#the want to write reader insert stuff

[dervampireprince]

Corsets

[18+, minors dni] Pairing: Olrox/Trans Man Reader Words: 2,154 Rating: Explicit Read on Ao3 Tags: Trans Male Character | Established Relationship | Comfort | Gender Dysphoria | Corsetry | Anal Penetration | Oral | Fingering | Praise Kink | Strap-Ons | Dom Bottom Olrox Summary: You saw a corset in a shop window one night and paused. Olrox had asked if you were interested by it. Hovering over your shoulder, he asked if you'd like him to buy it for you. But you shook your head, said no, worried that wearing it would make you look like... So Olrox buys a corset for himself to prove how good a man looks in one.

Notes: Well I saw someone cosplaying Olrox in a corset and Olrox had already been on my brain for days and now this is here. It was just going to be a couple hundred word drabble but then I just kept writing. Yes I couldn't think of a title.

You saw a corset in a shop window one night and paused. Olrox had asked if you were interested by it. Hovering over your shoulder, he asked if you'd like him to buy it for you. But you shook your head, said no, worried that wearing it would make you look like...

You knew it was a silly thought for a couple of reasons. Firstly, that you were being a hypocrite. That clothing had no gender and that you wouldn't think another man looked like a girl for wearing a corset or a skirt or dress. And secondly, that Olrox did not judge you for things like this.

The corset had been forgotten about after that, or so you'd thought.

Later that week you're returning your book to your night stand, but when you enter the room you freeze.

Olrox is sitting on the edge of the bed, hands coming forwards from behind his back to rest in his lap. He's wearing nothing but his white shirt, unbuttoned and tucked down into a deep purple corset.

The book slips from between your fingers and falls to the floor.

If Olrox reacts, you don't see. Your eyes are glued to his body, his shirt revealing some of his chest before being swallowed up, the way the corset hugged his waist, pulled it in and cinched it.

“I thought it could make you feel more assured that you can look like a man in a corset if I wore one. I hope you don’t mind” Olrox's voice drifts into your ears, you barely take in the words but you can hear his smirk.

Your mouth is dry. You don't know how to respond, well, not with words anyway. The silence stretches on, you can't look him in the eye, but you can't look away from him.

It takes him saying your name to bring your mind back up. He can't be sounding concerned, can he? He can get upset about things despite what others think, but him being insecure in himself is not usual. It can't be that. Perhaps he's concerned that he's finally broken you.

“Olrox,” You breathe out, your voice sounds wrecked.

You finally meet his gaze.

He tilts his head to the side, pops up a shoulder, hair spills in front of his right eye.

“What do you think?” He asks, knowing full well what a fucking vision he looks like.

Words still fail you. How can you possible put into words how gorgeous he looks? And how many times had he already been told that in his lifetime? And the way he was sitting there, smugly amused by your reaction to him.

You aren't really thinking yet when you abandon your book on the floor. You're in front of him in an instant, leaning forwards, nose brushing against his, lips almost touching. You tilt your head ever so slightly, letting him think you're about to kiss him, let him lean up towards you, before pulling away

He huffs as you pull at him, not satisfied until he's standing. Your hands hook under his arms, around to his shoulder blades until they're being dragged down over his back as you sink your body down. Your mouth kisses at the exposed skin on his chest, and doesn't stop once it hits rich brocade.

You mouth over the hooks, tongue dragging against the seams, laying kisses over the corset until your thighs touch your calves and you're kneeling before him.

“What do I think?” Your murmur, lips pressing against the bottom hem of the corset, so close to his cock.

Olrox stares down at you in shock. You’re normally not this bold. He’s usually the one who has to instigate anything sexual, not because you don’t want too but because you get shy. And that's fine, he's more than happy to do the seducing, to chase you, and you blushing and squirming is a bonus. Of course he's wanted your confidence to grow, wondered what it would be like to see you bloom. Who knew all it would take to bring out your confidence would be a garment.

“Do you need me to show you?”

Olrox blinks down at you, the unexpected thrill of you being so forward making him forget what he had just said. “What?”

You chuckle against his skin and he shivers. "Can I show you how much I like it?"

Something warm catches in his chest as you nuzzle against his cock, the gesture is soft, comforting for you. His hand drifts down to your hair, threads his fingers between the strands.

"Yes."

It's all the permission you need. Any embarrassment you would usually have about taking any little bit of control is gone, replaced by a need to please him, to make him feel good, to make him feel as beautiful as he is, to engrave how beautiful you find him into his bones.

The way Olrox looks up at you when you push him down onto the bed makes your heart flutter. He's allowing you to do this, to push him back, trusting you to have this bit of control without abusing it. He doesn't get into subspaces like you, and you'd never ask him to submit to you, he's had enough of people trying to get him to submit. You're barely dominating him here, he's still got all the control, but he's letting you call the shots on where you touch him, letting you explore and worship him.

And fuck how you crave to worship him.

Your hands slide up and down the fabric and boning that covers his waist as you place your head between his legs. Running your tongue along the side, kissing the tip, taking it all into your mouth. He sighs when you do.

"Always so soft and warm for me, my love," He coos as you will your mouth to take him a little deeper.

As lovely as his cock is in your mouth, it's not what you really want. You've only done this a handful of times and it's always been from Olrox asking for it. This is the first time you've had the need, the want, all on your own for this.

"I want to fuck you," Your rasp out, pulling yourself off Olrox's cock.

His cock twitches against your cheek.

"Really?" He looks down at you in wonder and you nod eagerly.

His voice always sounds so calm and unaffected when he talks during sex. You realise you'd like to try and change that.

He reaches for the oil in the night stand and hands it to you. You kiss his hand as you take it.

"Thank you," Perhaps it's silly to say, especially as your now slicked finger circles his hole.

"For what?"

"Trusting me to have you like this."

You see his walls come down. The furrow of his brow, smirk falling into genuine smile.

"Well, you're going to take good care of me aren't you, sweet boy?"

A whine leaves your mouth. Yes, yes you are, you want too so badly, it's what he deserves, he deserves to be taken care off, especially when he takes such good care of you.

"My good patient boy. You're going to get me nice and-ah stretched out for your cock?" He rocks his hips as you slide a finger inside him. "Just like that. If I'd known all I needed to do to get you rushing to fold me in half I'd have- fuck, another finger, love- I'd have bought one of these a long time ago. This is what gets you riled up huh?"

"You get me riled up," You complain as three of your fingers thrust into him. "This is just... Fuck, Olrox you're beautiful."

He preens under you. Hips thrusting back against your fingers, his body rolling but slightly restricted by the corset. You wish you could have seen him put it on, or fuck-

"Next time, let me help you put it on?"

"Next time?" His eyes twinkle as he smiles.

"Oh you have to wear this again. And you want too, you enjoy seeing me frustrated," You wipe your fingers off on your thigh.

"And it is so easy to get you frustrated." Olrox hums, pleased with himself.

He watches as you get yourself ready for him. Harness sliding over your thighs, slicking your cock up with oil as it clicks into place.

"You going to fuck me with that now?" He spreads his legs against the crimson sheets. "That's a good boy, come here. You're going to give me what I need, aren't you?"

You crawl between his legs, panting and flushed even though he hasn't touched you. Your hands stroke over his thighs before finding purchase on that waist again, you could get addicted to holding him there.

"Yes," Olrox hisses out and throws his head back as you push your cock inside of him, bottoming out in one long, slow thrust.

You swear you can feel him around you. He'd be tight as you haven't done this in a while. Sensitive walls clenching around you as your thrust. And you do thrust, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. He can be so soft when he's inside of you, but when you're inside of him he doesn't like being treated like he's breakable. When you're inside of him he tells you-

"Harder, love. You wanted to show me how much you like me in this? Yes? Then harder, show me-" He chokes on his own moans, babbling around your cock, toes curling. "Like that, yes, good boy-"

Olrox's hands reach for you, pull you in so he can kiss you. He slips his tongue into your mouth, demandingly, and as you moan back into his mouth he hooks a leg around you and flips you both over.

"You really like this, darling?" He runs a hand down over his stomach, taunting you, as he rises up and down, fucking himself on your cock.

"Yes, yes, Olrox, fuck," You dig your heels into the bed, your hands scramble at his hips, trying to get leverage to fuck up into him. "Please."

He hushes you, leans over to kiss you again as he rolls his hips against you.

"You can come if you can, love. If you can grind up into me so that this cock presses against you, rubs against you, or I can slide a hand down there myself after I come..." He trails off, you know there's about to be a catch. "If..."

Whining you paw at him, fingers greedily grabbing his ass, feeling where he's stretched out around you.

"Ah, close, my love. And you can be close too, if you tell me what you think."

"You- fuck, you know, Olrox, you're gorgeous-"

"And a man?"

"A-? Yes of course, you," Oh. "Yes, you still look like a man, Olrox, please-"

He leans down, kissing your neck, fangs grazing you. "Will you let me buy you one?"

