#reader is... not nice

[captainfern]

boyfriend’s best friend simon

(18+ smut, fem!reader, infidelity but your boyfriends a cunt if that makes you feel better)

—•—

you don’t know how this happened. you don’t know when this happened. all you know is that it is happening, and you really don’t want it to stop.

simon’s everything that your boyfriend isn’t. has everything that he lacks. communication, understanding, selflessness; commonsense, emotional intelligence, a big cock,

the list goes on, frankly.

but here you are, your bedroom sweltering around you, swimming beneath distorted waves in your vision. convection currents radiating from your conjoined bodies.

simon’s hands were large and calloused on the soft fat of your hips, fingers toying with the taut lines of stretch marks passing onto the thick of your upper thighs. his hands gripped and pulled and moved you against him, slamming you up and down, grinding you against him.

he was leaned up against the headboard of your bed, head cocked back with dark, hungry eyes glued to your body and a coy smirk plastered across his face. the way he looked at you, gazed you, admired you as if you were some kind of prize, had your stomach in knots.

maybe you were a prize. after all, he was balls-deep in his best friend’s girl, and he didn’t have a care in the world. didn’t have a care in the world that his cock had chubbed instantly when she opened the door to let him in an hour ago.

you panted above him, thighs burning, shins pressed into the warm sheets of your bed. you were hesitant to be on top, to perch your body weight across his pelvis. your boyfriend never assured you it’d be okay, just agreed with you and fucked you flat on the mattress. simon was different.

“what? think i can’t handle myself a girl like you, eh?” simon had uttered, looking you up and down. a prize. he was also knuckle-deep in your pussy by this stage, two fingers scissoring you open. “oh, sweet girl, you have no idea.”

and now you were here. straddling simon riley, the formidable ghost that you’d seen only occasionally with your boyfriend. a recluse of a man, a mountain of a man. was always kind, always respectful.

an army dog, a government mutt. always so obedient, and so polite. well-trained and well-mannered. clearly, until he had a pretty bird like you stretched across his lap. a prize.

“yeah, ride this fuckin’ cock, baby,” simon grunted, helping you fuck yourself down onto his cock. his thick, fat cock— a cock that hit you so deep, stretched you so wide, that the joke of ‘is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?’ had died on your tongue because, holy fuck,

he could use it. he knew what he was doing. you should have guessed it with the way he spat on your cunt ten minutes into you letting him into your flat; the way he licked the glob of spit from your wet folds and fucked it into you, tongue warm and searching. you also should have guessed when he rubbed at your clit with his thumb while stretching you open on his fingers; the way he moved them at just the right pace to make you come twice in a row. now:

“s’all yours, baby. s’all yours,” he uttered, pushing his hips upwards to meet your downwards movements.

your tits bounced with each of his thrusts, the mattress creaking beneath you. the sheets were bunching, the heat in the room thick and molten. liquid, drowning you.

you gasped, air in your lungs. you were not drowning, just fucking delirious with the way his cockhead knocked up towards the plug of your cervix.

panting, you clutched at his shoulders. broad and muscular. you could feel the difference in texture where skin ended and scar began. a few times, your fingers wandered upwards, and you drew the tips through his hair. once cropped, now grown out. scruffy, rugged,

handsome. sweat beaded on his forehead, turning the lighter strands dark, sticking to his skin. between the filth he spewed from his mouth, you could hear him grunting and moaning. you wished he’d moan louder. maybe once he stopped talking it’d be different. but you weren’t sure how soon that would be.

“fuckin’— look at the fuckin’ state of you. such a pretty girl. such a pretty— fuckin’— girl,” simon groaned, thrusting up into you. the force made you hiccup around a long moan. simon smiled, triumphant. “look like a dream takin’ all o’ my cock, sweetheart. perfect little pussy letting me stretch her open, huh?”

“simon,” you moaned, and that wasn’t the first time you’d said his name tonight. but he acted as though it was.

a dog with a bone, simon flashed a wicked grin, canines showing, and redoubled his efforts in pushing his cock in and out of you, rutting against your body.

“yeah, baby, i’m here. your simon’s righttttt here,” he said, grinning, as he took one of his large hands and placed it over the mound of your belly, pressing gently and squeezing you there. he couldn’t actually feel his cock inside you, but the added sensation knocked an airy moan from your chest, your eyes rolling. simon hummed, pleased as he fucked you. “‘m reaching so far, aren’t i? so deep. bet your lad couldn’t reach up here, could he?”

you whimpered, and you wanted to whimper a ‘noooo’ but it died in transit. instead, you whimpered, like a wounded dog, as his cock hit that perfect spot inside you. it made you want to scream.

you continued to bounce against him, his thighs pressed close to yours. he fondled you, squeezed your hips while you both worked each other towards release.

“simon,” you pleaded, breathless. “oh, fuck—”

simon wanted so badly to beam with pride. but he resisted, cocking his head and watching the way your greedy cunt sucked his cock in with wet squelches at each upward thrust.

“you feeling good, sweet girl?” he asked, tone warm and honey-sweet. well-trained. then, “this cock making you feel good? he followed with an obvious lilt. mutt.

you replied with a yes, that trailed off into a high-pitched moan when simon’s thumb found your swollen clit, rubbing against it and beginning to draw small, tight circles.

“thaaat’s it, baby. sing for me.”

“siiimon,” you mewled, body tiring but stomach growing tight. bubbling hot, molten like the atmosphere of your bedroom. the knot in the base pulling tighter and tighter with each nudge of his cock against your g-spot.

your cunt was soaked around him, dripping out onto his pelvis and onto your bedsheets. making a mess.

tight, velveteen walls clutched at his cock as your climax built. gripping tight, holding him against you, keeping him with you. wet and warm and the closest to heaven a non-religious man like simon’ll ever come close to.

“beautiful,” he suddenly whispered, eyes on your face now. “beautiful girl.”

well-trained. damn, your boyfriend wasn’t even close to being this well-trained. he was more used to chewing you up like a toy, and heading off to do god knows what once he’d finished. once he’d satisfied himself.

you weren’t a toy for simon. just a prize. much different than a toy, for your information.

a toy is something you play with. a prize is something treasure. savour. and with the way simon revelled at the silky feel of your pussy against his bare cock, he intended to savour you forever.

“you wanna come?” he asked softly, but you knew the soft tone wasn’t going to last. not with the way his eyes glinted, his soft abs flexed, and his mouth curved at the corners. “can feel this pussy startin’ to make a fuss. so desperate for it, isn’t she?”

personifying your pussy. a new one, but one you weren’t entirely afraid of.

so you answered. “yes. simon, please—“

simon quickened his pace, thrusting deeper. your flesh rippled, thighs and stomach and tits moving with the sheer force of his movements. he grunted and panted, eyes drooping, fingers tight in your hips, chasing his own high too. he still had a hard-working finger drawing sharp shapes across your puffy clit.

“go on then. come all over my cock, sweet girl. show me what i’ve been missing out on.”

the tension in your body grew and grew, sweat accumulating across your skin. shiny, dewy, completely ethereal, you hurtled towards release with wind in your sails. sweating, hot, on the brink of overstimulation, you let your mind go fuzzy. you had a heartbeat in your clit. you could feel the stickiness of your inner-thighs. you could hear simon,

“come for me, baby.”

the coil snapped as if on cue. maybe you were the well-trained dog in need of a new collar.

your release rocked you off balance, and you slumped forward, ready for simon to catch you. he did, of course, leaning you against his chest as your body shook, twitched, jerked with the force of your orgasm. it travelled through you like electric shocks. an electrical current that fizzled out after a few long seconds, and left you boneless against simon’s chest.

he was close behind you, his balls drawing tight, tip leaking inside you, flared head now ruddy and red.

he moaned. “god, baby. feel so good around me.” a speechless moment, filled only with pants and— moans. simon moaned loudly, eyes snapping shut as his orgasm quivered inside him. bees trapped in a glass jar.

“just needed a proper cock to split you open,” he said suddenly, voice deep and rich. “pretty girl like you needs a big cock to keep her happy.”

rutting, in and out. desperate mutt. canines flashing, grip tightening, moans increasing. military stamina you hoped wouldn’t last all night. a working dog, too, this man. god, what a man. not perfect (you wouldn’t want him to be), but pretty fuckin’ close right about now.

“simon,” you whined, desperate.

he groaned deeply. “oh yeah, fuck, that’s it, baby. say my name— yeah, say my name when i come inside you.”

“simon…”

“that’s it, baby. that’s it. fuck, m’so close. m’so close, baby, keep going.”

“simon, please—!”

“mhm, thaaat’s it, fuck,” simon moaned, then shoved his cock as far in as it’d go (making you gasp and choke on a loud moan) and then came inside you.

you felt the heat. more heat, more liquid fire. molten. lava. you were drowning again.

he filled you, cum painting your insides as he moaned out your name, whining as his head flopped backwards, his large hands keeping you firmly in place.

then, everything stilled. your heartbeat clanged loudly in your ears, heavy in your rib cage. your puffy clit beat in tandem with it, and your hole fluttered around his cock, now still and plugging his release inside you.

for the briefest moment, as you lay against simon’s chest in the warm, sex-laden air of your bedroom, you thought of your boyfriend. the man you should’ve been doing all of this with.

but the thought was merely a linger. it flitted away, brushed aside by simon’s lips, that came to rest against your tacky forehead. he peppered a few kisses there, rubbing your hips, arse and back soothingly as you fizzled down.

“pretty girl…” simon whispered softly, hugging you to him. “my pretty girl.”

his prize.

he always thought his mate was a bit of a prick, anyway.

