#if youre going to hate and be loud about it

[monstersholygrail]

Home Workouts

Half-orc bf x fem!reader— groping, delicious sloppy sex, riding that dick, and some niiice after care

You honestly didn’t know what life would be like living with your half-Orc, half-Giant, boyfriend. The two of you have been together for so long but never shared your space for more than a week long vacation or a weekend sleepover at each other’s houses.

Of course, every part of his house was a little too big for you given his tall stature. But ever since the very first time you’ve slept over at his place he’s had an abundance of step stools and other little tools to help you move around the place with ease.

It’s been an adjustment but he’s done everything he can to make it an easy one for you.

There are many things you love about living your boyfriend but your favorite one is by easily by far watching him workout in his home gym. He has it all set up in the garage so it’s not exactly in the way of anything in the house. But accessible enough that even you can hear him in there if you’re downstairs.

At the first sign of his loud grunting your face brightens into an excited smile. You practically throw yourself off the couch and scramble your way through the house. Racing toward the doorway to the garage which always just so happens to be left open. Almost as if a certain someone wants you to hear him, wants you to watch him.

When you reach the doorway he’s right where you expect him to be, at the bench press machine looking way too good to handle. Your knees go weak at the sight of him and you have to lean against the door just to keep upright.

His large muscles ripple under the weight he’s pressing and saliva pools in your mouth, freaking drooling for your sexy hunk of a boyfriend. He grunts softly each time he lifts the weight and it does something to your insides. Making you hot and tingly all over, arousal gushing out of your pussy and soaking your panties.

You watch him work through his sets, your body growing hotter with each new machine he uses. You know he knows you’re there. And you know that he’s making all his work outs look even sexier because he’s trying to get you all hot and bothered. You hate how much it’s working. You’re practically itching to jump his bones.

It’s useless to try and fight it. The more he works out the more his light green skin glistens with sweat. You imagine yourself falling to your knees to lap it up, to kiss down his dark happy trail, and inhale deeply at that scent that’s specifically his and his alone. Fuck, you wanna devour him and he knows it.

He’s purposefully taunting you, egging you on, wanting to make a mess of you before he even gets his hands on your burning needy skin. You may be growing hazy with lust but you don’t miss the sly glances he keeps throwing your way or that stupidly smug smirk he’s been sporting since he was curling those weights. It shouldn’t make you hornier than you already are but it is.

Just as you think your pussy is throbbing so bad you’re about to cum untouched, he finally turns toward you with a raised brow and a classic ‘come hither’ look.

“Come over here and help me with these hip thrusts, pretty,” he says and you know it’s not a question. It’s a demand. Letting you know he’s been wanting you just as badly as you want him.

Walking closer to him in the gym you can see just how true that is. The thick outline of his cock pushing against the fabric of his sweats and just begging to be released. Even seeing it twitch once you finally reach him.

“I said c’mere,” he growls, claws gripping at your plush waist and dragging you against his sweaty stomach with a light smack.

The tension between the two of you is boiling as he swoops down and captures your lips in a ravenous kiss. You both groan as your lips meet in a sloppy needy dance, stumbling back until he’s lying down on the mat covered floor with you straddling his waist.

You press against him as hard as you can, hips already rocking, needing to grind against any part of him you can. He moans into the kiss, tongue dipping into your mouth just to get another taste of you. Claws run over your skin, making you shiver with anticipation as they dip lower and lower. Slowly pushing off all your clothes as they go.

“Look at you, humping me like a bitch in heat,” your bf rasps against your lips, pushing off your panties with a single claw and leaving your delicious curves open to him.

You gasp as your dripping folds are exposed to the cool air. He pushes you back down on top of him, his hands guiding you, rolling his abs all over your clit and causing your head to spin. He’s just so much bigger than you that he can easily jerk you around like his own personal fuck doll. Your toes curl at how damn good it feels and your jaw drops in a silent moan.

“Don’t act like you didn’t do this on purpose,” you accuse.

He chuckles, watching you get wrecked before he’s had a chance to really touch you. You don’t even realize when his hands drift off of you, too caught up in the pleasure rolling through your clit. He makes quick work of skillfully pulling his sweats down just enough to release his cock. It springs out of its confines, hitting your back with a fat smack.

“I can’t help it that you’re such a fuckin’ slut for me…” he purrs and you prove him right as you start grinding your ass along his length.

But it seems like it’s just enough to snap him into action. A feral glint passes over his eyes and his hands are on you in the next second. He pushes his massive pulsing tip through your folds, letting your slick coat his entire monster cock till he’s dripping with you.

He can’t seem to look away from it. Mesmerized by the image of your arousal soaking him. He doesn’t even care he just seems to want more and more of you. Low groans leaving him every time you flutter around his twitching head and make a bigger mess.

“God, you’re so wet f’me. So needy for my cock, you should be ashamed,” he scolds playfully, his smirk widening at your gasp.

You know you should actually scold him and you totally plan on it to. Mouth gaping at him like you’re really trying. But he just doesn’t give you the chance. On the next roll of his hips he catches his tip against your entrance, silencing you instantly.

After one more gloating chuckle your bf pushes you down and you go sinking onto his cock, letting out a pretty mewl as he stretches you to your limits. His cock splitting you open till you can’t even think. You’re a puddle by the time he bottoms out, your core squeezing him so tight like you never want him to leave.

“Baby— nngh— yes. Your pussy is being so good, sucking my cock in like she’s missed it. Show me how much, ride me hard,” he demands again and you’re in no state of mind to refuse.

The two of you work in total sync, starting at a frantic pace as you ride his cock like it’s been days since you’ve last got a taste instead of the hours it’s been. Meanwhile your boyfriend stays true to his workout, his hips thrusting out and plunging into your depths.

Your bf is entranced by the sight of you, completely lost in your pleasure. Head rolling back, your fucking perfect tits jiggling with the force of each thrust. His eyes trail down to where your bodies meet and his cock instantly jolts at the obscene way your fat cunt stretches around his giant cock. It’s a miracle you’re able to take him.

As your sweet pussy throbs and flutters around his girth he groans, his claws tightening around the soft rolls of your hips. His hips then move on their own, picking up pace and ramming his hard pulsing dick as deep inside your core as he can go, swirling you around his length and rearranging your guts.

Your loud shrieks of pleasure fuel him to fuck up into even harder, barely giving you a moment to adjust to each new sensation. You try and lift up to take a moment to breathe but he growls and slams you back down on his shaft, making you scream.

“Ah ah ah, don’t run from my cock. You’ve been droolin’ for it so be the good slut I know you are and take it.”

His hips are a blur as they pound into your messy cunt. Obscene noises fill the room with every snap of his hips, the loud squelch of your bodies meeting only sends you closer to your peak. It only takes one brush of his finger over your clit and your orgasm crashes into you.

Your bf groans at the feeling of you clamping down on his cock and suddenly he’s shooting spurt after spurt of hot cum straight into your needy womb. Grinding his length as deep inside you he works you through it till you both sag on the mats in total exhaustion.

His hands caress your back, smirking as aftershocks wrack through your spent form. He grabs handfuls of you, loving how you fill out his big hands and he drags you closer to him.

“What a workout, huh?” He asks with a big sigh, feeling very pleased with himself for getting you so fucked out.

The room stills and your bf fails to stifle his laughter, which only grows as you soon join him. Your happy and sated laughter rings between you both and at this moment you swear there’s nothing better than living with your bf.

[calwoso]

disappointment part 2

you finally tell your sister and Marta why you’re here

Caro hasn't spoken a word to you the entire ride back from the match. She hasn't so much as glanced at you as you sit sullenly in the back seat as your first couple of attempts at making conversation were shot down by silence. Even Marta doesn't seem willing to chat for once.

When Caro finally pulls into the parking lot and switches off the engine, your hand immediately flies to the door handle, pulling at it impatiently to free yourself. It doesn't budge and you huff in annoyance.

"Child lock, really?" You say snippily at your sister who glances at you once in the rearview mirror.

"We're not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on." She tells you plainly, crossing her arms and continuing to face forwards.

You groan dramatically, trying the door once more in vain, "I told you, I just wanted to visit."

Your sister remains silent, staring stubbornly ahead even though you can see the clench of her jaw as she tries not to start the argument again. Getting no joy from her you try her partner who is shifting uneasily in her seat.

"Marta, come on, she's being ridiculous." You half-whine.

Caro's head twitches every so slightly as Marta takes a deep breath and remains quiet.

"You want to get out, you tell me why you're here. And you tell me why Mamma sounded so pissed off on the phone this morning too." Caro repeats herself.

Tipping your head back against the seat you try to out wait your sister. She's always had less patience than you, and maybe if you just shut up and say nothing she'll let you out of the damn car.

It's barely two minutes of silence before Marta says, hesitantly, "Caro, maybe we should just-"

"No." Caro says sharply. "She wants to act like an adult then she can sit there and tell me why she's here."

It's the guilt, you think, of being the cause of Caro snapping at her partner. You like Marta, you never meant to cause such an issue.

"Fine! You want to know why I'm here and why our parents are so furious? It's because I'm not you, Caro. I'm not you, I don't have anything ahead of me to go and achieve." Your voice is too loud for the enclosed space but it only gets louder as you grow more upset. "Because they spent two hours yelling at me yesterday about how I have no prospects, no path forward! How I'm wasting my life and...and how I'll never be you and instead I’m just a disappointment. And I knew you wouldn't get it but I thought at least my sister might have my back in all this."

You hate the way you cry when you get angry.

"And I know I should have called ahead, but I just needed out of there. You don't know what it's like to live under your shadow. But I thought I could go to the one place someone might actually be pleased to see me!" You're sniffling pathetically now, swiping at your cheeks furiously. You feel like a kid again begging your sister not to move away because you'd miss her.

"But I get it now, so open the fucking door so I can get out of here!" You yell.

Caro sits stock still as only the sound of your heavy breathing and sniffling remains. Eventually it's Marta that presses a button on the centre console and you hear the locks disengage. You're out of the car like a shot, slamming the door behind you a little more than perhaps necessary.

You turn and stomp away down the street. You can't help the way your ears strain for the sound of Caro's voice in case she calls out for you. But it doesn't come.

Back in the car, Caro sits rigid. the keys dangle uselessly in the ignition. Marta's hand hovers above her own door handle, caught in two minds about what to do. Her gaze darts between Caro’s frozen profile and the spot where you had disappeared around the corner.

“Amor” she says softly, reaching to brush her partner’s shoulder. “We can’t just let her—”

Caro doesn't say anything but her head nods jerkily and Marta is opening her door and running after you, leaving her partner stuck in the driver's seat.

You haven't gotten too far, but you have managed to cross the road and duck into the park opposite.

"Wait! Please," She calls out to you from across the road, just as you're about to disappear further into the greenery.

You stop at the sound, and Marta doesn't miss the way you seem genuinley shocked she's come after you. The Spaniard isn't sure how long you'll stay still as she bounces on the balls of her feet waiting for the lights to change so she can cross the busy road.

The light to walk flickers on and she jogs across the street and up to you, not giving you a chance before she's sweeping you into a bone crushing hug.

You try not to melt into it. Your family aren't known for being the most outwardly affectionate and you had wondered how your sister had ended up with someone who seems to love so freely.

But it's hard not to give in as Marta runs a hand up and down your back and hugs you closer. Your tears that had barely stopped, start again and you sob like you're a child again.

Marta doesn’t let go until your sobs taper into shaky breaths, your forehead still pressed into her shoulder. When she finally pulls back, she keeps her hands on your arms, studying your face with concern. “Okay, two choices,” she says, “We either go home, or we sit on that bench over there so we can talk properly.”

Going back and facing your sister after having a full blown meltdown in the back of her Cupra does not fill you with joy.

So you collapse onto the sun-warmed wood, and Marta plops down beside you, close enough that her knee knocks against yours. For a moment, she says nothing, just lets the park’s chatter fill the silence. When she finally speaks, her voice softens. “Your parents… they’re wrong, you know.”

You pick at a splinter on the bench. “They’re not entirely wrong. I don’t have a plan. I just, I don’t have a passion, I’m not like Caro, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Marta snorts. “Your sister does not know what she’s going.” She bumps your shoulder. “You think Caro’s got it all figured out? Dios mío, I promise you she doesn’t.”

A laugh hiccups out of you, unexpected. Marta’s grin widens.

“But still, at least she always knew what she wanted. Had something to aim for. I’m just…stuck, with no idea what to do.” You sigh, kicking gently at a loose rock underneath your foot.

Marta hums in quiet agreement. She can’t argue against that, nor can she imagine not knowing or at least having an idea of what you want to do.

She doesn’t really know what to say to you, doesn’t have a way to take away your worries. So she settles on assuaging them as best she can.

“I don’t mean to sound patronising, but you’re young. You have time, despite what others may say. Comparing yourself and being compared to Caroline isn’t fair.” Marta pauses for a beat. “Your life isn’t made in your teen years or even your twenties. Or even your thirties I suppose. I mean, what am I going to do when I retire? I haven’t got a clue!”

You still don’t look wholly convinced which the Spaniard supposes is fair. You’re clearly still hurt and downtrodden from your argument with your parents and feeling raw at the way Caro took your sudden appearance as an intrusion rather than a request for help.

She really needs to have a word with both Norweigans about actually speaking to one another when everyone has had some time to calm down.

“We’ll figure it out. We can brainstorm ideas for what you want to do and you can stay with us for as long as you need.” She assures you.

“Doubt Caro would want you saying that.” You mumble a little pitifully even if your heart warms at the obvious care from your sister’s partner. “It’s hard enough getting her to respond to my texts, she didn’t even tell me you’d moved in together. I know I’m younger than her but she used to always have time for me.”

Your bottom lip wobbles and you bite down on it until it stops.

“I know it’s awful but she was so miserable at Wolfsburg and so she was always calling home and then, then she moved here and met you and it’s like she forgot all about me.” You confess, hastily adding. “I don’t want her to be miserable and I really like you and you clearly make her happy. But I was just left behind and all our parents could see was how little I achieved in comparison to her.”

Marta doesn’t really know what to say to that, a little pit of guilt forming in her stomach as she wonders if she’s taken Caro away from someone who needs her. But you keep talking before she can figure out how to respond.

“Is it so bad for me to just want to be average and not high flying and just live a stupid boring life?” You bury your head in your hands. “I never asked to have a sister who’s a footballer, I never wanted to be one either, so why am I being compared to her?”

“I know,” Marta pulls you against her side. “I know, it’s not fair. You can do whatever you want to do and that can change as much as you want.”

You laugh wetly and with a self deprecating little snort, “I don’t think I’ve cried this much since I was a kid.”

Marta doesn’t think you’ve cried that much at all, really. She reckons she would’ve cried an awful lot more if her parents had said those things to her at 18. It’s easy to forget with you, given your general sunny disposition, but you are very much Caro’s sister and the pair of you clearly both struggle with difficult emotions.

"Let's go home for now." She settles on, tugging you to your feet. "We can deal with everything else later. We have time." She suggests, not really giving you too much time to think about it as she already begins to steer you back the way you came.

You like the sound of having time, though. The idea that maybe you have enough time to figure everything out with Marta's help, if not your sister's, that maybe everyone will back off enough for you to breathe.

It’s silent when you and Marta arrive back to the Spaniard’s home and your heart drops at the idea that your outburst may have scared your sister off from her own home. But there’s a muffled sound from further inside and you frown at Marta before following her through towards the master bedroom.

The door is shut but as you near the sound becomes clearer and you realise it’s your sister’s voice, your sister’s extremely pissed off voice speaking rapidly and agitatedly in Norwegian. It’s Marta’s turn to frown at you, unable to keep up with the language at this speed.

“She’s still practically a child, definitely still a teenager! She’s not supposed to know what to do.” Caro snaps and although you’ve heard and been apart of enough arguments with your sister to know her temper, it still makes you wince. “No, Mamma you’re not listening. How I was at 18 wasn’t normal. She’s a good kid, she’s smart, funny, friendly, everything I wasn’t at that age. She has time. She doesn’t have to figure it all out.”

You swallow thickly as you listen, you had honestly thought you were all cried out but maybe not.

“And to call her a disappointment is unacceptable. Whether you were worried or not about her future or whatever it may be. She’s a good person, her own person, and she’s your daughter.” Caro’s voice despite being loud cracks a little and you hear Marta sniff too and you want to check on her but you’re also rooted to the spot. “She can stay here for a while until you’ve remembered what a wonderful child you have and she can use it as a holiday. Goodbye Mamma.”

