#leave him the fuck alone i’m so tired of it
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𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄.
pairing: rafe cameron x f!reader
warnings: brief sexual innuendo, rafe being a softie!!!!
word count: 2.6k (i *might* have gotten carried away i'm so sorry lol)
a/n: this is a sequel to late night and also based on this, so thanks @keziahcore ! your mind is literally everything!
it’s almost like a sixth sense.
rafe feels your absence from the bed, and immediately becomes agitated. he turns on the lamp next to his bed and looks for any sign that you’re still there, and finds your small handbag on the armchair, which makes him just slightly relieved.
when he looks at the clock, he sees that it is almost two in the morning. the bathroom door is ajar and the lights are off, which means you’re not there. before he can leave his room looking for you, you return, holding a glass of water, wearing only his shirt to cover yourself up.
“where were you? why did you leave me here?”
he can’t control this agony, this anguish that always catches him off guard when he finds himself alone. he can’t help feeling like a time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. the smallest things you do seem to trigger him massively, and he hates that. he hates that he ends up being rude and harsh to you, because you’re always so understanding and sweet.
even he knows he doesn’t deserve you.
“i was thirsty and went downstairs to drink some water.” your tone is sweet and calm, which makes him feel like shit.
his face changes, as he seems to calm down. you didn’t leave him, you just went to get some water. you’re there, your stuff is there, you’re not going anywhere.
“next time, leave a glass here. i don’t like it when you do that.” he says in a much softer tone, but he’s still upset that his sleep got interrupted.
“do what? get hydrated?” you joke, trying to lighten up his mood.
he rolls his eyes and huffs. don’t make him tell the truth.
“go back to bed. i’m tired, alright? i had a long day.”
“actually, i was going to read a book. i’m not sleepy and i don’t want to lie down right now.”
is it so hard to understand that he wants you to be close to him so that he feels safe enough to get a decent night’s sleep?
“you can read on the bed.”
“you won’t mind the lamp on?”
“no, just get the damn book and come back to bed.”
you laugh and nod, picking up the book from his desk and following him to his bed. rafe gets to his spot and as you sit down, he places one hand on your bare thigh and falls back to sleep almost immediately.
while he dives deep into his necessary rest, you start reading. it’s that book, in cold blood by truman capote. you don’t know if rafe is a reader, he never really talks about books with you.
every once in a while, you look down at your thighs to see his hand, firmly holding you, to make sure you won’t leave. this small gesture makes you feel stupid. stupid to believe he might feel something other than lust for you. rafe makes you question your beliefs and that itself makes you feel overwhelmed.
sometimes you want to leave, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. and you have tried countless times. he’s good for you in the same intensity he’s bad. to say you’re scared to ask him what you are would be an understatement, but you just would like some clarification, because you don’t beg the people you’re casually fucking to stay the night almost every night and throw a tantrum when they leave to get some water.
deep down, you know you’re more scared to hear you’re just an easy fuck. at this point, this would tear you apart.
being with rafe is a challenge. it’s like running a marathon you know you will not get to the finish line, and yet, you keep running.
when it’s almost four in the morning, you close the book and turn the lamp off. finally, sleep comes to you, and you settle into his bed, still holding rafe’s hand, which never left your thigh. with the touch, rafe wakes up, and this time he is no longer agitated.
“sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” you say, as you snuggle into the mattress.
“you- what time is it?” he asks, adorably confused and sleepy.
“it’s almost four.”
“and you’re going to sleep now?”
“yeah. go back to sleep, it’s early.” you say softly, placing a hand on his cheek, and he complies, pulling you close.
(...)
rafe’s alarm clock rings promptly at seven in the morning. he turns it off and goes back to his previous position: hugging you.
your hair smells like coconut and your skin is always soft. he never wants to not be touching you. it’s like your body was made to be next to his. for some reason, just your presence is enough to make him feel calm and at peace.
he places the softest kiss on your shoulder, enjoying the quietness that only early mornings can give him. the sweet sound of birds chirping outside makes him forget about everything else. rafe only has you in his mind (and in his arms).
you wake up and soon turn to face him. rafe has the most adorable sleepy face, and you might never stop melting over him. seeing him up close will never not be amazing. he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. he probably has the most beautiful shade of blue in his eyes.
“go back to sleep.” he whispers.
“‘m not sleepy anymore.” you mumble as you rub your eyes, which rafe finds captivating. “hi.”
“hi,” he smiles. “you only slept for three hours, sleep some more.” he insists, and you feel a tone of concern in his voice, but maybe it’s just your sleep giving you that impression.
“i’m okay, rafey.”
rafey. he hates that stupid nickname, but when it comes out of your mouth, he wants to legally change his name to it.
“you’re gonna be tired.”
“no, i’m not. i don’t normally sleep a lot.”
rafe frowns not because he’s confused - he obviously isn’t. he’s just not liking what you’re saying. he doesn’t like the idea of you struggling with whatever that may be. rafe knows damn well how bad it is to be sleep deprived, he doesn’t want you going through that.
“you have insomnia?”
“i guess i do,” you shrug. “i don’t really know. i just don’t sleep a lot. i wish i did, though. i get so jealous when i see you sleeping for hours on end.” you smile sweetly at him. “you’re so relaxed. must be nice…”
you let go of rafe after leaving a timid kiss on his lips, and stretch before getting up and going to his bathroom to start your morning routine.
after a quiet breakfast, rafe gives you a ride home, and he can’t hide his concern about what you said.
“i’ll see you around, yeah?” you tell him, with the sweetest smile you always have.
“of course. uh, about that sleep thing… if you need help with that… i’m here.”
“rafe, i think you might be a sex addict.” you joke, really not understanding what he meant. he isn’t talking about sex. the one time he isn’t talking about sex, you don’t get it.
“well, i’m just one call away.”
you chuckle and intend to kiss his cheek, but rafe is quick enough to turn his face and make you kiss his lips. you laugh at his antics.
silly rafe is your favorite. if only other people got to see this side of him.
he watches you leave his car and get inside your home. the strange feeling of loneliness comes back almost immediately, but it gets him thinking. it has to be some sort of irony that the person that quite literally helps him sleep isn’t sleeping.
(...)
only two days have passed and rafe already needs you to spend the night at his house again. he is so tired and exhausted. he takes out his phone and quickly types a message.
rafe: are u busy right now? can i pick u up?
you don’t tend to take long to respond to his texts, but this time, an hour goes by and nothing, so rafe starts to feel that unbearable anguish again, and starts to think that you left him and that you found someone better to spend you time with.
impulsively, rafe facetimes you, and you answer. from your face alone, he can see the tiredness in your eyes. or rather, in your dark circles. you’re in your bedroom, which makes him feel calmer.
“hi, rafey. sorry, i just got my phone.”
“what are you doing?”
“i’m studying for my exams.”
“i just wanted to know if i could pick you up.”
“i’dd love to,” you smile. “but it’s not a good idea, i need to study and i have a mountain of books to read until tomorrow if i want a good grade, which i do.”
“you’re tired, you should rest.” he advises, visibly worried.
“nothing a can of red bull can’t fix.” you say showing him the can.
“y/n, please go to sleep.”
something about his request makes you angry. maybe it’s the stress, or the fact that this time rafe is right.
“rafe, you’re not my boss. i need to hang up, i got shit to do.”
before he can protest, you hang up the call, and surprisingly, rafe doesn’t get angry. this is what it’s like when he’s sleep deprived.
as always, rafe wants to take control of the situation, so he puts on a hoodie, grabs his car keys and leaves his house to go to yours. it’s late at night, and rafe knows your parents are probably asleep.
the path is short, and soon he arrives in front of your house and the light is on in your bedroom, which tells him that you are still up. carefully, rafe gets out of his car and walks to the back of your residence, and climbs the wall, always making sure he doesn’t get caught by anyone. finally, rafe gets on the small balcony of your room and sees you surrounded by papers, books and notebooks. it’s a mess.
he knocks on the glass door, which startles you, but you soon calm down when you see it’s him. you almost run to open the door, but your face isn’t the happiest.
“what are you doing here, rafe?”
“nice to see you, too.” he ironizes as he steps inside your bedroom. “i have a proposition for you.”
“i’m so not in the mood, rafe…”
“listen to me.” he says. “i’ll… i’ll help you out with this stuff, as long as you let me help you sleep.”
“i don’t wanna have sex.”
“i’m not talking about sex.”
oh.
“you mean… sleep? like, really sleep?”
“yeah. i don’t like that you sleep so little. you’re becoming cranky.”
you chuckle at the last bit. you can’t stay mad at him, can you?
“that’s a nice offer, rafe, but what do you know about biology?”
“i’ll have you know i was a good student.” he pouts and you laugh. “even if i don’t know what you’re studying, i’ll help you out.”
it takes you a few seconds, but it’s decided. your body is about to give out, you really need to rest. you can’t absorb any more information. a good sleep might even help you learn whatever you need.
“okay.”
rafe smiles and it might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
you begin to organize all your notes and books on your desk and rafe begins to undress down to his underwear, and gets comfortable on your bed. he realizes this is his first time sleeping on your bed, and he already likes the faint smell of rosemary that your bedroom exudes.
you have such a pretty bedroom. the walls are painted in the softest shade of blue, and you have books everywhere. no wonder you’re so smart, you read a lot.
the wooden furniture gives an earthy feel to your room, contrasting with the delicacy of the light blue walls. in the photos of the small mural on the wall, rafe realizes that he wanted to be there, present in the photos, and maybe, in a photo with you. you are always smiling and being hugged by someone, or hugging them. you are like that, you are magnetic.
you finish organizing your things and quickly change into a shirt of rafe’s that you hope he doesn’t recognize. it’s big and comfortable, and it makes you feel close to him when he’s far away.
the lamp next to your bed is on, so you turn off the main light in your room and go to your bed, meeting rafe, and he has the smallest smile on his lips. it’s ironic how having sex and being naked doesn’t feel as intimate as simply sleeping together does.
“are your parents home?” he asks.
“no, why?”
“so i could have come through the door, huh.”
“yeah.” you laugh.
a brief moment of silence sits between you two, as you’re staring at each other’s eyes. rafe is mesmerized and terrified at the same time. this - whatever this is - feels so nice and so foreign. he knows damn well he isn’t one to want to just sleep with someone, let alone climb up a wall to just sleep with someone.
rafe cameron is in love, and he is utterly terrified.
“what are you thinking?” you ask in a whisper.
your blinks are getting slower and slower. rafe begins to run his hand through your hair, combing them back, and touching the skin of your neck and shoulders ever so softly.
thinking about how much i want to be with you and how fucking scared i am.
“nothin’. close your eyes.”
you do, not because he told you to, but because you couldn’t keep them open any longer.
why do you feel the safest with someone as dangerous as rafe cameron? someone who deals with the shadiest people around, that has anger issues and violent behavior.
that tried to drown his own sister.
why none of that matters when you’re in his arms? are you actually insane?
probably.
(...)
as soon as you wake up, you see your bed empty, and rafe’s clothes are no longer on the floor, where he had left them last night. it was to be expected, but you still feel disappointed. he was so sweet last night.
when you look at the clock, it’s already past nine in the morning, which means you’ve slept, surprisingly, eight hours straight. damn, you really were sleep deprived.
the sound of your stomach begging for food makes you get out of bed.
when you leave your bedroom, you hear the sound of the tv on and get scared. slowly, without making any noise, you go down the stairs, trying to find out if your house has been invaded, but it would be strange, as it is daytime. soon you see rafe walking around your house.
he didn’t leave?
it’s like you’re not even there. you get to watch rafe make himself comfortable in your kitchen, looking for stuff to put on the table. there are two delivery bags on the counter, which means he bought food, but the gesture warms your heart, which was merely shattered.
“the cutlery is in the second drawer next to the sink.” you say, startling him a bit.