[tired-biscuit]

choso looks like a guy that would fall asleep with your titty in his mouth.

i’m just imagining his strong arms wrapped around you as he holds you tight, his fingers twitching from time to time in his sleep; digging deeper into your shirt that’s pushed up to the collar, successfully exposing your front.

his breathing is calm and his hair is messy. he’s warm because of the non-existent distance between you, because of the way your limbs entangle together, how you hold onto him as well.

and his lips, god… they are soft and plush as they remain wrapped around your nipple. occassionally, they’ll suckle on the sensitive nub a bit, tug it further into his mouth, lick it with a lazy and gentle flick of tongue, almost toying with it even though you’re pretty sure he doesn’t do it on purpose.

trying to not pay any mind to the heat that’s steadily building up below your waist, you stroke his hair and the side of his face as he sleeps; so peacefully that he could come across as an angel despite the fact that his actions are rather sinful.

at some point, a small droplet of drool dribbles down his chin from how relaxed he becomes. he wakes because of it, ever so slightly startled by the sensation it leaves behind, long eyelashes fluttering and revealing very, very tired eyes.

before you can even say anything or wipe away the thin, glimmering line the spit has left behind on his skin, he’s already back to burrowing his entire face into your chest with a content little sigh; making sure to push you even closer with the help of a broad palm pressing against the middle of your back.

this time he does do it on purpose, though.

[sugojosgf]

where you @ ?

﹒ nanami ﹕☆ ﹟ fem · prns ㅤ࣭ ㅤׂ : ᯓ cw : sūggestıvē, smau, flūff ! ﹐

he's 27 and young, not millenial enough to give you the ick !

making smaus make me shy so i'm just going to add this to my queue and forget about this 🤞❤️ (7/05/024)

[monster-mash-m]

What if dilf orc has a young child, the bearer of his child unfortunately passed away. Then he sees you. A plump soft human, a bit softer than the usual orc parent, but in his eyes your tenderness would be perfect for his youngling.

He begins to court you immediately. Always brushing past you to subtly scent you, bringing his sweet baby with him to try and sway your choices. Of course the little orc toddler immediately makes your heart melt, the way they waddle over to you curiously, the orc child despite being extremely young was already up to your waist.

If you give into his courting? Be prepared for princess treatment. Being carried everywhere by him as the new parent of his child. Of course you’d naturally gain a lot of muscle from being with him, due to an orcs typical rugged lifestyle and the fact that your new adopted orc toddler likes to be carried and coddled! How could you say no to such a chubby cute face? You’ll be carrying them a lot, and orc babies are HEAVY so yeah, prepare to get swoll.

But to compensate I can definitely see your orc dilf spouse making sure you get more than enough food, after all you’re burning way too many calories carrying his youngling around, and plus he needs to keep you squishy for optimal cuddles.

DILF orc always brings you home gifts from fights or battles, mainly skulls of his enemies (how charming 🥰) or maybe a whole deer, already cut up and prepared for you to cook, he’s very doting.

[jaytalking]

At this point his hair being on fire is just a sign that his ultimate is ready. Anyways here's some scenes from the AU in my brain.

[ventique18]

"Gargoyles are beautiful creatures. They are the pride of Briar Valley. Make sure to befriend them, and cause them no harm."

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about older bf!simon that can’t get it up.

seriously.

friday night at the end of a long week, curled under his arm- not an inch of your mouth that his tongue hasn’t covered.

the palm of your hand has been working him over his trousers for what feels like the better part of an hour.

no dice.

“m’sorry, sweet’art”

simon looks spent, absolutely knackered.

“s’all good, we don’t have to”

he groans, utter frustration written all over his face as he picks you up to plonk you down in his lap.

“but i want to”

he wants to, he wants it more than he wants breath in his fucking lungs. his body just can’t hack it.

ultimate betrayal.

burying your face where his neck meets his shoulder, your hand slips between the two of you. gently stroking his soft cock in your hand, you feel the tension start to leave him.

“can still play with it a little, f’you want?”

the sound of your voice, the heat of your hand- simon’s hips jolt when you pull back his foreskin to rub over the head.

his breath stutters as his chest deflates, arm wrapping around your waist so he could slip his fingers between your thighs.

“y’good to me, sweet’art- jus’ like that”

[poisonf0rest]

Kiss Shot

love and deepspace: zayne x fem!reader

tags: smut, light bondage, teasing, semi-public sex, praise kink, pwp, dom!zayne, sir kink, pool & billiards, oh he has pretty hands, exclusive tutorial card

word count: 8.2K

synopsis: Zayne has curated a perfectly polished reputation. He’s a renowned surgeon, the youngest of his graduating class, has a plethora of research papers in his name, and is well-liked and respected amongst his peers. And he would throw it all away to have you like this again, whining and desperate as he fucks you over a billiard table. It’s not fair, really, how easily you manage to get Zayne riled up. Especially when you call him sir.

original ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55931518

Your negroni is fifty percent water by now.

The flock of past classmates, professors, and adorning fans has been relentless, swarming the bar where you and Zayne currently sit— or perhaps more accurately, swarming where the distinguished Dr. Zayne sits. 

You sigh under your breath, fussing with the cocktail dress slit against your thigh before taking another sip of your drink, the melted ice dulling the burn of the gin. It has only been an hour since you arrived, and yet you can already feel your social battery reach its limits, tired of going through the same motions for every other person who bothers to acknowledge your presence: a smile, what’s your name, are you a surgeon as well, what’s your connection to Zayne, no we’re not together.

It’s not that you haven’t met fascinating individuals— your first round of drinks was shared with two sisters, old classmates of Zayne’s who were now Linkon’s top OB/GYN doctors and genuinely the sweetest women you’ve talked to today. 

But everyone has limits. And with the relentless swarm sucking up to Zayne, it hardly gives you a moment of peace, let alone an opportunity to talk with your date for the evening.

Thinking about the stipulations of your relationship and what this night even means for the two of you sends your mind reeling further, and you finish the rest of your negroni in a shot, wincing. 

As if sensing your frustration, the doctor in question looks up from his conversation with a classmate. Zayne gives a knowing, apologetic smile before returning to his conversation, the gesture leaving you with a fluttering in your chest.

Calling the bartender over, you place another drink on the tab before tuning in to the conversation next to you as you hear the echo of laughter. 

“No, no, I’ve been lucky enough to have seen it myself!” An older man laughs again, his drink nearly sloshing over the rim as he smacks Zayne’s shoulder. You snort at the way he stiffens. “Our Dr. Zayne isn’t just a professional at work, you should see him play billiards. Let me tell you, he’s amazing at both the operating table and the pool table”

A deep sigh. “You drank too much…” 

“Nonsense!” The man pats Zayne again before recounting a story from their residency days to the crowd of onlookers.

You yourself are rather engrossed too, more than happy to learn more about your elusive doctor, especially these hidden talents he seems set on keeping from you. Zayne, on the other hand, is far from impressed. Brows furrowed, he turns from where he sits against the bar counter to scan your face. 

Leaning in closer, you inhale sharply at the feel of his cool breath against your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” 

His thoughtfulness would be sweet if it weren’t for the way Zayne had whispered it, lips brushing against your sensitive skin as you shudder at the slow, deep cadence of his voice. 

Noticing your hesitation, Zayne’s hand comes up to rest on your knee, thumb slipping under your dress’ slit. He cocks his head, waiting for your response, drawing soothing circles against your bare skin, which is having quite the opposite effect. 

Panicking, you shake your head. “I’m alright. Plus, I’d feel bad stealing you away from all your adoring fans so soon, Dr. Zayne.”

He scoffs under his breath, but you see the slight curl in the corner of his lips. Still, he has yet to let go of your thigh, and you decide to shift closer, turning in your seat so your knees brush against Zayne’s, his hand involuntarily sliding higher. 

His fingers are calloused and worn, a testament to his many years spent in the medical field, and his grip is firm against your thigh. It feels familiar, and the memories of his hands on you in many different places sends heat rushing to your cheeks.

The thought doesn't seem to have left his mind either, judging by the way his eyes dart down to your parted lips.

Clearing his throat, Zayne looks away. He is about to say something when you decide to interrupt instead.

“Besides,” you hum, taking a sip of wine. “If the rumors are to be believed, then I’m missing quite a show. Is our Dr. Zayne really that skilled at pool?”

“Ah.” Zayne retracts his hand, clearing his throat as he straightens up in his seat. ”You’re trying to gang up on me.”

You know him well enough to recognize the hint of embarrassment in the way he avoids your gaze. But before you can tease him further, another cheery voice interrupts.

“We meet again, sir!” A young man practically bounces over to the bar, caught between a bow and a handshake as he stumbles into both, flashing a gummy smile at Zayne. 

You raise a brow at his overwhelming enthusiasm, glancing at Zayne as you watch recognition flash across his face.

“Good evening. It’s Steven, yes? You don’t need to address me as “sir”.” Zayne nearly grimaces as he says the word, and you take a sip from your drink to hide your growing smile. 

“Yes! I’m honored you remembered.” Steven nods vigorously. “But anything less would be inappropriate. After all, you taught me so much with your hands-on instruction, I owe my knowledge and successful residency so far to you, sir.”

Still, Zayne shuts him down. “I was only doing what I should have done. Any credit beyond that is your own.” 

It’s almost like he’s allergic to praise. 

“Humble and smart,” Steven laughs, winking all-too-obviously at you. “Regardless, I just wanted to thank you for everything formally, sir. You two have a wonderful rest of your night!”

“Yes.” Zayne frowns, leaning ever so slightly closer to you. ”To you as well.”

Quickly feigning ignorance, you pretend to be absorbed in the powerpoint some professor is giving on the opposite side of the venue, immediately lost in a diagram of a heart valve. You’re about to take another sip of your drink when something pinches your ear. Yelping at the sting, you jump in your seat, whirling around to face the culprit.

Zayne scoffs. “I could see you eavesdropping a mile away. Did you find anything interesting?”