There’s silence after that, aside from the sound of the blood rushing in your ears. You don’t think you’ve heard your sister yell at your parents, not out of true anger. And certainly not on your behalf. When another few seconds pass and you still hear nothing from the other side of the door you tentatively knock on the wood.

“Just a minute, amor.” Caro calls back in Spanish.

You can’t help but snort and reply, “Try again, it’s me.”

The door swings open almost immediately afterwards and Caro sighs, relieved, when she lays eyes on you. “Don’t run away like that.” She tells you sternly, the effect somewhat ruined by her own tear tracks.

But she sweeps you into a tight hug before you can point that out. You honestly can’t remember the last time your sister hugged like this. Not since you were much smaller instead of the inch of height difference between you both now.

“You yelled at Mamma.” You say, muffled against her shoulder.

“She was wrong about you, and cruel.” Caro explains as if it’s simple. “You can stay here, and lounge about and enjoy the sun for as long as you want. There’s no rush. At all.” Her arms squeeze tighter around you and you believe every word.

————————————————

might write some little one shots within this universe at some point in the future but for now this is where it ends

[windyremedy]

title: reeling revelation💥

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

scenario: finding out their bestfriend is a dad in the most unexpected way possible.

Time constraints and lack of availability are impossible to avoid and meeting up since after highschool had only gotten harder and harder. Each time they actually got close to hanging out, someone suddenly has to cancel because of either work related issues or whatever else it may be. Though everyone’s understanding for the most part including Mina but her in particular quite frankly had enough.

So when Bakugou called Kirishima up explaining that he couldn’t make it after 4/5 of the Bakusquad members attended she just couldn’t let it happen again and so she and really all of them were graciously invited (totally did not whine and beg) to the Bakugou household which doesn’t happen very often.

Last time anyone came there was back when they were just starting out their pro hero lives. It was honestly a surprise to everyone aside from probably Midoriya that Bakugou got married so early but they were invited to your wedding and from what they could tell you were super nice.

When they finally knocked on the huge door they were expecting everything else but an unimpressed look of what seems to be a mini Bakugou, almost a mirror copy of their best pal’s expression who did not inform them that he was now a dad.

Although he wasn’t a complete copy and paste with most of his facial features being from his mom and mainly baby Bakugou’s hair being a different color but his eyes, oh they knew that sharp ruby stare from anywhere. It was actually kinda worrisome how he seemed to pick up Bakugou’s temperament at their antics. Maybe they would even feel kinda intimidated (as much as you can with a baby at least) but he looked too cute all bundled up in an all might themed suit with a white pacifier in his mouth.

“Bakugou! you never told us you had a baby?” Mina excitedly exclaimed, squealing from the cuteness.

“Yeah! I thought we were your best buds??!!” Kaminari dramatically shouted in betrayal.

Bakugou shuffled Ryuu to a more comfortable position after the little one turned away from his loud friends.

“Didn’t know how to bring up and well you never asked.” he answered busy handling Ryuu who was getting more agitated by the second.

“So it’s our fault you never shared this big fact about your life?” Sero half joking half wryly asked.

“Yeah, you dumbasses would fuckin— shit nevermind.” He tried to recover placing his palms around Ryuu’s ears.

“Why is he so annoyed already? don’t tell me you’ve been talking bad about us?!! don’t hate me baby Bakugou.” Kirishima pleaded.

“S’ names Ryuu and he’s not mad at you, just thought it was his mom at the door. Come in before he actually kicks you out.”

“You mean you kick us out?” Kaminari corrected.

“Yeah, yeah.”

As they stepped inside the house they took notice of the evident amount of family pictures along the walls and on cabinets. Both admiring and unnerved about seeing Bakugou look so soft in all of them. They’ve seen many expressions from Bakugou before some more than others (like annoyance and anger) but this was a wholenother level they weren’t at all used to.

Leading to the living room where building blocks can be seen scattered across. They each took a seat around the area, Mina asking about your whereabouts as she sat.

“She’s coming back soon, supposed to be here today but her work called this morning and she had to come in.” he informed going into the connected kitchen.

“Ohhh that’s why you couldn’t come.” Kaminari solved albeit a bit late.

“Yep, sorry about that.” he apologized although not sounding at all affected by not being able to meet up with his self proclaimed friends (they are friends).

Grabbing a bottle of milk from the fridge as he fed it to Ryuu who sleepily closed his eyes.

“Bet you didn’t want to anyway. I mean I wouldn’t either, look how cute this little guy is.” Sero admitted getting cute aggression from Ryuu’s chubby little cheeks.

Bakugou only nodded, half heartedly listening to the conversations while chiming in once in awhile before getting back to rocking Ryuu to sleep. Who seemed to be dozing off before he jolted up after hearing the familiar ring of the doorbell.

“Hold on a second.” Bakugou briefed before going to the open the door, not knowing he was being secretly followed.

“Hey Kats.” you greeted lovingly as he pecked you on the lips, hugging you in the process as well as Ryuu whose arms signaled that he wanted to be handed over for a hug too.

“Hello to you too my little dragon.” you smiled as he wrapped his small arms around your neck.

Standing there by the doorway both of you failed to notice the scooby stack happening behind the corner of the doorframe sniffling at the domestic sight.

“This is so beautiful.” Kaminari sobbed.

Kirishima nodded in agreement. “What a manly sight indeed.”

“I’m so proud of him.” Mina whispered whilst shedding a tear.

Setting aside the dramatics Sero smiled, happy for his friend. “He definitely made it.”

©windyremedy

[lukolathoughts]

Miss Nicola - supporting LGBTQI rights

Dearest gentle reader,

I have been itching to write a blog post now for a few weeks, but not really knowing where to begin. There have been frenzied weeks and days of activity, but then silence and the fandom meanders like a lost boat at sea. We are often rudderless without the reassuring presence of our ship captains - Luke and Nicola. This also tends to get the sub fandoms spouting nonsense claiming to have seen Nicola in Birmingham or some ridiculous crap. I didn't want to bother her by asking for a photo! No photo, no proof my friend.

I'll talk about me for a moment. I had a week from hell last week. There was something so upsetting for me to deal with, I couldn't go into work as I was crying that much. Try to explain this to your manager: that nasty comments on YouTube made you late for work. Luckily, she is an understanding person and I have told her about my YT channel. Saying some things out loud to real life people make me sound barking mad. But it is the price you pay for being public on YouTube. It also makes me an easy target. I am used to online trolls and people who hate me for saying that Jake is gay and believing in Lukola, but when the stab in the back comes from a supposed friend, it really is the ten of swords. My phone blew up that much, I opened my eyes that morning genuinely thinking Lukola had launched. My hope turned to ash, when I saw what was really happening. I share this with you all because, I have had to have a reckoning with myself the last week. My online life and my real life are not the same. My real life is way more important and I actually need my job, so messing it up because I've got people I don't really know online saying mean things about me, that are not true, shouldn't matter. But it still hurts. But I also realise, they are trying to stop me sharing and trying to ruin my credibility and reputation in order to send me off into my discord crying never to return again.

Well think again. No one tells a Sagittarius woman what they can and can't do. I am made of stronger stuff. Love will always conquer hate. No one puts Baby in the corner, and I will not stand for it. I have scaled back most of my online life now. It had helped me cope with the last year and losing my friend, but sometimes you have to go back into reality. I'm never leaving the ship though. You'll have to chuck me overboard and I'll still jump back on like Rose from Titanic. "I couldn't go, Jack! You jump, I jump, right?"

Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about Nic. I love Nicola by the way and nothing I say here is a criticism of her or her choices. I see what you're doing though, miss Nicola. I said in my last blog that the shit would hit the fan when Jake has to start press for his new upcoming BBC3 drama What it feels like for a girl. I will admit I have not read the book. Regardless of who Jake is playing, it is reportedly an all queer cast, a queer director and at least one queer writer that I know of. Why would the director of an all queer cast hire a straight man in a homosexual role? If this show is as big as It's a Sin, that aired on Channel 4 a few years ago, then there will be press and a lot of it. There will be press from queer magazines also. Jake is currently in an awkward position, because some press believe he is in a romantic relationship with Nicola Coughlan, a woman who is also 14 years his senior. So, what will Nicola and Jake do?

Jake is holding onto his cash cow with both hands and Nicola needs Jake to continue to pose as her boyfriend to stop the media digging. But honey, they know. It was clear all the press at the SAG awards knew exactly what was going on and they were not afraid to say it. The 'happy ending' comment levelled at them directly by a reporter, had Nicola stunned and Luke smiling like all his Christmases' had come at once.

Nicola knows what is going on. She knows there is a deadline and she knows if she doesn't extricate herself from the narrative she is dating a gay man, she is screwed basically. What is she doing? She's getting out her, I love gays!! T-shirt, hats, scarfs, sunglasses, whatever. She is doing it. Look at me, I love queers! I love her for this and I already know she is an advocate for LGBTQI rights. She has a ton of gay friends. The fandom knows this of course, but do the general public?

At the Neutrogena event on 27th March 2025, there was a very tall drag queen doing some MCing. We know Nic loves drag queens and has been to many shows, so this is nothing new to us. I'm not being overly cynical that the drag queen might have been there for a reason, right? Neutrogena is a product that is targeted at women mostly for their skin products. What has that got to do with a drag queen? I just found it odd.

Next up we have Nicola's Pink Pony Club Post that she shared to both her Instagram stories and grid last Thursday 10th April. The song by Chappell Roan is synonymous with the gay community and one that Jake danced to at her concert last year in a pink cowboy hat. "You guys, remember when my old flat was a gay hotspot!" Nicola, posts 4 polaroid's of her looking fabulous in pink and lays them on a pink blanket. What made you feel so nostalgic, Nic? Or are you sending a message? Look at me, I have loved my gay besties for donkey's years. Prominent gay friends such as JVN and Jack Rooke commented all in agreement, that indeed, Nic's flat was the place to be. And, no I do not think Nicola is coming out herself as gay. Get real, she is supporting her friends and peers.

Then there was yesterday's selfie of Nicola wearing her black - 'I just wanted to say if you are trans and reading this, I love you and so do all my mates' T-shirt. There a few other details in that post that other bloggers such as @toriaaniin have covered beautifully, so I won't go into it here. My eyes sprung wide when I saw this post. I know she advocates for the charity Notaphase.org and I commend her for doing this, but two queer posts in a few days seems to be a lot for Nic, when lately she hasn't been posting at all.

There is also the male hairdresser Halley Brisker in her Opalex video on her Instagram, They make a big deal of letting us know he flirts with male makeup artists. Nicola is clearly good friends with Halley and it is an endearing watch. But to me this seems like a lot of overkill in the last few days for the general public to look at her Instagram and instantly know, yes Nicola does love the girls, the gays and Luke Newton. (FYI Halley Brisker is married to a woman and has children, but to the general public this conversation is implying Nic is comfortable with these conversations).

This, in my opinion, is setting the stage for the final act. I can see Nicola doing some sort of article or interview where she clears a certain narrative up. If you notice, Douglas has also been quite forceful again in implying certain things about Jake and Jake himself does not stop others from posting suggestive posts and videos of him. Nicola must remove herself from this mess in order to move forward with her own career and life. Hanging onto old connections are no longer serving her personally and professionally. Her engagement on Instagram is down by a lot, so I'm told and she is losing followers. She has done all she can career-wise for Jake now, he has to make his own way.

If this does not happen and we remain in this weird heteronormative bubble, I fear the press for What it feels like for a girl, will be a shit show. The truth will come out eventually and it will drag both Jake and Nicola down with it.

[itzpookiepooh]

Dump Him!

You ask them for relationship advice

“I need advice.” You huff falling onto the couch where Caleb sat. Your head was in his lap as you pout, he looks down at you in confusion. He adjusts his position taking his ankle off his knee.

“Shoot pipsqueak I’m all ears.” He assures you making you take a deep breath. This was like a mini therapy session you guys had every once in a while. Too often for you not often enough for him.

“So he’s always running to help his best friend and I mean running. She called him to stay at her house because she’s going through a break up.” You explained as Caleb nodded slowly. He didn’t see the big deal because he always comes running when you call.

“I mean that is his best friend and think of us—“ You cut him off before he could say anything stupid. “The best friend is a girl and he spends the night. No matter what we’re going through he runs to her.”

“You should kill him.” He states bluntly before unpausing his show as if he solved your problem entirely.

“Caleb!”

You just got done arguing with your boyfriend again. Rafayel just watched with a bored expression, he was use to the bickering. He just wished you would dump him already. He watched you pace as you screamed at him which was out of character for you, in his mind at least. You hung up slamming your phone on the counter.

“Ugh! He’s insufferable. What should I do?” You ask more out loud but Rafayel was going to answer anyway.

“What did he do this time?” He asked taking about bite out of a grape from the bowl. You pout putting your chin on your fist. You know Rafayel and you also know he loathes your boyfriend.

“Ditched our date tonight for his friends.” You sigh, Rafayel on the other hand glares at you. He then got an idea.

“You should invite him out here to make up. It’s beautiful and quiet.” Rafayel counts on his fingers before your face fell flat.

“I’m not bringing him out here for you to kill him.” You deadpan making him drop his act and shrug.

“Worth a shot.” He throws a grape into his mouth.

Your leg bounced as you stared at your phone waiting for a text back. Sylus looks over his glasses to watch your leg bounce. You were shaking the couch with these nerves of yours. He couldn’t focus on a single word with all this bouncing. He knew you were arguing with that no good boyfriend of yours. He grabbed your leg without looking away from his book. Your gaze snaps over to him.

“Sorry.” You mumble, Sylus closes the book with a sigh, “What is it now?”

“He’s jealous because I spend a lot of time with you. Which is bullshit by the way! He spends a lot of time with his friends too!” You ramble as you wave your arms around. Sylus just watches you as you express yourself.

“What should I do?” You groan leaning into him. Sylus hums before rubbing your arm.

“We could give him something to be jealous about.” Sylus suggests, his smirk widening as he looks at you.

“You’re never serious.” You deadpan making him chuckle.

“Worth a shot.”

You get in Zayne’s car in a hurry accidentally slamming the door. You were so irritated that the night felt ruined because your boyfriend wanted to argue. He hated whenever Zayne was around but you make sure to remind him this is your childhood friend. His jealousy was ugly and Zayne would tell you constantly. The boy thought you were sleeping together for goodness sake! Not that you would mind. You explained all this to Zayne knowing he’d probably say what he usually does. You were just waiting for it.

“Maybe I can fix him…fix us y’know?” You fall back into the seat as Zayne stops at a red light. He looks over at you with the most serious face ever.

“Did he defecate on himself?” He asks seriously, you blink at him as if he was confused.

“No?” You question more than answer. Zayne hums as he nods his head slowly, “then why would you change him?”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s as sassy as ever but he was right.

Your boyfriend and you had a huge fight. It was so big that you left and went to Xavier’s who could hear it from his apartment. You apologized for the noise which he didn’t care about. Your wellbeing was what mattered most to him after all. He made you tea and waited to hear what the arguing was about. You explained he accused you of cheating on him which wasn’t true. Xavier knew this since you guys spent so much time together.

“What should I do?” You sigh sadly. Xavier blinked slowly as he gave you a once over.

“Leave him.” He bluntly said. No hesitation, no pauses, nothing.

“Xavier I can’t.” You groan falling into the couch as he takes the cup from you. He places it on the coffee table and then turns his attention back to you.

“Why not? He’s not a good person and has zero redeeming qualities. He chews with his mouth open, he burps obnoxiously loud—” He lists and if you hadn’t stopped him he would go on and on all night. You put your hand over his mouth and nod as you look at the ceiling.

“You’re absolutely right.” Leaving the conversation at that.

“Want me to kill him?” He mumbles looking at you. You swiftly turn your head to look at him with genuine concern. Maybe you heard him wrong.

“What?”

“What?” He repeats now looking at you confused.

I couldn’t wait to get to Zayne’s but imo his Caleb’s and Rafayel’s are the funniest 😭 I also forgot what I was gonna write mid Caleb’s because I left my mind palace (the shower).

