#vas fics

[vasiktomis]

Loophole (Zayne x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Zayne has an Evol flare-up while you’re visiting Snowcrest. You’re a good friend, so you help him out.

It doesn't mean anything if you don't move, right?

Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~6800. Tags/Warnings: Female Pronouns and Anatomy for Reader, Reader is MC, Caretaking, Friends to Lovers, Inappropriate Doctor/Patient Relationship, Childhood Friends, Bickering, Cock Warming, First Time, Vaginal Sex, Photography, Unsafe Sex, Porn with Feelings, Switching. Post-chapter 4 spoilers. Read it on Ao3 Here!

“Let’s get you inside.”

The cold weather poses something of a threat to Zayne, you've realised.

He'd never admit such a thing, of course, but if he hadn't wanted you to make such an observation, he shouldn't have made it his responsibility to impose such an unexpectedly strong presence in your life.

A year ago, you barely knew him. To say he kept you at arms' length was an understatement, but with everything that's occurred in recent months — with such a void left in your life from the loss of Caleb and Grandma — and the ugly mysteries eclipsing once-happy memories — your doctor, of all people, is the one dedicating almost every minute of his time outside of work to trying to fill that void. It's not like he talks your ear off — he's Zayne, after all — but he makes a noticeable effort to make himself accessible to you whenever he can.

He's been a good friend to you at the sacrifice of his own comfort.

In the seven months that have passed since the explosion, you've had more exposure to Zayne than you've had any of your other friends. He rarely strays from his quiet stoicism, but it's far easier to read him. These days, you can't believe you once thought him intimidating. The softer aspects of his personality aren't offered willingly, but accidentally. A slip of the tongue here, a too-long stare at a community cat there, a smile he doesn't think you notice. He masks his requests for you to visit him in his overtime hours as nagging reminders for you to water the plants. He never asks you to bring him dinner, but there's always an extra seat pulled up at his desk when you arrive with it unannounced.

You’re sure he likes it well enough; getting to know you after all these years. You’re just not sold on how fond he is of you knowing him.

It shows stark on his typically taciturn features. Streetlamp light bounces off fluffy snow at all angles in the little village laneway, illuminating the man with an almost healthy glow as he walks stiffly beside you, right hand clutched against his side and his left doing all it can to keep from crushing the bones in yours.

“I’m fine.” He insists while you lead him up to the cabin, grimacing at a sudden chill of wind passing over the porch. There's a certain tone he uses when he's putting on the bedside manner. As a patient, you'd be soothed. As a friend, your patience wanes. He's not fine.

”I’ll get a fire going.” You mutter, ushering him inside. He tries amidst obvious pain to be gentlemanly, waiting for you to enter first, but a scowl on your part has him conceding defeat and ambling through the door. “Get in the shower. Can you turn it on by yourself?”

There’s no more warm light from the street in here. Dr. Noah likely would have fallen asleep hours ago, shortly after you’d left for dinner. Still, even in the dark, you can sense the irritation in him.

“You act like I’m frozen solid.” He retorts on his way to the bathroom, knowing better than to stick around despite the attempt to uphold his pride.

”Get your butt in the shower before I throw you in there myself.”

The warmer months gave you no initial reason to suspect anything, but as the weather worsened and temperatures dropped, Zayne began to feel more on-edge. You’d bore witness to his attacks in the past, but he was no more willing to share his condition with you beyond the odd occasion of being unable to switch it off after a battle. You knew what it looked like when his Evol was acting up. It almost caused a fight, the first time you asked about it. Then, when it became clear you weren’t simply going to leave him to his own devices whenever he was displaying the signs, Zayne steadily, reluctantly, began to let you assist. He couldn’t stand it — he still can’t, you’re sure — not playing caretaker for once, but the two of you found a rhythm; keeping an eye on his temperature, steering clear of fluctuations, little remedies that help him bounce back quicker when his Evol gets the better of him. It became second nature to you, like carrying an Epipen for a loved one at risk of anaphylaxis.

You won’t lie, though. It pisses you off. He’s a constant nag when it comes to your health regarding your heart condition, but there was no allowable mention of his  condition when he brought you to Dr. Noah. Not that your opinion counts for anything, apparently, but what idiot cashes out his annual leave for an extended stay in a tundra when he's so prone to such reactions?

It had shocked you even more when your friend declared he’d be staying back for the foreseeable future, conducting research for the old man on a solo expedition on Mt. Eternal. Your friend — the one who'd taken it upon himself to be a stand-in for your lost family — alone, in the worst possible place he could be in his condition.

It was unthinkable.

Four weeks was your breaking point after you’d returned home without him.

Sure, he responded to your texts within seconds. Reception wasn’t good enough for calls, but he made sure to give you no logical reason to worry about him. It didn’t help. Once your dreams started to take the shape of him disappearing into the mountains, you cut your losses and decided to visit for the weekend.

Just as well, considering he’d been massaging his wrist in your periphery for the entirety of your first day. Still, he'd insisted on showing you around Snowcrest, spending as much time away from Dr. Noah's cabin as possible. You knew his tells. He was bordering on a flare-up and hiding it from you. Had he mentioned it and agreed to stay in tonight, you might not of had to drag him home with frost seeping out of his clothes and a foul mood. Instead, he chose to be proud about it.

Idiot.

God knows what could have happened to him if he hadn't come down from the mountain to spend the weekend with you.

He’d never let you get away with such stupidity, and it’s hard not to hold it against him. You came here out of worry in the first place, and the visit isn’t doing a thing to set your mind at ease.

You tend to rekindling the dimming embers in the fireplace, content to mind your business once you hear the shower turn on. At least he’s doing what he’s told.

The living room heats up steadily. New flames settle into a longer-lived glow. You get yourself changed into more suitable bed wear; a commandeered hoodie from your doctor’s medical school era, large enough to reach halfway to your knees. The frayed cuffs have since lost their elasticity and there are a few choice stains, and most condemning, the drawstrings have been chewed to tassels — but god, if it isn’t comfy. Time stretches on, and while the worry gnaws at the back of your mind, you leave Zayne to his privacy. So long as you don’t hear a thump, you’re content to imagine he’s probably just in there being mad at himself over not being the sensible one for once.

Zayne keeps himself locked away for the better part of an hour, in the end. Even Pie pads out into the living room to investigate what you’re doing up alone in the middle of the night before a scritch sends the fox on its way back to bed.

You’ve slid most of the way off the couch by the time the man emerges from his room in fresh pajamas. With your back to the rug, you watch him approach stiffly, slowing to a halt upside-down. He’s still rubbing at that wrist, you note.

“You’re still up.” He mutters, brow knitted in discomfort.

There’s frost on his neck. His lips are blue. It wasn’t even this bad when you were outside. A pit forms in your stomach.

Then, his wake hits you. Cold air, chilling you to the bone, and you sit up in a flash.  

“Zayne—“

He silences you with a little hand motion, stepping around you to seat himself as close as he can to the fireplace.

“You’re half-frozen.” You continue when he offers you nothing else. Crawling onto the couch beside him, you reach up to tug at the collar of his sweater, trying to inspect the severity of the attack. “God, you should have said  something.”

“I thought you were asleep.” He replies quietly. “I’ve seen — how much it takes to wake you-“

Zayne flinches from your touch when your fingertip skims his neck. The most aggressive warning to stay back that he can risk without waking his mentor. You ignore him, of course. You always do. Sitting close, you press yourself to his side on the couch, guiding his right arm between your thighs. Your fingers lace between his from both sides, covering as much surface area as possible as you use your body to fend off the cold.

A moment is all it takes to see some of the tension in his face disappear. He breathes through the pain, eyes closed, and you shift your gaze to the fireplace to give him his privacy with it.

”You’re in so much trouble when this passes.”

A short, sharp chuckle slips through Zayne’s teeth. He nods once. “I know.”

You sit together like this for a long while, letting him sap the heat from your body to combat the flare-up. If not for the fire, you’d be shivering. It takes time, but eventually Zayne’s breathing evens out. His face relaxes, bit by bit. His half-frozen arm feels just a little cold to the touch.

Neither of you part. Not just yet. There’s too much left unsaid, and Zayne takes far too much solace in quiet to make the first move.

You let your temple drop to his shoulder. “Snow village dates are nice, but most girls would say yes to ‘Go Fish’  and hot cocoa if it means their date makes it through the night.”

After a second, Zayne rests his head against yours.

He inhales.

He pauses.

Then…

“I wanted you to have a nice time. I didn’t think it through.”

…God, he’s such a sweet man. It’s not wonder he’s got you wrapped around his finger.

There’s such a sense of finality to the way he says it. You suppose it’s not necessarily a wrong way to think of it, but it’s not his fault. Sure, it’s your last night together for what may amount to months, and he was stupid enough to think he could get away with poking the bear, but you’d rather have him come home alive and well. Not a victim to his own Evol.

It doesn’t sit right with you to let it end like this. The moment he’s recovered, he’s going to insist you both go to sleep. You’ll take the guest bed, and he’ll take the pull-out trundle, and he’ll remain there, soundless with his back to you. In the morning, you’ll say your goodbyes, and that will be that. The next time you see him will probably be for a check-up, and he’ll spend the entirety of the ECG acting like you’re mere acquaintances again.

No, you’re not losing momentum.

You’re not sure if it’s warmth in general, or if it’s a reaction specific to you — through trust, or the Aether core — there’s just no telling. Zayne keeps his cards too close to his chest for you to ever be sure, but you do know for certain that you hold the quickest remedy. If it’s just warmth, he never lets anyone but you get close enough to supply it. If it’s trust, likewise. The Aether core? You’re the only one.

“What are you—“

Zayne stiffens when you climb into his lap. He winces in discontentment; at such an intimidate proximity, at the physical danger he still poses, at the feeling of your thighs astride his. He doesn’t look pleased in the slightest, but still, his knees shift together, offering you a more comfortable perch on which to explain yourself.

You can feel the cold still radiating from him, fighting his body to keep from regulating its own temperature. It’s unpleasant, the way the chill claws at you, reaching across the expanse of your front. The joints in your hands already ache just from holding his arm to your chest. It’s imaginable, what it must be like to host such an Evol. What it must be like to have your own flesh freeze from the inside-out on a whim.

“Not done keeping you warm.” You answer simply, making a conscious effort to keep your teeth from chattering for his sake. He’s exercising enormous restraint not flinging you off of him already. You shouldn’t push your luck by sending him into any more of a panic.

“It’s not safe for you to be this close.” Zayne protests.

“Then I’m making you safe.”

This time, a growl escapes him. Pain cuts his patience with your impudence short. “You’re going to get yourself hurt—“

Zayne’s words die in his throat when you drape yourself over him, chest to chest, arms languidly curling over his shoulders. He goes completely silent.

“Aren’t you always telling me you can control it, anyway?” You muse, relaxing into him, moulding yourself to his body. The white frost that blooms beneath his skin begins to fade from his throat, unable to contend with the warmth of your breath. “If you didn’t want me doing this you shouldn’t have shown me how well it works.”

“That was after the aid of a hot shower.” Zayne argues. His logic might apply for that aborted attempt at an early-morning hike, but it falls flat tonight. “I was trying to warm up after the shower.”

Yeah, look how well that turned out. He’s as bad at lying as you are.

“So you’re saying I ought to have—“

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“If it’s not helping, Zayne, tell me.”

“…It’s helping.” He mutters.

You declare your victory with a hum, tucking your face into the collar of his sweater.

Even his scent is cold, somehow.

Beneath you, Zayne shifts, conceding defeat. You feel his lips ghost the side of your head. Considering — then retreating from a kiss — opting instead to rest his chin on you. His affected arm remains wedged between you, while his free hand comes to rest on your waist.

Minutes pass. Zayne’s breathing steadies to a resting rhythm. Eventually, the ice retreats into his flesh, disappearing with only a lingering chill. It shifts, marking the man’s return to normal, but he doesn’t announce anything. Instead, he tugs his arm out, only to wrap around you, surrendering to the moment.

“Do you have plans, while I’m away?” He asks.

“Tara’s been looking at the blank spots on my calendar, so I’ve probably got things on without knowing, yet.”

