#sexualizing that old man again and forever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

missdynamighttt · 2 months ago

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↳ ❝ HONEY.. COME BACK TO ME. PLEASE. ❞

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ synopsis: in which, you and your ex-boyfriend katsuki bakugou can't seem to resist each other no matter what. even if you're only supposed to be friendly at the class reunion party.

starring: pro hero! katsuki bakugou x ex-girlfriend! reader ⍣ ೋ

disclaimers!: mentions of handjobs and oral sex in 3rd year at ua, oral sex (f! receiving), tits fixation, penetrative / p in v sex, car sex / semi-public sex, unprotected sex, creampie 🤭

note: spoilers for chapter 431 (a little different in some parts), usage of "brat", "honey", "sweets", "woman", fem reader, mentions of izuocha, second chance romance trope, porn with plot, microscopic angst, credits to gsony for center pic in my banner, i love them sm^^hope i did our husband justice 💜💜

╰┈➤ ❝ [why is he here?] you murmur quietly, discreetly watching katsuki from a distance, seeing him quiet and grumpy, drinking with a few of his friends alongside izuku.

ochako raises an eyebrow with a grin, clearly amused at your turmoil with the pro hero. she nudges your arm, looking at you from the side. "he's a part of the class too, y'know."

"i know that," you huff, sighing as you land your drink down the table, glancing back at him before looking back at ochako with a frown. "just.. its hard."

of course it was hard to see great explosion murder god dynamight. your ex-boyfriend, no matter how hot he looks in his usual black attire, his big biceps straining against the material, his post-war scars framing his muscular, gorgeous physique.

even before the war, you and katsuki were a great couple, despite your constant bickering and petty arguments. it just led up to increasing sexual tension and great makeout sessions. maybe got handsy a few times and did.. oral stuff in your 3rd year together but no more than that.

it all just came crumbling down after graduation, when you two gradually spent less time together as work kept both of you away from each other. you both ended it on good terms only after a year of being pro-heroes, but that doesn't stop you from missing him. from wanting him, needing him.

katsuki felt the exact same way. even if he was nonchalant about it now, he was barely holding himself back from dragging you away from this party and kissing your face off until he made up with the time both of you spent away from each other. which, to him, seemed like forever.

throughout the years, the two of you did see each other frequently during patrols and in joint-cases, made appropriate civilized small talk, but never ever talked about getting back together. it wasn't that both of you didn't want to: it just wasn't the perfect time. unlike this setting, where the two of you could talk properly.

ochako sighs softly, a small sympathetic smile on her face. "he's just a man, sweetie. after this, you'll barely see him again."

you bite you bottom lip and nod, tugging on the skin. you knew she made a good point, its just.. well, it doesn't change the fact that katsuki's in near proximity.

you sigh, smiling softly at her. "yeah, i know," you grin, nudging her arm, gesturing your head to izuku. "enough about me, though. what about you and midoriya, huh?"

ochako widens her eyes a little at the mention of her old highschool crush, shakes her head profusely, clearly flustered as vibrant pink tinting her cheeks. "i-i haven't even talked to deku in awhile! its been so long ago.."

you scoff and roll your eyes, grab her shoulder, and shake them a little. "well, change that. c'mon, i saw him looking at you anyway. maybe the same way he did todoroki but at least he looked at you. that counts for something."

you could still see the reluctance in her eyes to go so you shake her arm again in encouragement. "gooo, i'll be here, drinking my problems away, rooting for you."

ochako shakes her head at you with a soft grin, clearly wanting to but shyness was holding her back.

"i suppose a hello wouldn't hurt," her grin widens, pressing her cheek against yours, mumbling a soft thank you. "wish me luck."

you wave at ochako, mouthing to her good luck, as she approaches izuku, watching their cute interaction from afar. they wave at each other like the young, shy high-schoolers they once were, chatting and laughing softly over something trivial. izuku then offers her to sit beside him.

izuku eyes katsuki with a grin, gesturing his head to leave. katsuki rolls his eyes, but stands up, giving his seat to ochako. like the little bitch fate is, katsuki approaches ochako's empty seat beside you, looking at you with a small grin.

"oh, you sly fucker," your eye twitches. you didn't know who to be mad at, izuku or his insufferable best friend, but you could see ochako looking at you in worry, mouthing a quick sorry before getting enveloped by izuku's conversation again.

you sigh, shaking your head. on the bright side, whats the worst that can happen?

you give katsuki a soft smile, waving weakly at him. your hand feels stiff from how nervous you are, shaking it under the table to shake off the nerves. "hi."

katsuki raises an amused eyebrow at you, wearing his signature snarky smirk. he nods, settling down in ochako's empty seat. "hey, brat."

as you sat next to him, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions. a pang of nostalgia, a flutter in your chest at the sight of him, and a hint of sadness at the memory of what could have been.

you took in his spicy cinnamon scent with smoky notes that you missed so much, the way his blonde hair was messily fixed, and his sardonic grin. it was hard to ignore the spark of longing, repeatedly chanting in your head that he was your ex for reason.

katsuki glanced over at you, eyes meeting for a brief moment. his crimson eyes catch the light of the room, making them glow like bloodstone. it made your stomach do backflips, forcing yourself to breathe.

”i’m surprised you actually came,” he says, his voice low and casual.

when he spoke again, the sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. it was the same voice that had whispered sweet nothings in your ear, the same voice that had laughed at your stupid, corny jokes, the same voice you had fallen asleep listening to on countless nights in the past.

you felt your palms begin to sweat but couldn't help but be a little pissed. it reminded you of what you said to ochako earlier, but still. "why wouldn't i? i'm in the class as much as you, aren't i?"

"don’t be a smartass,” he takes a sip of his drink, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. your eyes followed the movement, a wave of memories hitting like a tidal wave.

other classmates fanned out of the room as the night goes on, but katsuki took advantage of this, seperating you from them, keeping you all to himself.

he turned to face you fully, your knees touching with his for a moment as he shifted in his seat. the sudden contact made you inhale sharply, trying your best to keep your expression neutral.

"you look good," he said quietly, eyeing you up and down slowly, his gaze lingering on parts of your body that he clearly remembered well.

the warmth in your cheeks grew a little, clearing your throat, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "thanks. wish i could say the same for you."

he raised an eyebrow at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. "is that how it’s going to be?”

"well, you look like you need a shave," you lied. he didn't.

"oh? i thought you liked it when i was a little scruffy, sweets," you absolutely fucking did. there was nothing you wanted more than to lean in and feel the stubble on his jaw, to remember the roughness of his cheeks while you made out him. while he spoils your neck with hickies. while his head is in between your thighs, kissing your clit-

"that was years ago," you avert your gaze from him, unable to look at him any longer without crumbling. why was he so fucking attractive? it's been seven goddamn years. don't ex-boyfriends get ugly after a break-up?

"why do i get the feelin' you've missed it, hm?"

"i don't. you're delusional."

"you're a real terrible liar, brat."

"lying about you being delusional?"

"lying about you not missin' this. missin' me," he reached out to you, his fingers brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. his touch was gentle as his knuckles grazed your cheek briefly. fuck.

"i don't.. i don't miss this. i don't miss you," you chew on the inside of your cheeks, trying to hold on to any semblance of composure you had. all the dignity you had was telling you to pull away but did you listen? fuck no.

"you're not very good at hidin' how much you want someone, sweets."

"quit it, katsuki. i said i don't."

"oh, that's real fuckin' funny. but i'll be clear," he chuckles deeply, a slow victorious smile on his face. you're starting to crack.

his hand slowly sliding towards your thigh, hidden from anyone else's view under the table. fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck. his closeness was already making it harder to think, the sensation of his touch only weakening your resistance.

"i'm done pretendin' i don't want you. so, honey, cut it out, because we both know you want me too."

your gaze widened, quickly biting down on your bottom lip, trying to stop yourself from saying anything stupid.

luckily, before you could even respond, the very man who put you in this situation, izuku approached with kirishima in tow.

"hey kacchan, would it be okay if we leave now? i have an early class tomorrow," izuku asks, not a care in the world that he interrupted something between you two.

katsuki was staring daggers at him though, because he had to pull his hand away from your plush thigh.

"yeah, i gotta hit the sack too, man," kirishima rubs the back of his neck, who knows hes interrupting something between the two of you but doesn't say anything about it.

but.. that doesn't mean he doesn't want to fuck around a little. kirishima looks at you with a friendly grin. "hey, wanna come with?"

you panic a little. another chance for katsuki to wreck your defenses? could you handle that?

"nah, i'd rather not disturb, i'll just wait for a cab-"

"the fuck you're not. you're not takin' a cab, brat. i'm drivin' you home," katsuki spat, his tone leaving no room for argument.

the ride home was pleasantly quiet in a way that wasn't uncomfortable. the atmosphere was a bit tense, but it was manageable.

you found yourself in the passenger seat of his black porsche 911 gt3 rs, not because you wanted to, but because according to katsuki:

"you better sit your ass down here or i swear to god, woman, i'll pin you down this chair myself."

so, it left izuku and kirishima in the backseat that seemed to drown them (comfortably). you didn't utter a single word during the drive, merely listening to their conversation, occasionally cracking a small smile and chuckling at their banter.

the silence thickened again when katsuki dropped kirishima and izuku off, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet car.

okay, you needed a game plan. keep quiet, do not give in, and do not fuck him-

"i missed you, y'know," he murmurs, his eyes still focused on the road.

his words caught you off guard, startled you. you missed him too. so fucking much. but the words got stuck in your throat, pride and fear holding you back. you try to keep your emotions in check, keeping quiet and not giving in according to your game plan-

"too fuckin' much. pisses me off. started to bother kirishima too," he lets out a frustrated sigh, his grip on the steering wheel tightening a little, his knuckles turning white. "plagues the shit out of me. that i think about you almost everyday at the most random fuckin' times, its terrifying."

he glances at you briefly, sighing before focusing his eyes back on to the road, running his free hand through his blond hair. "honey, talk to me."

"...what do you want me to say, katsuki?"

"just.. tell me what you're thinkin', okay? what you're feelin'. the fuckin' truth, goddamn it, don't shut me out."

fucking hell. it was just so easy to give in to your feelings, to tell him how much you missed him. how much you wanted to be with him again. but you were afraid — afraid of having to start the healing process all over again.

but.. that didn't stop you from bearing your heart out.

"you want the truth?" you turn your head to face him. "fine."

"it haunts me that you're the first thing i think of whenever i'm overjoyed with something or whenever i have a bad day. that whenever my friends ask if we could eat something spicy, i think of you. can't tell you the multiple times i had to hold myself back from hitting the send button to your old number."

"i missed you too, katsuki. more than i thought. hell, more than i should. you never left my mind, no matter how many times i tried to tell myself that you did."

katsuki remained silent for a while, his mind obviously occupied with your confession as he watched the road. it made you panic a little. was it too much?

but then, without warning, he makes a quick turn, swerving off the main road and into a nearby parking lot like his life depended on it.

it catches you off guard as the car suddenly lunges forward, making you hold on to the side of the car door. he parks the car in a secluded corner, away from any prying eyes.

"what are you doing?" you asked, still taken aback from what happened as you watch him unbuckle his seatbelt.

"what does it look like i'm doing?" his eyebrow arched, as if the answer should be obvious.

without waiting for a response, he reclines your seat for more space. he unbuckles your seatbelt before climbing over, hovering over you. "gonna get what i fuckin' want. and right now, sweets, that's you."

you swallowed hard, his words and closeness sending a shiver down your spine. you could feel yourself getting hotter with every second that passed, your body aching for his touch.

but you were still reluctant. even with your thighs clenched together, your core felt like a pool of hot, wet need. and he could tell.

katsuki's frustration was evident. he lets out a deep sigh, leaning his head against your neck, inhaling your scent, barely trying to hold himself back from doing anything drastic.

"honey.. come back to me. please."

his voice was thick with pathetic need, a raw desperate desire for you burning in him.

fuck.

you know you should put up a fight, should try and resist him. but your body was aching for him.

and you really, really, couldn't fucking care less.

the moment your palms caress his cheeks, katsuki's eyes flutter shut, and he leans into your touch, sighing. you can feel him shiver under your fingertips, his body burning with longing. as your eyes meet his, a flash of raw desire flickers across his face.

and then, it's as if a dam breaks.

he leans in, his lips crashing into yours in a fierce, desperate kiss. his mouth is hot and eager against yours, his tongue slipping past your lips in a possessive, needy gesture.

katsuki's hands find your waist, strong and sure, pulling you closer as if the space between you is unbearable. you could feel his dick pressed up in between your legs, almost trembling with the intensity of his need.

your fingers slide up into his hair, tangling in the soft, unruly strands as you deepen the kiss. he groans against your mouth, the sound low and guttural, sending a shiver down your spine. his lips move against yours like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every taste.

when he pulls back, just enough for his forehead to rest against yours, his breath comes in ragged gasps, mingling with your own. his crimson eyes, half-lidded and heavy with desire, bore into yours.

“don’t think for a second that im done with you,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse. “you're not gettin' outta here until i've had my fill of you, sweets."

he grins, chuckling darkly. "or should i say.. until i've filled you up."

when he grinds his hips harder against yours, you can't help the gasp that escapes your lips. the feeling of his dick pressing against you makes your head spin, desire pooling in your wet cunny. fuck, was he always that big?

"oh, fuck," he inhales, almost hissing. "you feel that, sweets? hm? feel how hard my dick is, just for you?"

your bit you bottom lip, your head nodding slightly in response. your breath hitches when his hand reaches for in between your legs, inching up your skirt, rubbing his thumb against your damp panties.

"look at you, already such a fuckin' wet mess," he coos, a predatory grin on his face, glancing between your clothed, wet cunt and your flushed look. "haven't even started yet. you that eager for me, sweets?"

"stop being such a fucking tease and just.." your cheeks burn, embarassed, turning your head to the side. "fuck me."

"oh, i plan to sweets, don't worry," his voice low and sultry, tugging on the elastic of your panties, pulling them down your thighs. "wanna taste you first. haven't tasted this sweet fuckin' pussy in a long, long time."

"katsuki.. what if someone sees us?"

"honey.. i don't fuckin' care."

katsuki had brought you to the backseat of his car, stripped you off your skirt and panties and had your legs spread out like he needed to taste you or he'd die.

katsuki flicked his tongue at your clit, licking up your sweet, wet slick, feeling you squirm and mewl from under him. your legs were practically begging to be close shut, but he forced your legs open with his big, strong arms, both of his hands holding either side of your thighs.

"fuck, sweets, you taste so good," he groans against your folds, the intoxicating scent of your sweet cunt flooding his thoughts. "so fuckin' wet.."

you could hear the squelching sound of his tongue lap at your pussy, the lewd sound of his saliva and your slick turning you on. you took off your top and unhooked your bra, tossing it somewhere in the car. you played with your tits, pinching your nipples as you watched him ate your pussy like it was his last, delicious meal on earth.

"katsuki," you mewled, breath hitching as he fucks you with his skilled tongue.

"what, too much?" katsuki rasped, enjoying how you responded to his touch.

you nodded, already seeing stars.

he grunts, biting your inner thigh before chasing your orgasm again. "fuck that. missed this tight wet pussy of yours too much. can't believe you kept this sweet thing from me for so long..."

"katsuki," you moan his name, you grip on a handful of his hair, embarassed, almost going cross-eyed. he was eager to give you his all, it was slightly overwhelming. but you needed him. "too much, too much..."

"take it all for me, yeah, sweets?" katsuki grunts, raising the pace of his tongue, earning whimpering noises from you. "i know you can, c'mon. makin' my dick so fuckin' hard just watchin' you, holy shit.."

katsuki continues his delirious advance on your cunt, his perverted appetite for you making him so fucking horny. his cock twitches in his pants from the arousing act, throbbing from all the gluttony he was feeling. he couldn't get enough of it. he acted like a man starved and he needed all of you to quench his craving.

not that he'd ever stop craving you.

"katsuki, 'm about to-" you wail about your climax. your walls tighten around his tongue, your hips squirming from under him. you push your cunt against his face, wanting more friction.

"cum for me, sweets, c'mon," he continued to lap at your wet, sloppy mess. "need to taste you so fuckin' bad."

"fuck, fuck!" you squeal, moaning loudly as you painted his tongue white, shattered breathing as your chest heaved up and down.

katsuki doesn't waste another second, burying his face in between your legs as he glides his tongue across your pussy at a quick pace, savoring it all and riding out your orgasm. your legs shake from the overstimulation he was doing, whimpering from the way his tongue feels. he looks at you greedily, his cock agitated as his carnal desire to fuck you until your legs shaking burns more in him.

"'m so proud of you, sweets. c'mere, come gimme a kiss," he moves closer to you, his touch gentle and affectionate as he caresses your cheek before pressing his lips against yours in a kiss. you could almost taste yourself on his tongue.

his kisses are slow and gentle, his fingers find your nipples, pinching them as your fingers find their way into his hair.

he pulls away from you, panting and sweating, quickly stripping himself of his clothes, tossing them somewhere in the car.

he tugs his boxers down and pulls his cock out, already dripping with pre-cum before pulling you back in for a sloppy, desperate kiss. fuck, you don't remember it being that big.

you could feel his erection, his cock cushioning your wet cunt, his throbbing tip kissing your stimulated clit, just begging to be inside of you.

"you ready for me, right, sweets?" he murmurs, in between your tongues clashing together, waiting for your nod. he dips a finger inside you, making you moan. "look at this fuckin' pussy, could just slip in and bury my dick deep inside of you..."

"please," you plead, your voice soft and trembling, a pout tugging at your lips. you're needy and desperate, the words spilling out in a breathy whine. "i need you... so bad."

"god, you're killin' me here sweets," he took a deep breath, panting for air. "you sure?"

you took a shaky breath, your eyes meeting his. "yes. please... i want this, i want you."

your words broke the last thread of his restraint. in an instant, he closed the distance, his lips crashing onto yours with unrelenting intensity. as if you were his only source of salvation.

katsuki's hands found your waist as he grips on you firmly, guiding you onto his lap and positioning you to straddle him with an effortless, commanding strength. he was desperate, completely consumed by the need for you, his longing obliterating any trace of rational thought.

katsuki positions his dick inside of your pussy, groaning as he watches you mewl, disappearing inside of you and stretching your walls painfully. yet you still felt the raw need for him.

"katsuki," you pant as you sat on his cock, adjusting as you dangle your arms by his shoulders. "fuck me, pl-"

he doesn't even let you finish, carrying you briefly before slamming you down on his cock, feeling your pussy clamp down on him again and again.

"you look so pretty like this, sweets, fuck," he looks up at you in awe. his moves his mouth is on your tits, sucking on your nipple.

you take it all with a wail, closing your eyes in blissful pleasure as the tip of his cock kisses your walls.

"oh my fuckin' god, i love you so fuckin' much, sweets. holy shit. and this fuckin' pussy too. you know that, don't you?" he asks, his crimson eyes gazing into yours, tension filling the small corners of the car.

"yeah," you nod, your skin heating up, stammered breaths as his cock was stretching you, abusing your warmth.

"then say it back."

"no wa-"

you scream as katsuki humps you down on his cock mercilessly, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes as you struggle to take him. your hips squirm against the girth and length of his cock abusing your hole to its satisfaction.

"katsuki!" his name slips out of your lips, letting out a wanton moan as his deep, hungry thrusts buck inside you out of spite. "sl-slow down..."

"hell fucking no."

"katsuki, please!"

"not until you say it back."

"fucking- fine! i love you, okay?" you mewl at the pain, but at the same time it made you feel so so good.

"say it again, didn't hear it," he taunts, his thrusts still deep and desperate enough capable of making you cream on his cock.

"i said, i love you!" you panted, whimpering from his hips snapping into yours.

"that's my girl," katsuki grins, letting his hand travel to caress your cheek before pulling you in for a messy, sloppy kiss.

you feel your cunny coil of essence, chasing your climax desperately with him at the last few thrusts.

you pull away from him, panting. "katsuki, fuck, gonna cum again..."

"mhm, gonna cum too, sweets," he grunts, thrusting into your cunt sloppily. "cum with me, yeah?"

you pant out of bliss, nodding. his hips snap into yours as he thrusts into your cunt harder, dripping of your shared slicks.

you mewl as shockwaves of pleasure hit you, throwing your head back as your tight, white walls clench around his cock. katsuki groans, his hips stuttering as he cums inside of you, a creamy frothy ring of white wrapped around the base of his cock as it kisses your folds.

both of you lay intertwined together, bodies tangled and panting together, breaths mingling, basking in the quiet warmth of each other's presence.

you pout up at him, delivering a playful slap to his cheek before sinking into his arms with a huff. "you're so mean."

katsuki chuckled deeply, the sound low and teasing. he didn't seem offended by your light hit, he seemed more amused by it.

"oh, please, you love me," he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer against his chest. he nuzzled into your hair.

his body relaxed somewhat as he held you. he couldn't help but marvel at how easily you fit against him, how well your body molded to his.

"i've missed having you in my arms, you know," he admires you, tugging a strand of your hair. "it's been... goddamn painful."

you bite your bottom lip, a deep sense of understanding in the sympathetic smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. you hold his gaze, knowing intimately the emotions that swirl within him. "i know, hon. me too."

the softness in his eyes is palpable as the pet name you had for him washes over him, a hint of vulnerability there that he rarely shows. he hides his face in the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "honey, i never wanna let go of you again."

you raise an eyebrow, a cheeky grin on your face as you tenderly caress his cheek, your gaze locking with his.

"i'm not going anywhere."

he looks up at you, returning your grin. his lips then gently meets yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

"good. i wouldn't let you even if you tried."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ tags (blogs who requested/ commented / reblogged on teaser): ˚⋆ @pikachuzhc @dragonscribble @obitosdefencelawyer @oladelmars @dietc0ke-stomach @liliththedxmon @junehasnotbeenfound @kaizuzuzu @babylambdietcoke @bri-licious08 @itadoriwife @katsukiglazerrr @secretlilli @trishiepo0 @akitafox @un-limit-edd @kalulakunundrum @krbkswifey @orangeheliophile @kenqki @thisbicc @augustraine @lisbethw @vikizzy @king-dynamight @legendarybatherringmonger @srcyy @moonlightwriter

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ was overwhelmed with how much attention the teaser was getting, EVEN ONE OF MY FAVORITE WRITERS LIKED THE POST @cathnospam ILYSM YOURE MY HERO. feedback/constructive criticism is always welcome!! i was working on my thesis defense (accepted!!) while writing this so i apologize for the delay and if theres any grammatical errors^^ i am beyond grateful to all of you and i hope you enjoyed reading the epitome of me being horny for katsuki🥹🥹

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poisonf0rest · 7 months ago

Text

Overc*mming Writer's Block

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

♱⋅── zayne x reader

♱⋅── tags: smut, teasing, guided masturbation, fingering, first time (kinda), pwp

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

♱⋅── word count: 9.3K

art credit to @/kaito_aii on X

You’re screwed. Fucked. Utterly damned.

Groaning into your desk, you slam your head down upon piles of patient records and old case files.

You’re only halfway done with your medical residency and somewhere along the way turned your lifelong passion for writing into a successful side gig. So successful in fact, that it was single-handedly providing you with enough money to get by and complete residency.

After anonymously posting online for a decade, you signed with a publisher three years ago, on the exact same day you matched with your first choice cardiothoracic residency program here at Akso Hospital.

Needless to say, you haven't felt that magnitude of happiness in years.

You doubt you ever will again.

In the midst of your wallowing, your phone lights up: Michaela. It’s a follow-up to her previous messages, all with the same damn request.

Michaela - Boss Man

checking in on my star, how’s that manuscript going?

talked to the director again to try and plead your case but she didn’t budge :(

she said w current book trends the fans will go crazy for a few explicit spicy scenes

pluuuus she believes in your writing enough to know you’ll make it big! come on, star, you know I’m here if you need any extra help

You - Little Star

Hey Micheala

You cringe for a moment at how formal you sound, but honestly, you’re too burnt out from writer’s block to match your editor’s energy and too tired from today’s shift to push back any further.

You - Little Star

No I get it, thanks for trying though

I’m almost done with the novel, it's just those scenes that are taking a little more time

And by a “little more time,” you mean you’ve tried writing and rewriting them over a dozen times just to cringe, delete, and scream into your keyboard. Over. And over again.

It’s not that you’re clueless, you’ve read your fair share of erotica for inspiration and pleasure equally. But actually writing them yourself? That was a whole different story. Pacing, banter, and even making the right word choices without sounding like a repetitive pervert or absolute lunatic were all so much harder to do than you previously gave authors credit for.

Not to mention, you haven’t actually experienced a lot first-hand.

Beyond a few situationships in high school and undergraduate flings between pre-med classes and internships absolutely kicking your ass, you’re probably half as sexually experienced as most adults your age. And you had absolutely no intention of re-entering the dating scene with residency, until now.

With Michaela breathing down your neck about how these explicit smut scenes were a marketing goldmine and the combined stress from your jobs, it seems like you’ve been fighting a losing battle. This time, however, your main income was on the line.

You groan as another ping lights up your phone, going to silence it when you realize it’s from the hospital Slack and not your editor.

residency-CS-alerts

Dr. Zayne: Second look needed for a CMR scan. Nonurgent.

Jumping to your feet, you sprint from the office wing to get to the MRI’s before another resident can take your spot. It’s not that your program lacked opportunities- far from it as you attend the top program– but rather that this particular opportunity was rare indeed.

Doctor Zayne. Akso Hospital's respected chief cardiac surgeon, who has made groundbreaking advances to the treatment of congenital heart abnormalities in neonates. At only twenty-seven he is the youngest recipient of the Starcatcher Award. His dedication to his craft is unparalleled, as he tirelessly devotes more time to surgeries than any other doctor you know, cementing his reputation as an unwavering force in the field.

He’s also impossibly tall, extremely well built for a man who seems to spend most of his time in the hospital, and has a face sculpted like a Roman deity in marble. And gods, his voice.

Safe to say, you admire him just a little.

You’ve bumped into him a handful of times during your first two years here, but the doctor was so engrossed in his work that the occurrence was rare enough. But a chance to perform with him? To consult alongside him on a cardiovascular case?

You began to fear for your own heart’s safety as you felt it skip in your throat.

Finally reaching the MRIs, you knock once before sliding the door to the control room open with a bow. And when you stand straight again, Dr. Zayne’s steel-set eyes only glance at you before he points to the readings displayed on the computer.

“Tell me what you see.”

Your mouth is still hanging open from what was going to be a very enthusiastic self-introduction, but you cut yourself off with a cough and stumble over to the monitor. Dr. Zayne’s eyes follow you with a precision that makes your hands tremble, and you bend over slightly to scan the patient’s readings.