“jesus. can you, i don’t know, announce you’re in the room? i almost dropped your coffee.”
you laugh.
“sorry, rafey. what are you doing, i thought you had left.”
“uh, i bought breakfast for y- us.” he says. you look inside the bags and you can tell he ordered possibly everything you have eaten from that place. “c’mon, i ordered that vegan shit you like, your coffee and even a pretzel.”
you follow him to the table and you both begin helping yourselves. this isn’t your first time having breakfast with him, but it does feel like it’s a first.
for the first time, you don’t want to leave him.
i love feedback! let me know your thoughts! <3
#my writings#rafe cameron oneshot#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x reader#outer banks#drew starkey#drew starkey x you#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey oneshot#drew starkey imagine
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Kiss Shot
love and deepspace: zayne x fem!reader
tags: smut, light bondage, teasing, semi-public sex, praise kink, pwp, dom!zayne, sir kink, pool & billiards, oh he has pretty hands, exclusive tutorial card
word count: 8.2K
synopsis: Zayne has curated a perfectly polished reputation. He’s a renowned surgeon, the youngest of his graduating class, has a plethora of research papers in his name, and is well-liked and respected amongst his peers. And he would throw it all away to have you like this again, whining and desperate as he fucks you over a billiard table. It’s not fair, really, how easily you manage to get Zayne riled up. Especially when you call him sir.
original ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55931518
Your negroni is fifty percent water by now.
The flock of past classmates, professors, and adorning fans has been relentless, swarming the bar where you and Zayne currently sit— or perhaps more accurately, swarming where the distinguished Dr. Zayne sits.
You sigh under your breath, fussing with the cocktail dress slit against your thigh before taking another sip of your drink, the melted ice dulling the burn of the gin. It has only been an hour since you arrived, and yet you can already feel your social battery reach its limits, tired of going through the same motions for every other person who bothers to acknowledge your presence: a smile, what’s your name, are you a surgeon as well, what’s your connection to Zayne, no we’re not together.
It’s not that you haven’t met fascinating individuals— your first round of drinks was shared with two sisters, old classmates of Zayne’s who were now Linkon’s top OB/GYN doctors and genuinely the sweetest women you’ve talked to today.
But everyone has limits. And with the relentless swarm sucking up to Zayne, it hardly gives you a moment of peace, let alone an opportunity to talk with your date for the evening.
Thinking about the stipulations of your relationship and what this night even means for the two of you sends your mind reeling further, and you finish the rest of your negroni in a shot, wincing.
As if sensing your frustration, the doctor in question looks up from his conversation with a classmate. Zayne gives a knowing, apologetic smile before returning to his conversation, the gesture leaving you with a fluttering in your chest.
Calling the bartender over, you place another drink on the tab before tuning in to the conversation next to you as you hear the echo of laughter.
“No, no, I’ve been lucky enough to have seen it myself!” An older man laughs again, his drink nearly sloshing over the rim as he smacks Zayne’s shoulder. You snort at the way he stiffens. “Our Dr. Zayne isn’t just a professional at work, you should see him play billiards. Let me tell you, he’s amazing at both the operating table and the pool table”
A deep sigh. “You drank too much…”
“Nonsense!” The man pats Zayne again before recounting a story from their residency days to the crowd of onlookers.
You yourself are rather engrossed too, more than happy to learn more about your elusive doctor, especially these hidden talents he seems set on keeping from you. Zayne, on the other hand, is far from impressed. Brows furrowed, he turns from where he sits against the bar counter to scan your face.
Leaning in closer, you inhale sharply at the feel of his cool breath against your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”
His thoughtfulness would be sweet if it weren’t for the way Zayne had whispered it, lips brushing against your sensitive skin as you shudder at the slow, deep cadence of his voice.
Noticing your hesitation, Zayne’s hand comes up to rest on your knee, thumb slipping under your dress’ slit. He cocks his head, waiting for your response, drawing soothing circles against your bare skin, which is having quite the opposite effect.
Panicking, you shake your head. “I’m alright. Plus, I’d feel bad stealing you away from all your adoring fans so soon, Dr. Zayne.”
He scoffs under his breath, but you see the slight curl in the corner of his lips. Still, he has yet to let go of your thigh, and you decide to shift closer, turning in your seat so your knees brush against Zayne’s, his hand involuntarily sliding higher.
His fingers are calloused and worn, a testament to his many years spent in the medical field, and his grip is firm against your thigh. It feels familiar, and the memories of his hands on you in many different places sends heat rushing to your cheeks.
The thought doesn't seem to have left his mind either, judging by the way his eyes dart down to your parted lips.
Clearing his throat, Zayne looks away. He is about to say something when you decide to interrupt instead.
“Besides,” you hum, taking a sip of wine. “If the rumors are to be believed, then I’m missing quite a show. Is our Dr. Zayne really that skilled at pool?”
“Ah.” Zayne retracts his hand, clearing his throat as he straightens up in his seat. ”You’re trying to gang up on me.”
You know him well enough to recognize the hint of embarrassment in the way he avoids your gaze. But before you can tease him further, another cheery voice interrupts.
“We meet again, sir!” A young man practically bounces over to the bar, caught between a bow and a handshake as he stumbles into both, flashing a gummy smile at Zayne.
You raise a brow at his overwhelming enthusiasm, glancing at Zayne as you watch recognition flash across his face.
“Good evening. It’s Steven, yes? You don’t need to address me as “sir”.” Zayne nearly grimaces as he says the word, and you take a sip from your drink to hide your growing smile.
“Yes! I’m honored you remembered.” Steven nods vigorously. “But anything less would be inappropriate. After all, you taught me so much with your hands-on instruction, I owe my knowledge and successful residency so far to you, sir.”
Still, Zayne shuts him down. “I was only doing what I should have done. Any credit beyond that is your own.”
It’s almost like he’s allergic to praise.
“Humble and smart,” Steven laughs, winking all-too-obviously at you. “Regardless, I just wanted to thank you for everything formally, sir. You two have a wonderful rest of your night!”
“Yes.” Zayne frowns, leaning ever so slightly closer to you. ”To you as well.”
Quickly feigning ignorance, you pretend to be absorbed in the powerpoint some professor is giving on the opposite side of the venue, immediately lost in a diagram of a heart valve. You’re about to take another sip of your drink when something pinches your ear. Yelping at the sting, you jump in your seat, whirling around to face the culprit.
Zayne scoffs. “I could see you eavesdropping a mile away. Did you find anything interesting?”
“Oh, aside from learning that you are extremely humble, smart, handsome, and rather adept at hands-on instruction, nothing much,” you lean against the counter, blinking up at Zayne through your lashes as you sing the last word, “Sir.”
You watch his jaw clench, a rigid movement that makes your heart skip. Zayne laughs, a harsh, sharp sound. He shakes his head before his hand grips your jaw, tugging you gently but firmly towards him. His eyes narrow, and your heart stutters.
“Clever girl. What is it you want this time?”
This time. As if Zayne could refuse you anything, as if the mere sight of you isn't enough to make him go mad.
But you're not the only one who knows how to play. And he rather likes watching just how far you’ll go.
Smiling innocently, you rest a hand on Zayne’s shoulder. The warmth of his skin seeps through the silky material of his suit. You can't help but slide your hand further up, tracing the curve of his neck with your thumb. “Well…” You lick your lips, tasting the waxy remnants of your lipstick as you fight to keep your voice even under Zayne’s piercing gaze. ”You never did any hands-on training with me, and everyone says what an honor it’s been to be taught by you, sir. I wonder what I’ll have to do to experience it finally.”
Zayne sighs, and for a moment, he appears disappointed.
“It seems like you truly want to learn about surgeries.” A scoff, and Zayne’s face seems to fall back to its stoic facade. But he pulls you closer, tilting your head so his lips graze your earlobe once more. “Who knew my little hunter was so skilled at acting?”
You gasp, placing a hand on your chest in faux surprise. “What accusations, doctor. Besides, I was thinking about something with a… less steep learning curve.”
Zayne hums thoughtfully, thumb venturing from your jaw as it brushes across your lips. Once. Twice. Three times before he stands up, hand finally dropping from your face as he grabs your wrist instead.
“Then allow me to take our first lesson elsewhere.”
You don’t offer any sort of resistance as Zayne leads you through the crowd, opting to let go of your wrist and guide you away from prying eyes, hand instead lingering against the small of your back as he walks beside you. He opens the door for you, directing the two of you down one of the main venue halls, echoes of conversation muffled by the soft ding of an elevator. Zayne flashes his medical ID before clicking the top floor, the sensor buzzing green as it carries you up with the smooth flow of elevator jazz.
Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your waist. His thumb goes back to tracing soft circles against the divots in your back as though from habit, nearly touching bare skin due to the sweeping backless design of your dress. You fight the urge to lean further into him, already fidgeting in your heels at the thought of his touch, slow and careful and calculated, elsewhere.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the chime of the elevator.
Oh, god, snap out of it. You rush out of the elevator, hoping Zayne didn’t notice the furious heat you can feel rising from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.
Smoothing some loose hair back behind your ear, you close your eyes and focus on taking deep breaths, as if it’ll push all these obscene scenarios of Zayne’s large, perfect hands doing unspeakable things out of your mind.
It works for a moment, expelling all these potential scenarios and instead reminding you of every time Zayne has taken action. Memories of him after hours at the clinic, during movie nights when neither of you paid attention to the TV, and even the drive here where he decided to—
“Does the sight of a billiard table scare you that much?”
The heat from earlier is back in full force. Your eyes snap open, and you are greeted with Zayne’s signature eyebrow raise, feigning concern despite his amused smile that only grows more prominent when he notices the flush creeping across your skin.
“Hardly.” You force a smile, turning your head as you refuse to let him gloat. “I’m just so ecstatic that I’ll finally receive hands-on training from the Dr. Zayne.”
A low hum, “Yes, at least until you feel well enough to go back and socialize.”
He says this, yet you know Zayne is just as happy as you are to finally escape from the crowds below.
“Well,” you purr, “take care of me until then, sir.”
You giggle as he frowns at the title, waltzing past him to a corner pool table in the billiard hall. The floor is dedicated to different tabletop games, all lined up against numerous floor-to-ceiling windows aglow with a gorgeous view of Linkon City. The city lights bleed in since the entire room was rather dim, no doubt an artistic choice, adorned sensually with faux candlelight chandeliers and the low timber of jazz.
“Have you played before?”
“Once or twice– some call me a natural genius.” You brush imaginary hair from your shoulders as Zayne scoffs before handing you a cue stick. Lacing his hand into your own, you pull the stick and thus him closer. “Why? Are you going to be strict with me, sir?”
Seeing through your jab, Zayne responds without hesitation. “Strict teachers make outstanding students. Let’s start.”
You pout, about to walk to the other side of the pool table to observe his shot, when Zayne’s arm laces around your waist, holding you against him for a second longer.
“And no more distractions.”
Not trusting your voice, you nod, watching as he bends to aim the cue, muscles beneath his sleeves flexing with each calculated movement. You hear the sound of a cue stick colliding with its target, but your attention is too focused on his fingers to process any of the actual movements.
Another sharp click breaks the silence. You watch as the cue ball collides with a red striped one, sending the former skittering off the sides while the other sinks into the pocket with a dull thud.
“You’re unfairly good at this.”
Zayne raises a brow, “Maybe it’s because a surgeon requires steady hands.”
And the moment you glance down, any chance of salvation is lost.
You’re not a fool. You’ve noticed Zayne’s hands before, on more occasions than you’d care to admit. But it’s as he says and more.
Lining up for another shot, you watch him stretch forward, forearms exposed from his deliciously rolled-up sleeves and discarded blazer, your eyes tracing every prominent vein down to his hands, spread wide against the table, tense as the stick rests against his pointer finger and thumb. Even in the dim lighting you can see pale silver scars littering his forearms, and you swear you’ve never seen something so beautiful, like traces of frost against marble.
