eiri-ri - Tumblr blog

eiri-ri · 4 months ago

Note

hey I love your stories (I live on them). Can I make a request? Can you write a Zayne Fic where the Zayne is tired and she is giving him a massage but that massage escalates into a full blown love making. But Zayne is letting her top him, he let's her take control while he sits back and enjoy the so called massage. Squeezing his chest and then teasing him by squeezing his thigh muscles and maybe his *cakes* too...hehehe

know better

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: zayne x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ WORD COUNT: 2.2k unedited | ao3

━ .ᐟ✧ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, massage m!receiving, reader tops zayne, spanking, unprotected seggs, butt fondling m!receiving

━ ✧.˖ A/N: in honor of zayne's main story branch <3 again i don't typically take requests but i may start doing shorter scenarios like this! so feel free to send them :) hope everyone is having a good zayne day!! i haven't done the new story yet, but plan to soon! i don't mind spoilers so feel free to yap in my messages or inbox. this is not edited.

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

“Let me take care of you.”

Zayne should have known better than to trust those angelically unassuming words, his devilish little minx. But the thought of your delicate fingers kneading into his tense bundles of muscles, after he’d been on his feet for a 10 hour surgery, was too heavenly to give up.

He should’ve known you were up to something when you straddled him in just your panties, claiming you didn’t want to get your shorts greasy with the self-heating massage oil.

“Sweetheart…” he’d warned as your hands danced down the arch of his lower back, hissing as your nails grazed the contours of his back muscles. The feeling of your bare thighs sitting against the sensitive skin of the underside of his ass was enough to have him growing harder by the second.

He definitely should’ve known you were up to no good when your fingers cupped his rear, digging in so perfectly that he couldn’t help the sinful groan that escaped his lips.

He tensed so adorably that you couldn’t help but continue to rub soothing circles into the plush mound of his ass. His strong glute muscles would squeeze every time you came close to the edges of his cheeks, daring yourself to go further.

“I should’ve known you were up to no good,” Zayne moaned, his words muffled as his face pressed into the towel you had laid out on your shared mattress.

You giggle, using your nails to gently rake up and down his rear, biting your lip as you can visibly see the goosebumps form on his pale skin. You bend down to press a kiss into his waist, dangerously close to unchartered territory.

Luckily for him, you save that for another night. Though it wasn’t necessarily something Zayne was opposed to, he was far too exhausted tonight to indulge in such unfamiliar endeavors. For tonight, he just wanted to submit to the pleasures of comforting intimacy.

Though he couldn’t deny, the idea of exploring new heights of pleasure with you left him flustered and excited, evident by the way his now painfully hard cock was pressed into the bed as you straddled him.

You begin to kiss up his spine, pressing your lips into his shoulder blades as you whisper into his neck.

“Does it not feel good?”

Zayne groans at your feigned innocence, his face turning to the side to try and catch your lips as they breathe into his sensitive neck. Your presence was having the opposite effect on him. With you around, he was more pent up than ever.

But to his dismay, you pull back with an adorable grin on your face, returning your attention to the task at hand.

You get off his thighs, “Turn over, please.”

Zayne hesitates, but knows better than to deny you. You had him wound so tightly around your fingers that there’d be no point to try and hide from you. Hide the way he was very much…pent up.

So when he finally does turn over, he doesn’t even try to cover his angrily erect cock. It stands so proud against his stomach, demanding attention.

Zayne sits up on his elbows, his abdomen quivering as he breathes heavily. His eyes, intense and smoldering, watch you carefully, anticipating your next move. Glistening beads of pre drip down his cock like a melting popsicle, as if daring you for more.

“Well? Will you take care of me, my love?”

And that was a request you could absolutely never refuse.

Zayne’s skin is slick against yours, creating the most filthy clapping of skin against skin as you bounce on his lap. His face is buried in your chest, teeth capturing your poor and abused nippeles as he holds you tight, his thick forearms wrapped around your waist.

He fights to keep his thighs still, wanting to let you “take care of him” like you so desperately asked to do. Though you have a paced rhythm, he wishes you’d go harder.

Zayne leans back against the headboard of the bed, relinquishing your sweet and tender skin from his lips. His eyes can’t help but wander south, watching your thighs quiver as they bounce eagerly on his own bulging muscles.

“You’re doing so well, beautiful,” he praises with starstruck eyes, hypnotized by the ripples of your thighs against his cleanly shaven pelvis. Your body never failed to amazon him, even as a physician and surgeon. The way your perfect taut walls could take all of him in; it was nothing short of mind-blowing.

“Y-Yeah?” you whine, body tightening at the surgeon’s praises, “Does it feel good, Zayne?” Your hips roll furiously against him, eyes falling into your skull when his curved cock strokes against your spongy g-spot.

“Ah – You’re just what I needed,” Zayne grunts, eyes now watching the way your beautiful breasts bounce, right in front of his face like a damn taunt, “You’re dangerous.”

Your hips stutter at the guttural growl in his tone, his throat bobbing as he watches you, “What do you – ahngh – mean?”

Zayne grips your chin to steady your dreary head, watching with an amused glint in his hazel eyes as you start to lose yourself to the please, your rhythm faltering.

“I don’t expect people to be accepting of the idea that their surgeon is thinking about this,” Zayne grabs your clit, his hand slipping between your oiled bodies, “When he’s treating them.”

Your body convulses against Zayne’s expertly twisting fingers, as you nearly double over at his lewd confessions, “N-No! Let me.”

Zayne chuckles, knowing you want to be the one to take care of him.

Reluctantly, he removes his fingers, settling his palms on your waist instead, looking up at you with all the wondrous adoration in the world reflected in his eyes.

“Show me, sweetheart. Show me how you want to take care of me.”

His demanding purr fuels you with a need to prove yourself, your hips moving with renewed eagerness. With every roll of your pelvis, you clit brushes against the forming stubble on his crotch, sending sparks of pain singed euphoria straight into your core. It fizzles all throughout your body, making your fingertips numb with a pleasure you’re all too familiar with,

A pleasure Zayne has brought upon your body too many times to count.

Zayne groans at the feeling of your slick smearing messily against him, your bodies so slippery and sweaty with torrid pleasure. Though he wished he could take control, show you how badly he needed to pound against your cervix, force his way into your womb, watching you so prettily sob as you bounced atop him was nearly just as blissful.

Your soft skin shines so beautifully before him, a heavenly light reflected against your resplendent curves. Zayne is so suddenly consumed with the need to feel your plush flesh against his itching fingers.

He takes two fistfulls of your ass, biting the inside of his cheek as he watches you with hooded lids. The sounds of your moans in response to his possessive hold ignites him with the need for more.

So as you rock onto his thick manhood for all he’s worth, his palm comes down onto your ass with a force that makes your entire body quake. His hand comes down so strongly against the globes of your rear that the massage oil on your skin splashes, creating darkened splatters on the fabric of Zayne’s expensive comforter.

You’re so surprised by his actions that your bounces flutter to a halt, your throat eliciting a choked squeal of surprise and arousal. Your fingers dig into Zayne’s shoulders, the sting of his hand spider webbing from your ass, spreading all the way up to your spine.

Zayne nearly cums right then and there, feeling just how excited and tight your cunt coiled against his cock, from him spanking you. But he bites his cheek, fighting the way his manhood fights to release inside you and the way his fingers itch with the need to spank you again.

“So tight,” he chokes out, cock lurching inside you, fighting against how fucking good you feel against him, how tightly you’re wound by him spanking you, “Hah – do you like it when I do that, sweetheart?”

Zayne had never been aroused by the idea of inflicting pain on you, even during sex. He’d never had the urge to spank you, never really saw the appeal in it. The most sadistic tendencies he had when making love to you was to grab your throat, squeezing just barely enough to make you whine.

But now as you tighten in excitement in response to him smacking the soft fat of your ass, nodding so damn eagerly, as if you want him to spank you more…it’s enough to turn Zayne into a sadist.

So when you falter, nearly coming undone by the surprise of his demanding palm, Zayne’s hand comes down on you again. On impact, his fingers dig in, grabbing two handfuls of your luscious skin, forcing you to rock onto him. He helps you up and down, fingers soothing circles into the stinging skin that he’d struck.

At this point you’re no longer doing any of the work, Zayne’s strong hands jostle you up and down, fucking you onto his cock like his precious little doll. Your body is far too gone, far too delirious from your newfound obsession with the way Zayne can blend pain and pleasure. You’re only capable of fucked out sobs, your head coming to lean against Zayne’s muscled chest as you come ever so close to your release.

As Zayne rubs soothing circles into your prickling skin, he whispers huskily into your ear.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs, voice tinged with his own desperate need to release, “I’m always thinking about the next time I get to be inside you.”

“But I want to take care of you,” he pleads, giving your ass one last gentle smack, as if he can’t hold his hands back from the feeling of your delicious skin, “Will you let me do that?”

Zayne lifts your chin to look at him, his golden green eyes shiny with a fervent desperation, expecting you to answer him even though you were clearly in no state to speak.

When your mouth flaps open and shut, Zayne chuckles, pressing your head back into his warm chest, cradling you so gently as if he wasn’t actively rearranging your guts. He buries his face into the top of your head, enjoying the way your pheromones invade his senses and fill him with the animalistic need to mark you with his cum.

“I’m going to fill you up, okay?” he breathes into your hair, “Don’t waste any of it.”

You nod vigorously, relieved you can finally let your orgasm take over.

“I-I can take it all!” you squeal as he bounces you harder, desperate to cum himself, “I’ll be good Zayne, please!”

A growl rips from Zayne’s throat as a deafening smack! reverberates as he spanks you one last time, “Yes you can, that’s my girl.”

As the sting ripples out from your ass, you come so violently undone all over Zayne’s lap, the wet paps of his continued movements making your release smear everywhere.

Between that and the massage oil, it’s a slippery and moist mess of unfiltered heat. Zayne doesn’t take long to follow behind, pressing his lips to yours hungrily as he shoots inside of you. He’s so eager that his teeth knock into yours, but you barely notice, only focussed on the way his seed fills you, his cum so contrastingly hot compared to the icy feel of his skin against yours.

Zayne squeezes you so tightly against his body as he comes undone, making it nearly impossible for you to breathe. His moans are choked, strangled as if he himself is struggling to breathe. His hands slowly come to a stop, cock stilling as it spurts its very last drop.

Your bodies heave against one another, Zayne’s breath hot against your ear. He presses a languid kiss into your pulse, sighing in bliss.

With the last of your strength, you use your fingers to dig gently into Zayne’s back, trying to smooth out the remaining knots in his muscles. Your head is still propped against Zayne’s pecs, your thighs caging his, and your cunt still snugly wrapped around him.

Zayne groans at the feeling, “What are you doing?”

You mumble tiredly against his heartbeat, “Need t’finish your massage.”

Zayne curses, grabbing a hold of your wrists in his long and slender fingers. You look at him in surprise, eyes wide in question.

“I’ve had back to back surgeries every night this week.”

“I know,” you tilt your head in confusion, “That’s why I want to finish your massage.”

Zayne sighs in frustration, before leaning into your neck, your wrists still captured by his grasp.

“Do you have any idea how…starved I am? You’re provoking a ravenous animal right now.”

The realization of just how touch-starved Zayne has become this last week sinks in. How even the innocent touch of your hands against his back has him alert and ready inside you. Your stomach flutters.

“Then…let me take care of you.”

And even though Zayne should have known better, he can’t help but once again give into the whims of the woman who had him utterly and completely wrapped around her finger.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

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eiri-ri · 4 months ago

Text

Overc*mming Writer's Block 2

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

♱⋅── zayne x reader

♱⋅── tags: smut, teasing, oral, cunnilingus, road head, car sex woohoo, pwp

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

♱⋅── word count: 6.6K

art credit to @/kaito_aii on X

This is the last time you have sex on a weekday.

When Zayne left your apartment last night, you tried to write while the aftereffects of everything he did to you- everything he watched you do- still lingered. But you were beyond distracted, unable to even sit still without being assaulted with vivid flashbacks, a mix of mortification and lust coursing anew.

You shut your laptop and scream into your pillow.

Only after feeling sufficiently lightheaded do you shut off the lights and try to sleep, but the damned thing avoids you like the plague, and you stare at the ceiling for an untimed eternity. Everything feels wrong. Your blanket feels too thick, your skin too tight, the entire room too warm, too empty.

You don’t get more than three hours of sleep that night.

But it should be common knowledge that hospitals rest for no one, and you jolt out of bed to the sound of your pager beeping, rushing in while the sky is still dark.

The ambulance pulls in at the same time you do and the paramedics are already yelling out the status to everyone at the bay: forty-three-year-old male, chest trauma, performing CPR. It’s a race, a rush and rhythm you know well. You’re scrubbed down and entering the operating room alongside two other surgeons. The patient is intubated and they give the countdown before cutting him open.

It took two and a half hours to perform the surgery and stop all the internal bleeding, and by the end of it, you were exhausted, both physically and mentally.

But this was the most in control you’ve felt for a while. A sharp sort of stress that forced your hands into a trained precision and your mind into a rigorous sort of calm. It was almost as though you became a different person entirely, one you both admire and hate.

She’s calm and collected, only speaking when needed in commands to the operating room. She demands respect. She is who your mother is proud of, who you were supposed to be.

You’ve only just washed your hands and finished debriefing when you feel that half of you begin to slip away once more. And as the stress leaves, your mind wanders back to last night. To Zayne.

Thoughts that haunt you for the rest of the morning.

Finally, the clock hits eight and the ER is busy with the morning crowd. You do what you can until the other residents clock in, leaving to finally eat breakfast and get some sort of caffeine before your headache gets any worse.

Luckily, the vending machine has your favorite melonpan and green tea, and you get two of each. Sitting down, open your laptop and begin eating in the hallway outside the surgery bay, your manuscript staring right back at you, mocking.

Your eyes burn holes through the cursor blinking at the top of the page, and you try to will yourself to just type something, anything, but it doesn't work, and you end up slamming the computer shut with a sigh.

Unintentionally, your male lead has begun to resemble Zayne more and more- not physically, at least- but in his little mannerisms, his overly formal speech habit, and even his uncharacteristic love of sweets. Your lips quirk up at the memory.

But speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Zayne comes from the other end of the hallway, looking like he also might be coming out from a surgery. He’s only meters away when his eyes lock onto yours.

You straighten against the chair, a shiver of heat racing down your spine as his mere presence sends an onslaught of flashbacks that are nothing short of sinful.

Stop. What happened last night is part of a professional, mutually beneficial deal. Zayne is still your mentor— your boss too, in some contexts— and you refuse to have these thoughts about him in your place of work.

Smiling, your fingers still against the keyboard as you hope the whole thing doesn’t look as strained as it feels.

Zayne looks the opposite of amused. If anything, he appears pissed.

His gaze narrows on you, and for a second, you think you spot something else behind the cold indifference. But the look passes as quickly as it appeared, his face back to its usual stony expression, and you must have imagined it.

“Good morning, Dr. Zayne,” you say.

Zayne stalls, shoulders tensing for a moment before he nods and continues walking. He doesn’t spare you another glance as he passes, doesn’t say another word, the awkward tension so thick it almost makes you choke on your melonpan.

Your eyes trail after him until he rounds the corner.

Well, that went splendidly.

You try to type again, but it turns out your brain is a useless lump of flesh because no matter how many times you read over the paragraph, the words fail to register. You huff out an exasperated breath, slam the laptop shut, and drag yourself to your office to prepare for rounds.

Even so, you go through your morning routine with a strained smile, a newfound weight pulling against your chest, a sharp sort of pain between guilt and longing you’ve never felt before.

Zayne is going to lose his fucking mind.

He is an adult, he reminds himself. A well-mannered, respectful, professional adult.

So why can’t he stop imagining your face underneath him as you come undone? Why can’t he get the memory of every sound you made, the overly sweet way you said his name, the very cadence of your voice out of his head?

And the way you said please.

Zayne grinds his teeth hard enough that something clicks in the back of his jawbone, his usual flat expression twisted with a scowl that sends other doctors and residents scrambling out from his path. His clipboard groans under the pressure from his grip, and Zayne can’t make it to his private office fast enough before he slams the door shut and drags his palm down his face.

He sees you every time he closes his eyes.

“Fuck.”

Zayne swore to himself that helping you would change nothing in the workplace, and yet clearly, only one of you was mature enough to hold that part of your deal up.

This must be a new level of depravity Zayne never assumed he would stoop to.

But it had been torture to only watch you last night. A beautiful, painful torture he would subject himself to again and again and again just for the chance to have you writhing against him like that once more.

The way your doe eyes had practically begged for him to fuck you all on their own when he forced you to look up nearly made him come in his trousers. And thank god you were too far gone to notice how desperate he was, grinding insistently against your bedsheets while you came around his fingers. And now…

And now Zayne was fucking hard again in his office of all places.

It was a wonder he got anything done anymore.

Zayne hasn't had a lover in years and it's beginning to wear him thin. And yet, the idea of finding someone else to satiate his needs doesn’t appeal to him in the slightest. Not when his mind is so consumed with the thought of you, and the sounds you made, the way you looked at him, the way your eyes would roll to the back of your head every time he curled his fingers into that spot inside of you.

God, he should have just asked you out on a date first.

Restraint had come easy to him. Zayne was practically raised on it, his very life dependent on his ability to restrain his Evol, the lives of others dependent on his patience and restraint in the operating room.

But no, when it came to you, everything failed him.

Maybe he had been a little harsh this morning. Zayne doesn’t know. He doesn't want to think about it.

Running a hand through his hair, Zayne imagines bumping into you again. Would you still be happy to see him, smiling as you did this morning, or would you ignore him just as he did you?

“About this morning,” Zayne stops, restarts. “I’m sorry for avoiding conversation earlier today.” A groan, “No, I can’t begin like that. This morning I wasn’t myself, there was a patient who required percutaneous coronary intervention and the stress must have gotten to me.”

He tries again, and again, gesturing to his empty office before dragging a palm down his face. “I must be going insane.”

Zayne has never felt more foolish in his life.

He doesn't even have the excuse of a lack of experience in this field. In his previous relationships, he was always the one to initiate dates and intimacy, and it was the same with any relation that had lasted longer than one night.

But you are different.

The thought of taking his time with you makes him weak. To finally have your legs wrapped around his waist, to finally hear his name on your lips, to finally have your body pressed flush against his and hear you beg for him once more.

He wants to do so much more for you, wants you to use him as you need, to take and take everything he has to give. Wants to surrender to your every whim and every outrageous idea you’ve ever had floating around in that unpredictable head of yours. Wants to taste you, and see if you taste as sweet as you sound when you beg.

Wants to know how your cunt feels and what face you would make when he finally, finally fucks you.

God, Zayne wants to ruin you.

He wants so badly it drives him mad.

Zayne can't avoid you, and he shouldn’t. There are still matters to discuss for your novel and a deal to hold up. He is a man of his word.

A date.

That could work. Just a way to get closer, as colleagues, as partners.

You would have to spend time together outside the hospital, where the air is clear of any distractions and expectations and Zayne can get his head on straight. Even moreso, it should be something nice, something that will hopefully take your mind off your impending deadline.

Right, that would be perfect. An opportunity to simply be providing you with the proper inspiration and guidance, as a good mentor should, and keep his end of the deal should you ask for another inspiration session.

Turning back in his chair, Zayne begins filtering through his email and paper files, until something slips from the growing stack.

The annual charity gala.

As a resident yourself, you were likely already invited, so proposing the two of you go together shouldn’t be too ostentatious, right?

Zayne stares down at the gilded gold lettering.

No. It was definitely out of line in so many ways. But the only other option was to continue down this path, to continue fooling himself that he only agreed to be your fuck buddy out of courtesy and care, and not these wretched thoughts that plauge his every waking moment.

It would mean he’d be completely at your mercy for seeing you next, whenever you needed him. Or his body, at least.

Zayne doesn’t have the willpower to last that long. Besides, this is more efficient.

So, Zayne opens the letter, pulls the invitation card from its envelope, and begins drafting an email to you in hopes of preserving a little bit of his dignity.

He didn’t even have to wait an hour to get your response: you said yes.

______

Zayne opens the car door for you, ever the gentleman.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you take extra care not to snag the hem of your cocktail dress on your heels or the door. By the time you buckle your seat belt, and the car roars to life, dashboard glowing a soft orange.

"Ready?" Zayne asks, adjusting his cuff as he begins to reverse out of the parking spot.

It’s the first time Zayne has formally invited you to be his plus one, and the thought of being seen beside him like this- at such a formal gala, no less- is all at once thrilling and nauseating.

Zayne steals another glance at you, and where your hands lay clenched in your lap. "It’s just a hospital event, you may very well see other residents there."

A laugh. "I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse."

Even without the extra stress from attending this gala, your stomach has been in knots all day long-- your manuscript is due in less than a week. You’ve written a lot, and Zayne’s hands-on “experience” helped you get ample inspiration for most of the main scenes. Yet you can feel the deadline creeping up, the sense of impending doom looming over you.

Of course Zayne notices. "We'll try and have fun, it's just a couple of hours. I heard they also have billiard tables, if you’re interested?” A tap on the steering wheel, then he adds, a little quieter, “Your dress is nice. The color suits you.”

You smile, but your eyes don’t leave the road. Instead, you seem to zone out on the row of streetlights, shadows cast over your face as they pass by, one by one.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, doctor.”

Zayne continues. “Tell me more about your novel’s progress, then. If you need any more assistance…” he trails off, and you feel a prickling heat creep up the back of your neck. Finally, you look away from the window, and Zayne relaxes against his seat.

So you begin to tell him about the newest trope your editor wants you to include, a classic in enemies-to-lovers books: forced proximity. “The concept is great. Who doesn’t love it when the two characters who swear they hate each other accidentally get stuck together and turned on at the worst possible time?”

You ramble, propping your arm against the car armrest as you turn to face Zayne. "So,” you say, ”I'm trying to think of ways they could find themselves in such a situation. Maybe they're cornered by guards or captured by a mutual enemy, or we combine the classic injury trope so they can’t move.”

"That is one option," he says, eyes still on the road. A turn, and Zayne shifts gears as the car speeds ahead.

