#so jealous of everyone who got to see this live!!

[mishappeningss]

can we get more y/n and lewis? 😭 like after lewis leaves mercedes he sees her get very comfortable w her new teammates and low-key gets upset/jealous so she makes him feel better (and confirms that he is still her number one)

AURRRGHHH stoppp. there's no universe where yn and lewis aren't soulmates. never separate them.

more about driver!yn

The paddock felt colder this year. Or maybe it was just Lewis.

He wasn’t sad, per se. He was at Ferrari now, draped in blinding red, a new chapter unfolding in front of him.

But every time he passed the Mercedes garage, he still half-expected to hear her laugh echoing through it.

Until now, he never realized how much of his Mercedes life was her.

And today—God, today he wished he hadn’t looked.

Across the paddock, under the banner of a rival team, she stood laughing, arms slung over two of her new mechanics like she’d known them forever.

Luca, her race engineer, bumped her shoulder playfully. Kimi called her “trouble” and handed her a Red Bull can like it was some inside joke.

Lewis watched from a quiet corner. Helmet in hand. Swallowed the sudden ache in his throat.

“You alright, mate?” Charles asked beside him.

“Yeah,” Lewis said, a bit too fast. “Just… watching something I used to know.”

She didn’t even see him.

It wasn’t until much later, hours after the race, that she did.

He was sitting on the pit wall, half-dressed in Ferrari gear and scrolling through his phone like it might distract him from the pit in his stomach. He didn’t even hear her footsteps.

“Hey,” her voice cut through the silence.

Lewis glanced up. Her hair was damp from the post-race shower, face flushed with residual adrenaline.

She had her arms folded across her hoodie—his hoodie, actually. One she’d stolen years ago and still wore like a second skin.

“Hi,” he said, softer than he meant.

She tilted her head. “You looked like you were thinking sad poetry thoughts. Did Charles accidentally say ‘mate’ again?”

He chuckled under his breath. But he didn’t answer.

She stepped closer, eyes scanning his face. “You’ve been weird all weekend.”

“Have I?”

“Don’t do that. I know you. You taught me that tone.”

There was a pause. Then a long exhale.

“I saw you with your team,” Lewis admitted finally. “You looked… happy.”

“I am happy.”

“I know,” he nodded. “That’s what makes it worse.”

The silence that followed was tender, bruised. She sat beside him, pulling her knees up like she used to on the debrief couch back in Brackley.

“You know I still talk about you like you’re my teammate, right?” she murmured.

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Even now?”

“Especially now. They’ll say something about strategy and I’ll go, ‘Lewis used to do this thing…’ or I’ll crash and think, ‘Lewis is gonna kill me.’ You literally live in me, Lew.”

“You’re not mine anymore,” he whispered, not accusing—just stating what it felt like.

Her hand reached for his.

“I’ll always be yours. Not because of contracts or team kits or who I’m racing next to.” She squeezed his fingers.

“But because you were the first person to believe I could do this. You were the voice in my ear when I still doubted my own. You’re the reason I ever thought I belonged.”

He looked down at their intertwined hands. His thumb brushed the edge of her knuckle where her old Mercedes ring still sat on a chain.

“You’ve got new people now.”

“I’ve got new people,” she said gently. “But I only ever had one home. And that was you.”

That’s what broke him.

Not in the messy way. Not with tears. Just a breath—sharp, shaky—and the quiet tilt of his head into her shoulder.

“Don’t leave me behind,” he said into the fabric of her hoodie.

“Never,” she promised. “You’re not behind, Lewis. You’re above. You’re the bar. Everyone else is just chasing it.”

And in the quiet warmth of the post-race night, with engines off and media gone, she sat there and reminded him:

That no matter how far they drifted or what colors they wore…

She would always be his.

user: “you were the voice in my ear when i still doubted my own” WHO GAVE HER THE RIGHT

user: not me crying in the club over lewis whispering “you’re not mine anymore” and yn literally rewriting the definition of soulmate

user: if you’ve ever been the friend who stayed behind while they moved on… you get this scene in your bones

user: and yet she still wears his old merc hoodie. still keeps the ring on her chain. she never left. not really.

user: her calling lewis her home while sitting in ferrari colors should be illegal tbh

user: lewis watching yn laugh with her new team like a sad victorian ghost and then her literally holding his hand and telling him he’s still her home. KILL ME????

[julysn]

every man’s got his patience (and here’s where mine ends) [Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins x AFAB!Reader]

SUMMARY. Flins was never the type to get too jealous or possessive over you, but a letter from a Fontainian friend of yours pushes him over the edge, and pushes him into you.

INCLUDES. vaginal sex, on the desk, jealous & angry sex (kinda?), slightly possessive flins, porn w/ plot executed horribly, hair pulling, you get called a slut once, a bit of drooling, not beta read, begging, spanking, they aren’t dating but they are together.. it’s complicated. ask them.

WORD COUNT. ≈2420

NOTES. i’ve never been good at writing porn w/ plot so i hope this isn’t too cringe inducing 😓 i had two chocolate bars, a can of soda and a dream ok.. title from a george michael song! anyways please reblog i’d appreciate it

originally posted to ao3 here

It was a dark, chilly evening, wind blowing harshly through the hills of Nod-Krai. The dangerous aura of the region increased tenfold with the incoming blizzard, clouds crawling up the horizon to shroud the moon.

Flins sits in his office, soaking in the comfort of his fireplace and the dim lighting of his lantern. He’s busied himself in his duties, looking through documents and sipping on a cup of coffee simultaneously.

The room is quiet except for the quiet crackles of the fireplace and the soft rustling of the paper. It was a very quiet, almost peaceful night, only peaceful knowing that he was safe in his office from anything that could be happening on the outside.

The door opens without a knock to prelude, and he brings his eyes up to meet yours. You had come to pester him again, it seemed.

“What do you want?” Flins grumbles, watching as you waltz into his office, shutting the door behind you and plopping yourself down on an armchair near the fireplace. It was you, of course it was you. Besides for Varka when he was drunk, you were the only person who’d come to see him this late at night.

“Nothing, just wanted to see you.” You snickered at the faint annoyance in his eyes, leaning back in the cozy chair and stretching.

The two of you weren’t official. Sure, you both acted like it—you’d hold hands, share kisses, cuddle, say ‘i love you’, and share a bed most days. You practically lived at his home nowadays, and sometimes you’d steal one of his coats. But you both hadn’t put a label on it, and frankly, you didn’t need to. It was clear to everyone else that you two were together, no titles or labels needed. Dating, but not officially dating. It was weird, it was complicated, but it worked for the both of you.

You breathe out softly, pulling out a small, baby blue envelope from your pocket. To Y/N., written in elegant cursive. A small smile graces your lips as you gently tear it open, being careful not to interrupt the quiet atmosphere, and pull out the letter.

Flins hums as he looks up from the many documents scattered around his desk, looking at you and noticing the paper in your hands. “What do you have there?”

“A friend from Fontaine sent me a letter.” You shrug, speaking about it as if it was nothing.

He’s intrigued, though, and he lowers the documents in his hands to meet your eyes. “A friend.. who?”

“Just a friend.” You respond casually like it was common knowledge between the two of you, reading the contents of the letter and chuckling softly. “Someone I met in Fontaine a few weeks ago when I was on that trip!”

“Really, now?” He raises an eyebrow and goes back to shuffling through documents and attempting to organize them into folders.

“Mmhm.” You nod, and the two of you can sense your chattiness starting to come to the surface. “You remember around a week ago when I told you that I wrote a letter for one of my friends? Well, it was for him, and he—“

“He? You never told me it was a guy.” Flins’s eyes narrow as he brings his gaze back up to meet yours, and you notice the possessiveness in his eyes. You knew he could get possessive and jealous at times, making sure that anyone who saw you two in public knew you two were with each other, but this was unfamiliar territory.

“Let me see.” He holds his hand out expectantly, and you shrug and give him the letter, not thinking much of it.

“Hm.” Flins skims the letter, his eyebrows furrowing the further down he went on the page. Your Fontainian friend had even attached photos of him and his dog along with the letter.. how interesting. You can’t help but bite your lip, a little nervous to see his reaction.

“With love?” He questioned, pointing to the bottom of the paper where your friend’s signature had been inked down. Jealousy’s in his eyes, and you’re both nervous and intrigued by what he’ll do next.

“On the Tsaritsa we’re only friends.” You say desperately, hoping to soothe his envy. “I only love you, you know that.”

“Hmph.” Flins places the letter down on his desk, rising from his seat and looming over you. You can see a faint bulge from underneath his coat as he approaches you, picking you up like nothing and setting you down on his desk.

You let out a soft gasp, watching as he shrugs his coat off, hanging it on the armchair you were just sitting on moments ago, his bulge now on full display for you to admire. His gloved hands come down to your thighs, squeezing them as he pushes your legs apart to give him room.

“You only love me, hm? I’d like for you to prove it.” Flins whispers huskily against your skin as he leans down and nips at your neck, eliciting a small whine from your lips.

“I will, baby, promise..” You mumble as his teeth sink down into your flesh, bringing himself closer, close enough to where you could feel the tip of his bulge against your clothed sex.

“Promise?” He begins to roll his hips, pushing himself against you, dry-humping you while he gave you hickies.

You can only whimper as his hands desperately tug down at your pants. “I.. I promise..”

Flins pulls your pants and panties down, tossing them to the side carelessly. He rips off one of his gloves, fingers slipping down to rub against your increasingly wet clit.

A sharp, quick gasp leaves you as your back arches forward slightly, head rolling back in pleasure. Ecstasy clouds your eyes, and the more turned on you get, the more he takes notice, and the faster his fingers move between your slick folds.

“Please, honey..” The words spill from your lips desperately as tears begin to prick at your eyes. You’re so desperate now, so desperate and needy for him, and the arousal between the two of you intensifies exponentially.

“You think you deserve that? Beg for it.” He commands, lips brushing against your collarbone as he bends down to leave kisses anywhere his lips could venture.

“I…” You suck in a deep breath, a bit embarrassed to be this desperate and needy just for cock, but you do it anyway. You’d do anything for him, even if you won’t admit it to his face. “Please, honey.. I need you.. I need you in me.. please, fuck.. please..”

You blink rapidly, letting the tears fall down your face and drip off of your jawline. It’s pathetic, it’s absolutely pitiful, and yet he wants to see more of it. He wants to see more of you yearning for him after you’ve made him jealous like this.

Flins hums in satisfaction, pulling his hands back from your sex and bringing them up to his lips. You watch with arousal as he sucks your juices off of his fingers, eyes trained on yours, his free hand massaging your bare thigh.

“Cold, aren’t you..” It’s more of a statement rather than a question, his fingers gently squeezing and massaging your bare thigh which was now exposed to the chill of his office. His eyes dart back to where the letter sat on his desk, and his envy returns, causing him to slap your thigh. It’s hard enough to elicit a cry, and yet that just makes him harder.

“Please..” You whine once more, becoming increasingly needier.

“I don’t think you deserve it.” Flins comments, and before you can even get the chance to reply, he picks you up again and flips you around on his desk, pressing his hips against your ass as he positions you into all fours effortlessly. He was quite the strong man..

“You only love me, right?” He asks, raising his hand and striking against your buttocks, causing you to let out a whimper of both pain and ecstasy.

“Only you..” You breathe out, eyes heavy-lidded and head tilted upwards. He strikes your cheeks one more time for good measure, before stepping back.

You hear a zipper pull down, and excitement rushes through your veins as you realize what was happening. He was so, so very attractive when he was jealous, and the fact that he was about to fuck you while in this envious state was even more attractive.

His pants fall down to the floor, and at last, his erect cock was finally free from its confines. Small droplets of pre-cum dribble down from the tip to his shaft, an absolutely tantalizing sight.

A bottle of lubricant appears seemingly out of nowhere, and Flins picks it up and pours some out into his hand, smearing it all over his shaft. You look back to see a faint smirk gracing his lips as his hands fondle your buttocks, before striking them yet again.

He finally begins to push himself inside, slowly pushing his hips into yours as his girth fills your insides. You gasp as you feel your walls clench around him, your fingers quickly grabbing the edge of his desk to hold yourself together.

Flins groans as he slaps your buttocks yet again, before moving his hands to hold onto your hips as he begins to rock back and forth. You moan as you feel his cock thrust in and out of you repeatedly, the feeling sending you into bliss.

“Mine,” He smacks your ass yet again, as if reaffirming the fact that you were his. “All mine.”

You whimper as his thrusts intensify, getting quicker and harder with every pump, feeling him move faster and faster. One of his hands finds its way into your hair, tangling his fingers into your locks. He pulls on your hair, bringing your head up. You lock eyes with him, tongue lolling out pathetically, ecstasy clouding all other senses.

“Slut.” Flins groaned, looking down at your pleasured face, seeing the way your drool began to pool down your chin and your eyes hazy with lust. The way your back arched as he pumped into you, the way you looked up at him while he slammed deeper and deeper into you.. it was making him so hot.

“Please.. more… Flins, please, please, please…” You beg, voice whiny. You’re teary-eyed and hungry, just wanting more, more, more!

“You think you deserve it?” He hisses, raising his hand to strike your cheeks again. You whimper as his palm strikes you, back arching even more as you begin to plead.