“Blank spots.”

”Yeah. Some of us have those.”

”Sounds like you don’t know what to do with yourself without me.”

“Please. I won’t have to worry about you bullying me. Maybe, y’know, I’ll do just fine without you.”

A chuckle escapes him. Tentatively, he toys with the fabric of your hoodie. “You’re not going to wash this at all, are you.”

Heat climbs up your neck at the suggestion. Of all the night clothes you had to bring, why did it have to be something you’d stolen from him?

You’re no coward. You rise to challenge. “Can’t miss you when it feels like I’ve got you with me.”

“I know  you’ll miss me,” Zayne retorts, and wow, he’s really  angling for a comeback after having you subject him to being taken care of, “But that’s no excuse for poor hygiene.”

“Poor hygiene—!”

You lean back to glower at the man, only to find him smirking up at you.

“I’ve half a mind to expect to find you asleep on the platform when the train pulls in, simply because you were too excited to wait at home for me to drop by.”

Your ears are positively scalding. You feel yourself shrinking, suddenly not so confident taking up as much space in the room. How does he have you so well figured out? Are you really that much of an open book? Compared to him, sure, but you’d hoped you carried a little more mystery about you than sitting on a station platform for a quasi-boyfriend-without-benefits  like a dog.

Even if that is  the case — does he really have to rub it in your face?

He can’t get away with this.

Speaking plainly, Zayne’s warmed up plenty. There’s no real reason for either of you to remain this close, and yet — despite lauding himself as the rational half of this friendship, his arms almost keep you from moving any further away.

His expression doesn’t falter with your silence, remaining ever-undisturbed. It unnerves you. His smiles never last more than a second, and you can count on one hand the amount of times he’s looked you in the eye with a pleasant face on. He’s on a power trip. If you don’t cut him down right this second he’ll go nuclear. He’ll leave you hanging with a ‘goodnight’  and a kiss on the forehead and you’ll both never speak of tonight again.

This is it. This is the last straw. Tonight, you leave him  hanging. 

“You want me to miss you so fucking bad, huh?” You accuse him, tapping a finger to your chin as you pretend to wonder. His eyebrow ticks. “Is that what you’re into? Man, you medical staff are all so power hungry.”

Zayne looks thoughtful for a moment. A thumb idly traces back and forth along your skin, barely tucked beneath your hoodie. It’s such a cautious touch. You wish  he wasn’t just all talk. “Perhaps you’re easier to deal with when one considers you might actually like getting bossed around.”

There’s no hiding the erection that sits wedged between you. There’s no ignoring the heat that pools in your core every time it strains against your cunt, blocked only by his sweatpants and your underwear.

There’s no way he can’t feel your heart beat throbbing against him.

And yet — he pretends not to be taking part in any of it.

You think about it for a moment.

Then, you roll your hips forward, slowly, gently. Your nerves spark as your clit finds the pressure it needs against the underside of his cock.

It takes everything in your power to keep from doing it again.

A tiny shiver makes its way out of Zayne. Frustration, perhaps. You angle a knowing little smile at him, and his throat bobs. He knows he’s been caught.

Checkmate.

“Doctor Zayne, are you getting off on this?” You ask, and his face flushes scarlet. His eyes widen, caught off-guard by you finally crossing the threshold.

”I…don’t know what you’re talking about.” He answers lamely, pointedly avoiding looking down.

“You are!”

“Not so loud. It’s n-… it’s nothing.” He insists in a hushed voice, shooting a look over your shoulder before he’s satisfied that the coast is clear of anyone who might be privy to what the two of you are doing. “Just a biological reaction to stimuli.”

“Which stimuli?” You ask, feigning curiosity. “The cuddling, or this?”

To stress your point, you do it again, biting back the swell of enjoyment at the way his lips part of their own accord. A little hum spills forth, and his own hips chase the motion, just for a second, before he halts.

“Please.” Zayne murmurs, moving to hold you still. Inching you back onto his thighs, condemning himself to reveal two little damp patches. One where the grey fleece of his sweatpants pulls most taut. The other a little lower, where you’ve been rubbing your cunt along his clothed shaft.

“You need to learn when you’ve teased enough.”

What — fall back? Now? When all your nerves are alight?

Your tongue wets your lips as you take in the sight of him. Well on his way to wrecked, but not quite there. His expression remains otherwise impassive, but his pupils are far too blown to help him maintain the facade.

“You’re one to talk. Can’t hack it when it’s not you in charge?” You challenge him. “You’re not usually one to shy away from uncharted territory.”

You can’t help but reach out, itching to touch him. Fingertips smooth along his length, feather-light from the bottom up. His cock twitches when you reach the tip, begging for more.

“Ah—“ Long fingers snatch at your wrist, holding you fast. “Try no man’s land.”

“It’s nothing.” You assure him. “You said it yourself.”

Nothing. No different to how he so often strays into treating you, with all his dates and touches. Nothing, midday naps and linking your pinky-fingers as you walk together. Nothing, like the spare clothes you both reserve a drawer for.

“Just warming you up. That’s all.”

Zayne’s chest expands. His gaze fixes on your fingertips curling insistently at his waistband despite his grip keeping you at bay. “That’s all.”

Disbelief? Determination? Disappointment? You’re not familiar enough with how each of these sound in his throat to properly identify it, but Zayne’s grip on your wrist releases nonetheless. He opts to help you make more comfortable work of his track pants, pushing them down just a little to allow you easier access. There’s no presence of approval at how greedy you are about it, pawing and snatching at your prize while he tries to remain nonchalant.

You do try to give him the dignity of privacy by not looking down when he settles and you finally wrap both hands around his cock. He’s already indignant as it is, and the rumble that vibrates deep in his chest as your fingers close around him isn’t helping.

Oh — maybe just a little tease.

“Hey.” You chide, grinning. His eyes crack open, just enough to narrow at you. “Don’t make it weird. I’m a professional.”

It earns you a scoff. Zayne’s fingers, settled on your thighs, give a retaliatory squeeze, thumbs pressing just hard enough into your adductors to skirt on discomfort. He watches you tense at the feeling, and sensing an opportunity to shift the attention back off himself, decides to squeeze harder.

You finally flinch with an “Ow!”, and the man smiles to himself. Mission accomplished. He lets go.

”You’re the professional? How many surgeries have you performed?”

”How many have you  performed?”

”…A lot, genius.”

“Didn’t you tell me that some of your worst patients are doctors themselves?”

“Your point being?”

There’s no point — at least not in arguing with him. He’s only trying to distract you. You shift over him, and his attitude dissolves. He leans back, maintaining as much distance as he can — or perhaps to watch, as you tug your underwear to the side — line yourself up — and sink down onto his cock.

Zayne’s chest expands, but he makes no noise. His eyes close. His lips part. A minor crease forms between his eyebrows. It might as well be a sob. You’d use such a reaction against him if you weren’t more concerned with suppressing your own, lest he catch you out. Your cunt burns from the sudden, full intrusion, and his diverted attention gives you the moment you need to grow accustomed to it.

Once you’ve gotten over the initial shock of the feeling, you brush any intrusive thoughts aside. It doesn’t matter if he’s one of your oldest and closest friends. It doesn’t matter if he’s your doctor. You were already squarely planted in conflict-of-interest territory the moment he took you on as a patient.

You try to ignore your own desire. Your body catches up with your actions quickly, igniting touch-starved nerves that you’ve long-fantasised him satisfying. Heat builds inside you at a nervous system realising you’re finally giving it what it wants, and it only screams for more. Of course you’ve wanted Zayne. You adore him, but he’s not the kind of man who could balance a friendship with benefits; if anything, he finds a way to be the inverse of such a thing. He gives you everything in the way of a relationship except sex, and with him steering so clear of crossing that boundary with you, you have to tread carefully.

As much as you want to, this is delicate.

“My point is: zip it and let me take care of you.” You manage.

Besides, its not like you’re actually having sex with him. He’s continually pushing the boundaries of platonic with all his touches and hugs anyway. It’s not like he has a leg to stand on if he wants to protest what sitting on his cock might mean for your relationship. Hell, this isn’t even the first time he’s been hard when you’ve had his hips pinned down with your own.

If anything, you’re doing the guy a favour by taking the responsibility off him to go this far.

Zayne doesn’t bounce back as quickly as you do. His eyes remain scrunched shut, his core engaged beneath your palms as you brace your weight to settle into a more comfortable position in his lap. He looks worried. Apprehensive.

“Doctor Zayne?” Concern begins to creep in, just a little. “Okay, you can say something now.”

“Please,” He grits between his teeth, and relief floods your body as some semblance of calm returns to his expression, “Don’t call me that — like this.”

“Like what? I’m just warming you up, remember?” You offer a smile when he opens one eye, mood shifting to quizzical.

“You’re so immature. And for the record, this constitutes malpractice. You’re a terrible doctor.”

”Trust the process.”

”Fine. What’s the course of treatment?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing.”

You can’t help but chuckle at such quiet outrage. It’s getting easier to read him. Relaxing against his front, you ignore a little gasp on his part to loop your arms around his neck again. Dishonest pretences be damned, this really is doing the trick. “All you need to do is stay still.”

Zayne weighs up his options for only a moment before giving in. His arms slip around your waist. His chin hooks over your shoulder, just barely nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He’s breathing in your scent, and the following exhale into your skin has you stifling a shiver.

Then, there’s a flex within you.

“Hey!” You choke, “I said stay still back there!”

“Quiet down. It was only a reflex.” Zayne defends, a little too cavalier to fly under the radar. “Besides, I’m not the one squirming.”

“I’m just getting comfortable. Your hips are pointy.”

Zayne’s hips slot up into yours, and the feel of him nudging just a little deeper has your eyes stinging. You fail to stifle a little squeak, and you’re shushed for it immediately.

“Just getting comfortable.” Zayne’s words lick at your ear, and the sound of him sends shivers through you, pooling between your legs, pleading with you to satisfy the ever-nagging want to start riding him. “You’re like a vice.”

He has to know how much of an effect he has on you. There’s no way he doesn’t.

You don’t respond to his attitude — however, the condemning, responding, constricting  of your insides around his cock surely doesn’t go unnoticed, and with a hollow breath, he lifts you, just a little, enough to draw back and push back in. He’s slow about it; infuriatingly so, almost like if he inches in and out at enough of creeping pace you’ll either not bother to be strict with him, or you’ll simply abandon your own rules in favour of crossing the boundary he’s silently begging you to cross for him.

No. He’s not getting the upper hand here. Not when he gets to pretend all his little actions are forgettable. Platonic. Accidental. Misunderstood. There’s only so many times a guy can subtly grind on someone during a spooning session and claim ignorance when called out about it.

You lock your feet beneath his knees, and sink down onto him, hard. Pleasure blooms. Your cunt aches for more. A sharp breath escapes Zayne, threatening to blossom into an appreciative groan that would only serve to tempt you without your hand clapping over his mouth and a ‘shh!’.

“You can keep still, or this stops.” You announce in a whisper, and he watches you defiantly from behind your hand.

Zayne’s gaze eventually breaks away from yours. Conceding. For now, at least. You lower your hand from his mouth, and relax, reaching across the cushion to pluck your phone from the couch and check your messages.

Already, he’s bothered by your lack of undivided attention.

“You’re on your phone.”  He huffs.

“I’m not rewarding your behaviour.” You reply simply.

“You’re not implying that behaving differently would warrant a reward, are you?”

That’s for him to figure out.

You shift your weight maybe just a little more than you need to, indulging in the feeling of his cock shift with you, within you, pressing insistently against that one spot that almost has your constitution coming apart at the seams. Zayne trembles momentarily beneath you, swallowing hard. He’s keeping his cool well enough, but as you settle into the new angle, no longer moving, his frustration makes itself known with another twitch inside you.

If he keeps doing that, you’re not sure you can hold out.

“You really  think this is helping?” He asks, voice tight.

“You don’t believe me?” You pout, tapping your home screen and opening your camera app. “Fine, let the expert see for himself.”

Switching to selfie cam, you watch as the man glances at his image on the screen for half a second, before tearing his gaze away. Not a shocker, you reason. He’s probably never seen himself with a hair out of place. Flushed cheeks and dilated pupils? You might as well have shown him a traffic collision.