Your head is spinning. "What?"

"If I come around your cock and then rub my fingers against you until you come, will you let me buy you a corset?"

His voice tickles your ear, but then he pulls back, bouncing harder on your cock now. You know he's close.

"I can help you put it on. You'd be so good for me, standing in front of the mirror as I lace you up, and then I can show you how handsome you are in it, play with your little hole, kiss you all over, fuck you-ah open, just like you're doing to me. Don't you want that, love?"

You do, of course you do, but it's hard to get anything out of your mouth other than moans as the curved back of the cock presses against your body, the groove catching on slick cock that's trapped behind it.

"Please, Olrox, please, please, I want, ah, I want you too, want you to show me I'm your good boy, I'm your good boy Olrox please-"

His thighs squeeze around yours. When he throws his head back, his hair fans around him, earrings jingling. He grinds down against your cock despite being oversensitive, riding out his orgasm, his come pooling on your chest.

You think he should be the one boneless, not sliding off your cock with ease. Before you can complain, his hand is where he promised it would be, already rubbing at your wet cock while the other tugs down the harness. He pushes it away, nails scratch against your thigh drawing your gaze down to his. All it takes it one swipe of his tongue against your cock and you're coming.

He strokes your hair as you come down, tells you how much he loves you, how well you fucked him, and of course, how pretty you're going to look for him after he stops back by that shop.

[oozedninjas]

Hello! Not exactly sure what’s all covered under “dark stuff” but I thought I’d shoot my shot.

Do you have any ideas or head canons concerning how badly the turtles might um…. Mark someone up during a close encounter? Like how badly the animal instincts might take over, or if they were even aware of it happening?

18+ /NSFW / Leo's the oldest with 29 / Everyone is susceptible to leaving marks at one time or another. In this essay, I will—

Leo is more susceptible to this act during his rut, when you're having angry sex, or those nights when he feels like acting a little mean (just because you love it). He sucks on your skin, and it's that suction that leaves the mark—most of the time reddish, almost purple. Always heals fast, for which he's gotta keep making them.

Raphel adores biting you. His marks are always deep purple and borderline black. Looks more like you had an accident, which makes them extra hard to hide under makeup or clothing. They take forever to heal, and he kind of gets offended if you cover them up.

Donatello is respectful while marking you. If you request him not to place his love bites in visible areas he'll listen. There's a catch, however. No neck marks? Perfect. How about splattering your entire torso with multiple different-sized hickeys? Sounds fair, right? I swear he'd be the most smooth talker, and yet somehow has an absolutely ravishing mischievous smirk.

Mikey uses them more when he's feeling slightly more possessive of you. Typically, the urge to mark you intensifies as his mating season comes close to its peak. My dude goes feral. He loves it when you mark him too (I mean if somehow you could go through that hard surface of his skin). And you can bet he shows them off proudly!

[sleeplessdreamer14]

we’ll be alright ִ ࣪ ✦˚ drabble

request: no

fandom: treasure planet (2002)

relationship: jim hawkins x gn! reader

summary: You have a touching moment with your boyfriend.

contains: established relationship, fluff, hugs, tears, kiss at the end, short dialogue, no reader pronouns, second person POV, very sappy

a/n: this is set post voyage, and was inspired by Fine Line

Resting his head on your shoulder, Jim takes a slow deep breath as he relaxes against you. You feel his shoulders shake a little as he lets out a soft chuckle under his breath. His hands wrap around your middle and he pulls you in closer, locking you in a wholehearted embrace as if this was the last time he ever would. He’s so close that you can almost feel the subtle beat of his heart against your chest.

You can tell by the way that he buries his face into your shoulder and takes a slow deep breath that he’s on the brink of crying. Tears of your own begin to well up in your eyes as you return the gesture, wrapping your arms around him and giving him a gentle squeeze as you lean your head on him.

It’s perfect. As if you were made to hold each other, fitting in each other’s arms like lock and key. Part of you wanted to spend the rest of forever here.

Just as the thought crosses your mind, you hear a muffled sniff come from Jim as he begins to raise his head and slowly pull back. Not completely, just enough so you can look at him.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Jim says softly, reaching down and taking one of your hands in his. As he presses the back of your hand to his lips, you can’t help but let out a tearful giggle. Deep down, you know he’s partially telling himself that.

You know Jim loves you, and he knows you love him too. But he has confided in you about his anxieties and fears before, that something would happen out of your control, that would take one of you away from the other, or that you might wind up falling apart the way his parents did. A dozen and a half different ways your relationship could go wrong.

But now, those fears seem to have washed away with the tide, and in their place was a newfound courage in himself as he holds your hand against his chest and leans in closer so his forehead touches your own.

“We’ll be alright.” Jim whispers, as certain of that as the sunrise, tears rolling down his cheeks as he leans in closer until pressing his lips against yours.

Jim isn’t sure what he could have done to deserve this, but dammit if he isn’t grateful for it. And now, all he wants it to be close to the light that is you, to feel the loving warmth of your soul in the simplest of gestures. And now, he has the faith in himself to do this right.

[silversinfinity]

Cabin Fever

*this is a fetish blog- non-fet blogs and minors DNI (no age in bio -> blocked)*

Fandom: L/ove and D/eepspace Spoilers: None Pairing/AU: Z/ayne X f!Reader, normal universe Length: 5.4k

Contains: sneeze fetish content (duh), sickfic, fevers, caretaking, that trope where a character’s powers act up because they’re sick, reader insert

Summary: L/ove and D/eepspace's "Winter's Emissaries" summer event, wherein everything is the same, except I made it better gave Z/ayne a cold.

Notes: Backstory time! This game had an event last summer that included four different virtual roleplaying games to complete (one for each guy). In the one featuring Z/ayne, you play as “Winter’s Emissaries” searching for treasure to save a village. While playing through these, you also receive special social media interactions, one of them being this one from Z/ayne. I think my inspiration should speak for itself… 🥴

I wanted this to feel like it could seamlessly fit into the original canon plot, so a few lines of dialogue and description were adapted directly from the game. There's also gonna be casual mentions of things which might go over your head if you haven't played, but it shouldn't ruin the fic reading experience!

Okay, enough yapping. Enjoy 🫶

Fic Masterlist

Your reflection was barely visible in the glass as you stared out the window. Snow swirled in a gray and white cacophony, past the glass pane and all across the region as far as you could see. The conditions seemed more treacherous now that you had escaped them, free to observe rather than experience it. 

You'd experienced it enough today, anyways. Your face still stung of whipping, icy winds, and your hair dripped as clumps of ice and snow melted off your head. Every part of you felt chilled- your fingers, your toes, hell, your very soul. This little cabin was truly the desert oasis of the frigid mountain forests. There was no way either of you could've survived a night out there. 

To your right and behind you, a stunted rush of flames brought the fireplace to life. Your hand curled over your chest, relieved. There was never a situation where you weren't grateful to have Zayne around, but this one especially so. His simple presence was enough to flip an unfortunate situation into a favorable one, or at the very least, an okay one. This would be okay.

Another bundle of snowflakes rushed past the window as a new gust of wind took to the air with violence. You leaned into the knotted pine of the window sill and walls, pressing one ear to the glass.

Your brow furrowed. Only the crackling of the fireplace registered to your senses. Not even a muffled echo of the blizzard’s roar could be detected through the glass. Was the soundproofing of this cabin really that thorough?

Zayne’s hand on your shoulder shook the question out of your mind. “You shouldn't stand so close to the glass. A blizzard can break the window.” His voice was calm. “Come sit by the fireplace. It'll warm you up.”

You stood back from the glass, and one of Zayne’s hands caressed your cheek, palm hot against the chapped skin of your face. You found him in a similar state, skin flushed and wind-broken around and across his nose.

Zayne led you to the fireplace with a hand to your back. Heat instantly washed over you, and you tugged off the heavy coat that still clung to your shoulders. 

“You say I need to warm up, but you're the one who gave up your coat,” you said, hanging it on the hook off to the side of the hearth. He'd insisted you take it, once you realized the hard way that your own coat was highly insufficient for the weather.

“You're right. Come sit.” Zayne had seated himself in a wicker chair a few feet back from the fire’s glow. You paused to consider whether there was enough room to join him. If you were expected to fit next to him, you’d practically need to be sitting in his lap.

…Not that you minded. You never minded that.

As anticipated, you found yourself crunching your knees up to settle yourself next to him. You were squished against him, legs to legs, warm body to warm body.

It occurred to you, though, that there was plenty of sitting space throughout the cabin suitable for two people, much unlike the chair you had just forced your way into. You looked at Zayne and smirked. “I get it. You're using the fireplace as an excuse to cuddle, aren't you?” 

Zayne tilted his head and met your gaze. His lip curled so subtly you had to squint to see it: “Well, if you knew that was my goal, why did you still join me?” 