Have this while I concoct Sylus’ bday special 💋

[dior-luxury]

Can I request yandere Jade, Floyd, Malleus and Vil separately their reaction if they are in love with Y/n but Y/n is not in love with them and they are strong enough not to be forced into a relationship or kidnapped

"Unrequited Obsession: Yandere TWST Boys vs. a Strong-Willed Y/n"

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . drama - no prns .

- [𝐜𝐡.] jade . floyd . vil . malleus

- [𝐩:𝐬] Obsessive Behavior . Psychological Manipulation . Possessiveness . Dark Themes . Emotional Manipulation . Unhealthy Relationships . Stalking . Delusional Behavior . Power Imbalance . Non-Consensual Affection (Implied, never physical) .

Note: It's been a while since I did my last yandere request, and hopefully not my last! ( ´ ω ` )

Jade Leech

Jade’s obsession doesn’t look like obsession at first. He’s calm. Smiling. Observant. The kind of love that grows in the shadow of silence and blooms in darkness. With you, he became intrigued. You didn’t fall for his charm like the others. Your will wasn’t something he could bend with words, and your strength—mental and physical—made him hungry. You weren’t prey. You were a puzzle, a challenge, and he adored it.

But here's the thing about Jade: he plays the long game.

He never tries to force you. He knows it would backfire. You’d hate him. Leave. Fight. And that would never do.

Instead, he’s patient. Suffocatingly so.

He infiltrates your life like moss creeping up stone—slow, subtle, and impossible to uproot. At first, it's small. He shows up when you’re walking home. Not in a scary way—he’ll claim he just happened to be foraging nearby.

He brings you rare mushrooms, ones that bloom only under moonlight, with names you can’t pronounce but meanings like eternal devotion or silent love. He tells you their effects. Some are poisonous. Some make you sleep. Some make you see things.

He never offers you food you don’t ask for—but always makes sure you know what he could do.

“You’re very strong, aren’t you? I admire that. It must be exhausting, though… always defending yourself. Wouldn’t it be easier if someone just… took care of everything for you?”

Jade isn’t reckless. He won’t kidnap you, but he will study you. Your schedule. Your habits. Your triggers. He’ll poke at the edges of your resolve just to see what makes you flinch.

He’ll never lay a hand on you without permission, but he’ll linger in your space. His fingers brushing against yours. A whisper by your ear. The knowledge that if you ever let him in—just once—he’d never let you go again.

“I don’t need to force you. I can wait. Years, if I must. Love like mine doesn’t spoil—it ferments.”

He doesn’t want a relationship built on force. He wants your surrender. And he’ll wear down every wall, one patient smile at a time.

Floyd Leech

Floyd’s obsession is loud. Wild. Scorching.

He’s not like Jade. He doesn’t wait. He doesn’t plan. He wants. And when Floyd wants something, the whole world better make way—or get crushed.

You? Oh, you’re different. You say no. You push back. You fight.

You make him laugh.

“Shrimpy, you’re so fun. Everyone else is boring. But you? You’re like a slippery little fish. Makes me wanna squeeze ya~!”

But the thing is—you’re too strong to squeeze. You bite back. And Floyd loves it.

He tries to intimidate you. Not because he wants to scare you off, but because he wants a reaction. A scream, a glare, a punch—anything. And you? You give it. You fight him without fear, without hesitation. It drives him wild.

He doesn’t try to kidnap you—not because he wouldn’t—but because he knows it wouldn’t work. You’d escape. You’d hate him. You’d never talk to him again.

And that? That’s the only thing that actually frightens him.

So he adjusts. As much as Floyd can. He tries to charm you in his own messy way. Pulls you into games you don’t want to play. Shows up at your door at midnight with bruised knuckles and no explanation.

“I got in a fight. Thought about you the whole time. Bet you woulda kicked my ass too, huh?”

He can be clingy one day and disappear for a week the next. He’ll ignore everyone—Jade, Azul, even classes—but he’ll always come back to you.

He gives you gifts you don’t want. A necklace made from a shark tooth. A jacket he “borrowed” from a student who looked at you wrong. A polaroid of your face when you weren’t looking.

“You’re mine, y’know. You just don’t get it yet.”

But if you ever truly reject him—cold, emotionless, like you don’t care—it breaks something in him. He gets quiet. Real quiet. Not the playful sulking kind. The kind where the ocean stills before the hurricane hits.

He never hurts you. Not even close. But he might hurt others. People you talk to. People you like. And he’ll never admit it was him. Just sit next to you with a shark-like grin.

“Weird how people around you keep gettin’ hurt, huh? Guess the world just doesn’t know how to treat something so special.”

Floyd doesn’t want to chain you.

He wants to be chosen—even if he has to twist the whole world to make that happen.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil falls in love carefully. Like painting a portrait with impossible precision. You weren’t someone he expected to desire. You weren’t infatuated with beauty, fame, or charm. You didn’t care about appearances, status, or sweet words.

That fascinated him. Then it frustrated him. Then… it consumed him.

Vil doesn't do obsession like Floyd or Jade. His is subtle, curated, controlled. He doesn’t spiral—he refines his desire, polishes it, molds it into something socially acceptable. And yet, beneath the gilded exterior, something rotten festers.

He starts by offering you improvement.

“You’re beautiful, but you don’t even try. I could help you… elevate.”

You decline. Not cruelly—just firmly.

And that's when the internal shift begins. If you won’t love him, clearly it's because something is in the way—your self-perception, your stubbornness, your lack of vision. Not his flaw. Yours.

“I could make you perfect. Don’t you see? You just refuse to let me.”

He starts controlling in quiet ways. Subtle pressure. Rearranging your environment. You find your favorite brand replaced with something “healthier.” A student who insulted you? Quietly expelled. Vil never says it’s him—but you know.

He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t beg. He corrects. Constantly.

You’re not allowed to slip past his radar. Every conversation is studied. Every glance, analyzed. You start noticing how people treat you differently. Doors open that never did before. Whispers follow you.

And Vil just smiles, lips sharp like a blade.

“You’re already becoming the person I knew you could be. One day, you’ll thank me for this.”

But here’s the key: he never forces you.

You’re too strong for that. He respects it, in a twisted way.

But that doesn’t mean he lets go. No—he simply shifts tactics. Inundates you with perfection, making himself indispensable, sculpting the ideal life around you until you’re the only imperfect piece left.

You’re not his prisoner in a tower.

You’re the final brushstroke on his masterpiece—and he’ll spend a lifetime trying to make you fit.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus doesn’t fall in love easily.

He’s lived too long, seen too much. Emotions are fleeting things to mortals, and he’s watched too many burn out like candles in the wind. But you… you were different.

You weren’t afraid of him. You weren’t impressed, either.

You spoke to him plainly. Defiantly, even. You weren’t swayed by ancient power, draconian beauty, or fae mystique.

You were the first constant in his long, lonely life. So when he fell, he fell like a star crashing into the earth.

But when you didn’t return his love?

It wasn’t anger.

It was confusion. Sorrow. And then, determined delusion.

“Do not worry, child of man. I understand. You are afraid of eternity. But I am patient. I will wait.”

He sees your resistance not as rejection, but as something time will fix. You are simply too young to understand the weight of forever. You will come around, once you’ve tired of fleeting lovers and crumbling years.

And he will still be there.

Malleus begins to appear more often. In dreams. In storms. In the flickering shadows at your window. Not haunting you… simply watching. Waiting. Offering protection.

“No harm will ever come to you. So long as I live, the world shall not touch a hair on your head.”

The line between love and possession blurs—because to Malleus, they are the same.

He doesn’t kidnap you. You’d escape. You’d hate him. And he cannot bear the thought of your hatred.

But he does isolate you in another way.

People who grow close to you begin to experience… misfortune. Not obvious at first. Just enough to make them pull away. They don’t even know why.

Nature itself favors you. Roses bloom where you walk. Thunder rumbles when you cry. A protective barrier of magic builds around your life like a fairytale tower—except you’re the one who refuses to be the damsel.

Malleus doesn’t understand your resistance.

“Why do you continue to resist? I offer you forever. Power. Safety. Even love. And yet… you still look at me as if I am a stranger.”

Your refusal doesn’t enrage him. It saddens him. But sadness from a being like Malleus is terrifying. It's the stillness of the air before the world splits apart.

He won’t drag you into his arms.

But he will wait centuries if he has to.

He will burn kingdoms before he lets anyone else touch you.

And he will still look at you, eyes glowing like a storm in the night, and whisper:

“You are already mine. You simply haven’t accepted it yet.”

[vampzwon]

박종성 ✸ — truth hurts !

ⓘ; marrying jay was the best decision of your life— since the very moment you said “yes,” married life with him was an absolute daydream. but of course, with all positives come it’s negatives, and no one ever said married life would be easy, not when two people with two seperate lives and two different personalities merge to one.

﹏ ⌗ 𝓹airing: 𝓅!jongseong x 𝒻!reader ❨4059❩

⏖’ 𝑔enres, angst. fluff. reconciliation. smut.

⊹”mlist.

𝓦arnings: angstangstangst, lack of communication, jays just depressed atp lmao, crying, kissing, proximity 18+ MDNI dry humping

𓏵-, 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒. guys i wrote thus on a road trip wnd i needed to piss SO badly likenit was crazy painful but then i had a nap and then i woke up with this idea so.. yeah. my dreams r in favour of my tumblr career it seems

Jay hated eggs.

Not in a casual “I’d rather not” way—no, it was a bone-deep, soul-level aversion. The smell, the texture, the way the yolk stared up at him like some runny, golden eye. Scrambled, poached, sunny side up—didn’t matter. They all made his skin crawl.

But you, unfortunately, loved them.

Soft-boiled, hard-boiled, over easy—eggs were your go-to comfort food. You’d hum to yourself as you cooked them, barefoot in one of his old shirts, swaying to whatever playlist was humming through the kitchen speaker. You always said there was something hopeful about breakfast, even when the world outside felt unkind. A perfect way to start a perfect day.

He used to tease you for it.

“You’re romanticizing a chicken’s reproductive cycle,” he’d say, scrunching his nose as you giggled, letting him backhug you as you melted into his hold. “Romanticizing or not, it’s all I can make. Now eat.”

He’d grin into your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, pressing a soft kiss just below your ear. “Guess I married you for your looks, then.”

You’d roll your eyes and feed him a bite anyway. He’d grimace like he was in pain, overact dramatically, then chew with a resigned smile—just to make you laugh again.

Perhaps the pain that came with consuming egg left when they were made with your own very hands.

That was the difference, he realized—not the egg, not the seasoning, not even the way you overcooked the yolk just a little because you knew he hated it runny.

It was you.

It was always you.

Something about the way you cracked the shell with that little flick of your wrist, the way your brow furrowed as you tilted the pan with practiced precision—like it mattered. Like he mattered.

He could eat eggs when you made them because they tasted like you’d poured your loving all over him— and that? He could die in it. Live in it. Drown in it.

This morning, the eggs taste of nothing.

Not even disgustingly creamy, or rubbery and stubborn in that way they used to be. They tasted of emptiness, of a space where something should be but painfully wasn’t.

He prodded at it with his fork, staring into the marble of the kitchen counter emptily, the cloth of his work attire suffocatingly tight against his throbbing chest. He looked down at his briefcase, right beside his stool at the counter, and then at the front door, where you hastily tied your shoelaces with nimble fingers.

You used to look at him every morning. Really look at him. With that mischievous grin playing at your lips and that soft, unfiltered way your eyes scanned him up and down like he was the best part of your day.

“You look sexy in a suit, Mr. Park,” you’d say with a mock-whisper, even though no one was around to hear. “If you’re late to work, it’s your fault for looking that good.”

You used to kiss him harder before he left—like goodbye wasn’t just goodbye, it was a promise. A see you later.

You used to always ensure you said bye, refusing to leave until you heard him reply— and now, you left first. Always. Without so much as a glance, without a trace of the warmth that used to cling to your touch.

“Do I still look good in a suit?” He croaked out weakly, under his breath, loud enough for him to hear, but certainly not loud enough for you. You had already left in one fluid motion, the door swinging shut with a soft click that felt louder than any argument you’d ever had.

Jay sat there for a few seconds longer, frozen in the kind of silence that hums in your ears when you’ve just been left behind. He stared at the now-empty entryway, his shoulders slumping with insecurity he didn’t recognise.

He exhaled shakily, one hand tugging at the knot of his tie as if loosening it would somehow help him breathe better.

He sighed into his hands, elbows braced on the edge of his desk as his monitor flickered to life. The screen glowed too bright, the same spreadsheet from yesterday blinking back at him like it had never left.

The same monotony.

Click. Log in. Pretend.

The office buzzed with quiet conversation and the hum of printers. People moving with purpose. Like their lives made sense. Like they’d all kissed their partners goodbye this morning without feeling their heart sink to the floor.

Jay exhaled through his nose, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. He groaned under his breath tiredly, offering his colleague, Minjun, sat beside him a friendly smile. “Morning.” He offered quietly.

Minjun was already halfway through his coffee, chair leaned back just enough to look like he wasn’t trying to work yet. He glanced at Jay and grinned.

“Rough start?” he asked, tapping a few keys before swiveling slightly in his chair. “You look like you barely slept.”

Jay huffed a laugh through his nose, scratching the side of his jaw absently. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Minjun nodded, like he understood. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t.

“How’s the missus?” he asked, casually—like it was a question about the weather. Like it wasn’t a dagger to the gut.

Jay hesitated.

His smile faltered just a little.

He looked down at the wedding band on his finger—still there. Still shining under the fluorescents. Still supposed to mean something.

“She’s…” he started, then trailed off. He cleared his throat. “She’s busy. Work’s been crazy.”

Minjun nodded like that explained everything. “Yeah, my girl’s been swamped too. Gotta love being married to a working, bossy woman, huh?”

Jay forced a chuckle. “Yeah.”

Minjun merely nodded and turned back to his monitor, as if he didn’t understand jay really meant we haven’t really looked at each other in days or I think I miss her more when she’s right beside me than when she’s gone.

Jay lied. He doesn’t love being married to a working woman.

He doesn’t mind the bossy bit—never did. In fact, he loved that. The way you talked with your hands when you were passionate about something, the way your voice sharpened when you were standing up for what you believed in, the way no one could ever, ever get the last word when you were in the mood to win. That was you. That was part of what made him fall in love in the first place.

As selfish as it sounded, as wrong as it felt to even think it, there were mornings he wished you’d just stay. That you’d sit across from him again with your silly egg puns and tangled hair and bare feet on the cold kitchen tile. That you’d press a hand to his chest and smooth out his tie, kiss him without looking at the clock.

He was proud of you. God, he was. He saw how alive you were in your field—how you lit up when you talked about projects, ideas, the rush of doing what you loved. You were brilliant. Ambitious. Unstoppable.

And yet… he missed the version of you that used to hold his hand under the table. That used to crawl into his lap when the nights got too quiet. That used to ask him to stay in bed five minutes longer, like the world could wait just a little. He missed being your priority.

Not with flowers or flashy gifts—though he’d do that too, if he thought it would make you smile like you used to. No, Jay wanted to pamper you in quieter ways. Gentler ones.

He wished you didn’t have to wake up to an alarm that sounded like a threat. Wished you didn’t have to pull your hair back so tight, or lace your voice with authority just to be taken seriously in boardrooms that didn’t deserve your brilliance.

He wished your hands weren’t always tired. That your eyes didn’t carry shadows even concealer couldn’t cover.

He wished you didn’t have to work so hard.

Not because he thought less of you—but because he wanted to be the one to give you rest. To be your peace when the world demanded too much. He wanted to run you baths and rub your feet and bring you silly, overpriced coffee just because he passed your favorite spot on the way home. He wanted to see you in soft clothes, curled on the couch, telling him about your dreams instead of your deadlines. He wanted to take care of you the way he used to—the way you used to let him.

With a lump garnering the back of his throat, he forced himself to look at his monitor, but first, he leaned back in his chair, eyes flickering to the corner of his desk where a framed photo of you two smiled up at him. It was from a vacation a year ago. Greece.

The photo was still there. Still smiling.

You, leaning into him, skin sun-warmed and glowing. Him, arm slung around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. Wind in your hair, his sunglasses crooked on his nose, both of you laughing at something the camera didn’t catch. A beautiful candid, a raw picture of the love that so quietly, yet easily flourished.