“A classic my mind says no, but my body says yes dilemma.” You debate telling Zayne about the premise around aphrodisiacs and sex pollen, but you think that really might be pushing him too far. You are in a car, after all, and an accident is the last thing you want.

Instead, you ask, "Have you read any enemy-to-lover books?"

He shrugs. "I've had some experience."

"I'm sure you have."

Zayne shoots you a sharp look. Your smile grows, slow and wicked.

"And I've done a bit of research," he clarifies, voice flat just to prove a point.

"Right, research."

"Well, to best help you, I thought…” Zayne’s brows furrow as he merges lanes, letting the blinking of the indicator fill the silence before clearing his throat. “I thought reading a book or two in the same field would help me understand your own book better. I must say yours is far better written than some of these popular novels.”

The mental image of Zayne sneaking a read at some filthy romantasy book has you giggling.

"And you’re sure that's the reason?”

"Of course," he says, though his face is slightly pink.

You feign suspicion, poking at Zayne’s arm. "What if this whole time, you’ve been hunting me down as a means to read my unreleased books? Then the only reason you agreed to this arrangement is because you're secretly a stalker fan."

"Interesting theory,” a smirk, one you see pull at the corner of Zayne’s lips. “But not the only reason."

"Oh? What’s the other then?"

Zayne smiles, the dim light from the dashboard sharpening his features. Another turn, you spare a glance at the GPS only to see you’re nearly at the gala venue. But still, no answer came, not as Zayne seemed to refocus on the road, shifting gears as the light turns green.

You groan, “You’re not even listening anymore.”

“I am.” Zayne shoots you a look from the corner of his eye, one hand leaving the wheel to rest against your thigh. “There is, however, a difference between listening and answering.”

But now it’s your turn to stop listening. You can’t, not when his thumb does that thing again, tracing mindless circles against your inner thigh while he looks back at the road.

It does something, to have his hand there, warm and heavy. Something that has your thighs pressing together, heat creeping down your neck.

Zayne catches the motion. Of course, he does. And he squeezes, just a little.

And then a brilliantly wretched idea hits you.

"Do you have any suggestions?" You ask, trying to keep your tone innocent, even as you part your thighs just a little further. "I mean, you did research and all. Surely, you remember something useful about the plots. Or the sex scenes."

"The sex scenes," Zayne echoes, his voice tight.

"Well, yes. They're kind of important. They're why people buy the books." You lick your lips. "For example, surely one of those books you read for research had interesting forbidden tropes?"

"It's likely." His jaw ticks. "You'll have to be more specific.”

"Well..." you draw the word out, shifting in your seat. “You know where else would be a really inappropriate place for a character to get a boner?” Reaching over, you glide your hand up Zayne’s thigh, mirroring his placement on your own. “In a car, doctor.”

Zayne thanked every god for their mercy the moment he got to a red light, car jolting to a halt as he eyed you with a frown.

“Behave," he scolds. "This is beyond reckless."

The genuine frustration edged into Zayne’s voice makes you hesitate, and you move to sit up, retreating your hand from his thigh when it brushes past something unmistakably hard.

You feel Zayne tense beneath you, the car jerking forward before speeding along as though nothing had happened. Oh, but your lips cracked into a vicious grin as you stretched your way fully over the center console, wriggling your ass in the air on the far side of the seat.

Really, you should have realized that the stern, self-deprived Zayne gets off on scolding you as much as you did.

You watch him closely, but despite his harsh words, he never moves to actually stop you. So you continue, scraping your nails up his trousers as your mouth follows, hot breath leaving damp spots against the expensive cotton as Zayne’s thigh jumps under your touch.

God, the click of his belt coming undone elicited a nearly Pavlovian response at this point, the sound of metal on metal making something in your core flutter. You waste no time going for his zipper, palming at the bulge straining into your touch as it pushes out from between the metal all on its own.

Zayne laments all the trust you placed in him as a driver. Despite being only minutes from the venue, he swore he was gripping the steering wheel hard enough for it to snap. A car behind him honks and Zayne swears under his breath, thoughts clouding over as your hands finish sliding his zipper down, gently palming at his cock as he inhales sharply at the feeling of your hot breath over clothed skin.

And the moan Zayne lets out when you lick the head of his cock is enough to have you gushing. But you never take him any deeper, blocked by your position over the passenger seat, settling with unsatisfactory kitten licks up and down his length, leaving sloppy marks without ever speeding up.

Zayne shudders, huffing in frustration and restraint as he unconsciously tries to buck himself into your mouth, failing due to the awkward side angle you placed yourself in. Instead, you splay your hands over his lower belly, untucking his shirt as your fingers rub against his v-line, as you begin to suck just barely over this throbbing head.

“You shouldn’t– fuck." His jaw flexes, and his fingers are white-knuckled, the veins in his forearms standing out with the strain.

The shock of hearing Zayne curse was almost a physical blow. The word was spoken more like a prayer than a profanity, something desperate and violent caught in his throat, a warning and plea all at once. It made something hot coil deep in your gut.

It made you want to push him further.

You must have made some type of sound muffled over his cock because Zayne hisses, his hand coming down from the steering wheel to grab at your hair, fingers threading into your scalp and pulling, just enough to hurt.

"You are absolutely insufferable." Zayne's voice breaks into a moan. "Stop teasing me."

You pull off of him with a wet pop, sitting up and wiping the drool from your chin. "But I’m hardly doing anything. Don’t tell me you’re getting so hard just from a few kisses."

"Reckless. Lack of foresight. Do I need to teach you how to behave like an adult?" Zayne's grip on the steering wheel tightens, his jaw clenching. You can practically feel the heat radiating off him.

"No," you lean forward and kiss the head, lips wrapping around it as you swirl your tongue. Zayne's foot presses down on the gas and the car jerks forward. "But maybe I could use some help learning my lesson."

You swallow him down, and his hips jump. Humming around him, Zayne’s cock twitches, and before you can stabilize yourself he’s pushing your head down further. You don’t think he realizes he’s doing it, not with the way his hips stutter upwards, thickly corded muscles of his thighs tensing as you nearly choke.

Another broken moan fills the car alongside the wet sounds of your mouth, drool leaking from the corners of your lips as his cock bumps the back of your throat. You gag, and Zayne’s grip on your head finally loosens, the wheels spinning over loose gravel as you pull off just to breathe.

You can't see him, not with the angle, but the feeling of his eyes on you, burning into the side of your face, and the heavy throb of his cock against your tongue was enough to know just how close he is.

You're so distracted, tears blurring your vision, that you don't notice the car has stopped, not until Zayne's other hand is reaching over to cup your jaw, forcing your mouth off his cock and forcing your head up to look at him.

The moment your eyes meet, he frowns, thumb rubbing across your bottom lip, cleaning your smeared lipstick and spit from your ministrations. "Look at you," he hums. "What a mess."

The nearby spots in the lot are empty, but you’ve arrived early, and you can see cars parking close enough to send your heart racing.

You glance at the clock- seven forty-six- and you know despite how Zayne’s windows are tinted, it would take someone looking over from a meter or so away to see the two of you, to see the way Zayne's hands are fisted in your hair, to see you arched over the middle console, to see how hard he was and hear the slick, wet noises you made around his cock.

You nearly yelp as Zayne pushes you off his lap, messily tucking himself back into his trousers before climbing out the door. It shuts with a bang and you’re about to scramble up when you hear the passenger door open and are roughly hauled out of the car and slung over Zayne’s shoulder.

You don’t even have time to scream. The next thing you know, you're being tossed on your back into the back seat, barely having time to right yourself before Zayne follows you, door slamming shut. He's pulling at your dress, bunching the fabric up and around your waist before dragging you under him.

“Did I not satisfy you thoroughly enough last time?” Zayne scolds between breaths, teeth scraping over your pulse point before he bites down. “Or perhaps what I should have realized is that you’re simply a filthy little girl who gets off on being punished?”

The sound you let out is obscene, a whiny moan that has Zayne groaning as he pulls away, his mouth slick and shiny with spit. He grinds his cock against your stomach, his hand coming around your throat and forcing you to face him.

It’s almost effortless, the way he holds you against him, folding your thighs to your chest as he bends to avoid hitting the roof of his car. His cock is still rock hard and pressed against the back of your thighs, only the thin slip of your dress shielding you from his greedy eyes.

"Zayne- fuck, we're gonna be late." You choke out, a gasp following as his hips grind into yours.

“Answer the question.”

Another bite to the plush above your breast and you cry, fearing more for the possibility that he leaves a permanent mark more than anything else. As if hearing that, Zayne bites again. Harder.

“Yes!” You thrash, trying to kick him off you but there’s little room in the back seats and the leather sticks to your sweat-slick back as Zayne works to pin your hips. “Yes, I’m sorry. I only— I wanted to see how long you’d last.”

A laugh, short and cruel. “How long I’d last?”

Zayne grabs your wrists and holds them over your head. He leans close, so his lips brush yours when he speaks, and the words are low and soft. Dangerous.

"Well, then. Allow me to return the favor.” Zayne lifts your leg, pressing a kiss to your calf as your foot hits the window, one heel falling off with a thud. “If memory serves me right, isn’t this a trope too?”

It’s almost effortless, the way he lifts your hips all the way up, your legs kicking helplessly over his shoulders as they’re forced up against the roof of the car. Shifting his weight around in the tight space, Zayne coaxes your calves to cross behind his neck, giving a small grunt as his face is pressed into your inner thighs, one arm straining against the leather of the car seats.

“Where they’re stuck in a small space, right?” Zayne’s eyes never leave yours. “Maybe a cave,” his tongue trails up the bare skin of your quivering thigh, “Under a desk,” licking his way up, “in a car?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer, not when the heat of his mouth presses directly onto your clothed clit, licking over the lace of your panties as you arch off the leather seats.

You’re already a dripping mess, writhing against the leather of the seats and the hard muscle of Zayne's shoulders, the sensation of his hot tongue pushing against your clit through the lace a painful sort of pleasure. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

Zayne pulls off and stares at the string of his spit and your arousal, warm and sticky, against the soaked patch of cotton between your legs connecting to his lips. Involuntarily, he bucks into the cold emptiness underneath you.

Fuck, he’s so hard he might come from this alone.

You hardly notice, not with the way every muscle and nerve quivers and begs for release, jaw falling slack as Zayne’s lips are quick to tease you again, this time pressing his tongue flat against the crotch of your panties and laving across the entire seam. The gorgeous arch of his nose presses up into your clit, and you moan, one hand flailing backways as it slides against the fogged-up window.

"Zayne, fucking hell, just eat me out properly!" The curses tumble out of your mouth before you can think of the repercussions, but there was no way he could keep eating you out through the material, no matter how good it felt.

"So desperate." Zayne mumbles between open-mouthed kisses to your cunt, "So needy."

"Fuck- please," You draw one hand through his hair, pulling his face closer. "Please, please, please-"

"Poor thing. I suppose it would be against my oath to leave my patient in such pain." And he roughly presses his thumb up against the hood of your clit.

You sob, hands scrambling for something- anything- to hold on to as they slip down the window and dig into the leather of the seats. But Zayne was nothing if not observant from your last night together, and it doesn't take long for you to cum as soon as his mouth latches onto your poor neglected cunt through your panties.

Still riding out each trembling wave of your orgasm, Zayne doesn’t fight the way your thighs clench around his head, kissing you through it until he readjusts your legs against his shoulders, forcing you higher onto your upper back. His fingers toy with the edge of the fabric, pleased with the way it sticks to your skin.

All you can focus on is his breathing, heavy and fast, as he stares down at your cunt so intensely it makes you blush, helplessly exposed with your thighs pinned across his broad shoulders. Spread for him like every inch of the offering he intended on devouring you as. His goddess, his sacrificial lamb. Gods, he wants to know how every part of you tastes.

Zayne’s cock twitches again, and he shudders violently, a fat glob of precum falling onto the leather seats below, mixing with your slick that has already slid down his chin and your thighs.

If left alone, no doubt it’ll stain.

“Look at the mess you made.” Zayne scolds, forcing your jaw to the side so you can see the puddle staining the seats. You whimper, and Zayne shakes his head. “Well, we can’t just leave it. I suppose I’ll have to teach you to take responsibility for your actions.”

Your hips jump. It's so hard to focus when he's talking like that, and the only coherent thought you can muster is that Zayne would be a fantastic writer if he ever decided to switch professions.

But he begins to shift you around, and your brows furrow as Zayne’s hand dips between the two of you, down to the leather, sweeping across the splattered mix of cum with two fingers before forcing your jaw towards him again.

“Clean up your mess.”

You think something is permanently fucked in your brain with the way your cunt flutters at that.

Zayne’s unyielding face stares down at you, his dripping fingers pressed against your lips as you wrap around them and suck. It’s heady, the scent of sex overwhelming as Zayne practically fucks the digits into your mouth, sliding them against your tongue until you gag, thumb tracing loving circles against your bottom lip as though coaxing you to take them deeper.

Only after gagging twice more does Zayne take mercy on you, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth. Instead, the pads of his fingers press against your tongue, and you take the hint, beginning to suck at them until the taste of you disappears.

His fingers slip from your mouth, a trail of spit connecting his fingers and your mouth before Zayne breaks it. Your tongue flicks out to swipe at the excess drool, and he wipes your bottom lip.

“Good girl, tasting just how desperate you are.” Every word of praise Zayne whispers goes straight to your cunt, nearly making you dizzy until he finally sits back.

“And now…” he finally moves to push the ruined fabric to the side, “I get to taste, too.”

The feeling of his hot tongue directly on your slit nearly has you in tears, and your hand lurches into Zayne’s hair to force him closer.

“No pulling. Behave,” Zayne warns. “This is still meant to be discipline for your earlier stunt on the road.”

Whimpering, you nod, parted lips swollen and shiny from the abuse Zayne put them under with his fingers. Satisfied, Zayne finally gives you what you need, kissing the swollen flesh of your clit directly before curling two fingers into your aching cunt.

“Zayne-”

He’s addicted to the way you say his name. He’s addicted, and he’s going to come in his pants if you don’t stop.

You begin begging again before Zayne covers your mouth with the palm of his hand, muffled cries still enough to drive him insane as he focuses on getting you past that high.

Despite his threats, you can’t help but tug at Zayne’s hair, needing him against you as your hips began moving or their own accord, bucking and grinding senselessly against his face until you were practically riding his tongue. Chest heaving, you looked up to see him staring directly at you, silhouetted from the car window, green eyes nearly aglow with wretched desire.

Just like that, you’re coming, hard, thighs clenching down around Zayne’s head until he’s certain you’re trying to kill him. But gods, he never wants you to stop.

Addicted, Zayne presses open mouthed kisses to your cunt, swallowing everything you give him as his eyes roll back.

Desperate, you try to crawl away from him, but there’s nowhere to go. Your head hits the car door before Zayne drags you right back, forcing your hips up higher as your back is arched into the air, nearly perpendicular as you sob, legs kicking over his shoulders.

But still, Zayne continues, and he knows. He feels it the moment your thighs lock up, the way your stomach goes tight and the way your senseless pleading still muffled by his palm reaches a higher pitch. And he takes advantage, not letting up as he curls his fingers until your cunt clenches down on his digits and tongue, squirting into his mouth.

Almost in apology, Zayne finally withdraws his fingers as he opts to instead clean you directly with his tongue, nose accidentally overstimulating your swollen clit as you weakly fight to push his head away.

Zayne takes the hint this time, lowering your sore legs onto the seats below, finally set on a solid surface after being held in the air for so long. The slit of your dress is askew across your stomach instead of thigh, and Zayne gently tugs it back into place.

Leaning down, he picks up your forgotten heel before slipping it back into your foot, buckling it as you shiver every time his fingers brush your ankle.

When Zayne finally faces you again, the lower half of his face is a complete mess, and you should be mortified never having squirted before let alone on your mentor’s face.

But Zayne merely wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, smiling like the slick dripping down his chin was won in victory and not debauchery. “Well then, shall we?”

2K notes · View notes

eiri-ri · 4 months ago

Text

Overc*mming Writer's Block 3

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐕

♱⋅── zayne x reader

♱⋅── word count: 10.8k holy

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, bondage, oral, pussydrunk zayne, PRAISE kink, breeding kink, actual sex this time, no more blue balling, nightly rendezvous card

art credit to @/chimmyming on X

“So, you and Dr. Zayne?”

You damn near choke on your salad. Coughing, you place your fork down before turning to glare at Anvi. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She smiles, as if that was confirmation enough. “I’ve heard a thing or two from hospital gossips—“

“Vi, you are the hospital gossip.”

“—that the cold, yet steaming hot doctor was finally seen accepting the company of someone else. Not to mention at the gala last weekend he was by your side all night long. Or so I was told.”

Anvi leans in, smiling wide enough to burst her pretty face as you scowl down at your lunch, unable to meet her eyes. Fighting to keep your voice even, you nudge her off, stabbing a carrot. “You’re ridiculous. I’m not involved with Dr. Zayne, he’s too—“ Attentive? Intelligent? God don’t think of him eating you out right now. “He’s not my type.”

You feel your ears burn, but by the grace of some god Anvi doesn’t seem to notice. Pouting she sighs and sinks back into the cafeteria booth. “Aww man, I was really rooting for you, too.”

“Rooting for a nonexistent relationship?”

Anvi’s about to say something, big doe eyes almost frantically darting between yours before she huffs and shakes her head, something akin to pity tightening her smile.

You raise a brow but she only shrugs, going back to picking at her lunch. “Just as well, a relationship between a resident and her boss would be quite the juicy scandal. Something straight out of a romcom, no?”

Laughter rips from your chest, the sheer irony of both her words and your reality too much to bear. Anvi’s windshield wiper giggles join your own, and soon the two of you are wheezing under your breath as you get side-eyed by the other surgeons trying to enjoy their lunch.

Really, whoever your author was had a fucked up sense of humor.

But the moment is ruined by the buzz of your pager, and you barely say bye to Anvi before you’re rushed to the operating bay.

As of today, you have two days to finish your manuscript.

Today's shift was exhausting, but you’ve learned early into your career that writing is a discipline, and as fickle of a muse as inspiration is, a writer cannot simply wait for her to grace you with her presence. Whether you feel like it or not, this book has to get done.

Besides, what better mindset was there to churn out unhinged shenanigans than when you’re delirious and half-asleep, tucked away in the on-call room?

Okay, so perhaps not the best place to be, but logically if your shift finished only minutes ago and you had to page in at five AM yet again, you’re better off just staying here rather than driving back to your apartment and all the way back to the hospital again.

Opening your personal laptop, you tab onto your novel's draft, the flashing cursor taunting you as your editor’s comments blur into an overwhelming mess of red. While you’ve worked your way through just about half of her six-thousand comments, that still leaves far too many, especially on your novel’s villain slash love interest as the trope always goes.

You’re halfway through cutting cringey dialogue on a specific scene, but your thoughts keep drifting. Your conversation with Anvi keeps playing in your mind— romcom, dating, scandal, boss. You suppress the heat rising in your chest, trying to ignore the reality you really don't want to face.

Zayne is… too much. Too intelligent, too caring, too perfect at catching you off guard.

Shaking your head, you try re-focusing, but between sleep deprivation and the realization that you haven’t actually done anything physical with Zayne for nearly a week, you get far too distracted.

It’s not that you haven’t seen him since the gala. Far from it, really. Nearly every night if your shifts happen to end around the same time, he offers to drive you home. And when your shifts don’t align, you always make the effort to cook something together, breakfast or dinner, at ungodly hours of the morning or evening. And if neither of those happened, you would watch a movie, at least for a few minutes till one or both of you fell asleep on your ratty couch.

God, you’re a fool. You can’t help but want him by your side even now, loving the way he reacts to your inappropriate comments, loving the way he scoffs at your jokes, loving the way he notices even the most minute things about you. And yet there’s a distance you can’t explain, a growing space you’re both too afraid to fill.

You close your laptop with a soft sigh, rubbing your eyes as you lay back on the small cot, trying to block out the nagging ache in your chest.

Your phone buzzes from under the cot, and you glance at it absently. You nearly jump at Zayne’s icon flashing on your screen.

grumpy snowman: Under recent developments I’d like to inform you of two things. One, you are banned from the hospital all of tomorrow under strict orders by me. Two, I currently have Mr. Whiskers held hostage, and should you fail to return home by 02:59 I will be forced to perform pulmonary bypass puncture and stop his heart.

Dumbfounded, you stare at Zayne’s text, blinking in confusion. Did your sleep deprivation just hallucinate a text? Violently shaking your head, you look back at your phone with slightly spinning vision just to confirm that no, this was very much real and Zayne has very much lost it.

ms. author: Is this a threat?

Another text follows immediately after.

grumpy snowman: Consider it your last chance. Come back and save him, or else... this may as well be his final night.

An image sends then, your favorite calico cat plushy all tied up with what appears to be Zayne’s tie, dangling the poor thing as though being held hostage. Your gaze lingers for longer than it should on how Zayne’s hands look in the dim lighting of the photo, so busy trailing up the veins on his lithe fingers that you nearly miss his next text.

grumpy snowman: I’ve already called an Uber. It’s waiting outside.

You snort into the empty room, rolling to sit up straight.He’s the last person you’d expect to pull this sort of thing. It’s nothing short of ridiculous, but truly you don’t know the last time you’ve smiled this wide, and it’s precisely the distraction you need right now, especially if he’s already gone through the trouble of organizing it all himself. But like you’d go down without a fight.

ms. author: You’re being ridiculous, you’d never hurt Mr. Whiskers you devil. You don’t have the guts.

His reply is swift, almost immediate.

grumpy snowman: Do I now? Care to test that theory?

You can practically hear the smugness in his text, the playful challenge laced with a quiet but unmistakable sincerity. Your heart gives an unexpected flutter, the weight in your chest easing, if only slightly. Quite a villain, indeed.

You know what Zayne’s doing. He’s not just playing around; he’s pulling you out of your head, out of the self-imposed spiral you’ve yet again been retreating into. You’ve spent the better half of the week in it.

