#⸝⸝ ⁰⁰⁵ : intoxicated with forbidden knowledge

[saishuu-heiki-a]

A CHILD IN HIS MOTHER'S ARMS .

Knowledge proved a butcher's cleaver , and his existence was split in half ; a morbid sight of split skull , peeled flesh , and cooked blood staining everything which had been pristine for so many years. The silver general turned a crimson madman. From the moment Sephiroth became fragmented , he knew there was no remedy to the peeling of his nerves and the implosion of an already very malnourished heart. The Lifestream contradicted all expectation — or it could have been the last tender moment provided by death's warm hand. Were the people of Nibelheim provided such a kindness? That was the thing about death , no one could return to speak to the mortals about the passing from life to death.

Meeting Jenova , having a sword penetrate his chest at the hands of some weakling , and plunging into the Lifestream . . in a blink of an eye there was no stench of burning wood and flesh , and the bloody void in his chest was entirely healed. The leather of his uniform vest was stitched anew as it had been for countless years , as impenetrable as the man who donned the garb. However Sephiroth's surroundings were unlike everything he knew on Gaia ; even the feeling of being alive and conscious was otherworldly , ethereal perhaps. And that feeling of queer , cloudy wonderment preceded warm hands touching his face and eyes meeting a welcoming smile befitting an angel.

The man and woman held no common characteristics save for the complexion of their flesh and perhaps the shape of their heads , yet the affection which radiated brighter than the sun's rays reached a divine or supernatural plane — he knew her , rather she knew him. Tears caught whatever source of light was present in this world they found themselves in ; nestled gently at the edges of her eyes as her hands found no qualms cupping his cheeks with an electric fondness. So tender the action , Sephiroth no longer felt a monster , a weapon , or even a man , but a normal human child sinking into the kind of adoration only a mother could provide. He dwarfed her figure. Her arms had to fully stretch to in order to touch his face even with his head ducking down to melt into the touch.

" You're here. " The mother's tone was hoarse from the flood of emotion yet still twinkled pleasantly like gentle rain in the aftermath of a severe drought. " How are you . . Why . . If you're here , that means . . " When turbulent worry threatened to shatter the peace , Sephiroth nuzzled his face against the softness of her palm as lips found a genuine and natural smile.

❛ It's alright. I'm alright. I'm here with you. ❜

Words broke the boundary of calm , and the brunette woman dropped her hands to wrap them around his broad body. He hunched his shoulders and , too , wrapped his arms around her much smaller body. She was completely enveloped by a murderer and weapon , yet in the present his sins were suddenly absolved.

" My baby. My baby boy. " The truth of his conception had only been a semi-truth after all , and it had drove him to kill mercilessly. Jenova was not his mother. This was his mother ; a woman of complete compassion and tenderness. A woman who cried for her son , and in turn he was a son who cried for the mother he never had. The warmth of her body and light surrounding them amplified and amplified by the second . . until his arms were holding onto nothing and the Lifesstream washed away all traces of tears.

❛ Mother . . . ❜ What a nice dream it had been.

[saishuu-heiki]

Hair harbors great cultural meaning , though hair style and the meaning behind it has changed throughout the centuries and varies between men and women. In general , the cutting of hair is often viewed as monumental. This does not include regular trimmings naturally. The purposeful cleaving of one's hair signifies the ending of one chapter and the beginning of another. Change. Transformation. A warrior having his hair cut against their will in some instances signifies losing a battle or being stripped of manhood. Of course Sephiroth does not change for the better following his revelations in Nibelheim , but a transformation does not have to be positive for it to hold importance. It's hair , so what? Someone could argue. But if we look into the original Japanese voice acting , it is not just his personality and motives which change ; they purposefully changed his speech manners to signify how Sephiroth has become a totally different person.

I am merely adding an additional layer to this. Should he become totally monstrous and unrecognizable? Surely not. The best monsters are those who appear normal and could be mistaken for sane persons. This heroic and beautiful image of the one-winged angel forever became transformed. As stated previously , the imagery of Sephiroth walking through fire is undoubtly very appealing in its eeriness , but it's also unlikely he would have been unscathed. Having his hair signed and burned not only physically demonstrates the literal corruption of his soul / morality , it also demonstrates that a , Sephiroth was ripped of choice and b , he lost a battle . . a battle with his sanity. In summary , there are two layers to this : people's manipulations breaking and corrupting Sephiroth , and Sephiroth undergoing a metamorphosis by his own hand as well. Hair can also signify life and longevity , and considering how many lives he took that fateful day , this is also fitting. Life corrupted and killed.

At one point in his life after obtaining the masamune , he silently swore to himself he would only give up his weapon when a worthy opponent defeated him in honourable battle. This does not come to be as Sephiroth's morals , goals , and honour are completely tarnished.

Regarding hair cleanliness and people touching it , he does not like when people touch it or try to touch it. He knows the affect he has on people and the many fans he has across Gaia. There have been rookies who sorely attempted to get a clipping of his hair for their private collection , others have sought to sell his hair for profit. Typically people are too intimidated to try anything , but people have tried to take pictures of him and touch him without his permission. He understands that his hair type is rare , but that does not excuse intruding in personal space and being disrespectful.

I have no outwards oppositions with the Silver Elite fanclub . . at least not when it comes to his hair. If someone wants to think his hair smells delicious , fine. I won't oppose it. Is it likely he uses an entire bottle of shampoo and conditioner per shower? Sure , though Sephiroth does not strike me as the kind of person who uses conditioner. I do believe his hair is naturally straight and silky , and he would probably use a single bar of some sort of cleanser to both shampoo and condition. More or less the kinds of products people used hundreds of years ago ; naturally derived and all of that. Who would even know of that anyway? Someone ( a Shinra employee ) would have to watch Sephiroth shower and post that information.

[nana-au]

𝐈 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄...

 𝜗𝜚 Satoru Gojo Prince AU ♡ part four

 𝜗𝜚 Summary: satoru has an announcement to make to the royal court. you don't think you could've ever prepare yourself for what it could be. the two of you see each other after months of no contact and the result is bitter sweet. story summary based off of this drabble

𝜗𝜚 Warnings: forbidden love, unspoken feelings, heavy angst, intense emotions, suggestive flirting, heated make out, cussing, depression symptoms, misguided anger, jealousy.

 𝜗𝜚 wc: 4,323

𝜗𝜚 an: there is a surprise guest from the jjk cast being introduced.. heh. dw he is just for the story and holds no interest in reader.

┊p1┊p2┊p3┊p4┊𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠... p5┊

“How do you like kitchen duty, my dear?” the Queen asks, the royal blue wallpaper of her study behind her head seems to shift like the ocean waves; rising and falling - dancing in the reflection of your pupils as your tea is poured for you. With a wave of her hand the Queen’s servant is dismissed and it’s just the two of you alone. The silence is unsettling as much as it is intoxicating. The kitchen is noisy - pots and pans clanging together, the repeated motion of knife hitting cutting board, and the bubbling sounds of a roiling boil. But then there is your room at night; the bed you climb into is decently soft and the covers keep you warm enough but you’re missing the noise of Satoru’s words. Before everything changed you would lay awake and replay every conversation with the Prince; your heart would pound remembering every brush of his hand or intense gaze he didn’t bother to hide. Instead now even your own thoughts have quieted, leaving your night void of any stimulation. 

“It’s been pleasant,” you respond, blowing on the hot tea you’ve brought to your lips. You don’t try very hard to sound convincing but if the Queen notices she doesn’t comment on it. 

“I’ve heard you have been getting pretty close to one of the men in the kitchen,” she wiggles her eyebrows, like you’re her girl friend and she’s genuinely interested in your potential love life. You’re not entirely sure where she got such information from; but it’s been clear to you for a while now. She has eyes and ears everywhere. 

“Forgive me, I’m not quite sure who you are referring to,” the tea is hot as you sip it, burning the taste buds you’ve barely been using these days. 

“Well, Nanami, of course,” she takes a moment to sip her own tea. “He’s handsome… quite burly too for working in a kitchen,” she’s smirking describing the man like it's the most entertaining gossip in the whole world. You guess it's not the worst thing she could potentially hear about you. All though, the worst had already been said. 

“He’s knowledgeable,” you tell her, stoic and devoid of any real emotion, “I enjoy learning what I can from him,” it’s a boring answer but your life is boring now. She frowns, almost a little disappointed that you won’t bite and indulge in ‘boy talk’ with her, but she continues on anyway. 

“That’s how your parents met, you know,” another long sip of her tea, “your father used to volunteer in the kitchens just to see your mother,” she’s obnoxiously giddy again and you can’t fight the sour taste of disgust. It feels more like she’s describing a silly little romance novel and not real people’s lives. It’s almost amusing knowing that as soon as your ‘silly little romance’ got too close to her son it was no longer exciting to her. You kept silent - having nothing worth commenting aloud as you waited for her to get to her point. She didn’t invite you here to gossip, your life had hardly been entertaining since 3 months ago when you were banished from Satoru’s presence. Her lips purse for a moment before she talks, “Well that’s not why I invited you here anyways,”

No shit. 

“I wanted to say thank you. I’m sure you’ve heard of our upcoming event in which Satoru will announce who he is courting,” you could have choked on air if you were not incredibly aware of yourself around the Queen. Instead you sucked in a quick breath. You had obviously been preparing for the event seeing as it was tomorrow and everyone in the kitchens scrambled around to get everything set for it - but you missed the part where it involved Satoru and his new potential partner. “I was incredibly worried for the future of our kingdom, and I appreciate your diligent work in securing that,” her words danced around the true meaning - but you weren’t a dunce. She was thanking you for hurting Satoru - and yourself in the process. A truly noble sacrifice indeed. You had to fight the desire to strangle yourself in front of her.  

“Of course,” is all you muster, not bothering to put on a brave face. 

“Remember the blonde Princess I talked about all those years ago?” she says, observing her pristine nails, “I knew Satoru would warm up to her if he tried,” your tea was gone by the end of her sentence and you lacked the stimulation now required for this conversation; your uneasiness eating away at your insides. 

“I’ve heard she’s lovely,” your throat is dry despite downing an entire cup of tea. 

“Oh more than lovely, if you could even imagine. I’ve never seen Satoru more at peace than when he’s listening to her playing piano. She’s quite the pianist!” 

𝜗𝜚

Satoru did indeed enjoy the times she played for him. The melody left no room for chatter. It was the only moment the two of them were together that he could close his eyes and rest; shutting down after hours of struggling to be present. He didn’t need to pretend to listen to how her day went or care about her childhood. He didn’t need to make up details about his day or share stories of his own youth that he struggled to edit you out of. He could just be. And that’s how Satoru preferred it. 

You would never know about it because ‘how could you?’ - but Satoru was a new man. Gone were the days of acting out or scoffing at his lessons. Gone were the days he preferred fencing to etiquette lessons. He now spent his time indoors because that’s where his bed was closest. His new favorite activity was painting. It was quiet and kept his mind occupied. He enjoyed painting with the new Princess the most - she would play while he would paint and as her hands created beautiful melodies Satoru’s created melancholy works of art

She peers a glance at his canvas over the piano, eyebrows furrowing as she notices the brooding blues, “You do realize this song is meant to elicit joy?” she inquires playfully, and Satoru apologizes. 

“Forgive me, I don’t have much experience with music theory,” his brush dips into the blue oil paint before dabbing it onto the course fabric. 

“Blue seems to be your favorite color,” she comments, her hands walking over each other as the keys come alive from her touch. 

Satoru nods, “I do enjoy reds too. Deep reds,” he murmurs. 

The color of his bleeding heart. 

𝜗𝜚

When the King and Queen announce a new ball, Satoru already understands the reason without being told. He had to fix his blunder - the one where he abandoned his duties and prioritized the pleasure your presence gave him. He hadn’t seen you since that day - but he was sure your face would bring him anything but pleasure nowadays. He was agreeing to the expectations of this new event without listening. It didn’t matter to him anyways. His life wasn’t his - this was a fact he could no longer be gullible about. 

That’s why he stood there in the center of the ballroom, fingers interlaced with the Princess as he smiled down at her like she meant something to him. Because his life wasn’t his and there were worse women in the world to be arranged to. The Princess really wasn’t all that bad. She was intelligent, respectful, charitable and incredibly humble. She knew there was more to life than her appearance all while being a sight for sore eyes. Satoru couldn’t have expected anyone more perfect for the role of his wife. With his heart now out of the picture - there was no better option than her. He could see that clearly now.