“Aw, come on. Look how much colour’s come back to your face.”

Zayne musters the courage to look up, but not at the phone. His eyes narrow at you. Accusatory. “I’m not interested in giving you blackmail material.”

“What? Get real. There’s nothing incriminating going on. Especially not when you angle it like this.” You switch on a filter and lean down into the man. “See?”

Curiosity gets the better of him, and his head tilts to get a better look at whatever scheme you’re cooking up. On the screen, both your flushed faces smooth out, blushing perfectly. Cat ears and whiskers. Cheek to cheek. Just another one of your countless selfies with completely platonic friends.

You take the shot. The shutter clicks.

“Cute.” Zayne mutters drily.

“You think so?”

“Only how much fun you seem to be having of it.”

Your brow knits. “Oh yeah? All right, stick in the mud, you take over.”

He gives too much away at that response. His long fingers immediately slip over your hips. He’s readying to flip you onto your back before he notices you’re holding the phone out to him. Then, knowing he’s shown his hand, he has no choice but to recover his pride.

Much to your chagrin, Zayne plucks the phone from your hand, aborting whatever miraculous step he’d been about to take. A corner of his mouth ticks, minutely. He angles your phone away from you, tapping and swiping. His own phone buzzes. Then, he casts the device at the other end of the couch, out of your reach. “I think it’s getting a bit late for screens.” He murmurs. Fingers smooth up and over the swell of your hips. His long arms uncoil from your waist, releasing you as he leans back. Leaving you with a lonesome chill.  “And you ought to be going to bed.”

Is that…rejection? Has he just been humouring you up until this point?

You tilt your head. “I’m sorry. Is this not okay?”

“This is fine.”

He looks at the fireplace. Stoic as ever.

“Then what?” You frown.

He doesn’t respond.

Your throat runs dry. Dread creeps up through your heart.

“Hey. Talk to me.” You urge, smoothing your fingers along his jaw, and he leans into your palm.

Seconds pass. Zayne finally regards you again. There’s an acknowledging incline of his head — almost a polite bow. A pre-emptive apology for what he’s about to say. 

“What happens after this?” He asks. “Do we part ways at the train station in the morning and the next time we see each other, it’ll be as doctor and patient?”

Oh.

“Is that what we are to you?” You ask, not entirely sure if you want to know.

He dodges the question the best way he knows how: with rationality. “I feel that if that scenario is what you want, we should say goodnight. My understanding of our relationship won’t change, I promise you, but if this goes further, at least one of us is going to feel differently. It would be better if there were no misunderstandings between us.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something dreadful and lovely all the same, anxiety and anticipation at the prospect of a tipping point, at least before saying goodbye. Trust Zayne, of course, to turn to smoke and mirrors when it comes to a confession of feelings, but you’ve known him long enough to see how far out of his comfort zone all of this is.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” You ask, aborting an attempt on his part to avert his gaze with a finger beneath his chin.

His expression remains inexplicable. Then, there’s that little tilt of his head. The quirk of an eyebrow. “Your assumption is correct.”

The apprehension that’s been building in the back of your mind disperses the moment he says it. Your resolve all but disappears.  “My understanding,” You begin, reaching up to cup your hand over the other side of his face, “is that I’ve wanted you ever since I walked into that restaurant last year.”

Zayne doesn’t hesitate. His mouth finds yours in a heartbeat. Previously unsure hands pull you against him, locking you in his embrace. He’s so awfully gentle about it all despite your combined strength. Such a gentleman. It comes as no surprise that he shudders at the intrusion of your tongue past his lips — what does surprise you is how quickly he catches up to your pace. Inviting you in. Slipping an arm lower to brace your weight, and you feel yourself being pulled up off of his cock, just until only the head remains at your entrance. 

The loss of him has you incensed. He keeps you from sinking back down, and your protesting whines are suffocated with another kiss. All he’s left you with to express yourself is your hands, and you seize the opportunity, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging, just slightly at the roots.

He breaks away with a little noise. Not pained, but shocked. Another one of his spots, you reason, and he’s just as displeased that you’ve found it. 

“You don’t know when to quit.” Zayne pants. His fringe dusts your forehead. “What — what were we saying about bad behaviour going unrewarded?”

You’re too mindless right now to play any games. There’s no more thrill of the build that you can handle. Not after this long. 

You break, instantly. 

“Please —“ You whimper, almost trembling in his grip, trying in vain to take him back in again. “Zayne, I need it — please—“

Zayne relents right away. He gives you what you want, lowering you, burying himself in you to the hilt. Then he lifts you again, building into a steady rhythm.

”You’re so — you’re so frustrating.” He manages between kisses. “Should’ve told me this is all it takes for you to do as you’re told.”

More. You need more. Heavenly as it is, it’s not enough, just having him in you. You push back, and Zayne takes the hint. He’s said his piece. He lets you take the lead again without a fight, admiring the view as you roll onto the balls of your feet, gripping the back of the couch to keep yourself stable. The new angle feels deeper, each stroke rolling drifting sharply over your nerves as he brushes that spot inside you. It takes a moment for Zayne to kick into gear, brain short-circuiting as he watches you squat on his cock, taking what you need from him. Then, he leaves you to support your own weight. Fingers wrench at the front of your hoodie, yanking it up to your sternum, and his tongue sweeps a nipple. In the time it takes for you to react, his other hand has snaked between you, between your legs. His thumb rolls over your clit just as he latches onto your nipple and sucks. The keen barely escapes your lips before Zayne’s hand claps over your mouth, continuing his assault. 

It goes from too little to too much. It creeps up on you so fast, so suddenly, and there’s nothing you can do but ride through it. A muffled hum is all the warning you can give him. Your pace staggers as the burn in your thighs catches up to you, but Zayne only goes faster, rubbing merciless little circles into your nerves. His hips roll up into you, compensating as best he can for your loss of control. Finally, the band snaps, and you sob against his hand, spasming around him, tears pricking at your eyes with the intensity of it all. You go positively boneless, and Zayne breaks away just enough to let you collapse into his chest as he carries you through it, breaths quickening as the lingering spasms of your orgasm invoke his own. 

“Fuck, I’m—“ He barely stammers, releasing you only to coil his arms around your torso again, readying to pull out.

“Not going anywhere.” You promise, clinging to him. Your fingers comb through his hair, tugging again, and a whimper dies in Zayne’s throat. He buries his face into the crook of your neck. His hips roll up into you once, twice, thrice more, and then he goes still. Buried in you to the hilt as he tips into oblivion.

He’s so subtle about it that you barely even realise he’s coming. Maybe it’s the effort not to wake Dr. Noah. Maybe it’s like this every time. Having him hold you with such desperate reverence while he does his best not to judder in stark contrast to to the feeling of him pulsing within you, you reason you’d like to find out. He hides his face from you throughout, only pulling his forehead from your clavicle when the aftershocks have come and gone.

Zayne looks lovelier than ever like this — coming out of a blissful haze, gazing up at you with cautious adoration. His focus flickers between your eyes and your lips. His chest expands and collapses like he’s like a 5-miler, but his breaths are smooth.

Even now, he’s trying to maintain a cool composure.

“Forgive me.” He mutters, not quite meeting your eye.

Your head tilts. Chasing him. “Huh? Why?”

“I exercised poor judgement. That was rotten of me. I should have known better, given I’ve never prescribed birth control to you.”

“You really think I’d come to you for birth control?” You snort.

Zayne’s brow creases. An incredulous look totally undermined by how positively wrecked he looks right now. “I am  your physician. Or has your other doctor friend decided to become real after all?”

Your fingers comb through his hair again. Despite a pleasant sigh on his part at the sensation, his expression remains steeled.

“Hey.” You finally manage to capture his gaze, only for any tells to evaporate. “Could you tell me something?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Are you more jealous that I might have had sex with someone who wasn’t you, or that I might have gone to another doctor?”

Zayne considers his answer for a long moment. His head tilts in that particular way it does when he has to make a decision, eyeing you expectantly. Punishment for daring to push him out of his comfort zone.

He presses a hand to your forehead. 

A thoughtful hum escapes him.

“Curious. Your temperature’s dropping. On second thought, you should stay another day so I can observe you.”

“You’re avoiding the question!”

“Here. I’ll keep you warm. You can install those camera filters on my phone to pass the time.”

#zayne love and deepspace #li shen #zayne x reader #love and deepspace fanfiction #vas fics

[wasabi-gumdrop]

oh

i am. unwell.

#LABRU NATION LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOO #BRO I AM EATING DIRT AND FLINGING MYSELF OFF A CLIFF #mentally i live here now #in this hand holding scene #i’ve watched this scene in three different languages #and all the kabru VAs got The Memo #speak to Laios in soft husky sexy tones #killing me with a knife would have been better #it would have been merciful #because what do you mean this is their last interaction for a good long while #someone pls put me out of my misery #or there will be consequences #like me writing insane labru fic idk #wasabi rambles #labru #laios touden #kabru of utaya #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #oh … dungeon meshi …

[hwiyoungies]

hello 911

#svtgifs #svtcreations #svtsource #seventeen #seungcheol #escupiendo al cielo pero fijo q alguien va a usar uno de estos gifs pa su fic #y voy a tener q leer la notificación y decir por la chucha gente ql #b.edits #these look so much better with noise but it made them way too big #and i simply do not feel like fighting photoshop today LMAO

[cerayanay]

Wash and Carolina are sooo funny imagine that guy from your first job that was kinda lame and bad at his job and everyone kinda treated like the little brother. The cashier that was bad with customers and forgot how to use the register. The busboy at a 3 star restaurant that broke glasses every night. The fresh graduate at your office job who lied about using excel and is honestly just a personality hire.

Then some drama happens and everyone quits and you kinda forgot about him in all the chaos. 10 years later you find out he was there til the company went under it traumatically changed him. Like you don’t see the light in his eyes. The shit he went through doesn’t even look good on his resume. They didn’t even pay overtime.

You find this out because he started hanging out with your little brother and his friends. They think he’s cool. But you remember when he asked if a 401k is $400,000 saved for retirement

#rvb #the fic is percolating #red va blue

[luci4theminorannoyance]

konig hc’s for plus sized reader:

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

a/n: I don’t usually write headcannons for specific body-types cuz I want all people to enjoy what I write BUT since Konigs VA is a massive jerk and projects onto his character in the worst ways, I’ve decided to write this

-this man loves, no ADORES using your lap and tighs as a pillow, his large hands wrapping around your waist and cuddling up softly

-would, should, and does spend hours complementing you in the mirror. Every last detail catches his eyes and makes him like a big love-sick puppy

-“more places to kiss” is his all time favorite cheesy response when you tell him that you feel self-conscious about your weight

-would spend days just picking you up and cuddling you everywhere he went if he could cuz he has missions he sadly can’t

-most lovesick, heart shattering, sad puppy dog eyes whenever you say something bad about yourself. He couldn’t let his schatz think of themselves that way!!

-the most side eye he has ever given to someone was one of his teammates when they commented on someone else’s weight. Especially if it was yours

-my man’s would PUNCH his VA if he ever met him. Square in the face with a knee-kick square in the junk

-can easily pick you up over his shoulder CUZ HES FRICKING HUGE. Don’t deny that he could. >:/

#Konigs VA can suck my yee-haw American star spangled preverbal ding-dong. He’s the only person with a German accent ive ever hated. #cod mw2 #cod fic #requests open #luci44_writing #cod hcs #cod headcanons #headcannons #konig headcanons #konig x you #konig cod #konig x reader #konig #konig x y/n #konig x gn!reader #konig x gender neutral reader #konig x plus!sized reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #plus sized reader #plus sized people are so stunning #Everyone is so stunning unless they’re disgusting on the inside tbh.

[instarsandcrime]

Pride Is A Fickle Thing

Well...at least it's not just Lu/ci/fer this time?

@onetrickponi had some great prompts to offer and, since she said she might be writing them, I decided to change up a certain one a little so it turned out the same but also different! Can be read as Ra//dio//App//le or just platonic fluff! Enjoy! ❤️

Prompt: Lu/ci/fer heals A/la/stor, though it takes a great deal of expended effort on his part and it turns out both of them hate looking weak in front of other people.

