming fast and shallow. The second he sees you, standing off to the side with your arms wrapped around yourself, he freezes.

You don’t notice him at first, your gaze fixed on the ground, your foot nervously tapping. Then someone points, murmuring his name, and your head snaps up.

The moment your eyes meet, it’s like the rest of the world falls away.

“Lando,” you whisper, but before you can say anything else, he’s crossing the distance between you in long, purposeful strides.

“Is it true?” He demands, voice low but urgent.

You blink, caught off guard by the intensity of his tone.

“Is it true?” He asks again, softer this time, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, your throat tightening. “Yes.”

His breath hitches. For a moment, he just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he pulls you into his arms, holding you like he’s afraid you might disappear.

“You’re serious,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your hair.

You nod again, your cheek pressed against his chest. “I am.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands still gripping your arms. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, but there’s something else there too — something softer.

“I don’t even know what to say,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” you reply. “I just … I didn’t mean to tell you like that, but you weren’t listening, and I was scared, and-”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. For scaring you, for being reckless, for everything.”

You shake your head, tears welling up. “You don’t have to apologize. I just — I needed you to stop. I needed you to come back to me.”

“I’m here,” he says quickly, his grip on you tightening. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

The moment stretches, the noise of the paddock fading into a distant hum.

“I didn’t mean to put you in that position,” he says after a beat. “I should’ve been listening to the team, to you-”

“Stop,” you say softly, placing a hand on his chest. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now, I just need to know you’re okay.”

His lips press into a thin line, and he nods. “I’m okay. I promise.”

“Good,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t know how I got so lucky,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

“Neither do I,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

A laugh escapes him, shaky but real, and it’s like a weight lifts from both of you.

“Lando!” Someone calls from behind him. It’s Will, looking equal parts exasperated and relieved. “You skipped the weight check. You’re going to get a penalty … again.”

Lando doesn’t even glance back. “I don’t care.”

“Lando-”

“I don’t care,” he repeats, more firmly this time. His focus stays on you, his hands still resting on your arms.

“We should go,” you say softly.

“Not yet,” he replies, his eyes locked on yours.

The circus can wait. For now, all that matters is you.

[peachesofteal]

The wallflower.

Johnny clocks it immediately, your shoulders practically pinned against the pale-yellow wall, pint glass slick with condensation cradled between your fingers. Your eyes dart around and then away, finding something to study in the carpet, or the stairs, on the coffee table.

You’re not comfortable here, that much is clear.

He elbows Simon. “Poor girl looks nervous.” Simon gives you a furtive glance over the rim of his glasses, and nods.

“Probably only knows one person. Or got dragged here.” It’s Kyle’s wife’s birthday party. She has a lot of friends it seems, well liked in all facets of her life, work and otherwise. He clucks his tongue. “Sweet thing.” Someone bumps into you, and then pivots, reaching out to grab your arm in apology. You don’t tell him off or pull away. You just glance at his hand, meek smile stretching your lips sour. It turns Johnny’s stomach.

“She needs rescuing.”

“Johnny.” There’s a warning in Simon’s tone, a reproachful sentiment that he knows well. No strays. No projects. No more shelter pets.

“Ach c’mon. Look at her.” That one muscle in Simon’s cheek feathers, the one that says everything without Simon saying anything at all. Broken resolve.

He sighs. Johnny grins.

“Ye alright?” The man who’s taken up a residence at your shoulder is now speaking to you. Worse, he’s asking you if you’re alright.  

“I… I’m good. Yeah. Fine.” You grip your glass tighter, ignoring the flip of your stomach. You snuck at glance at him when he first came over, and that was enough. He’s very handsome.

And you’re, well-

You’re… you.

“Someone ditch ye?” Oh god.

“Uh, no. My friend is over there.” You point to Anna’s back. She’s in the kitchen, laughing so loud you can hear her from across the living room.

“Ah. She did ditch ye.”

“No!” You glare at him, “No.”

“But she didnae offer to introduce you to anyone?” You wince, and his eyes flicker with sympathy. “Ah, she did.”

“I’m not good with… people.” The understatement of the year. You don’t do people. People are too unpredictable, too much of an unknown. A pattern of behavior will only take you so far, and it’s hard to forecast their actions, reactions, words, emotions… everything.

You prefer safer bets. Predictable things. Equations, mostly.

“Ye’re not good w’people, but ye’re at a party.”

“Yes, it’s quite a feat.” You snap your mouth shut, expecting him to give you a weird look, but he laughs.

“If ye’re uncomfortable, why stay?”

“Because, social interactions are good for me. And I promised myself a slice of cheese pizza if I made it an hour.” He should laugh. Most would. Most would think it’s fucking hilarious, how you’re bribing yourself, dangling a carrot in front of your face.

But this guy doesn’t. He doesn’t laugh. He cocks his head, and frowns. “So… ye’re torturing yourself so ye can earn a slice of pizza.” A nervous giggle bubbles up and out your throat.

“It sounds bad when you put it that way but-“

“It is bad.” A deep voice sounds from over your shoulder, and you jump.

“This is Simon.” Your new… friend, Johnny, motions to the hulking man at your side, and you manage a nod, spitting out your name. “He’s no’ scary, just looks it.” Johnny reaches for his hand, and the equation clicks to together with ease.

Oh.

“You here with a friend?”

“Uh. Yep.” You point to Anna, again, and they exchange a look.

“She ditch ya?” Same question, different accent, and you’re about to give the same answer, when Johnny intercedes.

“She’s here so she can have a slice of pizza.” Yeah. It sounds bad.

“Wot?”

“I… It’s good for me to be around people so I said if I could do it for an hour, I could have pizza.” They’re both wearing expressions you can’t translate, two faces you don’t understand, and it twists you up.

“Do you usually ransom yourself pizza?”

“N-no.”

“Is it… an eating thing?”

“Oh, no. It’s like… I’d rather be at home, but everyone says socializing is… important. So, for doing something I hate, I get pizza.” Simon sighs.

“Trying to fit a square into a circle.” The comment is puzzling, but as you’re trying to put it together, Johnny links his pinky with yours and tugs you closer. The room is quiet, the music, the laughing, the chatter, all of it goes silent. There are dozens and dozens of people in here, but right now, it’s just you and these two. Staring at one another. There’s a web thin string spinning from him, to you, to Simon, and it’s wrapping you up, cocooning you, holding you tight.

“This okay?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Ye wannae go get that slice with us?” Do it. Just do it. Do something. You take a deep breath.

“Sure.”  

They look comical, shoved into the pleather red booth across the table from you, Simon far too wide to comfortably accommodate Johnny, but they don’t seem to mind. “So, cheese then?” You nod, picking at the faded corner of a menu. This was a bad idea, this was stupid. What were you thinking? Why-

“Three slices of cheese please.” You hadn’t even noticed the server, and you panic when she starts to turn away.

“And a coke!” You blurt, immediately embarrassed. She stares at you for a second before nodding, forcing a smile, and walking off. Fuck. You press your palm down on the table, trying to focus on the texture, the feel of it.

“Hey,” Simon says softly, “you didn’t do anything wrong.” You bristle.

“I know that.” Of course you know… don’t you?

Clearly not.

They don’t try to force you into conversation, but they do talk to you. They don’t ask you pointed questions or try to dig into you, instead choosing to tell you about themselves, their dog, their jobs. They keep you involved without dragging you in unwillingly.

It’s nice.

You’re halfway through your slice when you realize they’re watching you.

 “What? Is there something on my face?” You frantically wipe at your chin, your cheeks. Simon’s mouth quirks.

“Nothing on your face, sweet girl.” Your brain scrambles. Words fail. You don’t think anyone has ever called you something like that before.

“Oh. Okay. Well. Good.” Stupid.

“Go on and finish up.” He instructs, pointing at the grease laden slice, and you bring it to your mouth obediently. “Want to come for a walk with us after this? Our favorite park is around the corner, and the moon is really bright tonight.” A walk. With them. A walk? What does that mean? Just like, a walk?

Do it. Just do it. Do something. Be brave.

You roll your shoulders, and take a bite of your pizza, chewing slowly and swallowing.

And then you nod.

“Yes.”

[sai-int]

babe i NEED more needy!simon im clawing at the walls please

on it 🫡

cw: phone sex, masturbation, dirty talk, fem!reader

The bed feels impossibly empty without him. You lay there in the dark, the soft glow of your phone screen casting shadows across the room as you mindlessly scroll, trying to distract yourself from the ache of his absence. It’s been weeks since you’ve last heard his voice, the rare messages he’s sent barely enough to quiet the longing that’s burrowed deep into your chest. Sleep feels far away, and the cold sheets only make it worse.

Your eyes are just starting to drift shut when your phone vibrates against the nightstand, startling you. You snatch it up quickly, your heart stuttering when you see his name on the screen. He almost never calls while he’s deployed—it’s dangerous, risky, and you know better than to expect it.

The line connects before you can even sit up properly, and his voice, low and husky, comes through immediately. "Miss you, baby," Simon breathes, his tone rough, like it’s been ripped straight from the depths of his chest. "Fuckin’ miss ya so much, love. I can’t—’m losin’ my fuckin’ mind here."

Your breath hitches, your hand tightening around the phone. His words come fast, unsteady, and you can hear the strain in his voice, like he’s been holding it all in, waiting for this moment to unravel.

"I miss you too, Si," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "God, you don’t even know how much."

There’s a shuddering exhale on the other end, followed by a faint, rhythmic sound that you almost don’t catch at first. It’s subtle, muffled, but unmistakable—the schlick schlick schlick, wet slide of skin on skin. Your cheeks flush instantly, heat curling low in your stomach as the realization dawns.

"Simon…" you murmur, your voice dipping into something softer, more knowing.

"Can’t help it," he groans, the sound guttural, desperate. "Think about ya all the fuckin’ time—y'voice, y'touch… Jesus, love, almost got me killed out 'ere."

The noise grows louder, more insistent, like he's started to pump his ruddy cock even faster. You can picture him so clearly: sprawled out somewhere private, one hand gripping the phone, the other wrapped moving deftly around his cock, tighting at the base and twisting at the tip, just how he likes it.

"Tell me what you’re doing," you murmur, as if you don't already know.

A low, broken moan crackles through the line, and you hear the faint rustle of fabric as he shifts. "Touchin’ myself," he admits, shameless and raw. "Thinkin’ about you, about how tight y'are, how y'feel—how y'taste. God, ’m so fuckin’ hard f'you, sweetheart."

Your thighs press together instinctively, his words seep into you, settling in the slick that drools out of your cunt. "You all wound up baby? Miss me that bad?" you tease gently, though your voice wavers with your own arousal.

"You’ve no fuckin’ idea," he growls, his accent thick, the usual control in his tone completely shattered. "Need to hear you- Need ya t'help me, love."

Your breath catches, your heart pounding in your chest as you slide a hand around your body. "I’m here, Si," you murmur, your voice dipping into a husky whisper.

“Need ya t'talk to me,” he pleads, his words laced with desperation. "Tell me how you’d touch me if y'were with me."

You close your eyes, letting your hand trail from your perked nipple to you navel. "I’d start slow," you say softly, your fingers finding the slick heat between your thighs. "Kissing your chest, licking over every scar, every inch of you. I’d bite your neck, your jaw, your lips—until you couldn’t think straight."

He whines loudly, the sound rough and needy. "Fuck, love, keep goin’—'m so close."

"I’d lick from your neck to your waistband," you continue, your own touch mimicking the words as you run your fingers through your soaked folds, "wrap my fingers around you, stroke you nice and slow."

His breath hitches sharply, and the wet, rhythmic sounds on the other end grow faster, more erratic. "You’d kill me, wouldn’t ya, sweetheart?" he rasps, stuttering. "M-make me fuckin’ beg."

You bite your lip, rubbing tight, quick circles over your clit as you imagine him beneath you, all wet eyelashes and flushed cheeks. "You’d love it," you whisper. "Love the way I’d take care of you, make you feel so good. I’d let you come all over me—tits, face, wherever you want, baby."

His groans turn into hushed cries, and you know he’s close, probably soaking himself with pre. "F-fuck baby, 'm so close—I-I’m gonna—" His voice cuts off, replaced by a gasp, then a deep, shuddering moan as he cums all over himself, thick, hot ropes painting his torso and lifted shirt white.

You mewl as your muscles clench and the coil tightens in your belly, your orgasm hitting you in waves as you follow right after him. You bring the phone to your cunt, letting him hear how your cum mixes with your slick. All for him.

"Fuuuuckk... You're a bloody goddess, baby. I needed that," Simon finally murmurs, his voice soft and spent. "Needed you."

"I’m always here, Si," you whisper, your own voice thick with exhaustion and affection. "Even when you’re far away, I’m all yours."