She nuzzled her head against his shoulder, hiding her blush as Satoru talked about the first day they met to an inquiring older man and that is when you finally see the two of them together. Surprisingly, you’re allowed out of your metaphorical cage - the King and Queen now fully entrusting you in the same room as Satoru after you successfully stomped out his light. You’re with the kitchen boy, Nanami, who was the Queen’s new show pony she liked to trot around; insisting he was there to describe the new hors d'oeuvre he created himself. Neither of you were entirely convinced the Queen thought that highly of the dish - rather than the idea of having such an esteemed cook now residing in her royal kitchen. Your jaw drops seeing the two of them next to each other. You had only seen paintings of the Princess, and even those did not prepare you for the intensity of her eyes and the silkiness of her hair. You were right all those years ago; next to Satoru wearing his family’s signature blue - she fit perfectly. 

And Satoru. Your Satoru. He looked so sorrowfully beautiful. His jaw was sharper and his eyes were darker but he was still Satoru and that fact alone made it impossible to look away. You had no right - but your watery eyes threatened to spill over watching the Prince hold hands with the Princess. A pitiful feeling fell over you once you realized you couldn’t read his expression. There had never been a day that you couldn’t skim his face like the pages of a book and pinpoint exactly what he was thinking - but now being in the same room with him after so long - you realized you were no longer privy to his thoughts like you used to be. Perhaps that ability was now reserved for the woman who held his hand. If it wasn’t so devastating you might have considered thanking the Queen for what she made you do. You had to have looked so silly beside him seeing the Princess in front of you now - appearing to be a piece of the same puzzle by his side. 

“Are you doing okay?” a deep voice prods your ear and you turn to see Nanami, standing by your side with a look of worry. The Queen wasn’t entirely wrong when she spoke of rumors that the two of you were close - you were in a lot of ways. Just not in the way she found most interesting. Nanami taught you a lot of skills in the kitchen. He showed you the best ways to cut vegetables and the importance of never looking away from milk boiling on a stove top. He told you stories of his travels in search of the best ingredients and his experience being raised on the country-side of a faraway nation whose people were dying of hunger. How his life as a child shaped him into who he was to this day: a seasoned cook who the highest of society paid a pretty penny to grace their kitchens. For some time you spared him the details of your life and he took it well - waiting for the moment you decided he was someone you could trust - and once you did it seemed to flow out of you and never stop. He knew all about your childhood with Satoru and how things became the way they are now. He didn’t scoff at you for daring to imagine yourself next to a Prince or gawk at the audacity it must take to delude yourself into believing your life could possibly be different than those before you. He just listened while he prepared a snack for the two of you. It was cathartic being around someone who carried as much baggage as you. The two of you were stronger than ever by each other’s side, and that is why you stood with him while he talked to the snobs he couldn’t stand and he stood with you while you watched the Prince make his love interest known to everyone. “Go take a moment for yourself, I’ll cover for you,” he offered and you shook your head.

“I promised I wouldn’t leave you alone with these assholes,” you say, earning a chuckle from the blond man next to you. You look up at him and all though he’s laughing his eyes don’t contain humor - more concerned for you while witnessing the same display you had to. He knew it couldn’t be easy.

He leaned in once more, “Well if you change your mind, I won’t be mad,” you smile at him, grateful that you weren’t entirely alone in your new reality. 

𝜗𝜚

Just like the two of you could see the royal couple they could see you too - if they knew what to look for. You caught the Prince’s eye while he took a sip of his champagne, using it as a moment to take in the scene around him until he spotted you. He didn’t know what to expect when he first considered the possibility of running into you again; you two inhabited the same estate and though it was big you had your whole lives to bump into each other. Originally he thought his anger would get the better of him once he finally laid eyes on you. Or he considered that given enough time had passed, looking into your eyes wouldn’t elicit any kind of emotion in him - completely indifferent to your role in his life, like all other servants. What he didn’t expect was for his heart to fail him, the once slow pace now jump started with adrenaline. His heart rate was wild and his pupils dilated. The bubbly drink that usually burned on the way down had effortlessly passed his throat and entered his stomach that grew weak with just one look at you. If he wasn’t careful the Princess beside him would take note of how he completely removed himself from their conversation - but careful he could not be. He wanted to curse his cheeks for warming up at the mere thought of breathing the same air as you… how could he be present? Satoru wouldn’t have even noticed the man standing next to you if not for the way his tall form towered over you, blocking you from the Prince’s view. That’s when Satoru began to grow just a little more aware of his surroundings - or more so your surroundings. While he repeated the words you said to him that day like it was a prayer he couldn’t help but retell before bed - lest he forget - he still fought the logical side of him begging him to accept your words as fact. But he couldn’t because he couldn’t accept your own interpretation of your feelings while you shook and sniffled in the stables. He believed you wanted nothing more to do with him - but he thought the pressure of fighting for your rightful place in his life was one you could no longer stomach. That was what caused him the pain he felt each passing moment. That you lost your fight because Satoru wasn’t worth it. But how could he believe you lost your fight when you had no one in your life pressuring you to move on like he did - yet there you stood seemingly cozy next to the tall man beside you. Perhaps the thought of you giving up on Satoru hurt his heart less and that was why he settled on that thought, instead of the earth-shattering possibility that you could have actually wanted nothing to do with him.

So why would you have kissed him?

𝜗𝜚

It was a quiet afternoon when the two of you decided to stroll through the garden’s after Satoru’s tea break. You often found it beneficial to have Satoru spend time outside inbetween his lessons - he would have a new found focus when given the chance to allow his mind to wander in the cool air that the spring time offered. His fingers would busy themselves with the petals of a flower and you would walk in silence beside him, listening to him ramble or letting him bask in the tranquility nature offered. 

That day was one of those times Satoru pondered silently and you let him, enjoying the unique flowers the Gojo’s had planted from all across the globe while you walked by his side. His face was scrunched in thought and his hands were busy with the stem of a lily, using his thumbs to pry the plant open to feel around its sticky insides. You two were deep in your walk, the garden trail extending surprisingly far on the Gojo’s lawn. The estate was now hidden by the yards of thick bushes that separated the trail from other parts of their extensive property. Satoru let out a breath you didn’t realize he was holding, and you turned to look at him. 

He seemed anxious, the tips of his ears were deep red and his face was scrunched with worry. “Did you get a sunburn, Satoru?” you ask him, stopping him in his tracks to get a better look at his ears. They were hot to the touch as you inspected them but he was antsy rather than in pain from the grip you had on his cartilage.

“What do you think about kissing?” he asked, his cheeks turning as red as his ears. You giggle at him, not because it was random - no that was normal for Satoru - but the topic was a bit suspicious.

“Why do you ask?” you all but flirt - finding the confidence to since you had the upper hand.

“I don’t know… it just kept coming up in the book I’ve been reading,” he puts simply, trying to end the conversation he brought up. It was rare for Satoru to embarrass himself like such, and it was going to be hard for him to get you to ignore it. 

“You've been thinking a lot about kissing, haven't you?” you continue to tease, and he scratches the back of his neck. 

“No!” he scoffs, “Just.. nevermind,” the flower he was dissecting was discarded for a new one - his fingers plucking the petals before tearing into the ovule roughly. 

“I don’t know what I think about kissing, I’ve never kissed,” you answer his original question, engaging him back into the conversation. 

“Me neither,” he responded, defiling the poor flower a little less since you had his attention. ‘What do you think it’s like?” It’s your turn to blush and he definitely realizes his newfound control over the conversation - turning the tables on you as he begins to poke you about it. “It’s probably wet, right? Well if you used tongue,” you’re a blushing mess listening to your best friend describe something such as tongue-kissing and he’s smiling at you. His pearly white teeth sparkle under the sun while he continues his torture, “I’d imagine it’s warm too - and soft. Your lips look soft,” he comments and you could feel yourself struggling to hold back your bashful reaction. He knew how to work you up just like you knew how to work him up. Unfortunately he was a little bit better at it than you - or you were just more susceptible under his gaze. He comes in closer to you - you think just to tease you further and get your heart to racket against your chest and you’re not entirely wrong. It’s hard to focus when his broad shoulders contrast yours and when you feel the palm of his hand touch your sternum to feel the pounding of your heart - you can’t fathom how you’re still standing on your own. “Your heart rate is fast,” he comments, pretending he has no concept as to why that could be. 

“You flirt too much, Satoru,” you grumble at him, trying and failing to steady your heart beats with him so close. His breath smells sweet like the candies he eats and you can’t protect your nose from the pleasant musk that clings to his skin. 

“I’m not flirting. I’m just asking you a question,” he’s somehow closer and his hand won’t leave the spot between your breasts. 

“Yeah. Kissing is probably warm and wet and whatever else you said,” you mumble, desperate to crawl away from him while simultaneously scared of losing physical contact with him. 

“Maybe we should test our hypothesis,” he’s still smiling but his eyes don’t match; half lidded while he observes the twitch of your lips at his words. You gulp, unable to keep yourself from looking at his own pair of lips. You note that they look soft too, even when he bites at them upon noticing you’re doing the same as him. “It can just be a quick one,” he says, almost like he’s trying to convince you now like he’s already convinced himself years ago. Unbeknownst to him you needed very little convincing. 

“Just a quick one,” you all but breathe out, and the two of you are leaning in without realizing it until your lips meet. Your lips feel plump against his, soft like the pillow he lays his head on at night and he doesn’t want it to end. His hand meets your jaw, holding you still while his lips get used to the feeling of yours against them. Your hands come up to grip his shirt, bracing yourself while he slowly deepens it, testing the waters by slowly poking his tongue inside your mouth. You pull back, yelping at the unexpected intrusion. 

“Do you trust me?” he asks, voice sultry and deep and you nod at him, going back in for more. He starts slowly again, pecking your lips softly before working his way up to prodding his tongue cautiously against your sweet lips. You let him in and he all but groans, gripping your waist with his other hands so he can feel you pressed up against him. You both have no idea what you’re doing, teeth and tongues hesitantly clashing as you explore each other’s mouths. His pulse quickens when you let out a weak moan muffled by his mouth hot against yours. His hand on your jaw slowly works its way down your neck, across your collarbone, before hesitantly stopping at the start of your breast. You’re both clouded by the haze created between the two of you, unaware of your surroundings until you hear the scurry of an animal. You both pull away - scanning the area with no luck of finding the creature that caused it. You clear your throat and try your best to pull yourself together - but it’s hard when his eyes are so dark and his lips are so red and glossy from your spit.

“Let’s get back, Satoru. Your teacher will be expecting you soon,” and off you go, with Satoru trailing behind you.

𝜗𝜚

Satoru had never felt the foreign concept of competition in regards to you. It must be the reason he felt such vitriolic jealousy seeing you next to another man. He had no time to consider himself a fool. He wanted nothing more than to see his nose smashed in and your eyes on him again. 

But Satoru had to remind himself he was different. He was no longer the old Satoru whose emotions reigned over his logic. While the new Satoru was born through pain, it would do him good to act on the new things he learned; like patience. 

And patience he needed when later that night he found himself wandering into the kitchen for a glass of water - expecting the room to be empty and overcome with shock when he saw you there. You’re not alone either. The man from earlier guided your hand as you two fileted a fish. And what an odd sight it was - seeing your back pressed up another man’s chest as he carefully guided your knife against the belly of a salmon. Nanami notices the Prince first, respectfully removing his guiding hands and you look up, mouth agape at the sight of the unimpressed Prince in front of you. “Prince Gojo,” you both say, bowing respectfully at him. “How can we be of service?” Nanami asks, still stuck in his bow to Satoru. For the first time in your life you see Satoru ponder his next words and it is almost as shocking as being in the same room as him for the second time after going no-contact all those months ago. You aren’t used to him thinking so long about what to say; you’d always known him to speak his mind unfiltered. It made you incredibly uneasy.

“Are they aware you two occupy the kitchens after they’re meant to be closed,” he asks and you’re even more confused. Satoru? Becoming a stickler for rules? Your jaw hung open just for a moment when you remembered to pick it back up. 

“We’re very sorry, your royal highness. We will be sure to clean up and head off to bed,” Nanami is nothing short of respectful but Satoru still can’t hold back a scoff, turning his head to glance your way. His eyes miss their softness you’ve always been used to and you cower under his eyes, keeping your gaze on the ground until he finally turns around and leaves. 

𝜗𝜚

That night is the first night you let yourself think about Satoru again, now having many things to think about as you lay awake in your bed. 

He looked… almost disappointed in you? You try to fight the idea of him caring what you chose to do, chalking it up to your hopeless wanting that he was as stuck on you as you were stuck on him. But you saw him tonight with the Princess; getting close to her like he only ever did with you and you know you can’t let yourself get caught up in misguided optimism - Satoru had moved on and did exactly what you needed him to do… So why did that realization have to be so unbelievable to you?