---

"Hp'shhzzzt!" A sharp, staticky sneeze slipped through a crack in the shadows.

Alastor wheezed as he grabbed yet another handkerchief from his collection, attempting in vain to blow away the clinging itch that stuck to him for the entire meeting. But he couldn't help it. Every single twitch of the finger, every flick of the ear, every time he even bothered to move his holy wound its poison would snake through his ribs and up to his aching head. And when it did the reaction got worse. And when the reaction got worse he couldn't help but...c-couldn't...help but…but snehhh--

"Et'chhht! TSH'ZZZZHHEW! Nnghh..." The overlord muttered out a string of curses as another wave of pain shot through him, grasping a pillar before he could double over and collapse.

“Oof, ouch! That one sounded rough." An irritatingly cheery voice chirped from nowhere in particular.

"Oh do be qui-quieehhh...Heh! Heh’eshhh't! Het'chhhzzz't!" Pressing a well-used cloth up to reddened nostrils, Alastor hurriedly straightened himself, discreetly rubbing the swarm of feathers he felt as far back as it could go.

"Bless y-- er, no, wait. That's not appropriate for someone like you, is it?" And with a golden puff of smoke he finally appeared. The six winged thorn in his side. “Fuck off? Damn you? Curse you, maybe? Mmmn no, I think you’ve already got that handled.”

"Lucifer." Alastor's ear flicked in annoyance, "What can I do for you m-my unh-huhh-holy fellow? Off t-to find some...s-some...snff! Suhh-someone to pestehhhHET'ZSCHHHH! Ghhh..."

The fallen angel winced as shrill feedback pierced the air. "Lookin' a bit sneezy there, bud. I guess even the most powerful overlords catch colds. Just goes to show that somewhere deep, deep, deeeeep down, you still have a mortal soul."

The Radio Demon chuckled, smile splitting despite the feverish beads of sweat that rolled down his neck. "On the contrary! Why, I'm the guardian angel of the Hazbin Hotel! I'm sure Charlie would agree."

Lucifer twisted the cane in his palms. “Ohoh! That definitely sounds like my little girl!”

"Agreed! She is truly a marvel. Exiling all doubts with a cheerful smile!"

"And when the hotel gets big enough, who knows? Maybe she won’t even need you anymore! She can take your place all on her own-- without the tacky bellhop suit, of course."

"Hah! Radio never truly goes out of style. Unlike...u-unlike the...the..."

"Speechless already?"

"A trifuhhh…huh! T-trifling matter, My Liege. I'm simply allergihhh...allergic to...to your bullshhHHT’SHHHhhoo...Huh'zschhh!"

"Impressive comeback. You should really--"

"'Hup’KZSSHHHT! HT'SHHH'OOooo...guhh…snff!" Worry bloomed on Lucifer’s face when his rival flashed a sliver of a wince. And as quick as it grew, Alastor rushed to crush the blossom with the wave of a hand. “Such compassion! I was wonderihh…wondering when the sin of pride would lower himself to such a weak emotion–”

“Let me see it.” 

“Pardon?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” His patient opened his mouth, “Nope, wait, don’t answer that. Just let me see the wound.”

“Hah! How absurd! Me? Get hurt?” The Radio Demon’s voice crackled with laughter, an unseen audience following suit. “Has our poor king gone senile in his old age?”

“I–! You–!” Lucifer took a deep breath, wisps of smoke billowing from his nose. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

“Okay.”

Despite his eternal grin, Alastor’s feverish eyes blinked back confusion. “...O. Okay?”

“Okay.” The king deadpanned, hopping back a few steps. “You like making deals, right?”

“I do have other hobbies, you know.”

“Nice. I don’t care. Walk to me without sneezing once. I know you can hide the pain, but if you think holy poison will just go away, then you must either be the most stubborn man in the nine rings, or the biggest dumbass.” He paused. “Or both. If you lose, I heal you and you never have to think about Adam and his gaudy lute axe again. If you win, let’s just say that in a few more days, no one in Hell will hear another broadcast from The Radio Demon again.”

A suffocating silence fell over the two, with only the small ambience of old timey cigarette advertisements and Ella Fitzgerald to keep them company. Until finally obsidian claws drummed against the tip of a microphone.

 “...Fine.” Alastor said simply.

“Fine.” Lucifer spat back.

“A simple task, really.”

“Then stop stalling and do it, coward.” Satan flashed his pearly fangs.

A scarlet eye twitched. His opponent took a tentative step forward and the itch followed suit, fighting the urge to rub a knuckle against it.

“Having trouble there?”

“I can assure you I'm per…p-perfectly fihh-fide.” Another step. The growing tickle burned from the bridge to the tip.

“Fihhh-fidt as a fidd-fiddle.”

Almost halfway. Hold it in, hold it in.

“I'b dot as weak as y-yuhhh…you thidk…”

Through irritated tears, slit pupils studied him closely. “Uh-huh. Still don’t believe you.”

Temper beginning to flare as badly as his wound, the overlord opened his mouth to retort. But his voice was completely stolen as the itch teased the rim of his nostrils. It built and built until–

Oh, fuck it.

“Heh'SHHHHZT! Ihh-hih-Hp'SCHHH! ‘TSCHHHH'hhooo…nhhh…” The ground beneath him whirled and tilted like a merry-go-round and he was falling, falling, falling– only to be caught and dragged off the ride with unnervingly gentle hands.

“I've got you.” Lucifer muttered.

“What’s goi’g od? Why are you doi’g this?” The Radio Demon demanded as he was lifted, a body barely up to his chest not acknowledging his weight.

“Because lucky for you, I used to be a saint.” Wait…when did they get to his bathroom? When was he suddenly draped against the wall?

“You hate me." For some reason Alastor couldn’t control his shaking voice, losing the strength to fight. He sounded so disgustingly fragile. He hated it. He hated this. He hated. He. Hated.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, shut up and let me save you already!” Lucifer swore, clicking the locks in place with the snap of his fingers. Alastor flinched when freezing hands pressed against a soaked through dress shirt and– oh.

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, no shit!” A pure light became a ripple. Then a swirl. Then a bubble. It filled every space imaginable, bathing the pair in its warm blanket. Faintly, Alastor tasted a hint of jambalaya on his tongue. And like a needle and thread to a spilled over poppet, The wound began to close.

Unfortunately, despite the subsiding agony, the holy light that caught his patient's eye did not agree with him. Wait. If angelic power hurt a demon, why was he being healed with–

“H-hhh!” Alastor’s breath hitched.

“Seriously? Now? I’m trying to work here.” Lucifer growled, almost fumbling the surgery when his concentration nearly broke. Through the haze, the overlord could glimpse familiar beads of sweat that trickled down the side of the fallen angel’s neck. 

“H-hhh…c-cad’t…h-hhhhelp it…” Between hiccuping breaths and stuttering speech, somewhere along the way a finger was pressed underneath his fluttering nostrils.

“I swear to my fucking Father.” Lucifer huffed out, blinking blearily as he continued his surgery one-handed. And before the wound closed, Alastor couldn’t help but dread at the way Lucifer’s eyelids drooped further and further, teetering between exhaustion and pain.

With two hands the healing process would have taken two minutes.

With one it took two hours. Or at least, the amount of hands was Lucifer’s excuse.

Alastor would have been more impressed if not for the fact that he was not impressed, because it was a ridiculous emotion to have for Lucifer of all beings. So instead, the next day, he chose to focus on what couldn’t heal right away.

“Het’schhzz!” Alastor pitched into his handkerchief, and Charlie quickly caught his breakfast plate before she could drop it.

“Bless you!” She breathed, clutching her chest with one hand.

Well. At least it wasn’t every five seconds.

“Thank you, my dear. Ironic as it may be.” Alastor chuckled, moving to pick up his utensils. He scanned the dining table to take in the morning rush. Angel Dust was gabbing away next to Husker, silently snatching food off his plate with his lower pair of arms. Vaggie was taking a sharpening stone to her spear between bites of food, softening when her princess veered the corner to give a quick peck on the lips. Sir Pentious was waving his spindly hands about, excitedly explaining the inner workings of his ‘flying machine’ to Niffty, who was absolutely more interested in the bug crawling on his top hat.

Overall a peaceful morning. Too peaceful. It unsettled him that there was one piece missing–

Ah. Out of the corner of his eye a small, white rat slowly crawled across the carpet. One with chubby, cherub cheeks. Fur mussed. Bags under its button eyes. A golden flush dotting his face, glowing like a firefly. And then suddenly everything clicked.

The lack of a wound or poison, but still feeling a fading tickle. The shared symptoms between them. Lucifer hadn’t just been exhausted that night. He hadn’t just healed him. Oh no, the bastard just had to take the holy poison for himself knowing that a half-holy body would survive. Though it was obvious he was equally– oh, what was that saying Rosie was kind enough to teach him– ‘going through it’. The fact that he would even risk inhaling a drop for someone he hated so much…

Hm.

Well, Alastor decided to himself, It would be remiss of him to not repay the favor. So with all the mercy of a heartless overlord, he kicked the stupid rat as far as it could go. With a startled squeak and a puff of smoke, the King of Hell tumbled across the floor. The dining room went silent for a moment, all eyes on the sudden appearance of Lucifer Morningstar lying on his back– disheveled, dazed, and stone still.

“Oh my gosh, dad!” Charlie yelped as her father pushed himself upright– moving stiffly, Alastor noted. “I didn’t see you come in…to…” As she helped him stand, her voice trailed off. “Are you okay?”

“I second that, fer the record.” Angel Dust waved a fork nonchalantly in the air, “Kingy’s always an early riser. What gives?”

“Worrywarts, aren’t they?” Lucifer jolted as Alastor popped up beside him with a screeching static, suddenly inches apart. His smirk widened as he tilted his head with a little, high pitched ‘hm!’ “I must say, I can’t help but feel the same. Your regal features look a bit. Oh, what’s the word?” He motions to his own face with a dramatic flourish. “Off-color.”

Lucifer’s glare broke when he put a hand up to his cheek. Then another, eyes growing wide as teacup saucers. It didn’t help when embarrassment overtook his feverish blush, brightening with the panic. “H-hah!” He chuckled nervously, summoning his top hat to tug the brim over his face. “W-wouldja look at that? Guess I fell asleep at the ol’ workshop again and I ran my power a little too– …t-too hot…” He sniffed sharply, rubbing at his nose.

“How uncouth.” Alastor circled the man like a ravenous beast. “Quite unlike yourself to be in such a state. Maybe you should be a little more honest. I can even give you a push.”

“Wh-whhhat are you–”

With a single poke of his cane Lucifer stumbled, grimacing in pain. And it only took one poke for that short-lived charade to fall apart.

“H-hehhh! No, ndo dabbit keeb idt togehh…together…”

“Your Majesty? Are you…?” Vaggie sat straighter, brow furrowed.

“Oof! That don’t look right.” Angel winced.

“Mhm.” Husk hummed into his mug of whisky.

“Oh my. The ultimate bad boy needs to be cleaned!” Niffty gasped.

“Poor thing.” Sir Pentious’s bottom lip wobbled.

“Dad?” Charlie set a hand on his shoulder. Then jumped back with a squeak as the single touch sparked the powder keg.

“Hit’schh!” Lucifer bent at the waist, merciless fit wracking an already exhausted body. “It’schh! It’shieww! Hit’SCHIEW! Hnt’SHIEW! HET’SCHH! ‘TSHH! TCHH! Hit’SCHH’HIEW! H-hihhh…hih! Hih– HITSCHHHH’HIEW!”

The room went silent. Angel Dust whistled lowly.

“My goodness, bless you!” Alastor gaped, every movement an exaggerated performance.

“Y-you did thahhh– thadt od purpose you sohd of ahhh– hah-HATSCHHHHIEW!” The fallen king pitched forward again. When he finally surfaced he was staggering, holding his aching head. “S’rry…’bout thadt.”