“P-please,” You moan, letting the tears spill from your eyes and cascade down your cheeks. “harder.. please.. go harder..”

Flins spanks your ass again. “More.”

“Do.. do I have to?” You sob a bit. You had begged enough, right? Sure, he was going quickly, but not quickly enough. You needed much more.

He ignores you and continues to pound into you, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, filling you up and then pulling out. His loud, husky groans fill the air as he tugs on your hair even harder, leaning down to bite on your neck.

You feel like you’re drifting in a sea of ecstasy, pleasure crashing into you with every thrust. Your fingers grasp at the edge of the desk while the both of you crawl closer to the edge of heaven, his veiny cock feeling absolutely divine inside you.

“I-I’m close,” You gasp, eyes fluttering shut as you feel your body tense up. You typically never came this early, but seeing Flins all possessive and jealous, feeling his hands strike against your buttocks, and the way he commanded that you start begging for him.. it was all so arousing, so attractive.

He quickly takes notice of your incoming orgasm, and his hips roll back and forth much faster, hoping to finally bring you over the edge as he groaned. “Cum for me, baby.”

“I—“ Before you can finish your sentence, your orgasm crashed into you like a tsunami, and a loud moan rips from your lips as you tense up. You shudder intensely, your legs quivering, and you cry out in ecstasy as you come.

Flins smirks a little in satisfaction, looking down at your spent face. He pulls on your hair, bringing your head back to make eye contact. He doesn’t stop his thrusts as he leans down and presses his lips against yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth and exploring every crevice like he was trying to memorize how it felt.

He groans into your mouth as the two of you make out, cock still pistoning in and out of your hole. One hand continues to hold onto your hair, his other hand squeezing and grasping at your cheeks.

You pull back from his lips just slightly, placing your forehead against his. “Are… are you almost there?”

“Yeah, you ready?” Flins asks, pulling back and releasing his hand from your hair, opting to push your head down onto the table and hold it in place as his thrusts quicken.

You can only let out a whimper in response, eyes fluttering shut as your face presses against the cold wood of his desk. He thrusts deeper, harder, better, and a moan escapes your lips with each and every time you feel his cock push into you.

“F-fuck..” Flins groaned, his pace incredibly fast, and you can tell he’s getting very close to reaching the peak of his climax.

The warning’s barely able to leave his lips as his body tenses up and his cum shoots out and into you, his shaft pulsating as he empties his load into you. Ecstasy fills his veins, clouding all other senses as a deep groan unleashes from his throat, and the both of you moan in tandem as he rides out his orgasm.

After about a few seconds, letting all of his cum out, he finally pulls out, watching as his cum drips down from your folds before flipping you onto your back and burying his face in your shoulder. A soft, content sigh leaves his lips as he lays against you, finding comfort in you. He knew he should probably start cleaning up, but he needed to savor this moment with you.

“.. I love you.” Flins whispers against your skin, his voice so quiet you could barely hear it, but the words bring a smile to your face anyway.

“I love you too.”

[noroi-om]

Yandere Type Headcanon | Solomon

A/n: I think these are getting more like my thoughts not actual headcanons 😑

We know that there's something wrong with him. Even his fans know that! Even I know that. And I like him. And we ALL know that there's something not normal behind this stupid smile of his.

He's already so old. He saw death, he probably was also killing. He knows angels. He knows demons. There were not many humans that were important in his life as MC. 

So I'm able to say that he's one of the worshipping types. Able to manipulate. Able to think in a more drastic way. 

•He is Final Type. While you may know that Final type can kill their love. Or kill themselves when they die. Because there's no reason for them to live in a world without them.

•Well, Solomon was living so many years, that I don't know if he would kill himself if MC was deceased. He may try to resurrect them. 

•But there's a point when he may be able to say that he got enough of a long life. 

I don't think he would kill MC or himself though. 

I was reading some lessons in the game, and I remember he said that MC changed his life. So we can say that they changed his whole world. MC started to be his world. Everything he does, he does for their good. 

•That may be something bad or not. Not for everyone. And he's just like that. I think I don't need to be reminded about the dragger thing and Lucifer, right? 

•Without you, he'll be depressed. Lonely. In his whole life, he finally found someone he loves. He made you his disciple. He chose to teach you magic. He wanted you to be safe. He assured me that you'll be powerful enough. 

•And that was his way to show his love to you. At least that's what I'm seeing. 

•He's immortal. He's a lonely human with a long, long life. Full of demons, angels, ghosts, witches. That is not human. And he found someone that he may make a human sorcerer. Just like him.

Someone who'll understand him. Someone who'll be with him, without worrying about the future. 

Because if you're a sorcerer, he may make you immortal. So there's no need for his world to end. And the stronger you are. The better. 

You won't be in danger when he can't be around. 

•He wants to live a human-like life with you too. Without the sorcerers thing. Without the teacher-disciple thing. Just you and him. 

•Cooking together, sleeping together, cleaning. Well, maybe you'll teach him how to cook?

•He's caring about you and your well-being. But he himself knows what will be better for you two. As a human. What'll be better for your future. Why pity a demon? When you're a human, that's neither bad nor good. Can go in all of three worlds. 

•He's jealous when you're around someone else. How can he not be? You're spending time with someone else when you made him think about you. 

He never left his feelings out. Yet now he's with you. He let his heart go. He let love take control. 

He doesn't want you to disappear from his life. 

He wants that to continue. So he doesn't need to do something ridiculous. 

He made a pact with a demon who controls time. He can do anything. 

Just don't you dare to change anything you have now. Don't push him away. 

[melika-elena]

Day Three: Road Trip

The Pitt, Mel King/Frank Langdon, 500 words, Rated G, High School AU, for @kingdonmicrofic

The route? Set. Snacks? Acquired. Gas tank? Full. Playlists? Downloaded. 

“First aid kit?” Mel’s mom asks. 

“In the trunk, along with a spare tire, basic repair set, and jump cables,” Mel says. “Registration, insurance, and triple A cards are in the glove box.” 

“All right, then,” her mom says. “Sounds like you’re ready.” 

Mel and Samira finally convinced their parents they’re responsible enough to drive the two hours into the city to meet Mel’s cousins to go to a concert, spend the night at her aunt and uncle’s, and then make the two-hour drive back the next day. 

Mel and Samira are both good drivers, got their licenses the year before, but still, it’ll be the longest drive they’ve taken without a parent. Both their parents made them practice freeway driving for weeks in preparation, and now it’s time.

Driving down the freeway, Mel feels so grown-up, singing along to songs that they picked, eating the snacks that they packed. It’s like a preview of their post-high school lives, even if that’s still a year away. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Samira look so relaxed, hair flying from the open window, sunglasses on, tongue blue from candy. It’s a golden moment, one she knows she’ll remember for a long time. 

They make it easily into the city, stopping at her aunt and uncle’s to drop their stuff and park, and meet up with her cousins, taking public transit to the stadium. Her uncle has the dubious honor of escorting them there and back. 

The concert is for a band they’ve loved for a long time. Throughout the show, Mel gamely poses for a plethora of selfies, videos, and social media stories. Her favorite is a video that Samira posts and tags them all in, of the four of them scream-singing along to their favorite song, glitter on their faces. 

Everyone is still so hyped up post-concert that they all end up in her cousin Ellie’s room, giggling long into the night, gleefully comparing how jealous their friends are from their social media comments. 

Mel has a new DM herself, and she sees that it’s from @FranklyLangdon. He wrote, “Cute picture. Looks fun”. She can’t control it— she blushes. Of course, everyone clocks it. 

“What is it?” Her cousin, Grace, asks. “Or who is it?” 

She wants to lie, but Samira plucks the phone from her grasp. She knows her too well. “Mel,” she breathes. “Why is Frank Langdon calling you cute?” 

Ellie and Grace demand to know who Langdon is, and of course Samira obliges, showing them his profile. Predictably, they squeal at how cute he is, and Samira tells them everything: no, they’re not together. No, not even really friends— different circles. But he seems to be everywhere Mel is this summer, and they’ve talked a little bit. Yes, Samira is convinced he’s into her. No, Mel is not convinced at all. 

Mel doesn’t know what to believe, but, looking over at his DM again, she thinks: maybe. 

[schoolspiritsfan14]

Treat You Better 💜💙

Part 1

CW&INFO: Wally Clark x Maddie Nears, everyone is Alive AU, set in 2023-24 (in line with the show), eventual smut maybe? swearing, mentions of vaping, mentions of alcohol, Maddie and Wally are childhood friends since 10, they are neighbours 

Story Summary: Wally, a childhood friend, develops a secret crush on Maddie, despite her boyfriend Xavier cheating. He tries to convince Maddie that Xavier is unsuitable for her.

Part 1 summary: Maddie discover her mother Sandra passed out drunk. Maddie begs for her to go back to rehab, but Maddie discovers something that changes the future.

December 2023

Wally Clark has everything going for him. The star of the football team. The most popular guy in school. The most prestigious colleges in the country wanting him to be on their team for the next year. He had all any guy would want in life- except her. Madison Nears his best friend since they were ten.

Wally can’t exactly pinpoint the moment he developed feelings for Maddie, but those feelings became even stronger for him when Maddie got a boyfriend, Xavier. Wally isn’t a normally jealous guy but there was just something about Xavier he didn’t like. Was it because he would always find an excuse last minute to bail when the group would hang out or was it because Xavier vapes, and he didn’t want Maddie to fall into bad habits (but he knows Maddie well enough that she wouldn’t do drugs) or was it that Xavier could get away with anything because his dad is the sheriff of Split River?

Whatever the reason, Wally couldn’t stand Xavier. But who was he to tell Maddie that she can’t date who she wants to because Wally doesn’t like him? Maddie has always been fiercely independent ever since her dad passed away and her mother drowned her sorrows and pain in alcohol. All he could do was be there for his best friend and support her with her own choices- even if Wally doesn’t like them. 

It’s early on a Friday morning, Wally gets into his truck and quickly sends a text to Maddie telling her that he is waiting for her. And he waits for her to cross the street so he could drive her to school like they did every day. Wally has been driving Maddie to school since Junior year because her and her mother- Sandra share a car and she needed the car to drive to work. But Wally didn’t mind though. He only lived across the street plus it was more time he got to spend with Maddie- even though it was only a five-minute drive to school. 

In his rear-view mirror, he can see Maddie stumble out the door and stopped at the end of her driveway, look both ways before crossing. She opens the truck door and the cold midwestern air filled the cabin making Wally shiver. “Sorry I’m late.” She throws her bag in the back seat of his truck and closes the door. “Mom is passed out on the couch, and I couldn’t find my history textbook. She always moves my things without telling me.” She huffs as Wally reversed out his driveway and onto the road. 

Wally is the only one that knows the full truth about Sandra and her drinking. Her other friends only know parts of the story- not knowing how bad the situation really is. When Maddie is close to breaking point with her mother she would always come to Wally’s house. To get away. To be a normal teenager and focus on normal teenage things not wondering where money is coming from to pay for the next bill. But of course, he doesn’t mind when she does come over. The more time with Maddie, the better in his opinion. 

“Is Sandra, okay?” he asks concerned. Wally knows the mental toll of Sandra’s addiction is on Maddie. He wants to make sure that she will be okay during the school day and not focus on her mom. 

“She will be. Last time this happened I made her promise if it happens again, she needs to go back to rehab. It’s not fair on me in my senior year to be the responsible one. I love her and I want what’s best for her and I want her to get better before I leave for Northwestern in the fall.” Maddie exhales as she feels the pressure ease on her shoulders. “I just hope this time in rehab works. We can’t keep asking the bank for a loan.”

Wally quickly takes his eyes off the road and looks at her “You know that offer my parents gave you last time is still there. You know how much they love you and your mom, Mads.” 

“And it was sweet of them to offer but we can’t accept it. You know that Walls. It will be hard for a bit, but we will get there.” Maddie says as Wally turns into the school parking lot. “Anyways I don’t want to talk about it now. I’ll see you at lunch.” She says getting her bag off the back seat and exiting out of the passenger side. 

Wally reaches for his bag and exits his truck. A few feet ahead of him is Maddie with Xavier, his arm wrapped around her waist pulling her close for a kiss making his stomach churn. Wally was making his way to the entrance of the school when suddenly-

“Wally, hi.” Chloe, one of the cheerleaders who has a massive crush on Wally. The number of times he said he’s not into her like that, she won’t take the hint. “I’m in charge of the cheerleader/football team secret Santa this year and we drew names last night.”  She slips him a folded white piece of paper. He opens the paper to find written on the piece is her name. He internally groans because of fucking course she made him buy for her. “Gift exchange is last day before winter break.” Chloe gives Wally a wink and walks off. 

“Ooft that was painful to watch. Can’t she get a hint that you aren’t into her?” Wally turns to see Charley and Rhonda approach. 

“You could hire one of those planes that write in the sky and airhead still wouldn’t get the memo.” Rhonda sasses clutching on the strap of her bag. 

“She’s insufferable. I’m going to see if one of the guys will swap with me.” Wally says sliding the paper into his jean pocket. 

It’s almost the end of the school day. One hour left then Wally will be out on the field training for the upcoming football game. At least the last period is study hall and Mrs. Fisher cares more about her cowboy romance book than paying attention to any of the students.