┊p1┊p2┊p3┊p4┊𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠... p5┊

taglist: @bubera974 𐙚 @dahliawarner 𐙚 @phoenixisdabest 𐙚 @designerpvssy 𐙚 @leaderwon 𐙚 @elilovesall 𐙚 @alicebleu 𐙚 @sleepykittycx 𐙚 @abcdbleh 𐙚 @waka-babe 𐙚 @fanficsforkicks 𐙚 @boothillglazer 𐙚 @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni 𐙚 @wrldwyde 𐙚 @michaelaftussy34 𐙚 @strawnanamilk 𐙚 @kalopsia-flaneur 𐙚 @megumisthirdog 𐙚 @hearts4aloise 𐙚 @theclassbookworm 𐙚 @saebaey 𐙚 @leabrainrot 𐙚 @leabrainrot 𐙚 @peqch-pie 𐙚

(ty for all the support! comment to be added/removed)

[penguinlop]

Yandere Alhaitham x Reader

/// Ignorance Is Bliss

Summary:

You discover that your new love, Alhaitham, secretly keeps a detailed knowledge capsule about you.

cw: GN reader, spoilers for alhaitham’s lore and sumeru archon quests, yandere themes, stalking, manipulation, implied not-sfw

Alhaitham knows better than anyone else that there's always a price to pay to enter the oasis of knowledge. 

Sanity is the ticket those desert sirens crave to check before you board. 

Enticing scrolls of information wrap around your waist and weary legs, dragging you toward the mirage of gilded wisdom. They dance around, heated faces burned from the whispers of sand. The glistening flow of cleansing texts and books containing forbidden, convoluted details tempts people's thirst. 

It's all for the enlightenment. An intoxicating euphoria of comprehension, to feel the ivory branches and leaves of Irminsul flood their senses. Perhaps it's the glory, that "aha!" moment people desire. They want to fatten their parched egos and satisfy that sinister appetite. They hunger to be better than everyone else by knowing and achieving more, by finding the Holy Grail first. 

Knowledge is the charmer; people are the sinful serpents. 

As with any personal research project for him, it started with discovering the topic of interest

Alhaitham prides himself on being a man with principles rooted in logic. Rationality is the key to clarity. Dreams are mere distractions. They are fanatical fantasies that the mind plays to taunt and deceive. The Sages endlessly speak of how emotions only get in the way of breaking the Samsara and reaching Nirvana. 

Perhaps the moon can only hope to achieve the greatness of the sun. 

That is why it was noon when he first laid eyes on you in the House of Daena.

You smelt of orange blossom.

How could he forget that contemplative look as you searched for yellowing books riddled with dust to pique your interest and aid your studies? It was nothing out of the ordinary, a common spectacle rather. As a fellow member of the Akademiya, you were simply another eager student to him.  

Holding onto such a meaningless encounter wouldn't be rational. He didn't even bother to gather information on you via the Akasha as a testament to his word. 

But one evening, as the lustrous moon wailed in its cage, Alhaitham found you near the beautiful Sanctuary of Surasthana. It was a clear night with a gentle breeze, the perfect time to  contemplate and relax amidst the choir of dusk birds. He was going up there to take a quick breather. There were too many annoying meetings he had to attend.  

With a telescope in hand and a notebook neatly laid on a stone bench nearby, you gazed at the glorious heavens. A faint fragrance of rose water clung to your skin. However, that's hardly what he noticed at the time. There it was again: that contemplative look. They say the scholars of the Akademiya hold the weight of Teyvat by carrying the burden of denying ignorance, the blistering desire to keep on learning. Some seek to know more and more, even as they meet their fated end. It's an addictive, maddening cycle of peeping into the elusive unknown and searching for answers. 

Yet you looked so peaceful. It was refreshing to see. 

Alhaitham couldn't help but reminisce about the words his grandmother left him with. 

"May my child Alhaitham lead a peaceful life." 

"Lovely, aren't they?" you whispered as tenderly as dancing Padisarahs when you noticed his form enter the Sanctuary's vicinity. "Many say the stars are mysterious, but I think they can be quite playful. Every day I unveil more. It's like they ask me to come and be with them" A simple glance nearly made him burn with curiosity. He suddenly felt parched. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I can often get carried away with my studies." You chuckled at the cunning man. Maybe he couldn't even hear you with his headphones on.  

Alhaitham crossed his arms and sighed. "It's fine. I should've known someone from the school of Rtawahist would be up here stargazing. I will be heading off then." Your telescope and blue robes were a telltale sign of your discipline; it was but a mere elementary-level deduction. 

"Are you sure you don't want to stay? I don't want you to feel like I am hogging the place." The fragrance of rose water came oh-so-slightly closer. It was too sweet and enticing. The pragmatic man couldn't help it. He discretely used his Akasha on you. 

After learning of your name and basic information, he came to the blatant conclusion that he needed to leave. Immediately. 

Once again, he thought of his grandmother. 

"You are such a smart child, but you must take care to have a clearer mind than others. You must understand that vain pursuits are but dust."

His mind was fogging up with too many eccentric yearnings. Aside from facts hastily gathered from the Akasha, he knew nothing about you. 

It needed to stay like that.

He nearly scoffed. What was this? That old tale of Layla and Majnun? The man who went insane from love. Give me a break. What use would itching love be to his aspirations? At best, this was but a fleeting attraction. It would go away eventually. 

"Look, I don't think either of us have any more time to waste." Alhaitham reviewed you once more before curtly turning around and walking away. "Now then, goodbye." 

He had made sure to study the contours of your face, your eye color, your height, your posture, how your clothes fit you, and, most of all, that scent of rose water. But, really, it was all to avoid you for future reference. Yes, understanding one's subject is critical. 

You raised your eyebrow as you saw his form grow smaller and smaller. Then, tilting your head up, you looked at the hypnotizing stars and deathly pale moon, trying to read your destiny and find the absolute truth. 

Before he could completely escape your view, you used your Akasha Terminal on him. Perhaps you were also too curious. Sumeru's ideals were fostered by you quite well.

Huh, so his name is Alhaitham…What a mysterious man.  

___

The art of coffee-making is a methodical process. 

Roast, ground, brew, and serve. 

It was akin to the process of learning that Alhaitham used: read, break down, reorganize, and question. 

Depending on the customer's order, it could be embellished with spices such as cardamom, cinnamon, or saffron. In some cases, sugar may be added. 

Alhaitham likes it dark and plain, an afternoon refreshment for the man on the go. While Puspa Café is a common place for social gatherings of people across all walks of life, ranging from lowlife sycophants to wishful merchants, he prefers to be alone. Solitude isn't as vexing as many claim. It allows him to think about his current ordeals. Moreover, it gives him time to read. 

That day, one problem had left him quite disturbed. 

The Dendro user has always been in-tune with his body. Ever since the brief confrontation that night, he had been physically and mentally agitated, with a fluctuating heartbeat, clammy hands, accelerated breathing, and racing thoughts. Coffee was a possible solution he believed could mitigate any troublesome symptoms. But, of course, in moderation. His roommate, Kaveh, could learn about the word moderation. 

Yet this afternoon's refreshment only made it worse.

There you were again. 

A ghastly deev haunting his every footstep. Spreading tendrils of nightmares across his skin to choke his throat, vivisecting his beating heart and rumbling mind to capture any essence of starry wisdom and pragmatic musings. 

Closing the book he was reading, he noticed the color of the coffee that spewed out of your brass dallah. It was so light. Just from the sight of it, he could taste the nauseating sweetness, too lightly roasted, with too much sugar, honey, and spice. Scoffing, he bets you even untraditionally added milk to lessen the bitter taste. Children are the only ones who dream in this nation, yet one quick look at you was enough to guess that you never truly grew up.

As if you wanted to solidify his observation, your eyes glowed and the corners of your lips curled up when you spotted him. You made your way over to his table and asked if he would like to join you with a spring in your step. 

Amidst the overpowering, bold scent of coffee clouding the café, he smelt it the moment you came closer.

Jasmine. 

Were your decisions rooted in spontaneity, or did you cycle through a collection of perfumes? He couldn't help but ponder the answer as you awaited his response. 

"Sure." 

He adored the way you perked up at the sound of one word. A waitress quickly helped to arrange a larger table for you two. 

This was just a way to get more information out of you. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Yes, you could be of use to him. The third time's a charm, they say. 

You quickly got comfortable, too comfortable. "Would you like to share some baklava or maamoul cookies? They are quite delicious, though I can order something else for you if you don't like them. Be my guest!" With a slight, delicate movement of your hand, you gestured to the assortment of sweets laying on a brass tray. 

"No. I'm fine. Foods with such high levels of sugar only leave me restless at night. It's a nuisance to deal with while I'm trying to work. You should know better, too. Thank you, though." 

You awkwardly glanced away. "I see…Well, that's not a problem. The offer is always there if you change your mind." Looking down at your hands nestled in your lap, you maneuvered the dying conversation elsewhere and swiftly began to ask about his job as the Akademiya's Scribe. The dreamy gleam in your eyes never faded

He couldn't get enough. His illogical thirst was growing.

His flesh began to blaze with anticipation. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to entertain this romantic fantasy for a bit. Things could be tested with you. He was never one to be enthralled with the concept of love. It was too frivolous and melodramatic, but he supposed studious scholars never limit their perspectives. 

"So, what's it like?" you chirped. 

Why must you question him? He wanted to know more about you, everything there was to know. No, he had to know in order to finally get this greedy parasite wishing to feast on every bit of you out of his mind. Such a visceral need was consuming every inch of his very being. All semblances of practicality were withering before his eyes. No amount of bitter coffee was enough to quench the anxiety that plagued his mind, nor his bouncing knees, as you persistently asked him about his work and Darshan of Haravatat. 

Of course. 

How could he be so ignorant? His approach was all wrong. 

Alhaitham graduated with top grades at the Akademiya; his professors commended him for quickly deciphering incredibly elaborate ancient runes and grasping unfathomably complex syntax and structure. 

You were like that. 

You were a puzzle waiting to be unveiled and exposed to him and him alone. The world has no need of getting to view such convoluted beauty. A rare individual you were, indeed. You managed to hold on to such childish ways of wanting to dream while still maintaining a mature air of unmatched wisdom in your research. 

Alhaitham began the next phase of his project. 

Studying the subject.  

He thanked his grandmother for the lessons she taught him. All he had to do was clear his mind, and the path to wisdom was unfolding. 

___

None of it was wrong. 

No sane student at the Akademiya would ever take their exam blindly or be unprepared for a debate. Comprehension and studying are critical components to achieving success. So why set yourself up for failure? 

Before asking if you would reciprocate his feelings, he had to know first. So many calculated scenarios were emerging through his mind as he thought of what would happen if he didn't make sure beforehand. He couldn't possibly let himself look like some idiot. He had to find out the exact percentage of success, no matter what it took. 

After all, Alhaitham's hands were never the cleanest, even if he did like a cushy life. 

That is why he felt no guilt when he asked to walk you home. It was very late at night. You were stargazing again. He just wanted to be useful.  

Each step was seared into his mind. Each item of interest you pointed out on the way left him with more questions. Upon reaching your abode, sparks of pride flooded into his veins. He had guessed you lived in this area. You often walked here during mornings and later hours; it was a straightforward conclusion. Nothing special. 

A tender smile graced your beautiful face. It was brimming with gratitude. 

He ensured you entered safely and locked the door. It was only when all the lights were out did he truly depart, though. He had to see the peaceful expression on your face as you slept. 

Once Alhaitham arrived home, he felt conflicted. Reasonably, there was no chance he could ever forget anything from today. Yet humans aren't without their respective flaws, especially involving memory. He didn't dare to ruminate on what may occur if he were to somehow forget even one piece of information you blessed him with. Every tidbit and morsel you fed him was significant in nature. 

It was all part of his investigations.  

However, he couldn't write such crucial facts in some random notebook. No, no; such things must remain strictly confidential. It was only logical. What if he misplaced it? Or even worse, what if his obnoxious roommate got to it? He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue.

Summoning an empty knowledge capsule that he had obtained when he was ordered to draft more ordinances for the Sages, Alhaitham flooded it with every bit of data he had on you, from your slumbering form to your mellow smile and contemplative look. It was all there. Safe and sound, ready for him to access at any time. 

Before resting, he thought of the way you smelt of orange blossom again. 

___

You next met one morning at the Akademiya. 

You wore no fragrance today. 

Chuckling, you noticed Alhaitham stride towards you impatiently. He was clutching a small, decorative bag. After exchanging simple greetings, he handed it over to you. There was neither a frilly explanation nor a blooming blush on his handsome face. Instead, he had a sharp and clean approach. 

"Here, this is for you." 

Though not one to express his emotions so as to maintain an unreadable body language, you had picked up on a few of his habits. He seemed eager. It was charming to think about how he grew more casual and open around you. To the untrained eye, one may think he wasn't fond of you at all, but you knew. That realization was enough to keep you on your toes. 

