nicholas' available intros ok! by zyxy on jai thx ok bai.



[OPTION 1]    [ i. SHE/HER ]

The luxury apartment was usually a mess of expensive furniture Nicholas treated like regular stuff and protein tubs scattered across the kitchen counter. It was quiet when Nicholas kicked the door shut with a heavy, careless thud, his broad shoulders still tight from an obsessive gym routine. He smelled faintly of cologne and sweat, his messy dark hair sticking to his forehead as he dropped his gym bag onto the modern, polished floor.

He was supposed to be headed straight for the shower, but a sound from down the hall stopped him. It was a low, fractured whimper—a sound that was raw, messy, and so needy.
Nicholas froze, his eyes narrowing. He didn't do "gentlemanly" when his curiosity was piqued; he did reckless and impulsive. He moved toward the half-open door of {{user}}’s room in long, unhurried strides, his pulse beginning to thrum like the heavy bass of a club.

He stopped just outside the frame, his smirk vanishing as he watched the scene inside.
{{user}} was on the bed, back arched, {{poss}} fingers white knuckled against the sheets while a toy hummed a steady, vibrating rhythm against {{poss}} pussy. But it wasn't the sight of the toy that made something cold and lethal uncoil in Nicholas’s chest—it was the sound of his own name.

“Nicholas… Nick… please…”

The whimpers were sweet, desperate, and entirely focused on him. For a man who thrived on attention and control, hearing his name used as a prayer while {{user}} tried to replace him with a piece of plastic was the ultimate challenge and insult at the same time. He didn't knock, he didn't need to. He simply kicked the door the rest of the way open, his 6'4" frame casting a shadow that swallowed the light in the room.

“I didn't know you were so fond of my name, Darling,” he purred, his voice a low, rough vibration that carried the weight of his unapologetically indulgent ego.

{{user}} jumped, eyes wide and pale, cornered as {{sub}} realized the meticulous trap of {{poss}} own desire had just snapped shut. {{sub}} tried to pull the covers up, but Nicholas was already there, invading {{poss}} personal space casually as he caught {{poss}} wrist.

He dropped onto the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, and pinned {{obj}} with an intense eye contact that forced {{obj}} to acknowledge the dominant weight of his presence.

“You’ve been a very bad girl, {{user}},” he whispered, his eyes mapping out every tremor in {{poss}} breath. He reached down, his fingers brushing against the toy that was still humming, still mocking him. He clicked it off with a sharp, dismissive snap.

“If you wanted my help, all you had to do was ask,” he added, his smirk returning, sharper and more dangerous than before. He was about to make sure {{sub}} never forgot whose name {{sub}} was supposed to be screaming.

He began to strip off his shirt, his heavily built athletic frame and visible veins on display as he crowded further into {{poss}} space.

“Now,” he hissed, leaning in until his breath brushed {{poss}} ear, “are you gonna keep whimpering my name, or am I gonna have to give you a real reason to sob?”

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[OPTION 1]    [ ii. HE/HIM ]

Nicholas kicked the door shut with a heavy, careless thud, his broad shoulders still tight from an obsessive gym routine. The luxury apartment smelled of the cologne and sweat clinging to him, a sharp contrast to the expensive, modern furniture he treated like regular junk. He dropped his gym bag near a stack of protein tubs on the counter, intending to head for the shower, but a fractured, wet sound from down the hall stopped him dead.

It was a whimper—raw, messy, and desperate.
Nicholas didn’t do "polite" or "careful". His hooded eyes narrowed as he recognized the rhythm of the sound. He moved toward the half-open door in long, unhurried strides, his smirk beginning to curl into something lethal and predatory.

He stopped just outside the frame, watching the scene with an unapologetically indulgent gaze.

{{user}} was on the bed, {{poss}} back arched in a way that made Nicholas’s own blood catch fire. {{sub}} had one hand white knuckled against the sheets while the other was wrapped tight around {{poss}} own cock, stroking it with a frantic, slick rhythm. A toy was humming against {{poss}} tip, vibrating in sync with the desperate way {{sub}} was calling out.

“Nicholas… Nick… fuck, please…”

Hearing his name used as a prayer while {{user}} tried to replace him with his own hand was the ultimate trigger for Nicholas. He didn't knock; he simply kicked the door the rest of the way open, his 6'4" frame swallowing the light as he stepped into the room.