You bite your lip, considering your options. On one hand, you could brush him off—continue working, ignore the text, but something inside of you craves this attention. Craves his uncharacteristic ridiculousness. Craves the break from your mind that he’s offering.

ms. author: If you harm a single fur on my son’s head I’ll put an end to your tyranny myself.

Zayne doesn’t waste a second, sending only a single warning: Hurry.

You stand, grabbing your jacket and keys, and only then do you second guess this. The easy, safe choice would be to stay buried in your work, it would be to politely decline and place must-needed distance and formality back.

But for the first time in a while there’s something you want more than work, and as you slip out of the on-call room, the image of Mr. Whiskers hanging helplessly from Zayne’s tie is enough to pull you out of the hospital.

You push your front door open, the silence of your apartment making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The lights are off— odd, considering you could have sworn you left a lamp on. You always do, a force of habit since you live in a slightly less safe area of Linkon. Oh, the things you do for cheaper rent.

Pausing, your eyes scan the deceptively empty hallway and kitchen. Everything feels still, almost eerie, and your pulse quickens as you take your shoes off, right beside Zayne’s much larger dress shoes, to venture further into your apartment.

The faintest creak of floorboards makes you freeze. Your heart stutters slightly, the scare making you grip your chest as you whirl around, cursing out your cowardice. You’ve seen worse things wheeled into the ER. Please, get a grip.

You shake off the nerves just as your phone buzzes in your pocket, breaking the silence once more.

grumpy snowman: You’re cutting it close. Five minutes before Mr. Whiskers meets an untimely demise.

You can't help the amused snort that escapes you, the tension in your body breaking.

ms. author: You really went this far? What now, villain?

The response is almost immediate.

grumpy snowman: It’s a matter of life or death. I hope you're prepared.

Another photo attachment follows—your favorite Christmas blanket thrown over the couch cushions in disarray, the faintest corner of Mr. Whiskers peeking out beneath it. The living room. You shake your head, muttering under your breath about the audacity of smug geniuses with far too much time on their hands.

You make your way to the living room in the dark, you flick on a lamp as you approach the couch. Lifting the blanket to find… nothing but a sticky note.

It reads, in painfully pretty cursive: Nice try, but you’ll have to be quicker.

Another buzz.

grumpy snowman: You fell for that as well? I expected better. Already 02:56, time’s running out.

You scoff, unable to stop yourself from laughing despite the absurdity.

ms. author: Do you even have anything better to do?

grumpy snowman: Not lately. Someone’s been too busy to properly entertain me.

You read it once, twice, and still something in your chest squeezes painfully at that.

Folding up the note, you stare at the text a moment longer before you hear the echoing click of a door. It’s coming from upstairs.

Another buzz.

grumpy snowman: While you’re lost in thought again, care to explain why you’ve been running yourself into the ground?

You pause, stalling as you make your way to your stairs.

ms. author: I am writing.

grumpy snowman: Poorly, if you’re overworking. Can’t imagine the tension’s working out if it’s still stuck in your head.

ms. author: Gasp. Excuse you—

Another buzz interrupts, just as you make it to your bedroom door, old wood announcing your arrival with a groan. The culprit has to be just behind it.

grumpy snowman: 3 minutes remaining. Mr. Whiskers won’t be around much longer.

You can practically feel Zayne’s grin through the phone, and for a brief moment, you’re glad he’s here, even if it’s all in jest. He’s right although you might never admit it; this whole absurd situation—your plushie, the stupid texts, the teasing—has done what no amount of coffee or sleepless daydreaming could.

ms. author: If you harm a single fur on my son’s head, I swear I’ll come for you.

Your hand latches onto your bedroom handle, biting your lip as you pause to type one last jab.

ms. author: I don’t know why I’m indulging you.

grumpy snowman: Because you love it when I win.

A laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. Shaking your head, you push the door open.

Your bedroom is dim, the curtains drawn, but moonlight spills through the dusky purple veils, illuminating the bed.

Perched atop lies Mr. Whiskers, your darling calico plushie sitting in the center, fully unharmed even though his crystalline eyes speak of unimaginable horrors at the hands of his captor.

Before you can grab him, movement from the corner of the room nearly startles you into jumping halfway across the room. Zayne, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watches you with a slight upturned grin that makes your stomach twist.

“You’re a horrible villain.” You huff, all but lunging on your bed to hug Mr. Whiskers to your chest like a shield.

His lips twitch into a smile, the bastard, and you can't help but notice how handsome he looks with his hair a little mussed and his glasses slipping down his nose. He doesn’t have his coat or suit jacket on, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, a sight you haven’t grown tired of.

God, you really have a thing for forearms. Or maybe it’s just a thing for Zayne.

“Since we’re critiquing each other, you’re not much of a hero. Hiding behind a plushie doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

“Confidence isn’t my priority right now.” You clutch Mr. Whiskers tighter, narrowing your eyes. He’s not here to talk about morals and heroism, though. “I’ve been fine. Nothing more than proofreading left… that and a few problem-children scenes.”

“Then consider this me fulfilling my half of the contract,” Zayne says, effortlessly seeing past your usual bullshit. “For someone who claims they’re adequately inspired, you’ve been more distant than usual.”

“I don’t need a lecture.”

“No lecture.” He steps closer, “I just missed you.”

Again, Zayne's words catch you off guard, so blunt they make your chest ache. No empty flattery, no pretty words, simply stated as though they were facts.

He takes another step forward, and you have to lean back on your elbows— nearly lying back on the bed— to maintain eye contact as he looms above you.

And then, Zayne drops to his knees before you.

It’s a far more graceful movement than it has any right to be, all six foot something of him kneeling against the foot of your bed as you instinctively make room for him there. Slowly, his hands come up to your thighs, the two of you slotting together with ease.

“Admit it,” Zayne whispers, the sweet, minty heat of his breath caressing your lips as you shiver, leaning closer despite yourself. “This helped.” A wry smile, “and that I make a convincing villain.”

“What’s this, is the doctor Zayne fishing for compliments?”

“I don’t need compliments. I just want you to stop pretending in front of me– no more performances.”

Heat rises to your face, and your stomach twists. He's too close, he's always too close, but god, why has this domesticity become so natural around him?

Despite yourself, you look down at his hands again, taking in how easily his scarred palms cup your thighs, the pale contrast of his skin against yours. Lithe, long fingers, and the memory of how well they’ve treated you. You swear he must feel your heart pound where his thumbs brush circles against your inner thighs, your body nothing but responsive for him.

But if he does, he spares you the embarrassment. Zayne only continues to look up into your face, and just as you begin thinking of equally inappropriate jokes or fun facts to break the silence, Zayne moves closer, his knee pressing between your thighs as the mattress dips to accommodate his weight.

“Perhaps there is a performance you could help me with, since you’re clearly the expert here.”

You blink, one step behind Zayne’s master plan yet again. “What- help you?”

“Yes. See, I’ve been thinking about my next move as a villain, and…” Before you can even follow Zayne’s words, Mr. Whiskers is yanked from your grasp once more. One hand raises him into the air and the other lunges for your outstretched arms, pinning them to the bed as it creaks and groans under the sudden assault. “I think I’ll take Mr. Whiskers as my captive once again.”

A soft gasp leaves your lips as Zayne shifts above you, his knee grinding up just enough to have you aching between your legs. Everything spins, torn between the desire to rescue Mr. Whiskers and the overwhelming urge to give in, to pull Zayne closer, to finally, finally fuck him yourself.

But before you can decide, the hand pinning your wrists tightens, his thumb rubbing circles as he effortlessly restrains you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you curse, though the tremor in your voice betrays your excitement.

“Ridiculous?” Zayne repeats, arching a brow. “Perhaps you should start taking this seriously, my dear protagonist.” He drops his voice into something rich, dark, and deliciously villainous. The hand that pins you down holds firm, the other dangles your plushie overhead with mocking menace.

You scoff, though it comes out shakier than intended. “I could write circles around your attempts at being evil.”

“Could you?” Unbuttoning his shirt, Zayne gets only halfway before abandoning it entirely, letting the buttons skew across his chest. He watches with a growing smile as your eyes flutter downward against your better judgment. “Then why don’t you show me.”

Zayne nods to your phone, eyes narrowed from behind his glasses. “Open the doc, show me the scene. Any attempts to rescue the captive will be met with appropriate punishment.”

The way Zayne looks down at you, waiting—daring— to see if you would make him stop, sends a sinful flutter through your core, ricocheting up your spine. No longer trusting your voice, you nod and feel the pressure loosen ever so slightly on your wrists.

You only have time to pull your phone out from your scrub’s back pocket before Zayne captures your wrists again, the tie once used on Mr. Whiskers now knotted efficiently right above your wrists. It should be frightening, how easy it is for him to manhandle you, but you feel nothing but painful arousal at that fact.

You’re still growling out faux protests when Zayne plucks the phone from your hands, his knee keeping your hips firmly pinned against the mattress.

“Ah,” Zayne murmurs, scrolling casually through your doc. “A scene involving betrayal, a chase, and…” He raises a brow. “Passionate accusations of treachery.”

You thrash beneath him, trying to buck off his weight as your face burns in embarrassment. “Enough! You’re supposed to help, not—”

“Not what?” He glances at you briefly, lips pursed in a halfhearted attempt to mask his amusement. “Not put your villain to the test? I’ll admit I might have ulterior motives, but you’ll have to try harder than that.”

Zayne then waves the plushie just out of reach before dangling him on the windowsill for dramatic emphasis.

“I swear to god, if you harm Mr. Whiskers!”

He cuts you off with a chuckle. “Hush. You’ll want to hear this.”

Zayne clears his throat, the smirk on his lips unmistakable as he picks up where you left off in editing your manuscript. His voice drops into a faux-sinister drawl as he begins to narrate. “‘You can hate me all you want,’ the villain growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. ‘But that fire in your eyes only makes me want to break you more.’”

It's horrible, the way he reads the words, the tone and cadence he gives the prose, and worst of all, the way his unblinking gaze remains completely, utterly, fixed on you as he speaks.

“Zayne, please, don’t- this is embarrassing,” you beg to appeal to reason, still writhing against his tie, when you realize his grip against your hips has loosened.

Zayne’s attention is momentarily diverted as he scrolls through the doc, looking for another section to read, and you kick your knee up with a shout, jabbing it into his side as the two of you tumble across the bed.

Lunging, you manage to grab Mr. Whiskers for all of two seconds before Zayne hauls you up by your bound wrists, forcing you arms above your head as you are pulled back against him. He’s rough, forcing your spine to arch against his chest as you hiss on impact, head thrown back against Zayne’s shoulder. “Ah-ah. What did I say about attempts to rescue the captive?”

His tone is all mockery, grip iron against your waist even though you can tell he’s still holding himself back. Feeling each hot, ragged breath against the back of your neck, the smell of ambroxan and sandalwood surrounding you. You breathe in deeper, shaking despite yourself.

“Let go of me!”

‘’Close. I believe the actual line was ‘unhand me.’”

Zayne hauls you further up the mattress, hooking your bound wrists onto the post of your bedframe as this new position forces you to face the wall, all while his free hand adjusts his glasses, scanning the next few lines. “‘I’d rather die than let you win!’ she spat, her chest heaving with defiance—” He glances at you with deadpan incredulity. “Why is everyone always heaving in these scenes? Do they all have asthma?”

“You’re the worst,” you hiss, breathless from the struggle. See? Heaving, no asthma involved, just foreplay.

“And yet…” Zayne’s voice comes closer, and you feel his bare chest once again at your back, “you’re the one who wrote it. I’m simply giving you an immersive experience.”

“Can’t be fully immersive if I have yet to believe you, villain.” Scoffing, you turn around, craning your neck just to glare him in the eyes. “You don’t have what it takes.”

Zayne chuckles, then silence. Forcing your head towards the wall again, you feel him lean down, still out of sight despite the heat radiating off his body, his nose brushing down your bare throat as he spits out the next line.

“Brat.”

You hate how immediately your body responds to that. How you shiver and lean back despite the restraints, how a part of you wants to fight, to keep the act going, because god, the idea of letting Zayne do anything he wants to you is enough to make your head spin.

Zayne’s teeth press against your neck, just below your ear, and you whine, the sound so small and deprived that you instantly bite your tongue and curse yourself for reacting like this.

So then he does it again.

A pitched gasp.

A broken moan.

Each noise he elicits from you is another cruel victory, and when you grind your ass back against Zayne’s increasingly obvious erection, he all but tears your scrubs down your thighs, the cotton of your panties not standing a chance against his desperation.

In truth, Zayne had never been harder in his life. Did he intentionally pick the most on-the-nose dialogue just to watch you squirm? Perhaps. But he’d be lying if he said seeing you battle against primal desire beneath him, feeling your half-hearted attempts to fight him, accidentally grinding your ass against him with every squirm didn’t make him want to push you even further.

Every breath came out heavy, chest heaving as he continued his performative reading, large palms alternating between slapping and gently squeezing your ass.

“You’re greedy,” a kiss against your shoulder, shucking your scrubs down your knees. “Impatient,” another kiss, this time down your spine, throwing your pants across the bedroom. “And utterly disobedient.”

You’re already stripped bare from the chest down.

He can't deny the sight of you in such a compromising position is a sight to behold, and the urge to keep reading just to see how far he can push you is intoxicating. Panting, he pauses only to readjust his glasses, foggy and slipping down his nose.

You, however, are too impatient.

"Zayne, please, you got your point across. You win. Just— ah, just fuck me already."

It's the first time in nearly a week that Zayne gets to hear you ask for him, beg for him, and it's all the reminder he needs for his body to fail him, shuttering against you with a moan of his own. How did he survive so long without this? Without you?

Your voice rings against his skull, and it’s all he ever wants to hear. Moan his name, beg for him, scream it, call it out, anything. He needs you, irreversibly.

And not just for this.

So instead, Zayne looks back at your doc one last time, reading, “To think this is the city’s great hero. How I’ll enjoy breaking you.”

With a click, your phone turns off, tossed carelessly to the floor with a heavy thud that would have sent you into a panic had Zayne not chosen that exact moment to bite into the soft flesh behind your neck, thumb instantly finding your clit.

The sensation alone is enough to make you cry, arching further up against the bindings. His hand snakes back around your hip, grounding, just barely brushing against the heat of your cunt, and the way he breathes out a low, half-delirious chuckle at the sound of you panting his name has your core fluttering for more.

"Please, Zayne, please," you whine, and the second the pleas leave your mouth, his thumb presses delicious circles into your neglected bundle of nerves. You whine, loud and needy, the second his fingers sink inside, held up only by Zayne’s arm wrapped around your waist and the tie pinning you against the bed frame.

“Already begging? I wonder how much more obedient you’ll be after I fuck it all out of you.” And god, Zayne wanted to mock such an obscenely written line just to watch you blush all over, because what sort of villain would actually say such a thing?

But when he sees you whimper at his words, when you arch so willingly into his punishment, when he feels your heartbeat quicken under his fingertips, he suddenly can’t say he faults any of these romance writers, for he now knows he’d do far worse than any of their cardboard villains.

Zayne doesn’t even need to read the next line in the doc to know exactly what he’d do next.

All but falling to the mattress, Zayne pulls your hips up, up until you’re atop his face, sinking his tongue between your folds before dragging all the way up to your clit, sucking with enough tension to make you scream.

Your hands burn from where they chafe and fight against the tie, bucking violently against Zayne’s face, the cold kiss of his glasses frames making you jolt as he pulls your hips toward him like it’s the last thing keeping him sane.

“No,” Zayne groans between breaths, unable to part with you as he messily kisses your inner thigh before coaxing two fingers inside you with a thrust. “Don’t run. Do not run from me.”

Every scissor of his fingers forces obscene sounds from your cunt, silenced only by Zayne’s mouth and his own muffled praises. Granted, it didn’t matter how loud he was being, not with all of your delirious moans, completely unsuppressed as Zayne’s calculated ministrations took you apart thrust by thrust.

At least you can remember being thankful that your apartment walls were sound-proofed. Breath ragged, mind spinning, only mindlessly fighting back as you babble, “Wait, you’re so- ah- fuck. Zayne!”

Quite canonically to your villain, Zayne’s hips buck into empty air in time to every thrust of his fingers, imagining it was his cock fucking deep into you instead. It’s a line he’s fantasized about crossing time and time again.

But that’s where it stops. Fantasy. Because just the thought of it has Zayne groaning into your cunt, the taste and feel of you alone driving him insane, a point of obsession where he cannot allow himself to go any further. He can’t. He can’t, he really shouldn’t.

He’d never recover, he’d never stop wanting— needing you. He’s addicted enough as is.

Zayne’s shirt had almost fully unbuttoned but his trousers remained, bulging as his cock wept from its prison against his thigh, fabric dark and painfully restraining. The mere friction was too little and overstimulating all at once. Even so, he can’t help but chase the phantom feeling, grinding against nothing as you fall apart above him.

When your shaking thighs finally begin to lock around his jaw, he welcomes the cage, burrowing his face deeper as the strong arch of his nose presses against your throbbing clit. Zayne’s slick fingers are delegated to merely keeping your hips still, his tongue fucking you through your orgasm as his hips follow your same rhythm.

One touch, one touch is all he needs to cum with you, but Zayne refuses to do anything but work you through your high. He swallows the taste of you, open-mouthed and needy, a moan rumbling deep in his chest as you feel it hum through you.

Gasping, you look down, and immediately you feel your core flutter— the sight enough to have you wishing he was back in between your thighs already.

Zayne’s entire body shakes beneath you, dark hair mused and hands digging into your hips in ways you know will leave half-moon marks. But what has you trembling is the sight of his hazel eyes eclipsed to near black, completely blown out and teary as they try and fail to focus on anything other than your pussy still fluttering above him. Something you can barely see at all, not with the amount of cum that squirted across his glasses, foggy and skewed across his nose as it too glistens with your release.

It’s an obscene picture you only get for a moment before Zayne chucks his glasses off just to place a closer, deeper set of kisses on your cunt. Practically chasing every buck of your hips, he happily lets you ride his face until your room begins to blur yet again, weightless and utterly fucked.

You’re panting, vision still coming back in waves as you register Zayne untying your hands, all the while kissing the light bruises that remain.

And yet you can hardly think of anything other than the fact that he still hasn’t properly fucked you.

“Zayne,” you call, and god, something in your chest squeezes at just how fast he whips his head around, already ducking to meet your eyes as he scans down your face. There’s worry etched into his features, his eyes scanning yours like he’s already bracing for whatever you’ll say next.

“I’m sorry, I knew I should have taken better precautions. If your hands hurt I can get a salve from—”

“Fuck me.”

Silence.

Zayne blinks, his mouth parting and eyes squinting as though he misheard– or somehow misread– you.

“What?” he manages, his voice barely above a whisper.

You sit up on your knees, pulling off your shirt one swift movement so you’re completely naked, then lean forward until your noses nearly touch, his eyes dropping to your breasts. The boldness only shakes him further. “I’m sorry, I can’t let you run away this time. I want—” Reaching your hand out, your fingers trail down Zayne’s bare chest, hardly even pushing for him to fall backward. And for you to follow on top. “I want to do this for you. I want you.”

Zayne’s breath is deceptively steady, and if you couldn't feel the ragged rhythm of his chest, rising and falling as it burns against your palm, you wouldn’t have believed he was affected at all.

“You don’t-wait- have to—” he starts, but his voice breaks when your fingers trace the curve of his ribs, lips following suit as you place gentle kisses down his sternum, his slender abs, dangerously close to the v-line dipping into his pants that you can’t help but lick, smiling in delight as his words finally fail him.

“Neither did you. You’re rather stubborn, doctor,” you insist, soft but unwavering. Resting your head against his thigh, you coax his jaw down to look at you, the palm still resting against his chest finding the erratic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. “Let me take care of you for once. Don’t you know good patients listen?”

Zayne huffs a quiet laugh, the sound strained as he looks down at you, right side of his lips curving into a faint smirk despite the way his body seems to ignite at your touch. “Bringing in our professional titles seems a little underhanded, don’t you think?”

“Ah, but it got your attention, didn’t it?” You don’t let him stall anyone— already he’s managed to keep this from you for weeks, really it’s a shame you haven’t stripped him earlier— letting your tongue trace the dip of his hip once more, humming as his muscles tense under the sudden attention.

Greedy, your lips continue to worship every sharp edge and curve of Zayne’s abdomen, hands busy with his buckle until you manage to find a particularly sensitive spot just above his right hip bone.

All his composure, all his calculated confidence, you want to break it apart until there’s nothing left but Zayne. Just Zayne.

Zayne inhales sharply, eyes screwing shut as his mouth falls open in a picture of perfect debauchery you want etched into your mind forever. One hand fists into the sheets beside him, the other flying to your hair as your kisses turn to a dizzying mix of licks and nips. Hard enough to mark, you bite into skin, tongue flicking between your teeth, echoing across the room alongside the wet sounds of your mouth at work.

“Ah, fuck.”

Cursing already? Perhaps this would be easier than you thought, but where’s the fun in that?

You pull back, watching Zayne blink in confusion as his hips twitch up toward your mouth, and you have to force back a laugh as he stares, bewildered, like he can hardly believe the sight in front of him.

His voice comes out huskier than before, low and coated with desire. "Why did you stop?"

You pull back just enough to look up at him, cheek resting on his thigh as you play with his zipper, never looking away from Zayne’s eyes even as they flutter closed in frustration, desperate for more. Tension practically radiates off of him, but you only smile, taking your time as you trail your fingers away from his zipper and bulge, teasing the sensitive edges of his hip and the skin peaking just over the edge of his trousers.

“Don’t worry, doctor,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “I’ll be sure to complete your procedure just as thoroughly as you did on me.”

Oh, and Zayne must realize how utterly fucked he is, for you won’t be letting him go not until you’ve adequately paid him back for all the times he’s deliberately edged you to the point of tears, all the times he’s reprimanded your attitude, all the sweet punishments you’ve ensured that you’re going to give back to him tenfold.

But before he can try and sweet-talk his way into mercy, your teeth catch on his zipper, dragging it down as your free hand unlaces his belt, tossing it across the room. His boxers are soaking, the obvious bulge only emphasized by the way the damp cotton seems to stick to him, and god does the size of him make your core flutter.