You’re about ready to make a diagnosis when you realize you haven’t gotten much background on the patient.

“What’s the patient’s briefing?” You look down, flinching as you see Dr. Zayne already staring at you. “If I can hear it, sir?”

He nods once. “An adolescent female with complaints of shortness of breath and coughing. She had no specific medical history, but grew up in the countryside unable to visit a proper clinic for several years while this issue persisted.”

Countryside… that could mean this was an undiagnosed issue that festered.

Clearing your throat, you begin to point to the different scans. “Firstly, there’s clearly an enlarged cardiac silhouette.” Squinting, you point at two denser mounds in CMR scans. “Here and here. There are two large cysts along the lateral and inferior walls of the LV pushing and invading the myocardial walls.”

Gods, the cysts were huge. Even if surgery was performed on her now, would she survive?

Dr. Zayne’s low voice pulls you back into the control room. “Then what is your final diagnosis?”

“I–” you stutter, shaking your head. “I would recommend surgery immediately.”

“More detail than that, please.”

A sharp inhale and you scan the readings again. “Maybe a cannulation? The cysts might be causing an SVC compression, which would explain her shortness of breath.” You dare ask. “Will she survive?”

Dr. Zayne stands up this time. “You did well. She was my patient, and underwent surgery over a week ago.” He gently pats you on the shoulder, touch warm. “Our job as surgeons is to act decisively, to learn, and to try. Not to be heroes.”

You can’t manage to say anything back as Dr. Zayne leaves the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

Surprisingly, you’ve been seeing more and more of Dr. Zayne since that day.

And if that wasn’t enough, the doctor has also been actively acknowledging you, exchanging greetings and simple conversation when you pass in the halls, cafeteria, or shared cardiovascular wing of the hospital.

Not that you haven’t been putting in the effort either.

Dr. Zayne’s current apprentice is graduating from residency this year, and you have every intention of becoming their successor. Between picking up extra shifts, answering every pager call, and of course paying special attention in case Dr. Zayne specifically requests a second pair of hands, you’ve been climbing up the ranks amongst your peers.

Luckily, it seems those efforts have not been in vain.

You’ve been doing so well apparently, that Dr. Zayne wants to meet with you in the hospital’s cafe today. Interviews before officially announcing mentor-mentee pairs was not unusual, but the thought of being one-on-one with Dr. Zayne after your last case together still has your mind reeling.

Will he pull out old case files? Will he bring you to a patient and test you in real time? You have half a mind that he might pull out a custom-made test and timer. It seems on-brand enough to be a possibility.

Yet when you arrive, the cafe is completely empty, save for the staff and a familiar man in a white lab coat.

Dr. Zayne stands as soon as he sees you and beckons for you to sit, pulling the chair across from him out in the same movement. He clears his throat, a barely-there smile gracing his lips as he watches you settle down. “How have you been, doctor?”

“Good! Good.” The words rush out from you and you flinch, forcing yourself to slow down. Was the cafe always this small? “Discharged a patient today, so all good news.” Holy striped cows, if you say the word good one more time you might lose your mind.

“Well,” Dr. Zayne nods, taking a sip of something that looks like a far-too-sweet cup of coffee practically drenched in whipped cream. “That’s certainly good to hear.”

You die a little inside.

“I’ll keep things rather brief since I’ve already made my mind up.”

Was this it? Did you ruin your chance at having Linkon’s top doctor as your mentor because of your damn mouth?

Dr. Zayne reaches inside his jacket, and you swear your heart is going to beat itself out of your throat. He pulls out a simple white envelope with your name scrawled across the front, the paper crisp as he slides it across the table.

His fingers linger on the edges before he speaks. "I wanted to formally offer you the position to shadow me as my apprentice."

"I accept!"

The words fly out before you can stop them and Dr. Zayne looks stunned for a moment before laughing, a smooth and deep sound you didn't expect from him. He looked good when he smiled. Softer, content.

The ghost of the smile stays, even when Zayne speaks again. "It's not a timed offer, you don't have to agree so quickly."

You flush down to your neck, looking down at the envelope. "Right. Only, it would be an honor to learn from you, sir. I really don’t know anyone in our field who wouldn’t accept it."

Zayne hums, but his brows furrow. “You don’t have to call me sir either. Doctor Zayne is fine while we are at the hospital. Zayne is more than acceptable elsewhere, we’re not that far apart in age and I don’t wish for this to be an overly formal relationship.”

You curse your heart for fluttering, reminding yourself that he only means this in a conductive, professional way.

After a beat of silence, Zayne looks at the clock and stands, taking his sugar-filled drink with him. You never pegged him to have such a massive sweet tooth.

"I have a consultation now, but I would like to talk to you more about your residency. We should set up weekly meetings outside of work, check your calendar, and organize it later.”

You nod and thank him as he walks away, leaving you alone to open the envelope. Inside is a simple handwritten note, signed and stamped with Dr. Zayne's official signature alongside Akso Hospital’s.

A reminder that this was, in fact, not a dream.

It’s barely been a month since you’ve begun officially shadowing Zayne, yet you swear it feels as though a part of you has known him forever.

Aside from his virtually frozen demeanor and tendency to make snarky quips at your habit of running your mouth, he’s been nothing but a patient mentor. Brief, direct, unrelenting, but attentive to your work and growth.

If that were all, then everything would be perfect.

If that were all, then you would be sticking perfectly to your ten-year plan: graduating early, completing residency under the top doctor in the top program, and then overtaking him as the top cardiovascular surgeon with a breakthrough of your own.

But of course, the plot has to thicken.

Sure, the first few weeks have been strictly business, but since then, your conversations with Zayne—Dr. Zayne—have morphed into more casual, more playful meetings. Your weekly check-ins have moved from the hospital cafeteria to a cozy family-run cafe in town that Zayne introduced to you. And the way you’ve begun to think of him was the most damning part of it all.

But you don’t have the time nor capacity to deal with whatever this was becoming.

Not when your novel’s deadline was in three weeks, and you still had absolutely nothing to show for it. Without this new novel’s money, you wouldn’t be able to pay for rent or food or transport, and residency sure as hell wasn’t giving you enough to survive off of alone.

This past week, you’ve gone from stressed to a thundering cloud of misery. Snapping at interns, drinking dangerously over the FDA-recommended caffeine intake, and ignoring the maelstrom your face has become.

And of course, today happens to be your weekly check-in with Zayne.

Dragging yourself to your usual booth, you watch him order at the counter and bring his drink to the table alongside a signature pair of macaroons, a slice of chocolate cake, and an eclair. He sets it all down with a huff and sits, looking over at you with an iron-cold gaze. You can smell the incoming lecture.

"You're late."

You dip your head, but your patience is running on reserve, and your reply has more bite than you’d dare use otherwise. "I'm sorry, it looks like I’ve lost track of time."

"You're never late." Zayne doesn't sound any angrier at your attitude, but it still doesn't settle the guilt bubbling in your stomach.

"I've just been really stressed. You know," you wave your hand, "wrapping up residency."

"Is that so." Zayne's gaze is sharp as he fights to maintain eye contact. It's not a question. "I've noticed. You've been distracted and irritated recently, and I can't help but wonder why. Is it really the hospital? Am I demanding too much aside from your typical resident duties?”

You shake your head, and the guilt is back. "No, of course not."

"Then I have to assume it's something else, is it not?"

"It's..." How on earth are you supposed to explain that the reason why you're a mess is because your editor is pressuring you to write a smut scene that you have no interest in, let alone sufficient experience with? And to someone you admire, your mentor, Linkon’s top surgeon, and apparently now someone your heart is deciding to blackmail you with. "I'm sorry, Dr. Zayne. It's nothing work-related, it's not your problem to fix."

Zayne raises his eyebrow, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms. “That’s the first time you addressed me as doctor outside of hospital property in over a month. ”

You really, really, can’t do this right now, or else you might start spewing some things you’ll regret. “Really? That’s fascinating, sir.” You watch him scowl at the title you know he hates. “Still does not entitle you to my personal issues.”

“As your mentor, it becomes entitled to me when your personal issues begin affecting your performance.” He says.

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your anger down. "It's really not something I can talk about here, nor to you. Can we just have a regular check-in?"

"We are."

“You know what?" You stand, chair falling back with a screech. “I think I need a rain check today, sir. You know. Stress.”

"You’re not leaving until you tell me what is bothering you."

You're about to grab your bag and walk away when you're suddenly reminded of how tall Zayne is when he stands. Practically towering over you, he leans across the table, grabbing you firm enough to prevent you from slipping away, yet never harsh enough to harm you. “Please, we’re making a scene.”

You sit. Zayne follows.

Seeing just how reactive you’re being, he softens, genuine concern in his tone as he reaches an arm out. “Is it a family issue? Are you alright?”

“No. Yes.” You inhale deeply through your nose, but your mind is still reeling at a mile a minute. “No, it’s not a family issue.”

“So if it’s not about the hospital and not family, then what could possibly be causing you this much stress.” Zayne’s eyes narrow and you see his jaw tick. “Don’t tell me this foolishness is over a boy.”

“No! God,” you want to push yourself off a building. Or him. “No, it’s this fucking–” You’re rambling. You’re rambling, losing control, and you’re going to blurt it out and regret it. “It’s this smut scene!”

You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

Zayne chokes on his drink and slams the cup down, coughing as liquid comes out his nose. You flounder in panic, trying to help but he holds a hand up and turns, still coughing into his arm. You can only manage to pull out a few napkins, handing them over in a pathetic bundle.

“A…” Zayne almost seems to buffer, clearing his throat before looking back at you. “An erotica scene?”

Your face is burning. You can practically feel the heat radiating off of it in waves, and you have to remind yourself that writing is your job. A respectable, decent-paying, well-appreciated job that you do for the sake of womankind everywhere.

“I write for extra income alongside residency, and recently my editor got it into her head that we’ll sell even more with some extra spice.” You scoff, “But it’s been months of looking at a blank doc. Now the deadline is approaching and I still have nothing to show for it.”

Zayne doesn't say anything for a moment, and you have to check if he's breathing, or if the shock has killed him. Finally, he shifts back in his seat, adjusting his tie.

"That sounds like a difficult position to be in, doctor."

You look up, and Zayne has his arms crossed. It's an expression you're familiar with, one that means he's actually thinking about what you've said, but the way he says "doctor" now feels strange, almost as if the term has no place here.

"It's fine, I'll figure it out." This is also why you didn't want to tell him, as if Zayne has any place worrying about this on your behalf. “Besides, I’m as much a writer as a doctor, this is my job after all. I have to figure it out.”

“Of course. I’d expect no less." Zayne nods a little to himself, slightly dazed, and you scramble to find a way to change the subject back into something even remotely work-appropriate.

"Anyway, I've been keeping up with my rounds, and I think I've been able to handle more cases on my own recently, too."

"You have."

Zayne is quiet for a beat too long and you frown, tapping the table.

"Are you alright? I know this is a lot, I shouldn't have burdened you with it."

When Zayne faces you again, you watch as his brows furrow. "But if this is such a pressing issue…” He clears his throat, looking at a spot directly above your head. “Then, what if I helped you?”

You swear your head is spinning, his words ringing over and over and over in your mind. The only thing remotely in focus was Zayne’s face, far too close for comfort now, even across the table. Oh gods, you’re having this conversation in public, too.

"What do you mean by help, exactly?"

"If you’re in need of experience," Zayne's voice is low, but he still manages to keep eye contact, the intensity of it making you smile nervously. "Then I could offer my assistance. Better coming from someone you know and trust, yes?"

There’s no way you heard that right. Your mind blanks, but apparently your smartass mouth hasn’t.

"Are you offering to be my fuck buddy? Sex consultant? My smut guide, if you will?"

A deadpan, “I would prefer the term sexual partner.”

Even the way Zayne says it makes it sound more like a business proposal than an actual proposition, and it throws you off guard. He leans back, trying to act nonchalant. "You did mention lack of inspiration was your main issue, correct?”

“Well, yes.” That, and your lack of any novel-worthy sexual experiences.

“And you have had—“ There it is again. Not quite embarrassment, and if you weren’t so tuned in to Zayne’s resting expression, you may not have noticed it, but there is a deeper furrow between his brows as his eyes evade yours, and the slightest tint of pink on the tips of his ears. “You have been with partners before, yes?”

The stoic, pragmatic, level-headed Doctor Zayne is embarrassed asking you whether or not you’ve had sex before.

You nearly laugh.

“Yes,” an amused giggle escapes you at the absurdity of this entire conversation. “I’ve been with partners,” you mimic, slightly mocking his word choice, “but it has been a while, and I haven’t really…”

Zayne moves to take another sip of coffee. “You haven’t?”

“I’ve never come. Orgasmed.”

And he chokes. Again.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” You jump from your seat to hand him yet another pile of napkins, but this time Zayne stops you halfway there, grabbing your wrist as his coughs subside.

Neither of you speaks as he drinks water and coughs once more, his grip still iron and far colder than you imagined it would feel against your bare skin.

“My apologies,” Zayne releases you immediately, going back to staring at his coffee as his hand flexes once. Twice. “Continue.”

You can only watch him in fascination, sitting back down in your chair. The entire time he avoided eye contact, and he was definitely blushing. You almost wanted to push further, to poke and tease and test his reactions, but you knew that would end with you losing your head. Or worse, you muse, heart fluttering against your chest.

“Ah, I mean, I’ve felt pleasure before. It’s not that my previous partners were unwilling to do stuff for me, I’ve just never gotten over that little plateau.” It’s not resentment that washes over you, and not quite embarrassment either. Just a little bit of dull apathy towards the subject. And yourself. “Biologically speaking of course I know it’s possible, but there are also plenty of women who simply don’t climax during sex. I’m probably just one of them.”

Zayne, who seems to have returned to his usual stoicism, frowns at that, mouth drawn taut as though he wanted to say something.

"And if we were to engage in sexual acts," He's so clinical, even as he says something that could send anyone else running. “Perhaps that is what you need to start writing again. It would make sense. To write a compelling,” he stumbles over the word, “erotica, you’d have to experience pleasure."

The gears in your mind turn, and slowly, it begins to make a twisted sort of sense. You'd have to feel it for yourself, to be able to describe the sensation, the passion, the tension with conviction. Perhaps it really would get you closer to finishing this damn book.

But then you remember who you're talking to. Doctor Zayne. Your coworker. Worse than that, your mentor and direct superior in your field, and someone you happen to admire very much. So then why would he…?

"What do you gain from this, Zayne?"

Zayne stiffens. “I’m a doctor, it’s my duty to help my patients.”

A sly smile cracks against your lips, and you prop your chin against your palm. “I didn’t realize I was your patient now, doctor?”

His eyes snap back to yours and he straightens, his demeanor slipping back to his typical formality. "You have a bright future in front of you. This is an investment in you, and I believe this will help us both. I will draw up a contract tomorrow for us to discuss, you can meet me in my office after your shift.”

“Rather formal,” you say, but Zayne doesn’t take the bait this time.

He simply takes another sip from his coffee, and you swear you catch him smiling behind the porcelain rim. “Then perhaps I could also get a signed copy of your next book?"

You scoff, waving him off as you slouch back in your chair. "Of course, I'll throw one in the mail the day it's out."

"It's a deal then.”

He’s about to push in his chair when you lunge from yours, grabbing his sleeve as his eyes widen slightly, looking down at where your hands meet. "Thank you,” a smile. ”Zayne."

His gaze softens and he smiles a bit, nodding. "Of course, doctor."

And with a wave, he's gone.

You don’t know what you expected.

Zayne seemed like the type to take his girl out to dinner first, probably somewhere obscenely expensive. He’d show up with a single rose or another simple but romantic gift so seemingly contradictory to his outward appearance. Afterward, maybe he’d take her to a show or somewhere with fancy sweets, knowing his taste. Then, after all that, he’d invite her back to his apartment or allow her to whisk him away to her place.

You’d imagine it would go something like that. But then again, the terms of your relationship are quite different then the one he’d have with this imaginary woman. So when he texts you after your shift that Tuesday asking if you’re free tonight, you’re only moderately panicked.

To make matters worse, he’s at your house five minutes early.

Two knocks, and you scramble to open the door, Zayne nearly dwarfing the door frame as he lingers outside the hallway. His trenchcoat only adds to his natural tendency to command attention, and you feel more vulnerable than usual in your sleep clothes.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

Zayne adjusts his collar. “Do you mind if I come in?”

You tap your chin, pretending to mull it over in your mind, relishing in the slight nervousness your silence instills in Zayne. “It would be rather bothersome to fuck in the hallway, I suppose…”

Zayne shakes his head at the remark, but you can see amusement dancing in his eyes. With that, you step aside, and he ducks under the doorframe to slip inside. It’s as though something irreversible- something inevitable- shifts as you watch him cross the threshold, and it doesn't get better when you close the door and lock it behind him.

You'd say he makes himself at home, but his stance is still too stiff, too awkward, even as he’s hanging his coat and slipping out of his shoes. It almost feels domestic.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Zayne shakes his head, "Not this time."

He says it so casually, and yet the notion of a next time has you dizzy. Of course there’s a next time, you’ll need more than one night to get inspiration. It was only a natural assumption, you reason with yourself.

"You seem tense," he says, and then your back is against the wall.

Zayne leans down, hovering above you as his hand comes up to your waist. A tentative touch, and you give a small nod, feeling his arm relax, palm sliding further into the plush of your hips. He looks so good like this, in a work button-down with a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and his lips parted. Gods, and he’s not even trying- there’s genuine concern written in the way he scans your body with a deep crease between his brows. You hope he doesn’t notice how you squeeze your thighs tighter.

"It's the deadline, is all," you say, trying to brush off the question.

"Ah, of course. How inconsiderate of me. I’m supposed to be helping you and here I am making it worse.”

Zayne's voice is low and smooth. The cadence in his words, the slight drawl, is a sound that makes your heart skip a beat. It's a shame it's so easy to hide your arousal when you're this nervous.

“Well,” You smile, and his gaze flickers down to your mouth. “I suppose I can forgive you if you uphold your end of the deal.”

His stare is heavy, and it feels like the room is closing in. But you understand the man well enough to know that he wouldn’t dare move first, not until you asked for it, not when you have yet to set a precedent. So you loop your arms around his neck, forcing Zayne closer as his forearm slams against the wall to hold himself up against you.

You nip at the lobe of his ear, smiling to yourself as he shivers with each warm exhale. Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your side while he lets you grind against him, guiding your movements as you groan against his neck.

But Zayne feels you rush through the movements, a messy sort of impatience less from desire and more from routine. As though you wanted this done. As though you wanted him gone.

You feel a familiar flutter against your core as Zayne’s knee comes up against your core, but when you move to grind against his thigh, the hand at your waist stops you.

“I want to do this properly. You deserve—” he cuts himself off. Starts over. “Where would you like to do this?”

You’re about to tell him that right here is fine, not wanting Zayne to feel as though you needed any more special attention, when you realize just how serious he is. “Bedroom," you say.

Zayne hums, and the rumble reverberates throughout his chest. He offers a hand, and you take it.

And with that, you lead him to your room.

Somewhere between the span of your hallway and bed, Zayne seems to have decided how tonight will go. Despite your desperate touches, teasing up his body and luring him closer, Zayne slows his own pace, leaving burning trails traced with agonizing slowness over the curves of your body. Despite your fumbling to strip off your shirt, Zayne grabs your wrist, forcing it behind your back as his other hand teases the exposed skin of your ribs in a way that has you shivering. Despite your hushed complaints for him to just hurry up Zayne merely smiles in amusement, refusing to give you anything more as he scolds you with a click of his tongue.

Zayne refuses to rush this. He wants to savor every moment, to etch the sight of you into his mind and commit it to memory, to relive it in this life and the next.

He continues walking forward, each one forcing you to take a step back until your knees hit your bed, buckling as his form looms over you.

“The largest mistake in any relationship- sexual or not- is lack of communication.” He loosens his tie, “So if we are to do this, you have to talk to me. Tell me what you like, what you don’t.”

As he speaks, Zayne continues undressing, unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt before rolling up the cuffs so every glorious inch of his forearms is exposed. Your breath catches with each trailing vein, shadowed in the dim lighting up until they disappear under his sleeves.

Maybe you should write a Victorian-era piece next. Clearly, you had a thing for small swaths of exposed skin.

As if hearing your thoughts, Zayne undoes another button before his hands venture south. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unbuckles his expensive leather belt and allows it to slide through the loops of his pants. It drops to the floor, joining all the other articles of clothing as he takes a seat on the mattress, resting his hand on your bare thigh, inching closer and closer to where your sleep shorts have ridden up.

"Tell me what you like and don't like." Zayne repeats, eyes focused on yours, "And remember, you say no, and this stops."

Zayne moves painfully slow, his hands fluttering down your shoulders, breasts, hips, until he plants them behind you, caging you between his broad chest and the mattress. His hand slips under your shirt’s fabric once more, and you feel yourself tense.

You aren’t wearing anything fancy. After all, you were simply writing in bed, nearly falling off when you suddenly got Zayne’s text. Only a pair of shorts and a cami, but gods, when Zayne’s hands begin trailing up your stomach, dragging the thin fabric up with him, you really wished you put something sexier on.

He doesn't stop until his fingertips brush against the underwire of your bra, thick fingers slipping under the band as he practically tugs you toward him. "Can you take this off for me?"

"Don't know how to do it yourself?" You tease.

Before you even finish taunting him, Zayne's hand has already snuck around your back, undoing the clasp and forcing you onto your back. You can feel the heat radiating off of him.

"Now, now, we'll be here all night if we start fighting." He chastises you, tone far too smug. Zayne tugs the undone bra up, his fingers tracing the red marks it left against your skin. You tremble under his touch. "Didn't realize how sensitive you are."

His tone is even, but you can see the slight curl at the corner of his lips.

"Your hands are cold," you say, voice wavering as Zayne begins taking your shirt off as well. You try not to fidget, knowing that the way your arms are held up only emphasizes the size difference, Zayne being able to completely lift your chest against him as the other binds your wrists. You're not tiny. But next to him? It barely mattered.

"I apologize." But it feels half hearted at best, especially with the way he’s staring at your bare chest, not even bothering to take your shirt all the way off. It almost feels more embarrassing like this, cotton bunched against your collarbones under his palms.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

The way he says it causes a rush of blood to your face. “I’m not some virgin that might break.” You grumble under your breath, but Zayne is as stupidly attentive as always and frowns.

“Do not mistake my care for pity.”

Something ugly aches in your chest when he looks at you like that.

Zayne’s hand comes up, large enough to encircle the entirety of your cheek as you’re enveloped in the chill of his touch. His body is nearly atop yours, each word breathed into your mouth. “Then, if you have no more snarky remarks, allow me to begin."

Zayne’s gaze drops to where he thumbs at your lips, leaning in as you watch his pupils dilate, flickering with something before he flinches away, kissing the corner of your mouth instead.

His other hand cups the curve of your breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You gasp, the sensation heightened by the feeling of his teeth against your collarbone, nipping marks into your skin.

It takes a moment for all his featherlight touches to register, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb rubs your chin. You try to ignore the way he avoids your lips, refusing to get too close.

All for the better, you remind yourself.

He kisses lower, down between the valley between your breasts, hot breath the only warning you get before his tongue meets your nipple while his fingers deliver a sharp flick to the other. The contrast of the heat from his mouth to the cold of his fingertips sends you reeling as you muffle your cries into your palm.

Zayne doesn’t like that. He forces your hand from your mouth, biting your nipple as if in vengeance as you moan, the sound broken and desperate as you claw at his forearm.

Satisfied, his tongue smooths over the bright pink bite mark and swollen bud, the unpredictable pressure fogging up your every thought before he retreats with a wet pop.

Finally, Zayne moves to fully remove your shirt, but pauses when you flinch.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I undressed as well?” Zayne begins to take off his own shirt, but you lunge for him, stopping his hands as your voice escapes in a whoosh.

“No.”

His collared shirt was utterly ruined, unbuttoned just enough so you could see his flushed chest when he bent over. And now when he sat up straight the bottom rose up just a bit, exposing a stretch of his lean torso, a peak of his abs, and a dark happy trail that dipped into his tailored pants. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it sent a shameful throbbing down your core.

“You can keep it like that, it’s hot.”

Zayne doesn’t respond, but when he averts his eyes you swear you watch his lips curl into a smirk. It’s gone by the time he looks at you. Not that you have any time to dwell on it, not when Zayne closes the remaining space between you, guiding you against the pillows.

You try not to focus on how out of place he seems in your apartment, mere presence dwarfing everything else as he makes his way between you, forcing your knees apart.

Zayne leans back, his fingers trailing up your leg, edging up the fabric of your shorts up with his touch, but never daring to slip past the self-imposed barrier of the cotton. He coaxes your hips up, and you kick the shorts off in a clumsy movement, Zayne's eyes now focused between your thighs before you snap them shut as best you can around his waist.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– Doctor–”

“Relax. I can’t guide you if you don’t let me, now open.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Zayne’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You could call this off, he’s told you that much directly, and knowing Zayne if you did so everything would go right back to how it was before. A mentor and student. Coworkers. Strangers.

You force the tremors in your thighs to relax, knees dropping from Zayne’s hips to the sheets below as you move your left leg just enough to feel the inner band of your underwear stretch.

It’s a bearable amount of embarrassment and vulnerability, until you look up at Zayne again, and akin to a deer in headlights, you freeze. He watches with enough intensity for it to be clinical, a vicious sort of attentiveness that sees every twitch, every strain your body responds with, as if committing it all to memory. As if he were to devour you alive.

You think you’d let him.

Zayne reaches over, and his thick finger trails a line up your inner thigh, immediately followed by goosebumps, knuckles ghosting the inner seam of your panties.

Your body reacts before you do. Before you can even breathe, the air catches in your throat, and your legs squeeze together in a pathetic attempt to hide yourself.

Zayne pins them down immediately, gaze snapping up to you. You expect a reprimand. Maybe a warning or a punishment, and the anticipation makes your stomach twist.

Instead, his brows draw in, as if lost in thought. “You said you never came from touching yourself either?”

You can barely manage a nod.

“Hm. Then you weren’t doing it right.” He says, so bluntly that you can only blink at him. “Show me how you do it.”

Zayne sits back between your thighs, one hand still absent-mindedly caressing your knee, waiting expectantly.

And you feel the flush burn all the way up your ears and down your chest.

Oh, that was not what you expected him to say. You were prepared for him to touch you, or to guide you, but instead he asks for the complete opposite.

And, well, you could only ever try your best for him— ever the people pleaser.