Before Charlie could run to catch him Alastor tutted, summoning his shadow to steady his rival, bending its lanky limb over his forehead. “My my, you sound awful! Simply dreadful! Overworked, perhaps? Or…oh, it couldn’t be! Is the King of Hell ill?”

“Oh shudt up Alasdtor– snff! I’b dot sigk! Idt’s jus’dt–”

“Allergies?” Husk deadpanned, expression completely unimpressed.

“Allergies!” Lucifer blurted, “Nodthin’ do worry your head over. So ihhh–...hih! hit’TSCHIU! HET’CHHHIEWW! Nghh, jus’dt ledt be–”

Charlie’s grip tightened, other hand reaching for a napkin. “Don’t run! Please?”

The King of Hell froze. He couldn’t help it. He was completely powerless when it came to his little girl. His flush started to hem the edges of silverware and dusted the windows, and he decided to look anywhere but at Charlie, distracting himself with a mucky nose blow into the makeshift tissue.

“I…I guess I’ll stick around a while longer. I feel a bit dizzy, anyway.” He chuckled, trying to pretend like every word didn’t painfully scrape at his chest. But Charlie smiled brightly, and she guided him to a chair Vaggie had already pulled out for him. Stepping back to wave her hands. Go on!

Lucifer blinked back shock when the room watched, silent with bated breath. “Oh– snff! Oh, well. Um. It’s not an emergency but. But I may be thirsty–”

Zipping back and forth, Niffty slid a cup of water by his side.

“Oh! Th-thank you.” Lucifer smiled bashfully. 

The silenced thickened, group looking on expectantly. 

“...More?!”

“More.” Charlie nodded, crossing her arms. Awestruck, the hermit crumbled as his closest residents and friends fussed and fretted. All the while Alastor sat comfortably in his chair and sipped his tea, humming to the tune of a new morning.

The perfectly chaotic puzzle was complete. Just the way he liked it.

#snz #snz fic #ha//zb//in//ho//tel// #a/la/stor #lu/ci/fer #char/lie #va/ggi/ie #an/gel/du/st #hu/sk #ni/ff/ty #sir/pen/tious

[not-a-newt]

Based on that one character dynamic meme template by @litriu you know the one sksksj

#mass effect #garrus vakarian #tali'zorah #tali'zora vas normandy #talibrations #mass effect comic #mass effect meme #mass effect fanart #yeah i don't know how to draw his cowl(?) and I'm not going to learn #but i think i did good enough on his expression to excuse it #newt art #space newt #also I'm going to drop that one fic I've been working on in a few days and this pairs perfectly with it

[deeply-unserious-fellow]

In my demented little head Sir Pentious is getting so many bitches lmao

#the best part of being a multi shipper is pairing your favorite character up with everybody under the motherfuckin sun lmfao #to name a few examples... #I read a lot of Sir Dust fic + like adding Pentious to Huskerdust for funsies #I fuckin. I made up SeraPent. That one is pretty much all me- #Sir Pentious x Niffty has my attention like there's some potential there #CherriSnake? Thats Pentious & Cherri's shipname right? #that one's got my attention too #weirdly tho Im not a huge fan of him with Arackniss? #idk I just think their color pallets are too similar and therefore visually uninteresting #same goes for him and Zestial akfkfkdkfk #look I love VA jokes as much as the next guy but characters with majority black color pallets need to be paired with either; #characters with more vibrant color pallets than them #OR characters with majority white color pallets #Im sorry man its just the way it is /j #okay tag ranting over #hazbin hotel #sir pentious #sirdust #sir dust #sir huskerdust #I guess- #serapent #niftious #is that the ship name? #niffty x sir pentious #sir pentious x niffty #idk how to tag them... #cherrisnake #I am assuming thats the ship name #late night ramblings

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Can you pls write vampire!frankie smut. I want him to drink reader's blood while he fucks her, but the rest is up to you 🩷

Sorry this took so long my love <3 But here it is!!

Thank you @wannab-urs for beta-ing!!

General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog that writes porn with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given.

Specific Warnings: Vampire sex, Vampire bites, Unprotected PiV (sort of), deception, vampire vibes, oral F receiving, biting, vampire bites. Let me kow if I missed anything! [Ao3]

[part two here!]

Hurt so Good - Reader x Vampire!Frankie.

You sit at your favourite booth, sitting so you face the door. Your nerves spiking every time the door opens. You play with the gaudy, expensive engagement ring on your finger as a way to distract yourself. But you can’t stop thinking about what you’re about to do. Tristan is late, as always, and you’re starting to wonder if he’s even coming at all.

You almost regret putting on the low-cut maroon dress that shows your body off in a was that is almost depraved. But the looks you’re getting from some of the other patrons give you a rush like nothing you’ve ever felt from Tristan. You play with the stem of your glass, your favourite cocktail long gone, but you can’t bring yourself to get another drink.

The door opens and your head perks up, but it’s not him. The well-built stranger is the polar opposite of Tristan, broad shoulders, dark curly hair, dressed in a flannel and jeans, a navy baseball cap tight on his head. His facial hair is patchy and starting to grey in places. You can’t help but stare as he takes a seat at the bar, you practically drool as you watch the flannel stretch across his back as he hails the bartender.

“Earth to space cadet, you there?” Tristan snaps his fingers at you as he speaks, pulling you out of your ogling and you look up to see his cocky grin plastered on his thin lips. His mousey hair gelled back, his hazel eyes cold and mocking as he waves his hand in front of your face.

“Oh hi, sorry I was just lost in thought,” You say with a shrug before realising you had nothing to apologise for, “You’re late.” You snap, remembering why you’re here.

“Sorry I got caught up at the-,” Tristan starts his usual line, and you grit your teeth, anger coursing through you at the same old excuses.

“At the office, yeah, yeah, the same old bullshit.” You snap, your tone sharper and voice louder than you’d intended. So loud in fact that the handsome stranger at the bar turns in your direction. His gaze lands on you and you make eye contact for a brief second and your heart flutters at the way he winks at you, his plush lips pulled up into a knowing smirk, making his cheek dimple deliciously.

“What the fuck babe? I provide for you and this is the thanks I get?” He snarls, his cocky demeanour replaced by the cold cruelty that you’ve only recently allowed yourself to describe it as.

“Provide for me? By stopping me chasing my dreams, keeping me at home so I can cook and clean for you for what? You to sexually harass your co-workers?” You blurt, wincing as you play your hand a little too early.

“Jesus Christ is this about that slut Jessica in the Boston office? Bitch came on to me. Fucking hell, I thought we were over this crap!”

“I spoke with Jessica, and Alice, and they both told me how you basically forced them to suck your dick, you should be charged with sexual assault you sick fuck.” Your temper is building, and you try to keep your tone of voice even but the look Tristan is giving you makes you snap.

“All this time you’ve been rejecting me, making me feel like I’m a whore just for wanting you, and you go and pull this shit?” You slam your hand down on the table, rage consuming you as the piece of shit sitting before you has the audacity to call one of the many victims of his sexual advances a slut.

“Stop it, you’re making a scene, let’s go home and talk about this.” You see the sweat beading on his forehead, his brow creasing as he looks around at the many faces now turned to look at him. But one face in the crowd is looking elsewhere.

The handsome stranger in that absurd baseball cap at the bar is giving you a look you could only describe as awe. His dark brown eyes glimmer in the low light and you feel heat rise up onto your cheeks as you watch them dip lower to your cleavage.

“I’m not going back to that house Tristan. I’m here to say we’re over, and my lawyer is going to be in touch, that prenup you got me to sign? You should have checked my amendments more thoroughly.” You say, leaning back on the bench, Tristan’s face is a picture, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to come up with something to say.

“Bitch.” Is all he manages as he storms out of the bar, phone to his ear as he slams the door on the way out. There’s a pregnant pause in the bar before people return to their evenings. You breathe a sigh of relief as you drop your head into your hands, your elbows resting against the table as you let out a small laugh.

The sound of heavy boots approaching makes you look up, your breath hitches in your throat as you see the handsome man from the bar, two beers in his one hand, thick fingers curled around the necks of the bottles.

Fuck, he’s even more handsome up close.

“Thought you might like a beer after that.” He says with a soft, rumbling voice that makes your heart flutter.

“Bold of you to buy me a drink.” You say, raising an eyebrow at him as he winces at your words.

“It’s the least you deserve for putting a predator like him in his place.”

“Shit you heard that?”

“Mhmm, I think the whole bar did.”

“Fuck.” You groan as you motion for him to sit with one hand, pinching the bridge of your nose with your thumb and forefinger of the other as you exhale heavily.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself sunshine, I think the whole bar would have cheered if you’d thrown a drink at him.”

“Too bad I drank it all, and sunshine? Really?” You scoff as you take a sip of beer, you don’t owe this man a thing, but a free drink is a free drink.

“Thought it fit, stunning but dangerous.”

God he’s smooth.

You hate admitting it but you would let this man take you home and show you a good time, even if it was just to rinse the proverbial taste of Tristan out of your mouth.

“Alright, I’ll bite, to whom do I owe the pleasure of sharing such a middling European lager with?” You raise your bottle in toast.

“I’m Francisco,” He says with a smirk, clinking his bottle against yours, “But my friends call me Frankie.”

----

It’s barely an hour later and you’re pressed against his door, tongues colliding messily as you tangle your fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck. His one hand holds you by the hip, pinning you to the door as the other cradles the back of your neck.

His lips are soft, plush, as they pull at your own. His moustache brushes against your skin, sending crackles of sensation racing through you. You’ve never been one for one-night stands but you’re willing to make an exception for the smooth-talking man with his hard dick pressed firmly against your thigh.

“Fuck,” Frankie grunts as he drops his head to your shoulder, his strong nose pressing against your pulse point as he inhales aggressively against your skin, “Smell so good sunshine, like honey and cream, can’t wait to taste you.” He growls as he licks a heavy stripe up the column of your neck, latching his lips onto your earlobe as he hitches your legs around his hips, walking you further into his apartment.

You shudder at his words and whine at the hungry growl that fills your ear as you steal glances around his apartment, clean, sparsely decorated, but it feels lived in. Before you can take in any more of his home, you’re in his bedroom. His large frame cages you in as he lies you down against the pillows.

“Shit, I’m sorry we were going to get a drink and talk,” He pants as he hovers over you, reining in some modicum of his desire as he kneels between your legs, one of his large hands coming up to brush a loose strand of hair out of your face, “You’re just intoxicating mi Sol.” He purrs as he shudders over you.

“We can talk over breakfast.”

You pull his cap off his head, incredulous that it's stayed on so long, and fling it off the bed before threading your fingertips through his hair. You ruffle the tight waves and Frankie groans as you scrape your fingernails along his scalp.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” Frankie murmurs as he teases you, letting his body sink down into you, his eyes glisten as he runs his tongue along your bottom lip. You chase his mouth, but he pulls away, leaning back to pull off his flannel shirt. Soft tan skin, littered with scars, taut with muscle but undeniably soft make you keen. Your hips buck under him and he chuckles softly.

“Such a needy baby.”

“You’re telling me this isn’t needy?” You cock your head to the side as you palm his erection through his jeans and he rolls his hips forward with a groan.

“You got me there.” He glances down at you, his eyes suddenly flash with something deeper, more hostile than desire, as he cups your cheek. But it’s gone before you can truly register it. He dips his head down to your neck, sucking and licking your skin softly as he moves down your body.

“Let’s get these clothes off, yeah? Need to see you.”

It takes no time at all for you to strip each other of your clothes. Before you know it, you’re bare below him. His thick cock is erect as he kneels between your legs and it’s glorious. He pumps himself slowly as he lets his eyes wander over your naked body.

Fuck he’s gorgeous.

You think as you admire his sizeable dick, not too big, just right. Your mouth waters as you watch him pull his foreskin back, exposing his weeping, thick tip.

“So beautiful, like the sun herself.” He mutters under his breath as he lowers himself on the bed, nestling his broad shoulders between your pliable thighs. His lips drag up your thigh, seemingly savouring every inch of your skin. The tension in your core is almost painful as he licks and sucks your tender flesh. He pauses over a spot on your inner thigh and groans as he nips at the flesh.