Achingly hard already, and you haven't even begun.

The fact that you know he’s this hard just from eating you out certainly doesn’t help.

Maybe next time you’ll get him to come just by eating you out.

Next time, though.

Without warning, your fingers wrap around his cock, freeing it from the confines of his boxers. A hiss grits out through Zayne’s teeth as his jaw clicks and a vein thrums against his neck from the pressure.

You're so used to having Zayne above you, between your legs, teasing you senseless as his fingers or tongue bring you to the edge over and over again. And now, here he is. Spread out, and all yours to ravage.

The realization alone has you throbbing, prior orgasm all but forgotten as you feel the want burn between your thighs again.

If only he could see how wet you were already.

How could he not, with the way your hips were rocking against his still-clothed thigh, searching for the friction he wouldn’t give?

And yet, despite your impatience, your eyes never leave Zayne, watching the way his muscles flex as he resists the urge to move, ever obedient for you.

"Good boy," you purr, meaning only to tease him further, but instead of the faux glare or inscrutable comment you were expecting, Zayne tenses beneath you, his cock jumping against your palm. Your eyebrows raise, a breathless giggle betraying your intentions as you lean in closer.

"Oh? Do you like that, baby? Being told just how perfect you are for me?”

You're not sure what's more arousing, the fact that Zayne is practically coming undone at your words, or the fact that he hasn't denied a thing.

God, his body feels hot. The mere praise has a dusky blush racing down his gorgeously sculpted chest all the way to the tips of his ears, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he looks down between the two of you, to where you’re still teasing the weeping slit of his dick. He moans before he could even stop himself. Fuck.

Shivering, Zayne reaches out to grasp your wrist, and for a moment you think he's going to put a stop to your little power trip. But his hand only comes up to guide yours, urging you to pump his cock a bit faster, stopping to put more pressure against the base, and you can't help but smirk knowing he must be truly desperate if he's already rushing you to jerk him off properly.

"My, my, doctor. I suppose I’m not the only one who’s been holding back.” You click your tongue, a teasing edge to your voice. "Were you really so desperate to feel me around your cock, hmm?"

Hazel eyes narrow at the pure filth behind your words, but you see the furrow between his brows, the way Zayne’s throat bobs as he throws his head back with a choked groan. If he looks so damn pretty now, you wonder what kind of faces he’ll make when he cums.

“You truly are horrible,” He groans, hesitating, hands clenching into the sheets before they fly up to your waist, gently bucking his hips into your awaiting palm. “Mhm- please.”

You hum, lazily sinking to your stomach so your bare chest presses against his still-clothed thighs. With each stroke you can feel his muscles twitch beneath you, see the way his jaw clenches and unclenches, the way his hand guides yours, tightening and loosening, urging you to go faster, harder.

Your mouth waters, and the urge to taste him is far too tempting to resist.

Plus, you’ve had enough with denying yourself, and more than enough of Zayne denying himself as well.

So right as Zayne’s head rolls back against the pillows you rock forward, licking a slow stripe up his dick, up between the gap of your fingers where they grip his base.

Zayne chokes on his breath, hand immediately tangling in your hair, rough enough that it has you wrenched away with a breathless whine. He groans, words shaking out in breathless huffs, “You, hah- this isn’t, fuck—”

"Ah, ah, pretty boy, let me take care of you, yeah?" You fight to come back to him, smiling as Zayne’s grip immediately loosened, and you kiss his tip in thanks.

Rubbing teasing circles into his thighs, your thumbs then move up, tracing his v-line, addicted to the way his muscles tense under your nails and to the red lines that follow. It makes you want to mark him up more. So you do, with your nails again, then with your teeth and tongue.

“Look at how- shit- how excited you are for me. So pretty.” You lean forward, pressing wet, messy kisses just below his navel and all around his already sticky thighs, heady and coated in pre-cum.

Another bite, and you squeeze his balls with just enough pressure as you watch his eyes roll back in time. "I'm going to make this so, so good for you, baby.”

Zayne all but sobs at that.

Every carefully restrained thought breaks completely at the praise, a raspy moan grinding through his teeth before his jaw falls open with every ragged huff of breath.

“Mhm that’s it, you’re doing so well,” you say, smiling at the way his cock twitches, violently leaking, pre-cum pooling into your palm and dripping down your wrist. “So pretty, so perfect just for me.”

With one last kiss on Zayne’s tip, your hands steadies itself against his abdomen before you kitten-lick around the tip of his cock, and then greedily shove as much of his throbbing erection as you can down your throat.

Zayne tenses, gasping, and the sound sends a thrill down your spine. You press further, tongue flattening along the underside of his shaft, and fuck he’s so thick you nearly choke, forgetting to breathe in through your nose as the lack of oxygen gets to you embarrassingly fast.

If only you had some more time to properly adjust, you'd force him to the hilt without a doubt. But patience has never been your virtue.

You’re already edging yourself with every slow grind of your clit against Zayne’s thigh, and you can feel his desperation in every throb along the underside of his cock in your mouth, letting his tip hit the back of your throat, breaching as deep as you could allow.

Zayne begins to buck forward only to freeze halfway, a low hiss leaving him as his hand twitches against the sheets, knuckles turning white as he fights his own self-restraint as you urge him deeper into your hot mouth. Trying to pull you off him, Zayne’s hand laces through your hair as a warning, large enough to cup the back of your neck entirely, but the action only lets you take him further.

Then he makes the fatal mistake of looking down at you, locking eyes with your teary gaze as you maintain eye contact before licking up his length, and then swallowing him back down, crying as mascara and drool runs down your chin. His hips stutter upwards, and then he catches the shallow bulge now pressing against the base of your throat. Up and down and back again.

The sight breaks him.

He throws his head back with a whine, and fuck, his sounds thrums against your skull, reverberating through your very being as he snaps, hips bucking wildly into your mouth, his powerful thighs trembling around your head. You’re being used as nothing more than a fucktoy now, hands scrambling for purchase against his abdomen for a semblance of control as you take it.

Fuck, maybe it’s the praise, because you make Zayne want to be greedy with the way you were gagging and choking around him.

The mere feeling of you drooling around his length, the way your moans come out muffled and wet with drool and his slick, like a messy kiss to his cock, has his hips stuttering deeper, arching up into your body until Zayne can practically feel the spark of his orgasm behind his eyes.

But no, that won't do.

After all, you won’t be satisfied until he’s finally fucking himself inside you tonight. He can’t cum anywhere else. You won’t let him.

And right when you feel his cock go rigid, you tighten your hand around the base, and pull off.

Heaving, you shakily prop yourself back onto your elbows, Zayne's length glistening with saliva between your bodies, twitching violently and leaking all across his abdomen and your chest from its angry red tip.

“S’pretty, Zayne.”

Zayne moans, hips chasing after the heat of your mouth, hissing when all he feels is the cold air. He wants to protest, wants to ask for more, but you shush him with a kiss.

Your tongue laps across his skin, tracing the ridges of his abs, lapping the pre-cum and sweat that gathers there. You lick a trail, following the sharp cut of his hips.

"What, is that all you can take?" you ask, a teasing smirk on your face.

Zayne curses, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “Depends.” His voice is fucked rough, raw, and you never want him to stop talking. ”Was that the full treatment?”

You hum, biting the inside of his thigh. He gasps, and it turns into a deep groan when you press an open-mouthed kiss over the forming mark.

“No,” you admit, “You’re not escaping until I get to watch you come undone.”

You smile at the shudder both your words and actions draw, the way his fingers tighten in your hair. “Ah, but not here. In me. I want you to fill me up, baby, make a mess of me. I can take it, I promise. And when you're done, I'm going to ride you until you come again. Sound good, my pretty boy?"

Zayne throws his head back with a moan, eyes squeezed painfully shut as though he can’t decide if this really is real or if a succubus was haunting his dreams to every sinful memory he has of you.

Zayne leans into your touch, following your palm as he nuzzles into you with a huff of hot breath. A little like a kitten in a man's body— a sexy body no doubt— but you wonder, not for the first time, if the reason he always holds back is simply because he was afraid. As you were. Until Zayne came to you, until he showed you what pleasure felt like.

So you take his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, and then kiss him.

He lunges up to meet you halfway, licking into your mouth, fisting into your hair, breathing in every moan and whimper of his name as he hums it right back. Needy, so damn needy for it.

You smile through the kiss, grinding up and down his muscular thigh alongside the desperate smashing of mouths. Tongue-heavy, teeth scraping, sucking at the corner of your lips. So fucking hungry for you that he’s practically lifting you right off the mattress with just one arm.

His mouth distractedly chases down your throat leaving opened-mouth kisses before slotting back against your lips, hot and demanding and urgent.

“Zayne, ah—” you’re cut off with another kiss, “Mhm, please, need you,” another, Zayne looping two arms around your thighs, hiking your knees up to his shoulders, the stretch burning. “Need you in me, now.”

He moans into your open mouth at those words, eager enough that he chases you up, nearly pinning you beneath him until you break the kiss with a gasp, shoving him back down. Zayne whines at the break of your lips, brows furrowed as his back hits the mattress, trapped under you once again, panting.

"Need you, pretty boy." You whisper against his lips, and it sounds just like a promise. "Please, let me take care of you.”

Zayne takes a shaky breath, nodding, drunk on the praise and readjusts himself against the pillows. He watches, eyes half-lidded, as you straddle his waist. Rough hands find your hips and hold them steady as you settle climbing atop him, the head of his cock rubbing between the folds of your soaked cunt.

It isn’t lost on you how Zayne can barely stop staring at the slick that trails down your thighs, all of it coating his shaft in slick as your pussy hovers over him, connecting the two of you in wet, sticky strands.

"Like what you see, doctor?"

You lick down the milky column of his neck and Zayne groans, leaning back to grant you access. "You and your smart-ass mouth."

“You love it.”

Ya, he does. He could probably cum just from watching you like this.

Leaning forward, you line his cock up with your entrance, smirking at the way his eyes narrow, heart racing beneath your palms as you balance yourself on his pecks, shamelessly groping them.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've thought about this? How many times I've imagined riding your cock, hearing the sweet noises you make as I make a mess of you?"

Zayne opens his mouth, as if to say something, but whatever it is doesn't matter, not as you guide the swollen red tip of his cock through your folds, thick tip pushing and sliding past your entrance, unable to fit even with your combined slick. Teasing, swollen pussy lips drooling right down onto his leaky head when just a simple nudge of Zayne’s squirming hips would end this torment and have you fucked flush against him— raw.

"Please," he groans, his voice raspy and hoarse, eyes fluttering closed, glassy with lust, "I can't- I can't take this. Please,” a low moan of your name has you delirious, and god, you’d give him anything he’d ask for. “I admit it, I need you. So please.”

Were you more than happy to oblige.

Lifting yourself all the way up on your knees, you steadily apply more pressure to your entrance, working yourself further and further until you could feel your slick drip down your thighs and his cock, each movement now accompanied by an unholy squelch. You slide his cock over your cunt—back, then forward—stimulating your clit with the head each time he fucks it through your folds, desperate as your movements become rougher and more forced.

Zayne’s cock catches against your entrance once again, and a low, breathy moan escapes his lips. He could feel your cunt finally yield to the pressure of his large, overbearing cock, could feel the way your legs trembled, threatening to give way, and he can't help but wonder if this is how you would look, how you would sound and feel, when he fucked you.

As soon as he feels the flutter of your core against his tip, he knows he’s lost, the head of Zayne’s cock sliding into you with a lewd pop as you both moan.

"Mhm, yes," you moan, voice a high-pitched keen. "Just- ah, like that."

Zayne bites his lip, fingers digging into your hips, and fuck, after being edged not once but twice today he already feels deliciously overstimulated and close, too close.

So it certainly doesn't help when you rock yourself up onto your knees, then drop yourself all the way back down his shaft, taking him all the way in until his balls slap against your ass.

You even don't wait for either of you to adjust before doing it again, and the velvety hot squeeze of your cunt has Zayne seeing stars.

“Ah, f-fuck, oh, shit. S’good Zayne,“ you coo, "Feels so good, fuck."

You’re dripping down your thighs, gushing around him like a vice as he watches his cock disappear into your cunt with a creamy white ring already at his base.

It’s all turning Zayne delirious with the way you continue to feed him compliment after compliment. It’s all so much, too much, and a low moan is forced out of Zayne’s chest as he begins rocking his hips up to meet yours, hardly even letting you pull out before bullying his way back into you.

Fuck, you can feel him everywhere, his cock hitting your cervix, your walls stretched tight around him, a mixture of his and your slick pooling onto his abdomen as you chase your way up and down his length.

But god, what you feel is nothing compared to how absolutely wrecked Zayne looks.

His eyes are screwed shut, chest rising and falling rapidly, the flush from his ears having spread to his gorgeously marked-up chest, his neck, the angry red tip of his cock. His brows are drawn together, jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck and shoulders strained as he holds himself back, every part of him curling up to meet yours and press you down, closer.

But then he turns away, eyes screwed shut as you feel his tip jerk against your cervix once more.

No. No, no, no that won’t do.

Zayne has watched you come undone countless times. He’s been a worshiper and witness to pleasures you didn’t think you could feel, and this time, you want him to be the subject of all your adoration. To finally give him back all the love he’s taught you to feel and more.

So you lean down, cupping Zayne’s cheek with one hand as you continue to ride him. “Look at me, baby. Y-you're so, fuck, so big, Zayne, fuck—” You gasp a sharp breath as he twitches violently inside you at the praise, slurring your words. “Mhm, love your cock so much."

But you doubted he could hear you— fuck, you wouldn’t even be able to tell if Zayne was breathing at this point if it wasn’t for the throbbing of his cock against your walls in time to his erratic heartbeat— because his eyes rolled back into his skull, jaw slack as a silent moan rips from his chest, shuddering down his spine right before his hips snap up into yours, throwing you off balance, pinpointing your g-spot with cruel accuracy as you scream.

Your sounds and babble of praises have him dizzy, eyes half-lidded and hazy as he struggles to focus on your face. It almost looks like he’s about to cry, dark lashes wet with unshed tears. You’d tease him for it, had you the capacity to think at all. But no, each thrust continues to bully into that sweet, spongy spot inside you as you moan, and Zayne’s mouth falls open with a cry of his own.

You chase into it with a kiss, clashing your teeth as you feel his tongue lap against yours, sucking hard. You feel the wrecked, blissed-out smile on your face, breaking away from him just long enough for Zayne to see how ruined and turned on he’s making you.

"Y-you're close, aren't you, my sweet boy?" You ask, the words coming out strained as Zayne fucks up into you. Pumping upwards, it’s like he wasn’t even trying every time his weeping head rams your sensitive spots. Just stuffing you full of his cock he denied you for so long, furious enough to mold you to his very shape. "C'mon, cum for me, Zayne. In me, please–ah."

You pull away even as his lips chase yours, arching your back so that your full weight grinds back on his hips. Zayne all but whimpers at the change in angle, his hands gripping the bed sheets as he tries not to starve off his orgasm.

"Please, please," he groans, his jaw clenching.

"Look at me, Zayne."

He does, and his pupils are so blown, his eyes nearly black.

"Cum for me, baby," you beg again, grinding down against him as his hand comes up to grope your chest the same moment your palm leaves to cup his balls, and that's all it takes.

Zayne comes, a cry ripped from his throat, his cock throbbing inside of you. You can feel the sheer warmth filling you, his seed spilling out and leaking onto the sheets, and god, there’s so much of it that cum squirts out from between the two of you, splattering up his abs and your thighs.

He’s trembling, head falling back as his hips jolt and stutter, still fucking up into you as though it can’t bear to part. You’re probably not helping with the way you still rocking on his length, your cunt milking his orgasm, and he can't take it, it's too much, too fucking good, he can't stop, never wants to.

But, fuck, one look at his face, and you already want him to cum again.

Zayne looks like sin, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead, his body writhing and straining as he gasps for breath, his skin shining in the afterglow of his release. The muscles of his neck are taut, veins pulsing and straining, his lips bitten red. He is fucking gorgeous, and the thought that he has done this for you, to you, has another wave of arousal shooting up your spine.

“You…” Zayne’s brows pinch together, but his voice is low, dangerous. Unyielding. “You didn’t cum.”

“I already did, besides I-I ah, Zayne—!”

You’re cut off by your own pussy, lewd squelching accompanying every brutal thrust Zayne overstimulates the both of you with, bullying his own cum out of you with each rhythmless thrust back in. He plants his feet into the mattress, thrusting his hips up as you claw at his shoulders, chest, the slap of skin on skin ringing in your ears.

“No, that isn’t-” Zayne’s words slur, feverish and mindless as his gaze zero’s in to where the two of you meet, the sound of every wet, messy thrust and the slight bulge he now sees in time to his thrusts. “Not enough. With me. Please, hah, cum with me, love.”

Transfixed, one hand drifts to the bulge at your navel, and before he can stop himself, he grinds the heel of his palm against it. Immediately, overbearing pressure shoots up your spine, a broken scream leaving you as you tremble above him, arching violently forward.

You try and speak, protests leaving as nothing more than garbled whimpers as you claw at Zayne’s wrist, trying and failing to pry his punishing grip off you.

He doesn’t relent.

How could he, when you’ve finally given him yourself? When this was everything he’s denied himself and more?

Fuck control, fuck discipline, fuck holding himself back. Zayne wants you.

Vision blurry, drool dribbling down the corner of your mouth, your combined cum gushes out of your overfilled pussy and spreads in a lewd little pool beneath you. It’s all you can do to take it, Zayne overstimulating the both of you to insanity, but his hips keep the same punishing rhythm. Two slow, deep thrusts before something snaps and he hammers into you twice. Thrice. Then begins all over.

It’s effortless, the way he bounces your body up and down with one hand, the other remaining pressed against your abdomen, massaging the outline of his dick showing through with every grind forward, rolling your clit between his forefinger and thumb.

Large hands splay your thighs wider, closer, impossibly stretching you out until all you can feel is Zayne, Zayne, Zayne. You don’t realize you’re chanting his name out loud too. And you never felt more gloriously out of control than when he abruptly jerks his thigh upwards– driving you right along with it– hitting your cervix all at once.

There’s no rhythm. Not anymore. You’re hardly lucid, dropping your full weight down just to meet Zayne’s cock as he pulls you down prone atop of him to catch your mouth in an open kiss as he hits your g-spot again. And again. And again and again and—

“Love,” he all but moans it into your lips, low and broken and oh so addicting. “My love, please.” God, he’s still so painfully hard but the feeling of you fluttering around him, getting tighter each time he calls you love, must be a sort of heaven. “Please– hah, fuck– cum. Cum all over my cock.”

You whine, surging forward to kiss him again, and he feels it, couldn’t do or think of anything but it as you cum around his cock for the first time.

Zayne’s eyes open even as you continue to suck and lick into his mouth, brows furrowed and vision blurring, lost in every hot pulse of your walls as they coaxed him further and further in, your release squirting against him as you struggle to drag your hips off him again, pussy sucking his cock in deeper, unwilling to let him go.

Shaking, his hands find their way back to your hips, settling over the light bruises as he guides you up and down again, startling you as you moan into his lips.

“Zayne,” you whine his name between kisses, strings of spit snapping between you, Zayne chasing hazily after your mouth before you cup his face in your hands.

God, the sound of his name on your lips is enough to have him keening, pressing his forehead to yours as his entire body trembles.

You’re coming again before you even realize it, vision spinning in and out as Zayne continues to fuck you through it. Zayne makes a noise, something between a moan and a whimper, his hips slowing despite himself.

You're gorgeous, the sight of you atop him, still slurring out compliments, and it's too much, fuck, too fucking much, too fucking perfect, his perfect woman.

With a final snap of his hips, Zayne comes alongside you.

His orgasm has him gasping and his entire body bows forward, arms wrapping around your middle as he buries his face in your shoulder, kissing into the tender flesh as he just keeps cumming.

He can't find the need to hold back this time. Not when the pleasure is so intense that his vision is turning white, not when your cunt is hot and pulsing and clenching around him, not when the praise and encouragement keep pouring out of your lips, whispering into the crook of his neck, "good job, Zayne, such a good boy for me, you did so well, my sweet boy, my love, hah, I love you."

When you finally come down from your high your body is sore and aching, the feeling of his hot cum deep inside making you whine, the sensation so much better than his fingers or toys, so much more warm and full.

Zayne’s arms are wrapped protectively across you, hugging you down atop of him even as his cock remains motionless within you, not an inch of skin untouched as his hands rub careful circles down your spine and thighs.

You nuzzle closer, whispering more nonsensical praises into Zayne’s hair, raising a shaking arm to comb through it as he still keeps his face tucks into your shoulder, hidden and shaking softly still.

A shift, and you feel his hot breath on your neck, a sudden drop of wetness against your skin, and you realize with a start that Zayne is crying.

He’s crying. Soft, unrestrained sobs muffle into your shoulder as he tucks you close, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck between breaths. You let him. You curl up as close as you can get onto his lap and then closer still, one hand raking through his hair in gentle reverence as you let him cry.

It is silent, save for the sound of his sobs and his labored breaths.

"I love you, Zayne," you say, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. "You really are perfect, thank you, thank you."

You kiss his forehead, then down his cheek and jaw until he finally relaxes under you. Tracing lazy patterns up and down his chest, you coax him down until he finally raises his eyes to meet yours with a flutter of tear-stained kisses to your palm.

The first thing you notice is the way his cheeks are flushed, his eyes wavering and hazy. The second is the way his lips are swollen, the marks on his neck and chest blooming darker with each passing minute. The third is how the sweat on his skin is beginning to dry, making his hair stick up in all sorts of directions.

The fourth is the look on his face.

The look on his face is soft, tender, and unsure. Nothing like the infallible surgeon the whole city reveres, or the smart-mouthed mentor you’ve grown to admire and respect. Just Zayne.

You brush the damp locks away from his eyes, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips, and he melts, his body falling forward onto you as he curls you into his side, tucking you down onto the bed alongside him.

“Stay with me?” He asks, his voice low, as though afraid to ask. Afraid to know.