It's humiliating how easily your fingers slip under the elastic band. Even more so when the pads of your fingers run down your folds, and you feel yourself clench at the mere contact, already slick and wanting. You move to tug your underwear off, but Zayne stops you, grabbing at your wrist.

"Wait," He's panting, eyes blown as he continues to stare at you, at the wet patch accumulating in the center of those damned panties. "Keep them on."

His tone is so serious a part of you wants to laugh. You're about to make a quip when he pulls your hand up, bringing your fingers to his lips and wrapping his tongue around them. The way he teases from the pad of your finger to your knuckle, sucking as he goes, has you lightheaded. Your hips stutter upwards, a pitiful sound escaping from your throat as you try to keep yourself together.

He doesn't stop. Not until your fingers are clean and your thighs have grown unbearably sticky, neglected and throbbing.

When he finally lets go, you're a gasping mess, and Zayne looks downright smug. "Now, you can continue."

The bastard.

You don't know how you manage to move, let alone bring your fingers to your entrance.

Pushing aside the cotton, your first touch is tentative, and you flush at how much easier it is with Zayne’s spit covering them. Your breath catches both from the initial stretch and the way Zayne leans in closer to see, even though the thin elastic prevents him from watching the way your cunt flutters around the new intrusion.

You shift, but your need has grown nearly uncomfortable, hips beginning to buck up as one finger quickly becomes too little, and you whine as you attempt to push in another, to push in a little deeper.

"Slower. You're going too fast."

You can't help the scowl, your tone sharper than intended. “How would you know?"

Zayne’s face is a cool mask, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement. "You did ask me for advice, did you not?" Then his voice takes on a sharper edge, demanding again. "Slow down, then you may continue."

As if you needed his permission to continue. But you do as he says, rocking your fingers in and out, pace painfully slow, mere friction sending jolts of heat throughout you.

Usually, this was the best part, the delicious and tortuous build-up that would ultimately lead to nothing. Not nearly long enough, your fingers hit just below your sweet spot, and you could feel tears of frustration prick against your eyes. Writhing, you tried to plunge further, choking out a moan again and again at the barest brushing against your sweet spot, mindlessly grinding your hips up to meet each cruel thrust of your fingers.

You cry when you finally hit that spot inside you, head falling against the pillows as you tense, about to move again when something stops your hand, ripping it away from your desperate chase.

“You–“ Zayne shakes his head, breath ragged as some combination of a frustrated exhale and moan rumbles through his chest, the sound going straight to your cunt. “You’re too impatient. Too rough.”

You try to swallow, try to hide how the sound of his moan and the rough cadence of his voice makes the muscles of your belly and thighs spasm, but Zayne doesn't miss a thing. He doesn't release your hand, not fully, but rather guides both of your digits to trace around your clit instead.

"Again," he says, “This time slower. How does it feel?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you feel his hand continue to guide yours, entire body jolting when he catches against the hood of your oversensitive clit, tapping as he lets you circle it on your own.

“Good. It feels really good.”

Zayne hums, but he already knows that. He feels it through the drenched bottoms of your panties, rubbing your poor swollen clit through them, watching as you gush again, the slick coating his palm and dripping down his wrist in sticky strands.

It takes everything within him not to withdraw his hand and lick it all. Or even better, take his mouth to you directly. Not yet. Not yet, he reminds himself. Next time.

You have to bite your lip as you feel Zayne’s hand take over your own, almost greedily pushing and pinching your clothed cunt, the fabric both a delicious friction and a damn barrier you wish was gone so you could finally feel his bare fingers on you, in you. It’s torture, every nerve on fire as Zayne continues to focus on your clit while your fingers return against your folds, teasing your entrance with a light touch before pressing in.

But it's still not enough. It's not what you need.

You look to Zayne for direction, but his expression is unreadable in the darkness. "Deeper. Keep going."

The angle isn't quite right, but you do as he says, trying and failing to muffle your sounds as you fuck yourself on your fingers, desperately chasing the feeling building up once more.

“Again. Deeper.”

It hurts. Your wrist is beginning to ache, and you’re really not sure how much longer you can keep going, crying out again when Zayne forces his hand flat against your clothed core, shoving your own fingers deeper and causing the wet fabric to rub deliciously against your clit.

You don't even have time to react before he's pulling away, his own hand rubbing the wetness on his fingers together as he watches the strands break and drip down his hand.

His tone is so nonchalant despite the way he keeps his gaze trained between your legs. As if the sight of you, flushed and gasping, with your cunt pathetically leaking and yet still demanding more, wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

“Ask,” Zayne demands, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Ask for it.”

“Need your help, please, Zayne” you manage, voice airy and heart still racing from unintentionally edging yourself over and over again. “I want your fingers.”

It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. Hands gentle enough to care for patients, steady enough to perform surgeries, cruel enough to tease you this mercilessly, and yet you can’t help but imagine what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly.

You’ve probably thought about his hands more times than you’d like to admit.

At the hospital, at the cafe, at night in your apartment. Every inch of his body seems to haunt you like a forgotten memory your body had already grown addicted to.

The moan that rumbles out of Zayne’s chest is low and addicting. He sits back for only a moment before your hips are dragged down the bed, a yelp leaving your lips from the sheer force.

Zayne practically knocks your leg over his shoulder, and when you arch off balance, you press against something that has you inhaling sharply through your nose. Fuck, Zayne’s hard.

He shudders violently at the contact, falling onto his forearms as you roll against him once more, watching his face twist from the painful pleasure you know all too well. You feel his control slipping, both in the way his fingers tighten at your hips and the throbbing heat you feel twitch against your thigh.

And just realizing how much you’ve affected him is enough to send your eyes rolling back into your skull with a violent tremor.

You attempt to grind up against him again when Zayne roughly pins you back down. You writhe helplessly, hips pinned to the mattress as Zayne curses, adjusting himself in his slacks with a rough squeeze. “No.” A command to both himself and you, “You asked for my fingers, so that’s what you will get.”

You’re about to open your mouth to make another demand, but Zayne is one step ahead of you yet again. “That’s all you’re getting.” As if to quell your anger, he begins to thumb at your clit again, moving to take off your last remaining piece of clothing. “Next time.”

A promise he has every intention to keep.

Ironically, Zayne is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your endeavors, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow. But you’ve been worked up far too long, and as soon as Zayne begins fucking you with two of his much thicker fingers, you already feel the familiar tension building.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re feeling?”

“Not really,” you manage through clenched teeth.

You feel Zayne pull away and thrust your hips up into nothingness, only making yourself more sensitive when he roughly thumbs at your clit. He slams your hips back down, a cruel pinch to the oversensitive nub forcing you to arch into him as your jaw falls slack.

“That was not a question.” Zayne is still hovering above you, watching as his fingers slip against your cunt, slick with your arousal. “Use your words.”

His voice takes a dark edge every time he commands you now, and you bite your lip to not whimper at the tremor his voice sends down your skin. It’s not fair, the effect something so simple has on you. But while his demand is still ringing in your ears, Zayne curls his fingers further upwards, rubbing directly against that sweet spot inside you with frustrating ease, and you sob.

"Please,” you can’t even remember to beg. Zayne nearly abuses the spot, curling into it over and over again until you’re certain you’re drooling all over the silk of your pillow, writhing. "Please, I'm– I need more, and, ah—“

Zayne hums. "More? You're going to have to be more specific if you actually want to orgasm."

You whine, shaking your head as his eyes narrow. He’s only halfway through scolding you when his finger smacks against your clit, the sharp twinge of pain enough to make you cry. "Don't be a child. Words. Tell me what's giving you pleasure so I can help you."

"It's," a huff of air leaves you and you can barely manage to form a coherent sentence, your mind fogging over completely as Zayne continues to talk. "Hah, your voice helps.”

“My voice?”

Your eyes nearly roll back at the sound of Zayne’s chuckle. A deep, cruel thing that you now think may be all you need to come as your eyes screwed shut. “Well, if that’s the case, then I suppose I should just keep talking. Keep your eyes open.”

You obey, and Zayne simultaneously pulls your jaw towards him, forcing you face-to-face with him. “Look at me.”

You do. You do and really wish you hadn’t because the smug smile pulling at the corner of his lips and the freckles of light green you now see in his softened gray eyes might really be all you need to send yourself over the edge.

And, as if listening, Zayne forces his fingers deeper inside, the tips of his digits hitting the same spot that has your mind fogging over, vision blurring with a disorienting mix of hazy and dizzy. You can barely hold on, fingers twitching against the sheets as suddenly it becomes too much, your hands shooting up as you press desperately against Zayne’s chest.

“Wait–” You’re dizzy. The pressure is consuming you, and you’re losing control. “Please, Zayne.”

He stops immediately, pliant under your touch as he lets you push him away. Even so, his free hand comes up to meet yours, coaxing your fingers against his as he holds it up to his chest, letting you ground yourself with his heartbeat.

The rhythm is comforting.

Zayne isn’t speaking anymore, just looking, waiting for you to give him a sign. He doesn’t dare move, letting his fingers sit still, buried inside of you. You don't know if it's the dizziness lingering in your head or the fact that his fingers are insistently rubbing against a spot inside of you that sends sparks up your spine, but either way, you might be going insane.

“Keep your breathing steady, even when you’re close. Deep breaths.” In, out. In, out. Your chest rises as Zayne’s does, bare skin brushing his. “Good.”

Even as your vision clears, Zayne refuses to let go of your hand, this time pinning it beside your head as he begins to move his other hand too, thumb circling your clit as the others curl against your walls.

When you begin to shake again, his lips ghost by your neck, dangerously soft and hesitant as he kisses down from your jaw, following each whimper and moan you give to him with loyal intent, sucking gently at a spot near your jugular and collarbone.

"Ah, Zayne. I think–" your breathing hitches as Zayne presses another soft kiss against your skin.

"Are you okay?" The softness of his tone nearly breaks you, and you force yourself to ignore it. Focus on the sensations; focus on what you can use for the novel. Nothing more.

You nod.

"What else, darling? Are you close?"

Your breath hitches. The sudden pet name has you reeling, and you feel Zayne keep his steady rhythm, even through your trembling and whining, his thumb mercilessly circling against your clit in ways you swear never feel the same when you’ve done it.

"Call me that again," you cry, nearly begging.

"Come. Come for me, darling."

And you do.

Your vision blurs as you come around Zayne’s fingers, a silent scream catching in your throat. All you can manage is a broken moan as you arch into him, gripping his forearm and holding it in place. Your thighs quiver around his arm, and Zayne holds you still, coaxing you through it as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you.

The sensation is overwhelming. You're not even sure how long it lasts, the only thing grounding you is the weight of Zayne's hand laced against your own.

Slowly, he begins to withdraw his fingers, kissing your knuckles softly.

"How are you feeling?"

The room is quiet, and it feels like all the sound has been sucked out of it. Your head is fuzzy and your whole body is tingling, and all you can focus on is Zayne's soft breathing.

Good, you want to tell him. More than that, your body is still shaking from pleasure and desire, and you can’t stop looking at Zayne’s lips or remembering how hot and needy he felt grinding against your thigh. You can’t stop thinking about him, so instead you say, “Fine.”

Zayne stiffens. “Good.”

He sits up, still scanning your face for something as you watch the fabric of his shirt pull taut across his chest and stomach, and once again you are overwhelmed by the desire to run your hands down his body, to feel his skin against yours. To see more of him.

“I’m going to get you water and a towel.” He says, not moving just yet. “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head no. Zayne nods, leaning in as his hand goes to your jaw before he pauses halfway and steps out of bed, making his way to your bathroom.

You don’t really remember how much of the night goes by after that, a blur of Zayne attentively guiding you through proper aftercare and you throwing in a few quips here and there at his ceaseless worrying. Before long, he’s saying farewell, and you’re back at your computer screen, empty doc staring right back at you.

But the words never form. Not when your head is still spinning, replaying everything that happened tonight in vivid flashbacks as an overwhelming rush of mortification and desire runs down your spine.

You can’t help but feel that perhaps you just made an irreversible mistake.

#𝖕𝖔𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖓 writes #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace x reader #lads zayne #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lnds smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace zayne #zayne smut #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #li shen #lads

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fuckmeyer · 9 months ago

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the choice between Edward & Jacob is not a question of which relationship is healthier or which partner is best suitable for Bella. neither is correct. neither is best. neither produces a happy ending for Bella. at the end of the day this is still a vampire novel. any choice Bella could make would yield, at best, a bittersweet happily ever after.

if she chooses Edward, she gets the terrifying Breaking Dawn ending: a girl who rejected her call to grow up has hung her love & her eternity on an emotionally stunted partner who hates himself marginally less than he loves her. she's a teen mom with a kid she never wanted who perpetuates the generational trauma passed down from her parents. by keeping this child, the Cullens have set the stage for an uprising/cold war against the Volturi who are likely to take revenge in order to maintain power. Bella is living in a tenuous "dream come true" wrapped in a nightmare & doesn't realize it.

choosing Jacob is the true coming-of-age ending that rips the stitches out of a wound that never fully healed. even if we ignore the fact that she ends up with a man who sexually assaulted her (we must bear in mind Jacob's character is influenced by smeyer's racism, but it did happen), they can't have a secure romantic relationship. based on the high imprinting rate of the pack, Jacob will likely find his imprint in his lifetime & will lose himself to the imprintee. he will no longer be her Jacob. he will inevitably abandon her (whether he wants to or not), & she must reconcile with the reality that she will always be inadequate to Jacob's imprint. & say he never manages to escape the vampires? he will presumably not age for a long time, meaning the relationship Bella always feared with Edward (her being an old grandmother while he stays forever young) remains a possibility. this is the story of a girl who slaps a Band Aid on an open wound & calls herself healed while flinching every time she sees the shadow of the knife that cut her.

if she chooses neither (team therapy), her healing requires her to lose or be at least partially disconnected from everyone she cares about. Bella must spend the rest of her life shut out from one world while never fully existing in her human world ever again. she must always keep secrets. she can never go back home. even in the unlikely event that she manages to escape the Volturi, the threat of being hunted by vampires will never leave her. in addition, she must face her worst fears (aging, losing Edward) while always keeping in mind the immortal life that could have been hers, if only.

even the "healthiest" option produces scars that will never quite heal.

Twilight is a horror. Twilight is a vampire novel. Twilight is gothic. Twilight is fiction. neither Edward nor Jacob is a "bad" choice because neither will give Bella her happily ever after. the choice between Edward & Jacob is simply a matter of which horror story you prefer to read.

#twilight #twilight renaissance #bella swan #the twilight saga #edward cullen #twilight saga #twilight meta #not to be a downer but the edward/jacob feud is silly #i understand this feud will continue in perpetuity because controversy & drama will always garner attention in online spaces etc #but the idea that either of these men will provide the happy story some people in this fandom want is an illusion #because no matter what happens The Twilight Saga still operates in the context of the vampire/gothic genre which by design can't produce #a 100% happy ending.#'oh but it's a YA romance so-' yeah so the black walls get wallpapered. they're still black underneath & nothing changes that #'this story is a romance' and 'this story is a horror story' are two ideas that can coexist.#i wish we were able to debate the choice between Edward & Jacob while still bearing in mind neither choice is wrong #i think this fandom would be a lot less toxic & mean to each other for no fuckin reason but oh well

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sluttylittlewaistenthusiast · 9 months ago

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╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the fanfics i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

ᡣ𐭩 how you can help palestine . fic recs m.list . m.list two

@gutsby

⭒ Wedded Bliss

The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

@samthemarvelfan

⭒ Bad Romance

In Brooklyn, everyone knows the unwritten rule: you don’t cross James Barnes. When you return after nearly half a decade, things are anything but the same. After the murder of your Uncle, you begin to learn that no one is who they say they are, and that you may have accidentally given your heart to a mobster; The White Wolf of Brooklyn. More dangerous than that, he’s given you his.

@anonymityisfunwriter

⭒ Two Sides of the Same Coin

⭒ You're Losing Me

Your fairytale ending is crumbling before your eyes. You don't know how to love someone who can't tell you're dying. You fear you're fading away, begging him to do someone, say something, choose something. You fear he won't be able to resuscitate you this time. This time, he's losing you.

⭒ Alone Together

It was always been you and Bucky, alone together, you'd say. But suddenly, you're just alone.

⭒ Uptown Girl and the Brooklyn Boy

Everyone knows that all any Uptown Girl needs is a Greaser from Brooklyn to make her forget all about her uptown world.

@pellucid-constellations

⭒ For the Love of the Game

Bucky Barnes was a menace. NYU’s top baseball player, he was used to girls falling at his feet and could smooth talk his way out of just about anything. You hated him. He couldn’t figure out why. So when the novelty of weekend parties and quick hookups finally wore off—and his feelings for you began to grow—he made it his mission to fix it.

@barnesafterglow

⭒ Friday (I'm In Love)

every day you love bucky. every friday he pretends to love you too

@sinner-as-saint

⭒ Tempestuous

With his kingdom flourishing in peace, and no threats from enemies; recently crowned King - James Buchanan Barnes sets out at sea. With his finest ship, the best crew ever recruited, and a deep desire to see whether the edge of the world truly exists; the King sets sail. Hoping to find the marvels of the ocean, to find beauty and magic even; however he ends up finding a fiery soul – one he cannot get enough of. But then again, no love story is ever perfect, is it?

⭒ Ruin

You work at a café owned by your family, close to your uni. And most of your days are pretty laid back and calm, but that is until you catch the eye of the mob boss. Your cute skirts and soft sweaters make him weak. Your innocence captivates him. And he wants you, badly. He wants you in his bed, wants his hand under those cute little skirts… he wants to ruin you.

⭒ A Sweeter Place

Years after a messy break-up, and now seeking stability, infamous mob boss James Buchanan Barnes finds himself reunited with an old flame of his. Instant guilt and regret wash over him when he finds out that his reckless ways back then, changed an innocent girl’s life forever.

⭒ You're No Saint

Steve and Bucky have been friends since they were young boys. They are inseparable, so naturally when you married Steve you were aware that Bucky came along with him. Every event, every vacation, even as the best man at your wedding - Bucky was always there, alongside you and Steve. He was one of your best friends as well, so you’ve never thought of him in a sexual way, ever. That is until one certain night, when you see something you’re not supposed to and you like it a little too much. You deny your desire towards Bucky, but Steve knows you better than anyone. He knows what you want and need, and he’s determined to fulfil your fantasy; because what his wife wants, she gets.

⭒ Run For Your Life

He was away from the city for a while, chasing after some bastards who betrayed him. But the traitors were no longer breathing now and Bucky Barnes was finally able to come home to the city he ruled. Mostly, he was excited to come back and see his girl again. However when he got to the strip club where you worked as a waitress, he didn’t find you there. They told him you didn’t work there anymore. No one knew where you went, or why you left. Nobody even knew your real name. Now it was up to him to search the whole wide world to find a nameless girl – one he was obsessively, mindlessly in love with.

⭒ All Yours

One of your students confess their feelings for you and things get interesting...

@mellowsaturns

⭒ In Losing Grip, on Sinking Ships

when the avengers pick up unusual activity, they realize that not all of hydra was destroyed. one unidentifiable face sends the team into a frenzy but bucky knows it. he could recognize those eyes anywhere.

⭒ All to Myself

after bucky finds out why you've been acting up ever since his company's party, he teaches you a lesson and remind you that you're the only one for him

@renxzs

⭒ Redemancy

Maybe it was a bit naive to think moving in with your best friend and long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, was going to be some smooth road that led to an admittance of mutual feelings for one another and a happily-ever-after ending, wrapped up nicely in a bow. Naive indeed; especially when you have to consider the fact that Bucky is the biggest womanizer you know.

@cryptidcasanova

⭒ My Devotion

The one where Bucky doesn’t take your breakup well.

⭒ Loverboy

It's the Bridgerton carriage scene, but make it mob!Bucky.

@subwaysurf45

⭒ She's Not Mad

Bucky Barnes was a known people pleaser, it was second nature to him. After meeting you and getting close you both try to navigate his eternal stressed state, working together you try your best to tone down his obsessive ways.

@adrinktostopyourthirst

⭒ Sniper

Reluctantly, you get thrown into an assignment with Bucky and Yelena, but Bucky doesn't trust you as far as he can throw you. When he's proven to be correct, it turns out you're still a hell of a good team.

⭒ Three Hundred

Bucky always makes sure his best friend is okay, because that is what you need. He's caring, but very passive and nonchalant, because you need it. Not him. He doesn't need that. He doesn't need you. Does he?

⭒ Variant

The chaos of the multiverse is quite literally holding up a mirror to Bucky. Turns out, it's very easy to get under someone's skin when you have a universal connection to them.

⭒ Underground

The Underground is the last way for you to survive whatever is left of the world after the Blip. Natasha introduces you to the Winter Soldier whose wing you're under until you find your way around. He's a stoic Underground fighter and you're... useless.

⭒ One Shot

Bucky and you have a hard time staying away from each other. And though you try to push him away, every time he finds you again, the universe finds a new way to pull you apart.

⭒ Satisfied

Drunk sex with Bucky.

@thenhewaswrongaboutme

⭒ Your Hands Have Made Some Good Mistakes

Bucky has to spend six months locked up with a stranger.

⭒ Time Out

Need me a boy who is so needy and whiny when he cums inside for who knows how many times, and yet he still begs as soon as he's done "please, please again? I'll be good, I-I swear, I just need it so bad, just one more baby I promise–"

@bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

⭒ After All This Time

impending danger puts you and your ex, Bucky, in close quarters.

⭒ Why Are You At The Wake?

Bucky sits by your hospital bed, anxious for you to finally open your eyes. He’s got to set the record straight, and apologize for what he said before you got hurt.

⭒ The Rain Is Always Gonna Come If You're Standing With Me

A hurtful article in a low-budget gossip magazine throws your relationship with Bucky for a loop.

⭒ I Can Go Anywhere I Want, Just Not Home

Bucky doesn't talk to you anymore, and he's less than enthusiastic when he runs into you out of the blue. But when he calls from a strange phone number, the puzzle pieces fall together.

@noceurous

⭒ Get You Back

You hated that you loved Bucky Barnes, and he loved that you could not hate him.

@violentdelightsandviolentends

⭒ Honey Girl

The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

@notafunkiller

⭒ You Were Just Mine Yesterday

It's been a while since your break up with Bucky happened, but you're still not over him. You try to move on, go out, and have fun with your friend, Steve, but you end up in the same bar you two went to often. It also just happens that Bucky is there too, with Natasha by his side. It doesn't take long for you two to end up getting into old habits.

⭒ Out Of Style

A year after your divorce, you and Bucky come face to face at your closest friends' wedding. Emotions run high, leading to a fiery confrontation that takes a detour to Bucky's hotel room, where the old flame might just reignite.

@queers-gambit

⭒ Curiousity Killed The Cat

after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

@cherryblossom-heart

⭒ I Loved You Once

Loving Bucky Barnes was never easy but breaking your heart seemed to come naturally to him. A love story about your heartbreak,his betrayal and a chance at redemption.

@rookthorne

⭒ Purity

Softness was a trait you unwittingly carried - the wings of a dove taking you higher and higher, elevating you in the eyes of the devil. And that devil did not want to wait any longer. It was time to collect.

⭒ His Girls

Cars were all the same to you — classics, imports, you name it, they were all the same. Well, they were, until you were nonetheless forced to visit your local mechanic and saw the man that would pique your interest in not only every single make and model of classic car, but his charming smile; the air of righteous arrogance that flowed from his tattoos, and that damned cheeky glint in his bright eyes.

⭒ Hollywood Boulevard

All it took was one night, one song - hell, one note - and you were gone for him, hook, line, and sinker. Turbulent times lay ahead, but in the afterglow of ecstasy, forced to feel emotions in such intensity for someone you’d never expect, you couldn't help but follow him anyway - he was irresistible, after all.

@boxofbonesfic

⭒ You're Gonna Give Me Six

@gogolucky13

⭒ Mean It

You and Bucky get trapped overnight in the safe house after a mission. Everything should be okay, except he's your ex and thanks to his carelessness, the situation gets a little more complicated.

@intrepidacious

⭒ Almost Believing

You and Bucky aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. That doesn't mean you're getting out of having to pretend to be married for a mission.

@buckybarnesdiaries

⭒ Please

Bucky needed to be spoiled.

@buckys-darling

⭒ Face The Sun

To ensure the prosperity of their two kingdoms, a determined Princess and reluctant King are to be wed. She is willing to commit, but he can’t seem to let his lover go.

⭒ Will You Love Me Tomorrow?

You and Bucky are friends who fuck and nothing more. That’s what you’ll keep telling yourself, at least.

⭒ Electric

Flirtation has a different meaning with Bucky, and his patience doesn't last long when it comes to you.

@straywords

⭒ Kiss It Better

You’re not entirely sure your boss with the staring problem even likes you, but you’re determined to do your job either way.

@little-miss-dilf-lover

⭒ Fifteen Minutes

@bucksfucks

⭒ The Feeling's Mutual

the amount of times you and bucky have seen each other masturbating is alarmingly high. might as well do it together.

@ellemj

⭒ Bigger Than He Was

Bucky pretends to be your new man when you run into your ex in public. However, the little act of pretending sparks something inside of him that he didn't know was there.

⭒ Strawberries

Bucky, the man with a long list of girls on his roster, gets exposed to a sex pollen in the field. Will he fuck the first girl he calls or the girl he's wanted for the last two months?

⭒ Breathe

Bucky hates the way you take unnecessary risks in the field, the way you're so mesmerizing and yet so hard to work with, and he especially hates the way you get on your knees for him during a dangerous mission. Finding out how pretty you look on your knees is the last thing he needs.

⭒ Flustered | part 2

Bucky seems to thoroughly appreciate all women...except for you. When he finds out one of your weaknesses, he can't help but use it against you, which only makes you hate him more.

⭒ Inevitable

While on a mission with Sam, John Walker, and Bucky, you're the only person exposed to a sex pollen. Bucky sure as hell isn't going to let anyone else take care of you.

⭒ Blurred Lines

When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.

⭒ Does It Hurt?

Bucky never would've gone out of his way to help you if he knew that HYDRA was still watching his every move, if he knew that it would shift their focus to you. When you're targeted and taken, it's his fault and he'll do anything to save you. Anything.

@viixenvi

⭒ Red

You work at a strip club and Bucky is a regular. Tonight he specifically asks for you in a private room. You never thought he'd love the color red on you so much.

@ro-is-struggling

⭒ Self Care

Bucky always seemed interested in your skin care routine, so when one day he arrives tired and drained from a mission, you take the opportunity to show him the importance and benefits of self-care.

@kinanabinks

⭒ Silent Girl

After a traumatizing event, you aren’t the friendliest or most talkative of people. Bucky understands, and in turn becomes the one person you soften your hard exterior for.