He wondered if you remembered that trip the way he did. The way he still did—every time he looked at that photo, every time he closed his eyes and pictured you in that white dress, laughing as the sea breeze played with the hem.

His thumb brushed the edge of the frame gently. Like touching it would bring you back.

The heating wasn’t working again.

Jay clicked the thermostat again, watching the light blink uselessly. Nothing. He exhaled through his nose, rubbed the back of his neck, and thought to himself to give the gas company a call tomorrow morning.

The apartment felt colder than usual tonight. Not cold enough to see your breath or anything stark like that—just enough of a chill that it crept under your clothes and made everything feel a little too still. A little too quiet.

He crawled into bed with a sigh, the sheets cool against his goosebumped skin. He didn’t bother calling for you. You were still getting ready in the bathroom, your nightly routine running longer these days—more work to catch up on, you insist.

He lay flat on his back, eyes tracing the same crack on the ceiling he always ignored. One hand tucked beneath his head. The other just sat there on his stomach, useless.

The room echoed with nothing. No laughter. No music. Just the dull hum of pipes and the faint clink of you rinsing out your mouth.

And then you came in. No words, no eye contact—just a tired grunt as you slid beneath the covers beside him, the mattress shifting with your weight.

Another long day. Another night of backs turned and unspoken words crowding the dark.

You didn’t mean to be cold.

He didn’t mean to stay quiet.

But somewhere along the way, this had become normal.

Tired silence. Distant bodies.

Jay stared up at the ceiling. That stupid crack again. Suddenly it seemed the most interesting thing in the world.

He didn’t move when you pulled the blanket over yourself, didn’t reach out like he used to.

It was too cold.

And it wasn’t just the lack of heating.

He sighed. Suddenly, the space between the both of you felt raw, more painful then it already was. And before he knew it, a sharp, aching intake of breath left his lips.

You frowned.

At first, you thought maybe he was clearing his throat. Maybe his breath had caught on the dry, cold air. But then another came. A soft, whimpery exhale. So quiet, it sounded like it wasn’t meant to be heard. And then it shattered.

A sob. A small, helpless, heartbreakingly real sob.

You froze.

Your husband doesn’t cry.

Not when he’s frustrated. Not when he’s exhausted. Not even when he’s hurting. Jay holds things in. That’s just how he’s always been—quiet in grief, steady in discomfort, the kind of man who folds his pain neatly and tucks it away where no one can see it.

The last time you saw him cry, really cry, was in Greece. A dead turtle on the shore. He tried to brush it off, made some dumb joke about how its little shell looked, but when he thought you weren’t looking, he’d turned away, eyes shining, lip trembling. He’d cried for five minutes and then kissed your shoulder like nothing happened.

This wasn’t five minutes.

This wasn’t quiet.

This was months of silence catching up to him. A thousand missed kisses. Every time your hand slipped out of his. Every breakfast shared in silence. Every time he forced himself to scarf down an egg. Every “have a good day” muttered instead of kissed into his collar.

Jay was crying like he’d forgotten how to stop.

Your eyes went wide in the dark as your body turned toward him on instinct. “Jay…?”

He didn’t answer. He wept.

The sound was raw, torn straight from his chest—ugly and aching and real. He turned his face away from you, burying it into the pillow like he couldn’t bear to be seen, like letting you witness this would break him even more.

You gasped, helping him sit up against the bed frame as he hiccuped with pain, as his back hit the frame with a quiet thud, head tipping back against it as if even holding it upright was too much.

His eyes—God, his eyes—bloodshot and glassy, swollen from crying, stared ahead blankly. Not at you. Not at anything. Just gone somewhere far.

You knelt between his legs, hands trembling as you reached for his face, brushing hair back from his forehead, smoothing it down like you used to during those spontaneous instead of going to work cuddles.

“Jay…” you whispered, your heart absolutely wrecked. You winced, the pain in your chest bordering physical.

You reached for his face again, holding it between your palms even as he kept his eyes downcast.

“Talk to me. Please.”

You hadn’t realized it had gotten this bad. You’d known things were off—of course you had. The silence. The quick goodbyes. The skipped dinners and missed texts. But you thought it was just a phase. A rough patch. Something that would smooth itself out once the deadlines cleared, once the meetings slowed, once life calmed down.

You didn’t realize he was hurting. Not like this. Not this deeply.

And now, sitting here with him shaking under your hands, unable to look at you, sobbing like a boy lost in the dark, you felt shame crawl up your spine. How did I miss this? How did I let this happen?

He let out a sad little sniffle, the kind that clawed its way out of his throat and didn’t even try to hide how pathetic it sounded.

Then, he shrugged your hands away.

Not hard. Not cruel. Just tired. And it was heartbreaking.

His eyes flicked toward the bedroom door to the left, avoiding yours. Dismissive, like he was over it. Like he didn’t care anymore.

But you knew better.

You’d loved this man long enough to recognize the lie in his body language. The stiffness in his shoulders. The way his fingers twitched against his thigh like they were fighting the urge to reach back for you.

He didn’t want to end the moment.

He didn’t want to shut you out.

He just didn’t know how to say what he needed.

Your voice softened into a whisper, almost unsure. “Jay…”

He didn’t look at you, just let out a shaky exhale through his nose. “Do you love me, still? Y/n?”

The words were quiet. Too quiet. Like they’d been buried inside him for weeks, maybe months, and had finally clawed their way out.

Your breath caught. Like it physically stopped in your throat.

“What?” you breathed, stunned. “Jay, of course I do—“

But he flinched. Not away from you—but inward, like even your answer might hurt too much if it wasn’t the one he needed to hear.

“You don’t look at me like you used to,” he said, voice hoarse. “You don’t even touch me. Not unless I’m crying in bed like a child.”

“Jay—”

“I don’t say this to guilt you,” he whispered, voice cracking again. “I just need to know. Because I feel like I’m loving you alone.”

Your hand flew to his cheek, your thumb sweeping under his eye as your forehead fell to his, desperate to find a connection. A single tear trickled down your cheek.

“You wake up before me,” he said quietly, voice trembling. “You’re out the door before I can kiss you. You come home late. You don’t smile at me the way you used to. You don’t…” His voice cracked again. “You don’t see me.”

He stopped for a second, and then let out a laugh—watery, small, a sound that twisted your stomach because it wasn’t joyful at all. It was hollow. “You don’t even touch me,” he said, voice barely holding together. “Do I… disgust you? Do I not please you enough?” He added, his voice pensive, but so small and insecure it knocked the air out of you. “What—Jay, no. What are you talking about?”

His eyes flashed to yours—finally, fully—and you wished they hadn’t. Because all you saw was pain. Deep, aching, starved-for-love pain.

“I lay beside you every night, inches away, and it feels like I’m in another room,” he said, breath catching. “You don’t reach for me. You don’t even flinch when I don’t kiss you goodbye anymore. You just let it happen.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Because he was right. Not because you didn’t love him.

But because somewhere along the line, you started surviving instead of living. And he was the one who paid for it.

“I thought maybe you were tired,” he continued. “Or stressed. But then it kept happening. No kisses. No holding hands. Not even a passing touch in the hallway. And I thought… maybe you don’t want me anymore. Maybe I stopped being someone you see that way.”

Your eyes welled. “Jay, I—God, I never wanted to make you feel like that.”

“Then why did you?” he whispered.

You paused for a second.

And then—you did the only thing your body remembered how to do when words failed you.

You sobbed. A broken, trembling breath ripped through your chest, and you surged forward, cupping his face like it was the last thing tethering you to this earth.

You kissed him.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t perfect. It was messy and tear-stained and soaked in apology. But it was real. Every part of you screamed into that kiss—I’m sorry, I love you, please don’t give up on me.

At first, he just sat there. Stunned. Frozen.

And then, slowly, his hands gripped your wrists, pulling you closer, kissing you back with something just as shattered.

He gasped against your mouth like he’d forgotten how it felt to need you like this. To be needed. To be wanted.

And when you pulled away, your foreheads pressed together, breaths tangled, he whispered, “Please don’t stop loving me.”

You shook your head, tears slipping freely now.

“I never did,” you whispered. “I just forgot how to show you.”

He gasped for air as he cried into your neck, shoulders shaking with each broken sob. You held him tighter, like your arms could sew the pieces of him back together. Your hands moved instinctively—rubbing slow, smooth circles over his chest, right over his heart. The place he loved you from the most.

Each hiccuped breath he took shattered you a little more.

“My poor baby…” you murmured, your voice barely holding steady, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “So touch deprived, huh?”

He nodded, fast and desperate, like a child needing comfort. Like someone who’d been waiting for this—for you—for too long.

Your hand slid up to cradle his jaw as he clung to you, thumb brushing away the fresh wave of tears. “You don’t have to beg for it anymore,” you whispered. “I’m right here. I’m so sorry I left you starving for me.”

His arms squeezed around you like he didn’t believe you’d stay. Like if he loosened his grip, you’d slip away again.

“You can touch me whenever you want,” you murmured against his temple. “Hold me whenever. Kiss me whenever. You don’t have to ask.”

He looked down at you hopefully, eyes blurred with hazy tears. “So can I kiss you now?” He muttered hopefully.

“You never have to ask me that question again, my jongseong.” Your voice cracked on his name—soft and reverent, whilst his eyes searched yours, still teary, still unsure, like he was waiting for the part where you’d vanish again.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

And you meant it.

And before he could spiral back into silence, you kissed him.

Fierce. Needy. Deep enough to tell him every word you didn’t know how to say. That he was loved. Wanted. Chosen.

He gasped softly against your lips, but this time it wasn’t from pain—it was from the overwhelming feeling of relief. Like your kiss was oxygen, and he was coming back to life for the first time in months.

Your hands threaded into his hair as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, grounding himself in your warmth.

He kissed you back like he was remembering it all—how to hold you, how to crave you, how to feel safe in your love again.

He hummed lowly as you suckled on his tongue, hands bruising into your waist as his length slowly grew hard. You groaned at the feeling, rutting your clothed clit over his bulge.

He broke the kiss simply to moan— a sound so desperate, but certainly long due, as your manicured hands roamed his chest warmly, pulling his shirt off attentively.

He groaned, throwing his head back as he pistoned his hips upwards, moaning softly at the friction after months of being void of it all. “Fuck, my Y/n. I missed you.” He managed between shaky breaths— from pleasure or crying, you’d no clue.

His moans grew louder, just so slightly, and the pool in your panties grew too. You moved against his bulge faster, with growing ache. You forgot how touch deprived you were too, when this distance grew. How you ached for your husband and him only.

With a resolute, high pitched whine, he slumped against the bed frame, a sign that he came already, and you laughed softly, kissing his cheeks softly as you rutted yourself against him just a little faster, a little harder. He fidgeted with overstimulation, but too tired to protest, he merely buried his head in your neck, hands fussing with your pyjama shirt.

With a moan you pathetically released in the simple cloth of your panties, slumping beside him tiredly.

He threw your shirt to the side carelessly, instantaneously burying himself right in the valley of your breasts. He sighed contently, breathing you in as if there were no better place for him to be.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp in the way you knew always made his shoulders loosen. He melted into it without hesitation, arms still looped tight around your waist like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.

You exhaled shakily, your chest rising and falling against his as you pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

His breath hitched—just once—but it wasn’t from sadness anymore. It was from peace.

You stayed like that, forehead resting against his hair, your thumbs brushing slow, grounding circles into his back.

“I missed this,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your collarbone.

You smiled softly, your hand stilling in his hair to cradle the back of his head. “I missed you. All of this. And I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

He nodded into you, his hold relaxing just enough to let you shift, but not enough to let you go.

“Promise?” he whispered.

You simply tilted his head up and kissed him again—light, yet heavy with passion, weighing down with hope.

“Promise.”

oh inlove him how could anyone break his pretty lil heart💔reblogs n likes much appreciated! ty for reading<3

©VAMPZWON

[hyckstarz]

hi ! can I request mean dom!mark lee with crybaby!reader ?? thankyou so so much <3

i had to take a breather every five seconds of writing this... this request unlocked something in me

fxck your ex! | l.mk

pairing. mean dom!mark lee x afab crybaby!reader

word count. 2.4k

genre. smut

synopsis. mark was sick of it. sick of hearing her go on and on about her boyfriend whose cheating was a sign their short relationship was being thrown to the dogs. he couldn't count the number of times she'd show up at his door in the late hours of the night, crying about a man he could give a damn about. Fuck being a best friend, and fuck your boyfriend as I make his ass your ex.

warnings. 18+ minors do not interact, dubcon! oral (m. and f. receiving), use of pet name/praise (baby, good girl, sweetheart, princess), degrading language (whore, slut), choking, rough handling, mention of anal play/licking, cheating, best friends. At this rate, everything is here 💀

A/N: this is probably the smuttiest fic I've written so far, but God was this fun to write. Mean Mark >>>>

Mark hated it. Hated how she went on and on about that fucking asshole. His sunken eye bags weighed heavy under his eyes as he bore holes into the flower pot, her sobs extra loud in his ears from the grogginess of being pulled out of his comfortable slumber. He then glanced at his phone. 3 AM. She came over to his place at ass o'clock in the morning to rant about her boyfriend, Jaehyun, again. His fingers and toes combined weren't enough to count the number of times she'd done this in the past three months.

"I do so much for him and he still goes out to meet that bitch!" She cries into her hands, "Now he's at that party doing God knows what with her."

Mark rubs his temples in frustration. He really tries. Really tries to be a good best friend for her, always lending an ear and shoulder, maybe he'd even consider chopping off those limbs to give to her in hopes of finally getting a good nights rest. But how much did he need to give away when she still goes crawling back to a cheater who couldn't give a damn.

He squints at her, trying to focus his blurry vision at her trembling form. His jaw hardens. Just a few months ago, he'd be a worried, nervous wreck at seeing her cry. Though now, he felt nothing but annoyance, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he mocked her stupidity in his head. But God was it hard to separate whether the frustration was at her dumping her problems on him, or at how sexually frustrated she made him. He couldn't help but sneak a glance at the tantalising strip of her thighs in those shorts, even as his jaw was clenched tight.

"I really love him... I love him so much, why can't he see that?" She choked out another sob, tears staining her skin.

Mark had reached a boiling point. It's like something that held his sanity and kindness snapped. Any ounce of respect he had for her had shattered, replaced by an all-consuming jealous rage.

His hand grabs at her wrist, tearing the palm that covered her face away, "What did you say?" His voice was quiet yet stern, husky from the lack of sleep.

She sniffled, meeting his hard gaze which made her breath catch in her throat, "I... love him."

Her soft eyes did nothing to calm the fire that raged in his chest. How could a sweet girl like her fall in love with that cheating, fucking asshole in a span of three months? Especially when Mark had always been there for her, through thick and thin, even now when she pulled him out of his sleep, selfishly, to talk about her own problems. He felt pathetic. In a way, he was just as pathetic as she was.

Mark sucks in a sharp breath, his fingers tightening on her arm which causes her to wince as he leaves red prints along her smooth skin, "M-Mark, you're hurting me-"

"Shut the fuck up," he snapped, yanking her towards him, "I'm tired of your fucking bullshit. If he's such an asshole, break up with him!"

Y/N stumbles over her words, lips opening and closing like a clueless fish at Mark's uncharacteristic outburst, "I- I can't."

Mark scoffs, pushing her back onto the couch as he clamoured on top of her, gripping at her plush thighs that seemed to mold to his touch as she scrambled in surprise, "Why can't you? Does he blackmail you? Did he save your life and you feel like you owe him? What bullshit excuse will you give me this fucking time?"

She's breathing heavily, her tears now dried on her skin as she keeps her eyes on him, "Mark... what are you doing?"

He couldn't play nice when she looked so pretty like this. Mascara running down her pink cheeks, lashes wet and eyes soft as her glossy lips puckered in confusion.

Mark chuckles in disbelief, shaking his head, "Why don't we give that son of a bitch a taste of his own medicine? Maybe then you'd shut those pretty little lips up about another man I could give less of a shit about."

She gasps, pushing at his chest, "W-what? You're crazy!"

Mark laughs, gently threading his fingers through her long hair, "We're both crazy, baby. At least I have a thing called pride."

Y/N swallows thickly, peering up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Mark's fingers brush under the hem of her shorts, his nose nudging the crook of her neck, "Maybe I could fuck a little thing like pride into you... give you another thing to cry about."