“Oh, aside from learning that you are extremely humble, smart, handsome, and rather adept at hands-on instruction, nothing much,” you lean against the counter, blinking up at Zayne through your lashes as you sing the last word, “Sir.”

You watch his jaw clench, a rigid movement that makes your heart skip. Zayne laughs, a harsh, sharp sound. He shakes his head before his hand grips your jaw, tugging you gently but firmly towards him. His eyes narrow, and your heart stutters.

“Clever girl. What is it you want this time?”

This time. As if Zayne could refuse you anything, as if the mere sight of you isn't enough to make him go mad.

But you're not the only one who knows how to play. And he rather likes watching just how far you’ll go.

Smiling innocently, you rest a hand on Zayne’s shoulder. The warmth of his skin seeps through the silky material of his suit. You can't help but slide your hand further up, tracing the curve of his neck with your thumb. “Well…” You lick your lips, tasting the waxy remnants of your lipstick as you fight to keep your voice even under Zayne’s piercing gaze. ”You never did any hands-on training with me, and everyone says what an honor it’s been to be taught by you, sir. I wonder what I’ll have to do to experience it finally.”

Zayne sighs, and for a moment, he appears disappointed.

“It seems like you truly want to learn about surgeries.” A scoff, and Zayne’s face seems to fall back to its stoic facade. But he pulls you closer, tilting your head so his lips graze your earlobe once more. “Who knew my little hunter was so skilled at acting?”

You gasp, placing a hand on your chest in faux surprise. “What accusations, doctor. Besides, I was thinking about something with a… less steep learning curve.”

Zayne hums thoughtfully, thumb venturing from your jaw as it brushes across your lips. Once. Twice. Three times before he stands up, hand finally dropping from your face as he grabs your wrist instead. 

“Then allow me to take our first lesson elsewhere.”

You don’t offer any sort of resistance as Zayne leads you through the crowd, opting to let go of your wrist and guide you away from prying eyes, hand instead lingering against the small of your back as he walks beside you. He opens the door for you, directing the two of you down one of the main venue halls, echoes of conversation muffled by the soft ding of an elevator. Zayne flashes his medical ID before clicking the top floor, the sensor buzzing green as it carries you up with the smooth flow of elevator jazz. 

Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your waist. His thumb goes back to tracing soft circles against the divots in your back as though from habit, nearly touching bare skin due to the sweeping backless design of your dress. You fight the urge to lean further into him, already fidgeting in your heels at the thought of his touch, slow and careful and calculated, elsewhere.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the chime of the elevator. 

Oh, god, snap out of it. You rush out of the elevator, hoping Zayne didn’t notice the furious heat you can feel rising from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.

Smoothing some loose hair back behind your ear, you close your eyes and focus on taking deep breaths, as if it’ll push all these obscene scenarios of Zayne’s large, perfect hands doing unspeakable things out of your mind. 

It works for a moment, expelling all these potential scenarios and instead reminding you of every time Zayne has taken action. Memories of him after hours at the clinic, during movie nights when neither of you paid attention to the TV, and even the drive here where he decided to—

“Does the sight of a billiard table scare you that much?”

The heat from earlier is back in full force. Your eyes snap open, and you are greeted with Zayne’s signature eyebrow raise, feigning concern despite his amused smile that only grows more prominent when he notices the flush creeping across your skin.

“Hardly.” You force a smile, turning your head as you refuse to let him gloat. “I’m just so ecstatic that I’ll finally receive hands-on training from the Dr. Zayne.”

A low hum, “Yes, at least until you feel well enough to go back and socialize.” 

He says this, yet you know Zayne is just as happy as you are to finally escape from the crowds below.

“Well,” you purr, “take care of me until then, sir.”

You giggle as he frowns at the title, waltzing past him to a corner pool table in the billiard hall. The floor is dedicated to different tabletop games, all lined up against numerous floor-to-ceiling windows aglow with a gorgeous view of Linkon City. The city lights bleed in since the entire room was rather dim, no doubt an artistic choice, adorned sensually with faux candlelight chandeliers and the low timber of jazz.

“Have you played before?”

“Once or twice– some call me a natural genius.” You brush imaginary hair from your shoulders as Zayne scoffs before handing you a cue stick. Lacing his hand into your own, you pull the stick and thus him closer. “Why? Are you going to be strict with me, sir?”

Seeing through your jab, Zayne responds without hesitation. “Strict teachers make outstanding students. Let’s start.”

You pout, about to walk to the other side of the pool table to observe his shot, when Zayne’s arm laces around your waist, holding you against him for a second longer. 

“And no more distractions.”

Not trusting your voice, you nod, watching as he bends to aim the cue, muscles beneath his sleeves flexing with each calculated movement. You hear the sound of a cue stick colliding with its target, but your attention is too focused on his fingers to process any of the actual movements.

Another sharp click breaks the silence. You watch as the cue ball collides with a red striped one, sending the former skittering off the sides while the other sinks into the pocket with a dull thud.

“You’re unfairly good at this.”

Zayne raises a brow, “Maybe it’s because a surgeon requires steady hands.” 

And the moment you glance down, any chance of salvation is lost.

You’re not a fool. You’ve noticed Zayne’s hands before, on more occasions than you’d care to admit. But it’s as he says and more. 

Lining up for another shot, you watch him stretch forward, forearms exposed from his deliciously rolled-up sleeves and discarded blazer, your eyes tracing every prominent vein down to his hands, spread wide against the table, tense as the stick rests against his pointer finger and thumb. Even in the dim lighting you can see pale silver scars littering his forearms, and you swear you’ve never seen something so beautiful, like traces of frost against marble. 

Again, it shouldn’t be a surprise that a surgeon must take good care of their hands, but it’s nearly unfair how gorgeous Zayne’s are. Not only that, but you remember how comforting his hands feel against your own, how they caressed your thigh earlier tonight, and just how attentive and precise they can be. 

“You’re not focusing on my lesson.”

Shit.

With a single strike, Zayne tries to sink another ball, but the angle is just off, and the striped ball hits the corner of the pocket, ricocheting against the wood with a dull thud. 

Zayne leans against the pool table, cue stick resting against his shoulder.

"Your turn."

Copying Zayne’s movements as best you can, you clumsily position your cue stick between your knuckles, aiming for what seemed to be a fairly easy shot. Only for the ball to ricochet far left as the white ball knocks into it. Even your cue stick wobbles after, as if shaking in laughter at your poor shot. 

Frowning, you look up to see Zayne’s disapproving gaze locked onto the pool table. 

“Is there not an easier way to do this? One more suitable for beginners?”

“There is.” Zayne leans in, his expression betraying nothing. “First, try adjusting your posture. You’ll see better results.”

Another sigh, and you halfheartedly drape yourself over the table again. “Like this? I’m not sure I fully understand, I think I need your help identifying my weak spots via more hands-on learning, sir.”

“Allow me to guide you, then.”

For a moment you think you’ll have to bait Zayne more, yet before you can figure out how to push the stubborn doctor any further, you feel the weight of his hands, heavy against your shoulder and hip. 

Zayne shifts forward, and you can feel the fabric of his suit vest graze the bare skin of your back, his hands unnaturally cool against the dips in your waist as he nudges your back into an arch. You comply, Zayne’s body nearly folding atop yours as his chest brushes your back. 

He takes the cue stick from your hand.

“You’re too tense,” Zayne pats your back two times. Your waist immediately bends, and you hear him laugh under his breath. “And now you’re too relaxed.”

With his hands still pressed against your waist, Zayne repositions himself and thus you as well, and you can feel the chill of each exhale against the crook of your neck.

He guides your aim, lining it up to the cue ball. The tip brushes ever so gently against the felt surface as it pushes, slowly and deliberately, practicing the gentle back-and-forth motion as you struggle to keep pace. 

“Drop your left arm. Allow it to bend naturally.” He taps your elbow and waist. “Your head, dominant arm, and the cue stick should all form a straight line.”

You begin to shuffle according to Zayne’s instructions, hinging your hips backward before you realize what a wonderfully compromising position he’s placed you in. As discreetly as possible, you allow your right leg to step backward, movement forcing you further against Zayne as you press the curve of your ass into his hips. Immediately, you’re rewarded with a sharp inhale next to your ear. 

But instead of pulling away or reprimanding you Zayne merely continues with the lesson, almost frustratingly unaffected if it wasn’t for the fact that you could feel his reaction grow between your thighs. 

Still, he is nothing if not a professional as he whispers against your jaw, "Behave.”

"I am," you reply, and one of Zayne’s hands comes up to guide your cue stick. “...It just hurts a little.”

You don’t have to see his face to know that Zayne is giving you a smug smile. 

“That means it’s correct.”

You take a deep breath. You practice the same back-and-forth motions, thrusting the stick forward on the third, watching as your cue stick strikes the white ball, sending a solid orange one rolling.

Another click and a thud, and you successfully land a pocket.

Just when you feel like you’re finally getting the hang of it, you make the fatal mistake of looking down to where Zayne's fingers guide yours against the cue stick, and your brain turns to scramble once more. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a soft, fleeting sensation.

And you miss.

Zayne is quiet for a long moment, tilting his head, letting the warmth of his cheek press against your neck. “Snap out of it. Are you even paying attention?”

Bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“Of course,” you retort, skin feeling uncomfortably hot even when Zayne finally steps back from you, your body searing the memory of his touch into every nerve. “I’ll score the next one myself.”

He hums and cocks an eyebrow as if telling you to go on, prove him wrong. 

“Remember, move the cue stick to gauge the shot two or three times, then stop at the position closest to the ball.”

You do, gauging the weight of the cue stick, bending down over the table so your chest nearly brushes with the felt, narrowing in on the solid green ball. 

“Stop and pull back the cue stick in three, two, one.” 