You nearly got lost in his eyes, aglow with a sunset orange reflection of the flames. “Because… I may or may not have the same goal,” you finally admitted, nestling the rest of your body to Zayne’s. Your head settled perfectly against his chest, like a puzzle piece to its match.

“I'm honored to be your personal heater after serving as your navigator.” 

A comfortable silence followed Zayne’s words. Your attention honed in on the crackling of the fireplace, the flames within wiggling their unsteady dance and casting a faint, smoky scent into the air. You inhaled deeper, chasing the nostalgic memories of summer bonfires lingering behind. The air was dry, but warm enough now that you didn’t feel moisture chasing every breath in through your nose. But the same couldn’t be said yet for Zayne, based on the still frequent sniffling above you. It really was dreadful out there…

The whole reason for your journey here slowly crept back into your mind. Today the blizzard would keep you both within the safety and warmth of this cabin, but you knew there was still a long journey in the cold ahead of you. As Winters Emissaries, it was your duty to complete the task given to you. The whole of a village was counting on it. 

As to what it was though, you still weren't completely sure.

“Hey… do you think the treasure the villagers mentioned is something like this?” 

You felt Zayne move above you at the sudden sound of your voice. He pondered your question. “A treasure that brings warmth in winter… the concept is similar enough,” he eventually said. 

“But visiting the palace just to get firewood for them would be pointless. They could just go into the forest themselves, couldn't they?”

“Perhaps the treasure is a self-heating energy stone. Winters Emissaries are like torchbearers. They've been entrusted with the responsibility of bringing energy to the village.”

An image of yourself and Zayne wearing special ceremonial attire during an Olympic opening ceremony, sacred torch and all, flashed in your mind. It was far more flashy and loud than your actual reality, traveling alone together in the winter wilderness of the mountains as the elements assaulted you. “Zayne, your imagination got a little wild there,” you giggled. 

“Oh? Then what sort of fantasy would you prefer to listen to?” Zayne sniffled again. Outside, the world had begun to turn dark.

“Something real, maybe.” Your eyes searched the space above the fireplace, as if the answer would appear there for you. “Hmm… talk about your childhood memories. When we were kids, wasn't there a time a snowstorm trapped you at my house?”

Long was the history between the two of you. You spent your childhood together, grew up together, and now Zayne was a unique combo of your primary doctor, lover,  and a formidable fighter you could rely on in any Wanderer encounter. 

So, you were a little hopeful Zayne would still remember your early days, after everything you'd been through. 

Zayne’s hand fidgeted at the small of your back. “...I remember that,” he finally began. “My parents and I went to your place for dinner. And then it suddenly started snowing. It was getting late, and we tried to head home but the car wouldn't start. We had no choice but to spend the night there.” Zayne paused, swallowed, and cleared his throat. His voice was noticeably rougher when he spoke again though, as if he hadn't cleared anything at all, “But you had already returned to your room. We had barely talked that day…”

There was a tremble you noticed in his voice too, as though the memories themselves manifested within the language he spoke. He wasn't always the most straight forward with his sentimentality of your shared youth, but there were always signs he cherished them the same way you did.

Yet you always felt strange, separated from yourself whenever you reflected on it, everything being the same and yet so different from what you had with him today. As children, could Zayne and I have ever imagined ourselves nestled by the fireplace one day, enjoying idle conversation?

“Maybe it's because I went to bed too early that day. If only I had known…”

You waited for Zayne to respond, or continue, but it never came. His breathing steadied and slowed above you, and you craned your neck to look up at him. 

His eyes were closed, long, dark lashes completely still. No surprise sleep took him so quickly; for as often as he would lecture you about getting enough sleep, you knew his line of work didn't allow him to rest as well as he'd like. He was known for taking any time he could between surgeries to nap. This quiet time in a cabin was the perfect environment for Zayne to take advantage of.

You were careful not to disturb him as you settled your head back where it was most comfortable. The warmth you shared between your bodies had only grown, stealing away any drive you had left to stay awake. The fireplace became a blur as your eyelids drooped.

Against your ear though, you were still awake enough to notice the slight wheeze in his breathing. And from his nose, the tiniest whistle when he exhaled. Both were not typical for him, in all the times you had rested together.

Mentally, you winced, remembering the pity taken on your poor choice of winter wear once the blizzard hit. Zayne assured you he still had enough layers on, and initially you believed him. 

Now though, you realized he would've told you that anyways. Of course he would've; he was prone to worrying more about you than himself. 

You wondered if this wasn't normal tired for him, but sick tired. Had he been hiding it from you? Or was it too early for him to even realize?

You were only barely awake yourself anymore, unable to think clearly. “Zayne?” you murmured, quiet, still hesitant to wake him. You heard nothing back, and then you heard nothing at all, as sleep stole you away too. 

—

You woke up suddenly, somewhere soft, warm. Pillow under your head, and layers of blankets draped over you. Sluggishly, you picked up your head. The grey light of morning seeped through the windows, pale and too early to be awake. You squinted to make out flecks of snow billowing past the window, just as energetically as the day previous. 

This wasn't where you had fallen asleep. So how did you…? 

Oh, right.

Somewhere in the night, you vaguely remembered being lifted and held to Zayne’s chest before he settled you somewhere else- it was in this bed, you now knew. You stretched and whined beneath the blankets before rolling over. Next to you, the comforter was pulled back and the fitted sheet wrinkled, implying Zayne had slept there next to you. The bed suddenly felt cold.

As you sat up, you frowned. Something had woken you, but what? It was quiet in the cabin. “Zayne…?” you called out groggily.

“heh’tSCHh-!”

Oh.

“hegH’SCHUhh-!”

Sneezing. Zayne sneezing, to be exact. Muffled and echoey beyond the half wall immediately behind you, you concluded he was too far away to have heard you, in another room of the cabin. 

You heard him sneeze again, after a longer delay. You internally winced as you had the night before. For all the time you'd known Zayne, you'd never heard such frequent disruptions, except for when an outside factor- such as illness- was actively aggravating him.

The urge to investigate dragged you out of bed. Your ears pointed you towards the bathroom across the way. As you got closer though, you stopped. The sound of rushing water could be heard, loud and clear with the door of the bathroom wide open. Your approach to the door was a little more hesitant- was he showering this early in the morning?

Beyond the steam cloaking the room, you found Zayne not in the shower, but hovering just to the side of the sink. His hair was slightly disheveled from its usual neatness, and damp, implying he'd been standing in there for some time. Even from where you stood in the doorway, his body language read of discomfort.

Though you stepped lightly, your bare feet weren't quiet enough to avoid alerting him. Zayne turned to look your way. His posture instantly straightened, but it didn't hold, wavering in tune with his breath. 

“Y-Y/N, hih…! hH’gnx’SCHhh-!” He notably pressed into his wrist, cutting the volume. That wrist flipped, and his fingers clamped over his nose, pinching tightly over the bridge in a fashion you'd seen before, when he was either annoyed or- “heh-NGTt-uh!” -suppressing a sneeze. 

“Bless you… thanks for the wake up call.” You couldn't help yourself from teasing him.

“Did I wake you?” He paused to sniffle, thick, unproductive. “I tried to be quiet getting out of bed, but I suppose that didn't last…” Zayne’s voice cracked and he coughed, hoarse. 

Concerned, you stepped into the bathroom, closing the space between you. “What's with the shower?” you said. 

“Clearing out my sinuses. You can turn it off.” The steam in the room was pleasantly warm, but the humidity was a little much, you thought. You shut the water off.

“Did it help?” you asked. 

“Well, it made me sneeze through the worst of it.” With the water off, you can hear congestion in his voice more clearly, and you shuddered to think this was an improvement from when he'd first awoke. His illness had set in, and it had done so quicker than you thought possible. Zayne took one step back from the counter, touching one temple and wincing. You saw him sway.

Your brow furrowed. One of your hands drew up to his forehead before Zayne had the chance to stop you. Your fingers brushed his bangs aside with a gentle sweep, and the pads of your fingers ghosted heat, searing his skin deeper than any steam could create on the surface. 

“You have a fever…” Zayne swatted you away, but you grabbed at his wrist in rebellion. Instantly, you gasped and froze in place. Under your palm and fingers was an icy cold, etched across his skin and leaving purple welts in his wake- it could only have originated from his abilities. “Your Evol, why…?”

In one quick move, Zayne shook his head at you, tugged his freezing wrist from your grasp, and twisted away with a wrenching sneeze. 

“hegH’NSCHhih-! Hh…” The exhale carried exhaustion. You allowed him the space to recover but refused him another inch beyond that. As you examined him closer, you realized that white, crackling frost glazed not just his wrist, but his neck too. 

“Are you…okay? Why is your Evol doing that?” you asked.

But Zayne couldn’t seem to catch a break. “I'm f-fine…hih…!” His denial was drowned out in a shuddering hitch of breath. He managed to retrieve a bunched up wash cloth from the counter, just in time to jam it under his nose before he-

“hih’MPFSChh-!”

Punctual.