Wally sets up his laptop when he notices Maddie walk in the room. He always does- she lights up every room she’s in. She makes eye contact with him, smiles at him then places her bag on the desk in front of her and pulls out a piece of paper and gives it to Xavier. Wally isn’t close enough to hear the conversation, but it looks heated and from the look on Maddie’s face; she’s pissed. 

“Uh Mads...” Simon lifts his head from his desk and peers out the window, seeing Sandra mount the footpath while trying to park her car. Maddie grabs her bag in a huff and storms out of the classroom.

“What is all that about?” Simon turns his attention to Wally. Out the window they can see Sandra make her way into the school.

“I have no idea but, I’ll go look for her.” Wally responds closing his laptop and shoving it into his bag before slinging it over his shoulder. “If Mrs. Fisher says anything-“

“Dude she’s too into that book to pay attention. Go find Maddie.” Simon interrupts him. 

Wally finds Maddie and Sandra arguing at the end of the hallway. As he got closer, he can hear what they are arguing about. “What do you mean you spent my college fund on a fucking cabin? Dad left that money for me.” Maddie says through tears. 

“I did it for us, Mads. We can have a fresh start. A new beginning.” She notices Wally slowly approaching Maddie from behind. “And Wally and all of your other friends are more than welcome to visit any time they like too.”

“Mom, that money was for Northwestern.” Maddie argued. Wally kept his distance between the two but remained there for Maddie when she needed him.

“There’s a great college not too far away from the cabin. You can apply and of course you will get in with how smart you are and besides I never liked the idea of you being in Chicago anyways, that’s too far away from me- “

“I want to get far away from you!” Maddie snapped. 

“You don’t mean that Mads- “

“I can’t even look at you right now. Don’t expect me to be home later, I’ll be at Wally’s.” Maddie took off with tears falling from her face. Sandra looks at Wally and he can see how hurt she is.

“Look after her.” Sandra said walking away head hung low. 

Ah my first (of many) Maddie x Wally fic is here! Im so excited for this story and I hope you all love it. 😍🥹

As always if you'd like to be added to the taglist,let me know and ill add you ☺️

Tags: @rosietoesy @seeker1982 @lover1409 @unholypsychic @jamiemoonymarks @m3ntaltashia23 @darth-jaderz

[candlelightceremony]

‘Joan of Arc, Sabrina Carpenter, Annabelle, The Dare, and Nina Sayers walk into a bar…’ via instagram

[daily-dose-of-lauren]

ICBIBALLTAY photo dump bc I’m living vicariously through their socials rn

📸 @/lambertjacksonproductions on IG

[kinokoshoujoart]

the coolest kids in forgotten valley!!☆

(…it seems there may have been a stretch of time where rock and lumina were the only kids in forgotten valley…🥲)

poseref

[moonshapedbox]

i’m so mad i want to go back in time and tell 15 year old rinnie to get into wwe bc i really want to see the shield in action and like all of cm punk’s matches…i wanna know why roman and seth are rivals now or more specifically why did seth betray him in the first place…i wish i could’ve seen all that as it was happening….i feel like i missed everything ??? i feel i’m way too late to all this like i’ve missed the golden years or smth…

[kays-sunflowers]

BIG DAY FOR ANNOYING PEOPLE (me)

[buckiverse]

Lessons

☆--- paring: zayne x reader

☆--- summary: Your childhood best friend, Zayne, had always been there for you, loyal, supportive, and understanding. So, when you realized you had a crush on Caleb, you turned to him for help. Taking it upon himself to be your guide, Zayne offered to teach you a few lessons in love. But as the lessons progress, you start to wonder... was Caleb really the one you wanted all along?

☆--- word count: 9.9k

☆--- warnings: mdni, oral sex, fingering, missionary, zayne is literally so jealous, caleb is kinda the boy best friend you tell your boyfriend not to worry about ngl, reader is inexperienced, soft!dom zayne, size kink if you squint, zayne knows you so fucking well it's sickening (he's just so sweet), no protection is used (wrap it before you tap it)

☆--- a/n: loosely based on nightly rendezvous (yes im doing a childhood best friend au for everyone... i fear im obsessed)

↳ xavier | sylus | caleb | rafayel

Some part of you felt like it was a bad idea—you knew better. Even after all these years, it felt surreal that Caleb was one of your closest friends. In your small town, there weren’t many people to bond with. The tight-knit community had shrunk over time, and most people you knew were just memories now. But you’d never forget the two boys who lived next door. One was more charming, the other more reserved, but both were just as kind and reliable.

Years later, that sense of community felt like a distant dream. It was why you jumped at the chance to move closer to Caleb and Zayne after they relocated to the city. The passing of your grandmother had made staying in the countryside unbearable. But as you stood ankle-deep in snow, staring at the truck piled high with your belongings, you wondered if you were in over your head.

The cold wind bit through your gloves as you trudged inside the apartment building. Your eyes darted nervously to the heavy furniture that needed to be moved. You shifted your weight, glancing at the door every few seconds. If any of the boys decided not to show up, you would be screwed. 

“Y/N!” Caleb’s voice rang out, and your head snapped up. Relief surged through you as you saw him approaching. Without thinking, you rushed into his arms, your cheeks burning as his warm embrace enveloped you.

“It’s good to see you too,” he teased, his playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. His hands rested lightly on your back as he pulled away, studying your face. “How long were you standing out there?”

“Not long,” you lied with an awkward laugh. “I just—got lost in thought.”

How he looked at you made it hard to breathe, as if he still saw the same girl from all those years ago. The creak of the lobby door saved you from spiraling further. 

Zayne strode in, his dark coat dusted with snowflakes. His sharp gaze flicked from you to Caleb’s hands, still resting on your waist. For a moment, his jaw tightened, but he quickly smoothed his expression.

“You’re late,” Caleb called out, smirking.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Zayne replied, his tone dry as his eyes settled on you. “I almost thought you forgot about me.”

“Never,” you said with a grin, stepping forward to hug him. His arms wrapped around you briefly, his touch warm but hesitant. You smiled before turning and walking over to the elevator. You missed your family, and now it felt a little closer to being pieced back together. 

You gave a debrief of the plan for the day, as there was plenty you could do on your own later. Though you were grateful to Xavier for helping you get a place, it needed…tlc. The boys agreed to help you move bulky items and clean up the remnants of a bug treatment. 

The boys retreated to the lobby—they had to move a couch and some other, far too heavy things. The three of you had been friends for years, bickering and fighting like siblings, but never with ill intent. Though Caleb and Zayne constantly teased each other more recently than anything, you weren’t sure what was a joke anymore. 

Your body jolted. A sound of a shout came from the hallway, distracting you from sweeping. 

“Damn—Zayne, pull up the couch—” Caleb strained and bit out. 

“You’re the one who’s not paying attention,” Zayne shot back calmly. 

You walked up to the unfolding scene, your hands resting on your hips when you approached them. The couch was now on the tile of the apartment hallway. You were glad they didn’t break your stuff while they messed around.

“And… Why is my couch on the ground?” you asked, your gaze shooting between them. 

“It seems Caleb’s grip slipped,” Zayne quipped. You could feel the air quotes around the last portion of his statement. His hands were resting on his hips as his breathing slowed and evened out.

“I just need a second—I’m sweating over here,” Caleb said, a deep breath coming from his lips. 

You watched as he lifted his shirt. His jeans rested low on his hips as he lifted the fabric, you could see faint trails of hair leading down his abdomen. He had a vein running above his hip to below his pants. 

Your eyes betrayed you as you shamelessly traced his body. Fuck, he looked good.

Zayne watched you in silence, observing, watching the surprise on your face when Caleb lifted his shirt. And he did not like it. First, why did Caleb always do shit like that, but besides, why did you seem to like it so much.

The three of you worked together to tackle the chaos of the moving day. With the bulky items moved, Caleb helped you clean the kitchen while Zayne focused on the living room. You stood on your tippy toes, wiping the cabinet the best you could, stretching to reach the top shelf. Caleb moved in behind you, his body brushing against yours. 

“Let me get that,” he said, his voice soft as he grabbed the cloth from your hand.

Your breath hitched as his warmth seeped through your back. His fingers brushed yours briefly, sending a jolt through you. You moved aside, trying to compose yourself. He stepped to the side after finishing, leaning onto the counter, “Why don’t I take over this part, since you’re so small?” a playful grin played on his lips, as he winked at you. 

“Always picking on my size,” you joked, your voice shaky. “Maybe you’re just too tall.”

His grin widened, but something in his gaze lingered a moment too long. “...Maybe,” he murmured, his voice low.

From the corner of the room, Zayne’s gaze flicked toward the kitchen. His hand paused mid-swipe on the wall, his eyes narrowing at seeing Caleb leaning close to you. His grip on the rag tightened, but he quickly looked away. This wasn’t the time.

You noticed all his progress when you made your way to Zayne. He almost successfully cleared the living room. “Can I help?” you said, approaching his side. 

Zayne’s lips quirked into a slight smirk. “I figured you’d be too busy with Caleb to remember me.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” you shot back, an uncomfortable laugh leaving your lips.

He attached the extended handle before handing you the mop, his fingers brushing yours slightly. “Guess I’ll have to remind you why I’m the favorite,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious. 

☆

You fell into a routine in the following weeks, trying to adjust to your new life. Weekly meetups with Caleb became a ritual, and today, you waited for him at a quaint coffee shop Zayne had introduced you to. The warm smell of coffee and pastries filled the air as you spotted Caleb walking in, his black coat framing his tall figure.

“Y/N!” he called out, his smile lighting up. He hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground for a moment.

When he set you down, his eyes held yours for a beat too long. Your stomach flipped as you sat across from him, trying to steady your thoughts.

You began your catch-up over a coffee and some food. Your discussion filled the silence, and you shared a laugh while discussing the latest work drama. You clued Caleb into the details about your coworker, and how the Hunter’s Association locked his file.

It was pretty peculiar in your field; most hunters had a public record, released by the organization they resided under, but in his case, it wasn’t as easily accessible, making him a high-profile individual. Which just made you curious. As talented as you were you couldn’t help but notice the difference in skills between the two of you. It was so obvious he’d been at this longer than you. 

Caleb listened intently as you shared the latest work news, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup.

“And what are you going to do about it?” he asked, his voice teasing. “Detective work?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. “I don’t know. It feels like I’d be invading his privacy. I guess—I’ll wait for him to tell me when he’s ready.”

Caleb’s gaze softened. “That’s just like you,” he said quietly, his purple eyes glinting in the light.

Before you could process his words, your watch buzzed with an alarm. “I gotta get back to work,” you said, grabbing your things in a rush.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said, gesturing to the table. “See you later.”

It was a lighter cold today, and no heavy snow blocked your path. As you walked back to work, you were honestly heavy in thought. You couldn’t stop thinking about Caleb. His smiles and touches felt deliberate, and you had no idea how to handle it. Dating had always been a mystery to you, and your nerves weren’t helping.  

This wasn’t the first time these nerves graced your presence. When you were much younger, you recall the party, the smell of alcohol, the loud music, and unfamiliar faces. You knew Zayne and Caleb of course, but them being a bit older than you made this crowd—one you hadn’t been exposed to before.

Making your way through the door was the worst. Caleb knew everyone, saying “hellos,” “hi’s,” and “what’s up, dude,” as he led the way. Making your way through the moving bodies was a challenge. You were thankful for Zayne’s hand holding onto yours as you made the way. You scanned the crowd, and everyone was dancing. The number of people grinding on others was mesmerizing, and you wanted in.

The music thudded through the walls, pounding against your ears. You remember making your way up the stairs, following closely behind Caleb, as Zayne sandwiched in behind you, finally letting go of your hand. Honestly, this didn’t seem like Zayne’s type of crowd, and he wasn’t the most outgoing. 

When you reached the room, it had fewer people than the rest of the house. You walked in, sitting on the couch while Zayne stood near the corner of the room. Some people sat in a circle with a bottle in the center, obviously playing a game. One of the girls asked if you and the boys wanted to join. 

You could feel the eyes of two important men in your life shift to you. Both were curious about your response. 

“...yeah.” 

Caleb also joined the game, sitting directly across from you. A girl with blonde hair spun the bottle, and before you knew it, it was your turn. 

Placing your hand on the bottleneck, you spun the bottle, watching its turning motion with curiosity. When it stopped on Caleb, the purple of his eyes glinted as he looked between you and the bottle. 

You could hear the circle of people urging you both on. It was just a kiss. You could do this. He’s your friend. You sat up on your heels, your hands burning as they rested on your knees. 

He got close to you and whispered, “Ready?” only for your ears to hear, and he kissed you, his lips connecting with yours softly, sweetly. Some people teased him for the gentleness at which his lips touched yours, but something shot through you when his lips touched yours. He softly bit your bottom lip before he pulled back from you. 

He kissed you. Zayne saw, everyone saw, and you liked it. 

You needed advice—something solid to guide your next move. You’d already admitted to yourself that you liked him, but how were you supposed to approach this? What did you even say? Zayne helped you through that kiss, reminding you it was just a game. But all these years later, you wanted to be more than a game to Caleb. Even in your shared youth, he had good advice for you, so why wouldn’t you trust him?