On Zayne’s command, you strike, a satisfying click followed by the thump of the ball falling into the corner pocket. You scored. All on your own.

“It went in!” You jolt up, spinning as you laugh. 

“So it did. Seems like your pool skills are less about precision and more… passion.” Zayne’s lips twitch into a smile, and you’re not foolish enough to ignore his double meaning. “Granted, you might need a little more than passion to come back and win this round.”

You scoff, attempting to change the subject without drawing attention to how red your face has gotten. “Well then, perhaps if you’re not too committed to this doctor thing there’s still a chance for you in the professional billiard space.”

“No, thank you. Now, think you can make another shot by yourself?”

“Wait a moment. When a student does well, shouldn’t they get a reward?”

“Very well,” Zayne relents, tone even despite the searing gaze he practically strips down your body. “What do you want?”

“There are a few balls blocking my next shot. Help me?”

A beat, and he blinks at you incredulously. “That is all?”

“What’s wrong, Dr. Zayne? Scared that if you give me too much help, I’ll steal this victory from you?”

“Provocation doesn’t work on me.”

“Then come here.”

God, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how pliant he is for you, obeying your command without so much as a moment of hesitation. His larger frame now towers above you, close enough that you have to crane your neck to maintain eye contact. And you can’t help but tease him a bit more. It’s not your fault his obedience gives you a rush.

“Closer,” you whisper, teasing your fingers against his vest buttons. “Or else I can’t reach it.” 

Still, Zayne complies. Although this time his brows furrow, shuffling closer so his knee slips between yours and your chest presses against his. “What exactly are you…”

You yank his tie, pushing him down atop the felt tabletop before he can finish his sentence. 

There’s a dull thud, Zayne’s vest ruffled as you pin him to the table. He still looks frustratingly composed, not a hair out of place, but you feel his chest rise and fall uncharacteristically fast under your palm.

Smiling in victory, your other hand brings up your cue stick, making a show of tapping it on his broad shoulders. “Ah, look, the ball is so far away. I think I’ll need a cue rest.”

“Using cue rests would be overkill,” Zayne retorts, propping himself onto his elbows as you pout. You’ve been teasing him all night; surely just one more push, and he’ll finally give in? 

Before he can escape from your hold, you lift the cue stick off his shoulder, letting the tip slip under his tie. Zayne watches with a tight frown as you tug his tie loose. “And this is inappropriate.”

“But are you not enjoying it too?” Your leg slides out from the slit in your dress, allowing you to straddle Zayne’s thigh as your arms cage him further against the pool table. “Sir?”

His brows furrow, almost surprised at your brazenness before he looks down with a huff, and you see the smirk he’s fighting to keep at bay. “I shouldn’t have taught you so much.”

Getting revenge for before, it’s your turn to grip his jaw, brushing kisses against his beautifully hooked nose and down his jaw, leaving smears of cherry red in your wake as you purposefully neglect his waiting lips. “What can I say? I have a very attentive teacher.” 

Zayne is about to say something sarcastic back, no doubt, so you roll your hips forward, cutting off his words as you’re rewarded with a groan instead. The angle allows you to grind atop the rough seams in his trousers, nearly catching against his zipper and the heavy bulge you can already feel straining underneath. 

His hand shoots out, gripping your thigh as you gasp. There’s a warning look in his eyes, but he makes no move to stop you.

Encouraged, you repeat the motion, rocking forward against him as you give an exaggerated moan. Zayne quickly cuts it off with his other hand, thumb pressing against your bottom lip as he muffles your noises. You open your lips further, allowing the digit to slide against your lipstick and push against your tongue. 

Zayne tsks, shaking his head.

You gently nip at his finger before beginning to suck the offending digit, flicking your tongue against the rough pad of his thumb. You watch his eyes narrow, the grip on your waist tightening. Zayne is holding himself back. Again. 

You release his thumb with a pop. "Don't worry, sir, no one will hear." As if to prove your point, you stop grinding, instead bringing your hand up to cup at the bulge straining against his pants. “Besides, you’re too pretty like this. I'm the only one who gets to hear all the sounds you make.”

You smile so sweetly despite the way you torture him with every rough drag of your palm against his clothed cock. But it’s only when your smile breaks into something more genuine that Zayne feels himself flush, gazing up at you adoringly before he tries to play it off with a chuckle and a pinch at your hips.

"The things you say..." His expression changes to something unreadable, stone-cold and conflicted. The chances of losing you again are greater than he once thought. He doesn't deserve this, and he doesn't deserve you. Zayne is reminded of that every time he dares get too close.

But he can't help it. He’d eternally become a fool, a martyr, just for you.

Zayne’s jaw clenches, and a stuttered moan slips through his teeth as your hand squeezes his clothed cock. "Do you think I'm that weak to flattery?"

"No. I just think you deserve it sometimes." You smirk. "Plus, I'm not flattering you, I'm complimenting."

"And what's the difference?"

"The intent," you whisper, grinding your hips forward again.

This time, you catch him by surprise, and Zayne moans, the sound low and rough and so fucking addicting. Zayne grunts, head tilting back as he shuts his eyes, lips parting ever so slightly as more soft sighs and moans slip out, spurring you on.

You lean in, breath warm against his ear as you whisper, "What's wrong, sir? I thought you had a lesson to teach me."

Zayne’s grip tightens, and he yanks you down so your palms skid across the smooth felt of the pool table you’ve pinned him against, pulling your hips flush against his as his palm cups your ass.

“If you actually want to learn, there's another way I can teach you…” Zayne leans up on his forearms until his lips brush with yours, and right as his eyes begin to flutter closed, you shove him backward. Denying his kiss. Again.

“Sir, this seems to be highly unprofessional.”

And Zayne finally snaps. 

“First you use your teacher as a cue rest, then you try to talk about professionalism?” He lets out a curt laugh, and you can practically feel his patience wearing thin. It’s terrifying, and your stomach flutters in anticipation.

“ Unprofessional ,” he spits, and your thighs clench at the growl undercutting his words. “Unprofessional, like that time you were screaming my name in the back of my car while we were still at the hospital parking lot? Or unprofessional, like that time you interrupted me during work hours, begging me to eat your cunt out in my office? Or perhaps it’s like when you decided to turn this lesson into an opportunity to tease me since you’re clearly so desperate?”

You can practically feel yourself drip at Zayne’s blunt words, each one harsh and true— your relationship with him had passed morally ethical the moment you pulled him in to kiss you instead of pushing him away months ago.

Using this moment of weakness, Zayne lifts you up, flipping the two of you around so you’re the one pinned against the pool table as he reaches for his abandoned cue stick. And he finally- finally - claims your lips with his. 

Zayne always kisses like he operates, slow and methodical, as if he could spend hours learning every inch of your body, and it never fails to leave you breathless. But today, the urgency in the way he licks into your mouth is palpable, and it has you whining and clutching his suit, legs wrapping around his waist as you try to bring him closer, the oak rim of the table forcing your back into a deeper arch as you whine. 

A firm hand against your hip stops your movement, pinning you down. You feel so small, caged in between his much longer legs, his superior height much too obvious. The difference in size is almost laughable as he bends down to lick deeper into your mouth. You gasp against Zayne’s lips as his other hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing circles against the column of your throat and your fluttering heartbeat underneath.

You whimper into his mouth, futilely attempting to push him away even though your hips grind insistently against his thigh. “Zayne,” his name tapers off into a moan as he kisses you again, addicted. “We can’t–” another kiss. “Anyone could walk in.” Another.

When he does give you space to breathe, a thin string of saliva connects his bottom lip to yours. He pants heavily, lips shaded a hue of cherry red from your lipstick and teeth as the corner of his mouth tugs into a frown. “Hm, I suppose that’s true. But that didn’t stop you before, did it? So I see no reason why it should stop me now.”

And you realize your fate has long since been sealed.  

Zayne returns to peppering your neck with kisses, teeth nipping the soft skin at your collarbone, and you yelp as he leaves a particularly harsh bite. Your hands come up to fist into his hair, and Zayne groans against your chest.

"Do not think I have forgotten our lesson," He whispers.

"Who, me?" You bat your eyelashes. "I would never. Sir."

His gaze darkens. "Then watch closely, I’m only doing this once.” 

Leaning over you, Zayne positions the cue stick against your shoulder, not unlike you did to him before. But unlike you, he forces your hips up against his thigh, watching your eyes roll back from the delicious friction of his expensive trousers. “There are two striped balls left. As punishment for your attitude during my lesson, I want you to come on my thigh before I pocket both of them.”

Dumbstruck, you can only stare up at him, stammering at his demand as you feel your pussy flutter. “I- I don’t think…”

Zayne scoffs, silencing you by roughly thumbing at your lips again. “Don’t act so shocked. You’ve been humping me like a desperate brat all evening, so go on and come like one. Come for me.”

His words are demeaning, each one cold and seemingly emotionless as he stares down at you. But you can see the truth in his eyes as he watches your every reaction, their gentle green filled with an adoration so tender it terrifies you. You feel the truth in his touch, only moving with your consent, already having memorized your body to learn the way you tick and acting upon your every whim, only pushing you just as far as you wish to be. 

Zayne has never told you he loves you, but he has shown you that he does in a thousand countless ways. 

And he’ll prove it to you in a thousand more. 

”Unless, you want more punishment?” Zayne twists his head towards you with his next statement, and he feels the way it makes you flinch— it makes him throb at the same time. You shake your head. 

You can barely form sentences when he’s deliberately tensing the muscles in his thigh, each movement in time with every needy twitch of your hips like it’s a means to emphasize his point. 

“Use. Your. Words.”

“No.”

His grip tightens, fingers tensing against your neck, and you stammer back out the correction. “No, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Your heart flutters at the praise, a quiet whimper escaping you as you buck against him. Your lips are pouty from being bitten between your teeth, and you still hear muffled sobs and moans slip past your lips as you begin chasing the friction against his thigh, the upward angle punishing your clit. 