In a second, he pins her wrists above her head, trapping her hips between his knees as he pulls back to meet her nervous gaze. She bites her lip, contemplating. She can't believe she's actually considering what her best friend was offering. She thinks back to her earlier argument with Jaehyun and, fuck, would it feel good to get back at him for once.

Even just thinking about her boyfriend has a fresh set of tears glazing over her eyes, "I-"

Mark's voice cuts through hers, "Don't expect me to play nice though, I've been a carpet you've walked all over long enough," he smirks cockily at her hesitation, leaning in to whisper hoarsely in her ear, "Think about it, baby... Think about your precious boyfriend pounding into that slutty chick of his. I mean... he clearly isn't fucking you right now. Couldn't blame him when you whine like a little bitch."

Y/N sobs harder, burying her damp cheeks into the crook of his neck, "O-okay! Just stop... stop talking about him."

Mark grips at her cheeks, forcing her mouth open as he looks down at her with mockery, "Don't wanna face reality, princess? Fine."

His lips meet hers, molding against her soft, tear-stained ones that remained parted from his tight grasp. Her muffled sounds died in his mouth, his tongue swiping at the seam of her lips as it swirled with hers. He could taste the saltiness of her tears mixed with the vanilla flavoured gloss. When he pulled back, she was breathless, eyes blown wide. He loved the way her swollen, slick lips looked - a pretty pink that matched her flushed cheeks.

"You're an asshole," she pouted, her voice a broken whine despite the way she unashamedly rubbed her thighs together.

"Seems like you have a thing for assholes, baby. Admit it, you want to be ruined like a little slut. Who knew the crybaby was so filthy?" Mark pressed his knee between her legs. It was rough and it mixed pleasure with pain that had her gasping.

Y/N let out a choked moan, head nestling back into the cushions as he dragged his knee up and down her clothed clit. She hated that she was enjoying this. She was no better than Jaehyun. Sure, she had thoughts about her attractive best friend before, but he was never really her type. Until now.

"I don't have a thing for assholes," she sent him a glare despite lying through her teeth, "And I'm not a slut."

Mark stares at her for a moment before he lets out an amused laugh, "You're cute, but you're also dead wrong, baby."

He tugs his sweats down, pulling out his throbbing dick as he swirls his tip over her lips, coating them with his precum to wear like lip gloss. She let's out a muffled whimper, eyes pleading. He only scoffs in response, "I'll show you how slutty you really are, and you'll take it like a good girl, won't you?"

Her pussy clenches around nothing at that and Mark wastes no time in lifting her head up from the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. His other hand grabs her cheeks, forcing her mouth open as he stuffs his dick past her lips, stretching her out. She sobs again, fingers digging into his hips as she let's him manhandle her, rutting his dick into her mouth like a fleshlight.

Y/N's moans, whimpers and sobs get lost on his dick. But what really gets her off is how vocal Mark is. His groans and breathy gasps urges her to take more of him, gagging as his tip occasionally hits the back of her throat. Her eyes flick up to see him staring back at her through half-lidded eyes, fucking her into the couch. She'd never given head like this before - sprawled out underneath with her head in his hands to relinquish all control to him.

"Should take a photo of you like this," Mark's thumb tugs her chin up, "send it to that shit-faced ex of yours... let him see what he missed out on."

Mark pulls back and she whines at the loss of her mouth being filled up, "He's not my ex."

He snorts in response, "He will be once I'm done with you."

She swallows thickly, suddenly feeling nervous. Mark had always been the sweet, gentle and respectful best friend. Predictable and safe. But this was a side she never knew existed, especially as he was private about his sex life.

Mark flips her over, letting her chest press against the armrest of the couch. But her words cut through his thoughts, "I'm not breaking up with him, ever."

At that, Mark let's out a bitter laugh, and smacks her ass, hard. The sound is sharp and leaves a tingling sensation behind that causes her to wince, "You will."

At her no, he smacks her again, rubbing the sting with his kneading hands, "You're pathetic."

Without wasting anymore time, he'd tugs her shorts down. His fingers rub along her slit and, with his teeth, he bites at the waistband of her underwear, letting it pull down to her thighs. For years, he had been fantasising about his best friend, even beating himself up about it from the shame. But seeing her bare before him, has him swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing at the sight. His imagination could never do her justice, she was gorgeous.

Mark leans in, dragging his tongue over her asshole, circling and teasing the puckered flesh. He spits on it, watching it glisten obscenely, tilting his head as he kisses and nips at the soft flesh of her ass. She'd never felt so embarrassed, writhing under him. But the only thought that came to mind was how Jaehyun would never.

Mark's fingers probe at the entrance of her pussy, coating the slender digits with her slick before pushing inside; scissoring and curling his fingers inside of her. He groaned at how the tight, wet heat gripped him like a vice, pulsing around his fingers. His other hand tugged her hair back, leaning in to kiss her, licking into her mouth that has her moaning.

Mark nips at her bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood and make her wince. He licks at it, cooling the burn before he tugs her hair back harder, peppering sloppy kisses from her jaw down to her collarbone.

She rocks her hips back against his fingers, and Mark can't help but to smirk against her neck, "Desperate already?"

Maybe Mark was right, she didn't have pride and she was as slutty as they came. She nods eagerly, "Please, need you..."

Mark bit on her earlobe, whispering, "Gotta do better than that, sweetheart." His fingers stilled in her, hand pressed to her lower back to keep her from moving.

"I need you, Mark. Please," she begged.

But that wasnt enough, not even close, "Need me to what?"

Her lip quivered, feeling herself losing every inch of her sanity, "Need you to fuck me."

Mark stroked himself, his restraint was slowly slipping too, but he couldnt give her what she wanted just yet, "only if you promise to leave that son of a bitch," he spoke through gritted teeth.

Y/N bit on her bottom lip, pondering, "I will. I'll break up with him. So, please."

Mark scoffs. It didn't take long for her to give in, but he was grateful. Not wanting to waste another second, he pushes into her, hard and fast, not giving her time to adjust. She gasps out loud, clutching onto the armrest with desperation, "fuck! M-Mark-"

He ruts into her, blocking out her cries, "Like I said, you'll take what I give you like the good girl you are. Or do you prefer to be called a whore now that you're sleeping around?"

She whimpers, tears slipping down her cheeks, "Both... I wanna be called both."

Marks hands grab at her hips tightly, pulling her against him, "Knew you were nothing but a whore. Bet you were hoping for this... you were trying to piss me off by showing up at my place every night, huh?"

She shakes her head, clenching around him, "No! No, I wasn't."

His hand slithers under her, rubbing rough and quick circles on her clit, causing her to writhe beneath him, "You wanted me to fuck the outline of your body into my couch. Wanted someone who'd fuck you better than that asshole."

He pulls the length of his cock out of her before slamming back in. Her toes curl and she feels her body growing weaker, her release approaching. Her thoughts were cloudy, drool and tears staining her skin. Each thrust of his hips had her let out choked moans.

"No one is better for you than I am. Not Jaehyun, not even your own fingers. Just me. Only me," he growls, and she swears it was the sexiest sound that ever came out of any man.

"Y-yeah... only you... only you, Mark," she cried, arching her back against him.

"You're mine. All mine. Say it... say it for me, princess," his voice is suddenly soft and breathy. The gentleness returning, as if he really meant it.

Y/N nods, gasping, "I'm yours," she shuddered, her release washing over her as Mark never slowed his pace. She could feel him twitching as he helped her through her release, his own following as he pulled out and came all over her back.

She whined, "Wanted you to cum in me."

Mark chuckled, panting as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her lithe body into his chest, kissing down her neck and shoulder, "Next time, pretty. I'll save that for when you block that bastards number and make you mine for real."

(I promise my next post will be a Haechan fic)

© hyckstarz

[tojisteddy]

i was thinking about

meanie!simon, daddy!kink (the most icky as possible, please, its a need !!) + piss!kink

am i weird ? 😞

cw: 18+ mdni, dead dove, smut, daddy kink (it’s icky), piss!kink, meanie!simon, kinda dd!lg.

a/n: I don’t usually write piss!kink (and I probably won’t in the future) but I will for you baby <33, you’re not weird!! lol this was fun to write.

There are a lot of things in this world that Simon hates.

First being, your shitty apartment. It’s too fucking small (his baby needs space instead of this stupid studio), and he’s hitting his head on something, the hot water only works after five minutes, the neighbors above you are too fuckin loud, and your refrigerator always breaks once a month and the repair man won’t come so who has to get down there, and fix whatever fucking broke the last time?

Simon, of course.

Why you were still living there? Simon doesn’t fucking know. But instead of bein at his place, fuckin you into the mattress like he usually does for your afternoon nap, you’re both in this cramped flat—

Resulting in the second thing he hated: you’re need to hide your moans. It was so bad when you first got together, he had to teach you out of the bad habit, your ex— the son of a bitch— didn’t like you loud and dumb when he fucked you.

Fucking stupid cunt.

But every time you were back in this damned flat, you’d revert. The walls are basically dry wall and you so desperately wanted your neighbors to like you since they’d been nice. Simon could give less of a fuck about what other people think, so he’s holding your wrists as he rams into your tight pussy, your pretty tits moving in perfect motion with every thrust, and you tried to bite your moan but Simons slapping your thigh.

“Let it out or you won’t cum.”

Simon presses into you, thrusting deeper, harsher, the sound of his balls against your sopping cunt— so damn lewd, you can’t help but let out a moan that hits all four of the walls of your apartment beautifully. Easy to correct, Simon praises you, shuddering when you pulse around him, mumbling a ‘good fucking girl’

Third: all those things bundled together, the thing to put the chairs on top to all the ridiculous shit— you looking up at with with those big, pretty, and stupid brown eyes, lashes fluttering, through a moan— “Pa, I-I have to pee.”

He ignored you the first time the words slip out your lips, fucks you right through your first orgasm but youre crawling up the sheets of your bed, “Hold it.”

“I can’t!” You keen, you wither around in the bed, half of Simons cock still sitting in you, your mixed cum dripping onto the sheets.

Simon groans, pulling out fully and throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Slapping your ass harshly, one for every word, “You’re so. God. damn. annoying.”

“You’re god damn annoying.” You retort, slapping at his back. You don’t even realize he’s taken you to the bathroom. Siting you on the toilet and kicking your feet open. You try to squeeze your legs shut but Simon bends down this time, prying your legs open, looking right at your folds, “Go.” 

“Get out Simon.”

“No.”

“I don’t want you to watch!” You whine, shaking your head.

“Can’t always get what we want, can we swee’art?” He breaths through his nose, pressing on your abdomen, unflinching as your scratch at him.

“But Daddy!—“

Simon snatches your jaw in his hands tight, tilting your head down to look at him, “fuckin go.”

You feel the damn break within your abdomen, pee trickling down into the toilet. Your eyes well up with tears full of embarrassment. Incoherent babbles leaving you.

“See, wasn’t that hard, was it?” He has the damned smirk on his face. Simon chuckles, wiping you down with toilet paper, flushing and standing you up so you can both wash your hands. You’re a sobbing mess, stomping your feet and pouting while he’s still right behind you.

“You’re g-gross.”

“Sure am.”

“Daddy you shouldn’t— hicc- daddy’s shouldn’t d-do that.”

“What’d I say about comparing me to other men?”

Simon loved to see you in such a belligerent state, tears glistening those pretty cheeks, his sweet baby. He would be the only one who’d ever see you like this.

He’s plops you back on the bed, grabbing one of your stuffed animals and putting it in your arms. You’re a clutch onto it in both arms, bottom lip sticking out in a pout. gorgeous thing.

“Gonna fuck you nice ‘nd good, then you’re gonna shut up and sleep, alright?”

You sniff, “Yes, sir.”

most recent masterlist more meanie!simon

[kxsagi]

hihii could i request smth academic rivals pretty pls 😋🙏 w any character u think would fit, u write all of them so well!! 💗

“𝐮 𝐮𝐩? (𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬… 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐡 𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬)”

a/n: thank you!!! i decided to turn them into multi-character headcanons lol

also isn’t reo like… the only canonically smart academic student out of all of the blue lock boys or am i missing someone

(i don't know art credits sorry)

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, mikage reo, chigiri hyoma, bachira meguru, itoshi sae

isagi yoichi

you’re always one mark ahead of him, and it kills him. 

stays up rewatching the lecture recordings at 1.5x speed just to prove a point. 

always “accidentally” sits next to you in study groups so he can “check your notes for comparison” (aka secretly tries to figure out how the hell you understood that derivation so easily). 

keeps it respectful, but once he beats your score? he turns and gives you the smuggest little smile. 

“guess i’m top of the class this time, huh?” 

his ears go pink when you glare back at him. he lives for it. 

itoshi rin

hates how your handwriting is always neat and your answers are always right. 

claims he doesn’t care, but if you do even slightly better than him, he studies twice as hard the next week. 

his pride gets bruised every time the professor compliments you. 

“your essay lacked proper citation structure.” 

oh? okay rin. yours lacked a heart. 

he doesn’t admit he likes the tension between you two until you start arguing about shakespeare in front of the whole class. 

it’s not a love confession, but the moment he actually agrees with your interpretation? that’s the closest he’ll get. 

nagi seishiro

couldn’t care less until you started mocking him for sleeping through class. 

now he’s determined to beat you out of sheer spite. 

“ugh… guess i gotta actually open the textbook now.” 

still acts lazy, but secretly studies at night just to come back and say “look, i got a 98. that’s higher than yours, right?” 

teases you by stretching and yawning right after acing a quiz. 

lowkey enjoys the way you huff and accuse him of guessing (he didn’t. he crammed). 

you catch him writing your initials in the margins of his notes one day and he plays it off like he’s doodling. 

kaiser michael

academic rivalry? no. it’s academic war. 

“you breathe like someone who gets second place.” 

calls you “valedictorian” like it’s an insult. 

raises his hand just to challenge everything you say. 

will literally hold a grudge if you score higher than him on a test. 

once snatched your paper off the stack and announced your grade out loud in front of everyone. 

but also corners you after class like “how do you study? seriously.” 

starts showing up to the library when you’re there. not to study. just to sit across from you and smirk every time you sigh. 

mikage reo

flirts while competing. 

“wow, you’re smart and cute. must be hard carrying the class on your back.” 

you roll your eyes, but he keeps track of your test scores like it’s a stock market. 

buys the same books as you just so he can “study together.” 

makes friendly wagers like “if i beat your score, you owe me coffee” (you always end up going anyway). 

secretly highlights your notes in matching colors to his. 

if you beat him, he throws his head back and dramatically sighs like “fine, i’ll accept defeat. but only if you tutor me... over dinner.” 

chigiri hyoma

quiet competitiveness with sharp precision. 

always acts unbothered, but you see him clench his jaw when he sees your name above his. 

his handwriting is beautiful. his notes are elite. you secretly borrow them. 

hates group projects but will tolerate them if you’re in his group. 

the kind of person who finishes the exam first just to shake you a little. 

starts leaving anonymous sticky notes in your locker with corrections to your essays. 

one day you call him out, and he shrugs and says, “didn’t want you to lose to me because of grammar.” 

bachira meguru

the chaotic academic rival. 

always somehow scores as high as you despite turning in assignments with doodles and half the word count. 

“you think too hard, that’s why i beat you.” 

constantly pokes you in class and whispers answers before the teacher calls on you. 

always calls you “my rival” in a dramatic voice. 

brags about beating you by 0.5 points like it’s a gold medal. 

but gets really quiet and pouty when you beat him, just sulks with his head on the desk. 

you give him candy as a peace offering and he’s instantly back to grinning. 

itoshi sae

the worst kind of academic rival because he’s effortlessly brilliant. 

doesn’t even care about class ranking, but still manages to beat you every time. 

you’re grinding late at night, red-eyed and over-caffeinated, and he’s over there casually reading the material once and acing the test. 

“you’re studying again? that’s cute.” 

always acts like he forgot there was an exam, then gets the highest score. 

you confront him about it and he just tilts his head, “maybe you’re just not that smart.” 

(he’s bluffing. he notices every time you beat him by even a fraction of a point, and it pisses him off more than he lets on.) 

once handed your paper back to you in class with a smirk and said “you missed question 6” even though you definitely got it right. 

the kind of rival who looks at you across the room during test return like it’s a silent challenge. 

one day you stay late to study and he’s there too, already in the back, headphones in, flipping through notes. 

neither of you say a word… but you both stay until closing time. 

you catch him glancing at your notes. he catches you glancing at him. 