“Fuck!” You cry out at the sensation, it burns like he cut you with something sharp. Then it fades into a warm, pleasant buzz and you forget all about the pain, mewling as his hot, wet mouth meets your glistening folds.

“Sorry that was a little hard, I’ll be more careful.”

You barely register his words as his tongue teases at your folds, causing your hips to cant up, chasing his tongue once more. This time he doesn’t pull away, he presses his strong nose against your clit and inhales, groaning loudly as his tongue breaches your entrance. The strong muscle teases at your entrance as his nose pressures your tight bundle of nerves.

“Absolutely delicious.” He groans as he moves up to your clit as he latches his lips around it, pressing languid strokes of his tongue against the swollen nub and you cry out another sharp scratch burns around your clit. You’re too blissed out to question it and you buck up unto his mouth.

“Mi Sol, you make it far too hard to show restraint.” Frankie growls as you look down at him, his eyes are almost black, and you roll your head back just a second too early. Frankie grins up at you, mouth bloody and fangs out before he takes your clit between his lips. You’re so wet, you’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so fucking horny.

“Frankie, need your fingers.” You whine, desperation thick in your voice as you feel the tightening in your core as you clench around nothing.

“Anything for you to keep making those sweet little noises.”

He breaches your wet heat with two fingers, sinking into you with ease. You’ve never been this wet, it drives you so close to the edge, the way his fingers fill you snugly as he laps wildly at your clit. You marvel at the fact that this may even be better than sex with your ex-girlfriend, something about the way Frankie devours you is beyond belief.

“Come for me, spill your nectar into my mouth.”

You come hard around his fingers. The strange choice of words somehow spurring your orgasm into an explosion of curled toes, quivering thighs, and strangled, wordless moans as you feel pleasure rip through you like a wild animal. Your blood sings in your veins, pleasure throbs through your arteries, like your heart is full of an aphrodisiac and with every pump you’re driven higher into oblivion.

“Good, such a good girl.” Frankie wheezes as he wipes his hand on the back of his mouth, wiping away any evidence of his affliction from his lips as he repositions over you, his thick tip notched at your entrance as you quiver through aftershocks.

“Frankie,” You groan, holding his face in your hands as your vision sharpens, all you can see, all you can feel, all you can think about his him. His patchy facial hair glistens and he smiles at you as he presses into you.

That’s when you see them, his fangs. They hang from his mouth like curved pearlescent daggers. Your eyes flick down to where you had felt the scratch on your thigh in panic. Your eyes bulge in terror as you notice the blood on your legs, a firm hand clamps down on your mouth before you can scream. He bears his weight down on you as he pulls his tip out of you. You don’t know if you’re relieved or pained at the loss of sensation.

“Shit, you weren’t supposed to see that.” He growls as he spreads your legs with his own, hooking under your knees with his feet, spreading you out. You feel arousal course through you when you know, logically, you should be terrified. One of his large hands pins your wrists above your head. You’re truly at his mercy.

“If I remove my hand, will you promise not to scream?” His voice is shaky and you almost think you hear fear in his tone. You nod slowly, playing nice with the monster above you. Scenarios are running through your mind, at best he was a vampire, at worst he’s a cannibal and you’re truly fucked.

“What the fuck Frankie? Is that even your real name?”

He huffs as he rubs his eyes with his free hand, swiping it down his face in a very human manner. You give him no quarter, glaring up at him with as much fire you can muster. You’re horny, terrified, and it pays to mention twice, so, so horny.

“Like I said, my name is Francisco, and my friends call me Frankie.”

“Ok, Francisco,” You snap and you feel him shudder as you say his full name, “What the fuck is going on here?”

“As you’ve probably already guessed, I’m a vampire, and I was going to bite you, again.”

You’re surprised, and somewhat comforted by his honesty, but you raise your eyebrows at him. He hesitates before continuing and you suck in a deep breath, making it very clear you’re about to scream louder than when he made you come.

“Alright, alright,” Frankie snaps as he leans back onto his heels, completely disentangling himself from you, “What do you want to know?”

You pause for a moment, dramatically placing a finger to your lips as you pretend to think of a question. Frankie looks more and more desperate with every passing second and something about that emboldens you.

“So, you bit me?”

“Yes.”

“Am I going to turn into a vampire now?”

“No.”

“Were you going to kill me?”

“No, never!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

That hits a nerve, Frankie’s eyes dart away from you and you watch as he runs his hand through his sweaty locks and sighs. He exhales, though you wonder if that was more a habit than a need to empty his lungs.

“You’d have either laughed me off, or run for the hills. I wanted to spend a night with you, no killing or turning involved.” He says, dropping his gaze to focus on his hands.

“Francisco,” You laugh, the sound makes him snap his head up to look at you, hurt in his eyes, “You realise most people my age grew up with a vampire kink right?”

You think if he could blush, his face would be rosy as he realises the truth in your words.

“Those fucking Twilight books!” He exclaims with disbelief written across his face.

“I mean, I was more about The Southern Vampire Mysteries. But whatever floats your boat I guess?”

You smile up at the bashful vampire and despite everything, you kind of like him. He seems to visibly relax, slumping back onto his ass, his legs either side of you as you move up onto your knees.

“Fuck I’m sorry, I’m usually so much better at this, but you’re just so,” He pauses as his pupils dilate and his body shudders, “Irresistible.”

“Fine. I’ve got one more question.”

Frankie just nods, and you try to focus on his face, and not the painfully hard dick bobbing between you as he moves his head.

“When you bit me, it felt good, why?” You scrunch your face up in an uncertain grimace as if you’re weird for feeling good about being bitten.

“Ah yes, that’s a survival mechanism so that our, uh, prey, don’t panic, it’s sterilising too.”

“So, your spit is an antibacterial aphrodisiac?”

“More or less, same can be said for other, uh, secretions.”

Once more you would wager that if Frankie could blush he would be beet red right now. Instead, he squirms under your gaze, and you decide to throw caution to the wind.

“Francisco,” You purr as you crawl onto his lap, draping your arms around his neck as you hover over his dick, “If you promise not to kill me, I’d be delighted to fuck you.”

“You sure? I won’t be offended if you want to leave or stake me.”

“I think,” You purr as you dip your head down to his jaw, rubbing your nose along his patchy facial hair, “We’d both rather if it were you impaling me.”

That seems to be enough to convince Frankie, you feel yourself lurch back on the bed and with inhuman speed Frankie notches himself at your core as your head hits the pillows. His mouth is on yours, begging for entry as his tongue traces the seam of your lips.

You tilt your hips up with a groan, he presses his tongue languidly against yours as you dig your nails into his shoulders. He whimpers at the pain and drives his thick, sizeable cock inside you, balls slapping against your ass as he snarls into your mouth.

You’re so full, his length just right to press into your g-spot but mercifully not so large he can reach your cervix. You think you might actually die if he could, considering the pace he’s set and how hard he’s driving into you. You drop one hand to your clit; you can already feel you’re close and you’re desperate to chase the next one before Frankie comes.

“Fuck, mi Sol knows what she wants,” Frankie groans as he pulls back to watch where your bodies connect, where your fingers are rolling tight circles over your sensitive nub, “Look so hot touching yourself while I fuck your tight little pussy.

“Feel so good Frankie, like it hard and fast, your cock’s fucking perfect.” You respond as you reach up with your free hand to tug at the curls at the nape of his neck. His eyes snap up to meet yours and his fangs glisten as he pants hard.

“Bite me Frankie.” You whine as you feel the twist in your gut as your orgasm builds. You turn your neck to the side before he can protest and you hear the animalistic grunt as he buries himself deep inside you before dropping his head to your neck.

“Need you to tell me to stop if I go for too long mi Sol,” His speech is slurred as he noses along the column of your neck, lips catching and dragging delightfully over your pulse point. You shudder and mewl as you feel the hot drag of his tongue on your skin, “Promise me.”

“I promise, Frankie, I’m going to-.”

You don’t finish your sentence, the sharp stab of Frankie’s fangs melds with the return to a blinding pace as he fucks you with abandon. You come hard as you press firmly against your clit, rubbing hard as you feel the euphoric bliss flood through you. Your neck blossoms with heat, flames licking through your veins as Frankie feeds from you.

There’s a blunt pain, like a deep bruise but it’s engulfed by the soothing effect of his salvia and the white hot pleasure pulsing through your cunt. You cry out and wail at the different pleasures coursing through you. It’s like they meet somewhere in the middle and your mind goes blank, white-hot streaks blurring your vision as you come completely undone.

“Fuck me harder Frankie, nggh, harder, fuckmefuckmefuckme!” Your words come unbidden from your mouth as you feel his groan vibrate through your very bones. Frankie pulls away, eyes blown wide with desire as your blood trickles out of the corner of his mouth.

“So fucking sweet, knew you’d taste good, but this?” He thumbs the blood from his skin, holding it up in the low light of the bedroom, “This is divine, I don’t think I can live without it now mi Sol.”

“Then don’t.” You whine, snatching his wrist with a weak hand, but he doesn’t fight you as you bring his thumb to your lips. You suck the combination of his saliva and your blood off his thumb and groan as the coppery taste hits you. Followed quickly by a warm, numbing sensation that coats your tongue. You suck gently on Frankie’s digit as the aphrodisiac effect ignites a burst of pleasure in your core.

“You want to be mine, truly mine?” Frankie growls as his thrusts become harder, more erratic as he cups your face with one large hand, the other pinning you to the bed by your hip. His fingertips dig into the soft flesh of your thigh and you squirm under him, pleasure making you feel light-headed.

“Please.”

“Good, because I’m never letting you go mi Sol, you’re mine, forever.” He grunts as he thrusts into you twice more, then he stills, panting and grunting as he spills inside you again and again. There’s so much cum you feel it leaking out of you the moment he starts to soften.

He pulls out completely, moving down to spit on your pussy and you whine and shudder at the way it slides down your folds, mingling with the blood, spit and your combined release. His fingers gather it all up and with one digit he slowly plugs you up, keeping everything inside as he places hot, wet kisses to your inner thighs.

“Frankie what are you-?”

“Trust me, mi Sol, you want me to do this, otherwise you’re not going to walk straight for a few days.” He mutters softly against your skin, kissing your tender flesh with such soft devotion you feel heat rising in your cheeks.

“So, this is vampire aftercare huh?” You wheeze as you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch as Frankie dotes on you in the most bizarre but delightful way.

“Mhm,” His eyes are closes as he moves his mouth lower, inhaling deeply as he gets close to your stuffed pussy, “Gotta look after my girl, if you’re still into that idea, that is?”

“Frankie, we just fucked in fucking missionary and it was the best sex of my life. As long as you don’t turn out to be a Scientologist, I’m willing to give this a shot.” You tease as you sit up a little more, running your hair through his soft, sweaty curls.

“So, Scientology is a no-go, but vampire is a-okay?” He asks with a teasing grin on his face that makes your chest flutter.

“What can I say, I’m a freak for freaks, but draw the line at anything endorsed by Tom Cruise.”

Frankie laughs, a deep, throaty noise that makes you clench around the finger still seated deep inside you.

“We’re going to get on just fine mi Sol, but any time you want to leave, I will not stop you. I’ve lived too long to know that trapping you would end in misery. I want this to be as, uh, normal, as possible.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before ruining my pussy for every other human being out there now I’ve had vampire dick.”

“That fucking mouth,” Frankie purrs as his pupils dilate, “Going to have to see what other dirty things you can say and do.”

“Bring it on Francisco.” You goad him as you bite down on your lip and wink up at him. He has you pinned back against the bed before you can react. His lips brush against yours gently as you feel his hardening dick press against your stomach.

“The night is young, and I’m just getting started mi Sol.”

Your lips clash hungrily, and you smile to yourself as you get lost in each other’s bodies once more.

Who would have thought a breakup would feel so good?