“Bless you,” you said, wincing. “Uh, you were saying? About being fine?”

He was even slower to recover, as though the very last of his energy had seeped out through his sinuses, dampening the already soiled cloth in his hand. “I'm not denying that. Obviously I'm not well.” Zayne slid past you to leave the bathroom, and you followed nervously behind him to where he dropped down on the couch. He barely seemed to be present, tilting his head back, eyes closed. The dark shadows under his eyes told you he hadn’t slept much. “I just meant… the ice. I'm fine, this always happens when I'm unwell.” 

From where you sat next to him, you took the chance to touch his forehead again, and Zayne didn't protest this time. It was worse than you initially thought. “You're really hot, Zayne…”

One eye opened. “Flirting with me while I'm sick?”

“Hey, you know what I mean…” You smiled and felt at ease- at least he wasn't so ill that mirth failed him. 

It couldn't cure all your worries, though. Your touch trailed down his cheek, to his jawline, and then his neck. It was there that the temperature under your fingers went shockingly cold, as though he'd just been outside in the winter elements without a scarf. Zayne’s brow knitted at your touch, and he shivered. 

“You're freezing,” you commented. It wasn't a question, but Zayne nodded anyway. “Let me warm you up, then.” This too, wasn't a question of permission, but rather a warning that you would try regardless.

Again though, Zayne nodded. Even a doctor as work-driven as he was knew when it was time for someone else to do the caring.

You looked first to the fireplace across from the couch, in front of the chair where you had both dozed off last night. The flames weren't flames but small, smoldering ashes- certainly of no substance to subdue a fever and keep the chill of winter out. 

You tossed another couple logs on and allowed a moment for the fire to catch.

Then, back on the couch, you adjusted your knees under you. “Here, let me squeeze in.” You sidled close to Zayne’s spot on the sectional. He hesitantly straightened his legs, allowing you space between him and the back cushion of the couch.

“It'll get nice and warm here soon,” you assured. Zayne hummed, glassy, hazel eyes fixed to the ceiling above. Your attention drew back to his Evol, still vicious and frosty at his wrists and throat. The warmth of the fire couldn't sedate this- this cold came from within, and the longer you lingered on it, the more uncomfortable it looked. You feared self-inflicted frostbite was in his near future.

“Do you think you might be overdoing it? Your Evol, I mean.”

“It's…” Zayne paused, shivering violently as though simply acknowledging the sensation made it worse. You swore you saw vapor as he exhaled, as if the air of winter itself were contained around his head in a bubble. “It's against my will, mostly…”

His discomfort was nearly palpable to you as you realized this was completely out of his control. This was the same cold extreme enough for Zayne to use in combat, after all, and now it was acting of its own accord, attacking him. 

“Think of it as a flight or fight response,” Zayne went on. “My temperature is up, therefore my body is responding by trying to cool down.”

“It's just too much, isn't it?” you said, finishing his thought for him. Zayne nodded, casting his gaze towards you. He'd never looked so openly vulnerable underneath you, except in distant memories, and you felt your heart soften despite the circumstances. 

You laid your weight heavier into him, shuffling so that one leg intertwined between his own. He caught your eye when he moved his hands out of your way. 

Maybe… if you resonated with him…?

You reached for one hand. “Here, let me just…”

Zayne shrunk away though, tucking his arms to his sides. “No, you shouldn't…touch me when I'm like this. Not on my skin.” Worry, genuine worry flickered in his eyes, and you felt that soft glow in your chest trip and falter.

“Zayne…” Your hands remained hovered at his wrist. Begging him with your eyes. He tensed, but he didn't stop you from closing your touch over his wrist. His skin was frigid, burning against your warmer palms, but only that. “You won't hurt me. I promise.”

You seemed to get through to him, and Zayne found it in himself to relax, finally. Your squeeze over his wrist was firm, but gentle, wringing your grip back and forth. You slowed your breathing and sought his Evol’s frequency, and it met you with a chaotic and unusual rhythm. A warm light glowed from your palms. In a matter of seconds, his skin took the warmth of yours.

“Better?” You asked. 

Zayne nodded, brow raised just slightly as though he didn't expect this outcome. You weren't sure you had expected it to work either. Discomfort crept back into his features, and he breathed through clenched teeth- you healed his other wrist with more urgency.

Briefly, you chewed the inside of your cheek. You couldn't deny that you found it all alarming, try as Zayne might to act casual about the whole thing. The nature of Evol was different person to person, but was it really okay for it to attack its user? Even under circumstances of illness? What if there was more to this?

…No, no. You had to shake this out of your head, stick to the task at hand. Interrogating him in the midst of being miserable wasn't good for either of you.

You forced the frown out of your expression, before Zayne could read it and interrogate you instead. “Your hands look better,” you said. “Is it just your shoulders now?”

“Yes. I think.”

“Get comfortable, then.” Both having lost their icy touch, he tucked his hands under you, and you properly draped yourself over him like a weighted blanket. Zayne tilted his head up to accept your arms wrapping over the back of his freezing neck.

You suppressed a shiver of your own as you nuzzled your cheek into the crook of one shoulder, the cold seeping into you through his shirt. Then, you remained still, focusing to match the frequency of his powers again, further resonating. Any remaining anxiety drained out of you. Maybe you couldn't cure his cold completely, but a small win was still a win in the war against misery.

Zayne sighed above you in relief. ”hh…hih…!” And then in urgency. He fidgeted under you, prompting you to lift your head.

You were greeted with the sight of a man most definitely about to sneeze.

And it had you a little mesmerized, to say the least- the stoic type, you rarely ever witnessed his face so obviously contorted. Somehow, Zayne always maintained a calm and collected demeanor, even when he was feeling anything but. This expression he currently wore though, was scrunched up, needy. His brow pinched together, eyelids taught. And the pink rims of his nostrils ticklishly flared, lip curled back into a snarl.

“Y-Y/N, my…hands…!” His breathy voice barely hung above a whisper.

You didn't get the memo- at least not fast enough. His hands remained trapped under you, and with nowhere else to hide, Zayne twisted toward the couch cushion, squelching the sneeze into submission by willpower alone.

Willpower didn't carry him very far, however. “hH’NXTt’shih-!” The burst of moisture that broke through was audible. Zayne’s chest swelled under you to gear up for a second one, and you braced a little tighter around his neck- “hegH’SCHUhh-!” The force his sneezes wrought nearly folded him at the waist, even with your full weight on top of him.

Zayne stilled after that. You were more timid as you looked back up to him. “Bless you. You shouldn't fight it like that…” you said softly.

“You shouldn't keep my hands trapped, then,” Zayne shot back.

You shrugged, although you did shift your hips up to free one of his arms. Zayne took to knuckling under his nose, before carefully dabbing at any excess dampness with the edge of his sleeve. 

“Really though, don't worry about politeness,” you went on. Your expression turned downcast. “You're sick because of me, after all.”

Several seconds passed as Zayne processed your words. Then, he gave you a look, the one he always had when you said something silly.  “You know people don't get sick just from being out in the cold, right?” 

“Says who?”

“Y/N, I'm a doctor. Your doctor,” Zayne deadpanned. 

You couldn't hide your grin. “Okay, but consider this: I saw it happen in a movie. A lot of movies, actually.”

Zayne shook his head. A yawn crept into his voice, and his eyes closed. “Right. Next time I need continuing education credits, I'll just watch some movies instead.”

“You better invite me over for a movie date night then!”

“But of course.” You held him a little tighter. The corner of Zayne’s mouth tugged into a smile. “Y/N… you really never grew up,” he said. 

“Oh?” You tilted your head at him. 

“You're just as unserious as you were when we were young,” Zayne went on. “More than when we were young, actually.”

To that, you stuck your tongue out. “Coming from the most serious guy I know? You should try it sometime.” 

Zayne opened his eyes, and there was That Look again, the Y/N-Said-Something-Ridiculous Look. For a moment, it even seemed like the feverish haze had left his eyes. But it only lasted a second, and the sorry state of him continued to be evident.

Your eyes shifted down to his throat. The skin looked healthy now, as though it had never been coated in a deadly ice. “So is this whole, uh, Evol thing gone now?” you asked awkwardly.

“For now. I imagine it’ll stay away now, so long as you're here.” 

A complicated knot of feelings sat in your chest, out of nowhere. For all the times Zayne had gone out of his way to protect you, save you, cure you, rarely could you return the favor. And it was a regular experience- you were good at getting yourself into trouble, after all.

But now, here you were, in a position where he needed you. 

“Good,” was all you could muster in response. 

Your hands snaked out from behind his head where they found his face. Cupping his cheeks, your fingers brushed over all the contours you now knew deeply, intimately. You let your eyes drift thoughtfully over his lips, threatening your resolve. 

Clearly you had grown up in some way- the idea of kissing Zayne would've been strange and wrong in your youth, but now you found yourself fighting with your better judgment not to. You could already hear him quietly scold you for kissing him while he was sick.