When you arrived at the office, your mind was still a tangled mess, buzzing with uncertainty. You decided it was no use overthinking it; it was better to rip the bandaid off.

You pulled out your phone, hesitating for a moment before texting Zayne:

You:

“Can I call you? I need some advice.”

When his reply came moments later—“I have a patient right now. I’ll call you after.”—you let out a relieved sigh. You trusted him, and you needed his help.

Relief washed over you as you read his reply, your heartbeat finally slowing to a steady rhythm. You let out a soft sigh, tucking your phone away. All you had to do now was organize your thoughts.

While you waited, you turned to your caseload, focusing on the profile you’d been compiling for a new wanderer-type you’d encountered during a hunt weeks earlier. Using old files as templates, you typed furiously, the steady rhythm of the keyboard pulling you into the zone. Minutes turned to hours as you worked, the world fading into the background.

The buzzing of your phone jolted you back to reality. You glanced at the screen and barely caught the call before it went to voicemail.

“You want me to teach you how to date?” Zayne’s voice drawled through the line, laced with amusement.

Heat rushed to your face as you groaned audibly. “That’s not—it’s not like that!” you blurted, but Zayne only chuckled softly.

You spent the next ten minutes stumbling through your explanation, your words tangling as you tried to paint a coherent picture of your situation. When you finally stopped, waiting anxiously for his response, all he said was:

“Okay.”

That one word was enough to knock the wind out of you. “Okay?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” he confirmed calmly.

Your heart soared. “Okay, then,” you echoed quickly, trying to mask your nervous excitement. You rushed to thank Zayne before ending the call, clutching the phone to your chest. Relief and joy bubbled inside you. You knew Zayne would come through for you. You trusted him completely.

On the other end of the call, Zayne set his phone on his desk, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. He began packing up for the day, shaking his head in amusement. The idea of you coming to him for dating advice was equal parts endearing and intriguing.

Of course, he would help you. That much was never in question. But who had caught your interest so suddenly? The thought gnawed at him, tempting him to ask outright, but he resisted. He’d figure it out eventually.

As he picked up his phone to draft a response, a quiet laugh escaped him. “Lessons,” he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue with amusement. He couldn’t help but smirk as he began typing out a plan. Lessons in dating and seduction? If anyone was going to help you succeed, it was him.

☆

Your phone buzzed with details for your first lesson. You had to admit you were quite excited. When you open the message, you read simple instructions:

Zayne:

“I’ll pick you up at 7 pm. Wear something nice, but comfortable.” 

A quiet scoff escaped your lips as you gripped your phone, its cool metal grounding you—way to give me nothing, Zayne. Still, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you typed back.

You:

“Got it.” 

With a rare day off, you had more than enough time to overthink this date—or, well, lesson. You'd been on dates before, but this felt different—important. You wanted to impress Caleb later, but you also wanted to enjoy this with Zayne and learn from him.

Determined, you took your time getting ready—a long bath, smooth and refreshed skin, natural hairstyle, skipping the heat of flat irons. Your makeup was subtle, accentuating your best features—your eyes and lips. The outfit? Simple, with an effortless elegance: a black skirt, a beige sweater, and knee-high black boots. Something nice but comfortable, you echoed mockingly in your head.

The doorbell rang. Your pulse quickened. Taking a deep breath, you cracked the door open.

“I’m grabbing my bag—give me a sec,” you said quickly before shutting it again.

Zayne chuckled softly on the other side. You looked nervous, and he thought it was cute.

When you finally stepped out, his eyes swept over you, approval flashing in his gaze. “Ready?” His voice was warm, familiar.

You swallowed, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Yeah.”

Locking up, you stepped beside him, weaving through the apartment halls. The elevator was packed when it arrived, leaving just enough room for the two of you to squeeze in. When the doors slid shut, the crowd's pressure pushed you toward the back corner of the elevator.

Zayne stepped in after you, his body instinctively blocking the others from pressing too close. His warmth enveloped you, a wall of quiet protection. When his chest brushed against yours, your head shot up, startled by the contact—only to knock it against the cold metal wall behind you.

A low groan slipped from your lips, and Zayne chuckled. “Careful.” His hand came up, cupping the back of your head gently.

You stilled. Zayne’s touch was light but steady, fingers warm against your scalp. You let yourself settle into it for just a second, your cheeks heating.

Then, with a soft ding, the doors slid open. The moment was gone.

You followed him out quickly, slipping into his car. The silence was thick but not uncomfortable. Still, you were the first to break it.

“So… where are we going?” you asked, anticipation bubbling beneath your skin.

Zayne’s grip tightened subtly around the gear shift, veins visible against his skin. His lips curled into a faint smile. “You’ll see.”

—

You hadn’t expected this.

The setup was breathtaking—candles flickering softly, a picnic blanket spread on the grass by a lake, and wildflowers scattered around like nature’s own confetti. The crisp spring air carried the scent of earth and blooming petals, a reminder that winter’s grasp was finally loosening. The sun had just begun its descent, casting everything in golden light.

Zayne stood behind you, watching. He caught how your breath hitched and how awe softened your features. The faint flush that always seemed to bloom when he was near. He reveled in it.

“Lesson one,” he murmured. “A date.”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Zayne, this is…” Your voice wavered with something close to wonder. “This is perfect.”

A small, knowing smile touched his lips.

You hesitated. “I’ve never really—” You exhaled. “So… what do we do now?”

He motioned for you to sit. “First? We eat.”

You obeyed, watching as he unpacked the meal. Your gaze flickered over the assortment of sweets tucked beside the entrees, and you bit your lip. He remembered your sweet tooth.

Your heart squeezed.

He handed you a sandwich—one of your childhood favorites. You took a bite, savoring the familiar flavors and the quiet thoughtfulness behind it.

The evening unfolded like something out of a dream. The conversation was easy and flowing, as it always was between you two. You talked about everything and nothing, letting the city fade away, and the wine in your glass disappeared far too quickly.

At some point, you made the mistake of looking at him.

The sunset bathed him in amber light, the gentle hues accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw and the faint green specks in his eyes. He looked beautiful—effortlessly so. The sleeves of his powder blue dress shirt rolled up, revealing strong forearms, veins pronounced as his fingers idly toyed with the rim of his glass.

His gaze lifted, catching yours.

You panicked. Tipped your head back, draining the last of your wine, pretending to admire the sky.

And so the night went on.

Laughter. Warmth. The kind of company that made the world feel a little less lonely. It had been too long since you’d felt this way.

Maybe that was why—

—why you ended up tipsy.

The last thing you remembered clearly was Zayne’s hands on your waist, steadying you as you stumbled at your door. His voice, amused and gentle, coaxing you inside.

And then—

"You're drunk."

His voice was strained.

Your skin burned. “N ‘m not,” you murmured, reaching up, fingers clumsily ruffling his hair. “I w’nted to kiss you, Z-Zayne…”

His breath hitched.

You wobbled onto your tiptoes, pressing a sleepy, featherlight kiss to his cheek. “G’night, Zayne~”

Darkness.

And then—morning.

Your head throbbed. You groaned, pressing your palm to your forehead, and then—

The memory came rushing back.

Your stomach dropped.

Shit.

What did you do?

You kissed Zayne—just a kiss on the cheek, but no less a kiss. And you didn’t know how you felt about it. Maybe you liked it. And when you checked your phone, your heart skipped a beat. 

Zayne:

“Are you feeling better?”

It was a simple question, but your body felt warm, and a smile tugged at your lips as the cold metal burned your hand. 

You:

“Yes, I’m still a bit warm, but much better :)”

And from there the conversation flowed. 

Zayne: 

“So you’re ready for your next lesson?”

You:

“Duh.”

☆

This lesson was set up differently—as a more casual experience. Zayne held the door open, allowing you to enter as the scent of perfumes and faint traces of liquor—something you planned to avoid tonight—filled your senses.

Zayne trailed closely behind you, his eyes drawn to your fitted black dress. It hugged your curves just right, and while you were always beautiful, tonight, you looked divine. His gaze lingered, but he didn’t say a word, instead committing the image to memory.

You settled into the plush velvet seat, crossing your legs as you waited for him to join you. The slight pressure of the fabric against your skin and the low hum of jazz music set a tone of subtle sophistication.

“Lesson two,” he murmured as he sat beside you. “Body language.”

A sly smile crept onto your lips. This time, you were ready. Beyond your carefully chosen outfit, you had mentally prepared to hold your ground. Tonight, you would stay in control.

“So, what’s the plan today, Zayne?” you drawled, leaning forward as your fingers lightly brushed his bicep. You pretended it was a casual touch, but the way his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips sent a jolt through you.

Zayne tilted his head slightly, studying your face. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “You’re already ahead, princess,” he whispered, his voice low. The words felt like a direct hit to your resolve.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, your lips parted as you scrambled to regain composure. “Head start?” you echoed, tilting your head and trying to sound nonchalant.

"I want to see what you've learned—think you can charm me?" he said simply.

The lounge was an upscale dream: dimly lit, lined with high-end paintings, and filled with the smooth rhythm of jazz. The swaying figures on the dance floor moved in tandem with the music, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the scene.

Leaning in closer to Zayne, you brushed your lips near his ear. “Should we dance?” you whispered, your hand steadying yourself on his knee.

The scent of his cologne—clean with a faint hint of jasmine—enveloped you. You felt his gaze sharpen, and when you pulled back slightly to meet his eyes, the faint green specks in them seemed to glow under the low light.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice smooth, as he stood and offered you his hand.

On the dance floor, your movements flowed easily, the music guiding you. You pulled him closer, and your body pressed flush against his. His hands rested on your lower back, firm and grounding, while your fingers trailed up his chest. The hard muscle beneath your touch sent a thrill through you.

“You look so handsome tonight, Zayne,” you said softly, your lips curving into a small smile.

“Only tonight?” he teased, the corners of his mouth lifting.

Your finger traced lazy patterns on his chest. His heartbeat was steady initially, but you noticed the slight quickening as your touch lingered. You looked up at him, your gaze filled with something unspoken but deeply felt.

“You always do,” you whispered.

The air between you was charged, the tension pulling you closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, grounding you while simultaneously making you feel like you might float away.

When the tempo picked up, you spun away from him, creating a bit of distance as you swayed more freely. He matched your rhythm more stiffly than anything. You couldn’t help but smile—this was fun.

“You’re way too stiff,” you said, getting close to him. Watching him try to whine his hips to the upbeat tempo was amazing. A laugh left your lips as your hands gripped his hips. “Why are your feet so close together?!” you choked out. 

“I was never a dancer,” he said flatly, unamused by the tears in your eyes. 

“Move to the beat,” you said again, trying to show him the way, but he didn’t get it. If you asked him, he’d rather watch you move your body. You moved beautifully, rolling your hips with precision.

When the lounge prepared to close, your cheeks ached from grinning, and your legs were deliciously sore. You shivered slightly as you walked side by side through the chilly night air.

“You look cold,” Zayne said, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders before you could protest.

The warmth of the fabric—and his scent—wrapped around you. A soft, rich aroma of jasmine and something distinctly him made your heart flutter.

You nudged his arm, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You know… I think this was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”

“I haven’t danced like that in forever.” you said.

“How could I forget?” he replied, his eyes briefly flicking to the stars above. “It’s your favorite thing.”

His fingers brushed against yours, tentative at first. You took the leap, intertwining your fingers with his. The warmth of his hand sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you caught the faint blush dusting his cheeks.

This man was everything.

☆

Later That Week

You had agreed to meet Caleb for a more eventful hangout—to meet downtown and do whatever caught your eye. 

You spotted him easily. His tall figure towered over most people. You walked up to him, and he hugged you tightly. The warmth of his body covered yours, but it didn’t raise your heartbeat. 

When he loosened his grip on you, his hands rested on your shoulders, “Long time no see, pipsqueak,” he said, his voice full of joy. 

Your cheeks felt tight from smiling—you were happy to see him, but not for the same reasons as before.

“I know, it’s been a few weeks,” you said, pulling back from him and looking into the purple of his eyes. “Let’s get back on schedule,” you breathed, a light smile plastered on your lips. 

Work had been busy, but the truth was that your lessons with Zayne had occupied your thoughts—and your time.

While you started your walk downtown, plenty of things caught your eye. The first thing you did was enter a record shop. The store was in the basement off of a side street. It was a little creepy, but it looked like an underground studio once you got inside. Records were all over the shop, on the wall, and in little baskets stacked in rows. 

He browsed next to you, shuffling through the records occasionally showing you one he thought you’d like or an album you’d enjoyed. And in spending this time with him, you realized that you enjoyed this. 

The simplicity between you, the light air, and the lack of expectations for anything more was all you needed. Caleb’s fingers softly brushed yours as he placed a vinyl behind the one you held up for him.

“Find anything good?” you asked, your feet planted evenly on the ground as you turned to face Caleb. 

His eyes bore into yours, something flickering over them before he answered you.

 “Nah—let's get some food,” he said quickly, his demeanor suddenly returning.

Exiting the store, you joined in step beside him, exploring the city's night scene. Your options were endless as you scanned the shops that lined the streets. You spotted a food truck and the smells coming from it were amazing. 