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! <3

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #smut #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier smut #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier au #triple frontier fic #tw: va #tw: vampire #tw: blood #tw:smut #frankie is a sweetie #Hurt so Good fic #ask answered #ask response #ask

[schrobrm]

'99

#майор гром #сергей разумовский #олег волков #сероволк #sergey razumovsky #oleg volkov #major grom #my art #лучший мой подарочек это ты #i've read an absolutely de va sta ting fic #😞let's cure it #малявочки^^

[vasiktomis]

Reverse Psychology (Reigen Arataka x GN!Reader, 18+)

Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~2400. Tags/Warnings: No use of Reader pronouns. Negging. Office Sex. Pining. Service Submission. Confessions. Doggy-style. Creampie. (and it isn't a vasiktomis work without) Premature Ejaculation. Consensual Non-Consent. Read it on Ao3 Here!

“I’d had my suspicions, but I didn’t — ah — realise you were this into me.”

He’s such a loser, you think, gasping as he gracelessly gropes and grabs at your waist, your hips, your thighs. He’s such a scumbag. You want to bash his skull in. He’s adorable.

You won’t lie; you know he’s overestimating your infatuation with him. You’re sure he doesn’t actually believe what he’s saying — it’d just be mighty convenient for him if you believed it. Even when he’s got you pinned to the wall, body flush against yours, panting into your neck while he tries to recover from getting too lost in feverish kisses, he can’t drop a con when the opportunity presents itself.

Lucky for you, you know him too well to feel hurt over it, let alone fall for it. It’s always been like this between the two of you; Reigen, in all his arrogance, negging the shit out of you for as long as you’ve known him. Baiting you into seeking his approval, his attraction, when all he does behind your back is stare. You’d been wise to it from week one, but you hadn’t realised how bad he had it until you’d paid him to house-sit while you were on vacation with friends last year. When you’d come home to respectfully watered houseplants and a hamper full of underwear that weren’t crusted with cum and shamefully shoved to the bottom of the basket when you’d left it.

You’ve known as long as he has that he’s wanted you, but its just too fun, watching him make a fool of himself while he’s trying to bait you into throwing yourself at him.

It’s the little things that beckon your attention, and he probably hates that. The sincerity and care that creep out of the cracks when his apprentices arrive in a less than stellar mood. The underlying consideration he puts into not giving a shit about you. He’d never buy you dinner, no fucking way, but he sure has a running list of all your favourite foods specifically so he can have you pressure him into sharing a cold mouthful after an unnecessarily long monologue about fending for yourself.

He broke first. You knew he would. Finally, after all this time gloating about girlfriends that don’t exist and shoving unwarranted dating advice at you, he gave in. At the most boring moment too — not even during a fight or while one of you were inconsolably crying. You’d just gotten too close on your way past when you were leaving the agency for the day, and he just broke.

It must be a blow, after all that work he put into the facade. You’d heard the resigned sound in his throat when he’d rounded on you, hands finding your shoulders, kissing you open-mouthed before you’d even had a chance to kiss back. It just wouldn’t be like him to let that image slide.

He’s bolstering his ego with all this dominance, and you’re happy to let him. If you’re honest, you kind of like it; letting him believe he’s fooling you. He’s taking charge, but the power’s all yours. It’s your decision to call him out whenever you like, and if he wants to spend the first shot he’s had at you lying, it feels only reasonable to make him work for it.

You give him nothing. A blank canvas to project onto and a tongue in his mouth in lieu of something he might be able to hold against you later.

It's perfect. He pulls back, delighted.

“God, I knew it. You don’t even try to hide it.” Reigen mutters, frantically tugging at buttons and fabric to shift his attention to your chest. The kisses he smears on your clavicle, your sternum, over the swell of your tits, are hurried and sloppy, already not quite living up to how cool he’s trying to play this. “I bet you’re already ready for it.”

Bad performer’s trick: rush you through to the sex so you never have to find out he’s terrible at foreplay. Or, maybe he’s concerned he can’t hold his nut long enough.

God, he must be terrified beneath that facade.

You just have to fuck him.

You reach down, fumbling with his belt, and he gasps, at least before he squashes the sound into an elated little laugh. “You don’t have to go so fast.”

And there’s the gaslighting.

You don’t slow, but he’s parted from you enough to give you the space to do what you need to do, unbuckling and unbuttoning and unzipping, all while keeping your eyes on his. You watch his expression cloud with something little less controlled. More sincere. Boyish. Then, you take your hands away, and his throat bobs. Nervous. He’s sweet, under it all. And so, so scared of showing it.

It’s a shame.

Maybe if you do this a few more times you could coax it out of him.

“You’re not gonna make me beg, are you Arataka?” You purr, watching a bead of sweat form and slip on his brow in the time it takes for you to be forward enough to call him by his first name. “After keeping me waiting this long?”

“H-how long?” Reigen chokes, barely audible. Then, he clears his throat. A second try, peppered with a cocky little smile. “How long.” He dips his face back into the crook of your neck, resuming his assault, picking a wise time to hide his face.

Your hand slips down the front of his pants, palming him through the fabric of his underwear, and his whole body jolts. “You tell me.”

It’s like he can’t get close enough, anchoring himself to you. He fumbles to reach you the same way, but the position is already awkward standing this close. Momentarily, he’s at your mercy. “I don’t know. A little above average? I’m not the kind of insecure guy who needs to brag about that kind of thing.”

He’s so full of shit.

You guide his cock out of his underwear. Nothing to be very impressed by. Below average, if you’re honest. Not particularly girthy, either, but there’s a pleasant upward bend you’re sure you could have fun with. A slick pearl of pre-cum forms on the slit when your thumb traces up his already tugging foreskin. He was ready to go before you even started touching him.

Who are you to deny yourself the enjoyment of watching him embarrass himself?

You take his hand, and he watches, transfixed as you spit into his palm before turning yourself to face the wall.

“That’s-...really gross. You should probably ask people before you do that sort of thing.” There’s a shudder in his voice as he chides you. A slick sound and a hollow inhale as he works your saliva over his cock. You ignore him. The quaver in his breath gives his excitement away, and you help shove down your pants just enough to grant him access.

Reigen struggles, of course he struggles to line himself up at first. He takes a moment to tilt his hips the right way, to tug at yours. When he sinks into you, it’s all the way, fingers bunching your shirt to push just a little further. Just to make a point of it.

He pauses like that, holding his breath, one hand cupped over his mouth as he cranes over your shoulder. Savouring the feeling as much as you are, you assume — at least before you feel his cock throb inside you, and his whole body goes stiff. A choked gasp almost makes it past Reigen’s palm, diaphragm quaking against your back.

He’s absolutely coming, and if you weren’t too proud you’d admit, the angle of his acceptable cock throbbing against one particular bundle of nerves almost has you dizzy yourself. Utter fluke. It has to be.

Reigen’s body slackens a little. The orgasm passes. In your periphery, just over your shoulder, he looks downright horrified.

“Did you just-“

“What? No.”

The mask is back on in an instant. Reigen’s hand joins the other at your hips. He pulls out halfway. Sinks back in. The slide is thick. Gathering around your entrance, smearing the crux of your thighs. God, even his balls are wet against your ass. Just how much did he nut?

It’s -…kind of hot.

“Are you used to your partners not lasting?” He asks. You look down, tempted to see if he’s managed to make a mess of your underwear, and the bastard’s fingers snap to your jaw, angling your face back up for a kiss. He’s desperate for you not to know. Fine. You’ll play along. “Eyes up.” He breathes against your lips, punctuating with a thrust before he settles into a rhythm in you. It’s adorable, the dominant act. You can’t wait to smush him like a bug. “I asked you a question.”

“Arataka.” You attempt, shocked to find yourself choking on the word as he keeps going, wise enough to know not to stray once he’s found a spot that you respond well to. “Fuck, I-“

“It’s okay, I know.”

Something awful and delicious shakes through you. That shouldn’t have had such an effect on you as it does. What’s this guy’s deal?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t have a damn clue. But he really goes the extra mile to convince you otherwise.

“You should — touch yourself.” Reigen grunts into your hair. “I don’t plan on finishing until you do.”

You wonder if that’s Reigen-talk for ’oh fuck I’m gonna blow again’. You wonder if you should take your time, just so you can find out.

Oh, but why would you ruin his good time? It doesn’t help that the idea of coming with him in you is a pretty enough thought that you’re doing what he tells you.

With only one free arm to cushion you against the wall while Reigen ruts into you, you manage to find enough space for the other to see to your own needs.

It’s humiliating, the sound that escapes you when your touch compliments his own. He must feel the same way when his breath hitches in-kind, groaning at the feeling of your own pleasure clenching around his cock.

“Keep talking.” You manage, burying your own face into the back of your hand. He’s too close. He’ll hear how much you’re actually enjoying this. He’ll see it on your face. “Keep talking to me, Arataka.”

“Fuck—“

Oh, of course he liked hearing that.

“I — I can’t —“ His words diminish to a whisper you’re not even sure you were supposed to hear. “I can’t believe you’re letting me do  all this to you.”

You can’t, either. And yet, here you are. Raising onto your tippy-toes, rolling your hips back to angle him deeper as if his balls aren’t already swiping you with each thrust. Big mistake, you realise. His cock drags against something that has you shuddering, hurtling toward your own end. There’s no helping it. No helping you. Not when Reigen’s arm coils around your waist, pulling you so close that you can’t chase his movements anymore. The other locks over your chest in a desperate embrace. He’s barely pulling out before he’s ramming back into you now, nearly folded over you at this point. Something drapes against your shoulder, and god help you, you surrender your bracing arm to grab at it, letting your face squish against the wall without anything to cushion it.

Your fingers wrap tight around that stupid tie, keeping his chin hooked over your shoulder. A yelp slips out of him. A new pitch. Your core burns from the awkward posture, from exertion, from the delight of having him come so undone by you despite all his efforts.

It’s —

“I’m close.” You pant. “I’m close — I”m so close—“

His grip on you is suffocating. Fingers wrench at your shirt.

Reigen lets out something akin to a sob. “God, please — I’m so fucking crazy about you. Please, come, please, please—“

It hits you without mercy, tearing through you with a helpless whine. Were it not for being sandwiched right now, your trembling legs would give out beneath you. Instead, you’re held in place by Reigen’s desperate little ruts, unwittingly drawing your orgasm out each time his cock hits that spot again, muscles chasing the motions. Constricting around him, spurring him on.

You’re shaking when it passes, paled thoughts only brought back to coherency by the increasing pitch of Reigen’s breaths. Mouthed words evolve into a barely comprehensible muttering of ’oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit—‘ before he’s finally aware he has the green light.

“Where?” He pants, “Where do you want it? Can I finish inside?”

Is this guy for real?

You can’t even form a response. You’re too busy drooling against the wall, face smearing against the wet spot with every thrust.

Reigen seems to take no news as good news. As if he ever had a choice. The pitch in his breath reaches a crescendo, and with your last rational thought, your last ounce of strength, you yank his tie, hard. His posture curls around yours, clinging to you with a delectable sound. His cock throbs again, and your face squishes into the wall even more as Reigen’s own legs tremble, forcing him to brace his weight forward as he empties himself into you.

For a while, he catches his breath, still holding you to him. You feel his lips ghost over the back of your neck like he’s considering a kiss — but suddenly he finds it too bold a move. He shakily steps back, and all of a sudden he’s folded onto his knees with a tired grunt.

Left without your counterweight, you sink to the floor with him, leaving a snail-trail of saliva in your wake as you slide down the wall and settle down. Weakly, you flip onto your ass, still too dazed to bother with the clean-up just yet.

Across from you, Reigen gingerly feels through his jacket pocket. "Great. My pants are ruined. You wanna go halves at the coin laundry?" The sweat stains in his armpits almost reach his waist, and his business shirt is so damp it's near-translucent. He can’t take his eyes off the cum that seeps out of you, onto the floor.

“That was a lot.” He comments, clearing his throat. He finds that cigarette and tucks the box away without offering you one. “Wouldn’t be surprised if that was like, two loads worth.”

You squint at him. “Man, would you shut the fuck up?”

#reigen arataka #mob psycho 100 fanfic #as usual: if you see a typo no you didn't #reigen arataka x reader #vas fics

[aevallare]

You know neil didn't actually read your writing, right?

you know i made your mom cum so hard that she saw stars this morning, right?