Again, it shouldn’t be a surprise that a surgeon must take good care of their hands, but it’s nearly unfair how gorgeous Zayne’s are. Not only that, but you remember how comforting his hands feel against your own, how they caressed your thigh earlier tonight, and just how attentive and precise they can be.
“You’re not focusing on my lesson.”
Shit.
With a single strike, Zayne tries to sink another ball, but the angle is just off, and the striped ball hits the corner of the pocket, ricocheting against the wood with a dull thud.
Zayne leans against the pool table, cue stick resting against his shoulder.
"Your turn."
Copying Zayne’s movements as best you can, you clumsily position your cue stick between your knuckles, aiming for what seemed to be a fairly easy shot. Only for the ball to ricochet far left as the white ball knocks into it. Even your cue stick wobbles after, as if shaking in laughter at your poor shot.
Frowning, you look up to see Zayne’s disapproving gaze locked onto the pool table.
“Is there not an easier way to do this? One more suitable for beginners?”
“There is.” Zayne leans in, his expression betraying nothing. “First, try adjusting your posture. You’ll see better results.”
Another sigh, and you halfheartedly drape yourself over the table again. “Like this? I’m not sure I fully understand, I think I need your help identifying my weak spots via more hands-on learning, sir.”
“Allow me to guide you, then.”
For a moment you think you’ll have to bait Zayne more, yet before you can figure out how to push the stubborn doctor any further, you feel the weight of his hands, heavy against your shoulder and hip.
Zayne shifts forward, and you can feel the fabric of his suit vest graze the bare skin of your back, his hands unnaturally cool against the dips in your waist as he nudges your back into an arch. You comply, Zayne’s body nearly folding atop yours as his chest brushes your back.
He takes the cue stick from your hand.
“You’re too tense,” Zayne pats your back two times. Your waist immediately bends, and you hear him laugh under his breath. “And now you’re too relaxed.”
With his hands still pressed against your waist, Zayne repositions himself and thus you as well, and you can feel the chill of each exhale against the crook of your neck.
He guides your aim, lining it up to the cue ball. The tip brushes ever so gently against the felt surface as it pushes, slowly and deliberately, practicing the gentle back-and-forth motion as you struggle to keep pace.
“Drop your left arm. Allow it to bend naturally.” He taps your elbow and waist. “Your head, dominant arm, and the cue stick should all form a straight line.”
You begin to shuffle according to Zayne’s instructions, hinging your hips backward before you realize what a wonderfully compromising position he’s placed you in. As discreetly as possible, you allow your right leg to step backward, movement forcing you further against Zayne as you press the curve of your ass into his hips. Immediately, you’re rewarded with a sharp inhale next to your ear.
But instead of pulling away or reprimanding you Zayne merely continues with the lesson, almost frustratingly unaffected if it wasn’t for the fact that you could feel his reaction grow between your thighs.
Still, he is nothing if not a professional as he whispers against your jaw, "Behave.”
"I am," you reply, and one of Zayne’s hands comes up to guide your cue stick. “...It just hurts a little.”
You don’t have to see his face to know that Zayne is giving you a smug smile.
“That means it’s correct.”
You take a deep breath. You practice the same back-and-forth motions, thrusting the stick forward on the third, watching as your cue stick strikes the white ball, sending a solid orange one rolling.
Another click and a thud, and you successfully land a pocket.
Just when you feel like you’re finally getting the hang of it, you make the fatal mistake of looking down to where Zayne's fingers guide yours against the cue stick, and your brain turns to scramble once more. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a soft, fleeting sensation.
And you miss.
Zayne is quiet for a long moment, tilting his head, letting the warmth of his cheek press against your neck. “Snap out of it. Are you even paying attention?”
Bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Of course,” you retort, skin feeling uncomfortably hot even when Zayne finally steps back from you, your body searing the memory of his touch into every nerve. “I’ll score the next one myself.”
He hums and cocks an eyebrow as if telling you to go on, prove him wrong.
“Remember, move the cue stick to gauge the shot two or three times, then stop at the position closest to the ball.”
You do, gauging the weight of the cue stick, bending down over the table so your chest nearly brushes with the felt, narrowing in on the solid green ball.
“Stop and pull back the cue stick in three, two, one.”
On Zayne’s command, you strike, a satisfying click followed by the thump of the ball falling into the corner pocket. You scored. All on your own.
“It went in!” You jolt up, spinning as you laugh.
“So it did. Seems like your pool skills are less about precision and more… passion.” Zayne’s lips twitch into a smile, and you’re not foolish enough to ignore his double meaning. “Granted, you might need a little more than passion to come back and win this round.”
You scoff, attempting to change the subject without drawing attention to how red your face has gotten. “Well then, perhaps if you’re not too committed to this doctor thing there’s still a chance for you in the professional billiard space.”
“No, thank you. Now, think you can make another shot by yourself?”
“Wait a moment. When a student does well, shouldn’t they get a reward?”
“Very well,” Zayne relents, tone even despite the searing gaze he practically strips down your body. “What do you want?”
“There are a few balls blocking my next shot. Help me?”
A beat, and he blinks at you incredulously. “That is all?”
“What’s wrong, Dr. Zayne? Scared that if you give me too much help, I’ll steal this victory from you?”
“Provocation doesn’t work on me.”
“Then come here.”
God, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how pliant he is for you, obeying your command without so much as a moment of hesitation. His larger frame now towers above you, close enough that you have to crane your neck to maintain eye contact. And you can’t help but tease him a bit more. It’s not your fault his obedience gives you a rush.
“Closer,” you whisper, teasing your fingers against his vest buttons. “Or else I can’t reach it.”
Still, Zayne complies. Although this time his brows furrow, shuffling closer so his knee slips between yours and your chest presses against his. “What exactly are you…”
You yank his tie, pushing him down atop the felt tabletop before he can finish his sentence.
There’s a dull thud, Zayne’s vest ruffled as you pin him to the table. He still looks frustratingly composed, not a hair out of place, but you feel his chest rise and fall uncharacteristically fast under your palm.
Smiling in victory, your other hand brings up your cue stick, making a show of tapping it on his broad shoulders. “Ah, look, the ball is so far away. I think I’ll need a cue rest.”
“Using cue rests would be overkill,” Zayne retorts, propping himself onto his elbows as you pout. You’ve been teasing him all night; surely just one more push, and he’ll finally give in?
Before he can escape from your hold, you lift the cue stick off his shoulder, letting the tip slip under his tie. Zayne watches with a tight frown as you tug his tie loose. “And this is inappropriate.”
“But are you not enjoying it too?” Your leg slides out from the slit in your dress, allowing you to straddle Zayne’s thigh as your arms cage him further against the pool table. “Sir?”
His brows furrow, almost surprised at your brazenness before he looks down with a huff, and you see the smirk he’s fighting to keep at bay. “I shouldn’t have taught you so much.”
Getting revenge for before, it’s your turn to grip his jaw, brushing kisses against his beautifully hooked nose and down his jaw, leaving smears of cherry red in your wake as you purposefully neglect his waiting lips. “What can I say? I have a very attentive teacher.”
Zayne is about to say something sarcastic back, no doubt, so you roll your hips forward, cutting off his words as you’re rewarded with a groan instead. The angle allows you to grind atop the rough seams in his trousers, nearly catching against his zipper and the heavy bulge you can already feel straining underneath.
His hand shoots out, gripping your thigh as you gasp. There’s a warning look in his eyes, but he makes no move to stop you.
Encouraged, you repeat the motion, rocking forward against him as you give an exaggerated moan. Zayne quickly cuts it off with his other hand, thumb pressing against your bottom lip as he muffles your noises. You open your lips further, allowing the digit to slide against your lipstick and push against your tongue.
Zayne tsks, shaking his head.
You gently nip at his finger before beginning to suck the offending digit, flicking your tongue against the rough pad of his thumb. You watch his eyes narrow, the grip on your waist tightening. Zayne is holding himself back. Again.
You release his thumb with a pop. "Don't worry, sir, no one will hear." As if to prove your point, you stop grinding, instead bringing your hand up to cup at the bulge straining against his pants. “Besides, you’re too pretty like this. I'm the only one who gets to hear all the sounds you make.”
You smile so sweetly despite the way you torture him with every rough drag of your palm against his clothed cock. But it’s only when your smile breaks into something more genuine that Zayne feels himself flush, gazing up at you adoringly before he tries to play it off with a chuckle and a pinch at your hips.
"The things you say..." His expression changes to something unreadable, stone-cold and conflicted. The chances of losing you again are greater than he once thought. He doesn't deserve this, and he doesn't deserve you. Zayne is reminded of that every time he dares get too close.
But he can't help it. He’d eternally become a fool, a martyr, just for you.
Zayne’s jaw clenches, and a stuttered moan slips through his teeth as your hand squeezes his clothed cock. "Do you think I'm that weak to flattery?"
"No. I just think you deserve it sometimes." You smirk. "Plus, I'm not flattering you, I'm complimenting."
"And what's the difference?"
"The intent," you whisper, grinding your hips forward again.
This time, you catch him by surprise, and Zayne moans, the sound low and rough and so fucking addicting. Zayne grunts, head tilting back as he shuts his eyes, lips parting ever so slightly as more soft sighs and moans slip out, spurring you on.
You lean in, breath warm against his ear as you whisper, "What's wrong, sir? I thought you had a lesson to teach me."
Zayne’s grip tightens, and he yanks you down so your palms skid across the smooth felt of the pool table you’ve pinned him against, pulling your hips flush against his as his palm cups your ass.
“If you actually want to learn, there's another way I can teach you…” Zayne leans up on his forearms until his lips brush with yours, and right as his eyes begin to flutter closed, you shove him backward. Denying his kiss. Again.
“Sir, this seems to be highly unprofessional.”
And Zayne finally snaps.
“First you use your teacher as a cue rest, then you try to talk about professionalism?” He lets out a curt laugh, and you can practically feel his patience wearing thin. It’s terrifying, and your stomach flutters in anticipation.
“ Unprofessional ,” he spits, and your thighs clench at the growl undercutting his words. “Unprofessional, like that time you were screaming my name in the back of my car while we were still at the hospital parking lot? Or unprofessional, like that time you interrupted me during work hours, begging me to eat your cunt out in my office? Or perhaps it’s like when you decided to turn this lesson into an opportunity to tease me since you’re clearly so desperate?”
You can practically feel yourself drip at Zayne’s blunt words, each one harsh and true— your relationship with him had passed morally ethical the moment you pulled him in to kiss you instead of pushing him away months ago.
Using this moment of weakness, Zayne lifts you up, flipping the two of you around so you’re the one pinned against the pool table as he reaches for his abandoned cue stick. And he finally- finally - claims your lips with his.
Zayne always kisses like he operates, slow and methodical, as if he could spend hours learning every inch of your body, and it never fails to leave you breathless. But today, the urgency in the way he licks into your mouth is palpable, and it has you whining and clutching his suit, legs wrapping around his waist as you try to bring him closer, the oak rim of the table forcing your back into a deeper arch as you whine.
A firm hand against your hip stops your movement, pinning you down. You feel so small, caged in between his much longer legs, his superior height much too obvious. The difference in size is almost laughable as he bends down to lick deeper into your mouth. You gasp against Zayne’s lips as his other hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing circles against the column of your throat and your fluttering heartbeat underneath.
You whimper into his mouth, futilely attempting to push him away even though your hips grind insistently against his thigh. “Zayne,” his name tapers off into a moan as he kisses you again, addicted. “We can’t–” another kiss. “Anyone could walk in.” Another.