⭒ Special Girl

Being friends with benefits definitely has its perks, especially when the friend in question is as hot as Bucky Barnes - but when you're feeling insecure about the arrangement, Bucky makes it clear to you that you're more than just a friend.

@angrythingstarlight

⭒ Roommate Bucky

@wkemeup

⭒ Cold, Cold Water

While on a stakeout in the heart of Russia, Bucky learns that touch can bring something more than pain and he will willingly give himself over to the ice if it means keeping you alive.

⭒ Drunk On You

Bucky has always been nervous around you. When he’s tasked with caring for you after a night of heavy drinking and suddenly you’re kissing him, Bucky doesn’t know what to do. You couldn’t possibly want him sober, right?

⭒ Honey and Chamomile

Four cups of tea, four distinct moments in time, and each pulls you in closer beyond the walls surrounding Bucky’s heart.

⭒ Suburbia

Posing as husband and wife, you and Bucky infiltrate a quaint suburban neighborhood in search of a Hydra hacker. Perhaps if you weren’t so in love with him and he hadn’t broken your heart, the act of pretending wouldn’t hurt so much.

⭒ Eclipse

When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface.

⭒ Back to Bourbon Street

When you’re badly injured on a mission, Bucky works desperately to keep you alive. Only, it might not be enough.

@espinosaurusrexex

⭒ Bad Boys Don't Buy Flowers

Bucky would have never thought, he’d be chasing after a girl. Not when all of them usually fell at his feet. But when he finds himself entangled in a deal born out of a desperate argument with his assistant, he realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for you: The independent florist who is adamantly dragging him to the homeless shelter every chance she gets. There is just one problem: Bucky doesn't know how to tell you. And the teasing from his friends is certainly not making things easier for him...

@navybrat817

⭒ Reconnect

Bucky Barnes is your best friend. You're also in love with him. After his recent breakup, the two of you get a chance to reconnect during a weeklong vacation together. Is it long enough to get your happy ending?

@dyspneagrime (wattpad & ao3)

⭒ No Privacy

You're stuck on a mission that never seems to end, in a completely destroyed studio apartment, with absolutely no privacy. And no privacy means- you haven't cum the whole time. Thing is, neither has the ancient, half-cyborg, psychopathic, hobo-lookin' asshole that you've been partnered up with.

⭒ Little Wing

The year is 1973. All Dove Rogers wanted was a relaxing summer. Just one last hoorah before being thrust into the adult life. Yet everything shifts when her new houseguest and long standing enemy- Bucky Barnes, arrives. In the thick of sun-kissed relaxation, the two of them are forced to face the awakening and burning desire growing between them.

⭒ Possessed

Margaret Everlee is a meek little thing. Living her life as a struggling artist in New York, trying to find her place in the world. That is until the formidable CEO with a dark past, James Barnes sets his sights on her. His infatuation is instantaneous, becoming a man obsessed with making her his own little doll.

@stardustdreams-andcaffeine

⭒ The Thin Line

Of one thing you were certain—Bucky Barnes hated you, and you hated him. How could you not, considering the super soldier had made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell after you had been assigned to protect him? But there was someone after Bucky from his past, and now he was forced to work alongside you to stop them. And in the process, you would find out just how thin that line was between love and hate.

@buckybabesonly

⭒ Wanna Be Yours

You are afraid to believe that someone like Bucky might actually love you back.

@lovelybucky1

⭒ Flirting and Football

@kurogxrix

⭒ Drunkenly In Love

you and Bucky ‘accidentally’ get married after a drunken game of truth or dare with the avengers.

@stxrvel

⭒ Hate Is A Strong Word

you hated Bucky and you were convinced that he hated you back. until one time he was talking to you and it started to sound... lovely? what was happening?

@kikixreverie

⭒ Its Called: Freefall

Things get heated between you and your closest friend Bucky, when you're made to play a married couple on an important mission. Neither of you can help yourselves when you end up stuck in a hotel room together, with sexual tension you could cut with a knife.

@brunchable

⭒ I Don't Want You Like A Best Friend

Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled you in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt.

@thyme-in-a-bubble

⭒ Just For Tonight

before you could even consider the possible consequences, a desperate request then fell from your lips, “well, what if I’m not asking you to be with me? What if it’s just for tonight? What if I’m only asking you to be with me for one night? Would you give me that?” you blinked up at him, scarcely breathing at all, “would you be mine just till the sun comes up?”

@aquaticmercy

⭒ Sleeper

When Bucky falls in love with the antihero he’s sleeping with, he offers her a place in the Thunderbolts.

⭒ My Own Soul's Warning

You, an immortal being, falls in love with the very mortal Bucky Barnes. You would do anything for him, even if it meant you had to strike a deal with Death herself.

⭒ Breaking Point

You and Bucky had always hated each other. When Bucky gets injured during a mission, you start wondering if the hatred was just masking something else.

@skaye44

⭒ Coffee Companion

You and your friend Bucky enjoy going for coffee dates as friends. Bucky sees the names and numbers of two flirty baristas on your cups. He's jealous and wants to be the one you date, so he takes matters into his own hands.

@ultralightpoe

⭒ Juno

@elixirfromthestars

⭒ Sink Your Teeth In Me

You and Bucky are supposed to attend Sam's party on Halloween. However, when you show up to his place looking like temptation itself—he gets other ideas on how to spend the night with you.

@vunblr

⭒ The Memory Remains

An unexpected encounter brings Bucky face-to-face with someone from his past, stirring memories he thought were long buried.

⭒ Roots and Branches (part 1)

Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.

⭒ Heartwood (part 2)

After Sam’s party, Bucky begins to navigate uncharted territory as he works to balance his growing feelings and lingering insecurities in his blooming relationship.

@thyme-in-a-bubble

⭒Just For Tonight

@elvenrin

⭒ Cold Libraries Create Warmer Hearts

a reserved librarian and a history-loving student keep crossing paths in the cold library, where shared smiles and hidden glances will make them understand that burning hearts don't do well in a place that easily ignites.

#marvel #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #“ass or tits?” bro A METAL ARM #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #tfatws #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #“i can change him” bitch why #hes a perfect menace to society and i love that #sebastian stan #mob!bucky #mob!au #mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky x reader

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navybrat817 · 11 months ago

Note

Anything special for Bucky's birthday?

Something small, nonnie.

For Years or for Hours

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky is the love of your life and deserves to have a peaceful birthday.

Word Count: Almost 1.2k

Warnings: Established relationship, fluff, implied explicit sexual content, being in love, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I wanted to do something more, but today got away from me. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The sun had just risen outside of Bucky’s hut in Wakanda, the rays peeking in and beckoning you to wake up and venture out into the world. You weren't ready to rise and meet the day quite yet. Not when Bucky was beside you, holding you in his sleep like you he’d lose you if he loosened his grip. You wouldn't dare disturb his slumber. Not when he more than anyone deserved to rest peacefully.

So you decided to count the freckles on his nose.

“My beautiful man,” you whispered, placing your left hand on his cheek. “Love of my life.”

The wedding band on your ring finger matched his in design, symbols of the never ending love you had for each other. Time stood still and moved all at once when you said “I do”, but forever didn’t start with your wedding day. It began the day you met. Every moment after that paved a path that entwined, neither of you having to walk alone again.

“One,” you whispered, kissing a freckle on the tip of his nose. You’d never get over the sight of him. “Two…”

You didn’t know Bucky had freckles until he was in your face during a training session, the definition of up close and personal. It was right before you shared your first kiss, which was ages ago and felt like yesterday. He rolled on top of you and pinned your arms above your head, his breathing heavy and eyes stormy as you gazed up at him. Instead of trying to break free of his strong hold, you went lax underneath him and smiled.

“Are you yielding?” He asked, releasing one of your wrists when you made no attempt to move.

“Wow. You have freckles,” you exhaled, brushing his soft brown hair back that fell in his eyes. “I never noticed them before.”

It was as if Bucky removed an invisible mask and allowed you to see his true self for the first time before he pressed his lips to yours. It sparked a flame inside of you that no one could ever put out. And if being in love with him taught you anything, it was that masks hid your true selves and built walls to keep others out. You helped each other knock them down.

He was your partner in every sense of the word.

“Mmm. Tickles,” he mumbled as you kept kissing his nose, his voice throaty and low as he opened his eyes. His broad torso rolled as he arched his back and you had to suppress a shiver when he groaned. “Were you counting my freckles again?”

“You caught me,” you whispered, pecking his nose once more and not embarrassed in the slightest. “I can’t help it. You’re so pretty.”

Amusement filled his eyes as he slid a palm down your ribs to your hip. “I thought you were the pretty one in this relationship, Mrs. Barnes.”

Your cheeks warmed at the reminder that you were his wife. “We can both be pretty, Mr. Barnes,” you teased, tilting your head back so he could brush his scruff against your neck. You joked once that people called him the White Wolf because he liked to “scent” and leave his mark on you. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

“Why should I go back to sleep, hmm?” He asked, placing an open-mouthed kiss over your racing pulse. It was enough to make you whimper when you tried to find your words. “Cat got your tongue?”

“You menace,” you moaned, tugging on his hair for good measure, which only made him let out that lustful groan you loved. “Because it’s your birthday and you deserve to sleep in, old man.”

His first birthday as a married man.

“And we won't say how old I am today,” he said, his hair falling in his eyes as he pulled back and smirked. “And I was kind of hoping I'd wake up with my cock in your mouth.”

“Bucky,” you breathed out, fighting the urge to laugh at his admission as the tingle between your thighs grew. Whatever thought was in your mind went away. It didn't matter. All you could imagine were his eyes staring down at you in wonder and ecstasy as you took him in your throat. “You know what? Fine. Your wish is my command.”

You’d please him with whichever hole he wanted to use.

“But I’m awake,” he teased, chuckling when you silenced him with your lips. He didn't let you pull away, feeling as if the hut tilted on its axis as he deepened the kiss you started. It was like your first kiss all over again. The promise of something more.

A lifetime together.

“Pretend you're asleep,” you suggested when you grudgingly pulled away from his sinful lips. “But if Steve and Sam ask, we woke up to watch the sun rise.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed when you smiled, your heart rate picking up. “Don't talk about those punks when you're about to go down on me,” he half growled.

“Yes, White Wolf,” you teased. They would no doubt message him birthday wishes, along with Natasha and a few others, once they were awake. He deserved all the love today and every day.

Before you could kiss down Bucky's body, he stopped you with a gentle grip. “Wait,” he whispered, his eyes searching your face. You didn't know a gaze could be so soft until he looked upon you. This was a man who knew your hopes, dreams, fears.

And loved you all the while.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked when he reached for your left hand.

“I just love you so much, doll,” he said, running his thumb over the ring as your eyes filled with tears. You blinked them away quickly enough to catch his tender smile. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

When you got home, you’d celebrate his special day in regular fashion. You’d take him to the new science exhibit that he mentioned wanting to see. The two of you would cuddle up to watch his favorite movie after dinner with the gang. He’d eat the cake you baked just for him. And there would be a present or two for him to open before you went to bed.

But the gift he wanted most was to have a day without a reminder of the fight. Where he could breathe in the air, take in the quiet, and feel a sense of peace with the person he loved beside him. You knew the only way to give him that was to get him out of the city and back to his hut. Even if it was only for a short time.

In his sanctuary, he’d find tranquility on his special day and you’d show him how much you loved him. Memories the two of you would carry for a lifetime. Because he gave you the world by asking you to be his and you’d spend forever making him happy. Just like he deserved.

“I love you, too, Bucky Barnes,” you promised, kissing the freckle again on the tip of his nose. “Happy birthday.”

Oh, Bucky. We love him. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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cowboy-heart · 8 months ago

Text

'interview with a butch' - a fake interview reflecting on butch-femme dynamics! inspired by the amazing piece by @llovely, which you can read here :)

(ID below read more)

[an original, interview-style poem called 'interview with a butch':

when did you know you were butch? I knew by the time I was sixteen, but that’s only when I found the word. I’ve been butch since the day I was born, at least since I was just a few months old and threw an earth-shattering tantrum whenever my mum tried to put me in a dress. (both laugh) your poor mum!

I remember being a little butch knight, chivalrous even before I was double digits. my best friend only lived up the road from school, but her parents were running late and she was scared to do it herself. so I walked her up the hill, her arm linked in mine, pride balancing on my chest. and when I got her to her door, I said that we should kiss like adults do when they say goodbye, and we took it in turns to kiss each other on each cheek. when I walked home I felt something the size of a boulder in my stomach, but I didn’t know what it meant yet, just that there was something about myself that set me apart.

how did you feel with your first femme? oh, man, even for a writer that’s hard to find the words for. (laugh) let’s put it this way: before I had my first femme, I always felt like something was missing in my relationships – not just in the relationship itself, but in me. I felt broken and wrong, unsatisfied and selfish. I thought that maybe I just had too high expectations or something. hell, even with sex I felt like something was missing, like I couldn’t find my own desire.

But then, then I had my first femme. How graphic can I be here? (laugh) as graphic as you want! okay, good!

watching my stomach hang over my harness, long nails in my hips, I felt like I had a second sexual awakening. I felt the most present in my body I’d ever been, and like I could be in them forever. I didn’t feel dissatisfied, or wrong. when their hand held mine and played with my fingers I felt lightning shoot through me. it was like realising I was a lesbian all over again. but even outside of romance, femmes are my friends, my family, my community. talking to femmes, being around femmes, I’ve never felt so seen and loved. I can handle every sharp look, every slur thrown my way, just because my armour was polished by femmes.

do you find your roles restrictive? they’re liberating. I think sometimes people see me and think that I had to fit into this constrictive box, that I disallowed myself to enjoy anything feminine. the reality is that for butches, we find the word we’ve been searching for our whole lives. I can’t even remember finding the word, isn’t that crazy? it felt second nature. it somehow perfectly described everything I’d ever felt, exposed me to a community of people who were just like me outside of my Tory town! (pause)

I think there’s a tendency even in leftist, LGBT spaces to think that masculinity is oppressive, and femininity is liberating and oppressed. but it’s really not like that. we’re punished for deviating from our assigned gender, whether you’re a masculine woman, or a feminine man, or something in between the two. I’ve had gay men try to convince me to let them do my makeup, I’ve had gay women tell me that they’re “so glad” I don’t have ‘toxic masculinity’ like “other butches”. femininity was a cage for me, something I had to imitate to survive the perils of high school, but it was never me. masculinity liberated me, and it’s not inherently toxic. I love to carry the bags, hold open the doors, cry in pride, protect those I love. and there’s nothing like coming home at the end of the day to a sweet femme, ready to rub my tired muscles. man, I’m not good at concise answers, am I? (both laugh) no, but I love it!

what do you think of people who see your relationship as heteronormative? they’re twats! (both laugh) now, that’s a concise answer! no, no that’s not fair. here’s what I’d say to them:

I see it as…a complex gender performance. no, that makes it sound like it’s play pretend. they’re complex gender…expressions, dynamics, play, desire, euphoria. a butch and a femme together is no more heterosexual than a bear and a twink, a top and a bottom. it’s a dance that we know in our bones, like we knew each other in a previous lifetime and we’re just falling back into our favoured rhythm. even every fumble and awkward gesture is a part of it. we fall into sync and into each other, we tenderise each other’s gender, affirm it, and love every minute of it. we’re not two sides of the same coin, you talk to any butch-femme couple and chances are our priori (edit: interviewee meant propositions) are the same but our conclusions are not; we’re the same side of the same coin, just one is the top of the tail and the other is the bottom of it. is that a euphemism? (laugh) take it as you will!

I’m no man, my femme is no woman, and I’m no less butch when I’m wearing a kiss-the-cook apron and cleaning their kitchen, and they’re no less femme when they’re putting together a shelf or driving me to work. To look at us and see a heteronormative imitation of cisgender predetermination is proof of their own lack of nuance – do you think all dogs are boys and all cats are girls, too? (both laugh)

I think in a lot of ways, butch-femme dynamics are inherently transsexual. or, in the very least, good friends of transgenderism. If you can’t see us for what we are then chances are you’ve got your own internalised gender biases to unlearn.

I’ve always been butch to my bones, but when I’m with my baby I’m on cloud nine. I feel desired, my gender revered and loved.

so, what you’re saying is, you feel seen? I do. we see each other and nurture each other. I’ve never really liked being called ‘beautiful’, but when it falls from the lips of a femme, I know that they’re not seeing me as feminine. I feel most comfortable to explore the depths of both my femininity and masculinity with them; I don’t feel restricted to a role.

maybe that’s what people are missing about it: our homes are temples of gender exploration and devotion.

end ID].

#original poetry #my writing #writeblr #image described #poetry #poetblr #butch #butch4femme #writing #lesbian #butch poetry #butch femme poetry #lesbian poetry #most popular #most proud of

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 6 months ago

Text

Logan Howlett, the man you are. (Headcanons!!)

Minors, do not interact.

A/N: Y’all. I’ve been in a writing rut, but something about Logan- and Huge Jackedman, by extension- regaining his moment in the spotlight has gotten me back at it. Hugh was 1000% the reason I found out that I have a thing for dilfs, and let me tell you, I ain’t mad about it. To quote one author, who I can’t remember off the top of my head but wrote a KILLER breeding kink fic for Wolvie, “before there was Jensen Ackles, there was Hugh Jackman.” If you know me or my work, you know I’m a Jackles girl, but Hugh? Hugh will always get me going, whether he’s a ringleader, a robot shadow boxer, or otherwise.

TLDR I’m so in love with Hugh/Logan again. I always am, but I’m really on fire rn. Don’t worry, I will be continuing the 2SC series, but I needed this.

As always, all interaction, especially your words, is so very much appreciated!! I hope you like this one! Also, thank you for 120 followers! This account is maybe three months old, this is an insane milestone.

CW: it’s really just soft with a side of spice, the most flavorful being daddy/breeding.

-first of all, this man is a the biter.

-and it’s not always in a sexual sense

-he’ll just walk up to you and gently graze his teeth against your exposed shoulder or neck

-especially at night, after sex or not. He’ll be holding you close- you’re the little spoon ofc🎀- and just nibble on the juncture of your neck and shoulder while you cuddle into him

-honestly, it doesn’t hurt. And he only leaves marks if he wants to, ie when he’s balls deep inside of your little cunt OR wanting to remind the world who you belong to

-he’s just got a bit of an oral fixation is all

-speaking of which, he could be between your thighs for the rest of eternity and he’d be fine with it. He LOVES when you tug on his hair as he makes you squirm, only needing one strong hand to hold you down

-he goes feral when he sees you wearing his shirts

-loves to throw you over his shoulder and to play fight

-he’s interested in anything you’re interested in

-mans can’t cook to save his life but adores watching you and “helping”

-aka being all up in your business when you’re literally just trying to chop an onion

-he can be clingy. Not in a whiny way, in a playfully annoying way.

-will always find a way to make you late to anything. Sometimes it’s for the sake of a quickie, other times it’s because he wants one more kiss or to see the last five minutes of whatever show you guys watch together

-if you’re into daddy, he’s into daddy. Especially if you’re significantly younger than him

-he likes to squish you- your boobs, tummy, ass, wherever. He loves your body for what it is and loves you

-this man is so in love with you, by the way

-he’s old as hell but if you teach him how to text he’ll text you sporadically throughout the day. Sometimes it’s really blurry, almost impossible to decipher, pictures of things that remind him of you, other times it’s “When will you be home?” even though he’s already called you to ask four times. That’s mainly on his days off though- if he’s not doing something or you then he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

-that’s not to say he’s not always thinking of you. On missions, wherever, you’re the first thing in his mind. Give him a locket with a picture of the two of you and chances are he’ll wear it forever

-oh back to the other one he totally texts like an old man. If you try to use slang, or even just use “u,” you’ll confuse him so bad that he’ll think he’s in the future or that you’re speaking a different language. He also doesn’t like emojis, unfortunately 😞

-he’s got a sweet tooth. Loves to bake with you- he can’t cook but he can make a mean batch of snickerdoodles. No one knows why, and he’ll never offer any explanation.

-speaking of sweets that’s why he loves eating you out so much, because you taste so sweet to him

-and all of his nicknames are sweet based- sweetheart, sweets, sugar, etc- with the exception of darling which coming from him would put anyone on their knees immediately

-speaking of being on your knees he loves when you do it. Not as much as he loves eating you out, but he does enjoy a solid blow once in a while

-he’s a sucker for cockwarming, even if it’s barely sexual. Just as a way to be close. If you don’t mind him smoking he’ll smoke a cigar while you do so, and get into a nice soft headspace

-the kink of his that annoys him the most is breeding. He doesn’t want kids (unless you do, which is its own conversation. Personally I don’t so works for me haha) but when he’s balls deep, pushing you into the mating press, it doesn’t matter. Especially if you’re in a place where he can fuck you raw all the time- ie you take the pill, have had a hysterectomy, etc- then he will, and he will always spill his seed deep in you, mind filling with pictures of you all round and swollen and cute even if it’s impossible

-however it is hot when he gets in that headspace regardless of if kids are in the question or not

-hang on I thought of something else and then I forgot it

-uhh

-oh that’s it. Praise. Loves getting it, loves receiving it. If you’re more receptive to degradation he’ll give you that, but he loves telling you what a good girl you are

-also has a blast with brat taming

-anyways back to the soft stuff

-he loves domestic life. Curling up with you on the couch with fluffy blankets and snacks, watching rom coms and other cheesy movies

-he’ll rest his head in your lap if you’re drawing, crocheting, reading, etc

-he loves being petted. Your hands in his hair, tracing his muscles, whatever. It makes him so happy and it’s soothing for him

-and we all know how he’s mr gruff n tuff, right?? Well if he’s really eepy and lying on his lap while you stroke his hair, there’s an ever slight chance you can get him to purr. Don’t tease him about it, though, or he’ll get super self conscious

-if you like to workout he’ll work out with you

-he really likes to box to blow off steam, but if it’s with you and you’re not a fellow mutant it’s more play fighting than anything, but it’s still fun

-he’s a sucker for cheesy dates

-call him ‘Lo’ or ‘Wolvie,’ or any nickname that fits him. He thinks it’s adorable, and owns it. He also gives you like fifty nicknames of his own.

-he loves long walks on the beach if it’s accesible, hiking’s also fun to him

-he’ll never take his anger out on you, ever

-he loves reading with you, just sitting in comfortable silence with your respective books

-that’s all for now!!

If you have any ideas for ficlets or headcanons, my asks box is always open!! Xx

#wolverine x reader #wolverine headcanons #wolverine smut #wolverine fluff #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett headcanon #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fluff

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the-eyes-of-andyserkis · 2 years ago

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Figured I'd share this clip since I saw the post with the gifs going around again recently (I could listen to him talk forever). 🥰

Clip from "Vengeance in the Making" | "The Batman" Blu Ray Featurette

#andy serkis #alfred pennyworth #the batman #bruce wayne #matt reeves #robert pattinson #the way that jacket fits #🥵#slutty little waist #could listen to him talk forever #andy serkis: videos #andy serkis: behind the scenes #thinking about that man again #sexualizing that old man til i die

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angelsuecult · 2 months ago

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gold dust woman | s. crosby

“and is it over now, do you know how?

pick up the pieces and go home”

warnings: sexual content, implied (f) masturbation, thigh-riding, MDNI, 18+, nsfw, strong language, controversial? age gap, father’s friend, infidelity

summary: Sid has a nice encounter with a daughter (22) who’s existence he hadn’t know about, your father, a childhood friend who hes only just reconnected with.

request description: age gap sid, immediate strong tension, meeting sidney for the first time.

wordcount: 6.9k

song: gold dust woman - fleetwood mac

a/n: hi guys i hope you enjoy this request i tried to do it justice so if u requested it, don't hesitate to let me know how i did. anyways i really enjoyed writing this one so i hope you guys enjoy reading it too. i'm currently planning on releasing two more soon maybe tonight maybe tomorrow so i hope you guys will like those too! okay, enjoy reading!

___

Sidney hadn’t seen your dad in what felt like forever, one of those people he’d lost touch with as life and hockey pulled him in different directions. So, when the invite came through for a summer get-together, it felt like the perfect opportunity to reconnect. He’d been looking forward to catching up with some old friends, but nothing could’ve prepared him for what greeted him when the door swung open.

He wasn’t sure who he expected to open the door, but it definitely wasn’t you.

The moment you opened the door, he was caught off guard. He’d expected someone, but not you. Not someone who looked like that-who carried that kind of presence, the kind that immediately knocked the air out of him.

Standing there, framed by the soft summer sunlight, you looked like you didn’t belong to this world. He took you in all at once, a tidal wave of feeling that knocked the air out of his chest. You were–Jesus, you were stunning. Maybe it was your pretty face, the soft curve of your lips, or the way your half-lidded eyes lazily flicked up to meet his with the kind of confidence that left him instantly, completely whipped. His gaze trailed down, unable to stop itself from following the smooth lines of your body, your legs impossibly long in those fitted jeans that hugged you just right as if they'd been made specifically for you, and that small t-shirt that barely covered the soft lines of your waist. But what did him in, what completely took over his brain for a solid few seconds, were your hands. They rested at your sides, fingers delicate and perfect, the kind of hands that could bring a man to his knees if you wanted. His mind ran wild thinking about what they'd feel like against his skin before he could even stop himself. He tried not to stare, tried to keep it casual. But the way your lips curled slightly as you took him in made his heart skip a beat or two.

It was like you had walked straight out of a dream he didn't know he had.

The moment stretched between you both, thick and charged, until you spoke first, your voice low and teasing, like you knew exactly what he was thinking. It took everything in Sidney not to close the distance between you.

“Hey, you must be Sidney,” you said, stepping back to let him in, your gaze never leaving his. There was something in the way you looked at him, something that had his pulse jumping in his throat. It was too much. Too soon. He hardly knew you, yet he wanted you in a way that felt raw, primal. But he forced himself to keep his cool, to not let it show just how much you were already affecting him.

Your voice. God, it did something to him–a soft, smoky tone that hit his ears like honey. Sidney cleared his throat, feeling suddenly out of his element.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he replied, his voice somehow steady, though his heart was anything but. He walked inside, giving you a smile that he hoped looked casual, but when his eyes met yours again, it was anything but. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the way his gaze roamed over you again, slower this time, dragging over every inch of your body. “Guess your dad hasn’t told me much about you,” he said, a lazy attempt at teasing, but it felt stiff.

You closed the door behind him, turning smoothly, effortlessly, like you were made for it, made for moving in a way that left him unable to focus on anything but you. Sidney had never been so thrown off his game so quickly. You weren’t just beautiful; you were dangerous. The kind of girl who could walk into any room and leave it spinning in her wake.