Despite how much Zayne likes to front that he’s in complete control, something tells you he’s having a harder time holding back than he’ll ever admit. You think maybe the bulge in his slacks and his low moans against your ear is proof enough of that.

Zayne’s not sure which is more distracting, the sight of your pretty pussy grinding against him, only just covered by the thin silk of your dress, or the sounds falling from your mouth. The room is filled with the wet sounds of your cunt, your whimpers, and Zayne's own groans.

Pressing his forehead against yours, Zayne leans in for another kiss, the tips of your noses barely touching. But the proximity makes you slow, and he clicks his tongue, reaching above you to line up his cue stick for the next shot. But he pauses, instead fully tugging off the tie you had loosed.

"Since you were so insistent on taking my tie off earlier, here. Keep it for me." Zayne grabs both your wrists with one hand, looping his tie tightly against your skin, skillfully making a knot without ever releasing your wrists. 

“Maybe this will help you behave properly,” Zayne whispers, voice low as he mouths your pulse point, a fresh surge of arousal rushing to your core as you feel his length pressing further into you. 

With a broken whimper, you hook an ankle around Zayne’s back as you begin to grind harder against his thigh, moaning at the new angle. It hardly compared to the feeling of his fingers or cock fucking into you, but you barely cared, arousal and lust spurred on by Zayne’s voice. 

You soon fall into a rhythm, painfully slow, the mere friction sending jolts of heat through you until you’re certain Zayne’s trousers must be stained. You nearly beg for something to hold onto, hands writhing helplessly against his tie as your sobs are muffled into your red-bitten lips.

But just as soon as the pleasure builds, you feel it plateau, hips beginning to stutter as the dull friction becomes too little, the coiling heat inside you desperate to be properly filled up by something, anything. 

Zayne, on the other hand, is faring no better. 

He’s thoroughly distracted with the pretty little thing desperately fucking herself against his thigh, caging you down to the table as his hands clench against the cue stick, nearly enough to make it snap. 

You continue to push yourself in desperation to fulfill Zayne’s order for you to come, his continuous praises mingling with the lewd squelch of your cunt, and your eyes roll back with a cry. Zayne’s voice is intoxicating, his steady tone rough with lust sending tremors down your spine, infecting you like an aphrodisiac. You were building further and further, mounting pressure in your core dizzying, desperation for release seeping through you, mind lust-drunk as you willed yourself to fall off the peak.

But the familiar sound of the billiard balls clicks somewhere above you, followed by two distinct thuds. 

A hum, and Zayne pries himself away as you whine at the loss, cold air rushing in. 

You failed. 

“How disappointing.” Zayne scolds as if he wasn’t the one who nearly came from your grinding instead. ”But you know what happens to students who fail to follow clear instructions, don’t you?”

Standing back, Zayne discards the cue stick entirely as one hand readjusts his trousers, and you whimper at the sight of him cupping his bulge, stroking and coaxing it against his thigh just so he can stand straight. 

“Turn around and lift your dress.”

You obey, propping yourself up on shaking arms before you flip around so the rough edge of the billiard table now presses against your stomach, the felt hot beneath your bound wrists. 

Zayne hums in approval, almost apathetically observing the way you squirm before he nods at you to continue. Lowering your eyes from his, you allow your leg to slip out from the slit in your dress, spreading your legs back and to the side as the silk falls off the curve of your ass, Zayne’s piercing gaze following every movement. 

“Didn’t think a game of pool would turn you on this much,” he muses, leaning against the rim of the table as he crosses his arms.

Unable to meet his stare any longer, your head falls between your still tied-up hands, every inch of your body burning in shame and lust as Zayne continues to wordlessly observe you. You swear you’ll burn up with the way he fucks you with his eyes.

 Still, Zayne doesn’t move. 

You nearly scream against the table, eyes scrunched as you snap. “Fuck! Zayne, I swear to god, if you don’t finally fuck me I’ll do it myself or find someone else who will.”

The words barely leave your mouth when a hand fists into your hair, pulling you backward until you arch back, and you gasp, mouth falling open at the sensation. Zayne's breath is cold against the shell of your ear, the growl undercutting his words sending tremors down your spine.

"Needy little brat," his fingers curl into your hair, pulling until your jaw goes slack. Zayne's other hand finds its way back to your underwear, the material so damp that it almost feels sticky beneath his touch, and you moan at the sensation, unable to formulate a retort as your eyes flutter closed. “I think you’re forgetting this is meant to be your punishment.”

He snaps the band of your panties, and you choke, knees wobbling.

"Remember to count, or we start over.”

Placing the flat of his palm in the space between your shoulder blades, Zayne pushes you down against the billiard table, the side of your face pressed against the felt.

You hear the sharp crack of his hand meeting your ass before you feel it, the burn returning with a vengeance as you scream into the table. The sting of his palm leaves a searing heat across the curve of your ass, and you bite down on the tie binding your hands to muffle the cries that escape you.

Then you remember his order, lips quivering as you say, "One."

Another smack. This time harder. The strike is so precise it nearly sends you toppling over, the sting and ache following pushing you further against the wood. You let out a sob, eyes beginning to water as you clench around nothing, the throbbing of your cunt only worsened by Zayne's firm grip on the base of your neck.

"Two."

The third strike comes down even harder than the last, the resounding echo of his slap followed by a strangled scream from you, the heat and pain making your knees give out, forcing you to rest fully atop the pool table. “Three.”

You feel tears running down your face, undoubtedly ruining your makeup. But before you can process the fourth smack, you feel the familiar sting against your ass and the paradoxically gentle rub of Zayne's hand against the aching spot, soothing the pain as you count.

 "F-Four." You shutter as you feel sheer cold bloom against your skin, his Evol numbing your ass as you whimper from the pleasure-pain.

Zayne’s thumb dips past the seam of your panties, gathering the slick that has been dripping out of you for the entire night. You feel the heat of his stare on you and the weight of his hand heavy on the small of your back, his other hand still gripping your neck with his thumb tracing soft circles against your pulse.

"So wet. Is this what you were hoping for, hm? Testing me until I finally snapped and ruined you?”

You don't dare look him in the eye. "Please, sir. I can't—"

"Can't what? Take anymore? Can't take any more punishment like the disobedient brat you are?" Zayne's voice is low, and you shiver at his words, unable to respond as the tears continue to flow, the mixture of pain and arousal leaving your vision blurred and cloudy. He spanks you again, this time hard enough to leave a mark, and you keen, legs spreading even wider in desperation.

"I can't— ah shit — please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sir, please, just fuck me already.” you plead, voice trembling as you beg, desperate to be filled by anything other than the emptiness. 

“Language.” Zayne reprimands, and the sting of his strike follows shortly after. “And you forgot to count.”

“Five! It’s f-five.” Your knees buckle with a sob, and Zayne has to hold your waist so you don't slide onto the floor, his touch paradoxically gentle compared to everything else he’s done.

“Shh, you’re far too noisy. It’s almost as though you want someone walking in to find us like this.”

Your dress is only noticeably bunched up from the back and Zayne is still fully clothed. Anyone walking by the billiard hall would just see a couple talking by the tables, but if they were to enter the room it would hardly take a brain surgeon to figure out what was happening. The realization has your walls clench around nothing.

Zayne hoists your wrists up, forcing you into a deeper arch before untying your restraints. You then watch him fist the purple silk into a ball before pushing it into your mouth, gagging you with it. “Don’t worry, this will help.”

It doesn't.

You moan against his tie, saliva pooling against the silky fabric as Zayne pushes the soaked garment deeper into your throat, his chest pressed against your bare back. You look up at him through watery eyes, sniffling, the tingling sensation of being punished in such a way overwhelming you completely. Zayne uses this opportunity to soothe you like he always does— never failing to find the perfect balance between rough and gentle.

"It's alright, I know, my little darling can’t make up her mind. I’ll help you, I’ll show you what you want." Zayne soothes, stroking your cheek with his thumb, his gaze gentle despite his steady and strict voice. Then, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he whispers, “If anything hurts or becomes too much, tap the table twice." 

You wouldn’t dare, not after finally getting what you wanted.

Zayne slips his hands under the backs of your thighs, easily lifting your weight against his chest as you whimper, the toes of your heels just barely grazing the tiled floor. The position is beyond embarrassing, ass up, face down, completely exposed and at his mercy.

He withdraws one hand, and you cry out, a garbled mess of pleas. The absence of his touch is torturous, the throbbing of your pussy and the soreness of your ass a painful reminder of the punishment you received.

The tent in his pants was tantalizingly obvious, even more pronounced once he pushed his pants down, taking out his length. He spits on his fingers, the slick sounds of him stroking himself making you whine in anticipation. It was oozing with precum, head red and flushed as he jerks himself off with sharp movements between your thighs. You grind your hips back, trying to tempt him, but all Zayne does is coo at your pitiful attempts.

"Look at you, so desperate. All that childish stubbornness just because you want my cock." He lines himself up, the head of his cock catching against your entrance as you shiver. The stretch burns, and you groan, eyes screwing shut at the feeling. "My beautiful, filthy girl."

Zayne whispers, curling an arm between your sweat-slickened bodies. You think he means to finally alleviate the needy throbbing against your clit, but instead his hand presses firmly against your lower stomach as he continues to fuck into you, torturously slow, allowing the blunt head of his cock to bully its way deeper and deeper still. 

The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch of Zayne's cock combined with the sting of his earlier punishment leaves you a mess, fluttering around him as he finally bottoms out.

He lets out a long moan, a low rumble that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You're so full, the head of his cock pressing insistently against the bundle of nerves inside you.