When he does give you space to breathe, a thin string of saliva connects his bottom lip to yours. He pants heavily, lips shaded a hue of cherry red from your lipstick and teeth as the corner of his mouth tugs into a frown. “Hm, I suppose that’s true. But that didn’t stop you before, did it? So I see no reason why it should stop me now.”
And you realize your fate has long since been sealed.
Zayne returns to peppering your neck with kisses, teeth nipping the soft skin at your collarbone, and you yelp as he leaves a particularly harsh bite. Your hands come up to fist into his hair, and Zayne groans against your chest.
"Do not think I have forgotten our lesson," He whispers.
"Who, me?" You bat your eyelashes. "I would never. Sir."
His gaze darkens. "Then watch closely, I’m only doing this once.”
Leaning over you, Zayne positions the cue stick against your shoulder, not unlike you did to him before. But unlike you, he forces your hips up against his thigh, watching your eyes roll back from the delicious friction of his expensive trousers. “There are two striped balls left. As punishment for your attitude during my lesson, I want you to come on my thigh before I pocket both of them.”
Dumbstruck, you can only stare up at him, stammering at his demand as you feel your pussy flutter. “I- I don’t think…”
Zayne scoffs, silencing you by roughly thumbing at your lips again. “Don’t act so shocked. You’ve been humping me like a desperate brat all evening, so go on and come like one. Come for me.”
His words are demeaning, each one cold and seemingly emotionless as he stares down at you. But you can see the truth in his eyes as he watches your every reaction, their gentle green filled with an adoration so tender it terrifies you. You feel the truth in his touch, only moving with your consent, already having memorized your body to learn the way you tick and acting upon your every whim, only pushing you just as far as you wish to be.
Zayne has never told you he loves you, but he has shown you that he does in a thousand countless ways.
And he’ll prove it to you in a thousand more.
”Unless, you want more punishment?” Zayne twists his head towards you with his next statement, and he feels the way it makes you flinch— it makes him throb at the same time. You shake your head.
You can barely form sentences when he’s deliberately tensing the muscles in his thigh, each movement in time with every needy twitch of your hips like it’s a means to emphasize his point.
“Use. Your. Words.”
“No.”
His grip tightens, fingers tensing against your neck, and you stammer back out the correction. “No, sir.”
“Good girl.”
Your heart flutters at the praise, a quiet whimper escaping you as you buck against him. Your lips are pouty from being bitten between your teeth, and you still hear muffled sobs and moans slip past your lips as you begin chasing the friction against his thigh, the upward angle punishing your clit.
Despite how much Zayne likes to front that he’s in complete control, something tells you he’s having a harder time holding back than he’ll ever admit. You think maybe the bulge in his slacks and his low moans against your ear is proof enough of that.
Zayne’s not sure which is more distracting, the sight of your pretty pussy grinding against him, only just covered by the thin silk of your dress, or the sounds falling from your mouth. The room is filled with the wet sounds of your cunt, your whimpers, and Zayne's own groans.
Pressing his forehead against yours, Zayne leans in for another kiss, the tips of your noses barely touching. But the proximity makes you slow, and he clicks his tongue, reaching above you to line up his cue stick for the next shot. But he pauses, instead fully tugging off the tie you had loosed.
"Since you were so insistent on taking my tie off earlier, here. Keep it for me." Zayne grabs both your wrists with one hand, looping his tie tightly against your skin, skillfully making a knot without ever releasing your wrists.
“Maybe this will help you behave properly,” Zayne whispers, voice low as he mouths your pulse point, a fresh surge of arousal rushing to your core as you feel his length pressing further into you.
With a broken whimper, you hook an ankle around Zayne’s back as you begin to grind harder against his thigh, moaning at the new angle. It hardly compared to the feeling of his fingers or cock fucking into you, but you barely cared, arousal and lust spurred on by Zayne’s voice.
You soon fall into a rhythm, painfully slow, the mere friction sending jolts of heat through you until you’re certain Zayne’s trousers must be stained. You nearly beg for something to hold onto, hands writhing helplessly against his tie as your sobs are muffled into your red-bitten lips.
But just as soon as the pleasure builds, you feel it plateau, hips beginning to stutter as the dull friction becomes too little, the coiling heat inside you desperate to be properly filled up by something, anything.
Zayne, on the other hand, is faring no better.
He’s thoroughly distracted with the pretty little thing desperately fucking herself against his thigh, caging you down to the table as his hands clench against the cue stick, nearly enough to make it snap.
You continue to push yourself in desperation to fulfill Zayne’s order for you to come, his continuous praises mingling with the lewd squelch of your cunt, and your eyes roll back with a cry. Zayne’s voice is intoxicating, his steady tone rough with lust sending tremors down your spine, infecting you like an aphrodisiac. You were building further and further, mounting pressure in your core dizzying, desperation for release seeping through you, mind lust-drunk as you willed yourself to fall off the peak.
But the familiar sound of the billiard balls clicks somewhere above you, followed by two distinct thuds.
A hum, and Zayne pries himself away as you whine at the loss, cold air rushing in.
You failed.
“How disappointing.” Zayne scolds as if he wasn’t the one who nearly came from your grinding instead. ”But you know what happens to students who fail to follow clear instructions, don’t you?”
Standing back, Zayne discards the cue stick entirely as one hand readjusts his trousers, and you whimper at the sight of him cupping his bulge, stroking and coaxing it against his thigh just so he can stand straight.
“Turn around and lift your dress.”
You obey, propping yourself up on shaking arms before you flip around so the rough edge of the billiard table now presses against your stomach, the felt hot beneath your bound wrists.
Zayne hums in approval, almost apathetically observing the way you squirm before he nods at you to continue. Lowering your eyes from his, you allow your leg to slip out from the slit in your dress, spreading your legs back and to the side as the silk falls off the curve of your ass, Zayne’s piercing gaze following every movement.
“Didn’t think a game of pool would turn you on this much,” he muses, leaning against the rim of the table as he crosses his arms.
Unable to meet his stare any longer, your head falls between your still tied-up hands, every inch of your body burning in shame and lust as Zayne continues to wordlessly observe you. You swear you’ll burn up with the way he fucks you with his eyes.
Still, Zayne doesn’t move.
You nearly scream against the table, eyes scrunched as you snap. “Fuck! Zayne, I swear to god, if you don’t finally fuck me I’ll do it myself or find someone else who will.”
The words barely leave your mouth when a hand fists into your hair, pulling you backward until you arch back, and you gasp, mouth falling open at the sensation. Zayne's breath is cold against the shell of your ear, the growl undercutting his words sending tremors down your spine.
"Needy little brat," his fingers curl into your hair, pulling until your jaw goes slack. Zayne's other hand finds its way back to your underwear, the material so damp that it almost feels sticky beneath his touch, and you moan at the sensation, unable to formulate a retort as your eyes flutter closed. “I think you’re forgetting this is meant to be your punishment.”
He snaps the band of your panties, and you choke, knees wobbling.
"Remember to count, or we start over.”
Placing the flat of his palm in the space between your shoulder blades, Zayne pushes you down against the billiard table, the side of your face pressed against the felt.
You hear the sharp crack of his hand meeting your ass before you feel it, the burn returning with a vengeance as you scream into the table. The sting of his palm leaves a searing heat across the curve of your ass, and you bite down on the tie binding your hands to muffle the cries that escape you.
Then you remember his order, lips quivering as you say, "One."
Another smack. This time harder. The strike is so precise it nearly sends you toppling over, the sting and ache following pushing you further against the wood. You let out a sob, eyes beginning to water as you clench around nothing, the throbbing of your cunt only worsened by Zayne's firm grip on the base of your neck.
"Two."
The third strike comes down even harder than the last, the resounding echo of his slap followed by a strangled scream from you, the heat and pain making your knees give out, forcing you to rest fully atop the pool table. “Three.”
You feel tears running down your face, undoubtedly ruining your makeup. But before you can process the fourth smack, you feel the familiar sting against your ass and the paradoxically gentle rub of Zayne's hand against the aching spot, soothing the pain as you count.
"F-Four." You shutter as you feel sheer cold bloom against your skin, his Evol numbing your ass as you whimper from the pleasure-pain.
Zayne’s thumb dips past the seam of your panties, gathering the slick that has been dripping out of you for the entire night. You feel the heat of his stare on you and the weight of his hand heavy on the small of your back, his other hand still gripping your neck with his thumb tracing soft circles against your pulse.
"So wet. Is this what you were hoping for, hm? Testing me until I finally snapped and ruined you?”
You don't dare look him in the eye. "Please, sir. I can't—"
"Can't what? Take anymore? Can't take any more punishment like the disobedient brat you are?" Zayne's voice is low, and you shiver at his words, unable to respond as the tears continue to flow, the mixture of pain and arousal leaving your vision blurred and cloudy. He spanks you again, this time hard enough to leave a mark, and you keen, legs spreading even wider in desperation.
"I can't— ah shit — please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sir, please, just fuck me already.” you plead, voice trembling as you beg, desperate to be filled by anything other than the emptiness.
“Language.” Zayne reprimands, and the sting of his strike follows shortly after. “And you forgot to count.”
“Five! It’s f-five.” Your knees buckle with a sob, and Zayne has to hold your waist so you don't slide onto the floor, his touch paradoxically gentle compared to everything else he’s done.
“Shh, you’re far too noisy. It’s almost as though you want someone walking in to find us like this.”
Your dress is only noticeably bunched up from the back and Zayne is still fully clothed. Anyone walking by the billiard hall would just see a couple talking by the tables, but if they were to enter the room it would hardly take a brain surgeon to figure out what was happening. The realization has your walls clench around nothing.
Zayne hoists your wrists up, forcing you into a deeper arch before untying your restraints. You then watch him fist the purple silk into a ball before pushing it into your mouth, gagging you with it. “Don’t worry, this will help.”
It doesn't.
You moan against his tie, saliva pooling against the silky fabric as Zayne pushes the soaked garment deeper into your throat, his chest pressed against your bare back. You look up at him through watery eyes, sniffling, the tingling sensation of being punished in such a way overwhelming you completely. Zayne uses this opportunity to soothe you like he always does— never failing to find the perfect balance between rough and gentle.
"It's alright, I know, my little darling can’t make up her mind. I’ll help you, I’ll show you what you want." Zayne soothes, stroking your cheek with his thumb, his gaze gentle despite his steady and strict voice. Then, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he whispers, “If anything hurts or becomes too much, tap the table twice."
You wouldn’t dare, not after finally getting what you wanted.
Zayne slips his hands under the backs of your thighs, easily lifting your weight against his chest as you whimper, the toes of your heels just barely grazing the tiled floor. The position is beyond embarrassing, ass up, face down, completely exposed and at his mercy.
He withdraws one hand, and you cry out, a garbled mess of pleas. The absence of his touch is torturous, the throbbing of your pussy and the soreness of your ass a painful reminder of the punishment you received.
The tent in his pants was tantalizingly obvious, even more pronounced once he pushed his pants down, taking out his length. He spits on his fingers, the slick sounds of him stroking himself making you whine in anticipation. It was oozing with precum, head red and flushed as he jerks himself off with sharp movements between your thighs. You grind your hips back, trying to tempt him, but all Zayne does is coo at your pitiful attempts.
"Look at you, so desperate. All that childish stubbornness just because you want my cock." He lines himself up, the head of his cock catching against your entrance as you shiver. The stretch burns, and you groan, eyes screwing shut at the feeling. "My beautiful, filthy girl."
Zayne whispers, curling an arm between your sweat-slickened bodies. You think he means to finally alleviate the needy throbbing against your clit, but instead his hand presses firmly against your lower stomach as he continues to fuck into you, torturously slow, allowing the blunt head of his cock to bully its way deeper and deeper still.
The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch of Zayne's cock combined with the sting of his earlier punishment leaves you a mess, fluttering around him as he finally bottoms out.