One previous evening, the glimmering stars and bygone moon sisters breathlessly spoke of your future. It was challenging to decipher, but you stuck to your beliefs that the stars don't lie, and you were greatly rewarded.

The confirming chill that the divine gales of the night brought to you all spoke of the same fortune. 

"There is a man that treasures every bit of you." 

Despite sounding like good tidings, a hole in your stomach grew.

It started off as a tiny sapling. You suspected it to be anxiety for upcoming deadlines or the usual fatigue from nights spent stargazing. Something that could easily be brushed off. Yet branches and roots ravaged and wrapped around your organs as you heard the consistent sound of soil crunching beneath one's feet. Be it dawn or dusk, such dreadful mirages pained your spirit.

But with Alhaitham, it stopped. Perhaps it was a side effect of being in love. Being so on edge around him had taken a toll on you. Is this why the Sages warn of pursuing things such as love? You couldn't help but wonder. 

Nevertheless, it wasn't an appropriate time to have your heads in the clouds. 

You quickly tore off the patterned wrapping paper and grinned. It was exactly what you needed: more jasmine-scented perfume! Just the glass bottle itself was astonishingly exquisite, encrusted with jewels and detailed with gold. You could tell it was expensive. 

"I can't take this. This must've cost you a fortune! I really can't accept this. Though I did just run out of mine… You should return it and use the money for something more useful. Besides, I'm fine with using the cheaper one I usually purchase!"

Returning the bottle to the small bag, you tried to give it back to the man standing before you. 

Alhaitham hated the way you acted. This was just a quick gift he purchased at the Grand Bazaar. It was nothing. He knew you had run out of your usual exactly the day prior. Alhaitham simply saw an opportunity and decided to strike. Honestly, he only studies what interests him. You should know that by now. Why bother with the inessential? 

"Don't be ridiculous.” His eyes narrowed oh-so-slightly. “It was just something I thought you might like. Anyway, keep it. I have no need for such things." 

Still lacking confidence, you treaded carefully, "Well…If you say so. I will treasure it by wearing it every day! Thank you, Alhaitham." Inspecting the perfume bottle again, you couldn't help but smile. "It's almost like a miracle that you gifted me this because I just ran out of my usual. I really want to thank you somehow…."

Bullseye. 

"Hmm… Is that so? Never mind, we will get to that later." He placed his hand underneath your chin and pulled your face from side to side to inspect you. "You haven't been sleeping well, have you? Your eyebags are much more prominent." 

Twinges of insecurity rang through your bones as he examined your appearance. I suppose that's how he shows he cares? Looking down, you played with the strings of the gift bag and tried to awkwardly collect yourself. "Lack of sleep is common for my studies, but I have been a bit more jumpy than usual when I rest, that's all. Perhaps you were right back then…Too much sugar." Your voice grew weaker. "It's nothing, really." 

"If it's ‘nothing’ as you claim it to be, then you wouldn't be so distressed. Come on, spit it out." There was no need to sugarcoat things. Many of his former classmates gossip that he is a ruthless robot, but he doesn't mind such statements. To him, it's better to clear things away than regret it later. 

Not wanting to look into his eyes, you glanced at the other students in the Akademiya mingling with their like-minded colleagues and friends. Dejectedly, you scratched the back of your neck, then quickly gestured to the door with your head. "Let's talk outside, shall we?" 

Sitting under a pavilion, you apologized for the sudden request to head outdoors. Alhaitham remained unfazed. Rigid and cold, silently awaiting a reply. 

First, you breathed in, then shakily exhaled before speaking, "Okay, then. I think someone is stalking me. I can't give you a proper explanation as to why, but I just know. It really has left me so scared. I won't lie, the feeling disappears when I'm with you...." With a heated face, you quickly looked to Alhaitham for validation as you poured out your feelings. "But, um, of course! You are an extremely accomplished individual. Anybody would feel better with you since you're the Scribe, after all." 

He scoffed, "I think Kaveh would beg to differ about your last statement." 

You laughed. 

It was simply perfect. He just wanted to caress your face and tell you how good you were being for him. Yes, so good. So naive. 

"Let's do an experiment. Why don't you stay at my place for a day or two and see what happens?" He couldn't help but smirk at how you shrunk under his all-knowing stare. "If you don't want to, I can think of another solution. However, I believe we have become quite close, and I'm sure you would enjoy it. Besides, Kaveh is out for a bit. But in the end, it's your choice, of course." 

"Well, if you insist…." You took out the perfume bottle and daintily sprayed it on your neck and wrists; you enjoyed how his keen eyes soaked you in. "Thank you for being so kind. You know me so well, Alhaitham." 

"Yes, I really do." 

___

In Sumeru City, when it rains, it pours. 

Streets flood with incinerating kisses and sensual touches intertwined with a rich, floral fragrance. 

To many, Alhaitham is known as a lunatic. Such a name fits the man whose mind was devoured by jasmine perfume. 

He couldn't get enough. 

Every inch of you, he had to learn about. He needed to properly store and encode such mesmerizing information into the recesses of his gluttonous mind. 

That intoxicating perfume permeated Alhaitham’s room and desperately held onto disheveled sheets. It was akin to the incense that scholars use to clear their minds and focus their bodies to become one with Irminsul. Yes, it was just like that. 

You couldn't help but feel so safe in his arms. The stars really do never lie. 

He loved every bit of you.

___ 

Sunlight peeked through translucent cotton curtains and illuminated the room. 

Alhaitham kissed your forehead and greeted you with a simple "Good morning" as you moved his hair from his face and took in his features. The intense perfume still persistently laced through his sheets. 

The domesticity of it all, from changing together to preparing breakfast, swelled your heart. It had been quite a while since you were last able to unwind like this. 

Alhaitham quickly took notice of your lax movements. Good. You were enjoying yourself as planned. By the time he's done, you won't be able to tell the difference between an innocent Sumeru Rose and a vicious Venus Flytrap.

He looked you up and down again. "How do you feel? Did you sleep okay?" 

"Yes, I haven't felt this relaxed for a while. Ever since I joined my Darshan, sleep has become a luxury. It was especially bad when I was first learning the basics because I would have to stay up all night long to study the stars and keep up with other research. At one point, I developed severe insomnia, but I’m fine now. Anyway… Yes, I did sleep well. This is the first time I’ve felt safe in a long while. Thank you, Alhaitham." 

He nodded and spoke, "That's good. If we are going to continue this relationship, then maybe in the future we can discuss more complex matters, such as living together more permanently."  

Your eyes widened as you took in his statement, but you soon giggled, “A little hasty, aren’t we, Alhaitham?” You poked fun at him. “What about poor Mister Kaveh?” 

He rolled his eyes at your teasing. 

Then he shrugged and bluntly defended himself, "It's only rational to think about these things, especially with your situation. Besides, I'm only putting them on the table—" 

There was a knock at his door. 

He noticed your jaw tighten in fear. Alhaitham pulled the strings of the puppet and played along with you. He muttered into your ear to hide from the front door's view just in case.  

The Scribe loved the way you obediently followed his orders and trusted so wholeheartedly everything that he said.  

When he opened the door, he didn't expect to be greeted by the Grand Sage Azar's assistant: Setaria. 

She told him how the Akademiya lost a knowledge capsule about the divine and how the Grand Sage wished for him to gather information on a certain blonde traveler.

A divine knowledge capsule and a heroic traveler from afar. How interesting. 

He crossed his arms and unceremoniously spoke, "I'll start my assignment soon." With that, he nodded, closed the door, and went silent again. Annoyance ran through his veins as he was pulled along into the Grand Sage's plot. A peaceful life as the Scribe was all he desired. Was it really that hard for the Akademiya to provide that?  

Turning around, the reserved man called for you. Your name rolled off his tongue too well, as if he was made to be the sole person on this forsaken continent to cherish and pronounce it. You carefully popped your head out from behind his bedroom door, the corners of your kissable lips turned down, forming a slight frown. 

"Is it all good?"

"Yes, it was just someone from the Akademiya for work. Speaking of, I have a little surprise for us." Alhaitham seemed to look right through you. "Do you want to hear it?" There was an excitement bubbling deep inside of him. Your stomach began to ache as he cloaked himself in mystery. 

You felt those hawk eyes analyze you again. "Uh, sure?" 

"How would you feel about going to Port Ormos for some academic research?" 

___

Alhaitham convinced you that it would help your situation. You could see if that uneasy feeling would follow you on your journey to the port. 

While the actual job itself is mundane and uneventful, as the Scribe, he receives many benefits. One was being sponsored by the Akademiya to stay in an upscale hotel with many amenities. 

Your shared suite had a lovely balcony with a nice view of the sea. Breathing in the refreshing salty air on a balmy day was energizing after being cooped up in such a stifling city of arrogant wisdom. Mere fool's gold.  

"If you want to go and explore, I would advise you to remain within the hotel grounds or near places that are guarded or populated in case anything were to happen. 

You turned to him. "Thank you for your concern, but I will just stay here. It's a nice room. I'll enjoy the breeze and finish up my papers on the balcony. Perhaps in your free time, we can do something together?"  

He thought about it for a second. "I'll see."

You deflated a bit. "Well, when do you think you'll come back?"

"Not anytime soon."

"Oh..."

"Anyway, I should be leaving now." Alhaitham pecked your cheek before heading out.

After unpacking, you began writing rough ideas for your ongoing thesis in your worn-out leather journal. As the clock kept ticking and the hours passed, you grew bored. Small sketches of constellations were sloppily drawn on the side with little notes as you tried to jot down as much information as possible. Becoming distracted, you began to doodle Alhaitham's constellation: Vultur Volans. You wanted to unveil so much more about him. You wanted the stars to guide you in your journey. 

Yet just as you were about to finish your little doodle, your pen ran out of ink.

You scribbled a few lines and circles to test it out one last time before throwing it in a nearby trash bin. It was nothing. A simple delay. 

Before going inside, you closed your leather journal and placed it on top of the stack of scrap papers so they wouldn't fly away. Going to your side of the bed, you opened your Adhigama wood nightstand and pulled out a few spare pens. However, when you sat down and attempted to use them, they didn't work. It was fine. You just happened to bring a bad batch. That was all. 

You knew Alhaitham brought a brand new set with him. It was still in his luggage, though... He was in such a hurry to start his job here in Port Ormos that he had no time to unpack. You always admired his diligence; it's what got him so far so quickly. He was your age, but you were still far behind. Though you couldn't blame him for tuning the world out and focusing just on his studies, he lost so much at such a young age. He was brave to keep looking towards the future despite his parents being gone. Even if he would say, "It was just the most rational thing to do." 

Alhaitham is a man with principles rooted in logic. He would understand why you were rummaging through his things. It wasn't an invasion of privacy! You two were a couple now; albeit new, the love was evident already. 

You were just going to borrow his pens, anyway. 

As you unlocked his luggage and looked for his case of supplies, you stumbled upon two similar containers in appearance and weight. Ugh! Which one was it? I suppose I'll just have to open them both… 

Moving your hand towards the zipper, you noticed your hand shake. Perhaps it was just getting cold. You had left the glass balcony door open, only closing the screen. The soft sound of the breeze and smell of sea salt slithered up your spine, invading your ear canals and nostrils. 

You placed your fingers on the zipper of the bag on the left. The sound of it unzipping was akin to the rustles of leaves and branches in a dark rainforest. What you found inside was a knowledge capsule. 

The pens were in the other bag. 

That was all. Alhaitham works under the Grand Sage. Of course you were bound to find certain items only he should be privy to. 

Yet why was it calling you like the irresistible knowledge that spills from the ivory, archaic branches of Irminsul? It was most likely empty, anyway, waiting to be filled with the information he would discover in the bustling Port Ormos. Why was the hollow, ravaging feeling in your stomach and heart returning to once again suffocate your organs and dry up your blood into grains of sand? 

Your journal was waiting for you. Opening the other bag, you got what you wanted. 

His pens. 

That was what you came for. 

However, the sharp pains and shivers ringing through your body reeled you into the infested desert and the pouring rainforest. A peek wouldn't hurt. Alhaitham would understand, right? He was the one that brought you here, after all, to keep an eye out for your situation. 

Yes, he's a man who knows his morals. Besides, how would he even know? It would be alright. He said himself that he wouldn't be coming anytime soon. 

As you gripped the green and gold knowledge capsule pulsing and flowing with information, you felt so conflicted. The unease was growing, yet you felt so sure that you were meant to do this. Opposing thoughts contrasted each other like fields of flowers flourishing amidst dunes of lifeless sand. It truly nauseated you.  