Your eyes scanned him slowly, taking your time before answering, “I’m full of surprises.” You led him into the house, your walk slow and confident, hips swaying slightly in a way that felt entirely too intentional. Sid clenched his jaw, keeping his eyes forward, pretending he wasn't completely aware of every single move you made. “My dad’s in the backyard. He’ll be in soon.”

Sidney nodded, his brain still catching up to the fact that you were his old friend’s daughter. That this wasn’t some random woman he could flirt with without consequences. Your dad was a good guy, and Sidney respected him, but damn, it was hard to keep that in mind when you were looking at him like you were right now—like you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him.

His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse loud in his ears. He could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, the heat pooling low in his stomach, and for a split second, he wondered if you could feel it too–this magnetic pull between you. Could you feel the tensions between you two? Because it was damn near suffocating him. The way you looked at him, like you were daring him to make a move, was driving him crazy. He didn't know if it was your face, your lips, or the way your body seemed to make him drive him wild. Probably all of it. But he needed to keep his cool, needed to act like this wasn't affecting him, like he wasn't already thinking about what it would be like to have your legs wrapped around him. He couldn’t let himself go there, not with you. Not with the daughter of an old friend.

Before Sidney could say anything more, your dad’s voice called from the backyard, breaking the spell. Your dad stepped into the room through the sliding door. But you didn't miss the way Sidney’s eyes flickered toward you, the briefest moment of hunger before his expression shifted to something more casual. It was subtle, but the heat between you two was undeniable.

He shook your dad’s hand as if the world hadn’t shifted the second you opened the door. The man clapped him on the shoulder, grinning ear to ear, before excusing himself to the bathroom. “Be right back, Sid–make yourself at home.”

And suddenly it was just the two of you again, the tension simmering between you like an unspoken agreement that neither of you acknowledged outright.

You stood there, leaning slightly against the counter, your eyes flicking to him again. He could feel your gaze tracking him as he took a few steps deeper into the house, pretending to admire the space. But truthfully, he was trying to ground himself, trying to avoid looking directly at you because every glance sent his mind spinning. The way you looked at him wasn't like the usual attention he got, the way people looked at Sidney Crosby. No, this was different. This felt like you saw right through him. And fuck if it didnt make him want you more.

You haven't said much, but everything in your body language screams control–like you knew exactly what you were doing, exactly how to play this game. And Sidney, despite years of keeping his cool under pressure, was starting to feel like he was on the losing end.

He shifted his weight, trying to focus on something else–anything else–but his eyes kept drifting back to you. He couldn't help it. There was something about you that was utterly unattainable, like everyone else wanted you too, but you were just out of reach, untouchable.

And he wanted you.

Fuck, he wanted you.

But he wasn’t the kind of guy to act on impulse, especially not when it was someone as connected to his past as you were. He had to keep it together. Play it cool. You were young, probably just out of college, while he was–well, definitely not in his twenties anymore. But that didn't stop the way his heart kicked up a notch every time you moved or how his body reacted everytime your gaze lingered on him for just a second too long.

Before either of you could say anything else, your dad returned, oblivious to the tension simmering in the room. You straightened up, the teasing glint in your eye softening just a bit, but Sideny felt it, the crackling energy. You flashed at last glance at him, something playful and almost wicked, before you excused yourself to your room.

As you walked away, Sidney found himself watching the sway of your hips, the way your jeans hugged your endless legs, and just as you disappeared down the hallway, you looked back at him. He knew it wasn’t an accident. That look over your shoulder was deliberate, calculated, and he couldn’t help himself.

Sidney caught himself glancing back at you not once, but twice as you disappeared down the hallway, feeling like an idiot for doing it, but unable to stop himself. The second time, though, he was sure you’d noticed. He couldn’t help himself, he had to look, just to be sure he hadn't imagined it. That tiny smirk was there again, teasing, knowing. You didn’t say anything; you didn’t have to. You already had him hooked.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the way his body reacted to you. He needed to pull himself together. This was ridiculous. He was a grown man, an experienced one at that, but he felt like a kid with a schoolboy crush. All from one glance. One smirk. One little flicker of something between you. He was here to catch up with your dad, not this. Not whatever this was. But the way you moved, the way you looked at him, it was impossible not to want more.

Goddamn, he thought. He was in trouble. He knew that for sure now.

He felt like he'd been thrown into a game he didn't know the rules to, but he wasn't about to shy away. Not when the stakes were this high.

Sidney’s heart pounded in his chest as he turned his attention back to your dad, who was rambling about the backyard, the old crew, and how it’d be like old times again.

But it wasn’t like old times. Not anymore. Not with you there.

“Let's head out back,” your dad said, breaking Sidney’s thoughts. But as they walked through the house and into the backyard, his mind stayed on you, replaying every glance, every tiny shit of your body, wondering what might make him do next.

And somehow, he had a feeling that this was just the beginning.

The backyard was lively, filled with people Sidney hadn’t seen in years, friends of your father, most of whom he recognized from his childhood. Conversations blended into a background hum of laughter, catching up, and the occasional clinking of glasses, but Sidney’s attention was somewhere else entirely.

It was on you.

No matter where he stood, who he talked to, his eyes were constantly searching for you—across the yard, near the fire pit, sitting at one of the tables. And every time he found you, he swore you were looking right back at him. It wasn’t just the occasional glance either. It was a magnetism, a pull, one he couldn’t escape. Whenever you locked eyes, the rest of the world seemed to disappear, like you were the only two people in the crowd.

He tried to focus on conversations, genuinely wanting to reconnect with some of the old friends milling around, but it was impossible to get through more than a sentence or two without wondering where you were. And when you weren’t nearby, he found himself scanning the yard, hoping to catch another glimpse of those half-lidded eyes watching him.

And every single time, you didn’t disappoint.

The tension between you was palpable. When you were close, it was unbearable. And when you were across the yard, it lingered in the space between you, thick like the summer heat. Everyone else was completely oblivious, laughing and chatting like nothing was amiss, like they didn’t feel that electric charge in the air.

Even your dumbass boyfriend didn’t notice. Sidney hadn’t seen you get within arm’s length of the guy all night. Not that he was complaining. Actually, it made him feel a little smug. The way you barely acknowledged him, how you avoided his touch, how you actually looked annoyed every time he tried to get close—Sidney noticed every bit of it.

In fact, your disinterest in your boyfriend became the clearest when everyone had gathered around, embracing him like some long-lost hero. Sidney could feel the weight of your gaze from the edge of the group, the way you hung back while everyone else threw their arms around him, exchanged jokes, and reminisced. You stayed away, distant, cool, those pretty eyes of yours watching him with an intensity that made his stomach tighten.

It wasn’t lost on him either how much you tilted your head when you watched him, like you were studying him, trying to figure out what made him tick. It drove him crazy. He wanted to know if you were thinking the same thing he was. Did you want him like he wanted you? Was your pulse racing every time your eyes met his, or was that just wishful thinking on his part?

He wanted so badly to know what was going through your head.

And then there were the moments when you got close—too close.

Whenever you passed him, whether it was reaching for a drink or moving around the yard, your hand would graze his ever so slightly. Just enough to send a jolt of heat straight through him. He wondered if you knew what you were doing or if it was just coincidence, but after the third or fourth time, he had a feeling it was no accident.

At one point, you brushed by him to grab something off the picnic table, your fingers trailing just barely against his arm. Sidney’s breath caught, and he could feel his skin tingle where you touched him, like a burn that wouldn’t go away. His eyes flicked to yours, and for a split second, the world stopped again. The air between you crackled, heavy and charged. Your lips curved into the smallest smirk, and Sidney had to force himself to tear his gaze away before he did something reckless, like reach out and grab your wrist just to see if that same spark would shoot up his arm.

He shifted his weight, trying to keep himself grounded. His head was spinning, but he couldn’t let it show. Not here, not now. He had to play it cool, even though all he could think about was the way you looked at him with those pretty eyes, your lips slightly parted, as if waiting for him to make the first move. He imagined what it would be like to close the gap, to feel your mouth on his, the warmth of your body pressed against his, the taste of you on his tongue.

But every time the thought crossed his mind, your boyfriend would appear—clueless and completely unaware. The guy didn’t even seem to realize that you were avoiding him, that you were never affectionate, never close. And honestly, Sidney couldn’t help but feel a little smug about it. It wasn’t his fault the guy didn’t notice how your attention was elsewhere.

Sidney’s eyes followed you again as you moved across the yard, your hand brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, your fingers grazing the side of your neck. His mouth went dry. He tried to focus on the conversation happening around him, but he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering, from picturing you pressed up against him, your breath warm on his neck, your fingers tangled in his hair.

He needed to get a grip.

Your dad called out to him from across the yard, pulling him back into the moment. Sidney plastered on a smile, lifting his beer in acknowledgment, but his thoughts were still tangled up in you, still replaying every look, every touch.

As the evening wore on, the tension between you only seemed to build. Even though you weren’t constantly in the same group, there was an undeniable pull that kept dragging his attention back to you. Every time he caught you glancing at him from across the yard, every time your hand brushed against him, it felt like another layer of control peeled away.

By the time the sun started to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and gold, Sidney was practically buzzing with need. He was worked up, his mind racing with thoughts he shouldn’t be having, thoughts that would get him into trouble.

But all he could think about was you—about the way your body would feel pressed up against his, the way your lips would taste, the way you’d sigh his name if he touched you the way he wanted to.

It took everything in him not to cross the yard and find a way to get you alone. And from the way you kept glancing at him, he had a feeling you wouldn’t exactly mind if he did.

The night hadn’t ended as he hoped. Sidney's fingers tapped absentmindedly against the steering wheel as he sat in his car, parked in front of your house. His mind was running in circles, replaying every moment of the evening in agonizing detail—the way your eyes lingered on him, the brush of your hand against his arm, the subtle smirk that curved your lips whenever you caught him looking at you.

You were impossible to forget.

The way you had smiled so sweetly, just for him, your fingers brushing against his arm as you whispered, “Goodnight, Sidney,” made his pulse race. But then you had dragged your boyfriend—whom it was so clear you hated—into the house. That should have been his cue to go. It was. He’d told himself there was no point in sticking around when everything was so painfully out of reach.

And yet here he was, still sitting in his car, parked in front of your dad’s house like an idiot, his heart thudding in his chest. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, replaying the way you looked at him, the way your lips had quirked into that teasing little smile. And the worst part? He didn’t want to leave.

He sighed, dragging his hand through his hair, trying to shake the thought of you from his mind. But it was useless. You were everywhere—on his skin, in his thoughts, making him feel like he was going to explode. He needed to get himself together.

Just as he started to gather himself, he heard the passenger door click open. His heart stopped for a second, and when he turned, there you were.

You didn’t say a word as you slid into the car, freshly showered, smelling faintly of soap and shampoo. Your legs, bare beneath those tiny boxer shorts, brushed against the center console, and your top left almost nothing to the imagination. Sidney’s breath hitched, his chest tightening at the sight of you.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was low, raspy, barely above a whisper. He wasn’t sure if he was asking you or himself.

The tension that had been building all night, the unspoken pull between you, snapped the moment you settled into the seat beside him. Without even thinking, Sidney reached for you, and you leaned over the center console, your lips crashing into his with an intensity that stole his breath.

The kiss was desperate, hungry, like neither of you could get enough. Sidney’s hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you made a sound—a soft, breathless sigh that sent a rush of heat straight through him. God, you tasted sweet, sweeter than he could’ve imagined, and he couldn’t get enough.

Your lips moved against his, feverish and demanding, and Sidney was lost in you. His other hand slid down your side, feeling the soft, bare skin beneath his fingertips, and you shivered under his touch. Your lips parted, and he didn’t hesitate, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting you, exploring every inch. The kiss was messy, all tongue and teeth, but it was perfect—so perfect it made his head spin.

He broke away just long enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing hard, your lips swollen and red.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice rough and thick with desire. “You’re so—”

You didn’t let him finish. Your hands were on him, fingers curling into his shirt as you pulled him back in, your lips crashing into his again. Sidney groaned into your mouth, his hand slipping under the hem of your top, sliding up the smooth expanse of your back, desperate to touch more of you.

Your hands moved, fingers curling into the length of his hair as you leaned over the console, practically climbing into his lap. He kissed you like a man starved, each touch, each stroke of his tongue against yours making it harder to remember why this was a bad idea.

“Sidney,” you breathed, your voice a soft, breathy plea that made his blood run hot.

He groaned, his hands sliding down to your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin as he guided you closer. “Come here, baby,” he muttered, pulling you fully onto his lap.

You shifted, and suddenly you were climbing over the center console, straddling his lap, your knees pressing into the seat. Sidney’s hands instinctively found your hips, holding you in place as you settled onto him. The moment you sat down, you both gasped, the heat between you sparking like a live wire.

“God, you’re so pretty,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours before trailing down your jaw to your neck.

You tilted your head back, giving him better access, and he didn’t hesitate, his lips and teeth grazing your skin, eliciting a soft gasp from you. “Fuck,” you sighed, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed a path down to your collarbone.

He couldn’t stop the low growl that escaped him as you rolled your hips against him, the friction making him grip you even tighter.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to look at you. Your lips were swollen, your cheeks flushed, and your eyes were dark and full of want. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You smiled, a teasing, almost wicked smile, as you leaned in to kiss him again. This time, it was slower, deeper, your lips moving against his in a way that had him completely unraveling.

“I think I have some idea,” you murmured, your voice full of that quiet confidence that had been driving him insane all night.

“Jesus,” he breathed, his voice low and strained, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he fought to catch his breath. He could feel the warmth of you through your shorts, pressed against his thigh, and it was driving him absolutely wild.

You rocked your hips, testing the waters, and Sidney’s grip tightened on your waist, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

A soft, breathless laugh escaped your lips, and Sidney couldn’t help but smile against your skin. But then you moved again, this time slower, more deliberate, grinding your hips against his thigh, and all traces of humor disappeared.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head tilting back against the headrest, his hands guiding your movements. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear, your breath warm against his skin. “You like that?” you whispered, your voice low and teasing.

Sidney’s hands slid up your back, tangling in your hair as he pulled you down for another kiss. This one was slower, but no less intense. Your lips moved against his in a lazy, sensual rhythm, your hips still grinding against his thigh, sending wave after wave of pleasure through him. His tongue slipped into your mouth again, tasting you, exploring every inch, and you moaned softly into the kiss, the sound making his blood boil.

“Sidney,” you murmured, your voice soft but full of need.

“Yeah, baby?” he asked, his hands sliding down to your thighs, squeezing gently.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his as you spoke.

“Never,” he promised, his voice low and rough as he kissed you again, his hands gripping you tightly as he guided your movements against him.

You leaned forward, your lips finding his neck as you pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to his skin. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as you sucked gently, leaving a faint mark just below his jaw.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his head falling back against the headrest as you continued your assault on his neck.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes meeting his as you smiled, that teasing, confident smile that had been driving him crazy all night.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” Sidney murmured against your lips, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as you moved. “So damn sweet.”

You bit down on his bottom lip, tugging it gently between your teeth, and Sidney groaned, his hands tightening on your waist. “God, you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice rough and desperate. “So perfect.”

Your hands were in his hair, tugging gently as you kissed him, slow and sloppy, your lips swollen and red. Sidney’s hands moved down, gripping your hips as he guided you against his thigh, feeling the heat of you through your shorts.

He pulled away just enough to look at you, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Fuck, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. “I need you. I need you so bad.”

Your lips curved into a slow, teasing smile, and you leaned in, brushing your lips against his. “Then take me,” you whispered, your voice soft and sweet, but full of promise.

Sidney didn’t need any more encouragement. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, his lips crashing into yours once more. The kiss was hot and messy, full of tongue and teeth, and neither of you cared. All that mattered was the feel of you in his arms, the taste of you on his lips, the heat of your body pressed against his.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, his voice rough with desire as his hands slid down to your hips again, pulling you harder against his thigh. “I’ve been wanting this all fucking night.”

Sidney couldn’t remember the last time he felt this out of control. Every kiss, every movement of your hips against him had him feeling like he was seconds away from losing it entirely. You were perched on his lap, legs spread over his thighs, and the way you rocked against him, the heat of you soaking through the fabric of your little boxer shorts—it was intoxicating. His hands were on your waist, guiding your movements slowly, deliberately, just enough to feel the friction but not enough to give you what you so clearly wanted.

Your lips were swollen, a little bruised from how hungrily you had been kissing him, but you didn’t stop. Neither of you did. The taste of you was addictive, and Sidney couldn’t help but groan into your mouth when you kissed him again, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss. Your breathless sighs and quiet moans sent shivers down his spine, each sound like music to his ears, pushing him closer to the edge. He felt like a teenager again, like this was his first time sneaking around and making out in the front seat of his car.

But this was so much more intense, so much more desperate.

“Shit,” Sidney muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His hands were gripping your hips tightly, guiding you slowly against his thigh, but he could feel the tremble in your legs, the way you were growing more and more restless beneath his touch. You wanted more—he could feel it.

Your head tipped back, lips parted as a soft moan slipped out, and Sidney swore it was the prettiest sound he’d ever heard. He shifted beneath you, the friction of your body against him sending sparks of pleasure coursing through his veins. He wanted to touch you everywhere, to feel every inch of you, but he was holding himself back, trying to maintain just an ounce of control.

But when you started to get impatient, your body grinding harder against his thigh, his restraint started to slip.

“God, you’re driving me nuts,” he breathed, his voice low and rough as his hands slid under the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of your back. He could feel the warmth of you through the thin fabric of your shorts, and it was taking everything in him not to just lose it right here in the front seat of his car.

You whimpered softly, your fingers tightening in his hair as you rocked against him harder, chasing the friction, needing more. Sidney’s lips found your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, feeling you shiver against him.

"Please, Sid," you whispered, your voice soft and needy, the sound sending a jolt of heat straight through him. You tilted your hips, trying to guide his hands lower, to where you really wanted him, but he resisted, keeping his touch light and teasing.

“Not yet,” he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing against your collarbone as his hands gripped your hips tighter, holding you in place. “I want to take my time with you.”

A frustrated moan escaped your lips, and Sidney could feel the tension in your body, the way your breath came in short, shallow gasps as you rocked harder against him, trying to find release on your own. He groaned softly, his hands gripping your hips tightly, guiding your movements against his thigh as you ground down, your breath hitching with each movement.

You were so close—he could feel it.

And so was he.

Sidney’s hands wandered beneath your shirt, exploring the soft curves of your body, but still, he didn’t touch you where you wanted him to. He was drawing it out, making you work for it, and the more he held back, the needier you became.

He could feel the heat of you through your shorts, the dampness pooling between your thighs as you pressed harder against him. The thought of you so worked up, so desperate for him, was enough to drive him insane.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Sidney muttered, his voice thick with desire as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, brushing against your bare skin. You gasped softly, your body trembling beneath his touch, but he didn’t give you what you wanted, not yet.

"Sid, please," you whimpered, your voice breaking as you grabbed his hand, trying to guide it lower. But instead, he pulled his hand away, his lips curving into a slow, teasing smile.

“Uh-uh,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he kissed your neck again. “You’re gonna have to work for it, sweetheart.”

You groaned softly in frustration, but instead of protesting, you did exactly that. Your hands gripped his shoulders for balance as you started to rock your hips against his thigh, faster, more desperate this time. Each movement sent a wave of pleasure washing over you, and Sidney could feel the way your breath hitched with each grind of your hips. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your head tipping back as you let out a soft, breathless moan.

Sidney’s grip tightened on your hips, guiding you, helping you chase that high you were so desperate for. He was losing control, too—his breathing ragged, his skin flushed, and every moan that escaped your lips was pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

“You feel so good,” Sidney muttered, his voice rough as he kissed your neck again, his hands sliding down to your ass, squeezing gently as he guided your movements. “So fucking good.”

You whimpered softly, your body trembling as you ground against him harder, faster. Sidney groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly, pulling you down harder against his thigh, feeling the heat of you through the thin fabric of your shorts. He was so close to losing it, so close to just taking you right here in the front seat of his car.

But then you moved your hand between your legs, pressing your fingers against the slick fabric of your shorts, and Sidney’s breath caught in his throat. You were so needy, so desperate for him, and he could feel it in every strained sound you made, every trembling movement of your body.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he watched you, his heart pounding in his chest.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you touched yourself, your fingers moving in slow circles over your soaked shorts. Sidney groaned, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer as he kissed you again, his lips moving hungrily against yours.

He should stop you—he knew that. He should tell you that this was wrong, that someone could walk by at any moment and see what you were doing. But you didn’t care, so why should he?

Sidney’s hands slipped beneath your shirt, his fingers tracing the soft skin of your back as he kissed you harder, deeper. He could feel the heat radiating from your body, the way you trembled beneath his touch, and it was driving him insane.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” Sidney muttered against your lips, his voice thick with desire as he kissed you again, his hands wandering beneath your clothes.

You let out a soft laugh, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “Who gives a shit?”

Sidney chuckled, his breath hitching as you ground against him again, harder this time. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he pulled you down against him, feeling the heat of you through your shorts. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smiled, your lips curving into a teasing smirk as you kissed him again, slow and lazy, your fingers tangled in his hair. “You love it,” you whispered, your breath hot against his lips.

Sidney groaned softly, his hands sliding down to your thighs, squeezing gently as he pulled you closer. “Yeah, I fucking do,” he muttered, his lips brushing against yours.

The air inside the car was growing thick with heat and tension, and Sidney could barely think straight. The windows were starting to fog up, the outside world slowly disappearing from view as if the two of you were in your own little bubble. Each kiss was deeper, messier, and more desperate than the last, your breath mingling with his as your lips moved together in a rhythm that neither of you wanted to break.

Sidney’s hands were everywhere—on your hips, your thighs, slipping beneath your shirt, exploring every inch of your body. He could feel how soaked you were through your shorts, how your body trembled with need, and it was driving him wild. You were grinding against his thigh, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your little moans making it almost impossible for him to hold back.

The tension between you was unbearable, like a rubber band stretched to its limit, ready to snap at any second. Sidney knew that if you stayed like this any longer, he was going to lose control completely. And the thought of taking it further—of giving you exactly what you wanted—was tempting, so damn tempting. But there were people just a few feet away. One wrong move, one sound, and the entire night would unravel. As much as Sidney wanted you, as much as he ached to take things to the next level, he couldn’t risk it.

You were breathless, your body trembling as you rocked against him, your fingers still pressing between your legs, and Sidney’s mind was a blur of need. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the pulse of desire thrumming through his veins, but he couldn’t help the small voice in the back of his head reminding him of the reality of the situation. If you two didn’t stop now, someone would notice.

The windows were fogging up more and more, a telltale sign of what was happening inside the car, and Sidney knew it was only a matter of time before someone got suspicious. You must have sensed it too because your movements slowed, your breath coming in soft, shallow gasps as you kissed him again, a little slower this time, but just as needy.

Sidney muttered against your lips, his voice rough as he broke the kiss for a second, his forehead pressed against yours. “We’re gonna get caught.”

You didn’t seem to care, your lips moving to his neck, kissing and nipping at his skin as you ground against his thigh one last time. “I don’t give a shit,” you whispered, your voice hushed, but full of need, your breath hot against his skin.

Sidney groaned, his hands tightening on your hips as he tried to hold back, tried to be the voice of reason, but you were making it so damn hard. “I know, but—fuck, we need to stop. Just for now,” he whispered, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

Reluctantly, you pulled back, your lips leaving his neck, your eyes heavy with lust as you met his gaze. Your body was still pressed against his, and the heat between you was almost unbearable. Sidney swallowed hard, his breath coming in short gasps as he tried to regain some semblance of control.

But you didn’t make it easy for him.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you pulled your fingers from between your legs, slipping your hand out from beneath your shorts, your fingers glistening in the low light. Sidney’s eyes darkened as he watched you, his breath catching in his throat as you brought your fingers to your lips, giving him a taste of yourself with a slow, teasing lick.

His head fell back against the seat, a low, desperate groan escaping his lips as he watched you, his skin buzzing with the need to pull you back into him, to kiss you until you were both out of breath again. But you were already shifting off his lap, your body moving away from him, leaving a trail of heat in your wake as you settled back into the passenger seat.

“This isn’t over,” you whispered, your voice low and sultry as you leaned in one last time, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Next time, you’re gonna give me what I fucking want.”

Sidney’s chest tightened at your words, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched you, his mind already racing with the possibilities of what next time might bring. “You think I won’t?” he murmured, his voice deep and full of promise. “You have no idea.”

Your eyes flickered with amusement, a teasing smile on your lips as you leaned in close, your breath warm against his ear. “I’m counting on it.”

Sidney let out a low, rumbling laugh, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to cool down. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, but there was no mistaking the anticipation in his voice, the thrill of knowing that this wasn’t over—that next time, you would both cross the line you were dancing so dangerously close to tonight.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment longer, the tension still heavy between you, but there was an unspoken agreement now. You couldn’t push it further, not here, not tonight. But Sidney was already counting down the minutes until the next time he could get you alone, until the next time he could finally give you everything you wanted—everything you both wanted.

You slipped out of the car, your body moving with an easy grace that had Sidney’s eyes following your every movement. You glanced back at him one last time, a knowing smile on your lips before you turned and disappeared into the house.

Sidney watched you go, his mind still reeling from everything that had just happened. His skin was buzzing, his heart racing, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you felt against him, the way you tasted, the way you sounded when you said his name.

He leaned back in the driver’s seat, letting out a shaky breath as he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers brushing against the fogged-up window. He was already imagining the next time, the way he would pull you close, the way he’d kiss you until neither of you could think straight, and this time, he wouldn’t hold back.

Next time, you were going to get exactly what you wanted.

And Sidney couldn’t fucking wait.

#angelsuecultwrites #gold dust woman | s. crosby #sidney crosby #sidney crosby fic #sidney crosby x reader #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby smut #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl players #pittsburgh penguins #reqs open #request #requests #long reads

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bodyswap005 · 1 month ago

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"Crossed Wishes at Christmas"

Benny was a typical seventeen-year-old teenager, immature and somewhat stubborn. He was always in conflict with his parents, who insisted on keeping rules he considered absurd. His biggest frustration was not having the freedom to make his own decisions, especially when it came to hanging out with his friends or attending parties.

Although his life wasn’t particularly complicated, Benny felt trapped in a limbo between childhood and adulthood. His days were filled with school, video games, and attempts to catch the attention of a girl in his class he liked. However, behind his confident facade, Benny often felt insecure, desperately wishing to grow up and be treated like an adult.

In his family, Benny viewed the adults with a certain resentment, especially his uncle Valentín, the husband of his aunt Nath. While Valentín always seemed kind, Benny considered him boring, a man stuck in the responsibilities and monotony of adult life.