There’s a long pause, the quiet hum of the connection filling the space between you, before he speaks again. "Love ya so much, sweetheart," he pants softly through the phone, making your heart ache.

"I love you too, baby." you reply, clutching the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to him. "Don't die with your dick out. Come home to me."

"I will," he chuckles softly, but his voice is firm despite the distance. "I’ll always come back t'ya."

mlist | part one

[solxamber]

'Elloo! :D I saw your requests open, can I request some hcs or short imagines for the first, second, and third years, separate characters?? Or you can just do it as a single scenario with all the characters. They're (Their??) reaction when they've realized the things reader/Yuu had to go through starting from the very beginning ,when they first got transported to the school. Like, the shock of not being able to go home, new environment, the fear-- just the emotional and mental turmoil reader/yuu went through starting from the beginning.

Also, as time goes by it just gets worse and worse along with all the overblots and stuff that got reader/Yuu over the edge. And now the students kind of help?? Or at least try to soothe or comfort the reader I guess??

Does this make any sense?? I dunno :'D

I want me some angst hehe >:]

But if this is kind of too much then it's okii if you wanna skip this one, I love the effort you put into your writings! <3

I kinda just wanted to ramble and yap about this idea I had hehe

Toodles!

thank you!! and i'm sorry it too so long, but i hope you like it <3

They realise what you went through - All NRC + Rollo + Neige + Grim, Staff

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle doesn’t realize the extent of your struggle until much later, likely after witnessing you reach your breaking point. The way you bottle up your emotions reminds him of himself before his own overblot, and it fills him with guilt. He prides himself on upholding order, but he feels like he failed to notice the chaos within you.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Riddle asks, voice trembling as he stands before you, his normally stern expression soft with regret. He places a hesitant hand on your shoulder, unsure if he has the right to offer comfort after overlooking your pain for so long. “I… I should have noticed. I’m sorry.”

Riddle dives into a methodical plan to ease your burdens. He takes on your academic concerns, ensuring your assignments are manageable and offering personal tutoring. When you’re overwhelmed, he insists you take breaks in Heartslabyul’s peaceful rose garden. While he’s not good at openly expressing affection, he’s steadfast, always by your side with words of encouragement and warm tea.

Trey Clover

Trey picks up on your struggles sooner than most, his observant nature allowing him to notice the small cracks in your demeanor. He doesn’t pry but stays close, offering quiet support until he realizes you’re beyond your limit. His heart aches knowing you’ve been carrying so much without asking for help.

“Hey… you don’t have to pretend everything’s fine,” Trey says softly, kneeling beside you as you sit slumped in an empty classroom. His usual calm demeanor is tinged with concern. “I’ve seen you pushing yourself too hard. You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Trey becomes your sanctuary. He’s the type to cook comforting meals for you, often sneaking you your favorite desserts. He encourages you to talk at your own pace, listening without judgment. Trey also ensures you’re surrounded by people who care, gently urging you to spend time with friends so you never feel isolated again.

Cater Diamond

Cater doesn’t fully realize how bad things are until he catches you breaking down when you think no one is watching. The sight hits him hard—he’s used to wearing masks himself, but seeing you put on a brave face while falling apart reminds him of his own struggles.

“Whoa, hey, hey…” Cater’s voice is unusually soft as he crouches in front of you, the playful lilt replaced with genuine worry. “You’ve been holding all this in, haven’t you? Man, that’s not healthy… You should’ve told me!”

Cater becomes your cheerleader, using his energy to lift your spirits. He takes you on spontaneous outings, distracting you with fun activities and selfies to remind you of life’s lighter side. When you need to vent, he’s surprisingly patient, letting you talk without interruptions. His go-to phrase becomes, “No filter, just let it out. I’m here.”

Ace Trappola

Ace is the last to understand the depth of your pain, brushing off your struggles as stress until you finally snap. Seeing you cry or lash out leaves him dumbstruck—he’s not used to serious emotions and struggles to process it at first. But beneath his awkwardness, he genuinely cares.

“Whoa… I didn’t think it was this bad.” Ace rubs the back of his neck, guilt clear in his expression. “Look, I’m sorry if I made things worse. I didn’t mean to. I just… didn’t know.”

Ace sticks close to you in his own Ace-like way. He cracks jokes to make you laugh and distracts you with playful banter, but he’s also there for the serious moments. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, he drags you outside to play a quick game of basketball or to look at the stars, insisting, “You’ve gotta clear your head, or you’ll go crazy.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce notices your struggles but doesn’t know how to approach you about them. When he finally sees you crumble, it makes him feel like he’s failed as your friend. His protective instincts kick in, and he becomes determined to help you in any way he can.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this the whole time?” Deuce’s voice is thick with emotion as he looks at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something! I’m supposed to have your back!”

Deuce takes your well-being seriously, to the point of overcompensating at first. He insists on walking you to class, carrying your things, and defending you against anything he perceives as a threat (real or imagined). Over time, he learns to provide quiet support, sitting with you during tough moments and saying, “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is a perceptive man, even if he acts otherwise, but your struggles slip under his radar for too long. It isn’t until he notices how you’ve stopped rising to his teasing or how the light in your eyes has dimmed that the gravity of your situation hits him. It reminds him of his own sense of isolation, and the guilt gnaws at him.

“Tch. You think you’re the only one who has to deal with this crap?” Leona’s voice is gruff, but there’s no malice in it. He sighs, sitting beside you under the shade of a tree. “You should’ve said something sooner, herbivore. Doesn’t mean you have to carry it all yourself.”

Leona doesn’t coddle you, but his actions speak louder than his words. He offers his presence, silently inviting you to nap in the botanical gardens with him when you need a break. If anyone dares to make your life harder, Leona handles it with a quiet, lethal efficiency. “Rest up. You’re not falling apart on my watch.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie notices your struggles quickly, but his initial reaction is to brush it off as normal stress—until he sees you genuinely hit your breaking point. It stuns him; he’s used to dealing with hardships himself but hates the idea of you enduring the same without support.

“Oi, don’t do this to yourself,” Ruggie says, his usual playful tone replaced by something softer. “You’re not alone, y’know? I don’t let my people suffer in silence. That’s not how we roll.”

Ruggie uses his resourcefulness to lighten your load however he can. He sneaks you snacks, takes care of tedious tasks for you, and even makes you laugh with his sharp wit. When you’re overwhelmed, he shares stories of his struggles to show you that it’s okay to lean on others. “You’ve got me, okay? I’ll make sure you’re okay, promise.”

Jack Howl

Jack notices the signs of your stress early on, but he hesitates to bring it up, unsure if it’s his place. When he finally realizes how deeply you’re struggling, it stirs a protective instinct in him, and he immediately resolves to do whatever it takes to help you.

“You should’ve told me,” Jack says, his voice low and filled with regret. His ears twitch as he glances away, guilt etched across his face. “I could’ve helped. You don’t have to do this on your own anymore.”

Jack becomes your steadfast support, encouraging you to exercise or go for runs to clear your mind. He’s a calming presence, offering quiet companionship when words aren’t enough. “You’re strong, but you don’t always have to be. Let me help carry the weight, okay?”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prides himself on noticing vulnerabilities in others, but your ability to mask your pain throws him off. When the cracks finally show, it shakes him deeply, reminding him of his own insecurities and the times he felt powerless.

“I didn’t realize…” Azul murmurs, his hands wringing nervously as he looks at you with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I should have seen it. I’m sorry—for everything. Let me help you now.”

Azul’s approach is practical and calculated, but it’s rooted in genuine care. He offers to take over responsibilities or negotiate solutions to ease your stress. When you’re overwhelmed, he’s unexpectedly tender, sitting with you in his VIP room and reminding you, “Even the strongest need someone to lean on. You’ve been there for others; let us be here for you.”

Jade Leech

Jade notices your struggles early but refrains from intervening, assuming you’ll reach out when you’re ready. When he realizes how much you’ve been bottling up, he’s surprised and slightly guilty for not addressing it sooner.

“My, you’ve been carrying quite the burden,” Jade says, his usual calm tinged with regret. “It seems I underestimated just how much you’ve endured. Forgive my oversight.”

Jade is a master of subtlety, offering comfort in ways that feel natural and unintrusive. He invites you on quiet walks through the woods, using the serene atmosphere to help ease your mind. When words are needed, he listens attentively, his soothing voice offering reassurance. “Do not hesitate to lean on me, should you need support. I’ll always be here.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd doesn’t realize how bad things are until you completely snap, and even then, it takes him a moment to process that your outburst isn’t just a temporary mood. Seeing you so broken flips a switch in him, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness.

“Shrimpy, why didn’t you say anything?” Floyd’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet, his sharp eyes scanning your face. He pouts, but there’s no mischief in it—just genuine concern. “You don’t gotta handle everything alone, y’know?”

Floyd sticks to you like glue, his unpredictable nature becoming a strange source of comfort. He drags you out for spontaneous adventures, insisting that fun will help you feel better. When you’re feeling low, he’s surprisingly gentle, wrapping you in a tight hug and muttering, “I gotcha, Shrimpy. Nobody’s messin’ with you while I’m here.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is always full of energy and positivity, so it takes him a while to notice the depths of your struggles. When he does, he’s devastated, blaming himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this?” Kalim’s eyes widen, tears threatening to spill. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something to help!”

Kalim does everything in his power to brighten your days. He showers you with gifts, invites you to lively parties, and insists on spending time together to lift your spirits. When he realizes that quiet support means more than grand gestures, he sits with you, holding your hand. “You’re not alone, okay? I’ll always be here for you.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil is highly observant, and while he notices your struggles early on, he assumes you’re managing on your own until he sees how much you’ve truly endured. It reminds him of his own bottled-up frustrations, and guilt eats at him for not acting sooner.

“...I should’ve known,” Jamil mutters, his voice low and filled with regret. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I’ve been through this too. I know what it’s like to feel trapped. I’m sorry I didn’t step in sooner.”

Jamil’s care comes in quiet, thoughtful gestures. He prepares your favorite meals, arranges peaceful moments away from the chaos of NRC, and ensures you never feel overwhelmed alone. “You’ve done more than enough. Let me take care of things for a while.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil’s sharp eyes catch the signs of your struggles quickly, but he initially brushes them off, believing you’ll overcome them like any challenge. When the full weight of your burden becomes clear, he’s horrified and deeply regretful for not intervening sooner.

“I failed to notice something so glaringly obvious,” Vil says, his tone laced with self-reproach. “That’s not acceptable—not as your friend and certainly not as someone who should’ve supported you better.”

Vil approaches your comfort with precision and care, determined to help you regain your footing. He insists on self-care days, encourages you to vent your frustrations, and teaches you grounding techniques. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need rest. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Rook Hunt

Rook is attuned to the emotions of those around him, and your pain does not escape his notice. He marvels at your resilience but is deeply saddened that you’ve been enduring so much without seeking help.

“Mon cher trésor, your suffering… it pains me to think I let you endure this alone,” Rook says softly, his gaze earnest. “You’ve carried a weight that no one should bear by themselves. Allow me to lighten your burden.”

Rook’s support is poetic and heartfelt, crafting moments of beauty to remind you of the world’s wonders. Whether it’s a bouquet of flowers, a handwritten letter, or a quiet moment under the stars, he ensures you feel cherished. “You are not alone in this grand stage of life, and I shall remain by your side as your steadfast ally.”

Epel Felmier

Epel is initially too caught up in his own frustrations to notice the extent of your struggles, but once he sees you falter, his protective side kicks in. It reminds him of his own insecurities about being underestimated.

“Aw, geez, why didn’t ya say somethin’?” Epel frowns, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re always lookin’ out for us, but ya never let anyone do the same for you. That ain’t fair.”

Epel takes a straightforward approach, offering to help however he can. He sticks close, ensuring you never feel alone, and encourages you to vent when needed. “You’re tough as nails, but that doesn’t mean you gotta do it all by yourself. We’re a team, remember?”

Idia Shroud

Idia is slow to notice your struggles, being so wrapped up in his own world, but when he realizes the extent of your pain, it hits him hard. He sees a reflection of his own struggles in you and feels immense guilt for not seeing it sooner.

“This is my fault, isn’t it?” Idia mumbles, his voice trembling. His hair dims as he nervously fiddles with his tablet. “I should’ve… I don’t know, paid more attention. I’m sorry. I—I wanna help, if you’ll let me.”

Idia comforts you in his own awkward way, creating a safe space where you can relax without judgment. He shares his favorite games, shows, and quiet moments, offering you an escape from the chaos. “You don’t have to be ‘okay’ all the time. Just… take it easy for now. I’m here if you need me.”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho is one of the first to notice your struggles, his advanced sensors picking up on changes in your emotional and physical state. His concern is immediate, and he wastes no time in seeking to help.