Always.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

3K notes · View notes

eiri-ri · 5 months ago

Text

you make him lose his cool

word count: 900-1k per lead synopsis: in which you provoke them, and they love it. (inspired by kiss of life's igloo) contains: fem!reader x lads men (separate, non!mc), established relationship, downbad men, NSFW CONTENT MDNI (i'm talking grinding, oral sex implications, etc), song lyrics, and cursing. a/n: UPDATED WITH CALEB AS OF 2/1/25 i feel hot whenever i listen to this song. i hope you do too while reading. enjoy! do not plagiarize or translate. lads men do NOT endorse plagiarism. reblogs & comments appreciated. lads masterlist | tagged: @vvintqz (ik this is technically the reader teasing xavier but u said to tag u when i write xavier so i hope u enjoy)

caleb

What you heard? (What you heard?) But it's never what you think, trust

it's impossible to surprise caleb.

he always knows what you're up to.

whether you're just waking up from a heavenly two-hour nap or going out to get your hands on the latest edition of your favorite blind box series, he's always there.

last time you tried to cook yourself a meal (ever since you started dating, he hasn't let you lift a finger), he came home early and snatched the spatula away from you, insisting that you sit down and look pretty for him while he makes his signature braised wings.

you're not sure how he does it. maybe he has a secret camera or a tracker installed (ha). though, you don't have any complaints. you think it's fucking hot how he's never away from you.

even so, you've been wanting to surprise him for a while now. blame it on your desire to fluster him as much as he flusters you. you're going to surprise him AT LEAST once in your lifetime.

which explains why you're in an apron right now, with absolutely nothing underneath.

to be honest, you were hoping to surprise him with homemade apple pie since he's always cooking for you. but again, you want to fluster him. thus the apron, a long piece of denim fabric wrapped tightly around your waist and hung dangerously low at your chest. you can't deny how delectable you appeared when you looked in the mirror, admiring your exposed arms, legs, back, and neck—anything that would drive the esteemed colonel insane. you felt jittery just thinking about the look he would have on his face when he walked in through the door of your shared home.

however, your joy is short-lived when your phone rings while you slice up some apples in the kitchen.

"what's with the apron, pipsqueak?"

you put the knife down with a sigh. "do you have a camera installed in here or what?"

caleb chuckles into the phone. "wouldn't you like to know?"

"i would like to know so i can turn the damn thing off and actually surprise you for once, dipshit," you retort playfully as you adjust your phone between your ear and shoulder, picking up the knife to continue chopping. you suppose you should still make the pie since you already got the ingredients out.

"aw," he mocks, his voice dripping with arousal. "did my little pipsqueak dress up just for me?"

"yes," you snap, rolling your eyes. "but this little pipsqueak is about to change since you ruined her surprise."

your threat does little to faze caleb, as evidenced by his endearing laughter.

"don't be upset, pips," he teases into the phone. before you can scoff at his audacity to tell you not to be upset, your ears catch the hurried footsteps in the background of the call. it doesn't take long for you to hope your boyfriend is on his way home—on his way to you. sure enough, his next words cause heat to pool between your bare legs.

"keep the apron on. i'll be home soon."

after he hangs up, you put your phone down with a giggle, eager for what's to unfold once he arrives. however, you still can't help but wonder if he actually has a camera installed because how the fuck does he always know what you're up to? you frown as you turn your head left and right. you don't see any red flashing lights in places that could provide him an optimal view. nope. nothing in the corners of the ceilings and nothing in the walls either. before you can convince yourself your boyfriend is somehow omniscient, you notice something out of the corner of your eye.

his dog tag. seems like he forgot to put it on after putting on his uniform. you pocket it, hoping to give it to him when he gets home.

but your mind is truly one of a kind. as caleb likes to put it, resourceful during the most critical moments.

because when he's balls deep inside of you, coaxing your second orgasm out of you, you get the bright idea to fish your shaky fingers into the pocket of your bunched-up apron and put. it. on.

caleb's eyes widen upon seeing his dog tag on you. there it was, the important item he forgot this morning, resting between the delicious valley of your breasts, bouncing up and down while jingling an enticing melody.

"fuck—pipsqueak, you—" he thrusts harshly, pistoning into your sopping heat. you throw your head back at the sensation, allowing him an even better view of his chain, mingling with the beads of sweat on your collarbone. shit, he's so turned on right now. not only were your swollen, sweet lips adorning his name, but so was your pretty little neck. it filled the young colonel with pride. and enough vigor to bring you to your third release, as evidenced by the endless slamming of his hips and the clenching of your thighs.

"good girl," he helps you through your high before letting go of your waist, hoping to give you a break. "i'll go get a towel. stay here."

but when your pilot of a lover goes to leave, you wrap your legs around him and pull him to you, causing him to collide with you. caleb hisses at the contact, sensitive more than ever.

"don't push it, pipsqueak," he warns as he plants both of his arms on the kitchen counter, caging you in. "you need to rest."

"i don't think so, colonel," you prop yourself on your elbows, meeting his eyes boldly. "i don't think so at all."

caleb swears he feels his mechanical arm short-circuit because what you do next is just fucking tantalizing.

you pinch his dog tag and bring it to your mouth.

his breathing quickens substantially when your teeth take the shiny piece of metal as their prisoner. it's not long before his dog tag is trapped between your seductive canines and your thighs are tightened around his waist.

with a shameless smile, you jut your chin towards the man, signaling to him to make his move.

caleb growls, seizing the chain with both hands and bringing you to his face.

"i warned you, pips."

extra (in honor of his official installment)

as you munch on some apple pie in caleb's embrace on the couch, you can't help but ask.

"how did you know about the apron but not the dog tag?"

your boyfriend sniffs before answering, a little bit of pie still in his mouth.

"i couldn't check the cameras on the way home."

"oh that makes sense."

"…"

"wait, what?!"

sylus

Glass room, perfume, Kodak on that lilac (alright) Slipping on my short dress, know he like that (like that)

there's nothing like getting ready in sylus' bathroom. not because of the sheer size of it (it takes at least a day to explore his residence), but because of how good you look in the mirror right now. you can't help but smile as you step back to get a full look at yourself.

sylus went all out for tonight's auction.

he gifted you a tight-fitting ebony dress, its gorgeous silk straps accentuating your shoulders perfectly. he also gifted you a pair of evening gloves, its velvet fabric wrapping around your arms flawlessly. of course, the dress came with priceless jewels and heels. as you twirl in front of the mirror, the scarlet gems on your ears glimmer, and the cherry kitten heels on your feet click. oh, you look so good, you can kill.

but what seals the deal is the neck accessory he got you.

an intricate, black choker made out of lace. fucking lace. a scoff leaves your mouth when you notice the ruby medallion hanging at the center. his taste is as clear as day.

as you reach behind your neck to clip the choker, the man of the hour walks in. you meet his eyes through the mirror, your hands still at the back of your neck. "sylus."

"miss," he acknowledges in return, an unmistakable smirk appearing on his lips. his eyes trail down your figure. "you look stunning."

"thanks," you giggle as you hook the choker clasp. "you don't look bad yourself."

and you're absolutely right. although he has his usual dress shirt on, his outerwear is completely new. a gorgeous red blazer, adorned with inky brush strokes, sits proudly on his shoulders. moreover, his accessories are new (he's never worn any before). cuffed around his right hand is a sleek platinum watch, spotlighting his forearm deliciously. hanging from his left ear are silver chains, shining unashamedly. you can't help but bite your lips as you admire your lover in the mirror.

yeah, sylus went all out tonight.

catching the hazy look in your glittered eyes, he tilts his head before grinning, "like what you see, sweetie?"

you roll your eyes playfully before returning to the sink. "yes, actually. didn't know you were capable of wearing something other than black."

sylus chuckles as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. "i've worn colors other than black before."

"if you're talking about the two outfits that have the belt around the sleeve," you list nonchalantly as you pick up your lip gloss. "they don't count. they have black on them."

"i'm talking about the red cardigan, sweetie," he counters smoothly, eyeing the lip gloss in your hand.

"ah." you run the wand over your parted lips, enjoying the feeling of gloss on them. "touche," you say, bending over the sink to see if you missed a spot. you do, however, miss the way sylus' fingers tighten around his arms when your dress hikes up. smacking your lips together, you lift the wand to reapply. "but you barely even wear that. so that doesn't count either."

sylus hums, barely paying attention to what you just said. his eyes are transfixed on the wand. he's mesmerized by how it travels across your lips, slathering them with sticky, shimmery syrup, leaving him thirsty for a taste. not to mention the sounds leaving your lips whenever you press them together. sweet, squelching sounds that have him pressing against you in mere seconds, his hands gripping the edge of the sink.

at first, you were taken aback by his sudden proximity. but after feeling something prod at your back, you smile amusingly before placing the wand down. "i'm assuming," you swiftly turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, his eyes widening as you pull him closer. "there's been a change of plans." you slowly lick your lips, collecting some excess gloss. as it drips from the tip of your tongue, you ask with a tilt of your head, "how late are we going to be?"

that's it.

sylus crashes into you, his tongue desperately trying to lap up the excess gloss. his hands haphazardly roam all over your body before lifting you onto the sink, pinning you down as his lips smear your lip gloss everywhere. you moan, trying to match his fervor. the sinful mixing of breaths, saliva, and gloss floods your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around him and bring him closer to you. he welcomes the action, gasping and grinding into you.

by the time he pulls away for air, both of you are left panting like dogs, mouths and chins smothered in sheen.

your eyes never leave sylus' as you wipe your chin, a string of gloss and saliva hanging prettily from your gloved palm. with a groan, he dives into your neck and sinks his teeth into your collarbone. you throw your head back at the pain, whimpering when he soothes the spot with his tongue.

but when sylus traces a finger up your back, you freeze immediately.

why?

oh, because he's unzipping your dress.

"sorry, sweetie," he chuckles into your perfumed skin, savoring your surprised reaction when he drags the zipper all the way down. "we won't be late."

you look at him in confusion, barely processing the silk straps falling off your shoulders.

he leans in and whispers into your ear.

"we won't be going at all."

xavier

Heart attack, IV when I walk the street Vitamins that D, I'm good, I'm healthy

your starlight of a boyfriend collapses onto the bed, his legs hanging off the edge and his pants dangling pathetically from his ankles.

you giggle at the sight, wiping your lips clean of his release. as you rub a drop between your index finger and thumb, you notice the texture's a bit thick, almost like jelly.

"xavier," you call lovingly, rising from your knees and crawling on top of him. he barely responds; his eyes are screwed shut with beads of sweat trailing down his face, neck, chest, legs, everywhere. shit, what did you do to him? he can't get his chest to stop heaving, his mouth to stop watering, and his ears to stop ringing. he can't do anything. not with the way you looked so pretty on top of him, especially after making him release so intensely in your mouth.

"xavier," you repeat as you cradle his face, making his dazed eyes meet yours. "when was the last time you drank water?"

"water?" he pants. "i'm not sure. why do you ask?"

"well," you show him your fingers. he gulps, flushing a deeper shade of red. "this tells me you haven't been drinking enough water."

you get up to retrieve some water from the kitchen. xavier whines at the loss of contact. although he tries to stop you from leaving, you easily slip out of his weak embrace (he literally got his life sucked out of him; cut him some slack). after you reassure him with a kiss on his forehead, you open the door. "i'll be back soon."

he responds with a whimper before closing his eyes. before he knows it, he falls asleep.

not even five minutes have passed when you return to the room, a glass of water in your hand and a packet of vitamins in the other.

"xavier?" after placing the items down on the nightstand, you sit on the bed to admire the view. there he is, sleeping soundly with his shirt unbuttoned and pants unbuckled, his chest slowly rising up and down and his cute nose scrunching every so often. you almost feel bad when you wake him up. almost. as much as you like watching your boyfriend sleep, he needs his water and vitamins, considering how much energy he uses to fight wanderers.

"wake up, xavier," you coo. "you need your vitamins."

he stirs, peeking one eye open to look at you. cute, you think. "i'm too tired, angel." he whines before closing his eye again. "i'll have some later."

"come on," you chuckle. "at least drink some water. you're dehydrated."

hoping to keep him awake, you litter his face with kisses, repeatedly pecking his adorable features. his droopy eyelids, his button nose, his fluffy cheeks, his moist forehead, his small chin—not a single spot is missed.

his little laughs repay your efforts. before you can continue your bombardment of kisses, his arms wrap around your shoulders, successfully pinning you down to him. you're surprised by how quickly he replenished his strength.

"you're trapped," he points out cheekily. "now we can both sleep."

"xavier," it's your turn to whine. "you need to drink some water. besides," you try to get up but fail miserably due to his tight embrace. "you need to scoot up, and i need to lay down properly if we both want to sleep." still no signs of letting you go.

you sigh before poking at your boyfriend's waist, causing him to yelp.

he immediately lets go of you, rubbing the spot you just touched. taking the chance to escape, you stand up and reach for the glass and vitamins.

"meanie," he pouts. "i thought we agreed to not tickle each other for today."

"that's because you try to tickle me all the time," you retort playfully, opening the packet of vitamins. "besides, i only tickle you as a last resort. unlike you, i'm nice." you pop the vitamin in your mouth and bring the glass to your lips.

"as if." he yanks up his pants and crosses his arms. "last time i checked, being nice means letting your boyfriend sleep peacefully," he quips as he turns away from you, hoping his grumpy little act will coax more kisses from you.

instead, a hand comes into his view and grasps the sheets. furrowing his brows, he shifts back to ask what's wrong but is startled to find your face hovering above his.

"angel, what—"

you press your lips into his, your free hand gripping his chin. on instinct, xavier opens his mouth, expecting your tongue to greet his. however, his eyes widen when he feels something pour in. oh. he greedily swallows the water and vitamin, his fingers weaving into your hair.

you pull away abruptly, a drop of water trickling down the corner of your lips. before he can say anything, you grab the glass of water and drink from it again, your hooded eyes never leaving his. xavier groans at the sight, his chest heaving for the third time today. and it's barely afternoon. oh, you're going to be the death of him.

he's sure of it when you return to his lips, water flowing into his mouth so sensually as his tongue reaches out for more. this time, you rest your entire body on top of him, allowing him to grab at your hips and thrust upward, desperately rubbing against your clothed core and seeking any type of friction that could relieve him of this growing desire you satiated with your mouth less than ten minutes ago. he never wants to drink water alone ever again.

“a-angel,” he moans when you pull away again. “why?”

“you need more water, xavier.” you tease with a lick of your lips. “gotta make sure my boyfriend is hydrated, ya know?”

with that, you go to stand up and reach for the glass. however, the room spins as xavier pins you down, your positions switched and your wrists restrained above your head. your eyes widen, realizing you might've pushed your boyfriend too far.

"angel," dark, cerulean eyes burn into you before glancing at the glass. “that's not enough water.”

rafayel

Yeah, white tippy-toe summer, I make him go dumb, duh He doubled down on that text, says that I'm the only one

(heads up, reader doesn't have to be mc but they know about rafayel's identity as the sea god and he calls you his beloved bride)

rafayel isn't sure how he got here.

you, on top of his bare chest, nibbling at his neck and dragging a finger down his clenched abdomen.

"c-cutie," he stammers. "someone might see."

he's not wrong. you're at the beach after all. but it's a private beach, one the artist rented for a date. so really, what's the harm in pinning your boyfriend down in the sand and showing him how much you appreciate him?

"you're the one who said this place was private, raf." you giggle before sinking your teeth into him, eliciting a moan. "besides, we both know why you suggested a date at the beach. don't tell me you forgot." you trail your finger along the waistband of his swim trunks. he jolts, his half-lidded eyes meeting your misty ones.

of course, he didn't forget. but considering the current, scandalous situation he's in right now, his memory is a bit hazy. as you twirl the drawstring with your index finger, rafayel bites his lip and tries to remember how exactly he got here.

last thing he remembers is you excitedly texting him about your package coming in.

a package, pft. no big deal, right?

wrong.

he almost dropped his phone when you sent him a picture of the package, more specifically, you wearing its contents.

a gorgeous two-piece swimsuit in the color of his hair. fuck, lavender has never looked so good on you. the way the tight, skimpy fabric hugged all the right places, making you seem so so malleable. the way you posed in front of the mirror, your face bridling with innocent excitement but your body positioned so so temptingly. shit, he hopes this exhibition ends soon because his slacks feel suffocating all of a sudden.

it wasn't long before he spammed you with a hurricane of texts consisting of flattering emojis and praises about how you're the only one he'll ever love (dramatic but heartwarming) and how he would love to take you on a date at the beach as soon as this stupid exhibition is over so you can swim in your new set to your heart's content (totally not because he wants to see the real thing).

yeah, now he remembers. he got himself into this situation. you even tried to stop him.

"uh," he recalls you hesitating through the call. "aren't you tired from your exhibit?"

"nope," he immediately answers, causing you to raise a brow. "not at all, cutie. i'm in tip-top shape. what better place for us to test your swimsuit than the beach?"

"us?" you repeat amusingly. "since when was testing a swimsuit a two-person thing?"

shit, he got caught.

"raf," you giggle at his silence. "if you want to see me wear this in person, you can always just ask, you know?"

"w-what?! no!" he acts as if you insulted his artwork. "i just thought it'd be a good opportunity for us to go on a date and to test the quality of your swimsuit! what if one day you go into the water and it gets untied or something? what if i'm not there to protect you from prying eyes? you can never be careful enough with swimsuits, especially shipped ones!"

"uh-huh," you drawl skeptically. "i'm sure a triple-knotted bikini will SOMEHOW get untied by the waves."

"come on, cutie," rafayel whines. "i know a perfect, private place! i'll even bring the food, the blankets, everything! please?" (he purposely emphasized "private" because no way in the seven seas is he going to let anyone look at you in a bikini)

you sigh before observing yourself in the mirror once more. the bikini DID look good, and you DID buy it for future swimming dates with rafayel. might as well, right? besides, you can't say no to him, especially when he begs so cutely like that.

"fine, raf," he remembers you giving in with an endearing sigh. "send me the address of the beach once you're done. i'll stop by your place to pack your swimming trunks."

and here you are, resting on top of him and drawing figure eights with your fingertips IN his swimming trunks.

he would laugh at the irony if it weren't for your provocative actions. you were the one who brought him his swimming trunks, and now, you were the one making him wish you didn't bring them so he could see how pretty your fingers looked right next to his—

yeah, he definitely got himself into this situation. he has no one to blame but himself for his predicament. it's his fault he's currently twitching and throbbing underneath you as you breathe into his neck and tease doodles into his thighs.

"oh fuck, cutie—" rafayel jerks his head back when you suck on his adam's apple. your mouth felt so good. you felt so good.

after pulling back with a 'pop,' you trace the red mark with your free hand, admiring your artwork on your artist of a lover. unfortunately for him (fortunately, really), this causes him to squirm uncontrollably. the simultaneous stimulation from your right hand on his thigh and your left hand on his neck was just too much for the lemurian. he swears he's this close to bursting all over the sand like a messy, wet bubble.

suddenly, you stop, withdrawing both of your hands from his body.

"c-cutie?" he lifts his neck to look at you but finds himself confused as to why you're sitting up. though, his confusion is quelled when you reach behind your neck.

oh.

your hands come into view, each one tugging on the strings of your top.

oh fuck.

he doesn't even see your top fall. no. he's completely frozen (and hard) when you lay back down on him, smushing your now-exposed chest into his abdomen, allowing him a view that brings roses to his cheeks. (he can feel your nipples rubbing against him).

"oh, god of the tides," you purr with a smirk as you press your ear into his chest, relishing in his rapid heartbeats. "you promised you would test this swimsuit with me." before he can deny your reminder of his mistake from the earlier call, you grab his hand and bring it to rest against your swimsuit bottoms, causing his breath to hitch. "won't you make good on your promise?"

rafayel swallows shakily before nodding.

"anything for my beloved bride."

zayne

Mm, yeah, I make him lose his cool Yeah, I make him go mmmmmm ah! ah!

doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, reduced to this.

a red-faced mess, losing his cool in a rocking chair, thanks to his lover shaving his chin on his lap.

his lover, who just so happens to be wearing a nightgown, a silk, sapphire nightgown with lace ruffles and ribbons that drove the man insane.

to make matters worse (better), your bare thighs were on either side of his hips, caressing and stroking him whenever you would move to shave his chin.

don't even get him started on the fact that you're sitting right on top of his crotch. he prays to any merciful soul out there that you don't feel him growing down there-

he inhales sharply when you reach behind him for a towel, your chest mere millimeters from his face.

"you okay, zayne?" you ask with faux concern.

"yes," he clenches his jaw. it's taking him everything to not dive in and lick, suck, bite—anything to relieve him of this torment. "please hurry."

"hurry?" you pout with a tilt of your head. "but why?" you lift his chin to wipe some excess shaving cream. "do you not want me to shave you?"

"no, darling. it's just—" his hands fly to your waist for stability when you place the towel back in its place. shit, every time you lift yourself onto your knees to reach behind him, the chair moves more and more, resulting in a pattern where when he leans back, you press into him, and when you lean back, he presses into you. it's not helping that this pattern deliciously resembles a certain rhythm in bed.

"it's just?" you repeat to him, stroking his jaw to inspect for stray hairs.

he doesn't say anything. how can he? he can't just spill about how badly he wants to kiss your sweet lips, squeeze at your delectable chest, rip your enticing nightgown apart, and take everything you have to offer. no, he can't. not when you approached him so innocently with a cute smile on your face after he came home, asking if you could shave him. (he almost fell to his knees when he saw what you were wearing). not when you look so beautiful gazing at him from above, handling his skin with addictive yet gentle touches, and glowing underneath the moonlight from the open windows. shaking his head, he grips your waist with renewed resolve.

"it's nothing," he closes his eyes. "please continue." he would rather drink alcohol than misinterpret your innocent intentions.

except there was nothing innocent about your intentions at all. you admit, it's fun to tease zayne like this. the way his lips would chase after your fingers whenever you traced them, the way his eyes would falter whenever you leaned in, the way his breath would hitch whenever you moved your hips, oh it all made you feel wanted. and who could want more than a gorgeous, capable doctor who looks at you as if he's going to die if he can't have you?

you. you want more. you WANT him to have you, take you, right here on this rocking chair. you thought teasing him with a few shifts of your hips and some purposeful closings of distances between his face and yours would relay the message. but no. he's either completely oblivious or has the will of a steel that's been fortified ten times over. because even though he's made it incredibly clear that he wants what you want (his blushing cheeks and shortage of breaths are hard to miss), all he's done is sit there and take your teasing.

you frown, retracting your hand. what's it going to take for doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, to give in?

a lightbulb flashes in your head.