After establishing a connection with it, you felt it. A flash of memories entered into the recesses of your mind. As if two consciousness were merged together to form one single entity, you felt vines and tendrils weaving through your anatomy. Nearly every bit of knowledge you gained was something you already had experienced. Yet it was from a different perspective. Your face, your body, your studies, your smiles, your slumber, your pens, even your perfume. 

It was all there, only from a different angle.

For so long, you saw life from the eyes of a feeble mouse. Now, you could see what it was like to view the world from the perspective of a hungry vulture ready to gobble up its prey. You dropped the canned knowledge. You barely heard the thud it made with the flooring, as it was drowned out by all of the thoughts racing through your mind. 

Your eyes scattered to the open glass door with the closed screen. The breeze and saltiness of the sea were still there. 

It felt so far. 

Running to the balcony, you rushed to lock the glass door and fumbled to close the cotton curtains. 

"Didn't anyone teach you to clean up after yourself?" 

Alhaitham's voice made everything cold. Sharply turning your head, you faced the man who both tormented your life and made it so beautiful. He came back so soon. Too soon. 

"Once the Matra knows about this, you will go to prison, Alhaitham, for what you did to me!" Your hands were shaking as you bunched them into fists and furrowed your eyebrows. Tears were threatening to spill at any moment. 

He merely crossed his arms. His precise, uptight composure never faltered. "You think the Matra will do anything to me? I'm the Scribe. The right hand of the Grand Sage." He stepped closer to you. “Did you know there once was a Rtawahist student who was so desperate for sleep that they went to Port Ormos and looked for knowledge capsules to help their studies and cure their insomnia? The Matra were never able to track down the culprit." Alhaitham walked closer to you. "However, I think today, that could change. The usage of canned knowledge to gain an advantage over one’s peers in the Akademiya is strictly against the rules." He was always one step ahead of you.

"Is it not?"

Cupping your face and forcing you to look at his darkening eyes, he stared into you, drinking up the way you brimmed with fear. Just how he liked it. Everything was falling into place as calculated. He whispered into your ear. "Think of this as the 'thank you' you said you would give me that day." 

Alhaitham embraced you tightly, taking in the exquisite jasmine perfume he gifted you. Trembling in his arms, you felt so small and helpless. Dreams shattered as you thought of everything that you had learned. The stars and wise moon didn't lie to you that night. There's a man who loves you with all his being. There's a man who knows everything about you.  

Seeking what is forbidden will always be the downfall of humanity. 

Perhaps ignorance truly is bliss. 

Thank you so much for reading!!!

(⺣◡⺣)♡*

[letmesniffurdaddysfeet]

Weekend Lessons with daddy John PART 1

John, my mysterious neighbor, was a man shrouded in age and secrets. Though I never dared to inquire about his past, I estimated him to be around 65 years old. From the moment I moved in next door, he welcomed me with open arms and a warm smile. Despite our significant age difference - I was only 21 at the time - I found myself eagerly seeking out his company. John was a skilled handyman, passing on his knowledge of electricity, plumbing, and DIY projects to me with infinite patience. It may seem odd for a young adult like myself, but each week I looked forward more to spending an evening with John than going out for after-work drinks with my colleagues.

There was something about John that fascinated me - he wasn't particularly muscular or physically imposing, but there was a ruggedness to him that exuded masculinity. He embodied the classic image of a man's man - simple yet capable, full of practical knowledge that I had never learned before. But what captivated me most were his feet. Every Friday night, as we sat together watching a replay of a baseball game and sipping on cold beers, John would kick off his slippers and rest his large, mature feet on the coffee table in front of us.

It started innocently enough - just admiring the feet of a strong, masculine man. But as the weeks went by, my fascination turned into something else entirely. With each passing Friday night, it became harder and harder for me to resist the forbidden desires stirring inside of me. I tried to push them away, telling myself that it was wrong and dirty to feel this way towards someone much older than me.

But one fateful night, as I lay in bed alone with my thoughts, I gave in to my sinful desires and indulged in a forbidden act of self-pleasure while thinking about John's feet. The pleasure that consumed me was unlike anything I had ever experienced before, a heady mix of taboo and desire that left me both intoxicated and guilty.

From that night on, John's feet became an obsession for me. I couldn't resist stealing glances at them whenever we were together, imagining the feel of them against my lips and tongue. And each time I succumbed to these thoughts, the intensity of pleasure only grew stronger, driving me towards a dangerous edge that I could not escape from.

Despite my attempts to distance myself from these thoughts, they consumed me. I tried to distract myself with work, hobbies, and even dating other people, but nothing seemed to quell the burning desire I had for John's feet.

But one evening, I couldn't resist my insatiable desire… As we sat on the sofa, John's relaxed form radiating a familiar comfort, I chugged back another beer to calm my racing heart. Suddenly, his shoes were off and his toes were wriggling in front of me as he talked about the game. I couldn't help but feign interest in a coin that supposedly fell on the other side of the table. My hand brushed against his foot and I knelt down, pretending to search for the nonexistent coin in the thick carpet fibers as my face stealthily drew closer to his feet. The overpowering scent of masculinity hit me like a wave and my body reacted immediately, my pants stretching with the growing hardness between my legs. Every touch from his toes sent shivers through my body, pushing me deeper into a forbidden pleasure that consumed me completely.

My mind raced with a torrent of emotions and desires as I lingered there, my breath hot against John's coarse, calloused skin. I had never felt anything like this before - a mixture of exhilaration, shame, and unbridled lust coursing through my veins. I knew I was playing with fire, but I couldn't help myself.

A surge of shame and self-loathing washes over me as I realize the gravity of my actions. I pray that my arousal is not too obvious , ready to feign ignorance and confess to not finding the coin. But when I meet John's gaze, a new expression crosses his face - an excited smile, his hand resting on his visibly erect penis. Did he understand the true intention behind my gesture? And did the sight of my face so close to his feet elicit the same response in him as it did in me? My mind spins with confusion and desire, rendering me speechless and creating a tense silence that begs to be broken… I struggle to find the right words, while secretly yearning to ask him if he desires to see me throw myself at his feet as well…

It was finally John who broke the silence, saying these words: ''Are you sure you looked carefully? It would be a shame not to reject a glance." He looked me straight in the eyes, without leaving his mischievous smile, wiggling his toes… my eyes rested on those feet and the spark of excitement in the John's eyes twinkled brighter. It was at that moment that I realized that this was a formal invitation, and I was not going to wait another second to respond.

John's voice cut through the tense silence like a knife, his words dripping with challenge and mischievous thrill ''Did you even bother to look closely? Don't tell me you missed it." His gaze locked onto mine, a sly grin playing on his lips as he wiggled his toes in anticipation…my eyes couldn't help but trail down to those feet, and I saw the unmistakable glimmer of mischief in John's eyes. It hit me like a bolt of lightning - this wasn't just an invitation, it was a dare. And I refused to waste another second before responding, the fire of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

[elryuse]

yandere Minju?

Scared To Lose You

Yandere Minju (ILLIT) X Make Reader

Minju's POV

The screech of the microphone feedback jolted me back to reality. The roar of the crowd was a dull thrum in the background, a constant drone I barely registered. The spotlight hit me, a harsh glare highlighting every bead of sweat clinging to my skin. But tonight, none of it mattered. My gaze scanned the sea of faces, a relentless search for a single point of light amidst the screaming fans.

There. Second row, just left of the giant inflatable ILLIT mascot. A familiar figure, his worn light stick held aloft like a beacon. Sunshine_Y/N. His name, a secret whispered in the dead of night, a forbidden fruit I couldn't stop myself from craving.

It started innocently enough. A fleeting glance across the stage, his smile brighter than any spotlight. Then, another concert, another performance, and there he was again. Each time, he drew me in, his unwavering support a tiny pinprick of warmth in the icy grip of idol life.

One rainy afternoon, exhausted and drained, I found myself on a fancam binge. My finger scrolled, stopping on a comment - "Sunshine_Y/N." Curiosity, a dangerous thing for a guarded heart like mine, took over. I clicked.

Fan art, glowing reviews, messages gushing about ILLIT, mostly about me. A strange flutter started in my chest. Here, in the digital world, I wasn't just Minju, the cold lead dancer. I was someone he admired, someone who sparked his sunshine.

The obsession bloomed, a poisonous flower slowly wrapping its vines around me. Hours spent scrolling his social media became a nightly ritual. I memorized his birthday, his favorite color – sunflower yellow, just like his light stick – and even his dream of learning to dance like me.

The need to know more became a consuming fire. Shame battled with a strange pull, but I found myself spilling my secret to Jisoo, our manager. "There's this fan..." I trailed off, the words catching in my throat.

Jisoo raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in her eyes. "A special fan?"

I flushed, heat creeping up my neck. "Just... A fan, okay?"

Jisoo smiled, a predator sizing up its prey. "Leave it to me, Minju."

Days later, a manila folder landed on my table. My heart hammered a frantic tattoo against my ribs as I opened it. It was Y/n's life, meticulously documented, a violation laid bare in black and white. Shame coiled in my gut, but the knowledge was intoxicating, a forbidden fruit I couldn't resist taking a bite of.

His address, his family details, even his favorite coffee shop – all there for me to consume. This was wrong, I knew it. But the thrill of knowing everything, of having him mapped out in my mind, was too powerful to ignore.

The weekend arrived, a heavy weight settling in my stomach. Armed with a disguise – a baseball cap pulled low and oversized sunglasses – I ventured out. The address led me to a small, unassuming apartment building. My pulse quickened, a frantic drum solo against my ribs.

He opened the door, blinking in surprise. "M-minju?" he stammered, disbelief coloring his voice.

I froze, caught red-handed. Shame and a twisted sense of elation warred within me. Here he was, the object of my unhealthy obsession, standing in his own doorway.

But instead of disgust, his face lit up with a mixture of awe and excitement. He ushered me inside, bombarding me with questions about ILLIT and our upcoming comeback. Flustered, I found myself answering, enjoying the way his eyes sparkled with every word.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room. I knew I had to leave. With a hasty goodbye, I fled back to the dorm, the image of Y/n seared into my brain.

He wasn't just a fan anymore. He was mine, a secret obsession I couldn't shake. And I, Minju, the cold, aloof idol, was hopelessly addicted to the sunshine he brought into my life. An addiction I knew, with a chilling certainty, would consume me whole.

The following days were a blur of practice sessions and promotional appearances. Every spare moment was spent replaying our encounter, dissecting every smile, every word he spoke. My obsession grew, a monstrous vine snaking its way around my heart.

One night, unable to sleep, I did the unthinkable. I used the information Jisoo had gathered to find his social media accounts beyond the one he used for fan interactions. It felt like a betrayal, a violation of the fragile trust we'd built. Yet, I couldn't stop myself.

His private accounts were a window into his soul – pictures with friends, family gatherings, even a video of him clumsily attempting a dance routine.

I watched the grainy video on repeat, a twisted pleasure blooming in my gut. Here he was, the one I held on a pedestal, stumbling through the choreography I knew with every fiber of my being. A strange sense of power surged through me. He admired me, wanted to be like me, yet he was so far out of reach.

Sleep finally claimed me, the image of his clumsy dance moves morphing into a dream where he danced flawlessly beside me, his eyes locked on mine with adoration.

The following weeks felt like an eternity. Practice sessions blurred into late-night rehearsals, my focus waning, my body exhausted. My only solace was the stolen moments I spent on his social media, a guilty pleasure I couldn't shake.

One evening, amidst the chaos of a pre-comeback photoshoot, my phone buzzed. An anonymous message, a single line of text: "Lookinh forward to your performance tonight. Sunshine_Y/N."

My breath hitched. It was him, using a burner phone? A thrill shot through me, a mixture of fear and excitement. He was following me, watching me from the shadows. This secret connection, this shared knowledge, felt like a forbidden bond.

That night, as ILLIT took the stage bathed in blinding lights, I searched the crowd with renewed fervor. My eyes scanned every face, a desperate yearning clawing at my chest. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Disappointment prickled at me, a bitter aftertaste to the roaring applause that greeted our performance. Back in the dorm, exhaustion tugged at me, yet sleep refused to come. All I could think about was that message, a confirmation of his obsession that mirrored mine.

The days leading up to our comeback single's release were a whirlwind of interviews, radio appearances, and photoshoots. The pressure mounted, the weight of expectations a constant burden. Yet, amidst the chaos, Y/n's silent presence became a flickering flame, a lifeline in the storm.

Then, the single dropped. The response was overwhelming, a positive wave of online feedback and soaring music chart positions. But the only validation I craved was his.

One morning, as I scrolled through a sea of comments on ILLIT's official page, I saw it. A message from Sunshine_Y/N, bold and glowing amidst the praise. "'Obsession' is a masterpiece. You're incredible, Minju."