“You’ve been so sad for so long, haven’t you?” Ortho’s voice is soft, as he hovers close. “I wish I could’ve made you smile sooner. I’m sorry you’ve been hurting.”

Ortho’s comfort is warm and reassuring, filled with optimism and boundless energy. He’s always ready with encouraging words, small gifts, or simply a cheerful presence to brighten your day. “You’re not alone! I’ll do everything I can to help you feel better, okay?”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus has always sensed something amiss about your emotions, his acute sensitivity to auras making it impossible for him to overlook your struggles. However, he hesitates to approach, fearing he might overstep or worsen your burdens. When he finally understands the depth of your pain, he is both heartbroken and determined to help.

“You’ve been enduring this in silence?” His deep voice is laced with regret as his green eyes soften. “If only I had been more attentive, perhaps I could have eased your pain.”

Malleus ensures you feel his unwavering support. He invites you for peaceful strolls under the stars, shares his favorite quiet spots, and reassures you with his calming presence. “You are precious to me. Whatever darkness surrounds you, I will remain by your side until the light returns.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia has lived long enough to recognize the signs of emotional turmoil, and it pains him to see you suffer. While he often masks his seriousness with cheerfulness, he doesn’t hesitate to step in when he sees you reaching your breaking point.

“Oh, little one, you’ve carried such a heavy heart all this time.” His playful demeanor fades into solemnity as he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Lilia comforts you with wisdom and warmth, drawing on centuries of experience. He shares stories to make you laugh, cooks (albeit questionable) meals to distract you, and offers sage advice when you’re ready to talk. “Life’s trials are harsh, but you’re stronger than you know. And if you need someone to lean on, I’ll always be here.”

Silver

Silver is observant despite his drowsy nature, and he’s one of the first to notice your growing exhaustion. When he realizes the extent of your suffering, he feels deeply remorseful for not acting sooner.

“I should have seen this sooner,” Silver says quietly, his tone filled with regret. “You’ve always looked out for others… I should’ve done the same for you.”

Silver stays by your side, offering silent, steady support. He doesn’t push you to talk but is always ready to listen when you’re ready. His calm demeanor helps ground you, and he often sits quietly with you under a tree or by a calm lake. “You’re not alone. I’ll protect you—not just from danger, but from this weight you’re carrying.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek’s initial reaction is frustration—not at you, but at himself for failing to notice your struggles while being so focused on Malleus. His loyalty shifts into overdrive as he becomes determined to help you.

“You’ve been struggling this much, and I didn’t see it?!” Sebek’s voice is loud, but there’s a rare softness in his expression. “That is… unacceptable. I failed you as a companion.”

Sebek’s attempts to comfort you are a bit clumsy but heartfelt. He insists on helping you with daily tasks and loudly declares his commitment to your well-being. Despite his rough edges, his sincerity shines through. “Know this: I will not allow you to suffer alone any longer. You have my loyalty, now and always.”

Rollo Flamme

Rollo’s disdain for magic only deepens when he realizes how much you’ve suffered due to the chaos and overblots of NRC. His concern for you is genuine, though it’s laced with anger toward the school and its culture.

“This place… It’s a cesspool of disorder and harm,” Rollo says, his voice cold yet trembling with suppressed emotion. “You’ve been caught in its web for too long. You deserve better.”

Rollo’s comfort is practical and protective. He tries to create a sense of normalcy for you, offering quiet, structured moments away from the chaos. His words are sharp but sincere. “You deserve a life of peace and stability. If you can’t find it here, I’ll do what I can to give it to you.”

Neige LeBlanche

Neige is quick to notice your distress, his naturally empathetic nature making him keenly aware of your struggles. He’s horrified to think of you enduring so much alone and wants to do everything in his power to make you smile again.

“Oh no… You’ve been feeling like this?” Neige’s voice is soft, his eyes brimming with concern. “You don’t deserve to carry such sadness by yourself.”

Neige’s comfort is gentle and uplifting. He sings for you, offers kind words, and encourages you to express your feelings without fear. “You’re so strong, but you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to let someone take care of you for a change.”

Grim

Grim initially doesn’t notice your struggles, his focus often on his own ambitions and mischief. When he finally realizes how much you’ve been enduring, he feels both guilt and panic.

“Hey… You’re not okay, are ya?” Grim’s ears droop as he looks up at you, his voice unusually soft. “Why didn’t ya tell me? I—I’m supposed to be your partner!”

Grim becomes fiercely protective, sticking by your side at all times. He tries to cheer you up with his antics and insists on being your “emotional support boss.” “You’re stuck with me, got it? So don’t go actin’ like you’re all alone. I won’t let ya.”

Staff:

Crowley

Crowley prides himself on being the "benevolent" headmaster, but when he realizes how much you’ve suffered under his care—or lack thereof—he’s struck by a rare pang of guilt. While he’s not one to admit fault outright, he becomes visibly uncomfortable with the weight of his oversight.

“My dear, you’ve been carrying all of this on your shoulders?” His dramatic flair falters for a moment, his usual exuberance replaced with awkward sincerity. “I… suppose I may have been a tad neglectful in ensuring your well-being.”

Crowley tries to make amends in his own roundabout way, offering resources, extended accommodations, or attempting to be more attentive (though his efforts are often misguided). “Rest assured, I shall personally oversee that you are well cared for! You have my full support—within reason, of course.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel is not one to tolerate weakness, but when he sees the toll everything has taken on you, his stern demeanor softens. He’s the type to take immediate, no-nonsense action to ensure you’re taken care of.

“You’ve let it get this bad without saying a word?” His sharp tone is laced with frustration, but his eyes betray his concern. “Pup, I thought I taught you better than to carry burdens alone.”

Crewel’s approach is practical yet caring. He insists you rest, brings you comforting meals, and ensures you know you’re valued. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need support. Lean on me, pup. I’ll make sure you’re back to full strength in no time.”

Mozus Trein

Trein is a man of wisdom and observation. He likely noticed your struggles but respected your space, waiting for the right time to step in. When he realizes the full extent of your distress, he feels deep regret for not intervening sooner.

“I should have addressed this earlier.” His voice is steady but tinged with remorse. “You’ve faced more challenges than any student should. It’s a testament to your resilience, but it shouldn’t have come to this.”

Trein offers gentle guidance, providing stability and reassurance. He shares stories of his own trials and reminds you that even the hardest times pass. “Life is fraught with difficulties, but you’ve shown remarkable courage. Allow others to help shoulder the burden—you need not face this alone.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas isn’t the most emotionally perceptive, but when it finally clicks that you’re struggling, he’s hit with a wave of guilt. He immediately shifts gears, trading his usual boisterousness for genuine concern.

“Whoa… I had no idea it was this bad,” Vargas says, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I would’ve helped in a heartbeat!”

Vargas focuses on physical activity as a form of comfort, encouraging you to blow off steam in healthy ways. He also offers constant positive reinforcement. “You’re tough, kid, but even the toughest need a break. Let’s get some fresh air and clear your head—you’ve got this!”

Sam

Sam has always been attuned to the emotions of others, so when he realizes the depth of your struggles, he feels a pang of regret for not stepping in sooner. His usual upbeat demeanor becomes tinged with quiet sympathy.

“Well, well… Looks like someone’s been carrying more than their fair share.” His voice is soft, his usual grin replaced with a concerned expression. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Sam provides comfort through small but meaningful gestures, like preparing your favorite treats or giving you space to talk. He reassures you with his calming presence and wise words. “Don’t keep it bottled up, friend. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s valid. I’m here to help you through it.”

Masterlist

[hoshifighting]

Hiiii !! First of all tysm for all the fics you’ve put out! I honestly don’t know how you write them so fast 😭 secondly, I’ve been thinking about this so much so when I saw your requests were open again I got so excited to see if you had any opinions! How do you think the Svt members would react if you told them to say “please”/ ask nicely before they could cum?

I know you have so many requests coming in so I hope you’re taking care of yourself and having fun writing these!

svt reaction to you telling them to say “please”/ask nicely before they could cum

WARNINGS: smut, begging, svt desperate to cum ❤️🩹🗣

seungcheol: his pride is imediatelly gone and its almost funny. he’s groaning “please, please, I’ll do anything, baby, just let me cum.” gripping the sheets, thrusting up into your hand, so fucking close that he’s almost whining. if you tease him a little more, he’ll actually beg louder “fuck, I’m begging you—please let me.”

jeonghan: at first, he’s trying to smirk through it, pretending he’s unaffected: “oh, you think I’ll beg for you?” (he will). the minute you slow down or stop, he’s groaning and grinding against you like, “fine, fuck, please—please let me cum, baby.”

joshua: he wants to keep his composure, but his body’s backstabbing him. he’s thrusting into your hand, breathing hard through his nose, trying to hold back, until he’s finally gasping “fine, fine, please, I’ll beg if that’s what you want—just let me cum.”

jun: he’s squirming like crazy, trying to resist. but you can see the moment he breaks—his whole body’s trembling, and he finally whispers “please, baby, I need it—please.”

hoshi: instant panic. he’s gasping out, “please, I’ll be so good, I’ll do anything you want—just let me.” he’s holding onto you for dear life, all wide-eyed and desperate. if you don’t let him right away, he’ll legit cry, moaning your name in between pleases like he’s praying to you.

wonwoo: the silent sufferer. he’s biting his lip so hard it might bleed, glaring at you like he’s daring you to make him beg. but when you edge him for the third time, his voice cracks “fuck, please—please just let me finish.”

woozi: this man is STUBBORN. at first, he’s glaring at you, biting his lip like he can hold out forever. but when you keep teasing him, he’s growling under his breath “haah—! fuck, okay—please, just let me finish, I can’t take it anymore.”

minghao: you’re testing his patience, and he hates losing. he’s shaking his head at first, lips tight, but when you keep teasing him, he’s hissing “you’re so cruel. fine—please, just let me cum.”

soekmin: likes it when you’re mean to him. he’s smiling through his whines, “please, baby, I know you wanna hear me beg—just let me cum, I’ll be so good for you.” if you keep teasing him, he’s GIGGLING because he lowkey loves it.

mingyu: he’s too whipped for you to pretend he wouldn’t enjoy being edged and begging for permission. he’d say please a hundred times if it meant you’d let him finish.

seungkwan: this man can talk, and it’s all spilling out at once. “please, I’m begging, I’ll be so good—fuck, I’ll never do anything to piss you off again, I promise, just let me cum, PLEASE.” he’s pulling out all the stops, saying whatever he thinks will convince you. 10/10, most affected.

vernon: he’s so conflicted. you can see the internal battle written all over his face. he starts off quiet, breathing hard, refusing to speak—until you slow down and he panics “wait, wait, okay—please, I’ll say whatever you want, just don’t stop.”

chan: his pride lasts for like… ten seconds. he’s trying to play it cool, but when he feels you tighten or slow down, he’s crying. bonus: if you’re extra mean, he’ll choke out an apology for being so stubborn.

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green Part 25

masterpost

Despite the chill in the air, it was a lovely day to be outside. The sun was warm, the ground had dried out after a few days of rain, and the trees were in full color. Danny threw the ball again for Ursa, using the odd launching stick that Dick had gotten for them. It was appreciated, really. Ursa could run and Danny couldn’t throw the ball nearly as far as she wanted by hand.

Ursa raced back with the ball, just a cloud of black fur, and darted right past Danny. Danny spun around quickly, not wanting Ursa to jump on Alfred again (they were working on it), and almost swallowed his tongue.

“Ursa! Gentle, girl! Be gentle!” Danny called out as he took off after her.

Luckily, Ursa listened and planted her fluffy butt on the ground even if she was still wiggling around excitedly.

“Hi there, Ursa, it’s nice to meet you,” Babs said with a soft smile as she held out her hand to be sniffed.

Ursa dropped the ball in the offered hand with a quiet woof and a large grin. Luckily Babs didn’t seem to mind the sudden, slobbery present and threw the ball like Ursa wanted. Ursa was off after it like a bolt.

“Sorry about her,” Danny said as he scratched at the back of her neck. “Play time means fetch right now. She’s pretty determined about these things.”

“That’s okay,” Babs said as she wiped off her hand on her jeans. “She seems like a real sweat dog.”

“She is. It’s been really good to have her.” Danny didn’t even try to hide how found he sounded. He kept his eyes on Ursa, not able to look at Babs as he asked. “Did you… did you find anything?”

“I did.” Babs’ voice was gentle. “Do you want to know now?”

“I— yes, but no? I think this will… I guess… I don’t want to hear this alone, but I think that means I’ll need to explain everything.”

Ursa dropped her ball and came over to Danny where she pressed herself firmly against his leg. Danny buried a hand in her soft fur.

“They’ll all wait however long you need them to,” Babs said.

“I know. But I think… I think I do need to tell them, if I want to get better, and I want to get better.”