Valentín, forty-two years old, was an educated, calm, and reserved man. He had built a stable life with his wife Nath, but under that orderly and mature appearance hid a series of regrets that had haunted him since his youth.

During his adolescence, Valentín had grown up in a strict household where his parents controlled every aspect of his life. This had led him to suppress many of his emotions and desires, including his sexual orientation. He never allowed himself to be completely free, and although he had learned to live with that emptiness, he secretly wished he had made better use of his youth.

For Valentín, adulthood was a burden he bore with resignation. He envied his nephew Benny’s carefree attitude, although he also considered him an immature young man who couldn't appreciate what he had. Yet, beneath that criticism lay an unspoken connection: both shared the desire to live something different, though from opposite extremes.

Unknowingly, both were destined to discover what it truly meant to walk in the other’s shoes. And that Christmas, their wishes would change their lives forever.

From Benny’s perspective Christmas Eve had never been my favorite day. This year, even less. Everyone was in a good mood, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the party I was missing. My parents, with their absurd rules, had decided it was better to spend it with family than let me be with my friends. It wasn’t fair. I was seventeen, tired of being treated like a child, and on top of that, my Uncle Valentín kept looking at me as if all this was just a childish tantrum.

"When you’re an adult, you’ll see that this isn’t so important," he said in a patronizing tone that drove me crazy. I ignored him and focused on the one exciting part of the night: the moment to make a wish.

When it was my turn, I closed my eyes and made it with all my might: I want to be an adult. I want to stop following absurd rules.

From Valentín’s perspective I watched my nephew Benny as he made his wish by the tree. His frustration reminded me so much of myself at his age. But unlike him, I never dared to rebel. I always obeyed, always did what was expected of me, and that cost me living my adolescence and youth the way I truly wanted. I was a forty-two-year-old man trapped in a life that wasn’t entirely mine.

When it was my turn, I closed my eyes and wished for something I’d never say out loud: I want to be young again. I want another chance to live without fear.

From Benny’s perspective Christmas morning came with little excitement. I went downstairs, expecting the gifts I knew I would get: a new video game, probably some clothes, and maybe some money. But then I noticed a strange package, wrapped in shiny paper with a perfect red bow.

"Is this from you?" I asked my parents, lifting it curiously. They shook their heads, just as surprised as I was.

I went upstairs to my room with the package, eager to discover what it contained. When I opened it, I found clothes that weren’t for me: shirts, pants, even a yoga short. At the bottom, there was a note: "Sometimes, a new reflection shows you what you really need." I ignored it, thinking someone had made a mistake, but something about the clothes intrigued me.

From Valentín’s perspective Christmas at home with Nath was pleasant but routine. While she opened her gifts, my thoughts wandered until I noticed a strange package under the tree. The label simply read: "For Valentín."

I opened the gift, expecting something from her, but what I found left me confused: youthful clothes that weren’t my style or size. There were basic t-shirts, skinny jeans, and a pair of sneakers. Inside the box, a note read: "What you desire, you already have in front of you, but are you ready to take it?"

When I asked Nath if it was from her, she denied it with a puzzled smile. Something about the gift made me nervous, but I couldn’t resist the curiosity.

From Benny’s perspective I decided to try on the clothes, even though it didn’t make sense. I put on a dress shirt and some pants that were a bit too big. I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to imagine how I would look as an adult.

Suddenly, a strange sensation spread through my body. My legs grew weak, and a suffocating heat rose from my chest. I felt my arms and torso expand, my face changing. When I finally looked up, I saw something that chilled me to the bone: my Uncle Valentín’s face was staring back at me.

From Valentín’s perspective After hesitating for a while, I decided to try on the t-shirt and jeans. Although I felt ridiculous, I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to imagine what it would be like to be young again.

Then, a strange tingling started in my fingers and spread throughout my body. I felt my skin tighten, my height shrink, and my muscles transform. When it was over, I looked up and saw a teenager in the mirror. A teenager with my nephew Benny’s face.

From both points of view In our respective rooms, we looked at ourselves in the mirror, stunned. Benny, trapped in my Uncle Valentín’s body, touched the beard that now covered his face, unable to believe what was happening. Valentín, fascinated by his new smooth skin and youthful hair, smiled in disbelief.

"This can’t be happening," we muttered in unison. But it was. We had changed.

From Benny’s perspective

I was sitting on the bed, looking at the unfamiliar hands that were now mine. They were big, rough, and had a couple of scars I didn’t recognize. Every time I looked up at the mirror, I saw my Uncle Valentín’s face staring back at me with eyes full of confusion. It felt surreal, like being trapped in an absurd science fiction movie.

The phone’s ring broke my trance. When I answered, I heard my own voice on the other end of the line, but it wasn’t me talking. It was my Uncle Valentín, now trapped in my body.

"Benny, it’s me... your Uncle Valentín. We need to talk."

The conversation was awkward at first, with long pauses and hesitations, but we eventually broke the ice. He explained that he was also dealing with the shock, and that it was urgent we meet to understand what was happening.

"For now, I can’t explain this to Nath… to your aunt," Valentín sighed. "It’s too surreal. But we need to talk in person."

"My aunt Nath? My wife now?" I replied, feeling a knot in my stomach. The idea of being married to my own aunt was horrifying. "This is... this is a nightmare."

We both agreed that this had something to do with the wishes we made the night before. But why us? Why our bodies? These were unanswered questions, and the only clear thing was that we needed to talk face to face. Valentín promised he’d be here in a few minutes.

From Valentín’s perspective Leaving the house without Nath suspecting anything was tricky. I told her I was going for a walk to clear my mind, and although she seemed a little suspicious, she didn’t insist. I took the opportunity to leave the house.

On my way to Benny’s house, something unexpected happened. A young guy, probably one of his friends, recognized me. Well, he recognized Benny… or rather, Benny’s body.

"Hey, Benny! Are you coming to the gathering today? We could have some fun, you know?" he said with a tone I could only interpret as flirtatious.

My heart raced. Was this normal in my nephew’s life? I forced a smile, trying to act like he would. "I’m not sure. Maybe... we’ll see."

The guy nodded and waved goodbye, while I continued my way, a mix of discomfort and curiosity running through me. It was strange to receive that kind of attention, but also… exciting, in a way. I shook my head to focus on what mattered: meeting with Benny and figuring this out.

From Benny’s perspective While I waited, I tried to stay quiet so my parents wouldn’t notice anything odd. The idea of someone coming in and seeing me in this body was terrifying. To distract myself, I looked at the mirror and observed every detail.

My Uncle Valentín’s body was more imposing than I had imagined. His arms were strong, his torso well-defined, and there were tattoos hidden in unexpected places. I didn’t know him well enough to imagine he had that rebellious side. Had he been a heartthrob in his youth? I wondered.

Suddenly, the door opened, and there I was... well, my body, but with Valentín inside. We both stayed silent for a moment, just staring at each other. It was like seeing a bizarre version of ourselves in third person.

"This... is crazy," I finally said, breaking the silence.

"No crazier than the fact that now I have your life, and you have mine," Valentín replied.

We both sat down, trying to process the impossible. We had swapped bodies, and our lives were completely upside down.

#body swap #transformation #Suit #age regression #fantasy #male body swap

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madamechrissy · 6 months ago

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Dirty Little Secret

ꕥ Pairings: Toji Fushiguro x Fem Reader

ꕥ Warnings-MDNI-explicit sexual content, dirty talk, Toji calls reader 'doll, ma, slut (Toji and Doll just work lol) Age gap- reader is 21, Toji is 39. - This chapter-Slapping, Blow jobs, rough oral sex, mentions of fluids, swallowing, cunnilingus

ꕥ Word Count- 4,514

ꕥ Summary- Toji Fushiguro is your dad Shiu's best friend for years. You've known him most your life. You come home for spring break to relax, and who pops up at the fucking doorstep? Toji. He's nasty, annoying, perverted and... Sexy. Hot. Built. And makes you think, maybe your first time shouldn't be with some college boy? But with this buff dude who can tie a cherry stem with his tongue and a scar on his damn lip. You just gotta hope your dad doesn't find out.

Chapter 1 - Playlist - Masterlist

Chapter 2

The next day comes, and you can’t get Toji’s smug face out of your head. The way he talked to you, the way he used you, it’s all you can think about. You’re a mess, avoiding him as best you can, because every time you look at his stupidly attractive face, you feel wetness between your thighs.

And the worst part is, you swear he knows.

You’re in the kitchen, washing dishes as your dad walks in, coming to give you a kiss on the cheek. You smile at him.

“Make me lunch kiddo? I gotta run to work for a few hours.” You freeze at that, as Toji isn’t far behind, grinning at you as he descends the stairs.

“Aw, working!?” You pout, and Shiu sighs.

“Just for a few! I tried to take the entire week off.”

“Fine. What ya want?”

“Anything please, I never hardly have you here to spoil me.” You smile, then bend down to grab things out of the fridge. You gasp when you stand back up, and feel Toji’s presence, you look back and see his green eyes were on your ass. You glare.

“Gonna make me some too, doll?” Toji asks, and you snort.

“Nope, only dad.” You stick your tongue out, and your dad laughs, as Toji sticks his tongue back at you.

“She’s so mean, Shiu.”

“She gets that from me.” You start making a stir fry real quick, gathering veggies and leftover rice, then popping in some of the chicken from yesterday, then you make Shiu and dumbass Toji plates.

“Thanks, doll.” Toji comes to ruffle your hair as you hand him his, and you smirk up at him.

“Only cause there’s extra.” He laughs at that, then you all are all sitting down eating together, reminiscing, and it’s honestly nice.

“Oh shit, Mei is coming over tonight.” Shiu says then.

“Really? How’s her crazy ass been?”

“Good I think. You know her. Darling you may not remember her…”

“I do. Real pretty with the braids?” Shiu nods. “She was cool.”

“She was hot.” Shiu said, and you roll your eyes. “Right Toji?”

He nudges Toji, and you expect him to agree, but he shrugs. “Mmm, sure I guess, never really looked at her like that.” You blink a bit in surprise, as his gaze catches yours.

Huh.

“Really? Her tits though- ah shit, sorry kid.” You laugh, taking their plates and turning to the sink.

“Dad you’ve been single forever, I don’t mind if you date.” You hadn’t seen your mom in eight years, one day she just fucked off. Had nothing to do with you all, on your thirteenth birthday actually. Shiu hadn’t really dated since.

“I dunno, seems more like a fuck buddy than a girlfriend.” Toji mutters.

“Either is good.” Shiu and Toji laugh again, and you sigh, annoyed by the over projection of manliness in the room. Eventually, Shiu comes to say goodbye, and you head over to the bathroom, brushing your teeth and getting out of your pajamas. You were the worst about just lounging in them whenever you could.

When you step out, there he is.

“Fuck, you scared me!” You nearly yell, and he’s just smirking, looking down at your little skirt and tank.

“No Hello Kitty today?” You glare up at him, shoving him out of your way, but he stops you. “Talkin to ya doll.”

“I’m ignoring you, old man.” You head down the hall, but then he’s pressing you against the wall, back hitting it hard, then he’s leaning down, serious set to his mouth, lust in his eyes.

“Ya forget about me already doll? When I had you cumming so hard you almost passed out?” You’re bright fucking red, averting your eyes, and he grabs your chin roughly, shoving it up to look at him. “Answer. Now.”

“No, how could I? Fuck…” You’re faced with him, as he runs his tongue along that scar, then his lips, gaze going down to your throat now.

“When I choked that pretty neck, ya forget?”

“No.” Your answer was quieter now.

“And, when I said…”

“Yes, I wanna suck your dick, stupid.” He blinks, taken aback, and you could swear you see some red on his face, but must be the sun, because no way. “No, I haven't forgotten.”

“And… you want me to lick that cunt before or after?” He whispers now, sliding his hand down to find your panties under your skirt. “So fuckin hot f’me.”

“Shut up.” You sigh, though, leaning up and yanking him down, he’s wearing some skin tight white tee, covering nothing, you can see every line of his body, and it makes you wet. “Kiss me, Toji.”

“ Fuck .” He slams his lips on yours, hands all over your body, desperate, like he couldn’t get enough of how you feel. “So fuckin small compared to me.”

You gasp as he grabs your waist. “My tits aren’t small.”

He laughs. “They sure the fuck aren’t.” He slides his huge hands, squishing them, rough, but you love it. “That mouth is big too.”

“Dick.” He picks you up then, slamming you into the wall, and his cock is pressed against your pussy, hot and achy for him, then the door shuts. “ Shit !”

He puts you down quickly, gently though, which surprises you, and then you all separate, luckily hidden up the stairs. You struggle to breathe as Toji walks back down, and he’s up in a few moments, the door shutting. You look at him with eyes wide, heart fucking racing.

“Forgot his work keys.” Toji said, casually, and your hand is on your chest, as you struggle to make sure it doesn’t just fall out.

“Fuck, too close. We’re… we can’t.” You turn then, walking toward your room, and he stops you, hand surrounding your little wrist, and you pause, as his body is hard against your back.

“Sure we can, just gotta be careful.” He kisses down the side of your neck, and you tilt your head, moaning, as he grabs your skirt, gripping it, pressing your ass agaisnt him and moaning. “Perfect fuckin body.”

“No…”

“No? Gotta show ya then, doll?” He whispers, tickling your ear with his hot breath, and you shiver. “Lick every pretty inch?”

“Toji…” You lean your head back, resting on his strong chest, and he reaches around, playing with your breasts again, plucking at the peaks, shooting pleasure down your tummy.

“Ya ready for your next lesson, girl?” You sigh, shaking your head, but he just laughs. “I’ll just eat that pussy again then.”

“Why? What’s in it for you?” He chuckles, sliding a hand to your tummy, pressing in on it.

“Think I didn’t cum eating ya out?” You blink in shock.

“What? How?”

“Easy, ya fuckin taste so good, and hearin’ ya say daddy? Cum so much. I cum alot by the way, hope you can swallow it all.”

You freeze, breasts heaving up and down as he just holds you like that, in the hall, gripping like he fucking owns you. And…

You want him to?

“So, whaddya want, doll?”

“I want to suck you off.” You manage to whine out, and he groans then, spinning you and cupping your face, messy kissing you, tongues battling for dominance for a pathetic moment, until he wins. He picks you up, and takes you to the guest room he’s staying in, shutting the door behind him.

He pushes you on the bed, and slides his grey sweatpants off, leaving him in fucking nothing , since apparently Toji just freeballs, and his thick, long cock smacks on his belly button, fucking huge. You stare at it in shock, blinking for a moment, trying to register it, how could it be that thick? How would you suck it, let alone, how would that fit in you?

Fuck.

“Like what ya see, little girl?” You gulp, struggling to form a coherent word, and then you have him in your hand, hot and thick, stroking up and down, once, twice. He hisses, tensing, and you look up at him, his eyes dark with lust.

“Tell me what to do…” You whisper, and he groans, taking your hand.

“Haven’t… played with one?” He bites the words out, you shake your head, and he exhales. “You’re such a goodie goodie.”

“Then I’ll stop.” You yank your hand back and he glares.

“It’s not a bad thing, doll. It’s just making everything fuckin hotter to me. Being your first.” You tremble, as for a moment he’s affectionate. “Spit on it.”

Never mind.

“What?” He grins, and you remember, oh, it’s Toji.

“Spit on it first, then move your hand up and down.” You sigh, spitting a bit, and he laughs at you. “So dainty.”

“Shut up.” You try again, spreading it, and his cock twitches in your hand, his own hands sliding your shirt up, revealing your breasts.

“Need to look at these pretty tits.” He plays with them, as you stroke him, you look up at him as you move, up and down his shaft. "That's it, doll," He murmurs, his voice low and raspy.

You lean forward, licking the white bead of precum leaking out of his girthy tip, and he sucks in his breath, now his hands are in your hair, pulling, urging you on with his moans. He tastes… good? Fuck. Salty a bit from sweat, but also… yummy… his pre cum is leaking again, so you suck it.

"Show Daddy how much ya want it, pretty girl.” You feel it, your tummy clenching as he strokes your hair, you move up and down, as he guides you down, deeper and deeper. “Want me to fuck this throat, doll?”

You lean back, with a loud pop, trembling. “What if I can’t?”

“If you take too much you’ll tap me three times. Got it?”

“Toji, do you actually use safe signals?”

He glares down at you, tall, imposing, sexy. “Of course I do. Don’t need ya fuckin fainting on me.”

It’s kinda sweet?

Is your bar low for Toji?

“Ready, doll?” You nod, and then you try to relax your throat, as he starts shoving his hard thick cock in your throat, over and over, so thick and deep. You struggle to breathe, adjusting your mouth to fit him. You feel yourself losing breath, falling into it, getting even wetter as you look up at him, seeing that lust in his fucking eyes.

You’re drooling all over his thick cock, breathing through your nose now, and he rams his cock so deep you gag, near throwing up, just as he eases out of you completely, grabbing your cheeks and squishing em. You tremble when he pushes your back on his bed, until your head is dangling off the edge.

“Wanna watch my cock in that pretty lil throat.” He moans, and you’re looking at him upside down, at his thick cock.

“Take your shirt off.” He laughs at that, then he does so, revealing his hard, thick muscular frame.

“Your turn.” He snatches your shirt off you, leaving you in your little pleated skirt, then he runs his hand over your tits again, caressing them. “Remember, tap me if it’s too much.”

You nod, opening your mouth wide eagerly, then he’s fucking your throat, groaning as he watches his cock outlining in your throat. Your eyes are watering, but you do your best, you want to be good for Toji, you want to make him feel good. It’s so fucked, but you can’t lie, you’re so horny right now you’re enjoying him inside you, suffocating you till there’s nothing left.

He’s groaning louder now, and you can feel your panties getting wetter, your pussy clenching around nothing, as he takes you, fucks your mouth over and over, and you realize you’re really enjoying it. You moan around his cock, and his abs flex as he fucks your throat so good, until you’re gagging again, strangled.

“Tight lil throat feels so good, fuck, doll.”

You like it. You like it a lot. Huh…

“Feel so fuckin perfect, such a good girl f’me.”

You’re panting at his words, at his cock wrecking you, and your eyes squeezed shut, his hands are tight in your hair, holding your head down, keeping you in place, as he uses your mouth like it’s your pussy. It’s almost too much, but you keep going, keep taking his cock, and he’s fucking groaning, yanking your skirt up your hips and scrunching it up, bending over you.

He pulls out suddenly, and you’re coughing, holding your throat, it’s on fire now, his thick cock has wrecked it. “Take off the skirt, doll, now.”

“You didn’t cum yet?” You murmur, voice hoarse, he smiles as he helps you sit up, you’re weak as fuck.

“Take it off, girl. Now.” You unzip it with shaky hands. “Panties too.”

You do as he asks, they’re so sticky you gotta peel 'em off, trembling, then he has you back down. “T-Toji… am I doing okay?”

He caresses your face with his big hands, positioning your head back again. “You’re fuckin’ perfect doll.”

You moan under the praise, then he’s fucking your throat again, harder this time, and you feel his cock swell, his grip on your hair tightens, and you know he’s about to cum.

“You’re gonna take it all, aren’t ya, like a good girl?”

You make a strangled moan, jaw aching as you take his cock, tears streaming down your face, and then he’s letting go, spurts of hot cum shooting down your throat now, so much. You swallow, choking and coughing around it, but it’s so hot, he’s filling you up so much. And he keeps going, keeps pushing until he’s empty, bottoming out.

His moans are shaky, when he pulls out, and you’re coughing, choking, gasping for air, and he’s smiling down at you, his cock still out, helping you sit up finally. You look up at him, tears on your face, and he wipes them away gently.

“You alright doll?”

You nod, holding your throat, it hurts like fuck, but… you just swallowed Toji’s cum. And it was so…

“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry.” He murmurs, wiping your hot sticky tears, rubbing your sore neck gently. “Such a good girl, took it all f’me.”

“Hurts…” You manage and he sighs, kissing you then, tasting his own cum on you, then he’s grabbing you, your naked body, kissing down the throat he’d just cum inside.

“Did s’good, ma. S’good.” He keeps praising you, and it thrills you, before he’s flipped you, on your tummy, yanking your hips up. “Time for me to make ya feel good, little doll. Earned it.”

He spreads your legs wide, his mouth watering as he stares at your pussy. You're so wet, you can feel it dripping down your thighs, making a mess on the clean sheets. You whine as you grip the sheets under you in tight fists as he strokes his fingers on your slick heat.

“Got this fuckin wet just sucking me off?” He groans out the words, and grabs your ass cheeks, smacking one, then the other, making you gasp, crying out in pleasure.

“Y-yeah.” Is all you manage.

“Gonna be a perfect slut f’me aren’t ya?”

“Perfect slut… for you… yes. Yes .”

Toji Fushiguro leans in, his breath hot against your skin, and you can't help but moan in anticipation. “Such a good girl. Let Daddy taste that sweet little pussy of yours, would ya doll?”

“ Please… ” He smacks your cunt now, and you wiggle, as it stings so fucking good. “ Please, Daddy.”

And then he's there, his tongue sliding over your clit, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh before he’s nipping it, and you scream, burying your face in the bed, the sensation hitting so hard. Then, he’s got your lips spread, and he’s shoving his tongue in so deep, it’s so fucking long you can’t take it, as it pushes it’s way into your tight entrance.

“Ah, fuck! S’good Tojii…” You manage to mumble, and he’s moaning against your cunt, against your sensitive clit, hands gripping the fuck out of your ass, until he’s sliding his tongue up there to your little ass hole now, and you tense, as he’s slathering it too, until he’s back against your cunt, shoving his whole face against you.

You’re struggling to stay on this earth as he’s fingering you, two thick fingers, shoving past your gummy walls and that tight ring, he's groaning as you pulse around them.

“Yeah, girl, fuckin soak me. Tight little perfect cunt.” He’s urging you on with his words, and you’re starting to tense, feeling it hit you. “That’s it, cum f’me, lil perfect slut, aren’t ya? Slut for Toji.”

“Fuck!” You scream now, hips jerking up, cumming all around his fingers and then you just say… “Fuck me, please, please.”

He pauses, easing fingers out of you then, you hear his heavy breaths mixing with yours. “Beggin for me, lil slut?”

“Shut up and fuck me. Do it.” He groans, flipping you on your back then, coming to lay on top of you, chest pressing heavy on your breasts. You grip his shoulders, arching your hips up, he shoves them down. “Thought you wanted to fuck me?”

“Your first time, need to be worked up y’know.” You giggle then, brushing his sweaty dark hair back, and he closes his eyes at it.

“Are you being caring, Toji?” He blinks for a moment, then glares.

“I wouldn’t wanna fuckin hurt you the first time, no. You’re… fuck me… you’re too special you know.” You suck in a breath, and then he sighs, clearly irritated with the turn of the conversation.

“I’m… special?” You asked, eyes wide, this was Toji, right?

Right?

“You’re tiny too, doll. Notice how huge I am?” You nod, rising up again, and you feel him, hard and thick on your thigh. Your hand reaches down to stroke him, and he’s groaning at your gentle tugs.

“So what, tomorrow?” You tease, and he smirks down at you.

“If you’re a good girl f’me. Yeah, tomorrow. But… question.”

“Hmm?”

“Ya on the pill? Because I really wanna cum in that pussy.” You flush, covering your face and letting him go, and he laughs. “I mean, I’ll cum in there anyway, but you ready for a kid?”

“You’re so full of shit! You would not even!”

“You’d be hot as fuck pregnant, doll.” He presses on your tummy, and you hiss. “Can’t wait to feel my cock up here. Oh fuck, horny again, lil slut?”

“Shut up.” You’re gasping then, as he leans up and smacks your face, not hard, but enough to jolt you, and you’re soaking his thigh, shoved between your legs.

“Freak, fuckin liked that?”

“Sure fuckin did. Do it again Daddy .” He moans, smacking your other cheek, and you know he’s being easy. “Why don’t you fuck me already?”

“Should shove this cock in ya, make ya scream. But no, you can wait, slutty fuckin brat.” You glare then, shoving up at him.

“Then don’t!”

“Oh, I will soon.” He’s shoving two fingers in you again, finding that spot that makes you gush, wetness all over his hand. “Baby girl need to cum again?”

You gulp, nodding, and he’s kissing you, brutal, rough, biting your lower lip and shoving his fingers into you, you’re crying out. “Fuck me, please , Toji.”

“Goddammit, demanding brat. Fuck.” He’s at your entrance now, glaring down with those blown out eyes, pupils so dilated, face all red. “I’m tryna be like a gentleman and shit.”

“You just fucked my throat, Toji.” He snorts then, and you laugh too. “Fuck my pussy then.”

“Wanna make you beg more for it. I’ll wait. But…” He strokes against you, thick hot tip up and down, until it’s on your clit, and you’re twitching.

“Fucking tease, Toji. Unh!” He grins down at you.

“So pretty fuckin begging for me, nah you can wait, doll. Fuck, your wet little cunt feels so goddamn good though.” He shuts his eyes, brows lowering, as he groans, stroking your little clit, which is soaked.

“Cumming…. Ugh… fuck me please… ” You’re a whole stupid mess for him, cunt throbbing, soaking his tip.

“Pathetic, fuckin beggin’ like a whore, huh?” You attempt a glare, but then you’re losing it as he continues that friction on your clit, his precum oozing on your tip.

“Fuck you, Old…. man… ah!” He groans, then as you start cumming, he pulls back, stroking his cock in front of you, hunched over, muscles taut, his face screwed in concentration as he looks at your naked body.

“Gonna cum all over that perfect fucking body, filled out so good, didn’t you lil doll?”

Fuck he’s awful.

Fuck he’s hot.

As he jerks himself off he yanks your hand down, shoving your fingers on your own clit, puffy and oversensitive, feeling how sticky and messy you are. You play with yourself, as he plays with his thick cock, moaning over you, and you’re crying out, arching your hips.

“Want it, doll? Me to paint you all over like a lil slut?” You nod, uncaring of whatever the fuck he said, you want it, you want him. “Then cum f’me first.”

“Mmm… fine… unh… Toji!” You’re screaming now, praying your dad wouldn’t just randomly come home, because you were stupid loud, as you cum all over your fingers, and he watches you, hungry, lustful.

“Good girl, good girl.” He cooes, and then he’s moaning, cumming for the second time, so fucking much, cumming all over your wide spread thighs, your glistening pussy, up to your tummy and your belly button.

You lay there, breasts heaving, as he starts spreading the sticky white liquid all over you, like he’s painting you, then he’s shoving two fingers in your mouth, ordering you to swallow more of his cum. You moan, sucking on them, then he’s kissing you, licking your lips, groaning.