Tears welled up in my eyes, a mixture of relief and something more possessive. He had seen it, had heard our song, and his praise echoed in my head like a love song.

The following days turned into weeks, then months. ILLIT's popularity skyrocketed, and so did my obsession with Y/n. Jisoo, bless her calculating heart, saw the shift in me and subtly started feeding my addiction. Pictures from events we attended, details on our schedules, anything that might pique his interest.

It wasn't enough. I craved more, a connection that went beyond stolen glances and cryptic messages. One night, after a particularly grueling promotional tour, I found myself breaking down in front of Jisoo.

"I can't take it anymore, Jisoo," I confessed, my voice thick with desperation. "I need to see him, to talk to him properly."

Jisoo, calm and collected despite my outburst, offered a solution. "There's a fan meeting scheduled next month. We can arrange a… private meeting beforehand."

A spark ignited in my eyes. A chance to meet him face-to-face, away from the screaming fans? It was a risk, a potential scandal, but the desire to be near him eclipsed any fear.

The following weeks were filled with nervous anticipation and meticulous planning. Jisoo orchestrated a secret room within the venue where the fan meeting was held, ensuring our encounter would remain discreet.

The day arrived, a storm of controlled chaos. ILLIT performed, interacted with fans, signed autographs – a machine running on autopilot. But all I could think about was the secret meeting waiting for me at the end.

Finally, the last fan left, and I found myself ushered into the waiting room. My heart hammered against my ribs as the door creaked open, revealing a nervous-looking Y/n.

He froze, his eyes widening in surprise. Then, a smile erupted on his face. "Minju? Is this really… you?"

I nodded, unable to form words. Here he was, the object of my obsessive desires, standing just a few feet away. The air crackled with a strange energy, a mix of nervousness and something darker.

The following hour flew by in a blur. We talked about music, about ILLIT, about his dreams – mundane topics that somehow felt profound in this clandestine setting. As the time drew to a close, a sense of panic clawed at me. I couldn't let him leave.

Panic constricted my throat as Jisoo poked her head in, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Time's up, Minju. We have to get you back before anyone notices."

"No!" I blurted out, the word echoing in the sterile room. Both Y/n and Jisoo stared at me, surprise etched on their faces.

Shame burned in my cheeks, but a stronger urge, a possessive need, took hold. I couldn't let him disappear back into the faceless crowd, not after this. Not after the connection we'd forged, however twisted it might be.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped towards Y/n, my voice losing its usual icy composure. "Don't listen to her," I said, my gaze locking onto his. "We still got time."

Y/n shuffled back, his eyes darting between me and the closed door. A seed of fear bloomed in his usually sunny demeanor. "M-minju, what's going on?"

The mask of professionalism I usually wore slipped completely. "This," I declared, stepping closer, my voice barely above a whisper. "This is what's going on."

Before he could react, I reached out and locked the door, the satisfying click echoing in the silence. Y/n's breath hitched, his eyes widening in terror. A flicker of satisfaction sparked in me, a dark thrill at his fear.

"Minju, why are you doing this?" he stammered, his voice trembling.

"Because I can't lose you," I confessed, the words tumbling out in a torrent. "You may not know it, Sunshine_Y/N, but you're mine now. Your admiration, your support, it all belongs to me."

Tears welled up in his eyes, a stark contrast to the cold, chilling smile that crept onto my face. "But… but I don't understand. I'm just a fan."

"Just a fan?" I scoffed, the sound laced with cruel amusement. "Oh You're so much more than that, Y/n. You're my muse, my inspiration, the sunshine that cuts through the monotony of my life."

His fear morphed into a kind of pleading. "Minju, please. This is crazy. You don't even know me."

I leaned in close, my voice dropping to a seductive purr. "Oh, but I do, Y/n. I know everything. Your favorite color, your birthday, even your dream of dancing like me."

He stumbled back, his face draining of color. "W-wait.. H-how… how do you know that?"

A cruel laugh escaped my lips. "Let's just say I have my ways."

He looked around the room, a desperate hope flickering in his eyes. But the door remained locked, a symbol of the terrifying reality that had dawned on him.

"Don't worry, Y/n," I continued, my voice soft yet laced with a dangerous edge. "You'll get used to this. You'll learn to love me, just like I love you."

His voice, barely a whisper, shattered the twisted fantasy I'd built. "You… you don't love me, Minju. This is just an obsession."

A flicker of anger ignited within me, but I quickly schooled it. "Call it what you want, Y/n," I said, my voice back to its usual icy calm. "The point is, you're mine now. And there's nothing you, or anyone else, can do about it."

I watched, a predator savoring its prey, as the light extinguished from his eyes, replaced by a chilling realization. He was trapped, a prisoner in a gilded cage built by my twisted love, a love that had morphed into a terrifying obsession.

To Be Continued

[hoernypie]

࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖The Perfect Fit˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔

tags: creamp!e, public

wc: 1078

As the mall bustled with the muted hum of distant chatter and the rhythmic ding of cash registers, Toji and I found ourselves in the cramped confines of a deserted changing room, our hearts racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation. His calloused hands, a testament to his rigorous training as an assassin, fumbled with the buttons of my blouse, his eyes dark with desire. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the sterile aroma of the shop, creating an intoxicating blend that sent my senses reeling. I bit my bottom lip, trying to suppress the whimpers threatening to escape as his fingertips danced over my skin, setting it ablaze with anticipation. The soft rustle of fabric was the only sound behind the fabric that separated us from workers and other customers in the shop, paused by the occasional muffled giggle as we tried, and often failed, to keep our passion in check. The knowledge that we could be caught at any moment only served to heighten our arousal, as we both craved the thrill of the forbidden. With a gentle nudge, Toji urged me towards the wall in the corner, his eyes never leaving mine as he unbuckled his belt with a sense of urgency that mirrored my own.

My body pressed against the cold wall, the contrast to our burning desire sending a shiver down my spine. Toji's hands grew more confident, his grip firm as he peeled my blouse away, revealing the black lace bra that barely contained my breasts. His gaze lingered on the swell of my cleavage, his breath hot and heavy against my neck as he whispered sweet nothings in my ear. His mouth found my neck, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses that sent bolts of pleasure through my core. His hands cupped my breasts, teasing the hardened nipples through the lace. With a sudden surge of boldness, I grabbed his wrists and brought his hands down to the hem of my skirt, silently urging him to continue his exploration. He obliged, his thumbs hooking under the elastic waistband and tugging it down, exposing my matching black thong. 

With a playful smirk, Toji's gaze dipped to the revealed strip of fabric and he paused, savoring the moment. His hands moved with deliberate slowness, tracing the lace of my thong with his fingertips before sliding them inside, the fabric growing damp as he stroked my swollen clit. My eyes rolled back in pleasure, and a soft moan slipped out before I bit my bottom lip. His touch grew more insistent, his thumb circling my sensitive nub as he slid his finger deeper, teasing my entrance. I leaned into the sensation, my legs quivering with the effort to remain standing as he worked his magic. 

Toji's eyes flashed with mischief as he sensed my struggle to remain quiet. He stepped closer, his erection pressing against my thigh, "You're so wet for me." His finger continued pulling in and out of my slick warmth, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me. The tension grew palpable as he added a second finger, pumping them in and out with a gentle rhythm that had me grasping the wall for support. My breaths grew ragged, and I knew I couldn't hold back much longer. The need to be filled by him was overwhelming, and I could feel my orgasm building up. 

Toji's mischievous grin grew wider as he felt the tremors of my impending climax. "I want to feel you come around my fingers, but I know you want more." With a swift movement, he yanked my thong aside and freed his throbbing member from his pants. It stood tall and proud, its size making my mouth water. He aligned himself with my entrance, the tip of his cock teasing me. The anticipation was unbearable, and I nodded frantically, unable to form words. He took that as his cue, pressing into me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his girth. Once fully inside, he paused, allowing me to feel every inch of him, my inner walls stretched to accommodate his size. Then, with a low groan, he began to move, his hips rocking into me with a silent rhythm that had my knees threatening to buckle. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through me, and I had to bite down on my fist to keep from crying out. His pace grew faster, and more demanding, and I could feel the pressure building inside me yet again. He leaned in, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss as his hand found my clit again, rubbing it in circles that matched the tempo of his hips. The combination was exquisite, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. And when he finally let go, I shattered, my orgasm ripping through me with the intensity I'd never felt before. His own release followed, filling me completely with his warmth before it slowly dripped out of me.

Breathless and trembling, we broke the kiss, our eyes locking as the aftershocks of our shared climax slowly subsided. Toji leaned his forehead against mine, a smug smile playing on his lips as he whispered, "Looks like we're going to have to get creative with cleaning up." I giggled softly, seeing his smirk. He stepped back, his cock still semi-erect and glistening with the evidence of our encounter. His eyes searched mine, questioning if I was okay, and I nodded, unable to wipe the blissful expression from my flushed face. He took a moment to tuck himself back into his pants, fixing his clothes with the same hasty carelessness that we had undone them. With shaky hands, I pulled my skirt back into its place and straightened my bra, feeling the warmth of his cum inside me, a secret that only we knew. We shared a look that was a silent promise for more moments like this, our hearts racing as we both knew that the thrill of the circumstances only made the encounter that much more erotic. The footsteps of the shop assistant echoed faintly on the tiles, reminding us that our time to flee the 'crime scene' had come. We quickly composed ourselves, and with one last hungry glance, Toji turned the lock on the changing room door and we stepped out, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Our secret was safe, for now, nestled between the racks of clothes and the beating of our hearts.

[phillydilly]

Illicit Affairs

⊹♡— In which she is in a secretive and forbidden relationship with Lewis Hamilton

Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader

Authors note: I was listening to this song and got the idea to write a story loosely based off of it. Hope you enjoy!

Y/N had spent countless nights rehearsing in front of her bedroom mirror, telling herself it was time to end the secretive and forbidden relationship she had with Lewis, the famous Formula 1 driver. She knew it was wrong, keeping herself hidden while Lewis paraded in public with his wife. It was a love that was never meant to be, but it had an intoxicating allure that she couldn't escape.

Tonight was the night, she had convinced herself. She was done with the lies and secrecy. She deserved better, she thought. Y/N stood in front of the mirror, psyching herself up.

"You can do this, Y/N," she whispered to her reflection. "You’ve got this.."

But as she turned away from the mirror, she heard a knock at her apartment door. Her heart raced, and her resolve began to waver. She had invited Lewis over tonight to have the talk, but now that he was here, it was so much harder.

She took a deep breath and went to open the door. When she did, Lewis was standing there, looking as handsome and charming as ever. Without a word, he pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss. Lewis held her close, his hands gently cupping her face as he pulled away from the kiss.

They went to sit on her couch, y/n’s hands nervously fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. She had to do it. She had to end this. Lewis was sitting next to her, looking deep into her eyes, unaware of her inner turmoil.

"Lewis," Y/N began, her voice quivering. "We need to talk."

He frowned slightly, sensing the seriousness in her tone. "What's wrong, Y/N?"

Tears welled up in her eyes as she found the strength to voice her thoughts. "I've been thinking, I think we need to end this. This relationship, it's too painful for me. I can't keep hiding."

Lewis's face fell, and his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and desperation. "Y/N, please, don't say that. You mean everything to me. I can't imagine my life without you."

She wiped away a tear that had escaped, but her resolve remained firm. "Lewis, I need to think about my own happiness. This secrecy is tearing me apart. I need to move on, find someone who can give me the love and attention I deserve."

Lewis moved closer to her, his hand gently reaching out to cup her face. "Y/N, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. My wife, she doesn't understand me the way you do. Please, don't do this."

Y/N felt his touch on her skin, his warm breath against her face, and her determination began to waver. She had heard these words before, and every time, they had the power to draw her back in.

Lewis's lips met hers in a passionate kiss, and she responded, their mouths moving together in a familiar dance. Her resolve crumbled as the intensity of their connection enveloped her. The pain of secrecy and the knowledge that their love was forbidden seemed distant in that moment.

When they finally pulled away, Y/N felt lost, caught in the grip of Lewis's charm. "Y/N, please, I can't lose you. I'll do anything to keep you in my life."

Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, "okay."

Their love was an impossible and forbidden affair, but in that moment, as Lewis kissed her again and held her close, Y/N couldn't bring herself to walk away. The allure of their love was too strong, and she knew that their secret relationship would continue, no matter how much she had tried to end it.

[reaper2187]

La Signora x Female reader

It had been a long day.

The Fatui headquarters in Snezhnaya was always cold, but tonight, the frigid winds had seeped through every layer of your clothing, nipping at your skin like shards of ice. The day had been a whirlwind of espionage and strategy meetings, leaving you exhausted yet focused. Your role in the organization was one of importance, but it also came with heavy burdens—burdens you had to carry while hiding an even heavier secret.