“Okay. I’ll make sure the family is on the way for dinner tonight and we can talk once they get here,” Babs said with that carefully gentle sort of voice that Danny always hated a little. Jazz used to do that too. “In the mean time, I’d love to get to know Ursa more.”

Danny cleared his throat. “So, I guess it’s obvious that she really likes fetch…”

-

Dick helped Babs settle onto the sofa. She didn’t need the help, not really, but the easy back and forth of movement was just natural for them, even after all of these years. It also gave him someone to fuss over that wasn’t Danny. What he wanted to do was scoop Danny up into a hug and never let him go. Dick figured that would be a bit too stifling though. Instead, Dick made sure that Babs had her laptop while the rest of the room got settled.

Danny chose the floor, apparently. He leaned back against Jason’s legs while Tim was pressed on the other side with Steph crammed next to him. Damian was on the floor next to Danny. The two were oddly hard to separate. Ursa had draped herself across both their laps; Danny dug his fingers into her mane. He didn’t look up at the rest of the room, even as Cass sat on the arm of the couch.

They hadn’t been told much about why they were there, a fact that ate at Bruce, but he worked to let that go. Danny had asked them to be there and to the one, they had shown up. Alfred was passing around hot chocolate with Duke’s help. The inclination that the comforting drink would be needed was probably right, as much as Dick hated that. He took his own mug and clung to it like a lifeline.

“The other night,” Babs started, “Danny asked me to look into someone for him, a Jasmine Fenton.”

On the television, a picture of redheaded girl appeared. The person who’s hair Babs had reminded Danny of, Dick realized. It looked like a school photo: mediocre studio lighting, bland background, a forced smile. She was late teens with a scatter of freckles and bright blue eyes.

“Jasmine Fenton, age nineteen, is currently enrolled at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville, where her permanent residence is.”

“Arkansas?” Danny asked quietly.

Babs nodded. “She’s been in the state since she entered the custody of Alica Bayard, Jasmine’s aunt from her mother’s side, almost two years ago.”

Danny sagged forward, burring his face into Ursa’s mane. “Oh thank god.”

“Why did her aunt receive custody?” Bruce asked when none of the rest of them seemed able to.

The steadying breath that Babs had to take wasn’t reassuring. “Jasmine was removed from her parent’s custody after the living conditions were found unsafe. This was part of an investigation into the disappearance of her brother, Daniel Fenton.”

A familiar face joined Jasmine’s on the screen. It was the same, awkward sort of school photo and Danny looked even more uncomfortable in it. His hair was shorter, his eyes bluer, and there were none of the scars. This was Danny before everything went wrong.

“The parents, doctors Jackson and Madison Fenton, were never charged with anything relating to the disappearance. They moved away from Amity Park four months later, likely due to increasing hostility from the town.”

“They weren’t dumb enough to keep me in the house,” Danny said. His words were somehow loud in the room despite being muffled by Ursa’s fur. He gave a mirthless chuckle. “You know, I used to think they were … not dumb, but clueless, you know? That they were science smart and low in everything else. The hapless, accidentally mad scientists. And then… and then I find out how much they had planned. That all of me was planned… I don’t know if anything about them was real.”

Damian leaned over to press against Danny’s side, offering his silent support. Dick was proud of how good a brother Damian was to Danny. It was a small silver lining in all of this. Danny slumped against him.

Danny’s eyes flicked back up to the screen and his sister’s face. He glanced away a long moment later. “Is there… are there any picture of the lab from the report that you can put up?”

Of course Babs had the photos and soon they were cycling through on the screen.

Mad scientists was right. The place looked distinctly science fiction, full of every day objects and tools that should be recognizable but where three steps away from reality. Everything was gleaming metal accented with a toxic green.

“My… they… the Fentons are ecto-biologists,” Danny explained as the rest of the room cataloged the details in the pictures.

“Ghost biologists?” Tim asked with furrowed brows.

“Yeah. Not that they ever met the ethics that biologists go by. But they didn’t think ghosts were sentient let alone sapient, so I don’t know why they even called themselves that. They didn’t… the screams means it’s working,” Danny said, choking on something between a laugh and a sob.

Jason cursed, the words a low rumble of anger that echoed through the rest of the room.

Dick had to get up and pace.

He brushed his fingers lightly over his family as he moved through the room, assuring himself they were all there and alright. Bruce caught his fingers and squeezed. Dick huffed, but settled lightly on the arm of Bruce’s chair.

“There’s a lot I didn’t really think about as a kid,” Danny said, once the room had settled again. “I should have. But they were—I thought they were my parents. I thought they knew best. When I started to really pay attention… we didn’t see eye to eye pretty quickly, but I thought they were just misguided, you know? I thought that maybe, eventually, I could talk to them about all the things that I’d learned and show them that they were wrong. But I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what, sweetheart?” Bruce asked.

“That I was never their son. I was just a lab rat.”

“Danny,” Cass called softly.

Danny shook his head. “It’s true! They even said it: ‘you can love the test monkey, Danny, but you can’t let that get in the way of the experiment’. Apparently I was an easy monkey to care for. Not too demanding. Easy enough for them to just add to the effort they already put towards Jazz, their real kid. Easy enough to ignore when they wanted. For me it was all just… normal. Just how I grew up.”

Tim bumped Danny with his leg. “Don’t worry, Steph and I will teach you how to annoy everyone in this family so that they can’t ignore you.”

The little snort of laughter Danny made seemed to surprise even him.

“Not that we would want to ignore you anyways, Dandelion,” Jason said. “We’re not perfect, but we’re family. Real family.”

Danny leaned back against Jason’s legs, a faint smile on his lips. Dick felt something in himself unwind at the sight. Jason was right, they were far from perfect, but they were family and they would be there for Danny always. It would talk time, a lot of time, but Danny would be alright. And all along healing he’d be loved.

Bab’s caught Dick’s eye. She clearly had more to tell, but Dick shook his head slightly. Give everyone a moment. Let everyone process and drink their hot chocolate and eat some of the cookies that Alfred brought with his impeccable timing. When everything was calmer and the cookies almost gone, Dick got up and returned to his seat by Babs. He touched her wrist gently. It was as good as time as any.

“So I’ve figured out when the Fentons visited Gotham,” Babs said. An old, poor quality image of a convention banner popped up on the television. It was for alternative energies. Next to it was a list of booths, the Fenton’s ‘Ectoplasm Energy’ booth highlighted. “But what I don’t understand is why they chose to clone Bruce. They never tried to use it as a claim for child support or any of the obvious reasons someone would clone a Wayne for.”

“I, um, never knew the when,” Danny said, squinting at the images. “I didn’t… I didn’t even find out the who until I was escaping. It was stupid to stop and look, they could have come back at any moment, but I had to know, you know? But I know the why. Bruce registers as a liminal. I would bet all of you do except for Steph and maybe Alfred. Well, Jason is more like me and Dami is something other, something more. Duke’s totally different.”

Bruce leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Liminal.”

Danny nodded. “Yeah. It can—like, it’s not the best term, really, because it can mean a lot. A lot of exposure to death, exposure to death at key moments, being somewhere liminal for a really long time, or longterm exposure to ectoplasm can cause it.”

“Is it dangerous?” Tim asked, mouth twisted in a curious frown.

“No,” Danny said quickly. “Think of it sorta like a meta gene? Some people are more susceptible to being liminal and liminals, if exposed to the right… incentives, can develop… not powers but kinda? Or, if things go really wrong, can turn into a halfa.

“My—the Fentons are really immune to being liminal, they learned that in college when their lab partner got really sick and then later turned into a halfa. I dodn’t know if… I don’t know if they would have tried to use Jazz like that did me if not. I don’t think so but… well, they didn’t have to worry about her when they exposed me to all sorts of stuff around the house growing up.”

“They chose to clone me simply because I was a liminal?” Bruce asked. He sounded befuddled.

To be fair, it was like the weirdest reason ever to clone Bruce Wayne and Batman.

“Yeah. A strong one,” Danny said. “Gotham itself is pretty liminal and you’re, you know, both her knight and her prince. I think you were sort of like the perfect choice for them to pick. I guess you went to the convention. They had you handle a device, it nicked you enough for them to get blood. They, um, would have played it off. Like they bragged, everyone always just thought D…Jack was just a bumbling fool. It let him get away with a lot.”

“They snagged Bruce’s blood and cloned you to just, what, have their own liminal?” Steph asked. Her nose scrunched up at the whole idea of it.

“Yeah. Apparently they tracking how much I was exposed to and what my levels where. I didn’t… I never noticed. It was just growing up. My, they always did my check ups. Experiments were left everywhere. I cleaned the lab. Sometimes hot dogs came back to life and attacked.”

“What?!” Duke squawked.

“One more reason to be vegetarian,” Damian tsked.

Danny just shrugged. “It was just life. But, um, I didn’t really get any powers or anything so they pushed things. They set it up for me to die and be exposed to a huge amount of ectoplasm at the same time.”

Dick stilled. “It was planned?”

“What?”

“You said they killed you, but it… that was planned. Killing you was planned?”

“Oh, yeah,” Danny said softly. “Like, I thought it was an accident, just being a stupid teen and not being safe enough around big science experiments. My friend just wanted a picture of me in the portal. It turned on and—”

Danny trailed off, fingers tight in Ursa’s fur.

“And halfa.” Cass said.

“And halfa,” Danny agreed. “Which I guess was the best outcome. I could have just died and been a ghost. It was proof that someone liminal enough could be dead and not at the same time. My, um, my friend Sam said I was responsible to fight the ghosts that the portal accident let out. It was just another way to test my powers and see how they grew. Not that, it wasn’t Sam testing me, but the Fentons would let ghosts ‘escape’ and I would fight them and get new skills.”

“You were a hero, Master Danny?” Alfred asked with a purposeful look to Bruce.

Bruce had the good graces to look a little chagrined. “It just seems part of the make up at this point?”

Danny smiled a little. “I guess. I went by Phantom. The city didn’t always like me, the ghosts could cause a lot of damage, but nothing ever got too bad. I really thought I was doing something important.”

“You were,” Tim insisted. “Even if the Fentons were the real villain behind it all, you still dealt with the threats that you knew about.”

“…I guess?” Danny agreed doubtfully. “I don’t know if it matters when they just were waiting for my powers to stagnate. Apparently they had pressure from the group that was funding them, the GWI, for results so they moved up their time line. I went to sleep and woke up in a box in a GIW lab. Then I was just a lab rat. I was just something to experiment on and cut into and—and—”

Dick moved to the floor and Danny’s side, pulling his newest little brother into a tight hug. “Don’t. You don’t have to think about that anymore.”

They had seen the scars.

They knew the sort of things that Danny had been through.

That those monsters had done.

Danny didn’t need to relive any of it just to try and explain things to them. Part of Dick wanted to protect his other siblings from having to be exposed to those horrors too, even with everything else they had been through. Danny sniffled wetly and buried his face into Dick’s shoulder. Hitched sobs wracked his body. Ursa huffed and tried to lick Danny’s chin. Damian leaned closer.

Dick looked up at Jason who was already watching Dick with a question in his gaze. Jason didn’t listen to anyone, not really, but this was a family mater and Dick was the oldest child. It was his call. Dick didn’t even hesitate to nod.

Jason looked viciously pleased.

Jason and Tim could handle the Fentons. The Titans would see to the GWI. The Justice League could deal with any fallout. The family would protect their own.

Dick pulled Danny closer as he let him cry.

---

AN: *lies down dead like Danny* this chapter was exhausting to write. I hope you all like it and it feels full.

[kisakunt]

ODE TO THE V CARD!

description... losing virginity! taking the v card! getting laid!

warnings… honestly not many. just sex pretty vanilla

word from the writer… the gets killed is mid idk it’s not my best work but i tried ok guys

KILLERS

“aw, look at you,” his hands knead at your breasts, head dipping down to press a coy kiss to the side of your lips. “so sensitive.” you shudder at the contact, whine passing from your lips when he rocks his hips against you. “gonna make you feel good, yeah baby?” he loves you like this, so confused and needy under him, pure and vulnerable and so okay with him ruining you. his thumb hooks along the curve of your waist, tracing the outline of your bare skin under him before resting on your clit, grin widening at the garble that leaves you.

“no one’s ever touched you here, yeah?” you think, by default, this makes you his. as if that would ever be a question to begin with. “no one’s ever made you feel like this?” his finger moves— not in the small circles you’ve heard about, but up and down, pressing just hard enough without alleviating the pressure. it’s dizzying, the way his callouses shift over your bud, his breath shallow but composed.