"hang on, i missed a spot," you lie, lifting yourself up once more to reach for the shaving cream next to you. "i'll make this quick."

and with that, you slam your hips down.

he groans out loud, eyebrows furrowing and fingers tightening around your hips. he still hasn't opened his eyes though.

"are you sure you're okay, zayne?" you ask innocently, twisting left and right. "i'm worried about you."

"w-why," he starts hoarsely, his fingers gripping for dear life, trying to stop you from moving so damn much. "why would you be worried?"

"oh, i don't know," you smear shaving cream all over his jaw before trailing your fingers down to his neck. "you just seem so…" you slowly trace a heart on his collarbone, eliciting a pretty gasp from him. "out of it."

zayne's eyes jerk open, glaring at you with unprecedented focus. you smile cheekily before pressing yourself deeper into him, eager to bear witness to what he'll do and say since he finally opened his eyes.

though, your smile doesn't last long. in an instant, his hands pin yours behind your back, causing your back to arch and your lips to part.

"i'm starting to think," he secures your wrists in his right hand and brings his left to his face, wiping away the mess you made. "you're doing this on purpose."

you grin. finally. he finally got the message. unable to hide your excitement, you lean in next to his ear and whisper, "what are you going to do about it, doc-tor?"

he inhales sharply, yanking your wrists.

"perhaps," he growls. "it's time you get a taste of your own medicine. prescribed by yours truly."

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eiri-ri · 5 months ago

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his white tank top 🤤🤤🤤🤤

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eiri-ri · 5 months ago

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lmao infold literally broke the Valentine's tradition

romance? no.

insanity? yes ☺️.

ps. I LOVE THE IDEA OF IT

edit: and here i am just realizing my men (🍐🍎) and i will finally have similar haircuts lmao 😭

#love and deepspace #teaser #the boys in mullet hairstyle is so 😚👌🏻#lads #rafayel #zayne #caleb #xavier #sylus

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eiri-ri · 5 months ago

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i will always wait for you to come back, no matter what.

#love and deepspace #caleb #glint photobooth #must protecc caleb at all cost!#when u come back

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eiri-ri · 5 months ago

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...

no text, just vibes

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eiri-ri · 5 months ago

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sick day

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eiri-ri · 5 months ago

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it's been awhile since i'm here but i'm mostly probably be back because imma yap about love and deepspace and maybe use this as an archive as well :3

it's crazy how my brain is rotting for this since DAY 1 and how much i spent for an otome game T^T (i just love Zayne and Caleb so much it's concerning haha TuT)

also im in my review season irl but i need some breather to somehow de-stress once in a while 🥹

#love and deepspace #yapping #cause i cant w/ life #lmao

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eiri-ri · 1 year ago

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yooo i miss this app so badd

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eiri-ri · 2 years ago

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Getting Hard While Cuddling— Senku x reader NSFW

Requested by anonymous!

This is as if the petrification never even happened. Senku is 19-20, but he still lives with his dad. Senku just doesn’t “see the point of moving out just yet.”

“Senku!” You whined, flailing your arms up from the doorway. You got no response back, he was still sound asleep. Your face fell in boredom, you were currently trying to get away with cuddling him without making it seem romantic at all. Your plan is to claim you’re scared of being alone in the dark.

You were staying over at Senku’s house currently, and this time you’ve worked up your courage.

You began to make your way to his bed side, nudging him until he woke up as you whispered his name false-frantically. When he opened his eyes and looked at you quizzically, you made sure to put on a full show of this.

“Can I sleep with you tonight? I’m scared.” You put your hands together, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. You decided maybe it wasn’t enough, so you went on. “I heard a noise and it freaked me out and now I can’t sleep.”

“Monsters aren’t real, Y/N. Go to bed.” He waved his hand in your face, lying his head back down on the pillow and closing his eyes as if to attempt to drift back off to sleep. You made a face for a moment, before responding with something you thought he’d accept as a reason.

“What if it’s a murderer? Those are real.” You spit out quickly like you were frantic and terrified about it.

“Then sleeping beside me isn’t going to save you. Call Taiju if you think you’re in danger.” He rolled over with that. You huffed in response, getting up to leave the room before you heard him call back from behind you.

“Come here, (insert preferred friendly nickname).” He patted the bed beside him.

You hummed in delight as you turned around and ran back over to lie down. Pulling up the covers to slip under, you decided to test the waters and risk it all by wrapping your arms around his waist and cuddling up behind him.

You felt him go stiff for a moment before he rolled over, pushing your arms off and looked at you oddly. Despite it being dark, you could see his eyebrow was raised.

“What are you doing?” He asked plainly.

“Cuddling with you, can’t best friends cuddle?”

He didn’t respond, instead he wrapped his arms around you. You in turn wrapped your arms around his shoulders, mindlessly pulling him closer to your chest. He didn’t think wrong of it at first, before he finally realized where he was. His face in your boobs, and odd enough, he felt odd about it.

Your leg came up and pressed against the front of his pants just enough to feel good to him. He felt shameful for it feeling good at all, but he was more worried about you pressing down any farther. However, you did, despite you yourself being completely unknowing of your actions.

Suddenly he felt himself getting hard, causing him to bite his lip and attempt to find a way out of this or to keep you from finding out. How could you not find our? Your leg is against it, you must know.

“Can you… uh… move your leg?”

Suddenly you realized your mistake, pulling your leg back, but there was no taking back what you felt. You now know.

Suddenly things got awkward, neither of you broke away however, continued to be wrapped up in each others arms.

“So… did you really think there was a murderer in the living room?”

“No… there’s probably not.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Oh…”

Suddenly both of you just went silent after you trailed off, your eyes locked together, both of your eyes flashing down to the others lips for a brief moment, before you’d both dart your eyes back up. You both began to lean in agonizingly slow, your lips finally connecting gently in the middle, moving in harmony together.

He climbed on top of you, placing an elbow on either side of your head, never breaking the kiss, but allowing him to get a better angle. He slipped his tongue in your mouth, his tongue tangling up with yours. You never thought you’d be making out with your best friend, Senku Ishigami, but here you are under him, mixing saliva with him.

His lips were a little chapped and dry, smaller than yours. Your noses brushed against each other as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His hand came around, lifting your head to put his hand behind your head, holding your head.

His hips came to down to grind his dick against your pussy, causing an irresistible friction between the two of you. He groaned lowly into the kiss, grinding against you again. You moaned softly, the sound muffled greatly by the kiss. He abruptly pulled away from your lips, moving to attack your neck with hickeys.

He bit down on the skin first, pulling it with his teeth a bit, before releasing the skin back, only to begin to suck on it. He sucked the first one for a long time, biting down with a little harsher amount of pressure this time to make sure the hickey was dark and stayed a while.

If Senku was thinking, despite being how unusual that he isn’t for once, he would have not left such a dark hickey in a noticeable place. Considering that Taiju will find it and shout about it without knowing what it actually is. Not to mention his dad sleeping across the hall who’d probably make the two of you breakfast in the morning. He might see your neck.

But Senku wasn’t thinking. He was too busy tasting you, marking you, feeling you. At this moment, rationality was out the window.

His lips trailed down your body, unbuttoning the buttons on the shirt you wore to bed. One by one, kissing the skin under each time. Once he got your shirt all the way off, he placed a small kiss on the bud of each of your nipples. Before taking the left nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly, before he got an idea to leave hickeys on your breasts as well. He moved slightly to the side, leaving a hickey that slightly hurt on your boob. As he did so, he brought a hand up to play with your other boob, massaging it lightly.

Afterwards, he trailed kisses down to the waistband of your pants, pulling them down at an agonizing pace. After an eternity, he had finally taken them off, smirking up at you before placing a hand on the front of your underwear.

He began to rub his hand in circles over the fabric, grinding his hand down against your sensitive clit repetitively. He lowered his head as he kept his ministrations going with his hands, biting at your inner thigh, beginning to leave a hickey again. He left about 4 on your inner thighs, two on each side, before he finally pulled your underwear down.

He leaned forward slowly, kitten licking your clit a few times for a brief moment, before diving his tongue in your cunt to taste you.

This was it. Your best friend has his face between your thighs. He is licking you in all your sensitive places. Your best friend has his tongue in you. It was only now hitting you, you’re getting everything you wanted for so long now.

Senku was currently swirling his tongue around your clit, using his hand to spread apart your lips to a better angle. Senku was currently exploiting how sensitive you are to try and get you to moan out his name. It wasn’t until a while of continuous pleasure that you began to get louder than panting.

“S-Senku… ahhh—”

He smirked against your pussy at the sound.

“Cum for me, baby.” He spoke against you, causing the vibration to send you over the edge. You came hard, covering him in your juices. He didn’t really care too much, instead he just licked you clean.

“Shit, you taste good.”

The rest of the night would be fun…

…

“Good morning Senku, Y/N, what would y’all like for bre—” Byakuya froze dead in his tracks seeing the clothes on the floor, then seeing you both in bed, though he couldn’t see anything that would scar him for life, he could tell you both were shirtless from a glance.

He shut the door quickly behind him, eyes wide.

Congrats you both broke Byakuya.

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eiri-ri · 2 years ago

Note

I just had an idea. Senku x fem reader where they play strip poker together and it ends in smut 👀

Senku x Fem. Reader

I actually had this idea forever ago and forgot about it, you made me want to dig it up. Edit: Gender isn't really specified, so anyone could read.

Want more from me? Master List 2

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

🧪Strip Tease🧪 (Dr. Stone)

Warning(s): Old Writing(didn't edit, idk what this is), never played poker ever, Smut, idk really, childhood friends till adulthood changed things

When you practice strip poker with Senku...it turns into you practicing other things...

✨✨✨✨

“Did you really need me to practice with you?” Senku grumbled from his seat.

“Well, I needed someone who wouldn’t care. I could’ve asked Taiju, but he likes Yuzuriha so I’m not even gonna bother him with that. That left you.”

“Don’t you have those other lame friends?”

You muttered a reply as you got out the cards to shuffle them, “Exactly, lame. They pretend when it’s convenient. Since I’m playing with them tomorrow anyway, I might as well learn how beforehand-- Besides, they’re either desperate to see me naked or would be too embarrassed, I’d probably leave early.”

“I don’t see the problem with it. It’s just being naked.”

Your eyes finally flickered up to him, “Exactly why I picked you—What’re you risking first?”

“You know the rules?”

“Mhm. Choose.”

“Watch.”

You dealt five cards for each of you, “I pick my jacket. Winner doesn’t have to remove anything.”

You kept your five cards, while Senku decided to exchange two from his hand.

“You sure you don’t want to exchange any cards?” he smirked.

“I got a pretty good deal, so I’m good.”

“Alright then, hit me.”

With a victrious grin you smack down your hand, “Flush. Beat that!”

His smirk didn’t drop as he carelessly tossed his hand onto the table, “Four of a Kind.”

“Wha—”

“Don’t you have a jacket to get rid of, [Name]?”

You sighed, slowly taking it off, “Yeah, yeah. All right, let’s try this again…”

You dealt the next hand, Senku simply exchanged one card.

Feeling betrayed from last time, you decided to exchange two cards.

“I doubt you’re going to win this time, so I’ll bet my shirt,” Senku held his poker face.

But unfortunately for him, you had a very good hand.

“I’ll bet my shirt, too. Go for it, Senku.”

“Three of a Kind.”

A chuckle bubbled from you, “Straight.”

He sighed, dejected and began to unbutton his shirt.

You found yourself watching in anticipation as the last button was undone, swallowing as it rolled off his shoulders and to back of his seat.

He was actually much more defined than you anticipated, considering he seemed like a weakling most of the time.

“...[Name].”

You must have zoned out, “I—Uh—Huh?”

He raised a brow, “Are you dealing, or what?”

“Oh…Oh! Right…”

You did your best to avoid looking, so you wouldn’t find yourself staring again.

“I'll bet my watch,” Senku leaned back to watch you.

You tried to not notice the way he unconsciously spread his legs, fortunately the table blocked most of the view.

“My shirt again,” you informed.

After dealing, you showed your hands again.

He’d won this round.

Now that it was reality, you were a little flustered at the idea of being half naked in front of him.

Mainly due to the little, itty-bitty, tiny, minuscule crush you had on him.

That was actually far from any of those things.

Then you reminded yourself, Senku doesn’t think anything of it.

He wouldn’t be attracted, so it didn’t matter, right?

You took a deep breath as your played with the hem of your shirt, before tugging it over your head.

It was a shame you missed his expression while your vision was obstructed.

“…Looks like you’re losing.”

You scoffed, “Please, we just started. You may be a science wiz, but games are my territory.”

“Watch.”

“Pants.”

You had a great hand, so great there was no way Senku had the only hand that could beat it.

“You’re done for, Senku!”

“Straight Flush? Not bad.”

Your brows furrowed, “Why don’t you seem worried?”

A cackle passed his lips, which made your eyes go wide.

“There’s no way!”

He tossed his hand onto the table top, a dark smirk taking over his expression, “What was that about games being your territory, [Name]? Because I just won this, Ten Billion percent.”

A Royal Flush.

Your body warmed in embarrassment as your eyes flickered down to your pants.

You’d have to take them off in front of Senku.

“Rules are rules…”

You dragged the pants down your legs and tossed them to the side where your shirt laid.

Now you felt a little embarrassed for your underwear choices, since it was only you who saw what you wore, you tended to wear really cute sets.

But when your gaze trailed from your thighs to the man in front of you…you were caught by his stare.

Why was it so intense?

Why was is so quiet?

Why couldn’t you... look away?

And why…why was it affecting your body?

“[Name].”

The sudden deepening of his voice sent a jolt through you.

“Yes?”

“You know, considering I got the best hand anyone could possibly get…don’t you think it qualifies for the rest of your clothing, too?”

“Uh—Huh? But I’d be n-naked…”

“Isn’t that the point?—What happened to not caring?”

Well, it’s hard not to care when he’s looking at you like that.

“I—well…”

“[Name]…are you nervous?” he teased.

You decided to hide your face, and hide your top half using the table considering the view he had wasn’t great under it.

But he simply just pushed the table to the side, the dragging of the table legs morbidly dramatic to you.

“What’re you hiding for? It’s not a big deal.”

In replacement, you placed your feet in the chair, using your legs to hide a little.

But that only made things worse, his gaze dragged lower and lower before they focused in between your legs.

His expression was one of amusement, while yours was more timid…now he knew everything.

He leaned back in his chair far too casually again, legs yet again spreading unconsciously.

Or perhaps it was intentional this time, you didn’t know.

He leaned his head on his knuckles, silver watch shining due to the light above.

“I haven’t touched you yet and you already gave me a visible reaction.”

Your body warmed more, but most of it was more focused in one area.

“Yet…?”

“I must admit, I came with pure intentions, but I don’t think I’m leaving the same way I came.”

Gloved hands teased you everywhere they went.

“You’re like a little science experiment,” he chuckled.

You were completely breathless, “Sen—kah!”

“I had a few hypotheses to test. They seem to be going well so far.”

The black gloves touched every inch of skin he could as you sat on his spread legs.

The contrast of his black slacks and latex gloves gave you butterflies.

“Why did you have to be a scientist?” you groaned.

He knew all the right places, curse those books, curse the internet.

Then his fingers, finally, finally touched you where you wanted.

He rubbed against the damp cloth, “We should take these off, hm?”

You swore his voice right in your ear was affecting you in an entirely different way.

“We should.”

A gasp, as he tears away a glove to please you with bare skin.

Eyes rolling back as he’s pounding you into the table a few minutes later.

A whimper as his gloved hand explores your back and trails to your behind.

Your voice cracks, as you cheek rubs against the surface, the last card clinging to the table finally fluttering to the floor.

“Been wanting to do this so long,” was all he could grit out, “You’ve got me thinking all irrationally for you…”

Muttering praises in between his thrusts, mumbling how you’re such a good test subject.

And, oh, how beautiful you were, how cute, which tempted him to turn you around and kiss you.

It was so intense, so careful, and there seemed to possibly even be love there.

“Senku…”

“You’re not playing this game with them tomorrow. Not that’d you’d be able to walk anywhere far tomorrow, anyway…”

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eiri-ri · 2 years ago

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all I can think about is Viking!Bakugo, his family sets up an arranged marriage but he hates the idea, he prefers to be chief of his own village with no support and be able to do it all alone to prove his family wrong. As soon as his fiancé turns up, he sees you and all thoughts leave his head as he sees how pretty you are and how all eyes are drawn to you as they all thinking the same thing. He notes how standoffish you are and how you look like a born leader from the way you stare back at his villagers. He immediately falls for you and tries to court you in his own ways, giving you the best pelts, catching the biggest food and weaving bracelets with the brightest colours. 🫡🫡🫡🫠🫠🫠🫠

WAITING FOR YOU [10.5K]

— viking!bakugou katsuki x reader

SYNOPSIS: your new fiancé is ruthless, rude and stupidly gorgeous. after being forced into an engagement with him to keep peace between your villages, you need to find some way to get along or at least come to an understanding. it happens quicker than you think once you catch him bathing in his private lake.

WARNINGS: minors dni, 18+ scenes, female reader, princess/honey pet names, chief’s daughter, arranged marriage, fiancés, enemies to lovers, misunderstandings, handjob, fingering (f), face sitting (f), very very very light ass play, outdoors but private, yn has hair long enough to be in a bun.

NOTES: i think it is very funny that when i started answering this ask i apologised that i really enjoy this idea but i don’t think i would be able to bring it to life. 10000 words later and i think something is alive and kicking lmao thank u for sending this to me and i even did a little viking research for certain words but certainly do not take this as gospel lol defo viking old fashioned violent cottagecore aspects with modern day dialogue. i hope everyone who reads this enjoys because i spent a lot of time on this! i am realising all my au!bkg fics are all very long because so much more background is required before we get into the smut lol ANYWAY yeah thank u user titantears!

FOR YOU MASTERLIST! - yes there are more parts

bakugou katsuki is the chief of his village, the leader of his army and your new fiancé.

you’ve heard everyone talk about how what’s his is yours and yours is his. that’s what marriage is, two people coming together in unity but your marriage with this brute beast of a man feels anything but that. nothing is yours. you’ve moved to his village, living in his home, eating his food and adapting to his way of life. you can’t even say he is yours, in fact you wouldn’t be surprised to find out he hates you since he does everything to prove he does but say the words. at least you’ve got a beautiful shiny ring on your finger that you spend more time admiring than really understanding what it means. you’re tied to this stranger forever.

one thing you and the great bakugou katsuki have in common is that you’re both forced to marry each other. an arranged marriage between two wealthy chiefs of their villages. this chief in question is bakugou’s father although he is rarely seen around these days due to old age and bakugou stepping up in his place. your marriage arrangement is just a pact so both villages don’t invade the other and giving your life to this man makes it all worth it for the survival of your people.

you have seperate bedrooms and you have to see him for breakfast and dinner, his only term and condition. he’s somewhat civil when you eat, but all too soon conversations become snappy, leaving you to storm off and him clanging his utensils against his plate.

“so… what are your plans today?”

“nothing.”

bakugou grunts before silence takes over the room.

he tries again, “nothing at all?”

“there’s nothing here for me to do. why do you care?”

“you talk like your heads up your ass,” he snarls.

you fake a gasp, “just like you then?”

the most tender moment you could place so far was when you had to stand beside him when you were announced his fiancé to his people. the warrior that is often described as ruthless could barely look you in the eye, which shocked you to no end, though when he whispered softly, “i’m gonna hold your hand. is that okay?”

it’s like you were doused with a warm blanket after a cold day. you locked eyes with him for a second before whispering, “yes.” his people won’t stop talking about this moment, or how it came across to them.

though that moment is long forgotten the next day when you land the last word in another bicker with bakugou in front of his whole army. you know you shouldn’t have been out here but the best thing about your new fiancé was that he was easy on the eyes. so easy that if you didn’t have one of his servants poking you to get changed or to eat up or to do something, you’d be drooling all over yourself just watching him. this led to you sitting and watching him be a dickhead to his army, shouting at them to work harder, be faster, and to, if it was even possible, be more violent. his vulgarity should make it easier to snap your gaze away from him when he turns to face you though it doesn’t.

he’s dressed in tight black cloths, chunky silver jewellery around his neck and always, your pupils drift to the silver band around his finger. the item that connects you both together. he’s dressed casually compared to his warriors who are coated in layers of chest and leg armour. you know it’s another way to prove he’s better than them all, that whilst training them he doesn’t need it. though a sharp curved axe that is heavy to look at hangs by his waist as a threat. he doesn’t scare you though, especially with how attractive you find the hoop piercings littering his ears and the expensive stolen bracelets across his arms.

he bites at you, face like a sour lemon, “why the fuck are you out here? isn’t there somethin’ you can be doin’ indoors?”

“what is with you and telling me to do something? can’t i just watch you work?”

“it’s not interestin’ and it’s unsafe for you,” he’s annoyed, barking an order at one of his warriors right after.

you think the only thing that’s unsafe is the way he makes you feel when he gets too close, you know your skin is too hot to touch. you notice his warriors staring at him, confused at how he is yet to raise his voice at you and how you’re so okay with being beside him.

“how is it unsafe being around the people who’re supposed to keep our village safe, fiancé?” you taunt and he narrows his eyes at you.

bakugou bends his back to whisper in your ear, lips almost brushing your skin. “my men work so hard they barely see women, let alone ones as beautiful as you. you bein’ here is addin’ an extra distraction and job on my list.”

your breath hitches at the compliment, whispering, “distraction for them or you?”

bakugou doesn’t want to admit it yet he’s rising to his full height and ignoring the smell of baked goods that linger off your clothes. “both. now fuck off.”