He lets out a long moan, a low rumble that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You're so full, the head of his cock pressing insistently against the bundle of nerves inside you.
Some distant part of you is mortified of every lewd squelch and moan that echos over the jazz in the public hall, but feeling Zayne gently cup your ass while the other brutally pins you down, hearing him come apart against the back of your neck, knowing that your stoic lover was pushed to such extremes has you keening.
You want to feel every inch of him, so you clench down, and Zayne bites the back of your neck in retaliation, his hips stuttering.
"You’re perfect." Zayne praises, and his breathless voice sends shivers down your spine. "So good for me, taking me so well."
Zayne finally starts moving, letting the tip of his cock pull back until the head catches on the rim of your cunt, trying desperately to keep him inside, until he thrusts back into you in a single harsh motion, watching you fall apart just as he knew you would.
Your scream muffles into the gag, and Zayne reaches down to push the tie deeper into your mouth, the knot catching on the back of your tongue as he sets a steady pace.
The hand against your lower stomach shifts, still pressing hard enough so Zayne can feel his cock throb through you, and yet now positioned perfectly to thumb against your clit too. He needs to make you come, to feel it around him.
Zayne knows your body better than his own, knows exactly what angle he needs to hit, knows exactly where to touch to send your hips jerking back, and knows exactly where to tease to have you clenching down and sobbing into his tie.
It doesn't take long until you're coming, his fingers circling the bundle of nerves until you're screaming, thighs shaking, and he has to hold them open as you fall apart around him, cunt gushing as you squirt over his suit and trousers.
Your orgasm has your walls fluttering, clenching around his cock as it nearly begs for him to be buried deeper inside, and Zayne grunts, a broken moan ripped from his throat as his grip on your thigh tightens.
The pace of his thrusts grows sloppier, and you can tell he's close, the wet squelch of his cock inside your cunt driving you mad as his rhythm becomes inconsistent. You can feel his breath fan against your neck, labored and shaky, with the way he chases his high.
Your cunt aches with how full you feel, overstimulated and sensitive, but you push your hips back anyway, meeting Zayne halfway as you both chase the release that's been building up all night.
With one final thrust, Zayne finally comes inside you, a choked gasp followed by a low moan as his hips stutter, almost fucking his cum back into you as a sloppy mixture of your release drip down his cock and your thighs.
Your eyes roll back into your skull, and your second orgasm takes you by surprise, your body convulsing at the overstimulation and the warm soothing sensation of being filled to the brim.
"Fuck." Zayne whispers, his hands holding your hips as his thumbs trace circles against the dimples at the small of your back. The chill and comfort of his hands is almost enough to distract you from the ache, and you groan, legs finally giving out beneath you as you fall forward onto the pool table, the hard surface unforgiving as the wood rubs against your bruised knees.
Ever so gently, Zayne removes his tie from your mouth, turning you around so you’re pressed tight against his chest, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his rapid heartbeat and the way his hands tremble, and you smile, the familiar tenderness of his touch calming the both of you.
He slowly runs a hand down the curve of your back and you hum against the top of his head, your own hand coming up to gently stroke his hair. “I think I love you, Zayne.”
He doesn’t say a word, instead, you feel his other arm wrap around your waist, tucking you further into his embrace.
The two of you remain like this, tangled in each other until your breathing finally evens out and the fever that inflected you begins to cool. When Zayne finally speaks, his voice is muffled against your skin, and you shiver at the mere brush of his lips. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Hmm, not any more than I’d want to be.”
You mean it as a joke, but Zayne immediately stiffens in your hold, pulling back just enough to inspect your neck, then your wrists and hips as he kisses each bruise and remaining mark with hushed apologies.
"Did you mean it?"
You look down at him, his brows furrowed as you thumb at the stubborn crease that appears between them. You’re not sure why, but something in the way he stares up at you, waiting, longing, makes tears prick in the back of your eyes.
"Zayne," your voice is gentle, and you cup his cheek. "I do. I love you."
The tension in his jaw melts, his expression softening into something unnameable. His hand comes up to cup yours, scarred thumb tracing circles against your palm. " Say it again."
"I love you," you repeat, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards. "I love you. I love you."
"Again."
"I love you, Zayne–"
The last syllable of his name is cut off by his lips against yours, and you smile into the kiss, pulling him up until his forehead finally rests on your again.
"As do I," Zayne whispers, voice thick, and the sincerity in his eyes threatens to make you cry.
And you believe him.
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace fanfiction#love and deepspace x reader#lnd zayne#lads zayne#zayne x you#zayne x reader#zayne love and deepspace#lnds smut#l&ds smut#love and deepspace smut#lads x reader#love and deepspace zayne#fuck he has nice hands man
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How would satosugu, nanami, and choso react to reader trying to hide a really bad injury after a mission and thinking they’ll take care of it tomorrow, but they end up passing out or something ?
Mwah 💋
Hurt
Summary: You get injured on the job, and try to hide it from your boyfriend, how will they react when they find out the truth?
Characters: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Choso Kam, FAB!Reader
Word Count: 4,221
Warning: Mentions of injuries, blood, suggestivness, little angsty, little crack!
A/N: Ah nothing like a good stern lecture from sexy anime men! Thank you for the request Nonnie enjoy!! 💚
Gojo Satoru + Geto Suguru
This wasn’t good, nope, not in the slightest. Your side was killing you. The structures the doctor at the hospital did sting each time you moved, and you’d already taken the pain meds he had prescribed. You just needed to wait until tomorrow. Shoko said she’d heal you as soon as she was in town. Until then, you just needed to fake it.
“I don’t think you should be alone right now,” Ijichi announces as he opens the car door for you. “I should call Gojo and Geto to tell them what happened.”
“I’m fine,” you respond with a grimace. “They're busy teaching right now. I don’t wanna be a bother.”
“But you lost a lot of blood.”
“I'm fine!” you assured him, patting him on the back as you headed towards your house. “Don't call them. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Standing inside the threshold, you waved as he drove away, but the second the door shielded your face, you doubled over in pain. If the assistant supervisor had seen you like this, he wouldn’t have let you go inside alone. Your trusted friend would have called your partners, insisting for them to come home. If they had known what had happened, they would have cared for you, of course, but you would also have received a lecture on why you should be safe. Geto would insist you train specifically with him. Gojo would ensure you were sent on missions with him until they were sure you could protect yourself.
That would be the worst-case scenario. You hadn’t gotten injured like this in years. It wasn’t even your fault. The floor gave way, leaving you vulnerable for a second, totally not on you, but your boyfriends wouldn’t see it like that.
“Oooh fuck me.” You whimpered, resting your head against the door. “Fuck me”
“That can be arranged.” Hot breath fanned over your neck, making you jump. “Whoa, easy there!”
Gojo’s eyes were on you as soon as you turned toward the voice. They were full of happiness and joy over seeing you come home. “Satoru? What are you doing at home? Shouldn’t you be teaching right now?” Your sudden outburst had him blinking in confusion.
“All of the students were sent on missions,” Geto answered as he leaned against the wall, cocking an eyebrow. “There were no other missions, so we decided to surprise you.”
“Oooh!” The throbbing pain in your side had you wincing. “That’s great! Awesome, what a nice surprise!”
“You don’t look too excited,” Satoru bluntly called you out. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetheart?”
“Oooh yeah, I’m great.” You were lying; you were far from great because the room was spinning. “I need to sit down; my feet are—” your vision blurred as you stumbled past Satoru leaning against the wall.
“You sure?” Suguru asked, gently grabbing your shoulder and steadying you. “You look pale.”
“I'm just tired.” the faster you got past them, the quicker you could get off your feet and relax.
Suguru releases your shoulder, letting you step towards the living room. “For someone who’s doing great. You sure are swaying a lot.” Satoru was by your side, watching you as if he thought you would fall, which you might end up doing.
“Yeah, I can assure you, I’m fine.” Your tone was as sharp as a knife, causing both partners to cease interrogation. “I just wanna sit down with you both., watch a movie and cuddle.”
Upon hearing your request, the request you always made when you returned from a mission. Both men fell into your routine. Suguru walked past you, heading to the couch, while Satoru ran to the bedroom.
“I’ll grab blankets!”
“Princess, do you want to grab the snacks? I’ll pick out the movie.” there was a particular look in your dark-haired boyfriend's eyes. He was trying to test you to see if you were as fine and dandy as you claimed to be
Knowing him, the interrogation would start if you asked to pick out the movie instead. Neither he nor Satoru would let up until you came clean about the injury. Once that was out in the open, you knew the lectures and scheduled training sessions would soon follow.
Blinking away, the blurry vision in your eyes, you gave Suguru a thumbs up, heading into the kitchen. You grab different kinds of snacks, candy, popcorn, and some chips. Each wavering movement had the stitches in your side screaming in protest; your sore skin begged for you to sit down and relax. You tried to fight through the pain, but your painkillers weren’t cutting in. Leaving you in a sheen sheet of sweat as you carried the bowls back to the living room.
Upon hearing your footsteps, Suguru turned just as Satoru returned with a blanket. The bowls in your hands felt like they weighed a ton as you tried stepping forward, but your legs refused to move. Suguru noticed your behavior, standing and taking a tentative step forward.
“Princess?” Two Suguru’s stood before you as your vision blurred with black spots. Something hot and wet ran down your side.
“Why are there two Suguru’s?” Your voice cracked as the bowls fell to the ground. “I-Is it my birthday?” Your hazy attention was suddenly on Satoru as you stumbled. “Oh,” Blinking at the Satoru’s rushing for you, the room suddenly turned on its side. Oh no, you were falling. “Fuck.”
Darkness overcame you, and thoughts of double Satoru’s and Suguru’s infiltrated your dreams. Dreams that were lewd, sweaty, and full of pleasure. But in the midst of your, what would you call it? SatoSugu orgy, Shoko appeared, staring down at you.
“Make sure you sterilize that wound,” Her cigarette bobbed between her lips. “Infection can set fast.”
“I know that.” The Suguru at your neck responded less out of breath than you were.
The Satoru between your legs looked back at Shoko. “Do you want us to bring her in tomorrow?”
“No, I’ll stop by on the way to work.”
As you blinked in your dreams, your groggy eyes opened, and you found yourself lying in bed. Suguru was shaking a spray bottle before spraying it on your side. The wound suddenly felt like hundreds of hot needles were stabbing it. With watering eyes, you screamed in pain. You knew the spray was supposed to help, but it seemed to enhance the throbbing pain in your side.
“Looks like your patient is awake.” Shoko chuckled on the phone Satoru held. The pain made you try to curl in on yourself just to have your boyfriend stop you. “I’ll let you guys go. See you in the morning.”
“Bye, thanks, Shoko.” the second you heard the FaceTime call, cerulean eyes met you. “Soo, you wanna try telling us how your mission went again?”
“N-No.”
“Ooh, she said no, Suguru.”
“That she did. Do you want to tell her?”
Your white-haired boyfriend shook his head, a sinister smile on his face. “No, I know you were looking forward to it.” Suguru’s eyes were shut as he gave you a gentle smile that wasn’t gentle in the slightest.
“Did you seriously think Shoko wouldn't call us and tell us about your injury?”
It feels like your house crashes around you. “That traitor.” Your wound receives another spray of antiseptic. “Ow fuck! What was that for?!” Suguru continues to smile, the smile that always scares the loving shit out of you.
“You heard Shoko, I need to make sure it’s clean.”
Satoru is by your side in an instant. “Why wouldn’t you tell us what happened? Did you think we were going to yell at you or something?” You bark out a laugh, giving them a look of disbelief.
“Yes! I made a rookie mistake. Regardless of how it happened, it ended with me leaving myself wide open and getting hurt in the process. I know that this one.” Suguru hums in response. He cleans up the bloodied gauze around you. “Is going to make me train with him. And you aren’t going to let me go on any missions by myself.”