“you want more, doll?” you nod— scared, helpless, desperate. it’s a mess— hands reaching over for lube to make the experience easier for you (though you think, honestly, you might be wet enough as is), an anxious laugh bubbling at your lips while you pull your legs back in an almost birthing position. it’s real, intimate and deep between the two of you, authentic and honest and nothing like the porn you’d watch late at night thinking about him.

and when he finally does it— when he slowly inches himself in between your folds, rubbing your clit with the tip of his dick, teasing you, right before slowly breaking at your walls, it hurts.

he doesn’t bottom out immediately. even when he’s cruel, he’s nicer than that. he takes his time filling you up, before he develops a slow rhythm that makes you squirm.

“that okay?” it’s not as sweet as you’d intend it to be, selfishness laced inside the question. you nod pathetically, hair laid out under you and eyes hazy.

“good.” then, without a second thought, he’s really fucking you. and you can’t do anything but lay there, legs loosely around his waist, and take it.

MEGUMI, GOJO, TOJI, CHOSO

GETS FUCKING KILLED

he didn’t know what to expect. maybe some flare of passion; ripping clothes off, declaring love, crying even.

he didn’t think it’d be you; down on your knees, one hand at the base of his cock, your lips suctioned on the rest with your tongue swirling over the tip. he didn’t think he’d be breathy, moaning, desperate before even trying pussy.

you don’t let him cum. you do a good enough job, pulling back with a pop, and then you give him a little lopsided grin. you trace your fingers over him, swirling up the last of the precum.

“so,” you’re standing up now, leaning over him and licking your fingers. you make a show out of it, he can’t help but wonder how insanely experienced you are compared to him. “you wanna fuck me or what?”

he won’t be too eager. he knows he’s already about to make a big fool of himself, so he can’t make an ass of him too. he nods, diligently, thoughtfully, and wonders how you’ll take him.

he expects maybe for you to ride him, but you lay on your back and rest your hands under your thighs, ready to pull them up whenever.

“you gotta learn sometime. get to it!” he’s nervous. his hands rest right next to your hips, one of them raised trying to figure out exactly how to get inside. you laugh and he feels his world crumbling.

“here,” you grab his cock, lining the tip up with your hole, hand massaging it gently as you do. “there you go, baby. you got it.”

when he starts, it’s too sloppy. his hips stutter, they can’t find a proper rhythm, but then you tell him how. you boss him, telling him how fast to go, where to angle, how to hit. it’s more of a tutoring session than sex maybe, but then he does something that makes you gasp and he’s obsessed.

“yeah, yeah, harder. no— don’t speed up, i said harder.” he listens to your every word, and the sound of your wet, and the sound of his breaths, and he can tell he’s going to cum all to quick.

“fuck, sorry. fuck! sorry!” it couldn’t have been more than five minutes, honestly. but you bring your hand to his face and pull him down to you after he cums, kissing him soft and sweet.

“lot of potential there, mister.” you swipe your thumb under his eye and he squints. oh. he guesses there was crying involved.

SUKUNA, GETO, NANAMI, YUJI

[hencheri]

young lust

18+ mdni.

You want Mark so badly, but he thinks you’re too young for him. With a little more convincing though, he eventually gives you what you want— in a less than gentle way.

pairing: rapper!mark x fem!reader

warnings: mean mean mean mark!!, legal age gap, noncon/dubcon, degradation, reader is mean to mark as well oops, unprotected sex, choking.

a.n.: this is just self-serving atp. hope it serves y'all too <3

.

Mark thinks he’s never been eye-fucked this hard before. He’s flattered, of course, but something’s off. 

You’re hot and very tempting, too, there’s no need in denying that. The little dress you’re wearing clings to your ass and he honestly can’t stop looking at it, especially with your back turned to him, occasionally glancing over your shoulder to meet Mark’s eyes. 

Your gaze is so obviously flirtatious, you don’t even try to be subtle. The finger stuck between your teeth and the look you send him tell Mark everything he needs to know; you want him as much as he wants you. 

He imagines your smaller body pressed against the bathroom wall, his hips clashing against your ass roughly, listening to your moans muffled by the loud music playing throughout the club. He sees it, that slutty mouth chanting his name like a prayer as he gropes your breasts with his palms through your dress. 

Mark looks at you before taking a sip from his alcoholic drink, then shifts his gaze back to Jisung standing in front of him.

“You know each other?” 

He’s taken off guard by the question, taking a second to respond. 

“Uh, no,” he thinks about what to say, but he really doesn’t have a clue on how to explain this… exchange. “We… we don’t.” 

Jisung sports a perplexed yet amused expression on his face. “So where is all that tension coming from?”

Mark raises a brow, eyeing you one last time, but you’re not looking at him anymore. 

“I’m not sure,” he admits, a faint smirk drawing on his lips. “Do you know her?” Mark asks in return, a little curious. 

He won’t lie that he likes the mystery of all this, not knowing who you are adds to the desire, to the inexplicable lust that draws him to you. He wants to mess around, do what he wishes just because he can. And that includes you. He wants to do you so bad. 

“Yeah, of course, we’re in the same company,” Jisung tells him, “she’s in this new girl group, you know. Up in the charts, just right under you,” his friend grins, looking at Mark to see his reaction.

He’s surprised for a second, uttering a “really?” and Jisung nods his head as a yes. 

Mark never pays attention to the charts, even though he gets reminded of them practically everyday. He’s aware of his success—way too aware of it—but he’s not the artist obsessed with numbers. He knows he makes good music and it’s all that matters to him. 

“I don’t know how you still haven’t heard of them already,” Jisung continues, “of her, especially.” He tilts his head in your direction, now both men’s attention on you. “Everyone’s fond of her.”

“Are you?” Mark wonders, narrowing his eyes at his friend. 

“Sure,” Jisung agrees, “she’s a sweetheart. Seems down to earth, for the few times we’ve talked.” 

This intrigues Mark. Does a sweetheart usually act so slutty with strangers? Perhaps he’s not a stranger to you, you very probably know him—everybody does—but he doesn’t think he’s ever gotten a girl this bold with him. And surely not someone who’s proclaimed to be a sweetheart, in this industry where anything opposite to pureness is unacceptable. 

He can feel your gaze on him now and he doesn’t hesitate to lock eyes with you once again. You laugh at whatever the person you’re talking to said, almost having Mark envious for not being the one making you laugh right now. 

You’re good at this, he thinks. Really good. Staring straight into his eyes, making him feel like he’s the centre of your attention when in reality you’re talking with someone else. If he could, he would take you with him, bring you to his car and fuck you directly onto his shiny leather seats, door wide open. He knows you’d love it. 

“Is she your age?” he says, taking a sip of his drink, eyes still on you until he hears Jisung’s answer.

“Uh, no, not exactly,” his friend responds, “younger, in fact.” 

He immediately breaks eye-contact with you, looking back at Jisung. Mark feels his heart starting to beat a little faster, suddenly anxious. Or is it embarrassment? Concern? Whatever it is, the desire he once felt, has now shifted. 

“What? How old?”

“Well, I’m not sure, Mark. 21, maybe?” Jisung frowns, trying to recall what you’d told him, but it wasn't information he really registered back then. 

Mark gulps down. He knew something was off, why didn’t he listen to his intuition?

He’s 25 and you’re 4 years younger than him. You’re barely an adult. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft now,” Jisung chuckles, noticing the deflated expression on his face. 

“Barely.” 

He empties his glass, settling it down on the counter near him after. He tells Jisung he’ll come back in 5, heading for the bathrooms. 

—-

Mark washes his hands in the sink, drying them off with a towel. He looks at himself in the mirror, leaning over the counter. The music is loud, making the ground vibrate under his feet, making it almost impossible for him to think. Maybe it’s a good thing, he can’t overthink, then. 

“You’ve abandoned me,” he hears a voice saying, lifting up his head just in time to see you entering the bathrooms. “I was wondering where you’ve been gone…” 

Your voice is as sultry as your eyes, as sensual as your body in this ridiculously tight dress. He can’t help but wander his eyes over your figure, looking at what now feels so immoral. If it wasn’t for that—morality—he wouldn’t stop himself from taking you right here and there, but something has to stop him. 

If nothing ever does, god knows all the things he would’ve done since now. 

You approach Mark with slow steps, a teasing smile on your lips, a very precise idea in mind. He wants to back away, leave, forget about everything, but he doesn’t. He’s curious, tempted. 

“Or maybe that’s where you wanted me to be?” you grin, putting your hand around his bicep, the other leaning on top of the counter. 

He stares back at you, unconvinced. “I was about to leave,” he explains, and he sees the glint in your eyes changing. You don’t like rejection. 

“Really?” you utter, the tone of your voice a pitch higher— sounding somewhat bitter. “I swore there was something between us… With the way you were looking at me,” you say, your hand lingering on his arm before removing it. “Do you often look at women like you want to fuck them and then leave them, Mark?”

This confirms that you know him. For some reason, he feels uneasy about the fact that he knows nothing about you but you know all about him. 

You get even closer, only a few centimetres before your body touches him. 

Truthfully, you were the only ever girl he was about to do this to. It didn’t feel like a big deal when he thought about it, but now that he’s been caught, he feels a little guilty. 

“I didn’t take you for a coward,” you whisper.

Mark arches his brow at that, wondering how in the hell did he get in such a situation. Getting called a coward by a brat? By a spoiled little girl who didn’t have to lift a finger for success to find her? 

“You should go back to your friends,” he carefully advises. 

But you find it funny, laughing softly. “So you are a coward, Mark Lee,” you mockingly say, tone condescending, tongue pressing behind your bottom teeth as his name leaves your mouth. “Are you afraid of something? Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless you’re into it?”

He keeps his hands away from you, as if the mere feeling of your skin under his fingertips would break down his barriers. He turns his head to the side, away from yours, as you roughly pull on his belt, your chest finally pressed down against his. 

“I know you want me,” you whine, “to touch me… Fuck me.” 

If he could only fall into temptation… Maybe it’d be easier to just follow his desires. Well, in the meantime it would be, but after? What if he regrets it? What if you regret it? He can’t sleep with every girl he sees. 

He never goes for anyone that is younger than him. Not that much, at least. What kind of man would he be? 

But goddamn, why are you so insistent? Why are you making it so difficult for him?

“You’re too young, okay?” 

You take a step back, letting go of him. Your eyebrows are frowned and you look at Mark like he’s the biggest idiot on earth. 

You scoff. “So that’s what you’re afraid of? My age?” 

You cross your arms over your chest, Mark turning his head toward you now that you’ve put some distance between you. 

“What did Jisung tell you?”

“That you’re 21,” he answers, wondering what you’re going to tell him. After all, what Jisung said could have been bullshit. He hopes, for a moment, that it was. 

Your lips quirk up, a chuckle leaving you. You look to the side then back to Mark. “I’m 20.”

His eyebrows knit together, annoyed that you find this funny again. What else can he expect from a 20 year old anyway? That you take this seriously? 

“You find this funny? Do you realize how much older I am?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, “and that’s why it’s funny. You’re scared of what? A five year difference?”

You step forward again, but Mark backs away this time, hitting the counter behind him. 

“You’re a fucking puss,” you insult him, full of arrogance. 

But something you didn’t expect happens; Mark knocks his body into yours, making you stumble back as he follows you until your back is flushed against the bathroom stall. His hand goes fast to your neck, squeezing. 

He leans in, the expression on his face furious. He doesn’t feel guilty anymore.

“You act like a spoiled little bitch and you wonder why I don’t want you?” For the first time tonight, you’re speechless. His nose brushes over your temple, so close you feel his breath fanning across your face. “Fucking learn how to accept when people tell you no. Learn to shut your mouth from time to time because they won’t like your ass in this industry if you keep this entitled attitude up.”

You’re looking down as Mark’s eyes bore into your skull, blood creeping up to your cheeks. You gulp, not having a word to say in return. You’d rather not talk back.

He eventually lets go of you, turning around and walking out, leaving you alone and… turned on. 

—-

“Hi, Markie.”

The last person he expected to see when entering his studio is certainly you. The only person supposed to be here is Jisung, and yet, here you are, smiling, eyes glinting teasingly. 

He looks at you, then at Jisung, sitting in front of his computer. He turns around on the rolling chair, totally unfazed by the fact that he brought a stranger into Mark’s studio. 

“What is this?” 

“This?” you question, but he ignores you, walking straight to his friend.

“Uh, well, you’ve already met I believe, no?” Jisung asks, slightly confused. He says your name and it’s all it takes to irritate Mark. “She wanted to come see us work, learn a thing or two. I thought it was a great idea.”

Jisung’s innocence is a good thing sometimes, really. It’s refreshing, quite funny, too, but right now, Mark wishes he wasn’t so credulous all the damn time. 

“It didn’t come to you to, maybe, ask for my permission?” he whispers, leaning in so you don’t properly hear him. 