“don’t fall in love with me just because i’m smarter than you.” 

you throw an eraser at his head. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[wosospacegirl]

I love Stuck with You. Could you write more headcanons for Kika and reader, please? Love your writing

a/n: playing around and experimenting with writing in simple present. Also, this is a scheduled post. It's my first time doing it, I don't know if it's gonna work, but if it does, I'm probably studying.

..

On the bus

- Kika loves sitting with the younger girls on the way to games–playing stupid games, filming TikToks, being loud and messy and chaotic. It might not seem likely, because she’s so shy, but she lives for it.

- Y/n, on the other hand…hates it! She wants to be locked in, focused, not surrounded by teenagers doing TikTok dances, even if, yeah, most girls were over twenty years old.

- So they compromise. 

- Kika always saves Y/N a seat just in case she decides to sit with the chaos with them–even if she knows Y/N will pretend to be annoyed about it. 

- The girls tease them relentlessly when Y/N slumps into the seat next to Kika, like, “Don’t make a big deal out of this.” A frown on her face, as always.

- When Y/N sits in her usual quiet spot, Kika will sometimes sneak back there mid-ride with a snack from the back of the bus, holding to the seat so she won’t fall from the movement. 

- No words, just hands her something and curls up next to her like it’s the most normal thing.

- Kika can easily show affection, something that Y/n struggles with a lot.

- Y/N’s phone is full of videos she didn’t know Kika was filming–her trying not to smile, blinking through glitter filter selfies, or rolling her eyes at the girls while clearly not hating it.

- One time, Y/N snapped and told the girls to shut up, that they were being way too loud, and Kika made a little fake sad face at her from across the aisle. 

- Y/N immediately caved and mumbled, “Not you, you're fine.”

- On long rides, Kika traces shapes on Y/N’s thigh while they listen to music. Y/N pretends it’s annoying but never tells her to stop.

- Sometimes Y/n sits in the chaos, reluctantly filming a TikTok with a permanent frown on her face. 

- Other times, Kika sits beside her and rests her head on Y/n’s shoulder. They share one earbud in silence. They compromise! 

- The team once tried to assign bus seats randomly, and Y/N deadpan said, “No.” Just that. One word. They didn’t try it again.

- Y/n has her spot away from the chaos–Jana, Vicky, Salma and Kika– and she loves it

Clothes

- Kika steals Y/n’s hoodies all. the. time.

- Kika’s go-to excuse is always “I forgot I was wearing it!” As if Y/N’s giant Barca hoodie somehow accidentally ends up in her overnight bag every single time.

-  One cold day, she shows up at Y/n’s place looking for one and realises the closet is empty.

- She’s like, “Where are all your hoodies?”

- And Y/n, dead serious, goes, “Babes… they’re all at your house.”

- Kika immediately feels so guilty–she left her girl without a single hoodie in the middle of Spanish winter. 

- Y/N starts taking inventory. She’ll walk into Kika’s place, open her closet, and be like, “One, two, three–are you serious, this one’s from preseason.”

- One time, Kika came to training wearing one of Y/N’s hoodies that still smelled like her, and the other girls wouldn’t stop teasing her for it. Kika was red for hours.

- Y/N pretends she’s annoyed, but the second Kika curls up next to her wearing one, she just kind of melts. Her internal monologue is filled with–disgusting–love.

- “She’s so small. and warm. In my clothes. This is not sustainable. I will die of love.”

- Eventually, Kika starts wearing Y/N’s old team-issued hoodie at post-match interviews. 

- Y/N sees a photo on Twitter and just stares at it like she’s been personally attacked.

- She liked it, thought, seeing her name on Kika’s back.

..

Feedback is very very much appreciated and needed!!

Masterlist here

[r3starttt]

waitg .... cait having you suck off her rifle when shes having a grumpy day . Hey.Whats up

Definitely ♡

Imagine her with her dark blue uniform. Blouse a bit messy, half open. You can glance at what's beneath, hardened nipples and a heavy chest.

She won't say it out loud, but the effect she's having on you is mutual. And in any other circumstance, she would be whining on your neck.

She's got you on your knees. Legs and arms tied enough for you to move and hurt, but not too much.

You're almost completely naked, just a pair of lacy underwear– way too thin for her liking. "You wanted this didn't you?" She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. The right amount to reveal more of her breasts to you.

You could feel her soft blue strands of hair brushing your face from above. A hateful look on her face.

"You think you're smarter than me." Her tone a mix of fake curiosity and pity. "You're not."

You only nodded, looking at her through your lashes as you felt the edge of her cold, thick boot slide between your legs.

"Don't waste my time, love." Her nails digged into the soft of your neck. Fingers tightening enough to leave you breathless the second you started to grind your hips against her shoe.

She looked proud. Having you like this, on your knees and so whiling. It was all she wanted, all she needed. Her pretty girl– her favorite girl, desperate to use and be used.

Caitlyn waited. She was calculated, so precise, and always in control. You would never be an exception, not even when the one dripping wet was her.

She observed how your brows tightened in a weak curvature right above your nose. How your lips quivered open each time the edge of her boot touched your clit. She clenched her jaw at the obscene sounds you let out. How you eventually started to call for her name. And only there she let go of your neck, allowing you to breathe once again. It was brief, of course. No punishment of hers would last this little.

You saw and heard how she tilted back. How the chair of her office matched the loud of your wet folds. How she took the perfectly displayed rifle from her office and pointed at you. It wasn't new, but each time it caught you off guard.

"You never learn, do you?" Her mockery was almost as if disappointed, a fake pout similar to disgust at the sight of you. But you knew better than to believe this. She couldn't hate you, not really.

If she did, you're sure she would've never allowed you on her office nor her room.

Caitlyn was always so tidy, so controlling. You knew everything about her was a privilege.

"Open." She commanded like she had been waiting for hours. And you locked your gaze before doing what she asked. A bit of saliva connecting your lips before the cold entered your tongue.

It seemed to soothe a pain in her, a discomfort.

"Good girl."

You kept on grinding against her boot. It's sharpness fitting you just fine. At one point, in a silent act of gratitude, she allowed her boot to provide friction, too.

Her hand pushed the rifle deeper inside your mouth, admiring the sight. Admiring the sounds.

Your whines turning into moans, your stomach tightening each time you got too overstimulating and too close to cumming. Your mouth fighting to follow the depth, the saliva dripping down your chin and into your chest.

"You wanna cum?" It was almost sweet how she spoke. You nodded eagerly, hoping and praying she would feel bad and let you have it at least once tonight.

Her hands adjusted the rifle between her legs as she mocked a manspread. "Work for it... I know you can."

TAGLIST: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @patronagrona @halle5s @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight @nosferatuv @Sss @V1ntagecl0wn @etar @imfckingfantastic

[minorlyatfault]

⪩ ⪨ I'M YOUR MAN, I'M YOUR WOMAN, I'M YOUR GODDESS, I'M YOUR FOOL !

ᰔ PAIRING . . . jason peter todd !

ᰔ . . . j. todd with a silena beauregard coded! reader !

ᰔ CATEGORY . . . HEADCANONS !

ᰔ TAGS . . . silena beauregard coded!reader. romance novels on the nightstand, knives under the bed. he rolls his eyes but never misses a chapter. target dates turned emotional revelations. “i’m bad for you” type shyt & she just laughs. nail polish & tiny hearts. he reads lynn painter books & pretends not to care. protective bf but make it silent acts of love. love letters disguised as sarcasm. moral ambiguity meets pink pens & scented candles. he flinches at love but stays anyway. jason todd is confused but in loooovveee. emotional whiplash via boyfriend. mentions of trauma (lightly). softness so intense it may make him feral. you being dangerously lovable.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 NOTES !

001. reader is not a demigod !! she only has silena beauregard's personality traits !! so,, this is basically how i imagine silena if she wasn't a demigod.

002. mwamwa i love u j. todd

you guys met on a bookstore.

yeah, that overused one. not very original. but,,, it's jason.

he was brooding over the thriller section & you were in the romance section holding "better than the movies" & giggling.

he glared. you caught him. smiled. & said:

"are you judging me, batboy?"

wow.

you called him batboy before you knew who he was.

because he had the jawline. the hoodie. the eternal scowl. he looked like he lived off coffee & guilt. LIKE URGHHHHHHHHHHH

you were pink. he was pain. it was inevitable.

jason was like, "who the hell is this girl & why is she sparkly & loud & giving me heart palpitations."

& then he saw how your smile disappeared when people dismissed you.

how you gave so much love even when you were tired.

& he was like. oh no.

you took the initiative. naturally.

jason is the kind of guy who'll pine for six months before he'll ask someone out.

so you snuck your number into his book when he wasn't looking.

it was in purple ink with a heart over the i in your name < 33

he texted you two days later. about time.

"so, you gonna keep stalking me in the romance aisle or are you gonna let me buy you coffee?"

you thought he hated romance.

plot twist: he doesn't.

he pretends he does, but then he read the do-over in one sitting & texted you angrily at 3am like

"i didn't expect to CARE about these people, wtf."

he never stops you from discussing your books.

like. you'll yap for a half hour about the boy next door troupe & jason just drinks his drink, nods, & maybe every once in a while says

"he sounds like a loser. i'd never take so long to kiss you."

he's talking about wes bennett btw lol

god forbid the boy to read nothing like the movies

you paint his nails.

sometimes black. sometimes glittery pink.

once you put alternating hearts & teeny knives.

he got upset. didn't remove it for a week.

you put together a "boyfriend basket."

with treats, a hoodie you spritzed with perfume, a mini version of betting on you, & a "reasons i love you" list.

he took it home like it was a grenade.

he has your lip gloss on.

not on accident.

you kiss him so much he just ends up with glitter on his mouth.

you're always laughing & brushing it off. (he lowkey doesn't like you to.)

you sob during movies. & jason panics every single time.

he's like

"do i kill someone?

do i get tissues?

do you need chocolate?"

& you're like

"no i'm just emotionally invested in this fictional couple."

he doesn't understand but he hugs you anyway.(he's very stiff though, he's adjusting !!)

you go to target solely to vibe.

jason rolls the cart.

you toss in candles & bath bombs & glitter pens.

he pretends to sigh but secretly adoresssssss every moment of it.

you do vision boards !!

yours has pink sunsets, flowers, love quotes.

jason's has like… knives & motorcycle pieces.

but you got him to put one soft picture on it.

it's a fuzzy polaroid of you. you !!

he keeps it stuck to his helmet now.

you rant.

jason listens.

doesn't always respond immediately.

but hours later he'll return & say something like,,,

"you make me feel like i'm not broken."

& then just walk away like he didn't just devastate you emotionally. LIKE??? cruel man.

you're the first human being to ever make him feel safe. ( esp,, after,,, yk. )

like, he comes into your apartment & suddenly his shoulders relax, his breathing eases, & he's like, "this is home." not a place. you.

you make him playlists.

one for each mood.

"kiss me slow," "bad day vibes (hug edition),"

he listens to them on patrol.

every time.

you get him ready for date nights.

"jason. seriously. no more black everything."

he'll wear the shirt you've selected & complain through the entire process.

but you see him glance at himself in the mirror. just slightly.

he doesn't tell you "i love you" first. he tells him

"don't die"

&

"text me when you get in"

&

"i got that stupid tea you like."

& finally,,,,,

"i don't know how to do this. but i'm trying. because it's you."

:((((

you're all he didn't realize he was missing.

quiet. loud. gentle. shiny.

you have your heart like a crown & kiss his scars like verse.

& somehow▰somehow▰you make him feel like perhaps he's worthy of it. ( he is. )

[llamaqueenprompt]

Red Flags and Blushes . Part I

Characters: Max Verstappen, Reader

Not Requested

Word Count: 0.6k

Inspiration: "Are you Blushing?"

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

❁ Find out who I write for HERE

❁ Go to my Masterlist HERE

❁ See the requests guidelines HERE

❁ Send me a request HERE

The Red Bull garage buzzed around them - mechanics shouting, tires screeching, radios crackling - but Y/n barely heard any of it.

She was too busy trying not to look at Max Verstappen… Or worse - remember.

It had been three weeks since that night in Monaco. One mistake, one brutal, earth-shattering night.

She’d woken up tangled in his sheets, his arm slung lazily over her waist, the early morning light cutting across his face. And for one stupid second, she’d thought about staying.

But she hadn’t. She couldn’t.

“That can’t happen again.” she’d whispered, still half-dressed, still drunk on him.

Max hadn’t argued. He’d just given her a slow, unreadable smile and said. “If you say so.”

Now he stood a few feet away, the top half of his race suit tied around his wais, undershirt clinging to every inch of muscle, hair messy from the helmet. He look unfairly good - and judging by the smug curve of his mouth, he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

Y/n pretended to study the laptop screen in fron of her, scrolling through telemetry data she wasn’t even processing. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

Professional. She needed to be professional.

“You’re really bad at pretending,” Max’s voice cut through the air, low and amused.

She froze.

Slowly, she looked up - and he was right there. Leaning against the table next to her, arms crossed, eyes glinting with amusement. His presence felt loud somehow, even though he wasn’t doing anything but standing there.

“Excuse me?” she said coolly.

Max’s smile widened just a fraction, like he was enjoying a private joke. “Pretending you’re not staing.”

“I wasn’t.”

Lying. Horrible, obvious lying.

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice just for her. “You always were a terrible liar.”

Y/n’s cheeks flamed. She hated how her body betrayed her - how just the sound of his voice, low and teasing, could unravel her so easily.

“You’re imagining things,” she said, turning back to the laptop.

Max chuckled, low and rough, a sound that scraped deliciously down her spine.

“Am I?”

He pushed off the table and moved closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him. Close enough that old, dangerous memories flickered to life: the scrape of his stubble against her skin, the ways he’d murmured her name against her throat.

“You’re blushing,” he said softly, sounding almost pleased.

Y/n gritted her teeth. “No, I’m not.”

Max crocked his head, studying her like he already knew the answer. Like he knew everything.

Then, voice dropping to a whisper, he said, “Are you blushing, Y/n?”

She closed her eyes for half a second, just to steel herself. Because the way he said her name - low and rough and intimate - was unfair.

She forced a smirk onto her face and turned to face him. “Even if I was,” she said coolly, “it wouldn’t be because of you.”

Max’s smile turned downright dangerous.

He stepped in closer, his hand almost brushing hers where it rested on the table. Her breath hitched.

“You sure about that?” he murmured.

Y/n’s heart was hammering against her ribs. This was exctly why she’d told him no more.

Because Max didn’t just get under your skin - he stayed there, burrowed deep and permanent.

And the worst part? He knew it.

“Max,” she said, her voice low and warning.

He straightened a little, but the smirk never left his face. He stepped back, like he was doing her a favor, like he knew exactly how close she was to snapping.

“Relax,” he said, throwing her a wink over his shoulder as he walked away. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinking we like each other.”

Y/n stood frozen, heart pounding, handa tembling slightly.

God, he was insufferable.

And damn it, she was blushing.

[ninisdollie]

diet pepsi - nishimura riki 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

"In which reader films a hot, sexy music video with the world’s favorite supermodel, but the tension between them is so palpable that it ends up exploding"

content: +18MDNI fem! reader x ni-ki, popstar x supermodel, usage of both riki and ni-ki, drinking (wine), sexual tension, explicit sex, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, riding, unprotected sex.

i love addison rae and i love diet pepsi so this was slightly inspired by it.

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblogs are appreciated!! <3

There was something about the air of a freshly built set, the warm lights already buzzing overhead, and the distant rustle of crew members preparing for chaos, that made your heart race every single time.

You stepped onto the soundstage in platform heels and a silk robe, a Diet Pepsi can in hand (prop or not, you actually liked the taste). The soft curve of a smile found your lips as you took in the glossy tiled floor, the velvet chaise, the retro signs glowing like neon halos. The whole set screamed glamour. Over-the-top. Effortlessly iconic.

Very you.

At your age, you were pop music’s favorite contradiction. Sweet as sugar off-stage, barefoot in studios, always bringing snacks to rehearsals, thanking every crew member like it was second nature. But the moment a camera turned on, something inside you clicked. Your voice dropped, your stare sharpened, and your body moved like it was fluent in seduction.