“You’re right about one thing: you will be training with me every morning for a week.” Suguru pats you on the head.
“But you’re wrong about me going to higher-ups. I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself; you had an accident. You’re not the first sorcerer to get injured on the job.”
“Wait, seriously?”
Both your partners exchange a look with each other. “Yeah, we aren’t going to lock you in the apartment and not allow you to go out. You’re strong, but you shouldn’t have lied to us.” Suguru gently strokes your hair back. “So in the future, if you happen to get hurt, just be honest about it. You wouldn’t like it if Satoru or I hid something like that from you, would you?” They watch as you shake your head.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I won’t ever keep something like that from you guys again.”
“Good,” Suguru kisses your forehead as Satoru lies beside you on the bed. “but just because you apologized doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods yet.”
“Huh?”
Satoru claps his hands together above his head, drawing your attention. “Sex ban for a week.” If your side wasn’t screaming in pain, you would have sat up.
“S-Sex ban?! Why?! Shoko will have me all healed up tomorrow!”
“Your side might be healed, but our hearts are still wounded.” Faux sorrow is thick in Satoru’s voice.
“L-Let’s be reasonable about this! I haven’t seen you guys in like a week! I need you both!”
The sound of things being thrown in a trashcan draws your attention. “Should have thought about that before you lied to us. For the next week, you’re training with me; in that time, neither me nor Satoru will touch. You’re not even allowed to touch yourself. Princess, you’ll have to suffer and watch us go at it.” Satoru scrambles off the bed, throwing himself at Suguru, his delicate pink lips pressing against your boyfriend's. “It’s a shame, too, because you sounded like you were having a great time when you passed out earlier.” You helplessly lay in bed, watching your boyfriends make out with each other.
You never hid another injury from them after that torturous week.
Nanami Kento:
“Ow, ow, ow.” You gingerly touch the gash on the back of your head. It throbbed in pain to the point it was making you dizzy. You had Nitta glue it shut with the first aid kit from her car, ignoring her pleas to call Nanami and go to the hospital. The gash itself wasn’t a big deal. So, there is no point in calling Nanami on his day off. It could wait until Shoko was back at school.
A cursed spirit got too zealous and threw you against a metal gate. The impact had you seeing stars, but you quickly shook it off and finished your mission. The wound would be another addition to the scars you had gained over the years. A superficial cut was something your boyfriend did not need to worry about or get involved in. The only thing he needed to do was lose himself in his book.
Reading was precisely what he was doing as you stepped into the apartment. Nanami’s legs were propped up on the ottoman, his eyes roaming over the pages of the book he had eagerly awaited. The gentle smile on his face as he sipped tea was the only clarification you needed to know you had made the right choice and not bothering him.
“I’m home!” You announced, kicking your shoes off before collapsing on the couch beside him.
“Welcome back.” Nanami laid his book down on his chest, allowing him to kiss you gently. “How did the mission go?”
“Easy, I’m happy to be home.”
“I'm happy to have you home. I was pretty lonely and bored.”
“Lonely and bored? Is your book not that good? You’ve been so eager to read it for weeks.”
“Oh, it’s good, I missed—” his lips move, but a sharp ringing in your ears drowns him out. He notices the blank look as you try to pinpoint what he said. “Love?”
“Hmm?” Play it cool, play cool.
“I asked you a question.”
Well, playing it cool might not be as easy as you thought. “I’m sorry I’m a little out of it. What did you say, Ken?” The questioning look in his eyes lets you know he’s on to you. Damn him for being so perspective.
“I said I missed you and asked if you wanted to lie down on my lap while I read.”
“Oh! Sure, of course.”
You rest your head in Nanami’s lap, making sure your gash isn’t anywhere close to him. Your husband notices the awkward way you lie down, as if your head is tender to the touch, but he doesn’t say anything. He lifts his book while his free hand gently strokes the top of your head.
Each time he pulls his hand back, you stiffen in fear that he’ll graze over your wound. He doesn’t come close, though. Nanami focuses his strokes solely on the crown of your head. Usually, you would have called asleep and could fall asleep, and you would have if it weren't for the pulsing, pounding pressure that begins to build in your head. You choke back, pained groans, and whine, not wanting Nanami to know what’s going on.
The pressure continues to build, and nausea swirls in the pit of your stomach. Ringing in ears, headache, and nausea put the three together, along with a head wound, and you don’t even need a doctor to tell you what’s wrong. Most likely, you have a concussion, and it’s a bad one.
You should have listened to Nitta and went to the hospital. Getting checked out right now was probably a good idea, but how could you tell your boyfriend now? ‘Oh, my brain got scrambled by a cursed spirit and failed to mention it to you. Could you maybe take me to the hospital?’ Yeah, that was a conversation destined to end in an argument or lecture, both if you were lucky. If Shoko hurried up, you might have been able to sneak out to meet her at the school.
“Love.” Your husband whispers. “You’re trembling, and you keep wincing. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’m—” Nanami holds his hand out in front of your face. His palm is coated red with blood.
“You’ve already lied to me once, so do not do it again.”
“Ooh, I’m bleeding.” You try to sit up, but your body falls forward as dizziness overwhelms you. Nanami catches you, lifting you into his arms. “The blood is supposed to be inside of my body.”
You blink slowly as Kento rushes out of your apartment. There are blurred shapes and muffled voices as you’re treated in the hospital; you feel disoriented like you’re high. Your husband's hand holding yours is the one comforting sensation that grounds you.
His thumb rubs comforting circles over your knuckles. His deep, soothing voice talks to you, shushing your pained cries as the back of your head is stitched shut. And his smell engulfs you as you lay together in the hospital bed.
Once the room clears, you look towards your husband, who stares ahead with an unreadable expression. The instant he feels your eyes on him, his head jerks in your direction. That unreadable expression shifts into a look of anger and disappointment. You were royally fucked.
“Ten stitches.” An audible gulp sounds from you. “The doctor had to put ten stitches because your makeshift patch job failed.”
“It was only—”
“Stop talking, do not interrupt me.” Oh, he was pissed, and you felt like you were five inches tall as you snapped your mouth shut. “I called Nitta to find out she told you to call me, but you insisted on not bothering me on my day off. When have I ever in our entire relationship made you feel as though I’m not available on my days off?”
“You haven't.”
“Then tell me why you wouldn’t have called me.”
“I-I didn’t wanna be a bother. You work so hard you deserve to relax on your days off.”
Kento turns so he’s facing you, fingers gently holding your chin. “Just because I have a day off does not mean I am incapable of caring for my wife.” The anger that burned in his brown iris shifted to sadness and concern. “Do I make myself clear? We don’t hide stuff like injuries from each other.”
He had every right to be angry. If he had hidden the injury from you, you would’ve reacted the same way. Hiccups bubble in your chest as you softly cry. Nanami’s grip on your chin slides up to your cheek fingers, gently brushing away the falling tears.
“I'm sorry, Kento, I should’ve talked to you.” His lips kiss away the last lingering tears. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you for apologizing. Are you okay now? You're not in pain, are you?”
“No, I'm just drained.”
Nanami peered at the clock on the wall. “Go ahead and get some rest. I’ll wake you in about an hour to check on you.” His warm and gentle voice has you drifting to sleep.
“I love you, Kento.”
“I love you too, darling.”
Choso Kamo:
“Ew, do you think it’s broken? It shouldn’t look like that.” Nobara cringes as Megumi and Yuuji help ease you onto a bench.
“It’s just a sprain.”
“I don’t know, but it’s already swelling.” Megumi’s blue eyes lock on your ankle. “I might be broken.”
Yuuji is biting down on his knuckle, glancing between your ankle and face. “My brother is going to kill me.” You were going to kill the three of them if they didn’t give you some space to breathe.
“It’s not broken. I assure you of that, and Choso will not kill you.”
What had started as a typical training session had turned into a full-on brawl. One that ended with you getting kicked so hard you stumbled back ten yards just to roll your ankle. None of your students were at fault; if anyone was, you encouraged them to go at you with full strength.
“Look, just do me a favor, okay? Do not mention this to Gojo. The bastard will never let me live it down, and if you see Choso, don’t mention it to him either.”
“Should we just go grab Ieri for you?” Megumi glanced back at your ankle, which was already starting to bruise.
Oh, if only life were. “She has today off, and I refuse to bug her with some so Minuscule; I’ll be fine until tomorrow.” Skepticism painted the features of your students. “I’m fine. Go wash up. Class dismissed.” None of them moved like they were waiting to see if one of the three would fight you on your decision. There was hesitation in their features, so you mustered the best mom look you could.
One that terrified them more than a curse.
“Right, right! Later!” Yuuji was the first to take off, running down the path. Taking a second glance at you was all your other students needed to follow close behind him.
You sat there on the bench, looking up at the sky. All you needed was a few minutes to yourself before you attempted to head back. But those few minutes turned into an hour. Not because you got tired or lost track of time. No, it was because when you tried to get up, your ankle protested at the weight you put on it.
Maybe it wasn’t a minor sprain like you thought.
Regrets of your choices in the last hour lingered like cheap perfume. You had no phone, no students to help you, and there was no one to come to your rescue. Your only choices were to crawl back to the teacher dorms or wait for a soul to pass by. If no one stopped by, you would have to settle in for a long night
You were about to start crawling, praying Gojo didn’t walk by when a confused “Baby?” Called out from down the trail, drawing your attention in.
Choso was rushing forward, his hair bouncing with each step. “Hi, Cho!” You waved before patting the seat next to you.
“What are you doing here? Gojo said your training session with the kids ended over an hour ago.”
“Oh, I, uhm, just wanted to admire this beautiful day. Take a chance to smell the roses.”
Your boyfriend sat down next to you, his eyes moving to look up at the trees. The sunlight that shone through the branches and leaves caused the rays of sunlight to dance over his handsome face. Taking a deep breath, he shut his eyes and soaked in the sun's warmth.
At that moment, you forgot about the pain in your ankle. He looked so happy; the last thing you wanted to do was ruin his peaceful zen to have him worry about you.
Opening his eyes, he let out a soft sigh before his warm gaze met you. He looked at you like he had when admiring the towering trees above. Damn, your busted ankle; if the numbing pain weren’t so bad, you would’ve kissed him until neither of you could breathe.
“I see you’ve been here. It’s a perfect day.” Yeah, if only he knew the other reason you were sitting on the bench. “As beautiful as the view is, it is getting late. Do you want to head back? Yuuji invited us to go to the movies tonight.”
“Uhm, yeah.” Choso took your hand in his, helping you stand up. “Nngh.” You cry out behind your hand as the pain in your ankles shoots up your leg.
Choso’s warm gaze on you and an. “What’s wrong?” He studies your stance, noting how you put all your weight on your good ankle.
“N-Nothing, I’m just stiff.”
“Really?”
“Mhmm!”
“Okay then.” he pulls his hand away, causing your balance to falter. “Let’s go if you're fine.”
Sweat beads on your forehead, not from the warm day but from the pain. “Alright.” You try to come off as chipper, but your voice betrays you, cracking under the discomfort. “L-Let’s get going! Movies! Yay!” Choso crosses his arms over his chest as he watches you.
Taking one step forward feels like a sore is plunged into your foot. You grit your teeth before taking another step forward, the pain more intense this time, the singular sword suddenly multiplied by ten. Blinking away the tears in your eyes, you attempt to take another step forward, only to stumble.
You brace yourself for the impact that never comes. Choso’s arm is around your waist the second you stumble forward. He can feel your ragged breathing as he eases back onto the bench. His long fingers gently push up your leggings, revealing your swollen and discolored ankle. It seems as though sitting on the bench has made it worse. You knew better than to let it dangle. I.C.E., icing, compressing, and elevating was best for you to do with a sprained ankle. Instead, the swelling was out of control when this could’ve been avoided.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” In your tear-filled gaze, Choso’s eyes are lingering on your face. “Is this the real reason you’ve been sitting here for so long?”