Altering Caleb, you both sat at the outdoor seating, waiting for your orders. The chill of the evening air seeped through your clothes, making you shiver slightly.

“Do you want my jacket?” Caleb asked, his tone playful. “You look like you’re freezing.”

“Only if you have an extra,” you said, bouncing your leg under the table to keep warm.

With a smirk, he reached into his bag and handed you a spare coat. “You’re my best friend, You know I always do.”

You slipped it on, grateful for the warmth but… that was it. There was no spark, no flutter of excitement. You tried to convince yourself otherwise, adjusting the collar and wrapping it tighter around yourself, but it felt like just a jacket.

In the quiet moment that followed, your mind drifted back to Zayne. His jacket had enveloped you in warmth and scent, and your heart raced when he was near. You glanced at Caleb, who was busy watching the street outside.

Nothing. That kiss was—just a kiss. Years ago, you wouldn’t have believed anyone. Not even Zayne could have convinced you it was a fleeting crush. But it really was. You felt proper chemistry, companionship, and care and wanted to keep experiencing that with Zayne.

The weight of your realization was crushing. All the time you spent—wasted on this man. You cared for him, you truly did. But, what about you? Why were you so pent-up and focused on this person you didn't even really like? Was it really him you missed? Or just how he filled your time and made you feel small—safe, even?

That's the point. You’re not small. You're a grown woman who can stand independently, make her own decisions, and provide her own entertainment. Relief washed over you in waves because what were you even doing? Holding onto a version of the past that no longer fits?

But right behind it, sadness crept in. Not for Caleb, but for the time lost—chasing something never meant to be yours. But you didn’t truly waste time if it led you here—to someone real. To Zayne.

You forced a smile, staring down at your lap, and tried to push away the sinking feeling in your chest. You used to admire Caleb. It should feel special, especially his attention and time, but—it doesn’t. 

Caleb was the person you had wanted—the reason for the lessons.

The contrast was stark, undeniable. And for the first time, you realized the answer had been clear.

☆

You had admitted to Zayne that you wanted a cozy evening. Work had drained you, but more than anything, your recent realization had knocked the wind out of you. It wasn’t just an idle thought—the truth that settled deep in your bones, undeniable yet terrifying.

You knew what you needed to say and do, but the effort of voicing it—of being honest with Zayne—made your nerves coil tight.

Your lessons have helped. You felt more confident, more self-assured. You understood what a date was supposed to be now, what it meant to be courted and wanted. But more than anything, you wanted something real.

With him.

So, he invited you over after work.

Zayne:

"How about I cook you dinner, and we watch a movie?"

You:

"How do you always know exactly what I need?"

…

Zayne:

"Make yourself at home. I just finished setting up."

When you arrived at his house, the living room instantly warmed you. The room glowed softly from the candles he had lined along the tables, their flickering light casting gentle shadows against the walls. The scent of something rich and savory drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the faint traces of his cologne.

But the sight of something familiar made your heart catch in your chest—small plushies, the ones you had won years ago, still resting on the couch.

He had kept them.

Your fingers grazed one absentmindedly as you took it all in, a lump forming in your throat.

You didn’t miss the sound of the shower running from the other room, and heat bloomed across your face. The thought of him stepping out—steam rising, droplets tracing the planes of his skin—sent your mind spiraling. He had just gotten off work, yet he still made time to set everything up for you.

As if on cue, the water stopped. A moment later, the door cracked open, and Zayne walked out, a towel slung low on his hips, another in his hands as he ruffled it through his damp black hair.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said casually, his voice smooth. “Have a seat.”

Then, as if completely unaware of his effect on you, he strode into his bedroom and shut the door with a soft click.

You swallowed hard. That lasted less than a second, but it was enough.

His physique was unreal—his lean yet defined frame, the way his skin still glistened slightly, the tantalizing trail of hair disappearing beneath the towel… and God, you wanted to know where it led.

This was new. You had never felt this way before.

And he was making you crazy.

You forced yourself to move, settling onto the couch, trying to calm your racing heart as you waited for him. You distracted yourself with the snacks he had spread across the table, but your mind kept replaying that brief glimpse of him.

When he finally reappeared, dressed in a fitted shirt and sweatpants, looking effortlessly breathtaking, your breath caught in your throat.

Something about this moment—the candlelight, the scent of dinner lingering in the air, the sheer intimacy of being here with him—felt so real. So domestic. So much like something you wanted forever.

Zayne disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you in the glow of candlelight. A few moments later, he emerged with two plates in hand, setting them down on the dining table before motioning for you to sit.

“Did you make all of this?” you asked, raising a brow as you took in the spread before you.

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, settling across from you. “I figured you’d appreciate a home-cooked meal after the week you’ve had.”

Your heart ached at how thoughtful he was.

The meal was warm and comforting—just like him. You took a bite, letting the rich flavors settle on your tongue and savoring the moment. Zayne watched you carefully, his gaze flicking to your lips before he took a bite of his own food.

“This is really good,” you admitted, breaking the silence. “You’re full of surprises.”

He smirked slightly, tilting his head. “You act like you don’t already know I’m good with my hands.”

Your fork stalled mid-air. Heat crawled up your neck as your eyes snapped to his.

Zayne smirked slightly, taking another bite as if he hadn’t set your whole body on fire with that one sentence.

Your stomach twisted, and it had nothing to do with the food.

“I—” You cleared your throat, trying to regain composure. “I suppose I do.”

His gaze flickered with amusement before he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood. Something was intoxicating about the way he watched you. It was like he was reading every thought running through your head.

The tension built slowly, lingering between every glance, every soft smile exchanged over the rim of your glasses.

At some point, his foot brushed against yours beneath the table. It was barely a touch—so light it could’ve been an accident. But when you met his gaze, you knew it wasn’t.

Neither of you spoke on it. Neither of you moved away.

It was almost unbearable, the weight of the moment, the way the air grew heavier, tighter.

After dinner, you both moved to the couch. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more devastatingly handsome than usual.

You curled next to him as he flipped through the streaming options before settling on something. Not that it really mattered—you could barely focus because of how close he was.

The movie played, but you weren’t watching.

You were too aware of Zayne’s presence, the warmth of his arm resting along the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing against your shoulder. Every tiny touch sent a current through you.

Then, in the middle of a scene, Zayne suddenly reached for the remote.

Click.

Ring…Ring…Ring…

Your phone started ringing, now of all times, and you dropped your gaze to the device at the same time as Zayne. 

Caleb calls all the time, but the timing of this was just—it couldn’t be a coincidence. And you weren’t sure if you should answer. 

“Don’t pick it up,” was all you heard, as you gripped the metal of your phone tighter. 

“Why,” you whispered, your voice small now. The confidence you had before flickered, unsteady—like a candle caught in the wind. You felt tender, exposed. Unsure if you had the strength to do what needed to be done.

“I know you wanted lessons, because of Caleb,” he started, his eyes meeting yours. The air felt cooler now, and goosebumps ran over your skin. 

"I can’t do this if you’re still holding onto him," he murmured, his voice steady—but stretched thin, like he was barely holding himself together.

“I can’t bear to see you with him—now that your presence has graced me, I see small pieces of you everywhere I go,” he admitted, his voice soft and tortured. 

Zayne exhaled through his nose,  running a hand through his dark hair before finally speaking.

“I don’t want you to want Caleb—I want you to want me” he breathed.

The screen froze mid-ring. A silence stretched between you—thick, suffocating. Heavy with everything left unsaid.

Your brows furrowed as you turned to him, only to find his gaze already on you—serious, searching.

Your breath hitched.

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and unshakable.

You swallowed. Say it.

“I thought I wanted to be with another man, Zayne…” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. He tensed slightly, his jaw tightening, but you reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his.

“But I don’t,” you continued softly, eyes searching his. “I want this. I want you.”

The words left you in a breath, raw and real.

Zayne didn’t move, didn’t speak right away. But you saw how his eyes darkened, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Please, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as you leaned in.

Your breath stilled, heart hammering. He was too close—his scent, the warmth radiating from his skin, the slight tremor in his breath. And then… finally, you leaned in, and he met you halfway.

You pulled back slightly, your breaths intertwining in the room's dimness. Your eyes opened tentatively, and you saw Zayne staring at you, his chest heaving from the kiss you had just shared. 

“Again,” you murmured, a silent plea because now that you were here you couldn’t let this pass. And Zayne obeyed, kissing you again. You could feel him shifting your position. His hands found your back, and he briefly disconnected your lips to lay you on the couch. 

His knees straddled your hips, as he just watched you, “Beautiful,” he whispered before tasting your lips again, the weight of him on top of you was not only delicious but welcome. You gasped at the pressure, and he slipped his tongue in your mouth. A groan escaped your mouth when his tongue entered your lips. 

“Wait,” you said, your hands resting on Zayne’s chest as he lay on you. 

“I’ve never done this before,” you said, noticing the clench of his jaw, flushed face, and swollen lips. 

He waited for a beat, watching you silently, “I’ll take care of you, princess,” he exhaled.

“I don’t have much experience,” he admitted, his gaze shifting from yours.

Your eyes widened with shock at his admission. You had assumed he was experienced, and that was part of the reason you asked him for help. 

You took a breath, smiling at him. " Let's learn together,” you whispered in his ear before leaning your head back and resting it against the pillow. 

You pulled him flush against you, his weight pressing you into the couch. He began his thorough search kissing your temple, to the crux of your ear, “Another lesson, …hm?” he whispered. And that caused you to writhe beneath him—the sound of his voice in your ear, and the soft vibrato of his confirmation. 

He began his steady exploration with his lips and hands. Stroking up and down your body, though most of it covered, the cool of his hands made your skin get chills when he touched you. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked, gesturing to your t-shirt. 

“Yes,” you said too quickly, embarrassed by your eagerness. 

You adjusted your body, allowing him to pull the fabric over your head. You lay there sitting up on your forearms, just watching his explorative touch. His pointer finger traced the outline of your bra, hovering just above your skin. 

“You—” you started, biting the fat of your lip, “Zayne, I want you to take this off too.” 

And those emerald eyes watched you. In his head, he couldn’t believe you would be his—already prepared to memorize your every reaction. His hand trembled before steadying against your skin. The contact of his hand caused you to arch away from the couch. Click.

The bra fell forward as you shrugged it off your arms. Your whole body felt warm as you guided Zayne’s hands to hold your breasts. Your hands rested on his before you moved them back to the couch. His thumbs felt the hardening peaks beneath his hands, and he gave them a tentative flick, watching your face. You squirmed beneath him. 

Sensitive here. He made a mental note, before rubbing the hardened nub against his thumb at a steady pace. 

He moved his mouth to your other breast kissing it, before watching your face as his tongue made contact with it. Your hips jerked forward gently when he flicked it with his tongue. You bit your lip watching him play with your nipples. 

“Can—you touch me there?” you whimpered. His lips parted from your nipple. 

“Where?” he asked, and both of you just looked at each other. 

Before you took his hand and brought it between your legs. You held it there rubbing yourself on his hand through your pants, but you didn't miss the way Zayne trained his eyes on you. Watching each little reaction you had when he touched you. Even the lightest of touch made his lips part slightly even with the furious flush of his skin. 

His cock was straining in his pants, but he waited, wanting to learn you first.

He laid you down, your hands threading into his hair. Pulling him close to you he buried his face in your neck. The smell of jasmine filled your senses, as he groaned beneath you, breathing in your scent. You leaned back into the couch, shaken by the idea of him on top of you.

Your breasts pressed against his chest, the cool fabric causing a shiver to roll through you. He ran his face up and down your neck leaving a trail of light kisses. It was as if he was savoring you, imprinting your smell, your presence in his mind—as if you’d be done with him after this.

“You’re beautiful,” he groaned against your throat.

Zayne steadied himself on his hands on either side of your head, his gaze trailing over your body to where he would find himself next. His eyes stopped between your thighs, he watched intently as you squirmed beneath him, your body shifting under his gaze.

Your heartbeat felt loud in your ears, and the cold stillness of the air sent a shiver through you. His lips found your jaw, kissing a slow line tracing to your throat. Each touch of his lips sent heat between your legs, and you tilted your head to give him more access, a whimper escaping your lips. 

Zayne was just a friend, someone who supported and loved you but someone you felt you couldn’t have. Your change of heart made you act on a whim to take advantage of your time with him. You wanted him, and no one else could have him but you. He was a high you couldn't—didn't want to get rid of. 

You grasped the blankets on the couch, trying to ground yourself somehow, while he worked slow kisses down your chest with light scrapes of his teeth.

His hands ran down your sides, caressing your breasts to your hips, his thumbs brushing the naked skin beneath your sweatpants. It was a maddening sensation, and you only wanted him to keep going.

You could see his erection pressed firmly against his pants, and you felt tempted to reach forward, to touch it. To pull him closer firmly against you, to feel him where you needed him most. 

One of his hands left you cupping you over your pants. The pressure against your clit stole your breath. A quiet groan of approval left his lips, while you felt a pulse between your legs.

You ground your hips upwards into his hand. A breath left your lips as you moved your hips. 

“Touch me, Zayne,” you breathed, you felt like you were in a dream. 

He paused, his breath hitching at your words. His gaze darkened, the green of his eyes barely visible, as he searched your face. His jaw clenched, his voice dropping, rough with restraint. “Say that again.”