Jisung’s brows raise up, simply shrugging. “Not really,” he admits, “I thought it wouldn’t bother you. I told you, she’s a sweetheart, and she promised to not interrupt too much. Right?” Jisung turns to you and your smile gets bigger, bobbing your head. 

“Absolutely.”

Mark looks hard at you, not believing this one second. Has god sent you on this earth to test him? 

You stare back at him sweetly, and he swears, if it wasn’t for Jisung’s presence, Mark would have made you regret it. Bitterly. 

Surprisingly, you did keep your promise. You didn’t disturb them once, even pretending to care about what they were working on. You seemed close to Jisung, actually being kind to him, the total opposite of how you were behaving the other night. You’re good at playing pretend, Mark realizes. 

Your eyes were on him the entire time, though. You had the same look as he recalled, eye-fucking him right here in his studio. He was pissed off, to say the least, but he didn’t make a comment. That would’ve been weird to say anything in front of Jisung and the last thing he wants is him thinking there’s something happening between you two— because there’s nothing.

He just hoped the end of the day would come rapidly, and it did, to Mark’s relief. 

With Jisung and you gone, he can finally work peacefully, nobody undressing him with their eyes. 

That is until he comes back into his studio.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” 

He’s lost all of his patience to be respectful to you now. He really doesn’t give a shit. How can someone be so stubborn?

“Told Ji’ I was going to call a taxi,” you explain, getting up from the sofa you’ve been sitting on. “I lied,” you smirk. 

Mark blinks at you, too shocked to say anything. You use the opportunity to get closer, bringing him to you, and then pushing him onto the sofa behind him. 

“Call me ‘too young’ all you want, I recognize a pervert when I see one.”

You don’t think twice before straddling his lap, sitting down on his thighs. Your hands come to rest on his shoulders, and even though Mark sends you the most murderous glare in the world, he does nothing to push you away. 

Curiosity, temptation. 

“If you didn’t know my age, you would have fucked me right against the bathroom stall if I had asked you to,” you affirm confidently, and there’s truth behind your words. Of course there is, Mark knows what he thought of you at first— what position he imagined you in, the sounds you’d make.

“Get off of me,” Mark barks back, his frowned eyebrows giving him this angry look that you like so much. 

You roll your eyes, sighing. “Here I thought I was the whiny little one, but you’re whinier than I am, Markie.”

“I’m not fucking whining, I’m giving you an order.”

“Get me off then,” you propose, grabbing both of his wrists and putting his hands on your hips. “Go on, do it. Or are you too scared to touch me?” You provoke him further, knowing you’ll eventually make him break down, sooner or later. 

“You don’t want me to, believe me.”

His threat has you shivering… and excited. 

“Why’s that?” you wonder, subtly moving your hips over his lap. “You’re sure you’re not the little bitch, hm, Markie?”

You should have expected him to snap sooner, because the moment you say this, he pins you down on the couch, you underneath him. His hold on your wrists is nothing gentle and you can’t even move them. If before you felt like the master of your own game, well now you’ve lost all sense of power, being Mark’s puppet and not the opposite. 

You’re shocked. Scared.

His hand closes immediately around your face, squishing your cheeks between his fingers. “Be disrespectful to me once again and I’ll break your fucking jaw,” he spits at you. “Has anybody ever told you to respect your elders, huh? I bet fucking not,” he snorts, “I’ll teach you some manners myself.”

You don’t understand until he reaches under your skirt, pulling down on your panties. Your eyes widen, letting out whines of protest.

“Stop, stop!” you stress out, trying to grab Mark’s hands now that yours are free. 

But he merely laughs, probably the first time you’ve ever heard him. “Ah, now you want me to stop? After all the begging you did so I’d fuck you.”

Mark doesn’t stop, working on his belt, undoing his pants. 

Your heart accelerates, and despite the worried look on your face, your eyes starting to water, the turn of events please you all too much. 

You briefly fight with him, pushing on his chest like a little girl, whimpering pathetically. Mark stays unfazed, easily taking both of your wrists in one hand and pinning it down above your head. He grunts as he pushes his hard cock into you, a gasp escaping your lips as you feel your walls expanding. 

You blink multiple times, taking a deep breath, and the tears roll down the side of your face, disappearing into your hair. It burns, but you’re so wet. 

You ask yourself if Mark knows you’re faking it, but with how delighted he seems to be forcing himself on you, you doubt that he does. Whatever pleases him. 

“It hurts!” You cry out, wiggling your legs, attempting to close them—to no avail—while he pushes himself all the way inside of your pussy. 

Mark snickers. He couldn’t care less.

“Oh, it hurts?” You nod, gulping down. “Tell me why it hurts.”

He doesn’t wait to move his hips back and forth, using you for his own sick pleasure right away without any second thought. You wanted this. You asked for this. Why should he be careful of you now? You shouldn’t have been so eager. Shouldn’t have acted like such a slut. 

“It-” you begin, but a moan of pain cuts you off, Mark’s hips slapping violently against yours; it has your body moving up, your head hitting the armrest of the couch. “You’re- You’re too…”

“Am I going too rough on your virgin little cunt? Poor girl,” he coos, almost laughing in your face. “Too bad I don’t give a shit, huh?”

You sob out when he keeps on with the assault of his hips, his cock defiling your pussy like you’ve never imagined before. Mark knocks the air out of your lungs, panting heavily above you, his already short nails digging into the fat of your thigh. 

You squirm around, pulling on your wrists, none of your attempts are successful— not like you want them to be anyway, but giving Mark a little of a fight is more fun. 

“Please, Mark, I’m sorry,” you beg, lips trembling. 

His eyes, filled with lust and hate at the same time, lay on you. 

“You should’ve thought about it before pushing me over the edge, if it’s pity you wanted.”

[kurooku]

nanami kento, very serious looking guy working in the finance department, having a little crush for the new girl who just got hired by the creative team.

you didn’t even know him, not until the christmas dinner party at the office. you were fairly new, only been working there for four months. working for a big company had not always been your goal, but when you got offered the position freshly out of college you couldn’t say no. it was well paid, in the city center, and allowed you to put your degree to use - which was a big plus, since finding a good job lately seemed to be stressful for people with an art degree (or so you were told by basically everybody).

when you first saw him, your heart skipped a bit. he looked insanely good, with his white shirt hugging a toned chest and short blonde hair falling slightly on his forehead. he was talking with your creative project manager, big hands gesturing softly while speaking and a light smile on his face. it was the first time you ever laid eyes on this beautiful man, and as soon as you realized you were staring a bit too hard, he had already made eye contact. eyebrows slightly furrowed, his eyes met yours. before you even knew, you were walking up to him.

“hi” you said, breathily. you felt your hands sweat and damned yourself mentally for behaving like a girl seeing a cute boy for the first time. up close, you realized he must have been a little older. not too much but the confidence he exuded was clearly not the one of someone in his early twenties - nothing like a guy your age. your manager looked around, confused on why you were intruding in their conversation, and eventually asked “hi, y/n. did you need something?”

you blushed immediately, looking away from the beautiful man, realizing there was no good reason to justify your sudden intrusion. you just saw a good looking man and walked up to him as if nothing else was going on. “oh…” your mouth slightly open, your mind racing to find something appropriate to say.

“i think we have not been introduced yet.” his voice was deep and you felt it in your stomach, like music at a concert. your eyes darted up to the unknown man, nodding shyly. “right. my name is nanami kento, pleased to meet you.”

you felt your insides melt while shaking his big hand, mumbling your name and smiling softly. five seconds later, you pretended like someone was calling your name from somewhere where your other colleagues were and excused yourself, quickly leaving just like you did arriving.

watching you walk away, nanami let out a soft smile, hoping the man in front of him was not going to pay much mind to it. “oh, don’t worry about y/n. she’s young, and new. she’s still trying to find her way around here, you know?” your project manager laughed awkwardly, still wondering what was all that about. kento shrugged, watching you from afar. your cheeks were red and the grip on the glass you had in your hands looked incredibly stiff.

what neither you or your protect manager knew was that nanami kento did know who you were. he had noticed you, maybe on your first or second day, when you got lost and popped up in the finance department. your colorful sweater and laptop full of stickers looked very out of place and when one of his colleagues approached you, letting you know that maybe you had walked in the wrong office, you did turn another color from embarrassment and started profoundly apologize. he thought you were cute, and funny, but the more he got a glimpse of you in the hallways, the more he noticed you wherever he were.

the break room, the coffee shop in front of the office building, the elevator. he found you in every room, even if you didn’t even know he was there. it was like he couldn’t get enough of you, like looking at you from afar was something he had grown addicted to in such a short time.

he wouldn’t have called it a crush, but whenever he needed to print something he would carefully choose the printer on the same floor your office was on - hoping that, when walking by, your door would be open and that he could catch a glimpse of you. okay, maybe thinking back, there had been a few moments in which he felt very infatuated by the idea of you…

looking at you from across the room, while zoning out on the conversation he was in, and noticing how sometimes you would look back too, he told himself that yes, that was definitely a crush.

idk i love the dynamics of stoic boyfriend x artsy girlfriend. wtv??? i’m done .

[abbinurmel]

I always wondered what it was that put me off about this song, cos far as my tastes go it is not a BAD song, musically, nor was it even the sorta of innocent badness that comes of playing any decent to great song TOO much on the radio, to the point the more they force it down your throat more you grow to despise it. (Which did happen to mild extent at times in retail.)

But there was also this bizarre quality of forced insincerity to it?

I couldn’t pin it down, maybe the lyrics had just a tad much childishness in them, too much ‘clap along with me everybody la la la’ edutainment host vibe, which, even there, should by right have something else going for it, yet doesn’t ….because such kinda pop music or tv icons often has good fun energy…think of shows like Yo Gabba Gabba or LazyTown….such personas whether in Pop or TV entertainment still have that kind of zingy usually obnoxious colorful energy that makes you (when successful) find their glurgey joyous zeal infectious, and danceable, especially as a kid, but, even adults could smile and find enjoyment and positive uplifting wavelengths in. That’s the point, to be pulled into the moment of happiness and exercise or participate along with your kids, or other fools on the dance floor at your sisters wedding. A good Lady Gaga song or DEVO track or Weird Al even, while despite being wildly different artists and have RADICALLY different image and sound demographic goals, they equally completely share this same colorful *vivaciousness* to me.

But Pharrell’s weird. He is missing of that mark to me. But this song encapsulates it, or tries to, so hard, with beautiful catchy smooth modern yet retro beats and the ultra carefree cheery lyrics and this very ‘70s disco soft falsetto’ kinda croon.

And yet, there’s kind of this flatness to it all. The music YEARNS for a Weird Al or a Jack White or a Taylor or just someone with sincere giddy excitement in their vocals here. https://youtu.be/zq7Eki5EZ8o?si=pPPNQH0iSZwU6WHy

I keep bringing up Al Yankovich, because, well, just listen to it… he mimics the sound exactly the same like Pharrell way he usually does in his tributes…but HE brings to this song exactly the energy it has got missing. His unique voice takes this actual sense of HE IS HAVING FUN, nay, HE IS HAVING SHAMELESS AMOUNTS OF FUN into the mix. For some strange reason in his parody cover, clever lyrical humor aside, I genuinely find weird Al‘s energy in his parody version ‘Tacky’ WAY better, way more clap-along-with-me-now! more uplifting than the original. Almost to a point I gotta wonder if he knew on some tiny level this song’s background, and appreciated either the irony or likes Pharrell personally and resonated with him/felt this decent song deserved his energy, enough to creatively motivate Al to do the parody in the very first place??

Am I crazy?….am I overthinking this?

Pharrell in the original one sounds far from miserable, but he still sounds weary to me, the lyrics even kind of gave off this dissonant weariness, yet trying the best they can to instruct the listener to jump for joy, and clap along, as they smile forcibly, wearily, thru it. It reminds me every time I listen to it so much, SO FREAKING MUCH of the times when I will work gigs as a photo booth operator or other roles at Sweet 16s or proms or other major events. You stand there, and are not usually having a BAD TIME, it’s not BAD to be there, the food is good, people are in usually good spirit and paying you decent money to basically just stand around and be there. Yet despite that? You CANT FUCKING WAIT TO GET THE HELL HOME. Every minute is soul rending torture, and you can’t even know why, other than beyond you are just bored and tired, and don’t wanna be here, basking in the glow of a total stranger’s party.

[mytherapyisreading14]

Between Pregnancy and Prison

Summary: You find out you’re pregnant, unfortunately a couple of weeks after Spencer got arrested in Mexico

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Category: Angst

Warnings: Summary says it all, nothing to add

Word Count: 3k

It is late in the afternoon and gray clouds have gathered. Your apartment is quiet, aside from the soft dripping of rain and the gentle clink of a cup that JJ has just placed on the table. You sit on the old sofa, knees drawn up and hands nervously buried in your lap. You stare at the pregnancy test lying on the table in front of you.