“Need me to clean ya, doll?” He murmurs, and you just nod, helpless to him. “Look at you, so eager for it. You’re going to be the best little slut, aren’t ya?”

He’s kissing down your body, confusing you, as you half expected him to like get a washcloth or something? But no. Toji Fushiguro is down between your thighs, licking up the mess there, his own cum, and yours, moaning against your overstimulated little pussy.

“Toji! Fuck!” He groans, shoving his face against you, inhaling you, like he can’t get enough.

“You and me taste so fuckin good together, doll.” He groans, sucking up more of his sticky cum, then he’s back to eating your pussy, and you can’t take it, you grab his hair and try to yank him off.

“Too much, too much! Please… can’t!” He laughs, looking up and licking his lips, his lips and chin are soaked again.

“Gotta work on this stamina if you want this cock to wreck this lil cunt here.” He kisses it, loudly, then starts slurping up more. “Cum on my face again, doll. Let me drink more of ya. Ya taste so good, baby.”

“Toji…” You’re whining now, but you let him start sucking his cum clean off you, while the cum on your tummy he’s spreading around, till your whole body is covered in it, in Toji’s white ropes, as he’s flicking that little clit. He’s sucking on it, moaning, and you start to fall apart again . “Hurts! T’much… Toji!”

“Daddy.” He corrects, biting your clit again, and you gasp, arching your hips up for more of it, more of the ridiculous feelings.

“Daddy! Cumming!” He groans, looking up at you again, hands sliding up to grip your tits, making them sticky too, and your orgasm hits you again. This time you can’t see, when he’s vibrating that clit with his moans, your ears start ringing, and you feel like you’re so dizzy, like you’re gonna fall, clinging to his hair.

He drinks you up, along with the last remnants of his cum, pushing you past your orgasm to another, until you’re delirious, head lolling back, drool pooling, and he pushes you so hard you can’t see. He’s finally easing off when you gush cum all over his face, as he’s lapped you all clean, sliding up you, holding your face.

“That cock drunk face, beautiful.” He whispers, kissing you, and you taste yourself, taste his cum, taste his lips. You’re crying again, you realize, when he swipes them away. “Ya alright doll?”

You nod, shaky, gasping a bit for a breath. “Never… cum… s’much. That was… alot. Fuck.” He grins then, kissing down your jaw.

“Rest up a lil, doll. Your dad and Mei will be busy tonight, and I’m not done with ya just yet.” You shiver at that.

“Gonna fuck me?” He laughs, shaking his head.

“How are you a cock thirsty virgin? This only because of me, huh?” You flush bright red, looking down, then he exhales, tense on top of you, tilting your chin up. “Just f’me doll?”

You nod, shy suddenly, like he hadn’t just been fucking your throat, cumming all over your body, face buried in your cunt. “Yeah, just for you Toji.”

He kisses you, pulling you close, sighing into your mouth. “When I do fuck ya, doll, you’ll never want anyone else.”

“How the fuck will that work? Like…”

He just grins. “Take a nap, doll.”

You sigh, going to get up, but he picks you up, handing you your clothes, you get dressed, shaky, he has to help you. You sigh, standing on wobbly legs, and he laughs as he looks down at you, making you glare.

“Don’t tell me what to do, old man.” You yawn, and he’s laughing now, and for a moment, it’s comfy, when he pulls you against him, wrapping his thick, muscled arms around your little body.

“Be a good girl f’me, get some sleep. Stamina doll.” You sigh, then shove off him, acting like you didn’t wanna stay in his arms. “Oh… one thing.”

You pause at the door, about to walk out, he tilts your chin up. “What is it, old man?”

“Never liked getting my dick sucked like that. Best mouth…” He rubs a fingertip across your lower lip, and your tummy flutters.

Fuck.

“Tightest throat…” He wraps a hand around your neck then, not squeezing, caressing, studying you like a predator.

“Toji…”

“Those moans? So fuckin good.” He presses up, making your chin shove up now, facing him as he bends down.

“Toji… I…” He kisses you again, and you just sigh against his lips.

“Nap, doll. I need to feel you cummin on me soon.”

He smacks your ass, and you’re struggling to walk to your room, so irritated, so horny, so spent, so confused… so…

What the fuck was even happening?

You lay on your bed, wondering how dare he tell you to take a nap, like you’re some little kid? But…

You pass out.

Dreaming of Toji.

Toji’s cock in you, specifically.

Fuck….

Chapter 3

Also on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57496135/chapters/146421850#workskin

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #fanfic #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji x you #toji smut #toji x reader #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x oc #toji x y/n #fushiguro toji x reader

331 notes · View notes

writing-for-life · 11 days ago

Text

Tales from the Flat Earth by Tanith Lee

A few thoughts on the supposed similarities with The Sandman—with actual comparisons (and a summary of the most important beats for those who want it)…

[This post is super long. It contains a lot of different thoughts, that’s why I broke it down into three parts: 1. General Considerations, 2. Boroson’s Claims and 3. A beat-by-beat summary of all five volumes of Tales from the Flat Earth. You might want to read this in instalments, or you might want to leave part three if you are still planning to read any of the five volumes.]

Part One: General Considerations

By now, many of you will have heard of Tanith Lee’s series “Tales from the Flat Earth”—not because the world all of a sudden woke up to a literary genius, but because of a Facebook post by Matthew Boroson in the immediate aftermath of the sexual assault allegations against Neil Gaiman. Boroson now made a further statement that he will “delete […] challenges so he can live”. I completely get the exhaustion of a post going viral—been there, got the T-Shirt—but why not just ignore it? Switch off notifications or comments altogether? Actively censoring only the people with different opinions, whom he even admits have mostly been engaging in good faith, because “he can’t do this 24/7”, while leaving up those in agreement (apparently he can do that 24/7)? He might not have thought through how bad this looks, and the irony of a man silencing dissenting voices and trying to control the conversation really shouldn’t be lost on people. But apparently, it is.

Anyway: I have absolutely no desire to defend Neil Gaiman. As should be clear from my blog, I stand with Gaiman’s victims and have done so since last summer when the allegations first broke. I believe those women, for both personal and professional reasons I won’t go into here. And I believe them, whether some author guy tells me I should or not. What grates on me is that this overshadows what’s actually important here, and I’ll get to why in a second.

I love Tanith Lee’s Tales from the Flat Earth and have read them first in the 1990s, and quite a few times since. For that very reason, I wish people would just read her work without trying to engage in a “gotcha” that is still all about Gaiman and not her. She was a great and talented writer who deserves more than now forever being known as “the woman whom Neil Gaiman plagiarised”. And to say it quite frankly: The sexual assault allegations can stand on their own and don’t need a male writer telling us, verbatim, “I have no difficulty believing the accusations against him. Because I know — KNOW — that he has felt entitled to take what he wants from a woman, without her permission, and without any acknowledgement of her contributions.”

I can’t even begin to say how problematic this statement is, for so many reasons. So all I’ll say is:

There is a certain tone-deafness in thinking a sexual assault claim holds even more weight because a male writer says, “See, he did this, so you should also believe that.” We should believe SA victims. Full stop. We don’t need wonky plagiarism or “inspiration without credit”-claims to give them more weight. These two things shouldn’t even be mentioned in the same sentence.

But all of that aside: Read Tanith Lee’s “Tales from the Flat Earth” because you are interested in a writer who crafted imaginative worlds in a florid prose-style that hearkens back to old fairy tales and Arabian Nights. If you only want to read it for a “gotcha”, I might be able to spare you the arduous work, although I strongly recommend you read it to come to your own conclusions (go to the source yourself. And I honestly wish more people did before they just blindly believe things). Again, spare a thought though if Tanith deserves to be “the woman NG plagiarised” to a new audience, because let’s be honest—that’s the only reason why so many people now read her works.

And that’s exactly why I thought so long and hard whether to even write this post, but there comes a point when people who actually know both works in depth need to speak up about the informational conformity bias that now has us at over 30,000 notes on Tumblr alone, all the while the person who put this into the world seems to actively censor anyone who dares to disagree. I get that Boroson’s claim is what a lot of people want to believe right now, but that doesn’t make it more true. Someone even said that “misinformation doesn’t matter in this case because only the result does.” That’s an incredibly dumb and also dangerous statement, but I’ll leave it at that.

Horrible people can create good art. We don’t need to pretend they were always hacks. We have to learn to sit with that cognitive dissonance and can disassociate ourselves from the creator regardless—because he’s an abuser.

Part Two: Boroson’s Claims

With all of that out of the road, let’s have a closer look at all that Boroson alleges in his FB post; quotes are verbatim.

1. “Despite the fact that the main character — a byronic, pale, otherworldly, deity-like character - is the prince of night and dreams.”

Here, we already have the first bit of wrong information. Azhrarn is one of the Lords of Darkness. He is the Prince of Demons. He is evil-aligned. He is not a “prince of dreams”. He is “Night’s Master” because he only walks the earth at night, and sunlight is lethal (oh?) for him. He is really nothing like Dream. One is all about rules and responsibilities, the other is about inconsistency, wickedness, mischief, changing his mind on a whim and treating humans as playthings (which he repeatedly admits himself). You could build a much stronger case for similarities between Azhrarn and Lucifer/Iblis (and Loki if you wanted to go Norse) than Dream, because Azhrarn actually hates the gods, and Lee’s whole series builds very strongly on how he (and then someone else) tries to bring them down. And Azhrarn might be older than gods, but whether he is truly more powerful depends on how you look at it—he even asks them for help at some point. Dream, on the other hand, is more than the gods. They begin in his realm, and they end there when people stop believing. Because gods come from the collective unconscious—and that’s who and what Dream is.

2. “Despite the fact that every time people see art depicting Tanith Lee's main character Azhrarn, they think it's Morpheus from the Sandman.”

This is interesting since the depiction Boroson chose for his FB claim is fanart. If you claim something like this, at least use original artwork, not works that have already gone through 20 subconscious filters. If you look at original art, you get this:

Azhrarn in the middle, Uhlume (Lord Death) to the right, Chuz (Lord Madness) to the left. And in the other picture, Azrharn in his eagle form. Which is just weird, soz. But that’s why he has feathers on his garb.

Maybe there’s a fleeting similarity in the one to the left, but there’s also literally none in the one to the right. And if you have ever read any dark fantasy of the 1980s and 90s (and even earlier), pretty much the majority of male protagonists fitted the stereotype of “pale, clad in black and byronic”. It was a dark fantasy trope—goths read that stuff in droves (I was one of them). And it became even more likely if the hero/antihero/villain was somehow aligned with the underworld. Which Azhrarn is.

And since artists are always influenced by other artworks and their own mental image of a character, have an actual description of Azhrarn’s looks from “Night’s Master”:

“marvelously handsome, with hair that shone like blue-black fire, and clothed in all the magnificence of night.”

But we also get this when he makes a not so great experience:

“He gazed to east and west, to north and south, and the face of Azhrarn, it is truly said, had become white. Long he looked, and long his pallor increased. A mortal man could not grow so pale and live.”

So we can reasonably deduce that he isn’t usually as white as Morpheus in his main form (I don’t know what else to call it)?

There are many other descriptions of a similar ilk. Is this really enough to say they look the same? Really? Instead of admitting that we might be filling in some blanks here if descriptions are so vague?

3. “Despite the fact that the dream lord's younger sibling is Death.”

That one truly made me laugh out loud. Apart from the fact that Gaiman’s Death is older and female (which one could say was a purposeful switch to “hide the tracks” 🙄)—only the least read people would assume this was in any way new or sensational and “borrowed” from any one particular writer. Hypnos (Sleep) and Thanatos (Death) are twin brothers in Greek mythology. And the closeness of Death and Dream in The Sandman (both conceptually and on a relational level) is much more of a mirror of that than the relationship between Azhrarn and Uhlume in Tales from the Flat Earth, because in all honesty: The latter two don’t get on that well, which Boroson conveniently forgets to mention. Their relationships are really nothing alike.

Hypnos is also a deity residing in the underworld, and you have to cross the river Lethe (forgetfulness/oblivion) to get to him. Lee borrows from that idea very heavily when she tells the story of Kazir visiting Azhrarn in Underearth. These are myths, told and retold by hundreds of writers over and over again, including Lee herself.

I don’t even know what to say about this one. It’s so thin that it immediately blows away if you as much as cough at it.

4. “Despite the fact that other members of his family include Delusion, Delirium.... They are not gods but beings older than gods, and when the gods die, Dream, Death, Delusion, and Delirium will remain. This family of immortal, eternal, unchanging beings, who each embody an eternal abstraction starting with the letter D.”

There are only two Lords of Darkness beginning with a D, and they are called Uhlume (Death) and Chuz (Delusion). Azhrarn is Wickedness.

There is no Dream, as I already stated. And guess what? There is also no separate Delirium. So wrong facts again. The character is Delirium’s Mistress (or at least that’s the title of the volume), and in that case, we are referring to her as being the lover of Chuz (so Delusion and Delirium are effectively the same person). And her name is Azhriaz; she is half human, half demon (and something else, but that would be too spoilery) and Azhrarn’s daughter. She looks like this in original artwork (sorry for the crappola photo):

Without wanting to give too much plot away because some of you might still want to read this: There are three Lords of Darkness (or one could argue five—more about that later) in Lee’s Tales, but they don’t all begin with a D—neither if you look at their names (their initials are A, U, C, K and A), nor at their functions (in which case it’s W, D, D, F and L).

Okay, the domains of two Lords of Darkness start with D. Is it really enough to be sure Gaiman borrowed from it, turning it into seven? Or is it perhaps far more likely that this still falls into the realm of literary archetypes? And even if Gaiman did expand on that idea—that’s not plagiarism (which, to say it very clearly, Boroson didn’t explicitly say it was. He just implied it a bit between the lines, and other people who probably didn’t read either ran with it). I don’t think it would even constitute “heavy borrowing”, especially since the characters, their relationships and the stories as such are so, so different.

Why is Boroson’s account riddled with inaccuracies? Why be so wrong in your descriptions of a work you supposedly know so well? I really don’t know. It’s either that he doesn’t know it as well as he says he does (which I can’t imagine, since he’s apparently been going on about this for years), or he purposefully misrepresents it to add more weight to it. Which looks bad to be honest. Or at least as if he’s a bit too taken with an idea and at the stage where he can’t let it go anymore.

5. “[…] description of a character who was clearly the inspiration for Gaiman’s Mazikeen.”

That’s also Chuz. As depicted in the art above, and also here:

One side of him is young and beautiful, the other old. I’ll let you decide if this is clearly the inspiration for Mazikeen:

“So she beheld the entire aspect of his face, one half youthfully bronzed, one half haggardly gray, the rusty hair and the blond, but it seemed to her it was the most natural face she had ever looked on.”

And to say it quite frankly: Framing it like that is a bit dishonest to start with? It’s not the description of “a character”. It’s the volume’s protagonist. Whom Boroson earlier insisted was the inspiration for Delirium (also a bit wonky that one, as I already wrote, since I bet most of the people who don’t know Lee’s work pictured her Delirium as a woman after reading Boroson’s account). But now it’s Mazikeen all of a sudden? Leaving out he’s actually talking about the same character here looks like wilfully obfuscating that neither of it truly holds water, so he’s picking little bits and offers them without context.

Mazikeen is a visual creation of Kelley Jones btw, so maybe Boroson should also take it up with him? The same could be said to everyone who might feel tempted to shoehorn a certain other character (DC’s Destiny) into this, woefully forgetting that Destiny is not a character created by Gaiman. He has existed in the DC Universe years before Lee wrote Tales from the Flat Earth. I don’t hear anyone complaining that Lee stole Kheshmet/Fate from DC because it would be quite frankly idiotic—these are literary archetypes!

6. “The prose, the characters, the narrative strategies, the mythology, the story structure, all of it: Gaiman found it all in Tanith Lee's writing and never gave her any credit.”

The prose is really hard to compare because one is a novel, the other a comic. I really recommend you read both yourself so you get the full picture, but just two examples here:

Tanith Lee:

“A mile from the enameled walls of the city, where the desert lay gleaming like golden glass, a beautiful woman sat in a stone tower, and she played with a bone.

“Will he come to me today?” she asked the bone, rocking it in her arms like a child. “Or will he seek me tonight? All the stars will shine, but he will shine more brightly. For sure, he dare not come by day, for he would outshine the sun. The sun would die of shame, and the whole world grow dark. But oh, he will come. Nemdur,” said the beautiful woman, “Nemdur, my lord.”

Her name was Jasrin; Nemdur was the king whose city stood one mile to the east. Once, he had been her husband.

No longer.”

Neil Gaiman:

As someone who’s read both many times over, my personal assessment is:

They are not very alike. Lee writes floridly, Gaiman is often fairly to the point. Even in Ramadan, which is one (out of 75!) issues that closest resembles the style of Arabian Nights (which is Lee’s inspiration), his voice seems distinct to me—as is hers. Lee’s prose always struck me as great, Gaiman’s as good (I always loved his world building more than his actual writing style). I think Lee’s prose is more accomplished, but that’s personal taste.

Characters: I already expanded on it.

Narrative strategy: This is so vague. Does he mean perspective? Point of view? Other narrative strategies like foreshadowing?

Since I don’t know what exactly Boroson is referring to because he likes to keep it nebulous, I really can’t say, but I don’t think the way the stories are told are in any way alike. And where they seem similar (“Night’s Master”, as an example, is told as interconnected stories in the style of Arabian Nights with a throughline. And of course the Sandman also contains some interconnected stories with a throughline, although they are in no way reminiscent of Arabian Nights to me, bar Ramadan), I seriously have to ask again:

Do we believe only one writer utilises these strategies and/or has a monopoly on them? Because there are truly only so many of them to go around. And we could say that Lee’s “narrative strategy” is hardly unique either. This is just a bit silly.

Mythology: Just no. Both Lee and Gaiman use themes that have been there a million times before them, I already brushed on it. Both lean heavily into existing mythologies, with Gaiman more into Greek, and Lee into Near- and Middle Eastern one (especially Mesopotamian/Babylonian—there are some parallels between her characters and deities like Nergal, Sin/Nanna and Ninazu), although they both also use others. But the bottom line is: Both have expanded on long existing mythologies.

Story structure: Again, what is Boroson insinuating here? He is truly the master of vagueness.

To say it very directly: The story structure is not the same. If you look at The Sandman in its entirety, it’s a clear three act tragedy with a lot of Hero’s Journey thrown-in. The fact that it’s told in 10 arcs changes nothing about that—you can clearly make out Campbell’s stages, like Call to Adventure, Crossing the First Threshold, Belly of the Whale… you name it. This is long enough already, but look at Campbell’s Hero’s Journey, and it’s fairly obvious (and no, the hero doesn’t always have to survive).

Tales from the Flat Earth have a throughline in their five volumes, but they are connected more loosely, with the odd referential throwback. Only “Delusion’s Master” and “Delirium’s Mistress” have an ongoing narrative (of sorts). “Night’s Sorceries” always seemed like an afterthought of material Lee would have liked in volume four but couldn’t fit in. They are all told in a way that hearkens back to oral storytelling (hence Lee saying she was inspired by 1001 Nights), and there is a clear sense of an unchanging, but not personally involved storyteller/narrator all the way through who sometimes even offers commentary.

7. “Tanith Lee was far more progressive about Igbtq+ identities, and that was twenty years earlier.”

Well, for starters: Ten years earlier (“Night’s Master” was published in 1978, the first issue of The Sandman in 1988).

Is Tales from the Flat Earth truly more progressive? I’m not sure. Both were progressive for their time, simply because they wrote about LGBTQ+ characters at all and gave them a voice. And to put it in a disclaimer: I don’t apply moral purity standards to fiction, neither do I believe certain things that would be problematic in real life can’t be written about in fiction (and dare I say: I find that take worrying, for many reasons, but that’s a different discussion). But if we’re talking about “progressiveness”:

A clearly bisexual Demon Prince grooms a child to then seduce him on his 16th birthday—in a time when gay men were often still thrown into one pot with groomers and even pedophiles?

A lesbian queen who basically gets cursed to have sex with many, many men because only a pregnancy can lift that curse (!), finds out she is barren and can only conceive if she has sex with a dead guy, makes a deal with Uhlume who then brings a man back from the dead so she can be impregnated and then, via many many twists and turns, turns into [I’ll tell you later if you really want to know]?

I don’t know, but it’d probably be the same people who find certain angles of the Sandman problematic who would also bolt or get outraged at this? And they would 100% engage in the same type of revisionist readings they now apply to Gaiman’s works if they ever found out that Lee did anything wrong. There is a lot, and I mean a lot, of rape, SA and questionable power dynamics in Lee’s work. But it’s also a work of fiction.

8. In the 1990s, toward the end of her life, she complained in an interview that magazines weren't buying her stories anymore.

[edit: Lee died in 2015, so Boroson’s claim the 90s were “towards the end of her life” also reads a bit weird to me—as if he’s consciously trying to appeal to the sympathy of his readers by portraying her as “the poor woman on her death bed”, when she still lived for another 20 years]

That’s a bit nebulous again. It’s amazing how some people never quote their sources. I am near certain that Boroson talks about this interview from 1998, but I stand corrected if it’s a different one:

Tanith talks about her troubles getting published, but she also says it’s a hard time for everyone right now. Plus, her bibliography also clearly indicates she still got published on the regular, and that the amount of works published in any given year didn’t really fluctuate all that much apart from a burst in the ‘70s (and “burst” refers to the difference of publishing four books instead of two per year), a dip towards the end of her life (when her output was probably affected by her illness) and then the sad thing that always happens when someone dies: Suddenly, there’s another uptick.

Someone even went through the trouble of visualising her published works in a graph:

Courtesy of Das_Mime

Does this honestly look like no one published her anymore?

Now, don’t get me wrong: Of course it is a nice gesture if those more successful put in a word for those who find themselves in a bit of dry spot. But to turn this almost into some conspiracy theory is just a bit weird if I’m honest. It’s much more likely that people are simply not on someone’s radar than that they are actively trying to hinder their career. Writing is hard. Getting published is hard, even if you already have a few published works under your belt. Ask me how I know…

These were the points Boroson made that I wanted to address directly. For those of you who want to get a feel if the story as such is actually in any way similar enough to even call it heavy borrowing, I’ll now do a summary of all major story beats for all five volumes.

Part Three: Tales from the Flat Earth Beat-by-Beat

I assume that most of my followers are familiar with The Sandman, but only a few with Tanith Lee. Hence I won’t do a summary of The Sandman, and once again: You really have to read both works yourself to understand why Boroson’s claims are so far out there. I’m more than willing to discuss and answer questions that come in good faith, but I’ll say it outright: I am not interested in engaging with anyone who just comes here to peddle conspiracy theories and platitudes like “misinformation doesn’t matter in this case because…” if they haven’t even read the works in question.

Just as a quick hint, because that’s where you’ll find the superficial similarities (and that’s my phrasing it with the utmost goodwill):

If you want to compare the entirety of both works, there’s no way around reading both.

For “Night’s Master”, I’d argue you also need to read the entirety of The Sandman, because in a nutshell, it is, at least at first glance, about the heel-face-turn of its protagonist. You’ll need at least Preludes and Nocturnes and The Kindly Ones, but it makes no sense to read them separately, so…

For “Death’s Master”, maybe read The Doll’s House and Season of Mists, because it is partly about a queen who wants to save her land (everything else would be too spoilery, but just so much: The similarities are fleeting at best, and that’s already generous).

For “Delusion’s Master”: Again The Doll’s House and Season of Mists, because at its very core we have a love story that gets torpedoed by a traitor. But other than that, said love story is truly nothing alike.

For “Delirium’s Mistress”: Honestly, I thought long and hard about this. I really don’t know because it is so different from the Sandman that I see absolutely no parallels at all. Maybe read Brief Lives, because there is something in there about parent/child relationships. But they are hardly unique in literature, so once again: I truly don’t know how anyone could find similarities here. And The Kindly Ones would be such an immense stretch that I won’t even go there.

For “Night’s Sorceries”: There are three stories that give a bit of context to the rest. If anything, I’d say read The Wake. But that would actually be insinuating Azhriaz is Daniel, and I’m like… no, massive stretch. If it’s just about loosely connected stories that somewhat fit into a greater narrative, read “World’s End”. But if we’re thinking that’s already a similarity, I truly cry for literary analysis…

Briefly about the world we’re in: The Flat Earth basically consists of four planes: Upperearth, home of the gods; Earth (the Earth of humans before it changed shape); Underearth, home of Azhrarn, Prince of Demons and Wickedness; Innerearth, home of Uhlume, Lord Death. Azhrarn’s kingdom, Druhim Vanashta, houses three classes of demons: Vazdru (most like Azhrarn himself, beautiful and prone to change into eagles and other animals), Eshva (basically mute servants to the Vazdru who can change gender at will) and Drin (ugly, exclusively male creatures and accomplished creators of beautiful and practical things). All three demon kind frequently visit earth to tempt and create chaos.

Volume One: Night’s Master

Night’s Master begins with Azhrarn finding a dying woman and her newborn son, Sivesh, on a hillside. After her death, Azhrarn becomes captivated by the beauty of the child and takes him back to Underearth to raise him (and then promptly seduces him on his 16th birthday). Azhrarn then creates a woman called Ferazhin from a flower for Sivesh (because, you know, Azhrarn thinks it’s good sport to sample a woman. As one does). However, nothing can prevent Sivesh from longing to live on earth because he is human, and the decision to leave Azhrarn for a life in the light offends the Demon Prince. So he consciously tricks him into death by drowning (by chapter three).

The next storyline shifts to a collar (crafted by a Drin) from Ferazhin’s tears because she is inconsolable. We follow the collar around on its journey to different owners (who all meet a gruesome end in one way or another). The final owner, the blind bard Kazir, is the only one not to get corrupted by it, and we conclude the first book with his journey to Underearth to give the collar back to Azhrarn in exchange for Ferazhin, whom he loves without ever having met her. Azhrarn agrees to let Ferazhin go if Kazir can answer a particular question, which he can (not going to get too deep into that, apart from: Azhrarn is rattled, and we’ll revisit it at the end of this volume). Kazir and Ferazhin are happy for a while, but as usual, Azhrarn changes his mind, and by the end of it, Ferazhin is dead (a bit of a nod to Romeo and Juliet in there, but that just as an aside). But lo and behold, Kazir manages to bring her back after a while, and “somewhere perhaps, some dark door slammed like thunder in a city underground.”

Book Two of Night’s Master focuses on Zorayas, who survived the overthrow of her father (a king) as a newborn but suffered severe disfigurement. After the death of the monk who took care of her, she seeks revenge for being raped by a Prince and takes back her father’s kingdom with the help of the Drin. And, as usual, she meets her demise through trickery orchestrated by Azhrarn.