You observed him, grabbing the drawstrings of his pants. “Touch me Zayne, …Please” Your voice came out small, pleading. 

He exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching against your skin. He traced your pussy through your pants, his fingers burning through your pants—that you wished he’d taken off already. 

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his thumb brushing over you, his touch reverent, like he was memorizing you.

You had never been undressed like this. And you wanted it, you wanted to be touched by him, to feel him grabbing you.

He gripped the waistband of your pants, adjusting his position to push them down your thighs, dropping them to the floor. You sat there in only black underwear while he sat across from you, still in his t-shirt and sweats. 

His attention was all yours, and it was thrilling. 

Your hands still gripped the blanket beneath you. Your feet were tucked next to your bottom. 

“Let me see you.” His voice was low and deliberate. His fingertips grazed your knee before applying the faintest pressure. His eyes searched yours, waiting. “Spread your legs for me.”

You took in an unsteady breath, and you did it. 

His hands ran up your legs, his fingers pressing into your thighs, making your stomach tighten unexpectedly. The cool of his hands felt good against your soft skin. 

The cool air brushed against your panties making you aware of how wet your panties were. Zayne’s gaze met you there, shooting warmth through you.

Your breath hitched when his thumb pressed down on your clit through the fabric. His other hand was steady on your thigh, pressing your thighs open wider. The brush of his thumb up and down sparked a heat in your lower stomach.

You leaned your head back and started to rock under his touch. And then he kissed your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He groaned, licking and sucking your breasts with a slight scrape of teeth. A high-pitched moan escaped your lips, one of your hands gripping his hair. 

His mouth was so hot, and he kept licking you, how you’d never felt before. You felt like you could die. So, when he removed his mouth from your breasts, you thought you were going to scream. 

He removed your underwear, leaving them in a pile with the rest of your clothes, spreading your legs once more as his gaze fell between your thighs. 

His fingers glide gently along your inner thigh, his touch warm and deliberate, but never rushed. His gaze softens as he takes you in, his breathing slow, controlled—like he’s memorizing every part of you.

"Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice hushed, almost reverent. His thumb stroked lazy circles against your skin, a silent reassurance, a quiet promise that he won’t rush you.

When you nodded, his lips part slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, searching—making sure.

"Let me take care of you," he breathed, his hands smoothing up your thighs as he leaned in closer, pressing a lingering kiss just above your knee. "I want to make this good for you."

He wrapped his arms around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him, and his head lowered between them. You shuddered at the first touch of his tongue, pleasure running through you. Each soft lap of your clit rolled through you. 

His arms held you so securely that you couldn’t move your hips while he licked you. As much as he said he wanted to take care of you, it felt like he was doing this for himself. 

“Zayne,” you moaned, digging your hands into his thick black hair. 

He swirled his tongue over your clit before sucking. His eyes were on you, watching you writhe beneath him. His finger filled you, sending a tremor through you, with his mouth on your clit, licking and sucking, while his fingers moved in and out of you. And he did it with such ease, deep noises of satisfaction falling from his lips. 

He was taking his time, slowly working you out and the pressure was building up in you. You bucked your hips, feeling the heat growing throughout you. 

“Zayne…I need more,” you cried out, your voice trembling with desperation. 

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and he answered it with slow, calculated movements—his pace steady, yet devastating. He added another finger, stretching you further, his touch unrelenting as he pressed deeper, curling just right. The pleasure was unbearable in the best way, a wave crashing over you with no hope of escape.

Your breath hitched as his dark, heated gaze met yours, watching, reading every reaction like it was the only thing that mattered. His free hand smoothed over your thigh, grounding you, soothing you—only to bring you higher moments later.

A choked-out plea left your lips, your body arching, back curving as the heat coursed through your veins, pooling low in your stomach. You clenched around him, muscles tightening as that sharp, dizzying pleasure built to a breaking point.

“That's it,” he murmured, voice thick with something unreadable, something possessive yet achingly tender. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the soft skin of your inner thigh, his breath hot and teasing, sending shivers up your spine.

And then—release.

Your body trembled, pleasure crashing into you in relentless waves. He didn't stop, not right away, working you through it, coaxing every last aftershock from your sensitive body until you were completely spent.

You collapsed against the couch, fully fucked out, limbs heavy, your mind hazy with bliss. 

A shaky breath left your mouth, as you sat up slowly running your fingers through his hair.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

The air between you was charged, thick with something unspoken, something dangerous. Something real.

His jasmine scent invaded your senses as his body wrapped around yours. You closed your eyes, surprised by the sudden upward jerk of him holding your naked body. You held him close as he carried you to the closed bedroom door. 

He laid you on the bed gently, holding your stare, he slipped off his shirt and sweatpants, your cheeks growing warmer even as he stood before you in his briefs. You glanced at his erection pressed through the fabric. He was so hard, and it was hot. And all for you. 

Goose bumps spread across your skin, as he opened the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom. 

“Do you want me?” he whispered, his gaze meeting yours, as he dropped his briefs. 

“Yes,” you breathed.

He crawled over you, kissing your stomach and breasts as he did. His body covered yours, so heavy. It made your skin sing with satisfaction. He kissed your neck, bracing his hands beside your head. 

Your fingers trailed the line of hair, you'd been desperate to touch. You hesitated, unsure how to touch him. 

Zayne felt your hesitation, and meeting your gaze, he whispered, “Your touch… I need it.”

Your heart fluttered with uncertainty, but you slid your hands down gripping his erection. His forehead fell on the side of your neck, encouraging you further. 

You wrapped your hand around his length. And he groaned. You ran your hand down to the base and all the way back up. 

"Don’t make me wait…please" you whispered in his ear, placing a kiss there.

"Tell me how much you need me,” he rasped, nipping at your neck.

"I’ve always needed you, Zayne," you said softly, dragging your hands through his hair. "I need you in every way… not just tonight."

His eyes met yours before kissing you while you stroked him again. Your breasts brushed against his chest, sending pleasure through you. 

“...Please” you breathed. 

He rolled onto the bed next to you, slipping off his briefs, the sound of the wrapper crinkling in his hands drawing your attention. You watched as he poised to tear it open, his gaze flicking to yours for confirmation.

“Wait,” you whispered, your voice soft but resolute. He paused instantly, his eyes searching yours.

“I want to feel all of you,” you said, vulnerability lacing your tone, the weight of your trust hanging in the air.

His expression softened, his brow furrowing with both tenderness and concern.

“If it’s too much, just say the word,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, a promise woven into each syllable. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering as though to reassure you. Positioning himself at your entrance, his movements were deliberate, his focus entirely on you.

He took the head of his erection and rubbed it against your pussy. The tip caught your clit, causing your breath to hitch. He started to slip the head inside you, and it stung. A shudder rolled through you as you exhaled. Your fingers curled on his chest as he stayed still inside you, watching your face. 

He pushed deeper into you, his gaze dark and unwavering as he watched the way your lips parted, a soft whimper spilling free. The sound sent a shudder through his body, his breath coming out ragged as he struggled to hold himself together.

The stretch burned—a slow, intoxicating burn—one that sent heat rolling through your veins. You felt so full, every inch of him fitting into you as though he was meant to be there.

When he finally bottomed out, a cry tore from your throat, your back arching, pressing you flush against his chest. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, his weight solid, grounding, overwhelming in the best way.

He didn’t move right away.

Instead, he stayed buried deep, letting you adjust, letting you feel every inch of him. Your arms wound around his neck, and he exhaled against your skin, his breath warm and uneven.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing, the slow rise and fall of your chests as you both tried to catch air. He was everywhere, his presence consuming, intoxicating.

And then, he moved.

A slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

You gasped at the sensation, at the way he dragged against your walls with aching precision, each thrust filling you completely. Your nails raked down his back, and he shuddered at the sensation, his control fraying at the edges.

“You take it so good,” he praised, his voice thick, rough with something raw, something reverent. 

Every time his pelvis ground against yours, his head spread throughout you. The friction sent sparks up your spine, every movement of his body against yours pulling a new sound from your lips.

He was watching you, utterly captivated by the way you unraveled beneath him. His thrusts remained slow, deliberate, as if savoring every reaction, every little gasp and moan that escaped you.

His fingers traced down your side, over the curve of your waist, gripping you tighter as his pace deepened, intensified. His gaze burned into yours, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

His eyes locked onto yours, his thrusts slow and deliberate. “So beautiful for me,” he rasped, his voice low, dripping with need.

The words ran over your skin, filling you with warm satisfaction, your head tilting back as another moan escaped you. Zayne’s lips hovered above yours. With each slow thrust, they brushed yours lightly. 

His pace faltered, his rhythm stuttering as he fought for control, his breath ragged against your skin. But he didn’t dare rush—he wanted to feel every second of this, every shudder, every tremor that wracked your body beneath him.

“You’re mine… all mine,” he groaned, voice thick with possession, his body tensing, muscles drawn taut as he drove his hips deep one last time.

A choked moan escaped you as you shattered beneath him, pleasure crashing over you in waves. His grip on you tightened as his own release followed, a deep, guttural sound leaving his lips as he buried himself fully, claiming every inch of you.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, your hearts hammering in sync as he collapsed against you, his weight a comforting warmth pressing you into the mattress.

Neither of you spoke right away.

Zayne traced slow, lazy circles on your bare skin, grounding himself in the feel of you, the reality of you. His forehead rested against yours, his breath still uneven but calming, syncing with yours.

Then, in the quiet, his lips tipped into a smirk against your temple.

“So… does this mean I can finally call you my girlfriend?” His voice was lower now, teasing but laced with something real—something hopeful.

He pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours in the dim light. “Or do I have to seduce you all over again?”

His grin was cocky, but there was something vulnerable in the way he looked at you—like he needed this answer.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, a slow, tired smile spreading on your lips as you exhaled softly.

"I think you already have," you whispered.

The tension broke as he let out a satisfied hum, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before pulling you closer, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

And you didn’t want him to.

Not now.

Not ever.

[sammywritesweirdness]

Bakugou Katsuki with a bimbo girlfriend, ditzy, bubbly, sparkly, but smart in her own way

Bakugou knew he had type, strong, independent, quiet and tactical girls who didn’t giggle at everything or stop mid-conversation to take selfies with the “good lighting.”

And then he met you.

You’d shown up to the agency internship dressed in a painfully pink combat outfit—trimmed with rhinestones or maybe even glitter no less—blowing a bubble with your gum and twirling your hair like you were in a music video. You waved at him smiling wide with a hand on your hip. “Hiya, Dynamight! Omg, I love your arms. You must work out, like, all the time.”

He blinked. Twice. “…Tch. What the hell?”

He immediately labeled you as a glitter bomb and went back to training, assuming you wouldn’t last a week.

But you did.

Scratch that, you thrived. Sure, you asked “dumb” questions, had a voice like honeyed candy, and squealed every time you chipped a nail, but you were observant, quick on your feet, and surprisingly intuitive. You’d dodge an attack mid-spin just to fix your hair and still land a knockout. And the worst part?

Bakugou started to like it

⸻

Weeks passed and you stayed the same: bubbly, touchy, a little ditzy but sharp where it counted. You’d waltz into the agency in tiny skirts and matching gloss, sipping pink smoothies and telling him, “Mr Dynamite, babe, you should try a strawberry one sometime! It’ll help balance your rage.” He grunted and told you to shut up.

But the first time he tried one, he didn’t tell a soul. You caught him sipping it in the break room, and he scowled as you squealed, “You like it!! See? You have a sweet side.” He never lived that down.

He started falling quick, started getting jealous easier when you’d call Kaminari “cutie,” wink at Sero, compliment Shoto’s eyes and Bakugou is on edge the entire time. He gets snappier. Glares more. Throws side-eye every time someone makes you laugh.

⸻

The real turning point came during a joint mission. Some low-tier villain made the mistake of calling you “useless” and “just some dumb barbie.” You’d smiled at them, all teeth and lip gloss. “Aww, that’s so cute! You think that.” And then you dropped them. Fast. Hard. Efficient.

Bakugou had watched the whole thing from a rooftop, arms crossed, heart pounding way too hard for comfort.

When you looked up at him and blew him a kiss, he realized with a grunt of horror: He was so screwed.

⸻

He didn’t officially ask you out — of course not. That wasn’t his style. Instead, he shoved a bouquet of red flowers at you one day after training and barked, “You’re mine now, got it?” You blinked at the flowers. Then at him. “Aww… Like officially?”

Bakugou huffed and grumbled a small “Yeah. Officially.”

You gasped, throwing your arms around him. “This is, like, the cutest way anyone’s ever asked me out me!!”

“I didn’t asked yo—ugh, whatever.”

You wore the biggest, sparkliest heart earrings the next day, bragging to everyone who would listen:

“My boyfriend’s Dynamight. He’s, like, a total mega hero. It’s soooo hot.”