There was no sense in lying, not when you had been caught. “Yes, that’s why I’ve been sitting here. The kids offered to help me, but I was being stubborn.” The sigh that leaves Choso’s mouth is thick with disappointment. “I didn’t bring my phone, or I would have called you eventually.” Your boyfriend moves, turning so his back is facing you.
“Yet when I’m beside you, you still hide it.”
“I-I know, I’m sorry.” You wait for him to get up and leave you stranded on the bench. But instead, he looks over his shoulder at you.
“Well, come on,” he gestures to his back, “get on, we’ll go home, and we’ll take a look at it there,” You do as he says, climbing onto his back. “And up we go.” he stands, allowing you to bury your face into the crook of his neck. He gives you a piggyback ride across campus. Things remain relatively quiet until he sighs. “Baby, next time you get hurt, please tell me. That way, I can help you,” he glances at the corner of his eye. “I know you think you have to do things all on your own, but you don’t when I’m with you.”
Not even a second passed before you bit down gently on his cheek. “I promise I’ll tell you next time. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier. I’m sort of embarrassed that I got taken down by my ankle. I’m a sorcerer, for god's sake.” You give his cheek another nibble, winning shy laughter from him.
“Don't eat me~ how will you get back to the dorm?”
“Crawl?” You suggest, resulting in Choso laughing harder.
“No crawling for my baby, I got you.” and you couldn't have been more content with that.
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CORRECT TAGS‼️‼️‼️‼️ @rn0na-lizard you are so so so correct….. my favorite ‘Normal Girl’ in hmds…….i almost never see anyone talk about these aspects of her let alone also love her for them as they should.
i feel like Leona/ DS lumina gets mischaracterized super often which is understandable bc out of all the DS candidates leona is the least like her ancestor (who i also love, for different reasons).
in AWL lumina was the only kid in the valley for a very long time, but many of the DS residents have lived in the valley their whole lives. while lumina had accepted her role as a proper young heiress by chapter 3 of AWL— and when DS begins Leona already at this point of her life— lumina still had a lingering sense of uncertainty and angst and loneliness and doubt, and unresolved worries about her parents. absolutely none of this is present with leona
in this world leona starts with Lumina’s 22 year old appearance, she’s just rich as hell and living her best life (as she deserves), she’s unabashedly shallow, puts herself first always, speaks so politely and affably yet she can be so casually cruel in the most genuine cute way and out of touch with reality and and i fucking love her and i’d die for her. my beloved girlboss girlkeep girlypop
more iconic Leona Moments
when muu/muffy asks for beauty advice leona’s recommendation is “this brand of mail order beauty cream is simply divine! and it was quite inexpensive too, just 100,000 G 🥰” everyone else looks uncomfortable and muu is like “you’re as frivolous as always….”
aside from the 3 who take literally half your money (Witch💖, moi, and thomas) leona and panama (romana) take the most money from you if they carry you home when you faint. just a couple of girl bosses holding on to their girlpire (btw shout out to sebastian, the only resident in the entire valley who carries you home for free)
neither panama nor leona attend the harvest festival, they send sebastian there by himself to test the food first lmao (if you poison it like the witch they’re harboring on their property requires you to do, sebastian is just like “i can’t serve this to Mistress Panama…”)
once again sebastian attacks mukumuku for her sake, this time not to make her a paintbrush but she told him to get her the best slippers and this was apparently the easiest way. sebastian gets fucking mauled btw
leona has hands down the best romance route in hmds. all her scenes are incredible but god the slow burn friends to lovers with your DVD player….
in her purple heart event she shows up at your house because she heard you have a DVD player, asks you to show her how it works, and then just leaves after she’s done playing with it
in her yellow heart event she has sebastian fetch van so she can buy a DVD player for herself but van’s like “i’m so sorry …. Pete… bought the last one….”
leona is so unable to stomach the idea of other people having things she doesn’t that she starts to cry and the only way to placate her is to tell her she can go to your house anytime she wants just so she can use your DVD player. that’s not a setup to a budding romance that’s her final heart event
it’s the most incredible romance arc in the world like girl you have infinite money you can just. buy a DVD player somewhere else?? “i want to watch DVDs at my house just like you!” leona you have three entire bedrooms
“rich girl love interest who has everything except love, win her heart by having genuine conversation with her”: done to death, tired, i don’t have time for that
“rich girl love interest who has everything except a fucking DVD player, win her heart by giving her expensive stuff and ‘relax tea’ and access to your DVD player”: audacious, intriguing, never been done before, innovative
if you deny her god-given right to access your DVD player she is like “Is that so……………Just let me be alone for a little bit.” incredible tragedy i understand. take as much time as you need to grieve darling
oh but her first heart event asks you to pick a side in an argument she’s having with panama and the correct answer is to say “sebastian is the one who’s wrong” (sebastian has said nothing wrong this whole time and yet both of them have just been yelling at him to shut up)
and her blue heart event is “help me find this heirloom necklace… boohoo…” and when you find it she’s like “perfect! now grandma won’t get mad at me. hmm, you seem pretty dependable…♡” augh she’s way too good at this…….!!! i’ll do anything for you!
when you propose she says “of course, i always dreamed of having a romance and a wedding♡” and says nothing abt how she feels about you <3
also if you marry her, once a week she goes to hang out at her ex love interest’s place for 6 hours straight and comes home saying “whew… i had so much fun that i must have lost track of time… i’ll hurry on home”
if you marry another girl she starts flirting with you like “I’m so envious of your wife, having such a fine husband… Pete.” (or whatever your name is)
i’ve become obsessed with her and romeo’s horrible trainwreck soap opera marriage since replaying cute in jp… it’s SO… i have so much to say about them that it should be its own post but i’ll just give the cliffnotes
shotgun wedding vibes. romeo is surprised by his own wedding. they’re childhood friends but he himself has never considered marrying her. her words to him at their wedding are “Make me happy♡” (command)
she understandably can’t stand his terrible table manners or his clothes or anything about him (except that she wants to watch him surf and have his child. but he instead walks in circles all day. coward) and he’s both really good at accidentally stepping on landmines and just ever so slightly majorly terrified of her after marriage (“but surely her angry outbursts are just her way of showing love hahahahaha” you’re going to die. she’s going to kill you). the only positive things they say about their marriage are extremely shallow. they can’t communicate with each other because romeo always says the Dumbest Shit obliviously and leona always responds by cutting him out of her life forever!!!!!! (for 5 seconds) while he has no idea what happened
they are both so melodramatic and they both just do nothing except make each other worse and run away from each other and push each other away but they can’t escape each other. neither of them ever has to grow or change if they marry each other because an elderly overworked man is sustaining both of their existences and neither of them can take care of themselves and i love them your honor
also romeo’s first crush as a kid was apparently her mom, and if leona falls for YOU she flirts by mentioning that sebastian says you look like the spitting image of her dead father. dear fucking god
they’re the epitome of “You're both just enabling each other's mental illnesses. You're both perfect for each other. Never change. Just never involve anybody else in what you've got going on.”
romeo really does feel like her stupid lackey. like the karen to her regina. they even had this dynamic in the games they played as kids… she was the Harvest Goddess and he was Servant A/Minion A (they might still be playing this game as adults…he calls her lady/mistress sometimes after marriage…)
btw leona’s best friend (wife) marivia is also just as… there’s an event where they just gossip about all the mineral town ppl and marivia says ann would win a gluttony contest and they both giggle
there’s also an event where marivia casually walks into Witch’s hut and just interviews her so she can write her into a novel. witch is left completely drained by this exchange. leona and marivia both are so chill about the horrible cruel villainess living in leona’s shed who wants the town poisoned and rewards you for killing animals and hurting yourself and is putting curses on everyone (and they’re right. she’s never done anything wrong in her life)
#i also feel like leona and marivia summoned Witch (just girlypop things summoning hot evil ladies from hell)#i’m a marivia x leona x witch truther. the evidence is out there. evil yuri triad (real)#i also love to believe that witch is fucking with all the rival couples in the valley but ESPECIALLY romeo x leona#since she’s petty about her crush (leona) choosing the village idiot of all people#she can’t affect gustafa and nami because gustafa is like a garden gnome type that wards away evil#leona would make coquette edits of phantom skye/steiner#man i really have a lot of overlapping ships but i just like thinking about everyone together in some way#marivia was interviewing witch for a girls love leona x witch sequel in that series she wrote that has the main character based on leona#(this was revealed to me in a dream)#bokumono#harvest moon ds#hmds#harvest moon#story of seasons#hmds leona#hmds lumina#i’m sorry for going ham about your tags i promise i’m normal#^_−☆#hmds cute#i feel like everyone collectively forgot what hmds was like which is understandable because it’s a fever dream#or maybe we misremembered it from our childhoods#but replaying the girl and boy versions in english and japanese has really refreshed my views on the characters#i have so much to say about everyone mostly the rival couples#love the dysfunction and bad vibes in this game#poisoned water supply type of townsfolk#girls hour (meet up in the mines to beat each other up and slaughter various animals and humanoids to eat)#it’s such an evil game#haunted by natsume malware ghosts
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can you do something like curtis sister and dallas hookup after they all go to the drive in (like in the movie) and johnny and ponyboy come to bucks after they killed bob?
Hopefully this makes sense...
Sorry for responding so late😭 life hasn’t been lifing🤮
Stuck in shock.
You had left the drive-in in a silent rage. Dallas, the guy you had liked him for years! All that love you had for him.. would never be reciprocated. Instead, he’d just try and hookup with some redhead soc in front of you. You had to leave.
You sat down on a random street curb after running for so long. You were tired. A few moments later, you see him— Dallas. He looks mad too as he grimaced and walked down the streets. You used your hair to hide your face, but he noticed you.
“Curtis. Why’re you all lonesome?” he asked. You looked up at him in disbelief. You looked back down at the ground and shrugged. He scoffed. “Get up, you need to be home.”
“Just leave me alone, Dallas.” you plead in annoyance. He scrunched his eyebrows.
“Why’re you being so bitchy?” he paused, “you on your time of the month?” he jeered. You got up.
“Shut up.” you said as you pushed past him. He grabbed your arm.
“What’s up with you?” he pushed.
“What’s wrong with me? Maybe the fact that I’ve liked you for years and every single time you flirted with other broads and do shit in front of me! How would you feel if the girl you liked constantly went after other guys in front of you?!” you blurted. He was quiet for a while and you looked away, trying to hide your tears. “I shouldn’t have said that.” you said quietly before turning around to walk away.
“Hey, ‘m sorry doll.” he called out. You stopped. Love blinded you alright. You turned around to face him. He put an arm around you. “It’s late, let’s stay at my place.”
—TW: underage smex?—
You were now in Dallas’ room at Bucks. More importantly, under him in his bed. He broke you both’s kiss and thrusted into you.
“Fuck, Dal!” you squealed. He grunted as he hit that sweet spot.
“You like that?” he taunted. You frantically nodded as he pushed hissed fully in. The bed started to shake as he pounded into you. He had a rubber on, but it felt real, it felt raw.
That was all stopped when there was a knock on the door. Dallas assumed it was Buck.
“‘M busy!” he yelled in response before looking back down on you and winked. “Shit.. you wanna get caught? Being loud?” he teased.
All of the sudden the door swung open. It was Buck alright, but behind him was Ponyboy, your little brother, and Johnny Cade. Dallas quickly threw his thin bed sheets over the two of you. It was too late.
Ponyboy stood there, drenched, frightened, and now pissed. He had just been jumped, witnessed a murder, and now walking in on his sister getting fucked by his ‘friend’.
Johnny stood there in shock as well. But now wasn’t the time to stress about this, he had way worse on his plate.