“you need to learn some people skills if you want to have a wife, bakugou. you’re acting like a prick.”

bakugou rolls his eyes dramatically, tired of this conversation with you. his soldiers are watching the interaction intensely. they’ve never seen bakugou act anything but strict and merciless, usually solving his problems with violence. they definitely haven’t seen him blush in annoyance from a woman.

“i’ve never heard that one before, good job. now remove yourself before i do it myself.”

you bite your tongue, deciding to give up with this one though you can’t help but wonder how it must feel to get manhandled and thrown over his shoulder.

“you won’t see me at dinner,” you shout over at him, walking away.

“i definitely will, princess.”

he did end up seeing you, dragging you from your room over his shoulder and plopping you in the dining room.

occasionally, you catch him watching you and he doesn’t look away. his fiery eyes are steady on your body with a frown you can’t translate. you’d be brushing your hands through the flowers landscaped across his home while he sits with the other higher members of his army. he scrunches his nose, his head resting in his palm. he’s gorgeous with his wheat blonde locks and scar through his eyebrow. his bicep is the size of your head and you’re perfectly aware of how easy it would be for him to pick you up and throw you around. bakugou doesn’t turn away when you frown back at him, only when one of his excited army members prods a finger at a map does his attention shift before a bubble of laughter floods from them. you think your fiancé is the butt of the joke from the way his red spreads all across his neck.

your new relationship is rocky, filled with tension and pure impatience.

at least you’re lucky your family chose a handsome fiancé for you. you watch from afar when thick mighty legs and ass step into the bakugou private lake to bathe. his strong shoulders with more muscles than you thought were possible on a human. bakugou is all wide shoulders and tiny waist, scars and slashes littering the expanse of his back and if you voiced how attractive you found a back you’re sure you would be locked up. you’re surprised to see him without his bracelets or necklaces, the only jewellery still on being his ring and earrings.

the weeds and grass that surround the lake dwarf you whenever you bathe, always drooping into your eyes and covering you intimidatingly. yet with him, they stretch tall, pointing to the sun so there’s enough space for him to dunk his head in the water. nature isn’t overwhelmingly large beside him, in fact with all the roughness that is bakugou katsuki, the water and greenery cares for him like a lover would.

his blonde hair curls at the tips with the water, dusting to a darker blonde, matching the deep shades of green. his arm rises to scrape it all off his forehead. the lake glazes his body like a shield and you don’t miss how he lightly pinches a lily stem between his fingers to bring to his nose. he hasn’t even turned around yet and the sight of his back, scrubbing himself clean… you don’t think you’ve ever been attracted to someone so much. not even your father’s old scribe was this attractive and he was the most attractive in your village.

you’re careful to be silent and you’re well aware of how perverted this could turn out. you swear you were just on a walk around his land and now you’re distracted by your fiancé cleaning his body in the lake. he’s completely naked, dripping with water. the dirt that marked his skin is washed away, leaving him golden and shiny in the sunlight. you don’t know what you want a peek of more his chest or his—

“who’s there?”

bakugou turns in your direction in a flash. fuck. you curse the skies because you know you didn’t make a sound. his hearing is immaculate and so are his senses. you debate whether to reveal yourself or if he’ll just leave it. actually, you know he won’t leave it.

“i know someone’s there. reveal yourself or i’ll kill you without question.”

you sigh, flinging your head back and looking to the clear skies. for fucks sake.

you stand tall, faux confident because his ruby jewel red eyes are looking at you and paired with a grumpy violent frown, it has you feeling lightheaded for all the wrong reasons.

he’s stepped to the shallower end of the lake now, his bare chest in view and finally, his face. he’s so gorgeous. tanned skin, rolls of abs. facial features all in the right places yet with a masculine charm that has you humming. you wonder if he realises.

you step out from behind the tree, chin high. “i was coming to bathe but you’re already here. i’ll come back later.”

you’re lying through your teeth but bakugou can’t catch it, focusing on stopping the flush of red up his neck. now the thought of you naked in the lake beside him is filling his head and he’s rubbing his hand against his forehead roughly.

your eyes study his bicep, then the thick scar under his right pectoral and your body flushes with heat when you think he caught you.

“you didn’t bring any cloth to dry yourself?” he asks, voice deep and troubled.

your eyes widen in alarm, that’s true. stupid lie. “i usually… air dry. stand out in the grass.”

now it’s bakugou’s turn to be surprised, “hah?” he can’t help it. “what if someone sees you?”

you blink, “everybody would know i’m off to bathe. only my maid would be around to watch out. well back home anyway.” that’s true.

bakugou grunts. he needs to get that same routine for you here. “i’ll get out ‘n’ you can bathe. i’ll sit out and watch for you.”

“w-what?” you splutter.

he cannot be here while you bathe and what did you say… air dry? fuck fuck fuck.

“i’m gettin’ out. i was done anyway,”

water ripples around his body as he moves, strong limbs controlling the water. he walks closer to you, the clear lake water inching lower and lower down his hips. you can see the brush of hair leading to his—

you spin around in a rush, “bakugou! oh heavens.”

your chest is heaving, your fingers to your lips. you still hear him moving behind you, bare feet against the grass. his fluffy cloth against his skin.

“i’m hurryin’ up for you. don’t want you complainin’ back to daddy that i don’t let you live your life of luxury,” he remarks and you’re about to spin around to curse him out but you don’t want to get a glimpse of his cock. that’s a lie. you really do but you don’t want him to know that.

“i don’t complain to my father!” you shout, completely flustered, “and i can just come back later.”

“you can turn around. i’m covered,”

you do turn, slowly and now he’s the one lying. he’s only half covered, cloth at his waist covering his chunky thighs and that. just by the indent from the cloth, you know it’s large. still, his shoulders and chest and arms are out. they’re a killer.

you force your eyes to meet his. his jaw is strong, arms crossed against his chest and he speaks his next words like they’re scraping painfully across his throat.

“undress then. i’ll keep watch out for you.”

no, no, no. no.

“you don’t need to do that. i’ll just come back later.”

bakugou shakes his head like his word is law. “you still need someone to look out for you like you had back home. i’m doin’ it.”

“don’t you have army stuff to do? you don’t need to stay!”

he ignores your question completely, “nobody else is here to watch you.”

you blink at him. you’ve never thought about someone seeing you the other days you’ve showered here. it’s not something you’ve cared about since not many people on bakugou’s grounds have access to this lake and if they heard someone here they know to walk away. apart from you apparently. but you can’t go back on what you’ve started now.

“do you not want me to see you naked?” his eyes skim your body and your next breath is weaker. then he quirks a brow that makes you mimic his crossed arms, “y’know i’m gonna have to one day.”

“yes i know that. we aren’t getting married today though, are we?”

bakugou has only ever felt this weird, uncomfortable, childlike embarrassment, stupidly horny, oddly at home mixture when he’s by you.

you’re both looking at each other, though you don’t know each other well enough yet to decipher the emotions in your eyes.

truthfully, you don’t mind him seeing you naked. you have a nagging feeling at the back of your head admitting that you want him to. you want him to like what he sees and feel the undeniable urge you’re feeling about him right now. to touch, kiss and lick the fresh lake water off his skin.

you begin to unlace the front of your cardigan, dropping it to the ground. then you’re kicking off your shoes and your finger is hooked in the strap of your thin dress.

“wait, you’re undressing now? let me turn around or somethin’ woman!” he grumbles,, stepping around you and facing towards his home.

your laugh feels like butterfly wings against his skin, light and melodic and he thinks it’s the first time it’s for him. “i thought you said you’re going to have to see me naked?”

“y-yeah but i didn’t mean…”

you pull your dress down over your breasts and ass, watching it fall gracefully to the ground. next is your underwear and you’re completely naked before your fiancé. though he’s got his beautifully toned back turned away.

“so what did you mean?”

bakugou’s whole face is flushed pink, the tips of his ears red. he wipes his large hand across his face, grateful you can’t see him from the front. “i just meant i will in the future. that’s it.”

you dip your toes in the lake water. it’s sun toasted. warm between your toes. you hum to yourself at the feeling.

it’s silly where your trust for this man comes from. you’ve barely spoken these past few weeks minus snappy remarks and quick-tempered conversations. though you know he wouldn’t turn around for a peek at you so you take your time submerging yourself in the water. you scoop all your hair to sit on your head, re-wrapping it in a silk strip of cloth.

“so i think this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had without arguing. if it could be called one,” you try and you notice his head twitch at the sound of his voice.

“i wonder why.”

“what?”

“you sit with me at breakfast for a full three minutes, pushing the food around your plate before runnin’ off like i smell like horse shit.”

“oh,” you pause, biting down on your lip, “you don’t smell like horse shit.”

“yeah, princess. i know i don’t.”

you’re not a princess, you’re a chief’s daughter so you have no clue why he always calls you that. you do enjoy the name though you despise it when it’s used mockingly by him. which it is. often.

you sigh, “i am not the biggest fan of your breakfast and in the morning i usually run off to pick something up from the bakery.”

“what? how come nobody told me?”

you shrug even though he can’t see you, “nobody comes with me. i sneak out the back.”

you’re not sure why you admit it but you guess it’s that weird trust you have in him.

“well, we’ll change it then. i can’t have you sneakin’ off just to fuckin’ eat breakfast.”

he doesn’t make it sound like it’s a chore or you’re being childish or stupid. he says he’ll fix it. your chest blooms with warm fervency. you push it away.

“since we’re here i also think your horse hates me. every time i try to stroke him he grunts and growls at me. kinda like you. so that’s why i stay away from you outside.”

this time bakugou laughs. this is the first time you think you’ve ever heard it and the smile naturally flows onto your face too. it’s oddly boyish compared to his body which is nothing but man.

“daisy hates everyone but me. just feed her and she’ll be fine. i’ll give you some food for her next time. she’ll fall in love with you.”

the same question is on the tip of your tongue. how do i make you fall in love with me? because that’s what happens in normal marriages right? not because you, for some reason, want this man’s affection.

“and what’s the excuse for your attitude?”

“i’ve only got attitude because you do,” you accuse.

“really?” he bends to sit down, leaning back on his arms and stretching out his legs in the grass. he’s still got his fluffy cloth around his waist. “that’s why you’re snappy at me before i even talk?”

“i’m just… bored and erm…,” you sigh and it feels relieving, admitting the thoughts plaguing your mind about your new life, “there’s nothing to do around here and i don’t know anybody.”

“i’ve got a library,” he blurts, head turning to the left but he’s unable to see you behind him at that angle, “and we can… i guess you can come drink with me and my friends and their wives. they’re alright.”

“really?” you’re shocked at the prospect. bakugou inviting you to be with him in his free time?

“yeah. you’re gonna meet them anyway and the library you get into with a key. i’ll get my blacksmith to make one for you.”

you brush your hand through the lake water, fixating on the ripples it creates. you weren’t expecting any of this today. who knew your fiancé was willing to compromise? you don’t know how exactly to say thank you, you’re not even sure if you should yet since nothing has come to fruition.

“i don’t mind you turning around. this all just caught me off guard.”

you can tell by his back that he tenses up, muscles tight and bunched. he scrambles to his feet, adjusting the cloth around his waist with his head looking down at himself.

there’s a tight pause in the air minus the soft tweets of birds. “are you in the water?”

“yes.”

“completely?”

you laugh again and bakugou doesn’t mean to flutter his eyes shut. “yes bakugou.”

“soon you’ll be a bakugou. my name’s katsuki.”

“yes katsuki, i am completely in the water sans my head and shoulders. i need it to talk.”

there’s a grumble, one you can’t make the words out of. he shuffles on the spot but still doesn’t turn.

“so are you going to?”

“no.”

“why not?” you frown, watching the six foot five body before you, “what happened to you’ll see me naked anyway?”

“i’m keeping watch.”

you feel a streak of stubbornness gush through your veins. maybe it’s the lack of attention you’ve gotten since being dubbed bakugou’s fiancé or the growing need blooming in your lower half. maybe it’s these odd mixed signals you’re getting from your lover to be.

“katsuki, turn around and look at me.”

“i fuckin’ said i can’t.”

“nobody is going to come and see me, i bathe out here alone all the time!”

“yn, i said i can’t.”

he doesn’t raise his voice the way you see him do with his army. he doesn’t even say it angrily with clenched fists the way you see him get when his army isnt getting things right. he says it steady yet almost shameful, a whine twinged at the end. it sounds like he wants to but something’s stopping him.

your brain doesn’t connect to the rest of your body when your legs begin to move. towards the lake’s edge with your toes raking through the grass.

bakugou’s head twitches, “the fuck are you doin’?”

your wet hand lands on his arm and he tenses again.

“yn, you… fuck,” he dips his head down.

“what’s wrong?”

he doesn’t tell you, instead he shows you and… holy fuck is it hard to miss.

bakugou katsuki turns around to face you and your first surprise is the way he keeps his eyes directly on yours, not your dripping wet body in the golden evening glow. he’s got a pained frown, pulled eyebrows and baby pink cheeks. his jaw is clenched so hard that you’re sure it must ache.

your second surprise is the growing bulge under his white fluffy cloth. the thick, long, massive bulge that you think, if your calculations are correct, has to be about eight inches? holy fuck, how will that fit inside you?

“oh my—,”

bakugou looks up to the sky with a loud exhale, “fuck, i’m sorry—,” he’s not sure the last time he’s ever apologised to someone. let alone for being hard.

“w-why? since when?”

bakugou huffs an uncomfortable laugh, rubbing his eyes.

“i could hear you being naked behind me and the fuck do you mean why? d’you know how hard it is to not look at you right now?”

you bite down on your lip, looking down at yourself and remembering oh yeah… you’re naked right now. the only thing on you right now is your pretty ring, glinting in the light, the same as his. you hold your hands behind your back at the observation. he’s attracted to you, like you are to him.

“i said you could. you can look at me.”

with those five words, bakugou’s pupils drop below your eyes. your skin burns wherever his eyes focus. on your lips, the curve of your bottom lip. your soft shoulders with glittering water droplets dotted across them. then your chest and he makes this weird grunty sigh. he wants to cup one or put one in his mouth. maybe cup one and put the other in his mouth. taste the lake water off your skin and circle your cute nipple with his tongue. then your soft stomach, he wants to lay his palms over you, he wants to touch, he’s dying to. then your mound, unshaven and he’s wondering how you taste. whether if he dips his fingers between your plush thighs, will they come away wet? he hums at your hips, thinking about spinning you around to see your ass and if it’s how he imagined it would be under your dress. then your feet, hidden in the grass.

bakugou feels lucky, elated, he thinks you’re so fucking perfect.

you were not expecting that. maybe some horny monologue, but to be called perfect? he gulps, eyes wide like he wasn’t planning on letting that slip.

“i’m not takin’ that back. you’re perfect. better than i imagined.”

“you’ve imagined me like this?”

he snorts, “of course. you haven’t imagined me like this?”

he thinks it’s very possible you haven’t but he risks it by pushing it back on you. he wins because you only give him that glare he’s growing to think is adorable.

“i’ve also imagined your ass and from the front i already know it beats expectations,” he grins and you’re wondering where the shy to show his boner bakugou went.

you shove his shoulder, “you are not what i imagined.”

bakugou doesn’t know what to make of that. he tilts his head to the side, “what did you think?”

you’re surprised at how you don’t feel self conscious or at all awkward being completely naked with bakugou. he’s back to focusing on your eyes though when you talk they drop to your lips and when you move to hold your side, he glances at your breasts. otherwise he’s back giving you his full attention.

“well, everyone back home said you were cruel, vicious and violent. how you were known for going berserk in battle,” you give him a smile he can only class as cocky, “you don’t know how many grandmas i have praying for me.”

bakugou raises his eyebrows. he knows what people say about him so he’s not completely surprised. “i am all those things, though i’m not in a battle with you. i haven’t tryin’ to be. us being bitchy to each other just happened.”

“i thought you hated me.”

“i think you thought you were supposed to hate me.”

you sigh, taking the silk ribbon out of your hair and redoing your bun. bakugou’s been doing a good job so far ignoring the pulsing in his cock. it’s heavy between his thighs and it’s only getting heavier with the sight of your arms in the air, your tits moving too. you’re gorgeous, pretty features all in the right places.

“i guess so? i didn’t want this arranged marriage stuff,” your hands dance in the air as if to explain before landing on your hips, “but i’ll do it for my family.”

bakugou wants you to do it for him, for yourself. he thinks he can get you to admit it.

“i was the same,” he mumbles, “hated how you were suddenly just here. in my space. i wanted to run my village on my own because i know i can but fuckin’ family. don’t wanna disappoint the ‘rents.”

you hum before him in agreement.

“i’ll be good to you. the best son, best chief, best warrior, best husband.” he nods at you and you don’t mean to step closer to him but you do, holding his promise tightly in your chest.

“do you promise?” you look up at him, eyes wide with hope and bakugou never wants to let you down. he hopes he never does.

“swear on my village.”

you freeze. you don’t know what means more to bakugou than his village, his people. you’re breathing heavy and the prickles of warm heat from the sun is making you sweat. actually the promise which feels worth so much more than a marriage certificate is making you sweat.

you lay your palm flat on bakugou’s chest, sinking down to the tuft of dark hair just above the cloth. it’s doing such a bad job at covering him.

“can i help you?”

your voice is sweet, nervous for rejection and bakugou wants nothing more than to just give himself to you. to thrust himself in your smaller palms exactly how he wants.

“i didn’t… i didn’t say that to get somethin’ out of it?” he starts but you only smile at him. how would you react if he kissed you?

“you didn’t do anything. i was the one out here. you only stayed to protect me, right?” your voice is taunting, like a magnet dragging him to you. your palm doesn’t move any lower, waiting on his command.

“but… fuck.”

“you can tell me what you like. i’ve been with a few guys back home so—,”

a large palm covers your mouth with swiftness, “don’t talk about other men around me if you don’t want to get a letter from back home that there’s been a raid.” katsuki’s voice drops octaves deeper and you cross one leg over the other. you guess this is the bakugou people warned you about. you lightly pull his hand off your face with no resistance.

“yes chief,” bakugou rolls his eyes and clenches his jaw. he’s willing to ignore that now. he’ll come back to it later, “so what about me touching your co—,”

bakugou grips your hips before walking backwards with you. your hands fly to his chest, glancing behind. “why are we going—,”

“i don’t want anyone to see what i’m about to do to you.”

“i’ve told you nobody can see us here. i bathe out here all the time.” you’re now knee deep, now thigh deep in the lake. tall grass and weeds surround you and your fiancé protectively.

“i’m gonna be with you every time you bathe now to look out.”

“that’s not possible. you’re out early in the mornings and back late in the evenings.”

“i’ll change my routine.”

“you’re planning on changing a lot for me, aren’t you?”

“you’re my wife.”

he says it with finality and for the first time, you don’t have a comeback. perhaps that you’re only his fiancé but it feels pointless. you gaze down at his cloth, half submerged in the lake.

“it’s all soaked!”

bakugou wastes no time untying it from his hips, rolling it in a ball and throwing it onto the grass.

“guess we’re both gonna have to air dry.”

finally, your eyes drop to his cock and what a pretty cock bakugou has. maybe that’s the wrong word, since it looks like it could cause damage to your insides. the tip is a round, bulbous, deep pink that you’re wondering how it feels against the inside of your cheek. he’s got three thick veins around his length that curves slightly to the left. the base is so much darker than the rest of him and he looks so smooth. so hard and almost painful.

you give his balls a soft squeeze and bakugou bucks in your hand. his hand clenching around your hips for some type of stability. his crimson eyes are hidden from view, shut and he’s clenching down hard on his teeth, the scar on his cheekbone creasing.

“princess… oh fuck,”

you’re going to be able to see bakugou katsuki, chief of the village and head of the army, fall apart and you’re going to do it to him.

“it’s okay katsuki, talk me through it, tell me how you feel,” you whisper, your voice no louder than the grasshoppers and crickets around you.

“j-just stroke me. tight and hard,” he grunts, head dropping to your shoulder to see what you’re doing to him.

you do what you’re told, fingers circling his length and pumping. he never mentioned speed so you go steady, delighted to hear your name fall from his lips, dripping in pleasure.

“y’know i went out to get that m-massive fuckin’ fish for dinner yesterday all to impress you,” katsuki’s got no clue why he’s admitting this now, not when you’re so close that you’re sharing body heat and he can lick to water off your neck. “you never ate it.”

you never knew that he went and got it, especially not to impress you. there’s barely any space to react not with him holding you so tight. he begins to thrust his hips in your hand.

“i didn’t know you got it for me. i don’t like fish.”

bakugou laughs, deep and gravelly you feel it between your legs and right in your ear. “i know that now, honey. next time i’ll kill a—,” his breath shakes and you’re mesmerised by him, his body. so muscled and strong and he’s yours. “i’ll kill the next village’s golden fuckin’ cow for you. would that impress you?”

you can barely think straight. the next village is barbaric, though that’s nothing for bakugou. you’re nodding before you realise you’re doing so, “yes, yes it will.”

“gonna cover you in silvers and golds,” he grunts and the ring on his finger imprints into your hips, “the next r-raid, gonna take everythin’ you’d like.”

katsuki moans loudly, a whiny, “fuck” accompanied with a dribble of precome over your fingers. his breath is hot and his fingertips are pressing into your hips. you make a move to thumb his head but he stops thrusting immediately. “if you touch there i’ll come and i’m damned if we start this relationship with me comin’ first.”

you loosen your grip on his cock as he lifts his forehead from your shoulder. “can i touch you? want you to come on my fingers.”

your breath halts in your throat. oh you’ve imagined this, not in this situation with your legs in the lake, outdoors and surrounded by lush greenery, but in your private bedroom in bakugou’s quarters. your legs spread on your bed while your thoughts wander to the blonde man and how he’s easily able to wield a weapon.

katsuki doesn’t kiss your mouth, you think he purposely avoids it, instead littering wet nibbles and kisses down your neck and shoulder.

you gasp at a particularly hard nibble, “yes, touch me.”

in your fantasies, katsuki is rough. he pushes you onto the bed, he doesn’t ask whether you’re ready and he always always makes you come. you think he could be like that though right now he’s anything but.

one hand stays at your hip to keep you from twitching as beneath the water bakugou kicks your legs further apart. you hold onto him in surprise but there’s no time to complain as his thick middle finger skims through your centre.