Soft. Wildhearted. But when it was go time? You locked in.

That’s how you made it here, headlining your own tour, pulling millions of views in a matter of hours, and now, filming the summer's most anticipated music video.

And it was exactly how you pictured it.

Every shot, every frame, it started in your head. You’d pitched the concept to your label yourself. You wanted soft-focus lights and a sultry track that felt like summer sweat and silk sheets. You wanted that old-Hollywood-meets-modern-muse vibe. You even storyboarded scenes on your iPad at 3 a.m, manicured fingers swiping through reference photos and aesthetic inspo like your life depended on it.

Because in some ways, it did.

This wasn’t just another video. This was you, your vision, your control, your era. You fought for this.

What you didn’t fight for was Riki Nishimura.

That part was your manager’s idea. “Trust me,” he’d said. “The chemistry will be insane. He’s got the look. The mystery. The fanbase.”

You knew who Riki was before the meeting even ended. Everyone did. He was fashion’s crown jewel, elusive, unreadable, and unfairly beautiful. The kind of guy who didn’t chase cameras; they chased him. Long, tall body, not so muscular but somehow ripped, gorgeous face decorated with moles, plump, thick lips that glistened in every shot, and a perfect, almost jaw dropping smile.

You hadn’t worked with him before. But you’d seen him. On runways, in perfume ads, in magazine spreads where his gaze practically peeled skin. He had that thing, the kind that couldn’t be taught.

Still, when they told you he’d agreed to do the video, your first thought wasn’t excitement.

It was wariness.

Because something about him felt dangerous. Not in the way guys tried to be dangerous, loud, flashy, fake, but in the quiet way. The way that creeps under your skin and settles there. The kind of danger you don’t notice until it’s too late and he’s already in your bloodstream.

You handed off your empty can and settled into the glam chair, locking eyes with yourself in the mirror.

Eyes sharp. Lips glossy. Pulse steady… enough.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

Riki arrived on set like he always did, silent, sharp, unbothered.

He didn’t need to announce himself. People just knew when he entered a room. Maybe it was the height, or the face, or the way he moved like time bent around him. Smooth, slow, unrushed, like he was already in the center of the frame.

The stylists barely looked up as he passed by, just nodded, eyes wide, like they were seeing a deity in the flesh. He was used to that by now. The stares, the whispering, the cameras pretending not to follow his every breath.

Riki Nishimura wasn’t born a model, but the world acted like it.

He started when he was fifteen, walked for a niche Tokyo brand no one cared about, except someone did. Someone important. The next season, he was in Paris. By seventeen, he was on the cover of GQ. By eighteen, he had his pick of luxury campaigns. Runway, editorial, billboards. He became the face of mystery. The body of fantasy.

Now he was unstoppable, but he was ambitious, he wanted to reach peak iconography.

So when they first called him, asking for him to do a music video, he hesitated at first. That was something he'd never done before.

Then he heard your name.

Y/N.

The popstar with the velvet voice and the lightning eyes. The girl who wore glitter like armor and moved like she was born to ruin people. He’d seen you before, on award show stages, in commercials, in paparazzi clips where you laughed with your whole chest like you didn’t care who was watching.

You were different. Not because you were pretty, they were all pretty. But because you meant it.

Every look, every note, every time you walked into a room like you owned it and yet somehow still made people feel welcome. He respected that, maybe even admired it. He was a full believer of work ethics and safe environments in an industry where he started so young.

So he said yes.

Now, as he stepped onto set, he saw you before you saw him.

Sitting in the glam chair, head tilted back, lips parted slightly as someone lined them with gloss. A robe slipping off one shoulder. That same energy curling around you like perfume, soft, sweet, dangerous.

He didn’t react.

Didn’t let the flicker of heat show on his face. But inside?

He felt it. That flicker of something he couldn’t control.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

A chrome convertible gleamed under heavy rig lights, surrounded by buzzing PAs, cables curling across the floor like snakes, a faint haze from the fog machine made the air feel thick, almost humid.

You tugged down the hem of your barely-there silk dress, heels clicking against the concrete, your lips already glossed and your heart drumming way too fast beneath your ribcage. You’d been on hundreds of sets, you were used to eyes on you, used to being the moment, the vision, the concept. But today, it wasn’t just your concept anymore.

Because he was here.

Your manager’s voice echoed in your head. “He’s a little quiet, but he gets it, he has the look, the edge. You two will kill this if the chemistry’s there.”

You hadn’t seen him yet, not in person.

But the moment you turned the corner and caught sight of the figure getting inside the car? You knew.

He was taller than you expected, dressed simply in black jeans, a snug white tee, silver rings on his fingers, hair slightly tousled like he hadn't even tried. Ni-ki's features were even more enchancing in person, he didn't even look real. You had to swallow, breathing hard as you approached him.

He didn’t look nervous, or excited. He looked like he belonged.

Riki didn’t see you at first, his gaze was low, focused on something in his hands, maybe a ring he was fidgeting with, maybe nothing. The jeans sticked to his legs so perfectly his muscles were visible through the fabric, he was so tall he couldn't even sit straight inside the car.

Then his eyes flicked up, and locked onto yours, you didn't know why, but your stomach dropped.

There was no smile, no wave, just a stillness in the way he watched you walk toward him. Eyes steady, almost unreadable. But there was something under it, curiosity, heat, something you couldn’t name yet.

“Hi,” you said first, voice sweet, casual smile on your lips, stopping a foot away from him. “So you’re the mysterious co-star.”

His lips quirked, just barely. “And you’re the reason everyone’s pretending they’re not watching.”

His voice was smooth, low, deep, didn't match with his face at all, in a good way. Then you smiled softly, tilting your head, hair falling down your shoulders.

"You rehearsed that one?" there was tease in your voice, friendly, of course.

He scoffed, knees parted as he fixed his composure a bit, lazily, natural. Your eyes drifted for just a small second. Then he smirked, because he noticed.

"Maybe. Did it work?" Ni-ki raised an eyebrow, and you laughed again under your breath.

You didn't respond.

The director clapped nearby. “Places! We’re starting with the car scene. Y/N on his lap. Close. Intimate. You’re just back from some chaotic night out, everything’s charged."

Riki let out a sound, staring at you a little amused.

"Starting strong, huh?"

"I like strong starts."

You opened the car door, palm resting against the frame, took a deep breath, your face changing as you slipped into the character mode. You stared at the passenger seat, then him, relaxed, body resting on the driver's seat, like it was his own car, his own set.

Then you stepped forward, and carefully, climbed into his lap. Your bare thigh brushed his jeans, his hand steadied you, fingertips on your waist, featherlight but very real. The movement was awkward for half a second, your knee slipping against the console, your hand pressing into his shoulder to balance, the unfamiliar weight beneath you. After a few seconds, you settled, straddling him. Face inches from his, chest to chest, you could smell his scent, you recognised it without problem, Luna Rossa Black, Prada. Clean, a little smoky, expensive.

Ni-ki didn't even move.

"Is this okay?" you asked quietly, more out of professionalism, but for some reason your voice sounded breathless.

His gaze dropped to your glossy lips, just half-second, you still caught it. A shiver went down your spine.

"Yeah, you?"

"I've had worse monday mornings." You joked, and he laughed, quiet and short.

The director's voice crackled again. “Y/N, lean in. Let your hand trail down his collar like you’re teasing him. Riki, rest your hands on her thighs. We want electricity, not fire. Not yet.”

You sighed deeply, your fingers moved up, tracing the collar of his shirt, brushing lightly over the edge of his throat, your knuckles grazed skin. He inhaled through his nose. His hands came up, one landed on your thigh, then the other. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t drag, just rested them there. Warm, steady, too much. You looked down at him, eyes sharp, lips parted like you were about to say something, his gaze flicked between your eyes, your mouth. Again.

"Action."

The camera slid in close, tracking the curve of your jaw as you leaned in just slightly, you moved your hips an inch forward to adjust, purely for comfort.

He exhaled through his nose, barely. But you felt it.

The whole world narrowed to this, your thighs pressed against him, the heat of his breath, the way his fingers twitched on your skin like he was deciding if he should stay still… or not. Your voice played in the background, slow, sultry, the lyrics dripping with tension. The timing was perfect, the mood was perfect. You slid forward in his lap, slowly, feeling the heat between your bodies grow unbearable in a blink. His hands tightened instinctively, you pretended not to notice, but you felt it.

The director's voice echoed from somewhere in the background “Perfect, perfect, just like that, don’t blink, don’t move.”

So you didn’t. You leaned in, your mouth a breath from his, your palm dragged from his jaw to the nape of his neck, you felt his pulse there, rapid and betraying him. He tilted his head, slightly, as if expecting a kiss. It was all supposed to be pretending, but for some reason, it didn't feel like that.

Ni-ki’s hands slid higher on your thighs. His thumbs grazed your skin, barely brushing the edge of your dress, tingles, all over your body. You sucked in a quiet breath, but your face stayed composed.

You wanted to stay in control, but he was peeling it away, inch by inch, with nothing but touch and breath and timing. He was too good at this.

“Cut!” the director finally said. “That’s it. That’s the shot.”

The crew broke into applause, and you sat perfectly still. Ni-ki didn’t move either, you were still in his lap, still breathing the same air, still buzzing from the high of pretending to be something you weren’t.

Long seconds passed, and you finally climbed off his lap, too carefully, too slow. And as you stepped out of the car, your heart beating through your dress, you felt his eyes on your back.

Watching, burning.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

The second set was darker.

Low, red-tinted lights, velvet curtains, a red chaise lounge that looked like it belonged in a 90s R&B music video. You recognized the mood instantly, it was the “after” scene. The one where you weren’t just lovers, you were drunk on each other. The energy that simmered after the chase, heavy with implication.

You stood near the monitor, adjusting the strap of your dress, watching crew members adjust cameras and angles, you knew this scene would be riskier. Not explicit, not technically. But the subtext?

Oh, it was loud.

And for some reason it made you nervous, because you already knew how good Riki was at this, how he pretended with so much ease, as if he'd been doing it his whole life. But was he pretending? The way he touched you before, the way he looked at you, they way his dark gaze kept wandering down your face, your lips, your body.

The concept was simple: you on your back, legs draped over the edge of the lounge, Ni-ki kneeling between them. No kisses, no touches beyond the waist. But all closeness, all suggestion, a game of restraint. Timing was perfect, of course.

You felt him before you saw him.

His presence was becoming familiar, like the storm air before thunder, that heavy awareness your body picked up before your brain could name it.

“You ready?” he asked from behind.

You turned.

He stood close, too close. His shirt was now half unbuttoned, part of the look, apparently, his collarbones sharp, skin dewy under the glow of the set lights, his lips were glossed, hair slightly messier. He looked so good, so dangerous. You were sure he was the most beautiful man you'd ever laid your eyes on.

“I should be asking you that.”

Ni-ki’s mouth twitched into something small, dangerous. “I’ve been ready.”

Your stomach flipped, but you turned away before you let it show.

“Places!” someone called. “Quiet on set!”

You exhaled once and moved to the chaise, the silk of your dress whispering as you lowered yourself onto it. You leaned back, one leg bent at the knee, the other draped lazily to the floor. A little slutty, a little powerful.

Ni-ki took his mark, kneeling between your legs like it was the most casual thing in the world.

But there was nothing casual about it.

His hands rested on either side of your thighs. Not touching. Just hovering. The space between you felt electric.

“Okay,” the director said. “Ni-ki, lean in. Get close like you’re listening to her heartbeat. Y/N, you’re still, unmoving. You’ve got him in the palm of your hand. This is control. Seduction. Don’t blink. Don’t flinch.”

“Action.”

The music kicked in—low, bass-heavy, slow. Your voice cooing something breathy and loaded through the speakers. Ni-ki moved, he leaned forward, head low, jaw brushing just shy of your knee. He didn’t touch, not at first. But he looked up, eyes trailing along your body, then locking with yours. And he smirked.

It was small, barely there, but it was cocky, confident. A secret he wasn’t sharing.

Your heartbeat spiked.

Then, slowly, so slowly, his hand crept up the inside of your thigh. Your body lit up, it was such a subtle touch, but it was enough for you to almost flinch, for the skin on your legs start to jump, shivering, down your spine and settling beneath your legs because you where wearing only underwear under the dress. And god, he looked at you as if he'd noticed, his pinky brushing the silk fabric of your clothes, his breath crashing between your legs, and your thighs almost twitched.

It wasn’t in the script.

But he didn’t go far, just enough, just inside the line. Was he being professional? Or was he holding himself back?

You didn’t stop him. His head dipped, lips close to your skin now, his breath hit your inner thigh, and you nearly lost it.

He was testing you. You raised one hand and brushed your fingers along the line of his jaw, light, teasing.

“You’re supposed to look like you’re worshipping me,” you whispered low, just for him.

“I am,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes never leaving yours. “You just don’t realize yet.”

Oh.

Your breath caught, but you turned it into a sigh, letting your head tilt back, you closed your eyes for just a second. When you opened them, he was closer. One hand pressed just above your knee now, thumb rubbing slow, lazy circles into your skin. The camera was still rolling. Nobody stopped you, nobody noticed. But he knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’re dangerous,” you whispered.

“So are you,” he said back. “But I’m starting to like it.”

You let your hand trail down his neck, your nails grazing lightly. He shivered, just a little.

“Cut!” the director finally called. “That’s it. That was perfect.”

The crew clapped, but Ni-ki didn’t move right away, his hand slid just a little higher, fingertips brushing the lace of your underwear, and you had to stop yourself from spreading your legs.

And then he looked up at you, mouth right at the edge of your thigh, and said:

“Tell me when I go too far.”

You swallowed, then, very quietly, you whispered:

“You haven’t yet.”

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

You hadn’t stopped thinking about him, not for one goddamn second.

It was like your body hadn’t left the set even after the cameras stopped rolling, the velvet, the heat of his hands, the way he whispered things no one else could hear. You were back in your hotel room, alone, trying to move on, but your fingers still remembered the curve of his jaw.

This was weird for you, you'd always been so professional, your work and your career meant everything to you, you were used to work with gorgeous people, gorgeous men. No one like him, though. Everytime your mind wandered and remembered the look in his eyes, you felt it, it was like your whole body knew, how much you wanted him.

And he wanted you too, you knew that. It didn't matter how good he was at his job, he wasn't even an actor. The look in his eyes was real, the heat, the fire. The music video wrapped three days ago, the press was already talking, chemistry, sparks, rumors. You were supposed to be ignoring it, letting it die out, being above it all.

You sighed as you stared at the ceiling, the night quiet, it was only you and these unholy thoughts. Then your eyes landed on the mini-bar, a full, brand new bottle of Amelia Chardonnay looking straight at you, like trying to tempt you.

Your hands reached for your phone before you could even stop yourself. Then you clicked on his name, and stared at the last exchange of messages. Casual thank yous, post-shoot “you did amazings.” All polite, all surface.

Then you typed:

hey do you wanna celebrate tonight?

You stared at it. Deleted it. Typed again.

just me, nothing big i have a bottle of wine in my room no pressure :)

The seconds stretched.

You told yourself it was fine. If he said no, you’d move on. No harm done. You’d drink the wine yourself and call it a night.

Your phone buzzed.

what room number?

Your breath caught.

He was coming.

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

You changed outfits twice. Ended up in a silk slip dress that felt just casual enough to pass, but it was short, and soft, and clung in places you knew would betray you if the night went sideways. Heart was racing in your chest, you were feeling like a teenager about to see her crush for the first date, and you slapped yourself mentally. You were a powerful, famous, millionare pop star, who everybody adored, you were a sex symbol, a bombshell.

And yet, your knees weakened when the door knocked.

You had to recompose yourself before opening, stared at yourself through the mirror, hair down, looking casual, no make up on, you didn't want to look like you were trying too hard, but you also wanted to look good for him, to see if it was real, if he truly was holding himself back.

Your hand reached the door, and you opened.

Ni-ki, in all black, a hoodie half-zipped, chain peeking out from underneath, eyes locked on yours like he’d been thinking about this for days too. His hair was slightly damp, like he’d just showered. He looked so good, and your chest tightened, your mind going circles at his damn smell. Manly, strong, elegant.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, hands in his pockets.

“Come in,” you said, stepping back, trying not to think about how clean your room suddenly looked. How the dim lamp made everything feel more intimate.

He walked in, looking around. “Nice view.”