La Signora. She was everything you could ever dream of and more—dangerous, captivating, elusive. She was the embodiment of icy grace, with a beauty that could freeze you in place and a temper that could set the whole world aflame. You were her subordinate, and the fact that you were hers in more ways than one was something you had learned to live with.

It was impossible not to be drawn to her. The first time you had caught her eye, you were terrified. It was rare for anyone to gain her favor, but she seemed to have taken an immediate interest in you. At first, it was small, passing glances, curt nods, and cryptic comments that sent shivers down your spine. But gradually, the relationship had deepened.

And now… now you were hers in secret, bound to her in ways no one else could ever know.

Your footsteps echoed as you made your way to her chambers in the secluded part of the headquarters. It was late, almost everyone had retired for the night, and the corridors were empty except for the occasional patrolling guard. You had learned to be discreet, to move silently through the halls, because what you had with her could never be exposed.

It was dangerous. It was thrilling. And you couldn’t stay away.

Reaching her door, you knocked softly, the sound barely audible against the gusts of wind outside. For a moment, there was only silence, and your heart skipped a beat, wondering if she might have forgotten your rendezvous. But then the door opened, revealing her figure standing in the dim candlelight of the room.

"La Signora," you whispered, dipping your head in respect.

Her lips curled into a smirk, her eyes gleaming like polished ice. "You're late," she purred, her voice smooth and chilling, yet tinged with a heat that made your breath catch.

"Forgive me. I was—"

"Come in before someone sees you," she interrupted, stepping aside to let you in.

You entered quickly, feeling the warmth of the room wash over you as she closed the door behind you. Despite the bitter cold outside, the fireplace in her chamber was always burning, casting long shadows over the rich, elegant decor. You couldn’t help but feel small in her presence, overwhelmed by the intensity of her gaze and the knowledge that you were walking a dangerous line.

"Take off your cloak," she ordered, her tone commanding but soft.

You complied without hesitation, shedding the heavy fabric and hanging it near the door. Your uniform, tailored to the Fatui’s standard, still clung to you tightly, but the warmth of the fire was a welcome relief.

La Signora approached you, her movements graceful and slow, like a predator circling its prey. She stood before you, towering over you as her eyes raked over your form. You could feel the weight of her presence pressing down on you, making your pulse quicken. She reached out, her gloved hand brushing against your cheek, cold and smooth as she tilted your chin up to meet her gaze.

"Do you know how hard it is to keep this secret?" she murmured, her voice low. "To maintain this façade while my eyes are always on you, even when others are watching?"

You swallowed hard, unable to find words. The truth was, you knew the danger just as well as she did. The Fatui were ruthless, and relationships like this were forbidden—especially for someone of her rank. Yet, the tension, the secrecy, only made it more intoxicating.

"I can’t resist you," she continued, her thumb brushing over your lower lip. "No matter how hard I try."

Her confession sent a rush of warmth through you, a stark contrast to the frost that always clung to her. Before you could respond, she leaned in, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as possessive as it was tender. Her gloved hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as her cold lips melted against yours. You returned the kiss eagerly, your hands finding purchase on her waist, feeling the soft material of her luxurious dress under your fingers.

She tasted of winter and danger, a combination that left you breathless and aching for more. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were darker, filled with something you recognized well—desire, but also the need for control.

"La Signora…" you breathed her name, unsure whether it was a plea or a prayer.

"You belong to me," she said simply, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. "And you will never forget that."

You nodded, your voice failing you, and that seemed to satisfy her. She stepped back, her hand slipping away from your face, leaving a lingering cold where her touch had been. The loss of contact made you feel strangely empty, but you knew better than to move without her permission.

"Sit," she commanded, motioning toward a chair near the fireplace.

You obeyed, sitting down carefully, watching her as she moved to the table where a bottle of wine and two glasses sat. She poured a deep red liquid into the glasses and brought one to you, holding it out with a teasing smile.

"Drink," she said softly, her voice a tantalizing mix of command and invitation.

You took the glass from her, your fingers brushing hers for a brief moment. Her presence was so overwhelming, it was hard to think of anything else. You took a sip of the wine, the rich, velvety taste warming your throat, but even that couldn’t distract you from the heat in her gaze as she sat across from you.

The room was silent except for the crackling of the fire and the distant howl of the wind. The intimacy of the moment, the knowledge that you were alone with her, hidden away from the world, made your pulse race.

She watched you over the rim of her glass, her eyes heavy-lidded and intent. There was always an air of danger around her, a sense that she could snap her fingers and have you destroyed if she so chose. And yet, there was something deeper—something softer in the way she looked at you, as if you were the one thing in the world she couldn’t control, and that thrilled her.

"I can see your mind is racing," she said after a long pause, setting her glass down. "What are you thinking?"

You hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. She was always testing you, always pushing to see how far she could go before you broke. But you had learned to play her game, to give her just enough without losing yourself entirely.

"I’m thinking how dangerous this is," you admitted, watching her reaction carefully. "How easily this could all fall apart."

Her lips curled into a smirk, clearly amused by your honesty. "Danger excites you, doesn’t it?" she mused, leaning forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. "That’s why you’re still here."

You couldn’t deny it. The thrill of being with her, of knowing that at any moment, someone could discover your secret, only made your connection all the more intense. But it wasn’t just the danger. It was her—the way she made you feel, the way she claimed you without question, as if you had always been hers, even before you knew it.

"I don’t want this to fall apart," you said quietly, surprising yourself with your own vulnerability.

Her expression softened slightly, just for a moment, before the mask of icy control slipped back into place. She rose from her chair, walking over to you with slow, deliberate steps. Standing before you, she reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch firm but not unkind.

"It won’t," she said, her voice low and certain. "As long as you stay by my side, no one will ever know. And no one will ever take you from me."

Her words were both a promise and a warning, and you understood them well. She had power—immense, terrifying power—and as long as you were hers, you were under her protection. But there was always the unspoken truth that if you ever tried to leave, if you ever betrayed her, you wouldn’t survive.

And yet, in this moment, all you felt was the warmth of her hand on your shoulder, the intensity of her gaze, and the unbreakable bond that had formed between you.

Without another word, she pulled you to your feet, her arms wrapping around you as she kissed you again, this time slower, more deliberate. You melted into her embrace, your body pressing against hers as her hands slid down your back, claiming you with every touch.

For tonight, you were hers completely—no titles, no ranks, no dangers lurking in the shadows. Just the two of you, lost in the heat of the moment, hidden away from the world.

Tomorrow, the cold reality of the Fatui would return, and you would go back to being her subordinate, maintaining the careful façade that kept you both safe. But for now, in the privacy of her chambers, you allowed yourself to forget everything except the feel of her lips, the warmth of her body, and the intoxicating thrill of being loved by someone

[nhularin]

BLOODLUST

PAIRING vampire!sunghoon x mortal!reader GENRE drabble! angsty fluff (?) WARNINGS not proofread it SUCKS! WC 169 words

SUNGHOON'S EYES GLEAMED WITH HUNGER as he watched your pulse quicken. The moonlight bathed your skin in an ethereal glow, amplifying the allure of your delicate neck. He fought against his primal instincts, haunted by the knowledge that his touch could bring both pleasure and danger.

"You tempt me beyond reason," Sunghoon whispered, his voice a seductive melody. "But I am cursed, forever bound to the night."

Your heart raced, torn between fear and desire. You reached out, fingertips grazing Sunghoon's cool skin. "I fear not the shadows, for within them lies the promise of passion. It's me, Sunghoon, you wouldn't hurt me?"

A tormented hunger burned in Sunghoon's eyes, but his love for you eclipsed it. With a gentle touch, he pulled you close, your lips meeting in a passionate embrace. As you connection deepened, the world around you faded, leaving only the intoxicating thrill of your forbidden love.

In the embrace of darkness, you found solace, a forbidden love that defied the boundaries of mortality.

♯★ haew0nz 2023

[saishuu-heiki-a]

WHAT KIND OF TRAGEDY IS SEPHIROTH?

doomed from the start ⸝ ⸝ there was no way of winning, and you knew it too. but you still tried. you tried again and again and again to change it. you fought tooth and claw to change your fate, but she cannot be easily manipulated. it’s not your fault. the game was always rigged against you. from the moment you entered the narrative, your fate was sealed. you didn’t stand a chance.

blessed by ⸝ @stingslikeabee

[saishuu-heiki]

' a man is only as good as his weapon ' , words spoken by his father; the most memorable thing he was able to grasp in a waterfall's worth of verbiage. He knew not how words were remotely applicable to a man whose greatest weapon was an erlenmeyer flask or burette [ though with time, it was Hojo's ingenuity which proved the superior weapon ]. Regardless of physical strength or lack thereof, wise words were wise words.

His father made it obvious from the time he was old enough to talk and think for himself , Sephiroth would only be remembered for the things he accomplished with a weapon wielded.

He was not ' brought ' to Gaia , as Hojo so kindly worded , to think or feel. The mad professor tied strings about Sephiroth's limbs and neck and kept control at all times. Whenever choice was presented, it was under the scientist's guidance , yet the allusion of free-will was important pavement of Sephiroth's path. He was the seed of a brilliant and sadistic man ; ploys did not go unnoticed.

A child at a Gold Saucer arcade. At eleven years of age the prodigal son was given access to the ShinRa Electric Company armory and weapons development division. Guns had never sparked great appeal ; a thing the professor was quietly thankful for. ' any goon with two working eyes can be a good marksman ' , another lesson wrought in truth. The louder , the flashier , and the boy was not impressed. The boy was raised under the whip of discipline , and nothing forged man from boy than the discipline required to handle a sword.

Sephiroth took readily to katanas. He was not a child who longed for his father's approval , and the twisted grin and mischievous glimmer behind round glasses nearly made him regret his choice. Without discipline and respect being nailed into his mind since birth , he was certain he would not have chosen the weapon , yet it was still his choice in some part. The prodigal child found himself as enamored as he could muster in the balanced art of sword mastery , the various stances , the written texts of ancient warriors , and the ritual of maintaining a weapon to its prime.

' a man is only as good as his weapon ' , his father's words echoed even sharper when travels to Wutai yielded the treasure of the MASAMUNE. An extension of his body and his soul ; Sephiroth followed in the footsteps of legendary swordsmen Musashi , Muramasa , Kojiro. The birth of a god occurred the moment the masamune fell into his hands. His father knew nothing of battle , of weapons, of being a warrior. The old man toiled with his vials while Sephiroth became a man by his own accord.

He learned from warriors and true swordsmen before him ; their legacy bleeding into his life. ShinRa employees , low and high , could not comprehend the ritual performed by the soldier. Other weapons could be created and 3rd Class SOLDIERs were typically tasked with taking care of the equipment of their superiors. No one was allowed to touch the masamune. Hours would be spent cleaning the blade free of blood , muck, and parts, gleefully. The ritual connected him to something other than his father and the company they worked for.

' a man is only as good as the way he wields his weapon and treats it ' , Sephiroth then said. He would kneel in his sanctuary [ a place only he stepped foot in ] and clean and sharpen the masamune through the ancient techniques with the ancient materials. Hours on the whetting stone while all of Midgar was in bustling chaos. The ritual of discipline and respect was abandoned with the breaking of his mind.

[savagewildnerness]

“Something breaking in his face.

‘How could you keep it from me!’ he whispered. Thoughts of old magic, luminous legend, some great eerie strata in which all the shadowy things thrived, an intoxication with forbidden knowledge in which the natural things become unimportant. No miracle anymore to the leaves falling from the autumn trees, the sun in the orchard.

No.

The scent was rising from him like incense, like the heat and the smoke of church candles rising. Heart thumping under the skin of his naked chest. Tight little belly glistening with sweat, sweat staining the thick leather belt. Blood full of salt. I could scarcely breathe.

And we do breathe. We breathe and we taste and we smell and we feel and we thirst.

‘You have misunderstood everything.’ Is this Lestat speaking? It sounded like some other demon. Some loathsome thing for whom the voice was the imitation of a human voice.”

I tend to remember the horror of the moment Nicolas is turned and the vast emptiness of the bird over the fathomless, meaningless sea Lestat sees in Nicki’s mind then… and how the moment Nicolas is no longer mortal, he loses all that made him mortal (Lestat’s greatest fear with respect to himself, so all else aside - it’s no wonder that once he’s a vampire Lestat can no longer bear to look upon Nicolas!) but these, Nicolas’ last mortal moments mean something too.

(Also LOL my Mickey Mouse top/dress isn’t very Nicolas, is it!? 😂)

[untoldreader]

Veiled Desires

Natasha Romanoff x Reader x Maria Hill

Summary

As their bond deepens, Maria, Natasha, and Y/N grapple with their inner desires. Conflicting loyalties, past traumas, and the dangers of their profession threaten to keep their love hidden, but their hearts refuse to be silenced

Warnings

None?