Book Three. Azhrarn’s cruel prank on a young married couple goes wrong, escalates and ultimately leads to humanity teetering on the brink of destruction (the remnants of the husband turn into Hatred and wipe out everything). After seeking intervention from the gods of Upperearth in vain, Azhrarn makes, for once, a sacrifice to preserve humanity’s existence. But does he do so completely selflessly? Could be argued, and I guess Kazir knew, but that’d be too much of a spoiler… Suffice it to say, Earth enters an age of innocence without the presence of hatred and wickedness. Until… 🤣

Volume Two: Death’s Master

Narasen, Queen of Merh, is sexually assaulted by the magician Issak. Feigning cooperation, she manages to kill him. Before he dies, he curses Narasen and Merh, declaring that both will become barren. The curse can only be lifted if Narasen (we have deduced at this point that she is a lesbian because she “doesn’t lie with men”) gives birth to a child, but includes a stipulation that prevents this solution: “Your reluctant womb will never quicken from the seed of living man.” After numerous attempts to conceive, Narasen, driven by her desire to save her land and people, makes a deal with Uhlume to conceive a child from a dead man. In return, Narasen agrees to spend a thousand years in Uhlume’s kingdom. Narasen is poisoned shortly after childbirth.

After Narasen is locked in her tomb with her newborn child Simmu, Uhlume arrives to claim her, leaving the child behind. However, Simmu is rescued by two passing Eshva and lives with them by night. Simmu develops Eshva abilities, like changing gender at will. Eventually, the Eshva grow tired of Simmu and leave him at a temple near Merh, where he grows up among monks and becomes friends and later lovers with a boy called Zhirem.

Simmu and Zhirem eventually become separated and somewhat turn into the tools of Azhrarn (Simmu hates Death because he remembers him coming for his mother) and Uhlume, respectively.

Meanwhile, Uhlume and Narasen don’t get on too well—Narasen sets herself up as Lady Death and constantly struggles for power. To get her off his back, Uhlume grants her permission to spend a day in Merh, where she promptly destroys her city (yeah, after all that trouble…). Upon her return, she gradually takes over the supervision of Innerearth from Uhlume and turns into “Lady Death.”

Azhrarn saves Simmu during Narasen’s attack on Merh. He instructs Simmu to obtain water from the Cistern of Life (a little throwback to volume one). His plan is to kill Uhlume, hence bringing death to an end. The well is guarded by nine virgins called the Golden Daughters—Simmu makes use of his gender-changing abilities and sneaks into each of their chambers as a woman and then takes their virginity as a man. With their virginity taken, the well cracks, and Simmu founds the City of Simmurad (populated by immortal humans) with the golden daughter Kassafeh (too long-winded to get into it all).

Zhirem has embarked on his own adventures and eventually returns to Earth as the magician Zhirek. He agrees to serve Uhlume, who plans to destroy Simmurad, perceiving it as a threat. With the guidance of Azhrarn, who has grown weary of Simmu and Simmurad (you see, Azhrarn is not very consistent and doesn’t abide by rules nor responsibilities like our boy Morpheus 😉), Uhlume lets Zhirek destroy the city by submerging it under water after re-introducing death via creating and killing an insect. Simmu seemingly dies at the hands of Zhirek, who casts him into a well of fire. Zhirek retires into solitude, and Simmu is ultimately saved by Azhrarn, who transforms him into an Eshva and erases all memories of his past.

The story concludes with Narasen effectively ruling Innerearth and giving death, while Uhlume spends most of his time on Earth, finding solace in the presence of Kassafeh.

Volume Three: Delusion’s Master

We’re starting with a tale about Jasrin, the young wife of King Nemdur of Sheve. Because she is jealous of her newborn child, she abandons him in the desert, where he gets killed by dogs. Nemdur banishes Jasrin to a tower, where her sanity gradually deteriorates. She is visited by Chuz, the Prince of Madness (the third Lord of Darkness). Inquiring about her deepest desires, Jasrin expresses her wish for her husband to share her madness. Nemdur awakens with a crazy plan to construct a towering structure that reaches Upperearth (where the gods live). Inspired by the legend of Simmu, he envisions attaining immortality. The Tower of Babyhelu, aptly named “The Gate to the Gods,” grows and grows until it becomes unstable due to its immense weight, causing it to collapse with catastrophic consequences: The fall of the entire kingdom of Sheve.

Azhrarn and a few of his demons are drawn to the commotion, and a conversation between him and Chuz reignites Azhrarn’s disdain for the gods, who had failed to assist him in “Night’s Master”.

Hundreds of years later, we meet 7,000 pilgrims on their journey across the desert to worship the gods at Bhelsheved (Sheve rebuilt). Azhrarn is incensed that his sacrifice to save humanity in “Night’s Master” is credited to the gods. Disguised as a prophet, he reveals that a Lord of Darkness (not the gods) is the true saviour of humanity. For this, he is lashed with a whip and sheds three drops of blood. Azhrarn continues with his quest to destroy Bhelsheved but is unexpectedly diverted by the beauty of a young priestess named Dunizel. Recognising Azhrarn’s true intentions, Dunizel bravely offers to sacrifice herself to appease his wrath. Azhrarn turns into a wolf and bites off her lower arm, but when she encourages him to bite again instead of showing terror, he hesitates. Reminiscing about his own sacrifice to Hatred, he changes his mind, heals her with his own blood, and falls deeply in love with her.

We then learn the story of Dunizel’s mentally disabled mother, who was held captive by the assistant of an astronomer (who was on a field trip to observe a comet passing by). After impregnating the girl, the assistant attempted to abort the child by exposing her to the comet’s energy as it passed. The girl was instead exposed to a rainbow of light captured by the astronomer’s magical engine, regained her sanity and gave birth to Dunizel, who was also affected by the comet’s light. Dunizel’s mother raised her but gradually transformed into a fire elemental and ascended into the sky. The assistant gave Dunizel to a grieving mother from a nearby village, who raised her until she was chosen to join the religious cult (like her mother, she is also part solar being).

We are panning back to the love story of Dunizel and Azhrarn. Dunizel gives birth to a daughter named Soveh, who is initially mistaken for a goddess on Earth and grows at unnatural speed. Through the workings of Chuz though, the truth about the child’s paternity is revealed, and Dunizel dies at the hands of an angry mob (she also comes into contact with one of the drops of blood Azhrarn had formerly shed in the desert). Devastated, Azhrarn takes Soveh, whom he renames Azhriaz, to Underearth. Before he departs, he addresses Chuz and declares their relationship as “un-brothers, un-cousins, and now, un-friends”. He also reveals he will go to war with him and considers it a kindness he has informed him in advance.

The story concludes with Chuz finding Jasrin, who is haunting her tower, and releasing her.

Volume Four: Delirium’s Mistress

So if you waited for this to start with all-out war between Azhrarn and Chuz, you’ll be disappointed. We meet Oloru, a court jester to tyrannical prince Lak Hezoor. Oloru convinces Lak Hezoor to take him on a sightseeing tour of Underearth. It’s not going well—Lak Hezoor is torn apart by Azhrarn’s red hounds. Oloru transforms into a “slender rod of yellow radiation, vaguely purplishly limned” and flies towards the island where young adult Azhriaz has been sleeping since her arrival in Underearth (it’s a been a few years). Oloru, who is actually Chuz in disguise, awakens her, convinces her to escape, and takes her back to Earth. And of course they become lovers.

Kheshmet (King Fate) enters the story, just like that, and in no time, Azhrarn arrives and ends his quarrel with Chuz— also just like that. But to atone, Chuz has to agree to live a mortal lifetime, disfigured, without his powers and truly mad. Azhriaz initially stays with Chuz, but he forgets who she is.

Azhriaz, now without Chuz, despairs. She visits her mother’s grave with Khesmet and decides to embrace her father’s legacy: discrediting the gods. She replaces a king who committed suicide and ascends to the status of a cruel goddess on Earth, conquering much of the world who revels in her cruelty. Her teachings to humanity are that the gods care nothing for them: “Remember, to the gods, you are nothing. To Azhriaz, the Goddess, you are only grains of dust or sand.”

Khesmet arrives to foretell a looming war with sea and sky.

And weirdly, that war starts because a god, whom Azhrarn kissed in “Night’s Master”, awakens and decides that was sacrilege, plus he’s also not pleased with Azhriaz’s activities on Earth. The gods consequently hurl three shards into the sun that transform into three angels—the Malhukim of the gods: Ebriel, Yabael and Melquar. Azhrarn holds the angels at bay while Azhriaz escapes into the ocean aboard a special fish-ship crafted by the Drin, pursued by Ebriel and Yabael. Azhrarn fights Melquar in the air and narrowly avoids incineration. Azhriaz escapes imprisonment in an underwater city when Yabael destroys it with his sword. She receives no assistance from Azhrarn because he lies in a death-like coma in Druhim Vanashta and has been usurped by the demon Hazrond. Eventually, Azhrarn recovers and reclaims his kingdom. Azhriaz is still pursued by Yabael, who conveniently undergoes a transformation and forgets his mission in the process. Then pursued by Ebriel, she travels with Dathanja (Zhirek making a reappearance) and ultimately engages in an eternal battle with the angel. Realising she’ll be otherwise stuck there forever, she convinces Ebriel to stop by revealing her plan to give up her immortality.

Ebriel departs, snd Azhriaz (who is actually called Atmeh at this point, but that’d lead too far) seeks out Kassafeh for a bargain with Uhlume (who is in the process of abdicating to Narasen) to become mortal. She reunites with Chuz, who has paid his penance, and they stay together for a while until Chuz helps her with her final transformation into a mortal woman.

Atmeh/Azhriaz approaches death after 200 years or so, and is visited by Azhrarn, who tells her, “Humanity is my plaything no longer, only a toy for those that are mine under the earth. But you, you are her child. You are hers. You are Dunizel. Not mine. Never mine. Though I made you to be my curse upon the world. Though I made you to be myself. You are Dunizel, that I loved, Dunizel who was the moon and sun together.” Azhrarn expresses his sadness over his inability to cry, and Azhriaz responds: “Each word you have spoken has been a tear.”

Volume Five: Night’s Sorceries

I wasn’t sure if I should even go into this one, because “Delirium’s Mistress” always seemed like the final volume to me to be honest, and it concluded the story for me. “Night’s Sorceries” is a collection of short stories that seem connected to “Delirium’s Mistress” and fill in some gaps (that’s why each of them has an introduction that explains where we are, and when). So I will only go into three of them (there are seven altogether):

“The Prodigal” is essentially about Narasen’s reign as Queen Death.

“Dooniveh, The Moon” is written like a fairy tale about a monk from Nannafir. He travels to the moon on a winged horse, and by the end of his adventures, we witness the wedding of the Moon Queen and the Sun King. And that’s connected how? Well, the winged horse was a gift from Hazrond (who usurped Azhrarn) to Azhriaz.

“The Daughter of the Magician,” recounts the tale of a magician who successfully resurrects the soul of Azhriaz. But the child, named Ezail, ends up being offered as a sacrifice to a monster. And that’s connected how? Well, the monster was created as the counterpart of the winged horse in “Dooniveh, The Moon.” But Ezail regains Azhriaz’ memory and lo and behold, Chuz just happens to appear in the reincarnation of a young boy named Chavir. Together, they decide to take the monster with them and embark on a life together.

The main reason I did include this volume is that it somewhat puts the former four in context. The last sentence of “Night’s Sorceries” is:

“Love is also an immortal.”

Which somewhat suggests that Azhriaz is operating on the same plane as Azhrarn, Uhlume, Chuz and Kheshmet. And we already get hints at that in the other volumes.

In “Delusion’s Master”, Azhrarn says to Dunizel that their child will be his feminine aspect. It’s just ambiguous enough, but we also get this in “Delirium’s Mistress” when Azhrarn wonders about love: “There is no such commodity. There is carnality, our plaything. There is worship, and there is obsession. Death you may perceive walking the world, and Fate, and Delusion, too, in a form that I have kindly granted him. But no man sees love, and no demon sees it.”

So while many of the stories of Tales from the Flat Earth can stand on their own, there is also an overarching theme: Establishing another power that serves to balance out the others: Wickedness, Death, Delusion, and Fate—Azhriaz’ four “sons” (cryptically mentioned in the final chapter of Delirium’s Mistress)...

#the sandman #sandman #tales from the flat earth #tanith lee #neil gaiman #long post #an in-depth look at #Matthew Boroson’s claims #and a full summary of all five volumes of tales from the flat earth #sandman spoilers #tales from the flat earth spoilers

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watchmegetobsessed · 1 year ago

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NOW AND FOREVER (part 2)

A/N: these two got stuck in my head and seemingly in yours as well, so lets see some more of them! part 1 is linked under the summary if you haven't read it!

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

PAIRING: princess!reader x guard!harry

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: To be eligible for the throne, you need to get married. The past few years have been dedicated to finding a king for you, but now that you're secretly dating your guard, these attempts are a bit more complicated than before.

PART 1 | MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

There’s that scene in The Princess Diaries when they are choosing a possible husband out of a slide show for Mia. You used to find it funny when you were younger and made jokes to your parents that you want to do it too. They laughed, but exchanged a look you didn’t understand back then.

Now you do.

There are two requirements you need to meet to take the throne. The first one is to be at least 25 years old. That box has been ticked for three years now, the real problem is the second one. Because as outdated that law in the movies was, it is your reality. You have to be married, you can’t take the throne without a man.

As a teenager you didn’t think much of it, because you pictured yourself to meet a handsome prince, marry him and then become queen, easy as it is. But as you grew older and dating was proven to be impossible as a princess, anxiety and panic started to set in that you’d end up in an arranged marriage just to become eligible for ruling Eroda.

Then came Harry, you fell for him and he fell for you, but it just complicated things even more, because he is not from royal blood, not even close to being an aristocrat, therefore you can never marry him.

For the past few years most of the social events you’ve attended had a not so hidden second purpose: finding a husband.

Never ending rounds of introductions to single men, awkward chatting that ended up in asking you out on a date that you declined politely most of the time, followed by a sermon from your father about needing to settle soon, because he is not getting younger and you need to be eligible for the throne as soon as possible. You always tried your best to just ignore him, but ever since you and Harry have become an item secretly it’s been extremely hard to hold your tongue and not tell him that you have found the man you want to spend the rest of your life with, but he can’t be king, because he is your guard.

It’s such an impossible situation and you have no idea where it’s going to lead.

Now it’s another one of those occasions, the opening of the Spring Festival is just another opportunity to fill up the palace’s ballroom with all kinds of single men from around the country and even outside as well.

You know people are filling up the room already while you’re still in your suite. Your hair is done, makeup perfect, wearing a gown that costs probably way more than you feel comfortable with, but you’re never informed about how expensive your outfits are.

You’ll be announced in about fifteen minutes, walk down the stairs for the millionth time and start your rounds. You’d rather jump out the window than to meet all those people, but you have no choice.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Come in!” you call out and you see Harry step inside from the mirror. He is wearing his usual black suit, looking polished and threatening at the same time, but not to you. You see the man he is behind his thick walls, because there’s a door on that wall, just for you, wide open.

The door clicks behind him and he watches you turn around, his gaze runs down the length of your body and then up to your face again.

“Should I change?” you ask, arching an eyebrow at him teasingly.

“Do you want the honest or the brutally honest answer?”

Your lips stretch into a smile as you start to cross the room slowly, walking towards him while he remains standing in his spot.

“Both. The honest first.”

“You look stunning,” he replies, his eyes soft and loving. You stop just a few inches away from him.

“And the brutally honest one?”

There’s a short pause, you catch his eyes slip down to your chest and waist again before returning.

“I want to lock you in here and not let you close any men out there. I wish I could mark you mine.”

He knows how to turn you on within seconds with just a few words. He knows so well how much you like it when he gets possessive, ready to show it to the world that you belong to him and only him.

A shaky breath leaves your lips and just when you reach up to grab him by his neck there’s another knock on the door. forcing you to take a step back instead.

“Come in!” you answer when there’s enough distance between you and Harry, though your heart is still pounding in your chest as if it’s about to jump out and right into Harry’s hands.

Head of security, Clarke steps into the suite.

“Her Royal Highness, you’re expected to appear in ten minutes,” he informs you with a polite nod.

“Styles just arrived to walk me over. Thank you.”

The two men exchange a look before Clarke walks out. Taking a deep breath you turn to face Harry.

“Ready?”

“Sure,” you huff, earning a tiny smirk from him before he opens the door, but as you walk past him he stops you just for a split second to whisper into your ear.

“Mine,” is all he says and you keep walking as if that one word didn’t just make your knees wobble.

You use the walk to the ballroom to get your thoughts straight and not imagine how Harry would peel you out of this dress if you had some privacy…

They announce you and every pair of eyes are glued to you as you walk down the stairs and join the crowd. Endless rounds of introduction, the smile is frozen on your face and your feet are already sore from the heels, but you ignore the pain.

It always amazes you how uninteresting the men you meet are. How they can’t hold a conversation that doesn’t make you claw your eyes out. Thirty seconds into the chit-chat and you’re already planning your escape usually.

Tonight however there is one exception.

His name is Magnus, some kind of relative of the Swedish royal family, you don’t really care to be honest. At first he seemed just another one of the boring puppets, but he soon proved to actually have a personality and your status didn’t stop him from showing it.

His almost inappropriate, a bit risky jokes are what keep you sane tonight. He just knows what makes you laugh and he has a great timing dropping his silent comments that are only meant for you.

“I think I’ll have a little break,” you tell him after a rather long conversation with some old baron you know you’ve seen a couple of times already, but can’t remember his name, only that he is always oddly curious about the neckline of your dress.

“I’ll be around here, dodging questions about my father’s political choices.”

You smile with a nod and then look around to find Harry. He is not far away, by a window, his eyes already glued to you when you make your way towards him.

“Bathroom break,” you announce to him with a smile, expecting to see that hidden glimmer in his eyes as usual, because this is always the time when you steal a few intimate moments, but he is different now. Something is off.

He nods without a word and escorts you out of the room. In those few minutes you go back to your suite you try to figure out what could have happened since you parted ways that could upset him this much. As always, he opens the door for you, one guard stays outside and he comes in with you.

He plants himself by the door, his hands clasped together in front of him as he keeps a straight face.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He looks at you just for a second before turning his gaze towards the window, his jaw flexes and your worry just grows, you haven’t seen him this upset in a long time.

“Nothing is wrong,” he answers, but you both know it’s not true.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time, Harry. Just once more. What is wrong?”

Slowly, his eyes move back to you and for a moment, you forget to breathe, they’re so intense and darker than ever, as if all that gorgeous greenness is gone from them.

“Your little date must be waiting for you, better hurry.”

Amusement settles on your face and you can’t stop yourself from letting a laugh slip out.

“That’s your problem? Magnus?” His lips twitch at his name, but he doesn’t reply. “Harry, you know this is what’s expected from me. I have to pretend like I want to get to know the men out there.”

“I bet you didn’t have to pretend much when he came into the picture.”

“What are you talking about?!” you let out another frustrated laugh. You know he tends to get jealous, but you’ve never seen this side of him before.

“You seemed to enjoy his company a lot out there.”

“Because he is not a boring asshole like most of the men I’m usually introduced to.”

“Great. You two will look good as king and queen.”

You know he doesn’t mean it, that he is just pissed and feels helpless in our situation, but in this moment you simply can’t see over the nasty fog of anger.

“Oh you think so too? I agree,” is all you say before you march into your bathroom and shut the door closed.

There’s no more talking as you walk back to the ballroom, but even the blind could see the tension between the two of you. You catch the other guard that came with you giving Harry a puzzled look, but he didn’t dare to ask.

“Magnus!” you call out to him, making your way straight to him upon arriving when you spot him by a table. You can feel Harry’s burning gaze on your back, but tonight you’re in the mood to be petty.

“Your Royal Highness, you’re back!” he smiles brightly.

He is handsome, that’s for sure. Has great manners and an even greater sense of humor. The more you talk to him the more you think that you might be able to develop feelings for him in some years, or at least enough to live beside him in peace.

But those feelings would never live up to the love and passion you have for Harry.

You’re still angry at him, for how childish he was and thought that anyone could stand a chance when he’s in your life.

As the evening carries on your anger eases, though you’re still upset with him, you just want to be alone with him finally, touch him, kiss him, hear him call your name.

Magnus asks you out at the end of the night and you politely decline, he doesn’t seem offended, maybe a bit disappointed, but he masks it well. You say your rounds of goodbye and then finally make your way back to your suite, Harry walking right beside you.

The tension has somewhat lessened, but the vibes are still not the usual. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, if he is still as upset as before or he has cooled down, his face is so blank it irks you. Arriving at the suite you look at him, searching for any sign or feeling in his eyes, but they look back at you completely empty. So you walk in and lock yourself in your bathroom with trembling lips.

Normally Harry would sneak in later at night, but this time you don’t expect him to show up. Hoping to burn the feelings tonight left behind, you take a hot bath and try to carry on as if nothing happened, even though Harry is all you can think about.

Is it possible this is how things will end between the two of you? That this stupid little jealousy game is enough to pull you apart? You start to spiral heavily when you step out of the steamed up bathroom, but all your thoughts disappear the moment you notice you’re not alone.

Harry is sitting on the edge of your bed, still wearing his suit from tonight, but his black tie is gone and the top few buttons are undone on his perfectly white shirt. Unsure about where you’re standing and if he is still angry at you for the whole Magnus thing, you just stop halfway over to the bed, wrapped only in a silky robe.

For a while he just sits there, staring at you, silent and unreadable and right when you’re about to speak, he stands up and starts walking towards you, slowly, his eyes locked with yours. You’re waiting for him to say something, maybe lash out on you, or apologize, practically anything, because his silence is pure torture.

He stops right in front of you, if you took a deep breath your chest would be touching his, but he is still just staring down at you without a single word.

And you break.

“Harry, I–”

He doesn’t let you finish, instead, his lips smash against yours, one hand on the back of your neck, the other one grabbing your jaw as he moves forward, pushing you to move with him until your back hits the wall, his whole body pressed against you as he kisses you like never before.

He’s been rough with you before, but not like this. He is devouring your lips with the raw passion he had to hold back all evening, watching you parade around with another man while he wished he could show everyone in the room who you belong to.

You both are in a rush, he is practically tearing your robe off your body while you’re ridding him of his clothes in a frenzy. You don’t even get to pull his shirt off entirely and his pants are just pooling around his ankles when brings your legs around his waist and thrusts his throbbing cock into you, only to freeze once he’s buried deep inside you.

You both gasp, lips smearing against each other as you stare back at each other, savoring the feeling of being as physically close as possible finally. The events of tonight have turned, they are now a force between the two of you, pulling you closer and closer until you’re melted together as one.

You grab his face, tightening your legs around his waist as you breathe his name into his mouth before he starts moving.

He starts off slow, but he is quick to fasten his pace, your gasps fill the room and you’re thankful your whole suite is soundproof, just like almost all rooms in the palace. It’s the only reason why you could have been in a similar situation in the library, the guest room in the west wing and your study.

You’re tugging his hair and clawing at his back while he pounds into you relentlessly. At one point, most likely to muffle his moans, he bites into your shoulder and you faintly feel him sucking on the skin, but you’re just too gone to even realize what he is doing.

He is kissing you so hard your teeth are clashing as he comes, his movements fall out of his fast paced rhythm for a bit, but then he keeps going for you.

“Come on, baby. Give it to me, come on my cock,” he urges you, knowing you’re close too. “I know you’re there, I can feel you so tight around my cock, just give it to me.”

A few more rough thrust and you’re whining out his name, your orgasm spreading through your whole body in waves. He fucks you through it and only stops when he’s sure you’ve given him everything.

You stay like that, his cock buried inside you, his body pressing you up against the wall, foreheads resting against each other as you both try to catch your breath. When he pulls back you follow his eyes to your shoulder and see the reddish-purple mark he left on you.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he breathes out as he lets your legs down, your feet returning to the floor but he keeps an arm around your waist, knowing you probably don’t have much energy to stand on your own, his other hand comes up to your shoulder and he runs his fingers over the mark.

“It’s fine, I have makeup that covers anything,” you smirk at him. Secretly, you wish he’d let himself loose like this more often, you love seeing his mark on yourself.

You catch his face falling before he speaks again.

“And I’m sorry for tonight.”

You couldn’t be angry at him anymore, not even if you tried. The tenderness is back in his eyes and he is the Harry you love so much again.

“I’m sorry too.”

“No, you have nothing to apologize for,” he shakes his head. “You did nothing wrong, just… talked to a guy whose company was nice, after all those events full of assholes you always have to put up with. I was… jealous, because he got to be with you the way I want to.”

It stings in your chest, his confession hits hard now that it was said out loud, even though deep down you knew he felt like that, because you did too. You wished it could have been him.

With a gentle touch, you take his face between your hands and pull him in for a soft kiss.

“I know you know it, just probably forget it sometimes, but I’ll say it. No matter who they try to set me up with or how many princes and barons they throw into my way, I will only love and belong to you. Now and forever.”

You intentionally use his words and it seems to strengthen the message, you notice the tears in his eyes and you feel your throat closing up as well when you pull him in for another kiss, this time it’s longer and more passionate. You can taste his words on his tongue: I love you too.

When he pulls back you see the glimmer in his eyes, but then they disappear in a second.

“What’s wrong?” He shakes his head. “Harry, talk to me, please,” you beg him, pushing his hair back.

“It’s just… You’ll have to marry one day. You can’t be queen without marrying someone and I… I can’t be…”

He doesn’t want to say it out loud, as if it would make it more real, even though it’s as real as it could get.

“We’ll figure it out. I promise,” you tell him, running the pad of your thumb over his eyebrow, as if you wanted to memorize every feature of his face. When he looks into your eyes you know he doesn’t believe you, but he just nods. You don’t want to let him go like this, to end tonight on such a bitter note. “So… you’d want to marry me? You’re saying you would willingly have me as your wife?”

You see the switch in his eyes and the way the corners of his mouth curl up makes you lightheaded in a second.

“Did I say that?”

“You very much implied, yes,” you grin at him. “I’m surprised you’d want to put up with my big mouth and attitude, you get the most of them, because I can’t act up in public. Wouldn’t you get fed up with me after a while?” you ask teasingly.

“Mm, don’t let it get to your head, but I love your big mouth and attitude.” Leaning down his lips are now brushing against yours, but he is not kissing you just yet. “Especially… your mouth and everything it can do,” he adds in a whisper before finally sucking on your bottom lip.

He pulls you away from the wall and starts walking you towards the bed and you just smile widely against his mouth as you willingly move with him until you both fall into your bed and make the best out of the little time he gets to spend with you before he needs to sneak out.

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