You grabbed the bottle of wine from the counter. “It’s overpriced. But it works.”

He smirked, pulling off his hoodie and tossing it onto a chair. Underneath, a fitted black tee clung to his chest. Arms long, veins popping under his skin.

You swallowed and handed him a glass.

“To... successful collaborations?” you offered.

He clinked his glass with yours, smirk in his thick lips, a little low chuckle leaving his throat, then he took a sip from his glass, and his eyes wandered, slow, intentional, over your body, there was no way to hide it now.

The night went away, and you both had your second glass before the conversation started drifting. At first, it was surface-level: tour schedules, brand campaigns, a horror story about a malfunctioning fog machine mid-shoot. But the wine was working fast. Not enough to slur. Just enough to slow the world down, to take the edge off your restraint.

You leaned back on the couch, leg curled under you, facing him.

“Do you ever wish you’d picked something else?”

Ni-ki blinked at the question. “Like… not modeling?”

“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re good. Stupid good. But do you like it?”

He tilted his head, swirling the dark red liquid in his glass. “Sometimes. Not always.”

You waited.

“There’s something lonely about it,” he admitted. “People see the pictures, but they don’t know you. They just… project onto you.”

You hummed. “Yeah. Pop music isn’t that different.”

Ni-ki glanced sideways at you. “Except you write your own songs. That’s real. Vulnerable.”

You sipped. “It can be. But sometimes I wonder if anyone hears what I’m actually trying to say. Or if they just hear the beat and move on.”

“Isn’t that what art is though?” he asked. “Hiding in plain sight?”

That made you laugh, a soft, surprised sound. “Okay, philosopher Riki.”

He grinned. “Shut up.”

“No, really. I didn’t think you were this deep.”

“You didn’t think I was anything,” he said, and something flickered behind his eyes. “Before the shoot.”

You hesitated. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but you couldn’t, he wasn’t wrong.

“I thought you were gonna be arrogant,” you admitted. “A pain in the ass. And okay, you kind of are.”

He smirked.

“But then you surprised me.”

His smile faded, he tilted his head, his eyes were already lazy, because of the alcohol in his system. “How?”

You looked at him, really looked. His hair was a little messier than before, cheeks slightly red from the wine, lips wet because he kept running his tongue over them. He was so handsome, so effortlessly tempting.

“At first I thought you were just good at pretending. The way you got so close to me, like it was nothing. But then… you kept listening. You never broke character, but your eyes? They didn’t lie.”

Ni-ki’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and your eyes followed the movement.

The silence after that was heavier. Not awkward, just pulsing, charged, like the air had thickened between you and was now buzzing with every unsaid thing. You both reached for your glasses at the same time, your fingers brushed. And neither of you moved away.

“You keep doing that,” you whispered.

He raised an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

“Looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

You exhaled. “Like you’re going to ruin me.”

He stared for a beat. Then, so softly you almost missed it, he said: “Maybe I will.”

Your breath caught.

He set his glass down slowly, deliberately. And then leaned in, not all the way, not enough to touch.

“You invited me here,” he said, voice low, eyes flicking to your lips. “Did you think we were just gonna talk about work and drink wine?”

“I didn’t...” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t know what I wanted.”

“You do now?” he asked as if he was desperate for your answer, desperate for you.

Your pulse was loud in your ears. Your body was already answering before your mouth could, the space between you practically begged to be closed.

And then you whispered, “Yes.”

He didn’t wait.

His hand cupped your jaw, gentle but firm, and he kissed you.

Soft at first, testing, tasting. But the moment your lips parted, it shifted. You moved at the same time, like something snapped. You were suddenly straddling him, the wine long forgotten, your hands in his hair, his mouth on your throat. It was messy, hot, desperate. And yet, still controlled. His hands slid down your sides, slow, like he wanted to memorise the shape of you. You gasped when his fingers pressed into your hips, pulling you against him, and he groaned into your mouth like he’d been holding that in for days.

Ni-ki's hands then traveled down your thighs, grabbing, squeezing just a bit, not too hard, but enough to make you sigh in his mouth and unintentionally rock your hips against him, while pulling strands of his dark hair, tangling your fingers, lips crashing, tongues against each other, hot, warm, wet. Just like your underwear was now, you felt it, pooled against the thin fabric. Your dress was lifted up, showing more, the lace of your panties showing up, but you didn't care, you wanted it like this, because he kept touching you. Warm fingers ended up in your asscheeks, squeezing again, and you rubbed yourself against his crotch again, he moaned deep, hot breath colliding with yours, hard beneath his pants.

Then a knock on the door, and you separated from the kiss, breathing heavily, but he didn't stop, trailing with his soaked lips along your jawline, down to your neck, tongue licking, sucking, but not marking. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered.

"Don't answer."

You don’t even remember how you end up horizontal, just the feel of his hands under your thighs, lifting, the soft thud of your back hitting the plush hotel bed, the silk of your slip bunching under your hip, his shirt forgotten on the floor, his lips on your collarbone.

Underwear was the only thing covering you know, after he lifted your dress and helped you slip out of it, throwing it across the room like a hungry man, like he couldn't wait any longer to have you.

He stared like he’d never seen anything more devastating.

And when he leaned in again, this time with no hesitation, no restraint, you knew you were gone. You weren't the popstar. He wasn't the model. You were just you, and he was just Ni-ki, and this was the crash you both saw coming from a mile away. Your lips crashed again, messier now, hotter, you traded kisses like secrets, like confessions, like sins you both wanted to keep making. He grabbed your throat, but didn't choke, just held, not wanting to let go of your mouth, and you moaned softly, sucking his tongue as his hand now traveled between your legs, above your underwear, he touched you, slow, like teasing, your arousal soaking a spot in your panties, and he moaned against your mouth.

"Can i take this off?" he asked, voice weak, breathless, forehead against yours, his fingers rubbing slow circles in your clothed clit.

You just nodded, you couldn't talk, you just wanted him right there.

So he smirked, pecking your lips before sliding your underwear out of you, and his eyes sparkled, he bit his lip, hands on your knees so you could be spread open for him. He wasted no time, fingers between your folds as he soaked them in your arousal, glistening, thick wetness that made him inhale through his nose and hiss between his teeth, and you arched your back lightly, sensual, one of his hands squeezed your breast.

"You're soaked. Dripping." You tried to smile, but a whimper left your lips when he slid a finger in.

"You like it." a breathless chuckle came from your throat, and he smirked again, sliding a second finger, curling them inside of you, stretching you, so good.

"I love it."

Then he started thrusting them, in and out of you, fast, with skill, his palm crashing with your clit, and you moaned again, closing your eyes and letting your head fall on the pillow, your thighs twitching, but he kept you spread, not wanting to miss how his fingers disappeared inside your tight walls. His other hand kept groping your breasts, pinching your hardened nipples, and a jolt of pleasure washed you completely. He chuckled, but not making fun of you, just amused, lustful.

"You're sensitive." he bit his lip again, fingers still curling inside of you "Fierce, hot, bombshell popstar is sensitive, right here." He pinched your nipple again and you trembled, high pitch moan leaving your throat, he smiled when he felt how your pussy clenched around his digits. "Cute."

He kissed you again, tongue and spit in your mouth, and you whined when he added a third finger, your wetness now dripping between your thighs and soaking the silk bed sheets beneath your body, he reached your g-spot and teased it with the tip of his fingers, and you arched your back again, biting his lip and pulling it which made him hiss, your legs trembling when his thumb rubbed your aching clit.

Then he removed them, catching his breath, straightening on the bed, knees against the mattress, his weight heavy, his body hot. He slid out of his pants and underwear in one movement, and you looked up at him, devastated, eyes teary, shiny, full with lust and need. His length was thick, hard and veiny, dripping from his red tip, throbbing in his hand as he stroked himself just a little.

You moved before even saying anything, lifting your torso and replacing his hand with yours, rubbing your palm against his throbbing member, and he groaned low, placing a hand on your head, softly, gentle, but it made you shiver anyways. Then you licked, long, slow, wet, from the base to the dripping tip, and he hissed louder, now pulling your hair just a bit, thrusting his hips forward to meet with your mouth. Your lips wrapped around him, and you relaxed your jaw, taking him deep, until he touched the back of your throat and you had to suppress a gag, eyes watering, vision hazy, head spinning, the room hot around you.

"S-Shit." Ni-ki groaned, letting his head fall backwards, his adams apple moving up and down as he breathed hard, and you bobbed your head, tracing with your tongue the veins on his cock, tasting him, swallowing him. You pulled back and repeated the process, until spit and tears were dripping, until he had to make you stop because he didn't want to cum yet.

Your back touched the mattress again, and he placed himself between your legs, kissing you, tasting himself in your soaked mouth, and then pushed your legs against your chest, forcing you spread open just for him. He then grabbed the base of his cock, rubbing the tip against your soaked slit, up and down, side to side, slow, and you whined at the anticipation, at the tease, your pussy pulsing, aching, needy and wet, his precum dripping against your folds.

He slid inside of you, arms above your head, heavy on you, slowly, but his gaze was sharp, dark and full of lust, and he groaned your name as he stretched you, soaked walls swallowing his length so good, so tight, and he felt so thick inside of you that you had to reach for his shoulders, eyes shut and lips parted trying to breath. His hips met yours, your pussy clenched tight around him. He stayed still for a few seconds, dropping his forehead against yours, sweaty, sticky, your nails digging against the soft skin of his shoulders. Your vision was blurry, your body completely clenched, as if it had been waiting for this too.

"I’ve thought about this since the first take,” he admitted, voice wrecked “When you climbed into my lap in that car.”

And you whimpered as his hips pulled back a little, you felt his stretch leaving your insides, your walls fluttered, clencing around nothing for a few seconds, but he pulled in again, skin against skin. You moaned breathless, your bare breasts against his chest.

"Fuck, you feel so good, baby." his breath was hot against your face, and you arched your back, hot and sweaty bodies just so close to each other.

Then he started moving, setting a rhythm that was just so perfect, not so fast, not so rough, but deep, you could feel him in every inch of you, stretching you, shaping you, your pussy clenched around him in every thrust, soaked, dripping, creating a slick sound everytime his hips crashed against the skin of your entrance. And you could only whimper, combining the sound of your weak voice with his long and low groans.

"Ni-ki..." you cried his name, lips parted, eyes sticked to his.

"I'm right here, baby." his voice was raw, he talked through his teeth, his strokes growing a little rougher.

He was stroking, not too fast, but forceful, every thrust forcing moans out of your chests, and the bed creaked beneath both of you, his rhythm perfect, hard, persistent. Ni-ki's lips found your neck again, and he dragged them along your skin.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging crescents into his skin. “You feel so good...”

“I know, baby,” he grunted again, voice breaking around the words. His hand slipped under your thigh, now lifting it higher around his waist, and suddenly he hit a spot that had your back arching off the mattress, a sharp cry ripping from your throat.“There?” he panted, smirking despite the sweat at his temple. “Right fucking there?”

You nodded frantically, too gone to speak, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming heat between your legs and the maddening pace he kept. His mouth was everywhere, your shoulder, the swell of your chest, your jaw, littering kisses and bruises, like he wanted to mark you, leave proof that this happened.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, forehead pressing to yours. “So fuckin’ perfect, taking me so well.”

His thrust were steady, perfect hips rolling over you, breaking you, wrecking your body just how you needed, his lips never leaving your skin, as if he couldn't keep them off of you, as if he was trying to devour you and never forget you.

Suddenly, something shifted.

Your hand moved to his chest, pressing just hard enough to make him pause. He blinked up at you, chest heaving, confused for half a second, until you lean in, kiss him slow and deep, and whisper against his mouth:

“My turn.”

Ni-ki didn't argue, a soft grin in the corner of his swollen, red lips. He let you push him back, his head falling against the pillows, lips parted as you swinged your leg over him and straddled his waist in one smooth, practiced motion.

“Fuck,” he breathed, hands automatically landing on your hips. “You look..."

You rolled your hips once, teasing him, wet folds against his thick hard cock, and his words dissolved into a moan. You lined yourself up again and sunk down slowly, inch by inch. His head dropped back with a curse, hands gripping your thighs so tightly they might bruise. You started slow. Rolling your hips just enough to make him twitch beneath you, your hands braced on his chest, nails dragging down his skin. He watched you like he was in a trance, eyes glued to the way you rode him, mouth open, completely undone.

“You’re so deep,” you gasped, throwing your head back. “So fucking deep.”

His hands slid up your body, one gripping your waist while the other palmed your breast, thumb circling lazily over your nipple. You leaned down, mouths meeting in a messy kiss, your movements never faltering. His abs tensed under your touch, hips bucking instinctively, trying to meet you thrust for thrust, but you pinned him down with a smirk.

And the rhythm built again, faster, sharper. The air was thick with moans, sweat, skin. Your name tumbled from his lips again and again, until his grip tightened, your breasts bouncing against his face, skins crashing, you jumping up and down on his length until your thighs felt like burning, but it felt so good, he was so deep, so thick inside of you, so meant to be. Ni-ki's hand stretched, and he circled your clit with messy and circles and fast circles, at the pace of your bounces, and you whine his name and move erratically, wetness dripping until his pelvis was soaked.

Your body started trembling over him, that familiar wave building fast, too fast. You slowed down for just a second, rocked into him deeper, his thumb dragging down to press right where you needed it most.

“I-I’m close,” you choked out, voice shaky.

“Then come,” he whispered, almost pleading. “Come with me.”

And then you fell.

Head thrown back, mouth open, thighs squeezing around him as your whole body convulsed from the force of it. The climax crashed through you, white-hot and blinding. You fell forward, shaking, mouth pressed to his shoulder as your body pulsed around him. He was not far behind, watching you unravel completely, eyes dark and wild, as he thrusted once, twice, then buried himself deep with a strangled moan. He let go seconds later, hips jerking, hands clawing at your back as he spilled into you with a broken groan of your name.

The world blurred.

Silence followed, heavy and satisfied.

You stayed on top of him, both of you breathless, sweaty, clinging like the high might never fade. And then, quietly, he whispered, voice hoarse:

“I don’t think I can ever look at you the same way again.”

You smirked against his skin. “Good.”

thank you so much for reading <3 i hope you enjoyed this and you understand my vision damn i love addison rae so much she’s so iconic to me

anyways, i really like this one <3

hope you guys love it !!

[gothamite-rambler]

Riddler (on loud intercom): Attention, citizens of Gotham! I have contaminated the water with... dihydrogen monoxide. I repeat, the water you’ve been drinking, bathing in, and splashing around in today is filled with dihydrogen monoxide! What will the side effects be? You'll see. Have a good day!

Batman: That's just—

Random Citizen (waving his arms frantically, shouting): WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE! PANIC! PANIC! PANIC!

Citizens across Gotham flooded the streets, screaming and panicking, some spitting and trying to vomit, while others made last calls to loved ones, some less than wholesome.

Angela Ito (on her phone): Mama, I always hated your green bean casserole, nobody likes it! And Baba was better at mahjong! Me marrying a Latin man was not a mistake! You giving me the middle name after your vagina was the mistake! ... Yes, I'm still going to Lisa's birthday party, maybe!

Angela ended the call, satisfaction evident on her face. Batman stared at her, bewildered, before turning to his Robin.

Batman: Am I the idiot, or did he just say the water is filled with water?

Red Robin (mid-sigh): Yeah, he a hundred percent said "water."

Red Robin facepalmed, embarrassed by his city. Batman nodded, patting him on the shoulder in sympathy. He then turned his attention back to Angela Ito, the on-field reporter, who was checking her teeth for lipstick while her camera was still rolling.

Batman: Right, dihydrogen monoxide is just the chemical name for water.

Angela: Oh, I’m aware. I just needed an excuse to tell my mom that. I’ll relay the news to the masses after my cameraman stops vomiting.

Batman gave her a thumbs-up, quickly hurrying off with Red Robin.

Batman: Why would he do this? It's not even a crime.

Red Robin: He's a dingus and being used as a distraction. That has to be it. I cannot, in good faith, believe he pulled off a dumb prank that worked just because people don’t know about chemistry.

Batman: Being a genius is a heavy burden; I can relate. Tell Oracle—

Red Robin (texting Oracle): On it. She'll put up posts on what dihydrogen monoxide is, because apparently people don't know how to use a search engine!

Batman: I know, I know.