[formulafanfics13]

Carlos and size kink please! Reader is so small and petite everyone wonders how do they even work (like they’re genuinely worried about her well being) but after seeing how gentle Carlos treats her eases their minds. But little did they know how Carlos splits her into two in private

big deal - CS55🔥

Masterlist

summary: you’re tiny — and Carlos Sainz is not. The grid can’t stop wondering how the two of you even function as a couple. But while Carlos is soft and protective in public, behind closed doors? He splits you open like it’s a full-time job.

warnings: size kink, smut, public/private dynamic, everyone worrying about reader’s safety (playfully), Carlos being a soft protective boyfriend in public and absolutely feral in private, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, rough sex, creampie, light choking, possessiveness, gentle aftercare, pet names in Spanish

You’re small.

There’s no other way to say it. Petite, pocket-sized, barely grazing the middle of Carlos’s chest even in your highest shoes. You wear his t-shirts like dresses. His arm dwarfs your entire back. You once got picked up accidentally when someone thought you were luggage in the paddock.

Carlos? He’s a fucking unit.

6'1", broad as a brick wall, thighs that could crush someone’s soul. The man drives at 300kph for a living and still makes time to bench press half the Ferrari garage between sessions.

So yeah. People notice.

Lando says it first. He sees Carlos press a kiss to the top of your head one morning and just blurts it out. “Mate, how do you not break her?”

Carlos just blinks. George chokes on his smoothie.

Then the group chat gets involved.

charles: do u have to sign a waiver to ride him?? 🧍‍♀️🧍

alex : bro she’s the size of one of his biceps

pierre: i can’t stop thinking about the logistics

lando : like is she okay

george : like emotionally? or medically?

carlos: she’s perfect and very happy stay jealous, virgins

The public sees the soft side.

Carlos guiding you through the paddock with a hand on your lower back. Carlos tying your shoes when your laces come undone. Carlos handing you a water bottle, opening every door, adjusting your sunglasses.

He spoils you. Protects you. Carries you on his back when you’re tired. Whispers in Spanish to you when you get anxious around press.

And everyone who watches goes “awww.” Everyone sees the way he treats you like porcelain.

No one sees what happens behind closed doors. No one sees the real Carlos. The Carlos who grips your thighs like handles. Who pushes your knees to your chest and slides in inch by inch, whispering “tan pequeña, tan perfecta, mi amor.” The Carlos who makes you feel everything.

You’re half the size of him. He uses that to his full advantage.

He throws you around like a rag doll. Fucks you on every surface. Pulls you onto his lap like it’s instinct and doesn’t let you leave until you’re a mess. One hand holding your tiny wrists above your head.The other wrapped around your throat.

“You take me so well,” he growls. “My brave girl.”

Your eyes roll back. You’re stuffed. Full. Stretched to your absolute limit.

“Carlos-”

“Shh,” he murmurs. “You wanted this.”

“I know- fuck- it’s too much-”

“No,” he says, voice dark. “It’s just enough.”

He eats you out after. Cleans you up with his mouth, gentle now, slow kisses on your thighs while you whimper through overstimulation.

Then he lifts you into his arms like nothing, carries you to bed, and tucks you under the duvet with his hand on your stomach. “Still okay, mi vida?”

You nod, wrecked.

He smiles. Kisses your temple. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

[stzrgirl4norris]

winner's get kisses

max verstappen x socialite!reader smau

summary: as you begin to attend the races more frequently than usual, fans start to wonder the reason behind your appearances and it doesn't take long before speculations surrounding a relationship with one of the drivers. and max? he's jealous and tired of seeing people get it wrong

based on this request by this lovely anon

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

liked by user1, user2 and 566,789 others

f1gossip Super fan alert?🚨 socialite and it girl @ yourusername has been seen around the paddock for the race this weekend, this is her fourth race of the season. The reason behind her appearances remain a mystery.

view all comments

user god forbid a girl has a hobby 🙄

user oh shocking another model trying to date one of the drivers lol

user hasn't she always been a fan of f1 you guys?

user !!!!! she has always been interested in races, even before she got in the public eye

user oh yes, a woman who likes a sport, it's probably because of the cute athletes 🙄🙄🙄

user i hope it's lando 😍

user ewwww not lando user what's wrong with lando??? user they have been friends for years now

⋆˚✿˖°yourusername added to their story

"another day of being a sunday racing club member"

⋆˚✿˖°Y/N on Vogue Beauty Secrets:

liked by maxverstappen1, lando, redbullracing and 2,398,482 others

yourusername never getting tired of engine sounds. also, congrats champ @ maxverstappen1 💙

view all comments

user OH MY GOD IS IT MAX?

user chill guys leave her alone tf

user you are so weird for obsessing over her dating life

maxverstappen1 thank you so much! ❤️

user oh he gave her the red heart user yeah it's max

lando where is my congratulations post?😭

yourusername bro you finished p8 lando rude af user this is giving enemies to lovers

georgerussell63 so good to see you this weekend! 😊

user my boy is fliiiiiirting user george behave yourusername get ready to see me more often georgerussell63 looking forward to it ❤️ liked by author

╭──────────.★..─╮ monaco grand prix ╰─..★.──────────╯

liked by redbullracing, ferrari, f1 and 788,900 others

f1gossip New couple alert! After an astonishing win by four time World Champion Max Verstappen in Monaco, he celebrated in a different style by running straight into his girlfriend's, Y/N Y/L/N, arms, launching their relationship to the world

view all comments

user yes! real journalism is back

user the most exciting part of the race to be honest

user his radio after crossing the line saying "this one is for my girlfriend"😭👏👏👏👏

user i collapsed on my living room user the crowd was shook

user this was cinematic af the f1 movie could never

user i bet max got tired of y'all saying she's dating every single driver, except him, so he decided to end this shit and shut everyone up

maxverstappen1 that's precisely it

user hard lauching your relationship with a socialite who is like every guy's dream girl after winning the monaco grand prix and securing first place on the championship is actually so max verstappen

liked by yourusername, redbullracing, danielricciardo and 8,922,394 others

maxverstappen1 Got tired of you guys saying she is dating every single guy on the grid but me, so I had to prove a point

view all comments

lando mate you did not have to win like this to prove a point...

danielricciardo bro you could've just told the press...

maxverstappen1 it wouldn't have the same effect

user may this love find me🙏🙏

user he is so extra pls 😭🙄

yourusername next time you're about to kiss me on live television, please let me know so i can put red lipstick and smudge your face

user ok now they're just being unhinged maxvertsappen1 get ready then 😉

user if this is how they announced their relationship, i wonder how they'll announce their wedding

maxverstappen1 maybe a few fireworks in red and blue with the words "will you marry me?" after i win the wdc danielricciardo how is your pr team allowing you to post this? maxverstappen1 they aren't

redbullracing red bull princess 💙❤️

charles_leclerc it's okay yourusername you're still invited to our garage whenever😊😘

maxverstappen1 @ yourusername you've been to their garage?????? charles_leclerc and she'll keep coming maxverstappen1 only to set your car on fire

liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63, lando and 4,389,382 others

yourusername i rather much prefer the kissing without the helmet on, thank you very much

view all comments

user she said "that's my man"✋💅

user your honor i'm on the floor

user i'm a big fan of this

user no way how tf did he pull her?

maxverstappen1 love you! ❤️

lando gross 🤢 it's like seeing my parents kiss

yourusername take your single ass out of my ig comments

charles_leclerc i wonder what max did to deserve this much success in life🫠

user lmaoooo charles user this comment please💀💀

user fucking max verstappen is the luckiest guy in the world

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername, lando and 2,392,283 others

danielricciardo i'm glad these two idiots decided to go public so now i can post pictures like this without having pr screaming at me

view all comments

user Y/N AND HEIDI WITH THE MATCHING SHIRTS😭😭😭😭

user i am totally normal about this btw

user can you imagine this double date???

user absolute chaos

yourusername omg if you ever caught me wrapped in a max verstappen blanket, no you didn't

danielricciardo that's not even the only picture i have of you like this lando i have about three tbh

maxverstappen1 you look like a fan account😂😂😂

user don't be shy dani post your entire camera roll

[juicykvnture]

MONEY HONEY

Bruce Wayne x camgirl!reader

tags: AFAB reader, brief age gap mention (reader is in her 20s), Bruce is low-key a little jealous and down bad, nicknames (sweetheart/baby) mutual masturbation, praise kink, webcam use, phone sex,

a/n: the DILF propaganda has gotten to me..

wc: 2.7k | part 2 | masterlist

Your whole camgirl side gig isn’t exactly something you shout from your rooftops about. But, it keeps your lights on, your ass in a nice apartment, and your feet in Louboutin heels.

You don’t tend to tell your friends what you’re at. Respectfully, that isn’t their issue. Weekly dinner reservations at Nobu and bottles of Dom Perignon should be enough to keep their running mouths occupied.

You have your own rules, you stick by them.

You pick and approve who watches your content, you pick how far you go, grateful that you’re in the position to do so. You don’t meet them in real life.

All you are is a fantasy to them, and you keep it that way.

You’re a pretty girl on a screen with a penchant for men with big bank accounts and more money than they know what to do with.

One of those men just so happens to be Bruce.

He came across you by accident, really. It was a couple of months ago by now.

You didn’t really know him, you didn’t really care. You never saw his face or heard his voice, all you saw was his money. He was always there when you did your regular streams, silent apart from hefty donations and notifications that he’d just ordered sets upon sets of pretty, lacy lingerie to your p.o box.

It’s started to shift recently. More money coming into your account, more matching sets, a new ring light since you’d grumbled under your breath about yours not working properly at one point, flowers.

Fuck, when’s the last time a guy even got you flowers?

He always made sure to outdo your other followers - tips of ten dollars sometimes, a twenty or a twenty five here and there. That’s cute and all, but to him? literal pocket change.

Not good enough in his books, not good enough for a pretty girl like you.

He has no reason to hate it, he’s just as bad as they are. But the green-eyed monster on his shoulder just has to prove he’s better, sending hundreds when he felt like it, just to watch your eyes widen.

Then came the messages.

They were few and far between but felt different than the thirsting, basement-dwelling idiots who usually drooled over your streams.

He kept it classy, always.

Less of the “show me your tits” and more of the “you look gorgeous, the pink lace suits you” followed by an “I’m sending you the blue next”

You like it, more than you’d really want to admit to yourself.

He likes it too. He likes watching your pretty face, your lips curling up into a soft smile when you open up all of his gifts, showing them off on your streams. He doesn’t mind that everyone watching can see them, it doesn’t matter. It matters that he bought those for you and that he’s the one getting his own personal photoshoot later.

You watch notifications pop up on your laptop with a sigh, your inbox flooded with messages, and questions from anything from where you live to why the hell you’re not streaming tonight.

You’re not streaming tonight cause you’re fucking tired, a girl needs her rest.

You’re just gonna take a few photos for your number one fan and call it a day. There’s a bottle of Chardonnay and half a pint of Ben and Jerry's in your freezer just calling your name.

As you fix up your nightgown, reaching over to turn off your laptop, a notification catches your attention.

@BRUCE_W: Hope you got the flowers in one piece, no stream this evening I take it?

You blink, staring at your laptop for a moment.

You hesitate, your nails dragging over your keyboard.

@CHAMPAGNESWEETHEART: I wasn’t planning to, but for you I could ;)

Three little dots come and go at the bottom of your laptop screen, like he’s typing and then pausing once more.

In reality, he’s just trying to get his words together, trying not to come across as weird. He doesn’t really know how to do this kind of stuff. He’s out many women through his mattress in real life, but this whole online thing? fuck no.

@BRUCE_W: is it alright if I call you?

You don’t usually take private calls. They take away both time and money from regular streams you could be doing.

But this is Bruce of all people. He’s solely responsible for the overpriced wine you’re sipping on and the LaPerla set you’re lounging in. You didn’t even know underwear could cost that much..

@CHAMPAGNESWEETHEART: gimme two seconds ;)

That sudden, random burst of confidence has you piling on another layer of mascara for good measure, pushing your tits up a little in reflection of your screen before cringing slightly - he’s just another guy, it doesn’t matter.

@BRUCE_W IS CALLING

You push your laptop down your mattress slightly, pulling your robe open a little more, just so he has some more cleavage to look at since he pays you so good.

You lean over, accepting the call and holding in a breath.

It goes unsaid, the sight of this Bruce guy before you isn’t entirely what you expected.

He’s much hotter, much older than you thought he would be.

It kinda clicks now, the fact that even in your comments he’s had more gentlemanly manners than your other regulars.

Luckily, you like your men like you like your wine, rich and.. slightly older.

Perhaps it’s the salt-and-pepper stubble or just the way they carry themselves, relaxed like they’ve done this all a million times before.

You observe him for a moment longer, noticing the dark room he’s in, his tie loose around his neck as he adjusts his own laptop.

He grips his whiskey glass a little tighter, words escaping him for a moment as he eyes you before offering a curt nod.

“Hey,” He seems a little uncertain at first, taking a drawn-out swig of his whiskey before leaning back in his chair.

“You're new to this I take it?” you offer a small smile into your hand, watching the screen from under your lashes.

“Wow, I thought I was subtle.” Bruce murmurs, setting his glass down for a moment.

He’s cursing himself silently. He’s never had any problem talking to women in his whole life. It’s ridiculous how a pretty girl on his screen has rendered him speechless- you’re what? twenty-something? It’s fucking embarrassing.

He can’t help letting his eyes wander down his laptop screen, shifting his thighs slightly when he sees the set he got you peeking out from under your robe.