“ha, knew you’d be wet. it’s all in your eyes, honey,”

you just mewl, cheek leaning on his chest. you feel his cock bob against your stomach.

with his single finger he begins to circle your clit and you’ve wanted a release so bad these past few days that that touch alone feels like fireworks lighting up inside your body. your eyes are sliding shut, mouth dropping open as bakugou literally coos in your ear.

“d’you like that? got a pretty fuckin’ wife, don’t i?”

“fiancé,” you whine and you don’t know why you bother to correct him. he feels so safe, his skin cosy and the air fresh. you’re nodding against him, “so good.”

“technicalities. you’re mine either way,” he pecks your temple, rolling your clit on his finger until he hears your breathing become ragged. bakugou looks down at you and he’s not sure what swells within his chest.

he’s been with a few ladies in the neighbouring villages though he’s never felt anything for them minus fleeting attraction. looking down at you with your plush lips parted and your eyebrows furrowed like the pleasure is too much... your smooth skin compared to his scarred chest. your hands are scrambling for purchase, resting between your breasts and his chest and he’s begging to be chest to chest. you’re angelic, unlike anything he’s ever seen before yet so similar to the beauty of nature.

he’s seen it all, he’s done it all. committed the most gruesome of murders, stolen out of greed and lied for his own fulfilment. he knows that in those religious books they keep in the churches with all those sins under his belt, he doesn’t deserve somebody as heavenly as you. with your glares, always opinionated and your strange habits. your shiny hair, your galaxy filled pupils and your curious hands always touching something. he wants to know everything about you, have you by his side, he wants you to like him and soon, maybe love him.

you whine against his chest, a soft, “katsuki.” and he feels like he’s been set alight, a realisation of who he has in front of him ringing through his head.

he wraps his forearm against your lower back and growls in your ear. “gonna make you come all over my fingers. bet you taste heavenly, princess. wanna hear it all, don’t keep anything to yourself. you hear me?”

he wastes no time dipping two fingers into your centre and the friction from your wetness makes him go in like a dream. your arms go around his neck and you’re sure you’re dribbling against his chest. the sensation of him inside, prodding deliciously against your walls has you throwing your head back, “yes,” you moan, “yes, yes, yes.”

bakugou’s amazed at how you begin to bounce on his fingers, fucking yourself back onto him with no thoughts but hedonistic desires. a loud sloshing fills the air, it’s dirty and lewd but neither of you make a move to stop it.

this is the first time you’ve done anything together. the first time sexually but also just your first time completely alone together. you sleep in separate rooms, there’s always servants or soldiers or someone around but now it’s just you and him. you fucking yourself on his fingers.

“i knew, i knew this would feel good,” you squeal, a layer of sweat coating your forehead. bakugou’s hand slides up your stomach then your breasts to cup your jaw.

you look fucked, drowsy eyes, parted lips. though you don’t stop riding his fingers and he watches how your features shift as he thumbs your clit again.

“oh shit,” you breathe and bakugou grins cockily.

“you knew this would feel good? with me?”

your hum of agreement accidentally becomes a high pitched whine, “yeah. your fingers are so…” you arch your hips, chasing his thumb, “so big.”

he chuckles hearty and confident and he swears he’s forgotten the painful heavy limb at his hips until your fist circles it again.

“come with me, katsuki,”

he jolts in your hand. he’ll do anything you say, he didn’t realise it until this moment. but he says it anyway.

“say please, princess,”

you’re pouting, cheeks hot and eyes ready to plead. bakugou knows he’s lucky, he’s lucky you chose him.

“come with me please, i want to feel you come because of me,” you trail off, transfixed by his pupils on you.

“i can do that for you,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your cheek.

you’re both rabid animals in the wild, a pile of heaving chests and moans and grunts in the water. sweat coats you both as your bodies move in sync, chasing the same feeling but together. bakugou thrusts into your palm, not hiding the deep grunt when you thumb his wet cock head. swears fall from his lips whilst you pair a few swears of your own with mewls.

together, you’re messy. lubricated by your own need. you don’t stop moving and neither does he.

“gonna be the best husband. you won’t need anyone else.”

“i don’t want anyone else.”

it’s a switch that goes off inside you. your eyes falling shut, your hips moving faster and your insides clench around his fingers as if you’re trying to keep him inside. your hand slows down on his cock while you come but that’s okay since he splutters over your stomach and under your breasts. loads and loads leak out of him and you keep trembling on his fingers. he finds that despite all the noise you made before, you orgasm in silence. just an open mouth and body slowly going limp.

bakugou keeps thrusting until he’s done and even he’s shocked at how much he’s able to produce. you can’t blame him, he’s been so tense with you around not knowing how to just talk to you and somehow this feels like it’s broken down a few walls between you both.

you come down from your highs clasping onto each other like a lifeline. sweaty palms and clammy skin though you both don’t mind. in fact, it’s something you could get used to really quickly.

“how about we wash off again and do that air dry thing you said?” his voice murmurs in your ear and you lift your cheek off his chest to pay attention to him.

katsuki looks lighter now. his cheeks a natural lovely pink, his carmine eyes glistening and he doesn’t have his typical frown. you actually find his resting face quite pretty and up close you can see how his eyelashes are long and uncurled batting against his skin. his nose is slightly wonky with a bump which you can assume is from fighting and you have an urge to kiss the scar going through his lips.

then you remember him calling you perfect and all the promises he made you before you were even having sex. your fiancé really isn’t who you thought he was. it’s all making you feel… shy, a silly little girl with a crush blossoming inside your heart. he just made you come with his fingers and you did the same to him, there’s no time for this. why he didn’t kiss you when you were so intimate? is that too personal for him? did he not want to?

you meet his eyes then look away to the clear lake below, you scramble out of his touch, weirdly awkward without his heat around you.

“oh yeah, we could. yeah,” you blurt, turning away from him and washing yourself again in the lake.

bakugou watches you, slow to begin cleaning himself again. he washes his chest, his fingers, his face and hair in silence before he says, “do you regret what we just did?”

you spin around to face your fiancé and you gulp. with the sunsetting behind him, the shadow his body creates only makes him look larger, beautiful. just the size of him makes you feel protected and you’re suddenly imagining him giving you a speech about how he’d protect you with his life. well, he did say he’d be a good husband before. his pert brown nipples, his stupidly toned chest and you’ve seen him help the villagers with farming and carrying goods back and forth. all jobs he doesn’t need to do, way below his level but he does anyway. why didn’t he kiss you?

the frown he gives you now though you recognise as a worried one. weakly furrowed brows and wide shiny eyes. he’s cautious and shies away from touching you.

you shake your head, “no, i don't regret it.”

katsuki’s frown doesn’t let up. he brushes all his wet hair off his forehead. “was it shit? did you not like it?”

oh you loved it. coming on his fingers, palms against his chest. next you wanna hold onto his bicep, bite down on it. again, you shake your head and bite down on your lip, “no i really enjoyed it but…” you trail off.

katsuki wastes no time, wading through the water over to you. he slides a palm to your cheek and you’re close to him again. your whole body feels electric. “but what? i can’t be a good husband if you don’t talk to me.”

his thumb traces your bottom lip, his hot breath covering your face. “i just…,” you huff, this isn’t you, “you didn’t kiss me! we did all of that and you didn’t kiss me once!”

he doesn’t mean to but the left side of his lips quirk up in amusement, his other hand sliding to your waist to hold you against him, “i did kiss you. there’s these bruises here to prove it.” he rubs his finger against your neck and you shiver.

“you bruised me?,” you blink and his smile is full blown. you feel like dropping to your knees before him because who knew bakugou katsuki could smile like that? “wait, no i meant on my mouth, you never gave me a proper kiss!”

he agrees with you, nodding slowly like he’s soothing you. his finger even draws shapes on your bare back. “i didn’t. that’s somethin’ you want?”

you have all his attention, and the shyness after your outburst is creeping back in. “yes,” you whisper.

“why?” he arches a brow.

“what?”

“why do you want me to kiss you, princess?”

you remember what he said before, he can’t be a good husband if you don’t talk to him. “it’s something i require. often. you’re the only person i can ask them from.”

katsuki looks satisfied by that answer, with an impressed roll of his lips, he murmurs, “that’s right. only i can kiss you.”

he leans into your lips, firstly brushing his chapped ones against your softer ones and you feel your whole body yearning. “okay.”

bakugou captures his lips with yours as if he’s breathing air into you, though it doesnt cool you, just sets you alight. you inhale him, wrapping your arms around his neck to drag him into you closer than humanely possible and his arms instinctively wrap around your waist. the kiss is controlled on his side, giving, like he knows you’re impatient and you could beg for more.

he pecks and lightly bites down on your bottom lip, only causing you to gasp out for another.

“katsuki,” you sound stern, though he only laughs at you.

“yeah, yeah, i’ll give it to you,”

katsuki slips his tongue into your mouth, your lips parting eagerly. a hand comes to cradle your cheek as excitement sparks down your spine and youre unsure how you lasted so long not doing this. how you have the rest of your life to continue doing this with him. he unsurprisingly tastes like the lake water, fresh air and smells like the fresh greenery around you. he’s easily dominating, controlling the kiss and sucking around your tongue. you moan instantly, completely ravenous and he only grins against your mouth in understanding.

you want more and more but he pulls away with a smug grin.

“was that good enough for you?”

you look like you’ve been through it. cushion lips, out of breath with sleepy eyes. you’re not about to beg for another when he’s already so cocky.

you do decide to tell the truth though, “yes. could have been longer though.”

he huffs a laugh and your arms tighten around his neck. you want him again, you want to feel him again.

“we have forever, princess. and were gettin’ frog footed being in here.”

you can’t help but laugh at his phrasing, ignoring the soft warmth that spreads at the thought of forever. you guess you do have forever with him. you don't see your desire burning out anytime soon.

you untangle from him, wading through the water and out of the lake.

“there’s the ass i’ve been wantin’ to see,”

you glare at him following behind you, ruby eyes shining in amusement. you swat away a hand coming to squeeze you.

“has anyone told you you’re annoying?”

“no. they don’t wanna get their head knocked off.”

“figures.”

together, you lay out on the grass naked. it doesn’t take too long to dry but since you found out you don’t mind, okay, enjoy being in your fiancés company, you’re relaxed beside him.

“i’m surprised nobody has called you for village business or army business or family business. you’re in a lot of peoples business.”

you turn to face him, grass tickling your neck and cheek but he keeps his eyes upwards to the darkening evening sky, stars yet to appear.

“i tell them not to bother me when i’m bathing. hate getting interrupted during the only time i get to myself.”

you blink awkwardly, “oh, i guess i did that?”

he slowly turns to you, focusing on your lips then your eyes. fuck, he’s been to multiple villages, travelled far and wide and nobody has been as beautiful as you. he almost doesn’t feel worthy to be so close, intimate with you.

“you’re not included in that. you can bother me.”

“really? even before we… made up?”

your foot brushes his shin and he makes no move to shift away.

“i never really disliked you. just didn’t understand you.” he flicks his eyes down your body beside him and you feel your heart thunder against your rib cage, “you can join me in the lake anytime, princess.”

you roll your eyes despite the smile spreading across your cheeks. “now, has anyone told you how flirtatious you are?” you lean on your side to properly face him, a finger tracing shapes across his chest, “if i knew i was missing out on all this, i would have said i hated your food much sooner.”

katsuki grunts unamused though his eyes shine, “i wish you did too. i’ll fix shit around here, it’s your home too.”

“i appreciate that.”

it’s a comfortable silence, you being touchy while bakugou just lets you. the tips of your fingers trace the ridges of his abs, his scars, his marks. you’re careful to avoid his nipples though you keep getting intrusive thoughts to kiss them. his body is undeniably strong, wielding so much strength that there’s so much to touch that you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“you’re very affectionate.” he states.

bakugou doesn’t stay around women long enough to get to this part of cuddly aftercare. being this way around women only comes when he visits other villages with the air of danger and debauchery. he used to think the fact he knew he could get killed for sleeping with women from the other villages made the sex more thrilling though lying outside naked with you is the most comfortable he’s ever felt. like he’s supposed to be here with you and everywhere else he’s ever been was wrong.

you shrug loosely, “everyone would want to touch you.”

your hand brushes against the thick hair on his lower stomach and bakugou frowns over at you.

“that’s not what i wanted to hear. i said you are. not everybody else.”

your voice drops a few decibels, you don’t mean for it to, “do you want me to tell you i think you’re attractive? i’ve been wanting to touch you for a while. watching all these people look at you like you’re their god, people willing to die for you. now you’re out here with no weapons, just pure muscle alone with me. it does something to a girl, you know?” a single eyebrow raises along with the corner of your lips.

surprise has your hands scrambling as two of his large palms find your waist and plops you right on his chest, straddling his body. he grabs his cloth to prop behind his head and he keeps his hands on your thighs, squeezing and massaging. this position is a lot, you hope he doesn’t feel how wet you are on his chest. imagining the wet patch when you shuffle off him makes you flush.

bakugou knows it’s stupid but he doesn’t want you to see how he’s half hard yet, just how easy you get him aroused by touching his chest and talking to him.

“when do you think you’ll start seeing me as your god? it would make my life a lot easier,” he smirks.

you shake your head, “hopefully never, i want to see you as my husband and friend.”

“friend?”

bakugou feels taken aback at how easy conversation is with you, how he can’t stop talking just so he can hear you talk in return. you’re brushing his blonde locks off his forehead, “yeah, i’d love to be your friend. we did rush into this fiancé stuff rather quickly,” you giggle.

he hums, “friends with benefits.”

“men,” you shake your head mumbling even though you’d say the exact same. “my friends with benefits fiancé.”

“sounds good to me.”

bakugou realises all at once, he’s not as strong as he thought he was. also he can smell your pussy and it’s leaving smears on his chest. “would it be crazy to ask you to sit on my face? i can smell you, princess.”

your jaw drops at his bluntness and you want to roll off and close your legs though he pins you down by your thighs. the heat of your lower half increases intensely. you’d love to just grind on his chest but he’s offering his mouth? yes, you’ve daydreamed about this too.

“oh my god, katsuki.” you splutter and he drags you along his chest.

“cmon, wanna taste you properly. feel you fall apart ‘cause of my mouth,”

you’re not sure how you could even start to say no to him, especially when you only want to say yes. he looks angelic with the new moonlight beginning to dust his golden hair and you know you should be scared with the growing darkness but youre not. the thing that could cause the most damage is ready to beg to eat your pussy.

“you’re unbelievable,” you murmur even though you lift up to crawl up to his face. you’re hovering your heat above him and the man lets out this animalistic moan, his eyes falling shut. you feel a roll of wetness spread through you. bakugou’s hands hold your hips like his life depends on it.

“talk to me, princess. about anythin’ you want,”

“what do you—,”

he practically drops you on his mouth, his lips finding your clit with ease and sucking, hard.

“holy—,” you gasp, your back arching and it doesn’t take long at all for you to start grinding on his face, fingers clenching chunks of his hair like handlebars.

bakugou licks and licks between your legs, you can even feel him swallowing everything he gathers on his tongue before swiping again. your whole body rumbles, feeling as if it’s been set alight. you don’t think you’ve ever been treated with such need, such vigour. you’re a wheezing burst balloon of moans and mewls, rocking on his tongue and flinging your head back every time he nudges your clit.

he pulls you away from him for a single second and you’re already gasping at being away, “talk to me.”

then he dips his tongue in your hole and you’re withering.

“a-about what?” you whine as he stops lapping you up and bites down on your inner thigh, “oh fuck, katsuki!”

you begin to babble, anything that comes to mind, mostly all your thoughts about him. “i-i sometimes watch you carry furniture and hay barrels for the o-old ladies—,” a soft sigh slips through as his thumb presses against your asshole, “i think it’s so a-adorable b-but then you get all sweaty and fuck.”

bakugou studies you through squinted eyes, every reaction, what you love, what you’re saying to him. he ignores the heaviness of his balls and focuses on pleasuring you. he hums between your legs and your grip tightens in his hair. you’ve been watching him, the same way he’s been watching you all the time.

he doesn’t need to push you to talk more because you’re doing it on your own. swirling your hips on his face, “i see t-the way the women look at you when we’re in town and it m-makes me…” you’re arching your back and bakugou knows your close. he presses down on your ass, sucking your clit between his lips, “it makes me so m-mad, katsuki,” you whine as if you’re close to tears, “thinking about if you’ve ever f-fucked them.”

fuck. oh shit, you’ve been jealous? bakugou knows it’s not healthy for him to get turned on by the prospect but you’ve been so annoyed around him all the time to find out you’ve been jealous? you’ve been staring at him this whole time?

his realisation hits as hard as your orgasm, the sensation rocking through your body, heat springing to the tips of your toes and fingers.

your wail is loud, though you’re both sure nobody is close enough to hear you. again you’re riding his face, taking what’s yours and smartly, he lets you. playing with you till your soft and limp, thighs about to squeeze his head from overstimulation.

he lifts you off him slowly, “okay princess, you’re good,” wrapping you in his chest as you try to regulate your breathing again.

there’s crickets in the air, hoots of owls and the soft breeze making the trees dance. living in a village as a chief’s daughter, there weren't many opportunities to be outside in the dark and not assume imminent danger. in bakugou’s arms, you’re sure there's nothing you can't face.

bakugou blurts the words before he can even think about them, “i haven’t by the way.”

you glance up at his face, shocked to find how shiny his mouth is from his spit and you. you gasp and when he notices, he just wipes his face with his hand before sucking your juices off his fingers. his pink tongue darts out to taste every bit you left over and you cant help your next words coming out as a mindless flutter.

“you haven’t what?”

“fucked anyone from here,” he shakes his head.

you won’t call him a liar though it feels a little suspicious, “you’re not telling me you’re a virgin, are you?”

bakugou rumbles a laugh you can only find endearing despite the situation. you feel the laugh vibrating in his chest and you even lay your palm against it.

“no, princess i’m not.”

you blink, you’re not sure why you feel so jealous of people you’ve never met, over a man you’ve known for not even a whole month. you definitely weren’t expecting your new fiancé, chief and leader to be a virgin, heck you’re not either but still it must be nice to be chosen by katsuki and not his family.

“okay,” you breathe.

“what? why do you sound all upset?” he rolls you on your back and lays sideways facing you so there’s no way you can escape his gaze. his rough fingers brush hair out your face before cupping your cheek. “talk to me. i can’t be a good husband otherwise.”

that seems to be the new button he can press to get you sharing all your secrets.

“just that it would be nice to be actually wanted by you instead of just being dumped with me.”

bakugou blinks, hand freezing before frowning, “what the fuck?”

“you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life, so it’s okay if you saw other people too. i think lots of marriages do this. i will probably too later on. i know you didn’t exactly want me and your parents chose me for you like mine chose you and—,”

“yn.” you think it’s the first time he’s said your name all night.

“yes?” you whisper.

“other people don’t matter, none of them matter. d’you really fuckin’ think that i didn’t choose you? that i didn’t have a say in having you as my wife? do you think you didn’t either?”

you’re silent for a moment, pondering on the idea, “what do you mean?”

bakugou huffs a laugh, “there’s loads of chiefs' daughters, army leaders' daughters across villages, even countries, neighbouring countries. even so, i don’t need this deal our parents made, i can fend for my village.”

you sit up abruptly, looking out to the navy sky and his pupils only follow you nonchalantly, “so why am i here?”

“because i want you.” bakugou claims, loud and clear, “and you wanted me too. otherwise you would have told your parents no like you did to every other dickhead suitor that came your way.”

you glance over at him and he only looks back at you.

“tell me i’m right. ask my village, i’m never fuckin’ wrong.”

your mouth opens though nothing comes out. bakugou, however, just lays back on the grass, closing his eyes. “couldn’t say no to my beat up face and what did you say earlier? sweaty body helping old ladies?”

you shove his side though he doesn’t move, he just yanks you back down into his chest.

“you’re insane.”

“they always say that to the one that knows the truth,” he lays a kiss on your forehead and you feel at home. then his tone turns stern like a lecture, “i’m yours and you’re mine. nobody is seeing anyone else.” then he stops, biting down on his lips, “but if you do ever think about that then you have to tell me—,”

you shake your head, “no, i only said that in case you did.”

“i fuckin’ don’t. you’re all i need.”

“good.” you trace your finger across his collarbone, “i guess i did choose you. i’d get love letters from the most random men and they’d even turn up at my home declaring marriage with me. a whole song and dance. then you came along with a gorgeous ring and you didn’t even have to say too much, everyone’s heard about you. i thought i said yes to get it all over and done with, my parents wanted me to marry so bad. i think i was just waiting for you.”

bakugou reaches for your hand, kissing the ring on your finger. “i was waitin’ for you too.”

“katsuki?”

“wife?” you poke his side, so he corrects himself not before rolling his eyes, “fiance? princess?”

“it’s getting chilly, so let's go indoors. i’ll put my dress back on.”

bakugou stops you from getting your clothes, “they’re dirty, i’ll just bring you inside.”

“i’m not going inside naked?!”

“i’ll cover you,” and he demonstrates how he’d do so by standing up and effortlessly dragging your body from the floor and into his arms. your chest is against his, your arms around his neck with his arm against your ass.

“your servants are going to drop dead after seeing us like this so soon.”

“they knew this would happen. they could feel the sexual tension every time you’d bite my head off for asking you a question at dinner.”

“they were always stupid questions!”

“you never gave me much to work with,” he replies and without too much thought, bakugou presses a kiss to your lips. a soft one like lovers would. “how about you come out with my friends and their wives tomorrow?”

you’re biting down on your lip and nodding before he even finishes, “as friends with benefits fiancés?”

bakugou chuckles, loud and brash, starting the walk up to your shared home, “whatever you want as long as i’m yours.”

you wrap your arms around his neck tighter as bakugou manoeuvres you both in the dark. your smile is glowing and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so happy, “yes chief.”

you get a pinch to your ass, “sorry, husband!”

feedback appreciated

part two!! // FOR YOU masterlist

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