You've been feeling exhausted for weeks, constantly tired, struggling with nausea and always having that slight pulling sensation in your abdomen. You convinced yourself it was just the stress of Spencer being wrongfully arrested. But deep down you knew something was wrong. You weren‘t the only one who noticed this and it didn‘t take long before JJ came up to you and asked you about it.

You were sitting at your desk at work, head in your hand, when you felt the familiar feeling of nausea and a dull ache in your abdomen. Again. It wasn't the first time this week that you felt this way. You had barely eaten anything, but even what little you tried to eat was hard to digest.

"Do you need a break?" JJ asked suddenly, her voice concerned. You looked up. Her eyes still sparkled, but there was something different in her gaze - something that reminded you of your condition. The last few weeks had left their mark not only on you, but also on the rest of the team.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, trying to put on a smile. "Just this damn nausea... and this stomach ache that just won't go away." JJ looked at you intently, as if she didn't fully believe your words. She shook her head slightly.

“You’ve told me about it many times. But it really doesn't sound good when it keeps happening. And you seem pretty... exhausted too. Are you really feeling this bad just because of what happened to Spencer? Or could there be something else behind it?”

You stared at your desk for a moment, the words so clear you almost got a lump in your throat. “What do you mean?” you asked quietly, although you had an idea where the question was going.

JJ took a step closer, her expression becoming even more serious. "I know you're dealing with so much right now, but... have you ever thought that there might be something else behind it?"

There was a moment of silence where you felt like the air around you suddenly became even denser. You swallowed. The nausea in your stomach increased. “You meant...maybe pregnancy?” you whispered.

JJ nodded carefully, her voice soft but firm. “Yes, it could be. I know this isn't really the time to think about this, but... sometimes the body has other signals that we don't immediately understand. Maybe it would help you just get some clarity.”

You sighed deeply and rubbed your stomach with one hand. The thoughts swirled in your head. You couldn't deny it. The last few weeks had been so chaotic that you hadn't even really noticed the changes in your own body. But somehow...somehow it was true. It didn't just feel like stress. There was something else there.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, looking down at the ground. “What if this is all just… stress-related?” you asked. “Then at least you’ll be safe,” JJ said calmly. “It could also just be because you are extremely stressed and your body is reacting to it. But maybe ruling it out will help you.”

You hesitated first, then nod slowly. You knew she was right. "Okay, you’re right,” you finally said, taking a deep breath. “Can you maybe come over then? I… I don’t know if I can do this alone.” JJ smiled as she met your eyes. She saw the pain in them.

“Of course, I’ll come over. We'll do this together, don't worry. Once you know what it is, you can finally think more clearly again.” You suddenly felt a little bit lighter. It was as if the thought of not having to go through this uncertainty alone gave you the space to breathe a little again.

“Thanks, JJ,” you whispered, trying to smile. “No problem,” she said with a smile. "You're not alone. We’ll do this together,” she said before you had to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom once again.

So now, after JJ convinced you to take a pregnany test, the two of you are sitting in your living room. “Are you ready?” JJ asks quietly. She sits in the armchair next to the sofa and eyes you with a mixture of concern and understanding. “It’s okay if you’re not ready. But remember, you need to know what’s going on.”

You close your eyes for a moment. Your thoughts are a chaos of joy and fear, of hope and uncertainty. Yes, you and Spencer always said you wanted to have children. You talked about a life together, about marriage and children and the future. But now everything is messed up.

„I... I don’t know, JJ,” you say, your voice shaking. “There’s just so much that’s going wrong right now. Spencer is still in prison, and what if it's months or worse - years - before he gets out? What if I burden him with this news while he’s sitting in this stupid cell?”

JJ leans forward and places a hand on your shoulder. “You will not burden him with this news. It's a decision you have to make together. And if you're happy, then he'll be happy too. He always wanted to have children. You too. And you need to know if you’re really pregnant.” You take a deep breath. Your mind is racing.

What if Spencer really had to stay in prison that long? You don't want to put this burden on him, but you can't just move on without knowing what's really going on. And you also know that you can no longer live in uncertainty.

You feel like you're stuck, caught between the future you imagined and the frightening reality in which Spencer is still trapped. “Okay,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I'll do it. I want to know.”

JJ nods without saying a word and stands up to pick up the test. She puts the test on the table and looks at you as if to give you time to calm down before daring to look at it. “Are you sure?” JJ asked one last time, standing next to her and looking at her sideways. You nod, your heart beating faster and the nervousness settling in your limbs.

But there's also a small, quiet joy within you - the idea that the dream you and Spencer have always wanted can finally become a reality. You grab the test and slowly turn it over. Your breath hitches as you looked at the results. Two red lines. Clearly.

“Oh my god…” you whisper, a smile spreading uncertainly on your lips. You couldn't help but put your hand over your mouth for a moment. It's so surreal. On the one hand, you are overjoyed. This is what you have always wanted. But at the same time, there's this huge insecurity that you can't shake. What if Spencer isn't there in time to experience it?

“It’s positive,” JJ says softly and smiles. Her voice is calm, but you can see the joy in her eyes. “You’re going to be a mom. You’re going to be parents.” You nod, but your eyes fill with tears immediately.

You are happy, so incredibly happy, but also so full of doubts. What should you say to Spencer? How would he react if he heard it? He needs to know, but the thought of breaking that news to him in his current situation somehow feels so... wrong.

“What if he can’t live to see it?” you finally ask, your voice shaky. “What if he doesn’t get out fast enough? How am I supposed to do all this alone?”JJ sits back down on the chair and takes your hand.

“You are not alone. You have me, you have your family, you have the team. And Spencer - even though he's in prison - he's still a part of it. He will be part of this miracle. And when he comes back, he’ll be happy to experience it with you,” she says. “But… the timing…” you start uncertainly, “what if it gets too much for him?” you ask.

“Yes, it’s complicated. Yes, it's not the perfect time. But you know what? There will never be a perfect time. Sometimes you just have to have the courage to take the next step. And you'll see that it turns out to be the right one at some point." You lower the test slowly, but still keep your eyes on it.

The joy you feel is overwhelming - you can already imagine a life with Spencer and a baby. But at this moment uncertainty prevails. You don't know what the future will bring and it scares you. “I’ll tell him right away,” you finally whisper. JJ nods and stands up to hug you.

“That's exactly what you should do. You two will get through this together. No matter what happens.” You close your eyes and hug JJ tightly, the pregnancy test still in your hand. A new chapter has begun, and even if you don't have all the answers, you know you've taken the first step.

-

You've made the trip to prison many times, but today everything is different. The rain has evaporated to a light drizzle, covering the streets in a dull haze. You can barely concentrate, the thought of the news you're about to tell Spencer making your heart beat faster.

Part of you is nervous, the other is happy - it's news you've both always wanted for the future - but now that the moment has come, you feel strange and uncertain. What if he doesn't respond the way you hope? What if that's the last thing he wants to hear in this situation? You can understand it to a certain extent.

When you reach the prison building, you get out and walk through the gate, the sound of the massive door closing is ringing in your ears. The waiting room is the same as always - gray walls, worn chairs and the constant feeling of separation that you can never completely get rid of here. The minutes barely seemed to pass as you wait for him to come in. Your heart is pounding in your chest.

“He’s coming soon,” the security guard says without further ado as he stares at his monitor. You nod and try to organize your thoughts. You sit down, hands nervously on your thighs, then your belly. Your gaze is focused on the window in front of you, through which you will soon see Spencer.

Your eyes are already burning from the tears you desperately have to hold back in order to appear strong. But when the door opens and you see Spencer, his familiar face behind the glass that you miss so much, it feels like your heart is being ripped out.

Spencer looks at you through the window and there is the same exhaustion in his eyes, the same weariness that is in your own eyes. But you can see much more than that - He doesn't belong here. That's the thought that haunts you every time you see him in this environment. You can't imagine what it must feel like to be trapped, innocent, in a system that seemed to be turned against you.

It breaks your heart to see him here. Your eyes fill with tears that you can't hold back, despite your best efforts. “Oh, Spence,” you whisper, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gently place your hand on the glass, as if you could reach him.

He sits down on the bench on the other side of the glass, and as soon as he looks at you, he immediately notices that something is wrong. He frowns and looks at you worriedly, he also puts his hand on the window as if he wanted to touch yours, even though he knows it won't work. It hurts him to see you like this.

“Hey, hey…” Spencer said quietly when he noticed your tears, and his shoulders immediately tightened. "What's wrong, angel?" His voice is soft, almost fragile. “You have to stop crying. It hurts me to see you like this. I can't reach out to you and hold you in my arms. I can’t comfort you. It breaks my heart.”

You hastily wipe away your tears, trying to regain control of your emotions, but the mix of joy and pain makes it almost impossible. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest as you search for the right words. “It’s just… I’m sorry. I... I just wanted to tell you how much I miss you,” you say.

You need a moment to calm down. “I come with… big news today.” Spencer raises an eyebrow and his gaze becomes even more attentive. “News?” he asks, as if he wants to get every word out of you, but at the same time he also feels the burden you carry with you. It's obvious you have something more important to say.

You take a deep breath and wipe away the last of your tears, even as the emotions continue to rise within you. “I've been feeling worse for the last few weeks. I thought it was just stress after everything that happened. I somehow kept telling myself that. But JJ noticed that I had other symptoms that I just ignored. She said I should take a pregnancy test.”

Spencer stays silent, his eyes still worried, but now a hint of foreboding seems to be stirring in his eyes. “And what did the test show?” he asks cautiously, as if he’s not sure if he really wants to hear the answer. You can't stop yourself from smiling, even though your voice is still shaking. “It’s positive,” you say and the words themselves are creating a different reality.

The moment you said it feels surreal. It's something you've always wanted, a future you've always dreamed of. But at this moment you are not sure whether it all really fits into this world. Spencer is in prison. You are at home, alone. But you know you have to share this message with him. You are going through this together.

“You’re going to be a dad, Spence,” you whisper, and despite the uncertainty you feel, you can’t help the smile that’s starting to form in your eyes. You stare at the glass between you, your hand still placed on it. When you look at Spencer, you notice how his eyes are shining.

He can't quite hide the tears, but there's also a smile on his lips that's so warm that it instantly makes your heart skip a beat. It is a smile that radiates hope and love despite the circumstances, despite the prison and all the fear that stands between you.

“I’m so happy,” he finally says, his voice shaky as he forms the words. “I can hardly believe it. You're going to be a mom. We're going to be parents." He takes a deep breath, and you can hear the relief and joy in his voice, but also the pain that comes with it. “But I should be with you. I should be there to help and support you all the time,” he continues, a glimmer of desperation entering his eyes. “But I can’t help you. There’s nothing I can do for you.”

You feel your heart clench. You know he wants to be with you, to hold your hand, to comfort you, and to experience this together. “Spence,” you whisper, voice soft but full of conviction. “I want nothing more than for you to be here with me. That we experience this together. But we’ll get through it. And I won’t do it alone. I have my friends. I have the team - JJ, also with children, who will help me - we will manage it somehow.”

You feel your voice take on a hint of certainty as you continue. “And we’ll keep trying to get you out of here as quickly as possible. I promise you, we'll do everything we can to get you back with me. I'm now in my eighth week, Spence. We still have a little time, and I will fight to get you back here before the birth date. I don’t know how, but I’ll make sure you’re there when our baby comes.”

Spencer lets out a small, shaky breath as he hears your words. For a moment he just sits there, the smile gone, and yet in his eyes you can see that deep love and gratitude flowing through him. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You are so incredibly strong. And you are here, despite everything that has happened. You're still there for me. I… I love you so much.”

You swallow, the lump in your throat almost too big to swallow. You want to tell him so many things, make so many promises. But your voice cracked as you replied, “I love you too, Spence. And I will always be there for you. We will get through this together, no matter what happens. We have each other. And that’s the most important thing.”

But suddenly you hear the bang of the door and the prison guard appears in the window, a sign that the time is around o'clock. “I'm sorry, unfortunately time is up. You have to go now,” he says. You take a deep breath and withdraw your hand from the glass.

You give him one last look and you know that this moment is yours - even if it's too short. You smile at him through the glass. “I have to go, Spence,” you say quietly, your voice almost breaking. “But I will come back. And we will do it. We’ll get you out of here soon. You’ll be with me again, I promise you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes following you, and there's an unspoken promise in his expression. “I'm waiting for you. I love you,” he says goodbye. “I love you too,” you say, your voice firm and full of determination. You let your gaze rest on him again, then you slowly stand up, turn around and leave, the thought of him and what you will go through together in your heart.

The hallway is empty as you close the door behind you. You know you don't have to walk this path alone. And you will do everything you can to bring Spencer back - for the team, for yourself, and for the little life you will soon create together.