#do you think i'm stupid #do you really think i believe that acclaimed VA neil newbon read all 130k words of bg3 fic i've posted in the last 3 months #can't wait to see what happens to my inbox since the cameo broke containment on twitter #asks

[ryanthel0ser]

#discovery i made today #i know it's more nuanced than this but like it is so funny that there's so many similarities #AND THEY SHARE THE SAME VA'S #Im going to start a conspiracy that Satosugo started as an Utaren AU fic Gege wrote #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul re #jjk geto #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satosugo #renji yomo #tg #tg re #uta tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul uta #utaren

[autocon23]

Another Mass Effect Headcannon:

You know how when Shepard used the beacon on Eden Prime at the beginning, the beacon almost killed them?

Do you remember how both Dr. Chakwas AMD Javik commented on how it's changed them?

I imagine that there was some kind of repercussions to their health. Like if they touch smaller artifacts and other beacons or anything Prothean related, including when Javik had been "reading" them or Leviathan, it leaves behind some kind of side effects.

Like, depending on what it is, it can go from migraines to full on seizures?? Maybe experience the memories of the Protheans who interacted with the artifacts last in the form of nightmares? Maybe they get nose bleeds and brain lesions and aneryuisms?

Think about it. They're always dizzy or nauseous or have headaches whenever whatever they're interacting with is strong. I don't know if it was overlooked or just never thought of, but I feel like it's something to think about. To me, at least. The stress of the war and the pain over those who are lost during it along with all the mental health issues Shepard already has just adds onto it.

I hadn't seen anyone else mention it in fanfics or here. Maybe I had and just forgot or maybe haven't seen it yet. But I always imagined that, if Shepard survives the war, they HAVE to retire due to the brain dage they received from using Prothean beacons and Leviathan on top of whatever injuries they had sustained during the last battle against the Reapers.

#mass effect legendary edition #mass effect fic #mass effect #mass effect trilogy #mass effect headcanons #garrus vakarian #commander shepard #urdnot wrex #urdnot grunt #urdnot bakara #jeff joker moreau #mordin solus #tali'zora vas normandy #liara t'soni #kaiden alenko #ashley williams #nihlus kryik #samara #thane krios #miranda lawson #jacob taylor #javik #james vega #steve cortez #kasumi goto #mass effect legion #jack mass effect #admiral hackett #david anderson #adrien victus

[watersdeep]

Why do I need to wait for an Averus DLC (that most likely isn't to happen) to get more content for Wyll? Why can't I get content for Wyll in the base game? Do I need to start a petition for more Wyll content like folks out here have a petition to make the grove tieflings romanceable? Is that what it takes?

#bg3 fandom critical #seriously why #“were not asking for our romanceable npcs to be pushed to tbe front!!!” #yall know damn well larian will do if if theres enough backing for it #and the fact VAs are getting in on it too.... #not every NPC needs to be romanceable #write your fics draw your art or learn to install mods #ugh

[instarsandcrime]

Returning the Favor (1/4)

Well well well, look who compromised with my current schedule by doing this story in little chunks! Thank you again to everyone who voted in the poll, and I hope Sick!Husk and Caretaker...everyone? was worth the wait, even if it's going to be spaced out in chapters. First up is Charlie and Vaggie!

I hope you enjoy! 😊

“ET’CHHHH’uh!”

“Bless you again!”

“HET’SHHHH’huh!”

“And again…”

“HET’SCHHHH! HEP’SHHHHUH!”

“Oh dear, that sounded–”

“HEP’CHHHOO!”

“--bad.”

A volley of honking nose blows echoed off slings and shooters as Husk fought another nagging itch, ignoring the way his boss leaned across the mahogany counter, thick brows tied in a worried knot. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you? Some medicine? Or blankets? I-I can make you tea–!”

“No need.” Husk interrupted, crumpling his well-worn tissue into a nearby waste bin, “I’ve got– snfff! Ugh, two hours’ve overtime left.”

“Two hours?!” Charlie yelped, pointed ears flattening in return. She quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, “S-sorry! Sorry, it’s just. Your schedule didn’t show– it wasn’t exactly brought to my attention–” she took a deep breath, flattening her palms together as if she were praying to God for patience. “that issss…a lot of time.”

“I can handle it.” Her bartender waved a paw, ignoring the way he wobbled as he reached for a clean rag.

“Oh, of course, of course! I have every bit of faith in you!” Painted lips upturned, grin so artificially sweet that sugar laced Husk's tongue. He raised a brow, counting down the seconds for what would inevitably come next.

Three.

“You know your limits, obviously!” Her black fingernails fiddled with a sleeve cuff.

Two.

“A-and really, there’s nothing to worry about! You’re one tough cookie!” They moved to her hair, twirling a blonde lock.

One.

“It’s just,” there it is, “as your manager I can give you some time off for tonight instead? That way you get some rest?”

“That’s a real nice offer you’re giving me, Princess. Tempting, even. But uh. I’m still supposed to be on the clock.” Husk elaborated, scratching the back of his neck.

“But I never ordered you to–”

“No. You didn’t.” Golden eyes flicked to a spot in the corner, at a dusty old radio surrounded by its immaculately cleaned resting place. Untouched, unbothered, unsettling.

“...Oh.” Charlie breathed. Melancholy mood immediately shattered when more gasping hitches filled the air.

“HUP’SHHUH!” A flurry of feathers snapped wide, flapping to keep any semblance of balance. Fangs sucking in a sharp hiss of air when dagger-sharp claws dug into the shiny countertop he just cleaned, neon lights accenting a sparkling mist of contagion.

“Oh! Oh! Maybe we can pass the time until a customer comes in!” It only took a second for his stubborn caretaker to shake off the outburst, patient suppressing a miserable groan in return.

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Like sleep? It’s been a long day.”

“Well yeah, but um. I’ve been practicing a magic trick and I thought you might want to see it?” Despite his better efforts Husk’s ear flicked curiously and, out of pure spite, he wiped and re-wiped and re-wiped the countertop until it was a mirror of its former self. 

Nope. Ignore her. Do not look.

“I’m busy.” He said to the near empty lobby.

“It’ll just take a moment! Please?”

You know what’s gonna happen when you look.

“C’mon Husk! I super duper promise that I’ll do it once! That’s it!”

Not if you paid him for the rest of his fucking afterlife.

“Come on, it’ll take five seconds and then you can go back to work like nothing happened!”

Biting the bullet he turned around and– 

–fought the urge to take off his hat and let loose a blood-curdling scream. He blamed it on the exhaustion that plagued him and definitely not the doe eyes that nearly blinded him with angelic light.

“Fine.” He growled, rounding the corner to pull up a stool. “But I’m givin’ you my spare pack. It's kinda dinky lookin', but it does its job well.”

Charlie wasn’t listening. Charlie was too busy vibrating excitedly, carefully cradling the beat up box like she was handling the deed to Hell. 

“Okay! Get ready…” Sticking out her tongue, she concentrated as she worked her magic. Magic being a loose, loose description considering the fact that she was stuck on the shuffling phase. Well, less of a shuffle and more like a mutation of a shuffle and a card flick. It was almost impressive– a magician’s trick that doubled as a natural force of chaos.

“Whoops!” Her hand scattered, and she hurriedly scooped them up from all corners of the carpet.

“Let me just–” Somehow defying gravity, they flew up into the air and fluttered down like snowflakes. 

“One more time!” The four of spades smacked her square in the face. Peeling the card off to shoot it a sour look, she turned to see her only audience member hunched over the bar, paws locked tight against his muzzle. Heart leaping in her chest, Charlie quickly abandoned her act, rushing over. Her hands hovered above his trembling frame like she was trying to find the right angle to lift a burning box.

“O-oh gosh, are you okay? Do you need to throw up? I could get a trash can but–”

All worries screeched to a grinding halt as loud, raspy laughter echoed through the lobby. Husk slapped a paw on the counter, letting out an exasperated whoop. “You– pff! Ahahaha! Y-you really know how to entertain a guy– kaff kAFF–!” Hysterics spiraled into hacking coughs, feeling comforting circles rub his back.

“You feel warm.” Charlie whispered, but her bartender quickly shook his head, reaching for a tissue to wipe at his nose.

“I’ll live. Now pass me the damb-- snff! Damn cards, I’ll show you how it’s done.” Husk smirked.

Charlie couldn’t help but soften, surrendering her cards to the expert. She watched as he cracked his knuckles. Flexed his claws. Took a deep breath.

“I haven’t seen you like this before. Not since Extermination Day, anyway.” Charlie hummed.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” Husk shot back a rusty grin.

“You're having fun! I'm so happy for you!”

The other froze mid-stretch, eyes widening. Shit.

“I’m just showin’ you how to do a damn magic trick. Don’t read too much into it.” He grumbled, tucking his tail between his legs before it could wag. He took the pack in one heart-shaped paw pad, testing the bend before it leapt to the other side in a blaze of red, black, and gold glory.

Or at least, that was supposed to happen. Instead, a strong tickle feathered his nose. It twitched wildly until–

“ET’CHOO! EP’TSHHOO! HEP’TCCCHH!” An encore of snow fluttered to the ground. He blinked once. Twice. Before Charlie’s wind-chime giggles filled the air. 

“One more time.” Husk said with untapped determination as he plucked the deck one card at a time, unable to swallow the spark of joy that came with it.

But he knows what Charlie is doing. What they’re about to do. 

He won’t let them win.

“Ugh.” Vaggie scoffed.

“Ugh.” Husk echoed the sentiment, shaking his wings free of the storm around them.

It wasn’t too bad of a job. A resident was struggling with their move, and prompted by an exercise to make more friends– aka unstick herself from Charlie’s side– the hotel's guardian offered to help. It was a nice thought…until she saw how many moving vans had piled on the roadside. And with more on the way, Husk was good muscle in any weather, rain or shine.

Because of course he was.

“ESHHHUH! ETCHHH’HUH! Son of a bitch.”

“I think you have a fever–”

“I’m fine. It's just a cold.” Husk snapped, prying Vaggie’s wrist from his forehead. He got an eyeroll for his efforts, and the ex-soldier stared into the horizon with a scowl, watching the downpour that fell from the Heavens. Ignoring the violent shivering and soaked fur that clung to the other like an icy blanket. Husk glanced her way once, twice– betrayed again by the flick of an ear.

“How come you’re not fuckin’ freezing out here?”

At that Vaggie’s hardened glare turned bashful. She scratched her arm, suddenly finding her muddy shoes very interesting. “Angel’s blood, uh, runs a little warmer. Because we live– or I used to– live so high up in the air–”

“HEP’SHHUH!” She jumped, clutching her chest as Husk let loose another near-deafening sneeze. She could almost mistake it for thunder if she wasn’t careful.

“Oh. Uh, bless–”

“HET’CHHH’CHEW!”

“Ble–”

“HET’CHH! HET’tshh! ‘Tshhh! ‘Tchh! ‘Tch! Tch’hhhiew!” His fit spiraled until all that was left were weak, squeaky kitten sneezes. He slapped a paw against his muzzle as he stifled, desperate to get his aching nose under control. “Heh’ntshh! Nt’tchh! ‘Nnt! ‘Nt! Hnt’chxt’hiew! Ghh– goddamnihhHH-! Het’SHHH’HUH!...hHH– HET’SCHHHHHOO! …Guh...” 

Sniffling thickly, Husk felt the nagging itch slow to a stop in time with the storm. Blinking moisture from his eyes, the sickly demon looked up to see a silvery wing hovering over his head, granting him a small, cozy sanctuary.  The fallen angel merely shrugged her free shoulder nonchalantly, “What? I talk your ear off at the bar. Might as well return the favor.”

And, completely unprompted and wholly against his will, another spark of happiness warmed his chest. He threw up his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright, I get it! You assholes want me to rest? Fine! I’m resting!” 

He marched off, ignoring the small smile that he left behind. 

“I didn’t say anything.” Vaggie retorted.

“Fuck you.” His angry growls were anything but, and he resisted the urge to throw his hat into a puddle.

So he caved under the pressure a little. Not his fault he's surrounded by demons dedicating their miserable lives to redemption. 

They’re too good at their job.

#ha//zb//in//ho//tel// #snz fic #char/lie #hu/sk #va/ggi/ie #snz