“You look gorgeous, the pink set is to your taste, I take it?”

“It’s my favourite so far,” you nod, pushing your robe down your shoulders slightly, just a little bit, just to tease.

He makes a mental note to buy you more, to send them to you in every single colour he can get his hands on. He’s trying not to spiral thinking about it actually, imagining you modelling every single thing he wants to dress you up in.

But now just isn’t the time to fantasise about that stuff, not when he has you on the screen in front of him. Just for him, for once.

“How does this work?” He clears his throat, setting the glass down and trying to ignore the way his slacks feel tighter.

“However you want it to work.”

Your answer has his hands sliding down to rest on his thighs, leaning back in his chair.

You leaving it up to him like that has a way of making his spine tingle, he can tell you’re a little bit tired at least. It’s nice actually, it doesn’t feel like you’re putting on as much of an act.

"Can you talk to me first, for a little bit?" He managed to reply, his eyes taking in the view in front of him.

“Please?”

“Anything you wanna hear about?”

“Not really,” he swallows, his eyes fixed on your cleavage.

“I just like your voice. Is that a strange thing to say?”

You feel your cheeks heating up slightly, shaking your head as you pull your robe open by another little fraction.

“No, not at all.”

You can tell he doesn’t want this to feel like a transaction.

After a few minutes of back and forth, a lot of his initial hesitation has dissipated. You do genuinely seem like a sweet girl. He likes the way you act on your streams anyway, but since he’s technically calling you after hours it feels a lot more intimate, real even.

“Tired?” He rasps softly into his glass, arching a brow when he hears you trailing off slightly, watching you move to lean back against your plush headboard.

“A little."

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll try not to keep you up too long, sweetheart.”

You’re not one to really care for pet-names that randos on the internet give you but good God, does that make you feel things.

It has you pressing your thighs together, more than it fucking should.

“I don’t mind.” You murmur, thankful that he isn’t there in real time to notice the way your cheeks heat up.

Seeing your reaction made his eyes soften.. and his cock throb a little, letting out a small sigh as if he were relieved, glad he isn’t bothering you. He didn't realise how on edge he was until you took that weight off of his shoulders.

"Good." Bruce murmurs, his eyes watching your hands fiddling with the sleeve of that robe, his mind wandering.

"Can I ask you to.. take that off?"

“You can ask for anything you want.” You nod, gently twirling your fingers around the tie of your robe, pulling it open.

Your compliance, along with the sight of the soft lace pressed against your skin has him swallowing, his narrowed gaze roaming over every single contour of your body.

"Good girl." He muttered under his breath. Those two words felt almost foreign to say, but he said it anyway, seeing you like this.

You shouldn’t care. It’s just work.

But fuck, does it feel like more than that.

His hands fidgeted on the arms of his chair, resisting the urge to undo his belt, his cock straining in his slacks getting harder to ignore.

Noticing his discomfort you shift slightly on your bed, running your fingers over the lace of your bra.

“I’m not gonna stop you, you know that?”

Bruce's eyes flickered up to the screen, seeing your small smile, your fingers gently playing with the lace. Those words alone were enough to make his hands immediately move to work on his belt, fumbling with it to take it off before popping the button of his slacks, letting out a groan under his breath.

"I was just... trying to be polite."

Watching him makes you bite your tongue slightly, trying to hide the way you press your thighs together again, your eyes locked on his through the screen as you slowly slide your hand down lower, running your thumb over the bow at the front of your underwear.

“I never asked you to be.”

“Fuck, I feel like I buy you dinner first,” His hands quickly went to the opening of his slacks, not wasting time to pull out his hardening length, giving himself one firm stroke.

Your mouth is agape for a split second, staring at your screen with wide eyes.

It’s just work. None of this is real. None of this matters.

But you know what does matter? The fact you’re wet and can’t even hide it under that thin, pastel pink lace.

"Shit." He murmured, trying to keep his eyes on the screen.

His left hand moved from the armrests to grab at his whiskey to down it in one go, taking in the sight in front him.

"Are you wet, sweetheart?"

“Yeah?” Your nod is less confident than you’d like it to be as you run your fingers over the lace again, letting out a shaky breath. You shouldn’t care - this is literally just part of what you do.

"Take them off for me, baby." He panted out, his dick now straining in his boxers so hard it’s almost painful. His other hand gripped onto his thigh, his fingers digging into his legs to ground himself as much as he could.

"Let me see you."

You’re repeating your mantra over and over in your head. You’ve got zero reason to be as turned on as you are, it’s just work.

But your pussy seems to disagree on that one.

With another nod, you hook your fingers into the thin fabric, gently pulling your underwear down your thighs, the sight making Bruce bite his fist to hold back a groan.

He literally can’t take it anymore. He can’t be polite.

“Holy fuck,” He lets out another groan as he takes himself in his hand, spitting into his palm.

Okay, you liked that more than you should’ve.

"You have no idea how... good you look right now." He rasps out, his head tilting back against his chair.

"All... for me, yeah?" His hand on his thigh moved up to his chest, fumbling the top few buttons on his shirt. He needed to feel a little cooler or he’d have a literal heart attack.

“Yeah,” you manage another nod.

“Spread your thighs, baby. Show me how wet she is.”

Well, now it’s your turn to almost have a heart attack, spreading your thighs open as your fingers curl into your bedsheets.

“There she is, good girl” Bruce moaned under his breath, his hand on his cock starting to move faster.

"Pretty girls... like you.." His tongue came out to swipe at his lips, the sight in front of him making him lose his train of thought, reaching a hand up to loosen his tie.

"They deserve to be taken care of, right?”

“Right,” you echo, unable to hold yourself together at this point, going against your usual logic and reaching your hand down, groaning under your breath at how your body betrays you with how embarrassingly wet you are.

Your arm instinctively goes to drape over your eyes, shaking your head as you mumble something incoherent, your fingers rubbing over your clit.

“No no no, look at me,” Bruce chokes out, biting down on his tie to hold back yet another groan.

“Your hands are mine, alright?”

That makes your head fall forward, your back arching at the thought of it.

“Uhuh,”

You don’t care that you’ve never met him, you don’t care that you probably never will, but fuck, the things you’d let him do to you if you ever did.

He bites his tongue for a moment, brows knitting together as he feels himself starting to leak even more, giving his cock another hard pump.

“But my hands are probably bigger than yours, aren’t they?”

That makes you whine under your breath. You know he’s right and now you can’t get that fucking image out of your head - his large hands holding your thighs open, holding your neck maybe, his fingers in your mouth, his fingers against your pussy-

You’re trying not to drool at the thought of it, it’s not working and he can tell exactly what you’re thinking.

He’s thinking the same thing.

“Poor girl, everyone gets off to you but no one to get you off? You just wanna get fucked, don’t you?”

You can’t tell if he’s being condescending or not - but he likely is.. unfortunately, you like that.

“F-fuck,”

Progress, he’s made you lose your composure and swear. Not so classy now, are you?

Watching your back arch and your fingers move faster when he says that has his mouth falling open, sweat clinging to his chest under his open shirt.

He’s been through enough women to know what it looks like when one’s about to cum, but dear god you might just be the prettiest one he’s ever seen.

It makes him lose his shit altogether actually, a dishevelled mess when he sees your thighs shake, too distracted to realise that he isn’t far behind you, groaning under his breath with his mouth agape as he stares at the mess he’s made of his tailored slacks, chest heaving as his own cum drips down his fist, he’s embarrassed, fumbling with his laptop to shut the screen off.

Jesus Christ, he’s Bruce Wayne. Not some 20-something year old. He’s been around the block! He should be able to do better than this!

It’s like you’re blacked out for a good while, regaining a sense of reality with slick dripping down your thighs as you come down from your high, mascara pooling under your eyes as you stare at a notification on your laptop, making you press your legs together again.

@BRUCE_W: I’m serious, I owe you dinner.

He owes you a lot fucking more than that.

a/n: DILF ERA IS COMING SEND ME INSPO IN MY ASKS I BEGGGG!?!!?? I NEED IDEAS (lmk if u want more Bruce idk??) 🙏 (John Constantine I have my eye on you with ominous intent..)

also wtf thank u for 200 followers I love you!!

part 2

Bruce Wayne m.list

[sjyuns]

MY LOSER BOYFRIEND — LEE HEESEUNG

loser!heeseung x fem!reader established relationship in which everyone questions your taste in men, but there's nothing you love more than a hot loser boyfriend who's deeply obsessed with ramyeon, keyboards, and you (especially you) mikaela's i love hee i need him in my life | collection

I WANNA BE YOURS — how he confessed (how you forced him to)

loser!heeseung who thinks he's super cool and nonchalant with the way he strategically chooses to sit next to you in class as if you can't see him spasm every time you lean in to talk to him, sweaty palms of his leaving obvious marks on the table.

It's cute, you think, so cute.

You can hear him catch his breath, as if it was a sin to breathe every moment you were near and you wonder if he knows that he's got you wrapped around his finger.

Heeseung thinks he's getting it all wrong, even though the obvious signs you've been hinting at of liking him couldn't be any clearer. He feels hot all around because you’re so hot and he's such a loser — there's no way on earth that you'd ever like him or even consider him when you have people lining up just to see you.

As cringey as it sounds he akins it to a tier list like those in ranked games; him a mere bronze level loser while you were in an unreachable challengers tier. He'd need at least 10,000 hours of gameplay and upgrades to ever be able to even touch you.

So, when you have him cornered in your grasps, questioning him if he liked you, Lee Heeseung is nothing but nerves, spouting out complex analogies about how much he liked you.

"It's like laning phase dominance," he starts, and he's so nervous looking at you to the point that he wants to look away but he can't because his body feels out of his control (and you look so pretty today just as you did yesterday). "I'm playing mid lane with my champion I really want to win but my enemy's playing a better champion than I am but I really want to dominate the mid lane so b—"

You cut him off with a kiss, his pouty lips too inviting not to. Heeseung freaks out and he wants to pinch himself to see if this isn't one of his late night put-him-to-sleep scenarios about him bagging you.

"So am I the mid-lane in that analogy?" you ask, teasing him as your lips separate from his.

"No, I mean—" Heeseung panics and he thinks he's losing you over a stupid League of Legends playing tactic. "Yes, technically but you're nothing like a lane physically you're so much prettier and—"

"You think I'm pretty, Hee?" He melts, cheeks dusted a rosy red as he tries to catch a breath, eyes darting around in innocence.

"Yeah, I do actually."

DOMESTICITY — living with him

loser boyfriend!heeseung who walks around the house in loose sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt not knowing what it does to you and your heart.

"Hee," you call and he comes running immediately, going so far as to abandon his game for you.

"Yes, baby?" he answers and he knows from the look on your face that you're hungry so he cooks for you. It's anything but special yet it warms your heart, how he's nothing but willing to do anything for you.

You remember the first time you complimented him on his cooking, the ramyeon in your bowl gone after no more than five slurps and Heeseung's beaming, almost glowing at your satisfied expression.

"I told you babe," he grins, long fringe hovering over the crinkles of his eyes, "shin is so good with the egg cloud but you should never ever put egg inside neoguri. I've tried it and the seafood broth covers the beauty of it."

"Hee," you call and he stops to look at you, bambi eyes glistening under the studio lights of your shared apartment, "you're spiraling again."

"Sorry baby," he gives you a sheepish grin, "I'm just so excited that you like my ramyeon. I've always wanted to make it for you."

"I guess you're my ramyeon slave now," you grin, "because I'm eating this even in my grave."

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY — when he gets jealous

hot loser boyfriend!heeseung feels green venom boiling in him when you get approached by idiots who can't seem to grasp the fact that you're taken, even when he's standing right beside you.

His grip on you tightening as you leaning closer into him, kindly rejecting the boy standing in front of you. "I have a boyfriend," you tell him, looking over to Heeseung who can't help but give the poor boy death glares.

And you really don't think you should be salivating at how hot your boyfriend looks when he's mad in such a situation but you find yourself doing just that, staring at him in adoration as he wraps his arms around you possessively, not wanting to let you go.

"I can't believe that guy, how can one have such low IQ," he grumbles, placing a chaste kiss on the crown of your head, brows still furrowed in frustration.

"Right," you answer, totally unaware of what Heeseung had just said, mind focused on your boyfriend's face and you wonder how Heeseung has never been asked out before because he's so pretty: like an angel from heaven.

"Right, and the audacity? I was here first and you're literally my girlfriend, if he wants a girlfriend he can take a pick from the other less pretty ones, how — baby, are you listening to me?"

You hum, looking up at him with eyes of innocence and he folds, instantly. Pent up anger vanishing into thin air as you envelope him with happiness. "You look so hot right now," you tell him, and he gives you a slight look of concern.

"Baby, how's jealousy hot?" Heeseung almost laughs at your words, unable to wrap his head around what you found hot about him.

"Well, because you said that I'm yours." You point out and he ponders.

"I mean yeah, isn't that a fact. You're my girlfriend." He states, like it's always going to be this way, "just like how my keyboards are my keyboards and not anyone else's. I mean no two people can have one thing."

"Hee, you're so ruining the moment," you whine and he flashes you the goofiest grin.

You love your hot loser boyfriend and the best part is that he loves you more.

© SJYUNS