[k1mbe3rly]

can you write a daeho smut where hes upset and gets hard while reader is comforting him then said reader makes him jerk off in front of her? then maybe after theres more smut with him as the sub? SORRY THIS IS MY FIRST REQUEST IDK IF IM DOIGN IT RIGHT

ngl this is so creative that i’m doing it right after writing hella 😈😈 lowkey seeing the image of it 😩

Comfort took a wrong turn (i had no idea what to name this😢)

warnings: Smut, sub!dae-ho, lowkey some reason getting turned on, gentle fucking, praising

You’ve been noticing Dae-ho flinching or getting nervous every single time he hears a gunshot, you knew he was an ex marine so maybe he had trauma? your not sure.

Whenever they were gonna go shoot the guards to get to the control room , Dae-ho decided to stay back, after awhile he had heard a ton gunshots, he covered his ears, shaking in his bed

You had went up to him and crawled next to him, you looked at him in a bit of concern, “I’m sorry! i’m so sorry.. i just can’t do this! the gunshots!” he whimpered out, his hands shaking still covering his ears as he shut his hair, “it’s gonna be okay..i promise, nothing is gonna happen to you if just stay here okay?” you said hugging him

Even tho his ears were covered he can still hear you but just a bit muffled, he finally put his hands down, still shaking he slowly wrapped his hands around you as well, “Y/n..it won’t stop! im sorry.” he whispered, you stroked his hair a bit, he leaned into your touch, allowing you to stroke his hair, “Shhh.. it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, do you trust me?” you say back to him

He looks up at you a nodded, you get a little bit closer your hands wrapped behind his neck and one hand still stroking his hair, your body was against him, he barely realized and his body begins feeling a bit hot, his cheeks were burning up as well as he looked down as your body, your boobs slightly pressed up against his shoulder

He begin feeling really hot and looks down and notices he has a bulge in his pants. He gulped as his adam’s apple bounced along his gulp, “It’s gonna be okay dae-ho, just don’t focus too much on the sounds okay? focus on me for now” you whispered as he nodded, he slightly moved you to be infront of him so kinda on his lap which you didn’t mind, you kept hugging him as he begin rubbing and down your back, he was thinking about many lewd thoughts about you. He shut his eyes as bucked his hips, you felt him did so, as you backed up a bit in confusion and looked down noticing he was hard

He quickly flushed in embarrassment and tried hiding his bulge, “i-i’m sorry! i couldn’t help it.. you were just so close to me and-“ he begin quickly explaining but you cut him off with a chuckle, “You got hard from me basically trying to comfort you?” you spoke, he nodded , “That’s..that’s kinda pathetic” you said while sitting on his lap on his bulge, he let out a whine “I-i know i’m sorry! i couldn’t help it i promise it won’t happen again!” he quickly said “Yea..make sure it doesn’t. But for now i want you to take off your pants okay?” you said rubbing his cheek as he quickly nodded

You got up sitting on his legs instead of his lap, he pushed down his pants to his knees, His boxers strained with a small wet spot, his cock slightly twitching in his wet boxers, you smirked at him, “Good boy.. now take those off as well”, he chuckled nervously at the praise but quickly listen shoving them down to his knee, his cock was spilling pre cum as the cold air that hit his cock made him shiver, “Stroke yourself for me” you said simply, he looks at you with puppy eyes, just like a puppy he quickly follows your orders

He begin stroking himself, his hands going up and down his cock, his breath hitched as he looked down at his cock than back at you, he kept going small whines falling out his mouth, you smirked at him as you bit your lip and continued watching, feeling your pussy slightly throbbing, your desire to make him moan out your name but you wanted to wait, he continued stroking himself as moans begin falling out

He went faster, his cock twitching a bit, you traveled your hands under your pants and slightly rubbed yourself at the sight of him, he made a small gasp when he saw you, he kept jerking himself off and while a loud whine he came, his cum spilling over his hand as he panted, he shut his eyes a bit before looking at you, you had took your hands out of pants, “Wow..what a performance you can put on” you said quietly, “C-can i fuck you? please? i-i wanna be inside you!” he said breathlessly, you chuckled a bit and got closer

“Are you able to handle it?” you questioned him, he quickly nodded, “Yes! yes please.. im able too!” he said looking like a puppy who’s tail is wagging, he slowly got on top of you placing you down on the bed gently

he begins taking off your pants and panties, he looks at your cunt which was soaking wet, he smiled a bit as he spread your, he then placed himself between your legs, grabbing his cock a bit and lining himself on your entrance, “Are.. are you okay with this?” he gently asked, you nodded, he then begin pushing his tip in as he moaned at the warmth feeling, he pushed in nice and slowly making sure he doesn’t hurt you, once his full length was inside you he gently asked you “Does it hurt?”, you shaked your head “No” you simply said as he nodded, “Okay ima start moving..” he said as he slowly pulled back and begin thrusting into you gently making sure not to go too rough or too fast

you moaned softly as he leaned over you, his face in your neck and his hands on each side of your head, he moved his hips nice and slowly, “Yea..just like that baby, nice and slowly” you spoke softly as he shivered, your hands went to his hair slightly gripping it as he kept pushing into you in and out, you kept moaning softly “A-am i doing good?” he questioned, “Mhm..your doing just good baby, so good, what a good boy..” you spoke softly as his cock twitched when you called him a good boy, he tried hiding his big smile against your neck as he kept thrusting into you, his cock hitting deep and into the spot that makes you cum, “Yea~ right there baby, keep going..” you moaned softly as he nodded and kept hitting that exact spot, your orgasm approached as he kept hitting your g spot, “Shit baby- i’m gonna cum~” you moaned out as he tried going a bit faster making you cum quickly, you moaned out as you cummed, a white ring line formed, he stopped and looked at you with pure love, even tho he barely knows you, you looked back at him and smiled warmly

“i-i think i’m in love with you..” he said blinking at you as you chuckled and shaked your head

[navybrat817]

If you're still taking ficlet requests, maybe a dark or soft dark Bucky who works for your dad?

I hope you like where I went with this, nonnie!

Dollhouse

Pairing: Soft Dark!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 900

Warnings: Toxic family, implied cheating (not reader or Bucky), drug and drinking reference, inspired by the song Dollhouse. Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes and implied future dubcon/noncon.

You didn’t want to come home for the weekend. You lost track of how many times you told your dad that. It didn’t matter that you weren’t a child anymore or that you weren’t living at the mansion. The expectation was that you would play the part of a supporting daughter in front of his employees no matter what. It was laughable, if not utterly sad. Either most didn’t know your family was far from a happy one or they didn’t care. And why would they as long as they got what they wanted?

Places, places, get in your places. Throw on your dress and put on your doll faces.

“Dad, I’m going to change and go for a swim,” you announced.

Your dad along with the group of men that surrounded him turned their heads toward you. Most of the men averted their gazes after a moment, except for one: Bucky Barnes. Ever since he started working for your dad he took an unexpected interest in you. He was always asking about your personal life, and he seemed all too happy when your recent relationship ended. Your dad, of course, loved him because he was a hard worker and made him money.

“Where’s your brother?” your dad asked, making you look away from Bucky.

“Couldn’t tell you,” you answered. If you had to guess, he was off in his room getting high.

“Okay. Just enjoy your swim, princess.” You did your best not to roll your eyes at the nickname. “But make sure you’re set for dinner. Your mother’s cooking your favorite.”

You did roll your eyes this time, and Bucky continued to stare. Your mom never lifted a finger in the kitchen. She’d order out and make it look like she did it herself.

Everyone thinks that we're perfect. Please don't let them look through the curtains.

“Of course, dad,” you said, leaving without another word and feeling a pair of cold blue eyes follow your every move.

The chatter from the main room filled the hall as you went to your room to change, the sound muffled once you shut the door. You blocked it out as best as you could as you selected one of your bathing suits and changed. You hoped your mom wouldn’t drink too much and embarrass herself at dinner. You also hoped your dad was smart enough not to bring a side piece around until after she passed out. It could be a little entertaining though if your brother ran his mouth.

Picture, picture, smile for the picture. Pose with your brother, won’t you be a good sister?

“Well, look at you.”

Your heart leapt to your throat when you turned around to see Bucky standing by your bed. He held your cover up in his hand. How the hell did he get in your room so quietly? Why was he there?

“What the hell are you doing?” you demanded.

“Sorry. I was trying to find the bathroom,” he said. A terrible lie, like he didn't even try. “Such a large place, you know. Easy to go through the wrong door.”

“Do you normally pick up garments that don’t belong to you when you’re 'lost'?” you asked, trying to take it from him.

He pulled his hand out of reach. “Not normally, but I couldn’t resist,” he said, not hiding the lust in his eyes as they landed on your chest and slowly drifted down. “You know, you have a pretty fucked up family.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” you scoffed.

Everyone thinks that we're perfect. Please don't let them look through the curtains.

“Allow me,” he offered as his gaze flickered back to your face.

“No, thanks,” you said, attempting to grab the cover up again as he narrowed his eyes.

"Turn around,” he ordered, his voice deeper and gruffer than before. “I won't tell you twice.”

Tell, not ask.

You hoped your trembling wasn't noticeable when you turned and faced the mirror, having to look at his reflection as he slowly walked up behind you. He was handsome, you couldn’t deny that, and large. He could overpower you easily.

“This is such a beautiful color on you. Must drive all the boys crazy when you wear it. Also must be why your daddy keeps you locked up as much as he can,” he said more to himself than to you as he ran a gloved finger down your side. “But I’m not a boy, am I?”

“He doesn’t keep me locked up,” you whispered, unsure of why you were arguing. Maybe it would distract you from his touch.

He brought his mouth to your ear, his eyes locked with yours in the mirror. “You think because you live on your own that you’re free? That you aren’t watched at all times?” He asked, chuckling when you shivered again. “You may be your daddy's princess, but you'll be mine soon enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I make your dad a lot of money. He owes me.” He straightened up and slipped the fabric over your shaking frame. “As much as I hate to cover up such a beautiful piece of art, I may lose control if I don't,” he said, as if he had the right to do so. “Keep your door unlocked for me tonight.”

“I won't-”

He had a hand around your throat, but didn't squeeze. “You will,” he said, kissing your temple. “And we'll see if you can keep quiet.”

Love and thanks for participating in Ficlet Friday! ❤️ And this one may be fun to continue.

[drkv0id]

Is it ASD or the “BPD traits” in my medical records (no full BPD diagnosis) cuz I fully relate to that. Idk.

I don’t like the phrasing “people who don’t have BPD will never understand” like guys ik it sucks but there are more disorders in the DSM-V yall are not the only ones capable of *feeling*.

Also wtf we can speak of intensity or whatever but don’t all humans feel physical signs of emotions? It’s literal chemistry going around giving orders. Same chemicals, but broken systems.

I’m sorry but that phrasing at the beginning just doesn’t feel right. Anyway. I’ll stop getting pissed off at that phrasing now cuz it’s deregulating me too much to think about and I stopped breathing and I’m crying and I hate to be me so fucking hard I wanna die and I don’t even know, why was I saying this, idk anymore

People who don’t have BPD will never understand what it’s like to physically feel your emotions. The way I can feel my heart hurt with every negative thought and emotion that runs me over like a truck every few minutes. Or the way I can feel how tight my skin feels, and how I just want to claw it all off. Or the way that no matter how positive or negative an emotion may be - I feel it too much and it never feels good in the slightest. It is painful. It’s tearing me apart, and other people will never know just how awful this fucking disorder is.

[prettyboykatsuki]

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

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

❅ wc ; 5.7k (???????????)

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

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

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

“You should be more careful,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you nagging me, Doctor?” 

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

“But you did.” 

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

“Are you holding a grudge against me?” 

“Against your recklessness, yes.” 

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

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

“Then who should I trouble?”

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

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

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

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

“Take your medicine”

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

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

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

You shake your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Something on your mind?” 

“Hm…?” 

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

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

“Another medication you mean?” 

You shake your head, smiling crookedly. 

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

“Holisitic?” 

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

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

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

“Maybe… something more physical.” 

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

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

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

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

“Tsk.”  

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

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

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

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

“I won’t forgive you otherwise.” 

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

“Zayne,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Comfortable? No pain?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I said spoil me. This is torture.” 

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

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

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

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

You let out a mewl. Zayne laughs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Zayne,” You gasp his name. “Please,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck me.” 

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

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

He’s silent for a moment, eyes closed. 

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

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

“Zayne,” 

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

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

“Will you help?” 

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

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

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

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

“I can take it.”

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

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

“One more should be—” 

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

“You know very well it’s not.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you changed your mind?” 

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

“Stubborn thing you are.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aren’t going to move?” 

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

“Spoiled girl.” Zayne tsks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

__

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This…?” 

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

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

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

“Kind? Honest?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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