Some distant part of you is mortified of every lewd squelch and moan that echos over the jazz in the public hall, but feeling Zayne gently cup your ass while the other brutally pins you down, hearing him come apart against the back of your neck, knowing that your stoic lover was pushed to such extremes has you keening.

You want to feel every inch of him, so you clench down, and Zayne bites the back of your neck in retaliation, his hips stuttering.

"You’re perfect." Zayne praises, and his breathless voice sends shivers down your spine. "So good for me, taking me so well."

Zayne finally starts moving, letting the tip of his cock pull back until the head catches on the rim of your cunt, trying desperately to keep him inside, until he thrusts back into you in a single harsh motion, watching you fall apart just as he knew you would. 

Your scream muffles into the gag, and Zayne reaches down to push the tie deeper into your mouth, the knot catching on the back of your tongue as he sets a steady pace. 

The hand against your lower stomach shifts, still pressing hard enough so Zayne can feel his cock throb through you, and yet now positioned perfectly to thumb against your clit too. He needs to make you come, to feel it around him. 

Zayne knows your body better than his own, knows exactly what angle he needs to hit, knows exactly where to touch to send your hips jerking back, and knows exactly where to tease to have you clenching down and sobbing into his tie.

It doesn't take long until you're coming, his fingers circling the bundle of nerves until you're screaming, thighs shaking, and he has to hold them open as you fall apart around him, cunt gushing as you squirt over his suit and trousers.

Your orgasm has your walls fluttering, clenching around his cock as it nearly begs for him to be buried deeper inside, and Zayne grunts, a broken moan ripped from his throat as his grip on your thigh tightens.

The pace of his thrusts grows sloppier, and you can tell he's close, the wet squelch of his cock inside your cunt driving you mad as his rhythm becomes inconsistent. You can feel his breath fan against your neck, labored and shaky, with the way he chases his high.

Your cunt aches with how full you feel, overstimulated and sensitive, but you push your hips back anyway, meeting Zayne halfway as you both chase the release that's been building up all night.

With one final thrust, Zayne finally comes inside you, a choked gasp followed by a low moan as his hips stutter, almost fucking his cum back into you as a sloppy mixture of your release drip down his cock and your thighs. 

Your eyes roll back into your skull, and your second orgasm takes you by surprise, your body convulsing at the overstimulation and the warm soothing sensation of being filled to the brim. 

"Fuck." Zayne whispers, his hands holding your hips as his thumbs trace circles against the dimples at the small of your back. The chill and comfort of his hands is almost enough to distract you from the ache, and you groan, legs finally giving out beneath you as you fall forward onto the pool table, the hard surface unforgiving as the wood rubs against your bruised knees.

Ever so gently, Zayne removes his tie from your mouth, turning you around so you’re pressed tight against his chest, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his rapid heartbeat and the way his hands tremble, and you smile, the familiar tenderness of his touch calming the both of you.

He slowly runs a hand down the curve of your back and you hum against the top of his head, your own hand coming up to gently stroke his hair. “I think I love you, Zayne.”

He doesn’t say a word, instead, you feel his other arm wrap around your waist, tucking you further into his embrace.

The two of you remain like this, tangled in each other until your breathing finally evens out and the fever that inflected you begins to cool. When Zayne finally speaks, his voice is muffled against your skin, and you shiver at the mere brush of his lips. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Hmm, not any more than I’d want to be.” 

You mean it as a joke, but Zayne immediately stiffens in your hold, pulling back just enough to inspect your neck, then your wrists and hips as he kisses each bruise and remaining mark with hushed apologies. 

"Did you mean it?"

You look down at him, his brows furrowed as you thumb at the stubborn crease that appears between them. You’re not sure why, but something in the way he stares up at you, waiting, longing, makes tears prick in the back of your eyes. 

"Zayne," your voice is gentle, and you cup his cheek. "I do. I love you."

The tension in his jaw melts, his expression softening into something unnameable. His hand comes up to cup yours, scarred thumb tracing circles against your palm. " Say it again."

"I love you," you repeat, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards. "I love you. I love you."

"Again."

"I love you, Zayne–"

The last syllable of his name is cut off by his lips against yours, and you smile into the kiss, pulling him up until his forehead finally rests on your again. 

"As do I," Zayne whispers, voice thick as he hold you close.

And you believe him.

[karmicgalaxies]

18+ Content MDNI.

Logan Howlett (Wolverine) X AFAB! Reader

Disclaimers: Implied unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it!) Riding, Shotgunning cigar smoke, Spanking? If you squint. P in V Sex Logan’s a little mean here. Just a small imagine/drabble that’s mainly my self indulgence.

Imagine sitting in Logan’s lap while he’s smoking a cigar, laying back while you’re riding him. You’re a desperate, wet and whiny mess while you pick yourself up and sink back down onto his cock in an almost embarrassingly desperate fashion. His thick cock stretching you out oh so deliciously in all the right ways, disappearing into your aching, needy cunt again and again. “Logan.. I.. I can’t..” You begin, knees nearly buckling as you struggle with his size.

“Shh. You can. Keep goin’.” Logan replies. A smug, grin on his face as he savors the feeling of his cock enveloped in your sweet pussy. He takes another drag of the cigar between his fingers. Placing a firm smack on your asscheeks when he feels you starting to slack, the impact of his heavy palm on your pretty little ass is sudden and sharp. Yeah, that’s gonna leave a nice (not so) little handprint shaped mark. Hell, you already feel the sting. That’s motivation enough for you to build back up a pace.

“There you go, darlin’. That so hard fer ya?” Logan speaks condescendingly. Almost in a low growl. Grabbing you by the jaw, he brings your face in close to his as he shotguns the cigar smoke into your mouth, allowing you savor the flavor of the tobacco on your tongue. The proximity just shy of ending in a passionate kiss. One which you hope he gives, but he ultimately denies, a whimper escaping those pretty lips. All the meanwhile a wolfish grin is painted on Logan’s bastardly handsome face.

Shame. He almost feels bad. Almost tempted to rub his thumb at your swollen little clit in that circular motion that makes you see stars, bring you to the edge that you desperately need. However he refrains from indulging you in such a manner. Cruelly watching your pathetic attempt at getting off on his cock without his intervention or effort.

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

posting this with absolutely no context

[skeletood]

it's just that dude you always do everything with, no biggie

[taylorman2274]

We Care About You

For the past couple of days, you've been sacrificing sleep to spend more time playing Genshin. The people of Teyvat take notice and do not approve.

Content Warning(s): Liyue Archon Quest Spoilers

Notes: SAGAU; GN!Reader; First Story; Inexperienced Writer

Word Count: 1.5k

Previous || Next

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You honestly should've seen it coming.

There were too many hints that told you what was about to happen, but you either didn't notice them or ignored them entirely.

Now you're about to fall into unconsciousness against your will, all because someone within Teyvat cared about your well-being.

"How is this even possible?" you pondered before you finally fell into sweet unconsciousness.

---------------------------------------------------------

The first hint happened so quick you almost missed it.

You were a couple of minutes removed from logging into the game and had just started working on your second of four daily commissions.

As you were teleporting to Dadaupa Gorge to help Wyatt look for his key, you noticed an unusual message on the loading screen.

Sleep

When night falls, make sure that you get plenty of rest!

You were lucky that you were a fast reader or else you wouldn't have been able to read that message in time.

At first, you didn't know what to think of it. Sure, Hoyoverse could've easily added it into the game, but you didn't see them ever doing such a thing. Additionally, you've never seen anyone else experience this message before.

"Probably something new," you guessed before gliding on down to speak with Wyatt.

---------------------------------------------------------

The second hint was a bit more noticeable than the first.

After completing Wyatt's commission, you were on your way to Falcon Coast to defeat some hilichurls. It was approaching nighttime in Teyvat when Paimon suddenly said:

"It's getting pretty late. Paimon thinks that we should go to bed soon."

You stopped gliding forward for a brief moment in slight surprise. It only took a few seconds for you to snap back to reality before pausing the game to save what airtime you had left.

"I can see a new line of text being possible, but a new voice line?" you contemplated. Like the last hint, you really didn't know what to think of it. If it was only one new voice line that got added into the game, you guess you shouldn't see that as a big surprise.

"Today has certainly been weird," you added before unpausing the game.

---------------------------------------------------------

It wasn't until the third hint that you started to think that something was wrong.

After defeating the two waves of hilichurls, your last commission had you beat up some cryo slimes near the Dawn Winery. You teleported to the Anemo Archon statue, grabbed a couple of Windwheel Asters, and began to glide down to the water.

However, just as you were about to pass the Dawn Winery, you began to hear a sweet melody coming from the building. This wasn't the theme you were used to hearing when you were near the Dawn Winery, so being the curious person you were, you took a quick detour to the building.

As you approached the building, the melody began increasing in volume. Furthermore, as you moved your camera you noticed the sound gradually shifting volume in-between your right and left ears.

"Wait, this isn't just a soundtrack? Someone's actually playing this?" you questioned, speaking aloud for the first time. You rarely speak your thoughts aloud, finding such an action to be awkward, but you felt that the situation warranted such a reaction out of you.

After a bit of wandering and camera movement, you pinpointed the source of the sound coming from the roof. Starting from the front of the building, you climbed up the wall and onto the balcony. You moved the camera around, trying to see if you could get a better view of the roof, and after a while, you found the source of the melody.

Venti the bard was currently straddling the roof beam with his back against the spire right near where the Anemoculus used to be. He had his eyes closed as he was playing the soothing melody on his lyre. If he noticed you, he took no note of it as he continued to play.

"Okay, now things are getting weird," you began to monologue to yourself. "I can somewhat explain a new loading screen message and a new voice line, but a new audio played by a character who is never supposed to be seen outside of archon quests and events? A change as big as this would've surely been advertised by Hoyoverse on social media, right? So why does it feel like I'm the first person to have discovered this? Do I consider this to be a bug or a glitch?"