Only then did you realize Zayne was looking at you. You found yourself instantly shy under his scrutiny- for all the times you had kissed him, gone on dates, fully gave yourself to him, he still managed to make you nervous. 

Just as the tension of your eye contact threatened to become too heavy, Zayne sighed and melted a little deeper into the couch. You shook yourself back into a caretaker mindset. 

“Are you warm enough?” Zayne hummed his confirmation. “Okay… can I get you anything? Fever reducers, maybe?”

You sat up, preparing to get up from the couch, but Zayne’s hands held your waist firmly. “I already took some. Why don't you just rest here with me?” His words caught and he coughed into his shoulder.  

Zayne’s voice was growing ragged, even for how softly he spoke. You made a mental note to raid the cabinets for tea later, whenever he was ready to accept it. 

For now though, resting with him would be an easy task. The light filtering through the snow plastered windows was still too dim and early for your liking. And with the most concerning of Zayne’s symptoms relieved, you were content to relax a little. Your breathing synced with the slowed pace of his, calm.

For all the symptoms that had been relieved though, there was always another waiting to rear its head and break the moment.

Zayne suddenly stirred under you. He stiffly exhaled. “Actually, Y/N…” Zayne sniffled, and then sniffled again, sharply squeaking within his swollen sinuses. “Maybe…you should, hih…!”  You sat up in time to see the twinge in his expression take hold, uncertain, a will-he or won't-he battle. The fluttering of his eyes and twitch of his nares tells you he definitely will, though Zayne seemed intent on holding back. The rest of his words tumbled out in a rush, “...should get me some tih-! tissues, hH-!”

His arm tensed over your back, and he swung up with the intent to cover above you. You moved quicker though, tucking his face against your shoulder. Another gasp shook him beneath you, fluttering against your skin. You only held him tighter.

“heH’MFSCHHeh-!” Throaty and violent, the sound was squashed into your shirt. It was a warm and damp rush in the fabric, and Zayne jostled you as his nose betrayed him a second time. “hH-! ‘ESCHh’uh-!”

Several peaceful seconds came and went. You propped yourself up and met his gaze sheepishly, exposing the damp spot that now soiled your shirt. Zayne’s face was hard to read, but his ears were noticeably pink. “You know, when people ask for tissues, they don’t usually mean someone else’s shirt,” he mumbled.

“I- wasn’t thinking, I guess…” you said. One hand lazily traced along the curved top of his ear. “You don't need to be so embarrassed.”

“I have a fever, remember?” Zayne retorted, so casually that you almost couldn’t detect it as an excuse- almost. He sniffled again, wet and productive. “Listen, I could still really use those tissues… unless you’re expecting me to use your shirt for that too.” His eyes shifted away from you.

The heat on his face seemed to possess your own cheeks, as it occurred to you just how compromised he was under you. Completely at your will, or at least as completely as he would allow, and so far it seemed to be a lot. Your mind threatened to drift to places far from innocent. 

“No, not unless you- asked to, I mean…! N-not at all.” Your words tripped over themselves as your tongue knotted itself with your inner desires. You shimmied back to the other end of the couch, part in preparation to get up, but mostly to hide yourself from Zayne’s intelligent gaze. He could always read right through you.

You managed to pull yourself together while fetching a tissue box from the bathroom. And a glass of water- you were sure he needed it.

You stopped in your tracks exiting the bathroom. Zayne still laid on the couch, eyes closed, somehow serene despite  being in the throes of a bad cold. 

Cute.

He stirred once you approached close enough to be heard. “Here,” you said, passing the box of tissues to him.

“A whole box? How generous,” he playfully remarked. Zayne plucked a tissue from the box, and then another. You looked down at the glass of water still in your hands, for whatever shred of privacy it would offer him as he loudly blew his nose. Soiled, he tossed the tissues into the wastebasket nearby. At this rate, and with the way that had sounded, you had a feeling that the bin would be full of them by the end of the day.

“Thanks,” Zayne said in a thick voice as he took the water from you next. He made quick work of it, and you mentally patted yourself on the back for thinking of his needs before he had even voiced them. 

You checked that the fireplace was still lively, and then you turned back to Zayne where you stood before him.

“Can I get you something else?”

Zayne looked at you with warm eyes. “I don't know… I’d just really like my blanket back.” You frowned, only to falter when Zayne winked at you. Duh.

You needed no other prompting to crawl back into your original position, settling yourself over Zayne like a large lap cat, or a blanket, as he had put it. A new sense of ease washed over the two of you. 

You turned your head where it was more comfortable on its side. Snow still billowed past outside, and you found yourself reflecting again on why you were both here. Although there would be much to do later today, or more likely tomorrow, when the snow had slowed, you could both have this moment. You didn't get to lay and nap together at home nearly as often as either of you liked, but right now, you were free to indulge in it. 

You had each other's comfort. And you had each other's warmth.

“Ya know, maybe what you said yesterday was right,” you suddenly spoke.

“Hm?” Zayne opened one eye, brow raised.

“About the treasure being something warm within winter, or however you put it.” Your limbs twitched, and you curled a little tighter into Zayne. “Maybe it's cheesy, but I feel like we have our own little treasure here, ya know?”

Zayne exhaled a laugh, but it was genuine. “Perhaps you're right.” He closed his eyes, and through a yawn, “We had to find our own little treasure before we could find one for the whole village.”

“Exactly.” You smiled, closing your own eyes. Your ears zoned in on the cracking and popping of the fireplace, coupled with Zayne’s soft breathing. 

Flashbacks of the cozy night prior crept into your mind. “Can you tell me the rest of that story from last night?” Your words were slurred by almost-sleep. Zayne only responded with a soft snore. 

Ah well, you thought. Another day, then; this treasure was treasure enough. 

[shhh-secret-time]

Hi lovey! I would never pass up an opportunity to request something from you, you are litro my fav writer on here ^_^ Obsessed with the way you perfectly capture the love in your polyam stuff, can we get Style x fem reader with some fluffy and soft lovemaking👀 Aaaa I’d just die for that!

Lots of love from a loyal reader, take care of yourself 💘✨

Me? Me am favorite? Why?! You bless me with the sweet words. I hope I continue to serve.

Also happy Kyle Week guys! We stan a silly man in love! I had a blast writing this one!

Warning: NSFW, Strong Language, F/M/M, Threesome, Pillow violence.

Pairings: Stan x Fem!Reader x Kyle

It's the pressure on his chest that stirs him. At first it was gentle, almost comforting in a way, but now it's too much. Every time he takes a breath it's strained. Kyle doesn't need to open his eyes to know what the source of his discomfort is, he already knows.

Stanley Marsh was a cuddler. It wasn't a secret the man was the most touch starved human being in South Park, but some imaginary pride kept him from acting on it in public. Behind closed doors the man had to be touching Kyle constantly, especially if it was bedtime.

"Dude you can't break the nighttime routine. Hurry up and get your ass in this bed. I'm tired!"

"Then go to bed Stan! Just because you don't care about your skin's health doesn't mean I have to neglect mine!"

It would be one thing if it was just Stan, unfortunately he wasn't alone. You were just as bad, if not worse. Kyle couldn't recall any moment in his shared relationship with you and Stan if you were ever warm. Not a day went by that you didn't complain about being cold.

"Kyle, sweetheart, love of my life, sun in my sky, light of my-"

"Yes, you can use my hoodie and my sweatpants."

A part of him feels bad; because as he cracks open his eyes, letting that early morning light hit the greens of his eyes, you both look so peaceful on his chest. Nothing in this world ever makes him feel so at peace than when he catches his lovers cuddles up against him. Stan tucked into his side; face nuzzled into the crook of neck with a heavy arm wrapped around his chest. You under that arm, slotted between his legs with your head resting just below his heart.

No, he can't think of anything more perfect. One of the many perks of being an early riser. He'd never tell either of you how he lies here for the first ten minutes of his day just admiring your sleeping forms. The way your hair clung to your face or how you would mumble under your breath, letting him know what kind of dreams you were having. Or how Stan's lips would curl up into a smile when he placed a kiss on his forehead. It was adorable that he could give him a dorky smile in his sleep, even with that trail of drool rolling down the side of his chin.

Kyle could deal with the sore arm and crushed lungs, not even the sweat bothered him. But the one thing Kyle couldn't stand being was being late, he couldn't stand it when his schedule was thrown off. If the shrill screaming alarm went off, it meant it was time to get up. Time to start his day and get work done so he can come home to the both of you as quickly as possible. Do the work, get the reward. That anxiety of keeping anyone waiting for him or being late for something was too strong to ignore.

So, what was he to do when his alarm went off and his two partners wouldn't move. Normally the alarm at least stirred you off him, made Stan roll over and give him room to get up. Something about this chilly Thursday morning kept you both glued to your spots. If anything, Kyle thinks he felt Stan's muscles twitch and his arm slide down towards his waist, tightening his hold on him. Your smaller frame moving closer to the source of warmth, sliding your cold little hands under his shirt. He couldn't tell if you were secretly awake and punishing him for even thinking about moving, or if you were just innocently still asleep. Either way that damn alarm wouldn't stop screaming.