“Listen Dal, we need you right now. So I’m not gonna bring up this. But this is fucked up, why would you do this to me?” Ponyboy croaked. You stayed under the sheets.
“I think you don’t gotta hide, Doll.” Dallas whispered. Fuck.
#kylietellsજ⁀➴₊⊹ 🎀#curtis gang#dallas winston#ponyboy curtis#the outsiders#darry curtis#johnny cade#sodapop curtis#two bit mathews#curtis sister imagine
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#seeing so many people be hateful to zayn after what he said in the podcast about 1D and leaving and honestly.#leave him the fuck alone i’m so tired of it#this is mostly on twitter but yeah lmao#it’s been EIGHT YEARS
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This is eating me up inside, I genuinely want to know why is Steve so okay with putting himself down and everyone just thinks it’s fine? Like no one questions why he thinks so lowly of himself even though he’s done a lot to prove that he’s more than what the show let on. I think it’s weird how in a conversation he’ll slip in comments about himself that are negative. I also think it’s so gross that he can’t have a moment of confusion without being disrespected and I know it’s supposed to be funny but at a certain point someone should really ask “is Steve okay?” I can bet money that the answer won’t be yes.
I also want to add how come Eddie (someone who doesn’t even know Steve from a can of paint other than school) find something nice to say about him and not put him down. This also adds to my list why I think steddie is real but that’s for another time
#steve Harrington#leave him the fuck alone#I’m sick of it#yes i’m ranting#this is a rant#he deserves everything#he deserves the world#he just like me fr#oop#this hits home#i’m so upset#i’m sorry for this#i’m a mess#i’m sleepy#I’m tired#idk what this is#man idk#i’m just venting#stranger things#manifesting#power#please#come on#idk what else to tag#help lol#welp#that’s all#that’s it#steddie#Eddie munson
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I deserve not even you
#holds him up by the armpits#ohh he got a little fucked up just a little fucked up but that’s a babygirl congratulations!#this piece has been a fucking struggle#not because it was necessarily hard#(the horse was fucking hard)#but because of exams#i started it back in like october#and then the other day i loft my apple pencil#and i had to leave for school for a few days and i really wanted to finish this so i got sad#and then i remembered my display tablet is in the city#so i finished this on photoshop while listening to adam beed lol#he’s so himbo#anyway#do you ever think about how alone diluc was and had absolutely no one to turn to when he got hurt#goodbye#diluc#genshin impact#diluc fanart#just a bro and his horse fr#i’m too tired to talk more about my thoughts behind this i just finished exams i’m a wet noodle#digital art#my art#genshin
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2024 is kicking my ass already ??? bro like fucking come on
#my heart is so heavy I just need a break#I’m so tired and stressed and anxious constantly#it’s like the pit in my stomach has embedded itself in there and the tightness in my chest won’t leave#I either sleep all day or not at all. I can’t eat. I can’t function. I just want some fucking peace#I had a meltdown for like 4 fucking hours during a bad bipolar episode last night and nearly sabotaged my relationship because I’m terrified#of everything. of leaving. of being alone. of having to rely on him and him only. I’m scared to do this but I want to#I’m excited to leave and start over but I am absolutely freaking the fuck out about it
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dreamy can you please explain this whole "scandal" to me? i didn't want chan's room this week because finals and i only trust you to catch me up.
why exactly are people trying to vilify him?
what artist did he "upset"? i read the apology but none of it makes sense to me. 😩😩
basically he, like MANY other idols commented on the fact that some newer idols don’t show respect to older idols by greeting them at music shows and events (this is literally korean culture showing respect to seniors) and he was like idk maybe i’m being a boomer but i don’t like it and now a bunch of fucking asshats have bitched and moaned because their idols are shitheads and they know it (because chris didn’t name and groups these stans just know their idols are the assholes who can’t be respectful) he had to apologize for saying something about it. he is a million percent right because they are at WORK and you are supposed to in every culture show respect to seniors at work and these dipshits think they don’t have to. a bunch of other groups have commented on this and no one bullied them to the point where they had to apologize for being right. sorry this is coming off mean i’m just so mad. the hat chris gets for breathing is so fucking insane some ppl should just learn to shut the fuck up and accept when your idols are being criticized for something they did wrong. no one has more respect for idols or people in general than chris, so if he’s saying something it has to be worth saying.
#I am literally at the point where I’m gonna start blocking people#for saying literally anything mean about him at all. I’m so tired of it.#I’m tired of him being treated so disrespectfully when never does anything#even silly goofy haha shit i’m over#leave the man alone for fuck sake#drm.ask#anon#i’m sorry this is angry anon u know i do not mean it toward you🖤
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rant in the tags
#LEAVE MY FUCKING MAN ALONE BITCH#GET YOUR OWN#I DONT GIVE ONE FUCK THAT YALL ARE WORK PARTNERS#YOU HAVE NO BUISNESS TEXTING AND SNAPCHATTING A MARRIED MAN EVERY FUCKING DAY#I TRUST HIM BUT I DONT FUCKING TRUST YOU ONE BIT#I HAVE A BAD GUT FEELING ABOUT YOU AND I HAVE SINCE YOU WERE FIRST MENTIONED#YOURE ALWAYS IN HIS NOTIFICATIONS AND IF I COULD DELETE YOU FROM EXISTENCE I WOULD BITCH#i’m sick of having anxiety attacks thinking about this. nothing triggers it more than this currently and i hate it i’m so tired#i feel so much anxiety and anger and jealousy and hatred and sadness thinking about this i just need to rant#i’m trying not to be controlling about it and let him be friends with whoever he wants to#but fucking hell it’s so hard when he talks about her and when i see that she’s texted him yet again#and it just sucks feeling this way#bean talks#delete later maybe#edit: for the anons i got#saying to just talk to him#i have already talked to him about it before and he knows my feelings about it#he is NOT the bad guy
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I fucking can’t today
#Im tired and overwhelmed and I’m so sick of being the only responsible person in my house#I can’t even do my fucking school work because my dog needs food made everyday and my mom said she would start it#so I could finish my math test#then 20 mins later my brothers banging in my door bc my dog needs to go out so I have to stop my test to do that#then I see the dog food hasn’t been started so I need to do that but I have to do the dishes to make that#so I do the dishes then I’m doing the food and my brothers getting food and getting in my way bc he just can’t wait 30 mins#and he leave shit all over the counter that I need so I have to clean up after him while making dog food#then I finally finish the dog food and I’m cleaning the dishes I used when my brother comes over and leaves more dirty dishes#one had shrimp in it and the butters all gross and the smell alone made me want to vomit but I had to clean it#and I’m almost done when my sister comes out and sad that my cat got in my room and killed one of my plants n got dirt everywhere#Plus my dad came home early so now my mom wants me to vacuum#oh and I have to go to the store with her whenever she decided she’s ready to make sure she gets what we need#I’m currently sitting in my bathroom trying to calm down because I’m gonna snap and either kill someone else or myself if I don’t get a#break#And I still need to finish my math test#screaming
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threatened to slit my dads throat 🤪
#personal#i’m going to hell i’m going to hell#he’s having such a hard time#and yes he’s HORRIBLE to care for#and i feel like the worst person ever saying that#but he’s so old and so confused#and i’m so tired but i’m not handling this with any grace#my moms handling this a lot better but i know she’s crying to my brother#my dad hates and fears me bc i freak out on#god my hands are bleeding#i ran out the house and was nearly falling to the floor for most of the run#i came back and my mom took over which i feel awful for#bc she’s been caring for him all day while i slept#i also talked about how i think i have to sedate myself with weed for the three days i’m with my dad alone#and she supports it bht then i started crying bc i need it everyday#i’m wasting money and getting addicted to something that doesn’t even work for me anymore bc i’m abusing it#anyway mom gave me the night off so imma clean#he called me crazy to my mom and i totally lost it and then threated to kill him#also yelled at him when he told me it’s not gonna work like that after i freaked on him#i was like well? how does it work? do you leave? you can’t even fucking see#and the first yelling was me just screaming i want to help you but you won’t let me god#bc he wanted to sit on the small couch and i had him sitting there#but he kept getting up and insisting he wants the small couch#and i want to be clear im not ignoring his needs we got up and out of the same chair like 5 times#anyway if you go too fast for him he immediately goes like stop and idk just him self ish#and it’s like dad you want to sit but keep standing i can’t do this for 20 minutes straight#and i feel so bad bc it’s worse for him! it is! he’s scared can’t see and just wants help!#but my mom and i can’t do this and she got approval for a home for him and i feel so bad about putting him there#anyway not even 23 but 23 sure is an age
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This episode was better than last but it’s still fuck Ezekiel Lorenzo Reyes atp AND time!
#Mayans mc#mayans mc s5#mayans fx#mayans season 5#ezekiel reyes#Ez Reyes#spoilers!#was it really a shock that it was angel’s block head ass? no#the way I had to fold my arms and shake my head when Ez stepped up to fight that fucking yeti?!!#issac got to fucking go with his whole sob story towards coco like leave the girls alone!!#ez did creeper dirty like I wanna slap his ass so bad wtf are you doing? I’m gonna take this club to heights you’ve never seen?!#more like the depths of hell because that’s where you’re going buddy#been tired of Emily so there’s nothing to comment on there you married this man and he put your sis 6ft under?! it’s time to wrap it up#Hank is so cute! despite the crookedness of the funds I’m happy he can take care of his ma I love him#Alvarez’s wife? a baddie! but his stank ass attitude makes sense just not when it’s messing with home life ofc#the quality time with his son?! made my hug myself so cute! happy Father’s Day indeed!#yeah you can tell I enjoyed this episode lol!
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really gotta assess the anger i have when it comes to my brother
#it eats me up and sits like a fucking boulder in my chest and makes me wanna cry and scream#and tbf i have a good reason for the anger this time#the last 3 days my parents and i have been extensively cleaning the house so he can have his friends over for a friendsgiving this + just#general hanging out and such#and he said he’d help clean but like always he didn’t do shit#we went away to oklahoma bc ✨ social anxiety ✨ but we came back today and the house was a mess lmao (not too much of a mess but yeah)#so we spent sometime before chilling cleaning before he came back with his friends#then we started watching a movie and it was all nice and fun till he came back#(let me be clear. i love his friends. they’re always so nice and fun and aweosme. i’m not mad at them.)#anyway so they come back and then leave again but this time seth stayed back to clean what mess they made#and then we spent another hour (even though i have to sleep at midnight and the movie is 2 hours long) cleaning and while he actually helped#this time it wouldn’t have hurt him to do it by himself after not doing anything for 3 whole days#yeah okay i’m not quite as mad anymore lmao this ranting thing really helped#i think what made me so mad is that he never ever ever helps clean and we’ll beg and all that and he barely does anything#and he’s mean too#and while i spent 6 hours on thanksgiving cleaning he watched fucking lady bird and didn’t lift a hand to help until i begged him to sweep#the entryway#bc my feet hurt and i was tired and had a million other things to do#and mind you my parents were cooking so i had two floors to clean. vaccum. and dust alone.#and idk it’s that + all the shit he’s put me through growing up that i just have inherent rage at him#there’s only so many times i can be mistreated before everything seems like mistreatment
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I saw some people on here asking why it’s not Link doing a solo album and calling Rhett talentless and listen… y’all can stfu with your stupid ass favouritism and go cry at a wall.
#ffs stop#stfu#rhett is plenty talented and doesn’t need y’all to fucking cry cause your favourite little boy link isn’t making his own album#i’m so tired of this#y’all’s favouritism is so disgusting and rude#leave my mans alone and stop hating on him all because you like link best#it’s not a good on you and makes me want to throw you in traffic#preferring one over the other is fine so long as you don’t bring the other down#but some of y’all obviously don’t know how to do that
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