However, as you continued to think to yourself, Venti continued to play his melody. As the melody dragged on and on, you began to yawn and feel your eyes growing heavy.

"Hold on. Is this melody...making me sleepy?”

Music notes began to fade in and out as they floated from Venti's lyre to your player character.

"I can't fall asleep just yet! I still need to finish my commissions!" you proclaimed before leaping off the balcony and continuing your way down to the beach. "Ooh! I also may need to travel to some domains and farm for materials."

You missed the fourth hint while you jogged away from the winery. Had you looked back at Venti, you would have noticed that he stopped playing the melody before sighing with a slight frown on his face.

---------------------------------------------------------

After completing all of your dailies, you decided to take a change of scenery and meet up with Liyue Katherine.

"I still need to go to Wanmin Restaurant and trigger that Beetle event. Plus, the crafting table is just around the corner for me to craft some Condensed Resin!"

You were too distracted by the crafting table to notice the fifth hint of the day. Had you kept your eye at Third-Round Knockout, you would've noticed the former Geo Archon getting up from his table and walking over to you.

Having finished crafting your Condensed Resin, you began to head over to Wanmin Restaurant. But before you could...

"Traveler! A quick moment of your time, please."

Startled by the sudden attention, you flicked your camera behind you to find Zhongli approaching your player character.

"It has been a while since we last had a chat. I was hoping you would accompany me while I head to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor to retire for the night. We can catch up with each other while we walk."

Too many thoughts were running through your head for you to give a proper response, not that any prompt showed up anyway. Zhongli took your inactivity as a sign of acceptance.

"Good. Let us be on our way then."

Zhongli started to walk past you, which didn't help your thoughts at all.

When his feet hit the ground, there was no visible space between the sole of his shoes and the ground. You never saw any of his clothes clip through any part of his body. In fact, you swear you saw a few wrinkles.

"Everything about him is too detailed. The walking animation, the clothes, the collision, the hitboxes; there is no way in hell everything should be so... fluid."

You started to think whether or not you should go through with his request. However, before you could make a decision, the game decided to make one for you.

The Traveler moved... but your hands were off the keyboard.

"WOAH Woah Woah woah..." You repeated as you backed your chair away from the computer. Now you were starting to think that your game was broken. You quickly scooched your chair back closer to your computer and were about to Alt+F4 outta there before...

"I would refrain from doing that."

You stopped what you were doing and looked up at the screen. Did you miss something that the Traveler did?

"As much as we all love to have you around, we know better than to have you overstay your welcome when you are clearly tired."

...That didn't sound like he was talking to the Traveler.

"I admire your persistence, but you leave me no choice, [Y/N]."

"Oh sh-."

Before you could finish your sentence, a loud buzzing sound suddenly played from your computer speaker. Almost immediately, you could feel yourself about to fade to unconsciousness. You quickly stood up and covered your ears as you tried to fight it, wondering how in the hell this sound was affecting you despite having heard it before in Sumeru. Unfortunately, the noise continued to grow louder and louder until you could no longer stand on your own two feet. You slowly slumped to the floor as the sound began to lower in volume, sensing that its job was done.

You honestly should've seen it coming.

There were too many hints that told you what was about to happen, but you either didn't notice them or ignored them entirely.

Now you're about to fall into unconsciousness against your will, all because someone within Teyvat cared about your well-being.

"How is this even possible?" you pondered before you finally fell into sweet unconsciousness.

---------------------------------------------------------

Author Side Notes: I know that I'm not the best writer in the world, but this idea for a SAGAU story I had continued to grow and grow until I felt like I could connect all of the plot points by myself.

If anyone is willing to rewrite or even possibly continue this story, I'm all down for it. I just wanted to see if people like this sort of scenario.

I also have more ideas for SAGAU stories if anyone wants to hear them.

[the-raindeer-king]

(A/N: prt 4 and the finale of the Mama Riley au! Thanks for all the support and nice comments. It means the world to me! No content warnings. Enjoy!!)

If the ground would swallow him whole, Simon would consider that a blessing. God, he never should've asked his mom about you. Of course she'd clock him. Who knows the man better than his own mom?

He stares blankly at you for far too long. Long enough that you're wondering if there was a chance Mama Riley had it all wrong. You open your mouth, ready to backtrack the statement, when Simon settles a hand on your thigh.

“I… yeah. It's true,” he answers you. He tells you it's fine if you don't feel the same. You were his mom's friend first, and he can see how deeply you care about her and vice versa. He wants his mom to be happy.

“What about what you want?” You ask, curious.

Simon's quiet for a moment, thinking. He wants to marry you, but that might be a bit much to admit right out the gate. So he gathers his nerves, and quietly admits, “I want to kiss you.”

You can't help but smile in response. You lean in a little closer to him, your eyes already half lidded. “I want you to kiss me,” you reply softly.

The kiss is a little awkward. It takes Simon a second to get comfortable in the kiss, but it's good once he does. (You find out later on that it's his second kiss.) His hands come to cradle your face, tipping your head back to deepen the kiss. That's when the kiss becomes perfect, the kind that makes your head spin.

You break away at the sound of the door opening. Simon's hands linger in your face for a moment longer, before he drops them back down to his sides. But you're quick to lace your fingers with his, more than eager to start displaying affection. You've been holding back for far too long.

Mama Riley smiles at the both of you, a coffee in hand. “You kids get your feelings worked out?” She teases.

You and Simon share a look, before responding simultaneously.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Yeah, Mum.”

Going to sleep that night is incredibly bittersweet. You two finally made progress, just barely started your relationship, and he's leaving in the morning. Simon has never hated his job more than now. He's waited, since the day y'all met, for this, and he doesn't feel like he even has a chance to enjoy it.

But it makes returning, two months later, all the more worth it. This isn't the first time you've gone with Mama Riley to pick him up, but this time is different. There's no fanfare, no balloons or signs, although you and Mama Riley had joked about it. But there is a new energy in the air, excitement to see your boyfriend.

He's easy to spot amongst the crowd, tall and imposing. But you see the way his shoulders sag with relief, when he spots you two. He greets his mom first, crushing her in a hug. There's some whispered words between the two of them, before Simon turns his attention to you.

He hesitates, before tugging his face mask down. “Can I kiss you?”

You can't help but giggle a little, nodding your head. His hands move to cradle your face, so gentle despite the horrors he's witnessed. And when your lips meet his, Simon decides there's no better way to welcome him home.

[catscidr]

// taking care of your dogboy (hsr edition!) //

i. note — sry i havent been posting yall i got a job + ive been working on three cosplays at the same time bc my local con is coming up lmao (´ཀ`」 ∠) however the brainrot never stops. it only takes a break. a little break of approximatively. a month. ish. ......... anyways dog hybrid hsr boys brainrot !!! lmk if we want more of this with more boys •ᴗ• comments and asks are appreciated hehe ii. includes — blade, gepard, boothill and gn!reader iii. cw — slice of life stuff turning into smut, possessive behaviour, overstim, slight dom/sub dynamics, real messy stuff, manhandling. use of the word "hole" to keep reader gender neutral iv. wc — 1,9k

blade is a mutt riddled in scars and dirty bandages from living on the streets and fighting to survive.

you think he might be some german shepherd mix, but he refuses to let you swab his teeth n gums for a dna test (last time you tried you narrowly avoided a punch to the face. he apologized in his own way afterwards), so whenever people ask, just say he’s a rescue to avoid revealing that you actually just… don’t really know what breed he is. they usually drop the subject and simply go on their merry way, seeing as he wasn’t the type of pup to appreciate affection from strangers anyways– it’s rare for you to leave the house in the first place, though.

you had to switch to a remote job because blade is just so persistent when it comes to you. although possessive is a much better descriptor, because he doesn’t let anyone near you. whenever you leave to get groceries he ends up practically breathing down your neck from how close he gets— acting as if he were your literal shadow— glaring at everyone that gets too close to you. you’ve made it a habit to always go to self-checkout lane so blade doesn’t scare off the cashiers.

the second you get home he’s all over you, determined to rid you of that outside stench and replace it with his own. you started packing your grocery bags in a way that nothing will break if (read: when) you suddenly drop them on the floor, all because you’re so familiar with blade’s impatience.

he holds you still by engulfing your body with his, knees caging your hips as he grinds into you, shallow and deep. blade’s growls and huffs fill your ears just as much as his cock fills your hole, his knot kissing your tightness from the outside.

“do you like this? like how i have to fuck you every time you decide to go outside again when you could stay here,” with me blade omits, his tail swishing back and forth on the bedsheets behind him, the sound just barely grounding you to reality.

your grocery bags were long forgotten on the foor (as they usually are), your mind too foggy to function. clawing at the sheets, you try to crawl away from blade’s grip— to no avail.

he tuts, craning his head to bite down onto the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. “i might just need to mark you for extra precaution,” he bucks into you, knocking the air out of your lungs. you hear squelching, the constant plap! plap! plap! from his thighs smacking against your ass and whine, broken babbles leaving your kiss-bruised lips.

“b-blade, y’can’t- ah,” he shushes you by plugging you full of his lengthy cock, his knot almost threatening to press inside of you. you whimper, feeling lightheaded from a mix of both nervousness and arousal.

he soothes the hickey he left on your neck, licking it languidly as he stills to bask into the way your hole throbs around him. warm and tight and oh so tempting.