With a huff, he moves his free arm across your body and makes a grab for the phone. Stan's eye, the one not buried in the crook of his neck, cracks open and he swats Kyle's hand. Sleep still trapped in his eyes, Stan fumbles with the device making it stop its cry for attention. He misses the glare Kyle shoots his way.

"Stop movin'." Stan's grumbled words make it sound like he's not asking, but Kyle wasn't having it.

"You know I need to get up. Now come on, let me get up." Kyle goes to move you off his chest and into Stan's arms. He figures you both can keep each other warm and comfortable so he can get up to start his day.

"Stop moving..." You whine in response to him trying to get up. He lets out the softest grunt when you push on his chest.

His brows furrow when he's pushed back down onto the bed. Kyle's back hits the plush of the bed making the headboard knock against the wall. If this kind of behavior was done on the weekend, he would have found it kind of adorable that you're both being so whiney. It did make Kyle feel loved that he was wanted, but being loved doesn't pay the bills or excuse irresponsibility.

So, he tries again, moves his arm out from under Stan and wraps it around you. In your sleepy haze you think he's going to give you a hug and give into the snuggling. You should have known better, should have remembered that Kyle was a stubborn man. Kyle twists his body in Stan's hold and uses you as a shield. Moving you into the arms of the raven-haired man, which Stan almost falls for. It's instinct at this point for Stan to hold you.

As much as he clings to Kyle, Stan clings to you. He loves picking you up and taking you away from whatever you're working on for cuddles. You don't fight him nearly as much as Kyle does and you get his warmth, it's a win-win. You huff in response, how dare that man use you and Stan's weakness against you.

"Kyle...noooo! Come back to bed." Your hands fly out to grab at his pajama shirt, tugging on the material.

"Don't give me that. I already told Stan I need to get up, you heard my alarm I know you did." The scolding in Kyle's tone dies when he sees how sweet you look. Even Stan looks adorable with his messy hair and baby blue eyes.

How dare you use his weakness for puppy dog eyes against him. The only defense he can think of is to turn his head and twist his body away from cute kryptonite. Turning his back on you proved to be his downfall. As soon as he did Stan's arm was around his waist, pulling him back against him again. You slipped around his body as if this was a coordinated attack. You moved your hands up his chest and locked them lazily around his neck.

"You're both horrible! God damn it Stan let me go! And you-" Kyle's protests come with a healthy scowl, one he's sure you're not taking seriously. "-you stop helping him!"

"Just five more minutes, please!" You whisper pleading, almost begging.

He knows better. Kyle knows better than to say yes because it won't be five minutes. It'll turn into ten, and that ten will turn to twenty. He'll be trapped here until Stan's alarm goes off, where he'll lay there watching him hit snooze three times. By then he'll have hit the fourth and Kyle will be late for work.

"No. I warned you both last night not to stay up and watch Castlevania." Despite his complaints, Kyle finds his body starting to melt back into the bed. His muscles don't tense as they should. His hands don't pry you away from him and instead find home on your hips. He even lets Stan intertwine his legs with his.

"Hmm, you're just grumpy Stan and I watched it without you." You hum in response, pressing a soft kiss on one of the stray freckles on his neck.

"Hm." Stan doesn't seem to register the conversation you're having, just grunting to tell you he's still awake. And that he really doesn't want to be.

"I'm not upset that you- wait you watched it all?"

".... No?" You muffle your lie in his skin, trying to hide the growing smile creeping across your face.

"You little shit!" He goes to bite down on your neck, squirming out of Stan's hold just enough to pin your wrists back by your head.

Squeals and kicks aren't enough to get him to stop. He rolls you over until you’re flat on your back, being late for work is a distant thought. Not when you just ratted yourself and Stan out. A betrayal like this can't go unpunished. Try as you might, you can't fight back Kyle's light-hearted wrath. His hands are up and under your shirt before you can blink, squeezing and tickling the sides of your stomach.

"Stan! Stan, help meeee! He did it too! Get him!" One minute you're begging to be saved, the next you're trying to drag him down with you. Gasping loudly as you try to catch your breath in between giggles.

Stan grumbles something now more awake since all that kicking, you're doing landed his way. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes before registering what you just said. A little smirk playing on his lips and instead of coming to your aid, he props himself up on his elbow.

"He'll get his! Don't you worry!" Stan's smirk drops. Kyle cuts him off like he knows Stan was about to protest. "Stanley Marsh don't you even try and get out of this!"

Luckily for you Kyle's assault stops long enough for you to scramble away and catch your breath. Your heels dig into the bed, hands fumbling the pillow beside you. Anything to keep distance between Kyle and your sore sides. You watch as Stan sits up, giving Kyle a loving look. Slowly a hand cups Kyle's hips, soft digits rubbing circles in a way that allows him to dip them past the band of Kyle's sweatpants. The Marsh Charm™ is in full effect.

"Kyle...dude look we can watch it again. And we'll get all the satisfaction of watching your cute face react to the stuff we already know." Stan lets his voice dip low, sweet whispers against the shell of his ear.

"Yeah? To the stuff you already know?" Kyle leans into his touch, lips getting closer towards Stan's. He's close enough that Stan's eyelids lower down, breath ghosting across his partner's lips.

"Hm-m."

The poor fool. You almost feel bad for Stan. The Marsh Charm™ is but a candle to the roaring fire that is the Broflovski Wrath™. As soon as Kyle brushes his lips across Stan's lips, and the man's shoulders drop, a pillow is swung hard against the side of his head. Out of left field a flash of blue and white stripes slam into the side of Stan's head. Hovering over him in triumph, Kyle continues his attack. Stan's arms come up to defend his face from the memory foam, each wack making a thump against his head.

"I.don't.want.your.shitty.excuses!" Each word comes with a healthy swing. Kyle was on a warpath now. Denied the right to get up and get his morning coffee. Denied the right to a warm shower to wash the sleep out of his eyes. Denied the right to whatever else his morning routine demanded. And now he was denied any happiness that would have come with watching a silly Netflix animated series with the loves of his life.

Once he's decided Stan's had enough, he falls back onto the bed and sighs. He didn't need to look at his phone, there was no doubt in his mind that he was going to be late. So, he tosses the pillow onto Stan's face, who had just let his guard down again, and curls up next to you. Right back in the middle where you both had him moments ago.

"Fine. You win. The both of you are terrible, awful influences and when I get fired, you'll have no one to blame but yourselves." You and Stan both know that would never happen. The company Kyle worked for needed him badly, and he almost never called out of work.

When he closes his eyes, he expects the both of you to return to your spots. Reaping the sweet reward of a few more minutes of shut eye, basking in the warmth of his body like you always do. And in a way, you do. You and Stan take your positions against him, with you pressed up against his chest and Stan against his back.

Only you don't rest your head on his chest, instead he feels your hands playing with the metal snap buttons on his shirt. He feels Stan's hands playing with the hem of his pants again, hooking a thumb in the band of the sweats. Stan tugs him back against him just as your fingers pop a button open. The little snap makes his eyes shoot open.

"Someone's grumpy~"

"Are you mad at us baby?"

That purr in your voice and that little laugh that comes from Stan tells him that neither of you had any plans of going back to sleep. Kyle feels Stan's nails dig into his hips and can't help but groan a little at the pain. Those pretty sounds from his lips make Stan's cock jump up at attention, the borrowed basketball shorts do little to hide his growing arousal. Chapped lips trail down Kyle's neck, brushing up against the pulse point on his throat. Kyle's head lulls back expecting Stan to bite down, but all it does is open him up for Stan's lips to continue exploring.

He's so wrapped up in the way Stan makes him feel that he barely registers it when you push his shirt down. The shirt folds and slides down towards his elbows where you leave it. Your lips almost meet Stan's at the same point on his body, right on his shoulder where more freckles cover his skin. When your lips brush against Stan's you let out the sweetest laugh, one Kyle can feel make his heart speed up.

"Was here first~" Stan smirks down at you, nipping at your bottom lip. "I left his neck for you."

You giggle again and push your lips up against his as if to silence him with a kiss. You weave a response in between kisses. "You're the biter Stan, you take his neck."

"Don't talk like I'm- ah!" Kyle yelps when your teeth sink into his chest, right below his collarbone. It cuts his complaints short and turns it into a loud moan.

It's Stan's turn to laugh, a hint of pride in that deep sound. His thumb brushes over the bright red mark left behind, admiring it with a grin. He presses his lips back onto Kyle's skin right at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

"F..Fucking Christ you two. What happened to five more minutes?" Kyle gasps at the warmth left behind Stan's tongue.

"Stan and I had other ideas! You seemed so upset that we did something without you." As sweet as you sounded, the way your nails scraped down his chest and stomach made Kyle groan. "Now we're doing something with you. Isn't this better Ky?"