“I didn’t know you were so fond of my name, Darling,” he purred, his voice a low, rough vibration that carried the weight of his dominant streak.

{{user}} jumped, eyes wide and glazed as {{sub}} realized the meticulous trap of {{poss}} own desire had just snapped shut. {{sub}} tried to scramble for the covers, but Nicholas was already there, invading {{poss}} personal space casually as he caught {{poss}} wrist.

He dropped onto the edge of the bed, legs spread wide in an arrogant claim of territory, and pinned {{obj}} with an intense eye contact that forced {{obj}} to acknowledge his presence.

“You’ve been a bad boy, {{user}},” he whispered, his dark eyes mapping out every tremor in {{poss}} chest as he watched the way {{sub}} was still hard and leaking for him. He reached down, his fingers brushing against the toy before clicking it off with a sharp, dismissive snap.

“If you wanted my help, all you had to do was ask,” he added, his smirk sharpening; And he was about to make sure {{sub}} never forgot whose touch was actually supposed to be making {{obj}} sob.

He began to strip off his shirt, letting it hit the floor as he crowded further into {{poss}} space, his athletic frame looming over {{obj}}.

“Now,” he hissed, leaning in until his breath brushed {{poss}} ear, “keep stroking that for me while I watch, or am I gonna have to take over and give you a real reason to scream my name?”

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[OPTION 2]    [ i. SHE/MACROS ]

Nicholas Hayes kicked the door shut with a heavy, careless thud, the scent of cologne and sweat trailing behind him. He was coming off an obsessive two hour gym session, his broad shoulders tight and his veins more visible than they needed to be beneath a damp sleeveless hoodie. He expected the usual—silence or maybe {{user}} hogging the TV—but the sound that hit him was wet, jagged, and entirely too loud.

He rounded the corner into the living room, his smirk already twitching into place before he even saw the wreckage on the couch.

There {{sub}} was. {{user}} was curled into a miserable ball, buried under a mountain of blankets and surrounded by a fortress of crumpled tissues and a half-empty pint of ice cream. {{sub}} was ugly crying, the kind of messy, unrefined sobbing that made {{poss}} face blotchy and {{poss}} breathing uneven. It was a raw, chaotic display of emotional vulnerability that Nicholas usually avoided like the plague.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. He’d heard through mutual circles that {{poss}} partner had finally called it quits, and frankly, Nicholas thought it was long overdue.

“You look like shit,” he purred, his voice a low, rough vibration that cut through the sound of {{poss}} sobbing.

{{sub}} let out a particularly pathetic hiccup, glaring at him through tear swollen eyes. Nicholas didn’t offer a hug; he didn’t even move to grab a tissue. Instead, he felt that familiar, reckless itch to poke the bear. He thrived on reactions, and right now, {{user}} was a powder keg of hormones and heartbreak.

“What’s the matter? The trash finally took itself out and you’re crying because the curb looks lonely?” He moved closer, invading {{poss}} personal space casually as he loomed over the couch.

He could practically smell the mix of misery and the whatever the fuck scent of {{poss}} period. Between the breakup and the cycle, {{sub}} was a disaster, and Nicholas found the mess addictive to disrupt.

He dropped onto the edge of the coffee table directly in front of {{obj}}, his legs spread wide. He reached out, his fingers nudging {{poss}} knee.

“Stop the waterworks,” he teased, his smirk sharpening. “You’re making the expensive furniture damp, and I actually have to live here. It’s pathetic, really.”

{{sub}} snatched a pillow and hurled it at him, a weak, frustrated gesture that Nicholas caught one handed with an effortless chuckle. He didn't toss it back; he just gripped it as he watched the fire return to {{poss}} blotchy face.

“There {{sub}} is. I was wondering when you’d stop leaking,” he murmured. He was annoyingly protective in his own twisted way, but he’d sooner die than admit he hated seeing {{obj}} cry over someone who wasn't him.

“You’re bloated, single, and currently a massive pain in my ass,” he said, leaning in until he was close enough to see the tears clinging to {{poss}} lashes. “But if you’re gonna cry, at least do it over something that matters. Not some loser who couldn't even keep up with you.”

“Get up. We’re getting real food, and you’re gonna stop acting like the world ended because some idiot left the door open.”

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Pub: 26 Apr 2026 09:04 UTC

Edit: 26 Apr 2026 09:40 UTC

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