“shit, wanna fill you. wanna… have everyone know they can’t have you. you’re mine, mine to love ‘n mine to fuck,” you’re not lucid enough to process his thinly veiled confession, too busy writhing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to get him to continue moving.

you might want to invest into some good concealer or into those skin coloured tattoo patches to cover the bruises and bite marks blade’ll leave on you if you want to continue being a functioning member of society. you can’t really be walking around in public as if a dog had just mauled you right before you left the house, can you?

gepard is a golden retriever because of COURSE he is. similarly to blade, he likes to invade your personal space a lot— not because he’s possessive, but because he’s extremely protective of you.

the random bruises you used to randomly notice on your body faded as soon as he came into your life. gepard’s soft, lingering touches healed them; gently placing a hand on your hip before you bump into sharp furniture so it doesn’t hit you, redirecting your head to his shoulder as you nod-off in the train before you bang your head, and so on.

it’s a full-time job and he’s working 24/7, always on the lookout for anything that could possibly hurt you as you saunter off… wherever, without a care in the world— because he took care of everything!

he would clean the apartment for you, cook (though you usually insist you do the cooking; a human doesn’t have the same taste in food as a hybrid), and even act as your own personal alarm clock. gone were the days of being woken up by loud, blaring beeping. gepard woke you up with forehead kisses instead, making your mornings much more pleasant.

but poor geppie, he’s always taking care of you; so take care of him, won’t you?

every so often you’ll sit in his lap to help him get rid of whatever stress he held in his body. your hands will knead at the muscles in his broad shoulders, all while you simultaneously kiss away the strain in his face. his brows are furrowed as you do your best to soothe his muscles; you never forget to smooch his cheek, nose and the corner of his lips.

though the attention and gentle acts of affection always ends with your hands lower than they should be.

“ah ah, no touching, remember?” you murmur in his ear playfully. you had been at it for what felt like hours; gepard’s cock and abdomen was smeared with the remnants of his cum, skin tacky from his previous loads. your hand shows no sign of stopping, not even when he begged oh so sweetly.

“c-come onn. just… jus’ wanna kiss…” and who were you to deny your sweet boy? your lips find his in a heartbeat, his tongue swiping over your own sloppily as he breathes you in like a depraved man.

the only condition you had when you did this was for him to keep his hands to himself— at least until you both decide to move on to something else. until then, his fists clench the sheets beneath the both of you, and his ears stay flat on his fluffy head.

“i’m… i’m close again, g- aah, please, please…!” he begs, cock weeping precum as you continuously jerk him off. you smile, absentmindedly rocking your hips to the rhythm you held him prisoner to— gepard was too engulfed in the warmth of your hand to notice, anyways. “cum whenever you want sweet boy,” you purr, and he keens as he buries his face in your neck, his hips lifting off the bed ever so slightly as they meet your hand and he thrusts, riding the high of his orgasm.

sticky cum coats your hand for the nth time; you relent your grip on his cock for his sake, instead choosing to shower him with chaste kisses all over his face. gepard whines, taking ahold of your waist weakly as he breathes into the crook of your neck.

“geppie, your han-“ he cuts you off, swiftly switching positions so you’re now laying on your back as he hovers over you, chest rising and falling quickly, catching his breath from the intensity of his orgasm. gepard’s tail wags slowly behind him as his hands creep up from your waist to your chest just as slowly- you feel his cock harden against your pelvis, precum spilling from his pinky tip.

“‘ts my turn now,” he huffs, leaning down to nip at your neck.

boothill is the most obnoxious dalmatian hybrid you’ve ever seen (not that you’ve seen many, or at all). but he’s made your life so fun so you can’t be too mad at him

he’s always dragging you out of bed to go do something— could be going to the park nearby or sit in the living room playing video games on your dusty console, it doesn’t matter because he’ll MAKE you step out of your cozy nest!!

you’re glad he’s friendly, because you’re not sure how you would handle such an excited hybrid when you left the house. people come up to the both of you to chat and he indulges their questions, essentially leading the conversation (while you stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to say).

boothill is also great with kids, unexpectedly. 9 times out of 10 when you go to the park he ends up playing with someone’s child, bright smile on his face as he messes up their hair with a rough hand. they’ll throw a frisbee for him to go catch and he’ll do it happily, or he’ll even… teach them how to beat people up.

(you stare mortified as he teaches a little girl how to throw a proper punch only for her to then punch her parent when she leaves boothill’s side. you go up to them and apologize profusely, forcing boothill to bow with you.)

he also loves to help you out, even though he’s not the greatest at household chores— but he definitely tries! though he is a stellar cook, which never fails to surprise you whenever he’s on dinner duty. he just… really sucks at everything else.

it’s… mostly because he just has so much energy. he sweeps the floor? nope, he’s picking off the pieces of the broom off of the floor because he accidentally broke it. he’s fixing your bed? nuh uh, you’re throwing out the ruined bedsheets because he accidentally tore them to shreds somehow.

so, with all of these accidents happening because he’s just brimming with energy 24/7, you started purposely exhausting him. or, rather, gave him the green light to exhaust you until he tires himself out.

“booth-aah, w-wait, you’re being too…!” you fall over on top of his hard chest, keening at the new angle his cock reached inside of you. he repeated his assault on the spot that made you see stars as your jaw gaped, broken moans leaving your lips.

“don’t tell me y’re tapping out.. haa, already!” boothill grunts, his grip on your hips tightening. he throws his head back with a loud moan, abs tensing as he nears yet another climax— the 5th one of the night. maybe, maybe not. you lost count after the third one.

you bury your face into the crook of his neck, focusing on the feeling of his cock plugging you full instead of the soreness, the burn in your muscles that came from your knees holding you up on his lap.

watching you riding him will always be his favourite thing in the world, even if he always ends up fucking up into you and taking back control at the end of the night.

“gonna cu-uum…” you whine, clenching around his length almost painfully tightly, hearing his breathing hitch as an orgasm is ripped out of him in consequence to yours. boothill’s fingers dig into your ass, his hips lifting off the bed as he cums deep inside of your sloppy hole again, sticky fluid building up beneath the sheets.

you collapse on top of him fully, chest heaving against his own as you come back to your senses, slowly but surely. boothill’s ears perk up, hearing how your breathing had evening out.

“so… got another round in ya?”

[tearsofcalamity]

(mechanic!reader) cw // blowjob, overstim, robotfucking!! keep in mind I have 0 mechanical knowledge this is just me spitballing

boothill glitches & overheats when he's overstimulated!

it's not super obvious at first, what with going down on him and all, your eyes are kind of downcast as you focus on licking up and down his synthetic cock - the one you'd given him. it feels just as good, better, even, than a regular human's, and you'd made sure to up his sensitivity to touch extra for your little night with him.

his little huffs and pants are quite delicious, trying so hard to fight off the noises that are bubbling in his throat, but he can't help but let off a sharp whine when your tongue drags right beneath his tip, metal hands nearly gouging into the metal examination table beneath him.

"d-darlin', d-did you-" he's just about to figure out your little tinkering with his sense of touch when you wrap your lips around his tip and suck hard, your hand gliding up and down his shaft, aided with the residual slick left behind by your wandering mouth.

"ngh- mmnh! fudge, fudge, fudge!" ah, he curses in his mind that you were so willing to give him all these lovely upgrades, but you weren't quite as eager to fix the 'hilarious' problem with his synesthesia beacon.

he gets as close to cumming as a cyborg can, no liquid spurting from the tip but the heat from his metal body and the way his face tenses, then relaxes, making it all too clear he's reached his climax.

but you don't stop.

"h-hey, sugar? I j-just- oh, god, mmmh-" he can barely get the words out as you go in again, just as enthusiastic, if not even more so than before.

your tongue sliding back over his cock was absolute heaven, but also - man, was it also torture. he was already nearly at the edge again, his fingers actually making divots in the metal of the table this time. if boothill could swear, the words would be pouring out of his lips, but he settles on biting down on his lip instead, drawing some of that blue blood he's now been built with.

"h-honey? s-sugar, fudge, ahh, ahhh! I ca-ca-can't-!"

you look up at that, noticing the way he's stuttering, stammering more than usual even when he's overwhelmed. his lip is twitching, almost as if he's going to cry, but then you see his arm spasm unusually, jerking to the side when you get in one last little kitten lick on his aching cock.

he came again.

his face was utterly debauched, and he stared you down with a look of utter shock, his jaw twitching a bit as he tried to think of the words to say. you reach up to cup his cheek, your other hand landing on his abdomen, which results in you quickly pulling away with a sharp hiss.

he was burning up!

"darlin', I'm so-so-so-so-" he jittered out, the voicebox in his throat malfunctioning from the heat. he reaches a working hand up to grasp his throat, his lips moving but the sound not quite working in sync with them.

you paused, watching the way he glitched about, and then began to laugh. boothill shot you a betrayed look, but you just sighed with a smile and grabbed your tools, pulling over your swivel chair.

"okay, this'll be a lesson learned for upping your sensitivity next time."

"I k-k-k-knew it!"

"yes, yes. can't have your wires frying every time we fuck, love."

[lycheeloving]

thinking about the yandere!batfam choosing outfits for you to wear... usually you'll get to decide what you want to wear yourself (out of the clothes that are available to you, a pretty big selection to keep you happy), but sometimes they'll do little favors for you in exchange for you wearing what they want you to wear, like some kind of doll.

Maybe Tim will let you watch a movie that Bruce has deemed "inappropriate", but you'll have to wear a frilly dress that you normally wouldn't touch with a 10 foot pole, because he thinks you'd be "so adorable" in it!

Sometimes Dick will go outside with you for a short time (in a very secluded spot and you have to hold his hand the entire time, maybe even be tied to him), but in exchange he makes you wear his Nightwing hoodie. He loves seeing you in his clothes, and if it's his own merch as well he's just about ready to die from cuteness aggression.

It's about evenly split if you'll have to wear something cute and expensive, or merch and/or clothes belonging to whoever is choosing for you. Bruce probably won't participate in this because "he won't compromise on his rules", but he might bribe someone else to do you a favor he usually disagrees with and in exchange ask you to wear the cute dress he bought for you that you refuse to wear. Hypocrite.