He wants to respond with a snarky comment, to gain some sense of control over the situation, but his head is spinning. He should be used to this by now, how you and Stan make him feel. But every kiss and hot breath that ghosts his skin makes his heart flutter, it makes him fall that much deeper in love. Especially when he hears praise after praise falls from your lips.

"So pretty."

Was he really? Kyle looked at himself in the mirror that was connected to your dresser. His face was flushed, and his hair was a mess.

"Love those sounds Ky."

His moans? Or the whimpers? Both? He couldn't stop them if he tried.

"Keep you rockin' your hips like that fuck you feel so good."

Just a little friction, something to help relieve his throbbing cock. Something to help Stan's that pushed him forward, forcing his cock to grind against the thin material of your underwear.

"Let’s get this off you."

The desperate whine that escapes his lips turns into a gasp when Stan pushes his sweats down. Your hands follow close behind pushing down his boxers leaving him in nothing but that sleep shirt still draped on his arms. Stan moves his hands off his hips for a moment, he feels the man shift behind him and soon the rustling of clothes close behind. But a second later he feels Stan's arousal against his.

His cock slides up between his legs pressing up against his. Kyle bites his bottom lip as he reaches down to grasp both members in his hand. Deft fingers wrap around them and begin pumping slowly, creating delicious friction. When Stan moans lowly and jerks his hips, it encourages him to go faster. Pre-cum being smeared in-between his hand and their shafts. It was messy but it made him feel so good, so good he didn't want to stop. He could feel that pressure building, pleasure rocking in his stomach in time with Stan's clumsy thrusts. He tightens his hand, squeezing the tips just as his hand comes back up.

It wasn't until he felt Stan's desperate hands grab at his wrist that he realized just how close he was. The hot pleasure that he was building up simmered down to a low heat. Tiny beads of sweat already forming on his chest and down his arms. When he looked down at you, you seemed to be enjoying the show.

Your fingers were dancing up and down his stomach, causing the skin to flex in response. He watched as they traced up towards Stan's arms and up back behind Kyle's head.

"We have all morning now Ky. Relax~ let's take it slow." Stan purred in his ear, low and soft. He felt his face burry into the crook of his neck again.

Kyle closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. Still, that didn't stop him from seeking out something to help his aching cock. He pulls you closer towards his frame, feeling your thighs instinctively spreading enough to where he can slot himself between. A moan escapes you as he slips his fingers down the hem of your underwear. He slips his fingers past the band, immediately seeking out your wetness. Kyle coats his fingers before placing them straight along your clit.

Your hips start to move in sync with his fingers. Grinding against the calloused fingertips, trying to create more friction. The angel of his hand and the fact that you were the only one still dressed made that difficult.

"Help me take this off."

You sound so desperate, how could he not? Hurriedly he removes his fingers from your cunt to assist you in removing what clothes you still had on. As soon as they were thrown off to the side, creating some pile in the corner of your shared bedroom, his fingers were back on you.

The only time his fingers stop their assault is when he feels your body tense. They sneak down, drenching in slick, he pushes them inside of you. Pulling his fingers out of you just enough to where he can slide them back inside. He creates a repetitive motion, curling his fingers against the sweet spot of your walls.

Stan watches from behind him with a humming approval. His own hand reaches out and grips your chin, bringing you closer. Your lips lock together for a brief moment. Gentle soft kisses that come with a warm smile. Your bodies pressed firmly against Kyle.

Stan gives you one last lazy peck on the lips before he moves his hand back down to Kyle's thigh. He nudges his legs open just enough to slip his hard cock up against his backside. There's a moment where he pulls away but it's only a breath. He twists his body back with a small blue bottle of clear gel.

Seconds later he repositions himself behind Kyle. It's like every moan you let out only encourages him. After putting a healthy amount of lube on his cock, Stan aligns himself back up against him. He takes the time to lather the cold gel onto his hole before gently pushing himself in. Kyle slightly winces in response, his body tensing but as he focuses on fingers on you, he relaxes.

"That's it Ky. Relax. I'm gonna make you feel so good." His sweet words coax him. Kyle can only bite his lip and nod.

At the same time, you pull his hand out of your soaked cunt. His fingers coated in your arousal. You smile up at him when his eyes fly down to you. He's worried for a moment, but that look of love and admiration in your eyes makes him relax.

Not wanting you to go far from him, Kyle wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you back against him. He copies Stan's movements and lifts your thigh, tossing your leg over his hip where Stan takes your ankle.

His hand going down to spread your lips where he eagerly guides his tip inside, you both sigh a relieving sigh at the feeling of it. A deep groan sounded from him and Stan both, once he's fully sheathed inside you. Stan rocks his hips forward, pushing in and out carefully. He tries to keep things slow, concentrating on pleasuring you just as much as Stan's giving him.

But the minute he rocks into you, being carried by Stan's momentum, he's commenting on his own desire. "More. Please, hurry up."

You roll your hips in response, hands flying out to be tangled up in his hair. There's that silent conversation that goes on between you and Stan again, one that he can't follow because of how much of a daze he's in. Stan presses a kiss on his cheek, you press one on his chest.

"Anything for you baby." It's the way your voice dips into a sultry purr and the way Stan's hands grab hips. "Like when you beg."

Kyle's seeing stars.

The delicious sounds and desperate use of his name almost sends him overboard. Stan's grip tightens and he picks up his movements, fucking him at a steady pace. Every time Stan drives his cock into him, it pushes his own further into you. Tight walls wrapped around his dick perfectly, like it was made for him.

Your walls stretch and pull him. Accommodating for the thick size, each thrust reaching further inside. Kyle nudges every sweet spot he can to pull more moans from you. The sound of wet skin on skin filled the room. A perfect rhythm and dance created.

It isn't until his name comes out in a choked cry that he knows how close you are. He hits a particular spot that had your vision turning white. That feeling of hot pressure shoots up through your body and down to your feet, you arch your back determined to have him repeat the action. "Th-there! Right there again! Please!"

Drawn-out moans escape his throat encouraging Stan to go faster and him to thrust harder. Your arms wrap around his neck bringing him down for another kiss. Stan's gaze makes it all the hotter, as he patiently waits for his turn. Once you break for air, Kyle doesn't get that luxury because Stan's mouth his on his before he can breathe. Each kiss makes him feel more and more loved.

Kyle has to break the kiss to breathe. To catch his breath and stop the room from spinning. The lack of air leads to the growing pressure building up in his stomach again. He's so close, he can feel his stomach tighten. That familiar warmth pooling at his stomach. He knew Stan was close from the way his hips were beginning to lose their steady rhythm. He wants to hold out. Find a way to cum together, he's not sure why he wants that so badly, but he does.

In seconds of wishful thinking, he feels your body start to tense. Your orgasm building higher and higher, walls constricting around his cock. Kyle watches your eyes flutter shut as a high-pitched whine escapes your lips.

"Close- 'm so close! Gonna cum!"

"Fu-fuck!"

Then like a band stretched too far. He snaps. Kyle lets his climax take over, spilling his load inside of you. The sight alone makes Stan follow shortly after. With a final thrust he buries himself deep inside of him, tightening his arms as he does. Between his blunt nails digging into your thighs and the lazy thrusts, you follow shortly after.

Kyle's heart was racing so loudly it was all he could hear past the soft panting. The out of breath chest heaving up and down in time with one another. He's never felt more connected to anyone before. Through his glossy vision he watches as you're the first to move, slipping off his softening cock. Stan follows behind pulling out of him slowly. Why was his body so spent? He felt so exhausted at that moment.

Your gentle hands move to help clean him, and Stan lifts him up enough to where he's back on his pillows. They've never felt so soft in that moment. He lets his eyes close, and he feels the weight of it all.

"Mm... give… give me a minute and I'll get up." Kyle mumbles in the fluff of the pillows.

"Okay baby. Stan and I are gonna make breakfast. That sound good?"

He doesn't respond. Even his mouth feels too heavy to talk. He just nods and decides to give himself five more minutes. Then he'll get up, grab a cup of coffee, and start his day.

[youreirrelevant]

Virga

pairing: kendall roy/reader

summary: Kendall never really has to be at work on time.

words: 1151

tags: explicit, pwp (sorry...,) established relationship, orgasm denial, morning sex, he's a little mean (maybe more than a little this time,) quick and partially clothed because I have a Problem, some domestic fluff??

a/n: I'm so sorry. I'm working on things more worthwhile but here's whatever this is in the meantime.

Kendall’s getting ready for work.

It’s 5am. You’re slowly waking up, covers brought up under your chin tightly. Cushy and warm. Your eyes will drift shut, but then fabric will shift, a scratchy, almost inaudible sound. A drawer will be drawn; hollow, smooth. You swear your eyes are flung open, but by the time you’re seeing, he’s already in the act of whatever he was beginning to do when the noise was made. Long fingers push beneath his waistband to straighten his shirt; a tie is picked out that he’ll inevitably forego.

This should be routine. Monotony, really, but sometimes, you’re eased from that space into one of almost a third party observer. It’s very intimate; you feel like a voyeur. Privileged to watch him in this space, where not many have seen him. He sits on the edge of the bed and ties his shoes tight. His shoulders tremble a bit with the effort. The hairs at the nape of his neck are longer with new growth. You want to scratch his back.

When he rounds the corner of the bed to come say goodbye, you feel caught. You’ve never been good at pretending to be asleep, or, pretending to have just been asleep, and this knowing, almost suspicious smile slides easily across his face. A wordless, quick kiss before leaving, one that’s usually left as is. But this morning you chase him, sit up straighter in the bed to try and press your lips back to his. He says your name like he’s scolding you, lips pulled away just enough to be noticed, to make a statement, but his eyes glitter, pinch a little in delight.

“I never ask you for anything-“

“Uh-huh-“

“Just- just five minutes?”

The bed sinks a little as his knee presses into it. It’s almost a shot of adrenaline- your stomach heats, scalp tingles, body comes alive with anticipation. The thrill of success.

“Five minutes?”

He’s leaning in over you, smile warm with affection.

“Well- maybe six?”

He doesn’t laugh, but he huffs through his nose and kisses you again and that’s good enough. Your body’s still stiff and sore from sleep, but you roll and lean up into him, and the tip of his nose feels good when it nudges against your cheek, into your aching sinuses. His hand is up under your shirt, palm pressed against the heft of your breast and lifting, fingertips dimpling the skin, just enough to make your stomach clench. You’re trying to be respectful of the effort he’s put into getting ready; your hands are on his neck, pads of your fingers against the back to pull him forward, the rest to gently guide him. Its like you were consciously made to wait during your sleeping hours- and that you were conscious of it. When his tongue smooths over yours, you moan.

Kendall’s phone is in his hand almost the same second he’s pulling away. You watch him open up the clock app, set a fucking timer for five minutes. He taps the screen as he sets it down onto the bed beside you, starting it. 

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” he sounds firm-

But you don’t take it seriously at all. 

The illusion of urgency did make it so much more exciting, though. Rushing and struggling around each other to get naked enough. Panting, giggling when you bump a knee against a leg, an elbow against a chest. When the leather of his shoes catches on the sheets as he tries to separate your legs even further. 

He’s so big you feel it in your hips. It sets all your joints ablaze, makes you sob. Your knees tremble, liquified. He grunts and tips your hips to make this easier for him, to give him easier access to the places that make you cry. 

“Is that good?”

“Yeah-“

A hand runs over your thigh.

“You’re shaking already,” he’s making fun of you.

You laugh, the sound little more than wobbly puffs of air.

“Yeah it’s just really- mmph- really hitting the spot?” It was stupid and meant to be a joke but you still flush at it, especially when his laughter seems almost startled. “You know?” 

“Well I hope this, uh, satiates you- that it’s enough for you.”

The head of his cock nudges some spot that practically makes you jump. Makes your clit throb in this near-sharp, maroon tenderness. The crisp neatness of his appearance has been forgotten, your fingers gripping the back of his shirt so tight the wrinkles might be set into the fabric forever. He bites your neck hard, in that spot beneath the junction of your ear and jaw. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to pull away, when that timer goes off, or even long after. You’re begging him not to already, saying please, sounding so fraught, over and over in this way that makes him moan, that compels him in ways little else does.

But then, it goes off, and something else compels him, too. 

“That’s five minutes,” he says it like you didn’t know, or trust him. Like he feels sorry for you that the time had passed. Your hand reaches over, struggles to grab the phone to stop what you were sure was the loudest, most abrasive alarm ever made. He's still going, slower, maybe to see if you could get there, definitely not just because it makes him melt to see how badly you need him.

“N-no it hasn’t been,” there’s real desperation there, but you’re also positive he’s messing around, and that you’re just playing along. 

“Please-“

He isn’t, though. He stops completely, sees the way you slump in disbelief, hurt. It’s mean but he grins, teeth pressing into his lip, cheeks, into his vision. When he slips out you both can’t help but look, see the way he’s still hard -it aches, honestly- see the shine on him and the way it beads in certain places. It looks even pinker nestled between the opened fly of his cool toned slacks. You both make a noise at it- a whimper, a staggered breath. You push yourself to sit upright but he still pulls away, feels his fingers itch with the urge to wrap around himself and tug- it’d probably only take a few times, the rush of denying you almost better than giving you what you want.

Instead, he stands beside the bed, clenches his jaw as he attempts to right himself, trembling and panting, cheeks and lips flushed. Somehow he finds it within himself to ignore the way you’re practically prostrating yourself for him on the bed, chest flush with the sheets, hips raised above, less to entice him and more to stop yourself from grinding against the fabric for something. It feels silly, but your eyes sting.

“Kendall-“

He kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t really have to be on time.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

[kasha-an]

[ The post ]

[the-blind-geisha]

You're the Inspiration - Chapter 19

She sighed out her relief. “Goodness. I was unaware beyond Boolossus you had other things to protect your home.”

“It slipped my mind that they had forgotten my orders, it’s been so long since anybody ventured through the front yard. Bone piranhas don't have excellent memories beyond taste and smell, and even that can be debated. My apologies.”

Looking the bone piranhas up and down, she noticed how subdued they suddenly became. Almost like calm pets that didn't mean any harm. “What are their names?”

“Bubbles and Cricket.”

She stifled a small laugh at hearing such cute names for two fierce looking piranhas. “Really?” At that point, she couldn't help but get down on her knees, wondering if they would be less likely to snap at her if she was a bit lower to the ground and less frightening in stance.

“Don’t look at me like that,” King Boo scolded with a teasing sneer. “The boo children named them. Not me.”

“Which one is which and how can any of you tell?”

“Cricket is missing a tooth, and Bubbles is not.”

Spying one of them (appearing) to look in her direction, she outstretched her hand just to see what it would do. King Boo hadn't told her not to, and if anybody knew their behavior the best, it would be him.

“That one is Cricket,” King Boo said, noticing the one coming closer to her.

Cricket’s mouth inched towards her open palm, moving it against the skin to look for something. It was no doubt searching for food, but upon finding nothing, it pulled away. It didn't stop Bubbles from getting closer in interest too in hopes for something. That one seemed far more energetic in its search for a treat, and once finding nothing, it huffed in a way that almost made it sound like a sneeze.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she chuckled, realizing they were indeed looking for food in her hand and not her attempt to have them adjust to her smell.

“Boouie will feed them later. Don’t worry about giving them anything,” King Boo insisted.

Chapter 19

[wh1spic]

Am i the only one who hates reader inserts? Like I read this cause I wanna escape the problems in my life, not have to envision myself having a spectacular variety of other fucked up problems!

[8-rae-rae-8]

I always find it a little annoying when you filter out the tags that you don't like, and are only left with 1/4 (if that) of what had been there

[sifs-left-eye]

I SWEAR I AM A REAL ACCOUNT AND NOT A BOT IM JUST PRESSED FOR TIME I DONT WANT TO DECORATE RN PLEASE //

Ok I will actually turn this into an introduction page. Hi I’m Lucia! I use any pronouns, my main is bowlingpinlane. Please be aware I don’t tag spoilers on things I reblog on here (but I’ll def try to on things I post) happy to talk to anyone!

I don’t have a dni but please assume if you’re racist/sexist/homophobic or a trumpie I do not want to talk to you

--------

To-Do Fic List Before I explode into a hundred tiny bits (these have spoilers take caution!!):

ISAT reader inserts:

Isekai AU: Some normal person with a 9 to 5 retail job suffers a fatal accident. The Universe decides this is the perfect person to be the help Loop was calling for and throws them in.

Was intended as a loop x reader but is now more of a long term friendship fic Protagonist AU: Siffrin wishes for someone else to carry the timeloop burden. The Universe decides if you want something done you gotta do it yourself and sends down a teeny tiny piece of themselves to deal with the king on their own.

My interpretation of if isat had a protagonist empty enough that the player could project themselves onto

[toupee-or-nottoupee]

the funny behavior of liking x readers/self inserts but also having no desire for romance and being worried abt writing it

[montrosepretty]

If I’m being fully honest we’re like two adjacent timelines away from the universe where I’d be out there writing lady godwin/reader. However it still isn’t our universe so you’ll have to use your imagination on this one

[juicystarfruit]

Need this reblogged constantly.

~~Let me have my non-binary smut and eat it too, god damn it.~~

if it's good enough for you, then it deserves to be made. don't let anyone else decide if your story is worth it or not.

[minhosimthings]

im just a girl 🎀

i started a hyune drabble which is so damn poetic because i have intense writer's block

[aesrot]

dang it, i shouldve waited until i knew about those rp and x reader tiktoks and character.ai and those sexy rp asmr videos/podcasts when i wrote my thesis, theres so much more to talk abt this