Tag list

@nayarianna1302 @alexawynters @tigerlillyruiz

Chapter 3

In the wake of their decision to embrace their burgeoning love, Maria, Natasha, and Y/N found themselves navigating a delicate dance of secrecy and desire. The world they inhabited was filled with danger and intrigue, leaving little room for personal relationships. They knew that their love had to remain hidden, veiled from prying eyes and potential threats.

Their interactions became laden with hidden meanings and stolen glances, each touch and gesture carrying a weight of unspoken longing. They found solace in stolen moments—a lingering brush of fingertips, a shared smile across a crowded room—knowing that their connection was a flame that burned bright in the shadows.

But the secrecy took its toll. Maria, Natasha, and Y/N yearned for the freedom to openly express their love, to walk hand in hand without fear of repercussions. The weight of the clandestine nature of their relationship bore down on them, testing their resolve and challenging their commitment to one another.

As they worked together on missions, the line between duty and desire blurred. They fought side by side, their trust in each other unwavering, but the knowledge of their love simmered just beneath the surface. They had to remain vigilant, constantly on guard to protect not only themselves but also the fragile connection they shared.

In the quiet moments, away from prying eyes, Maria, Natasha, and Y/N sought solace in each other's arms. Their stolen nights were filled with whispered confessions, tender caresses, and the intoxicating taste of forbidden passion. They reveled in the stolen fragments of time, cherishing every stolen touch as if it were their last.

But the world they inhabited was unforgiving, and their secret love affair remained under constant threat. They encountered close calls—moments where their secret nearly slipped through their fingers. It was during these near misses that their bond grew stronger, their shared vulnerability and determination to protect each other solidifying their commitment.

Yet, amidst the challenges and the secrecy, their love continued to flourish. It became a beacon of light in the darkness, an anchor that kept them grounded amidst the chaos of their lives. They found strength in each other, drawing courage from the knowledge that they were not alone in their desires and dreams.

As time passed, Maria, Natasha, and Y/N began to wonder if there was a way to break free from the constraints that held them captive. They yearned for a future where their love could thrive openly, unburdened by secrecy. But the path ahead was treacherous, filled with obstacles and unknown dangers.

In the depths of their hearts, they knew that they had to find a way to reconcile their love with the demands of their world. They could no longer deny the power of their desires, nor could they continue to hide their love in the shadows.

========================

Chapter 3 ended with Maria, Natasha, and Y/N standing at a crossroads, their hearts yearning for the freedom to openly embrace their love. They were determined to find a way to navigate the treacherous terrain they found themselves in, ready to face the trials and tribulations that awaited them on their journey towards a love that defied conventions and boundaries. :)

[fvriva]

tried to keep the genders pretty even here. propaganda under the cut!

Iskandar is extremely tall, buff, and generally logical and stoic with a bit of a temper. She's still coming to grips with her sexuality and struggles with vulnerability, but once you can get her in a mood she really melts like butter. Covered in extremely hot multicolored scars that glow. Prophetically destined to become a milf

Bikkri is a curt but highly intelligent Asura scientist currently adapting to a demon core in their chest, which gives them some monstrous qualities. Has a tendency to push themself too far. Extremely thoughtful and will remember everything you tell them about yourself and your interests, acting on it when you least expect it.

Newt is a bit of a plain-jane everyman, but he has a heart of gold. He believes in you. You've got this. He's your dad now!

Sibyl has experienced a lot of sorrow throughout her two lives, but maintains a degree of warm serenity despite the horrors. Broods like a hen. Was a freak back in her prime.

Alrich honestly never really knows what's going on but is just happy to be here at any given point. They're living life out of chronological order after spending their formative years, similarly achronologically, in a time loop. They're easygoing as it comes, and playful, but not naive.

Razza is grizzled, irreverent, keen, and hardheaded. One of my three commanders in my Triumvirate, she's also the representative for the Whispers and chief spearhead on all things Elder Dragons. A little bit clingy but hates admitting it.

V'rylla was a hero from the previous age, an enchantress wed to the Chosen One that took advantage of the war in heaven to join their ranks as an angel herself. She's conniving, adaptable, duplicitous, a temptress, and intoxicating. She's got a kid, somewhere. She can do freaky body horror shit.

Baraquathor is chronically fatigued, seems a hapless fool, and has a short attention span for an elf, but he plays up a lot of his weaknesses in order to disguise the fact that he's in charge of every situation. He's really, really convincing about it.

Fvriva is power hungry and craves eldritch knowledge beyond what is capable of being understood and comprehended to an unhealthy degree. As such, she tends to gravitate towards positions of cosmic power, and tends to step over whoever she has to in order to taste the most forbidden of fruits. Highly variable in a relationship, but it does tend to bring out the best and most brilliant in her.

Baphy is sweet but plagued by melancholy all her life. She's very quiet and likes to paint in her free time. Works as a fabric merchant. Recently had a miscarriage; wants kids still.

[reverieparacosm]

Smut: Sir Gideon Ofnir x F!Reader

Sir Gideon Ofnir (Elden Ring) x F!Reader

Warnings/Tags: Smut, Age Difference (all characters portrayed are 18+ legal adults), light possessive behavior, orgasm delay/denial, plot what plot/porn without plot, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, kind of mask kink

Synopsis: In the midst of a perilous quest for an item, a strong and compelling bond begins to flourish between you and Sir Gideon Ofnir. As the shattered ruins of the once majestic royal capital provide a haunting backdrop, a shared moment by the crackling fire ignites a passionate and electric encounter that transcends the boundaries of your mission.

Note: First time writing Smut, so have mercy on me! Shout-out to @velvet-apricots Without her this fanfic would not have been possible

The wind howls eerily through the streets of Leyndell, now littered with rubble and the decaying remains of past grandeur. Amidst the ruined splendor lie traces of once-luxuriant opulence - shimmering gold, ornately designed mosaics, and colossal statues that bore witness to the lost glory of days gone by.

Despite these reminders of former wealth and power, Leyndell exudes an air of somberness, a sense of hopeless desolation that permeates its walls.

As Sir Gideon Ofnir leads the way into a dimly lit chamber devoid of furniture, save for a crackling fire burning brightly amidst piles of rubble, your heart races with anticipation.

The room is ensconced in a vibrant tapestry of nature's embrace. Overgrown with lush plants and entwined roots, it exudes an enchanting aura. Bookshelves, adorned with glistening golden ornaments, stand as silent sentinels, guarding the treasures of knowledge within. As you step inside, the air becomes an intoxicating blend of damp earth and the intoxicating perfume of blossoming flowers, beckoning you further into this forgotten sanctuary. Your eyes are drawn to the majestic columns and intricate golden accents that adorn every corner, a testament to the opulence that once graced these hallowed walls.

You both have been searching for rare items in the Leyndell Royal Capital.

While it seems unlikely to find anything valuable among all the wreckage, the thrill of exploring such places fills you with excitement and anticipation. This very intensity, fueled by adrenaline and desire, slowly ignites a flame within you both.

With every step closer to the smoldering embers, you feel your body grow increasingly restless, yearning for relief from the mounting pressure simmering beneath your clothes. Unable to resist any longer, Gideon moves toward you, gently brushing your hair away from your face.

His touch sends waves of warmth cascading down your spine, sparking an uncontrollable surge of need deep within your core.

With the faint glow casting mysterious shadows across the walls, it seems like some secret hideaway where lovers would find solace amid the chaos outside. Unbeknownst to him, you feel an irresistible pull towards him, an almost uncontrollable urge to explore his body. 

Despite everything, his gaze softens as it settled upon yours. "This war-torn city may seem barren," he begins, his voice husky yet gentle, "but tonight, I wish for us to make our own sanctuary."

As his fingers grazes your cheek, sending delicious chills down your spine, you could no longer resist the undeniable attraction you feel for him. Desire burns within you, igniting the embers of raw passion buried deep inside.

Yearning to feel his flesh against yours, you reach out to him tentatively.

Gently grasping his hand, you guide it upwards until it rests beneath your cloak, exploring the contours of your soft body. The silk fabric slithered off, leaving your breasts exposed and aching for his touch. Your breath hitches as his calloused hands trace circles around your supple curves, eliciting moans of desire.

"This...this is so forbidden," you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of desire and apprehension, as your fingertips delicately trace the contours of his armor. "The age gap...it feels wrong, so wrong." His touch lingers on your cheek, a gentle caress that sends shivers down your spine. Slowly, his hand glides downward, inching closer to your chest, igniting a maelstrom of conflicting emotions within you. "Don't worry," he breathes against your ear, his voice dripping with reassurance and a hint of mischief. "The boundaries we defy, the passions we explore...they transcend the constraints of time. It's more than fine."

As if drawn by an invisible force, Gideon Ofnir hovers over you, his heavy breath melding seamlessly with yours. Feeling his dick pressing against your leg, you slowly part your legs further apart, inviting him closer. 

You gaze in awe at his resplendent armor, gleaming like a constellation of stars illuminated by the dancing flames. A surge of longing fills your voice as you whisper, "Could you, just for a moment, remove your mask? I need to see you."

Gideon Ofnir, his voice tinged with dark allure, responds, "Not yet, my love. Allow me to savor this exquisite anticipation, relishing the sight of you vulnerable and quivering before me."

His large hands remove every piece of cloth from your body. It feels erotic having such skilled hands removing your clothes. Every inch of your skin becomes visible under his expertise. Naked before him, you revel in your vulnerability, feeling incredibly turned on knowing someone who is so capable will be seeing you nude.

Feasting his eyes on your body, his arousal intensifies. With his hands firmly holding onto your waist, he pulls you close.

"My, my... you look so perfect like this. Shivering under my gaze", he says.

You feel a surge of pride mixed with excitement. Reaching forward, you stroke the back of his armor, lingering there tenderly while brushing your lips along his mask.

You shiver as the chill of his armor presses against your skin, sending a tantalizing wave of sensation coursing through your body.

His rough, callused fingers tease and pinch your nipples, causing you to arch your back involuntarily. Moaning softly, you grind your hips against his growing erection, seeking release from the torment building inside you. He kneads and squeezes your ass, his thumbs circling your entrance.

Your hands instinctively reach for his armored thighs, attempting to guide him closer, deeper into you. His frame presses against your sensitized skin, evoking images of conquest and dominance.

You lay down on a table. You try to control the soft little whimpers leaving your mouth when Gideon teases your entrance. He plunges his fingers deep inside you, his movements are relentless and skilled.

He knows exactly what makes you squirm and scream, driving you mad with pleasure. You can tell from the intensity in his eyes, he enjoys making you beg for more. You open your mouth, preparing to say something, anything, but words escape you as you’re caught in a whirlwind of ecstatic emotions.

"We're going to fuck right here? What if someone sees us?" You say it with an edge of fear.

"I don't care if someone sees us. I need you, now."

Gideon enters you, burying himself entirely within your wet heat. You both groan loudly, echoing throughout the room.

Embracing the moment, you entwine your legs around his shoulders, drawing him deeper still. Clenching your inner muscles, you buck your hips rhythmically, meeting each thrust with enthusiasm.

"Oh, darling, you're really not that innocent, are you?" Every stroke drives you ever closer to the edge of blissful ecstasy. Increasingly aware of how tightly your sheath envelops him, Gideon picks up pace. His powerful movements match the ferocity of your cries as you surrender yourself fully to him.

"You look so perfect like this. An absolute mess. You have a beautiful young, soft body." murmured Gideon Ofnir, appreciating your form thoroughly.

You lift yourself up slightly, wrapping your arms around his neck and locking your legs behind his, creating a tantalizing position.

Gideon Ofnir finds it hard to contain his excitement as he reaches down to play with your breast.

Grasping the sensitive bud, he begins to tweak and massage it, watching intently as the color rises in your face. Meanwhile, he continues to penetrate you deeply, claiming possession of your body and soul.

"It’s just me and you now," Gideon murmurs softly, planting a kiss on your lips.

Your body shivers with delight as he plunges deeper into your core, claiming every corner of your being.

Each time he withdraws, only to thrust again, harder than before, bringing you ever closer to the peak of pure ecstasy. Your muscles quiver, ready to snap at any second, as wave after wave of pleasure courses through your veins.

"Please...oh, please," you whimper, your voice laced with a desperate yearning. "Take off your mask." Every plea that escapes your lips is a testament to the overwhelming desire that consumes you.

A smile curls on his lips as he observes your surrender. "Begging is a good look for you, my love," he murmurs, his voice dripping with a sinful delight. With a deliberate slowness, he begins to peel away the mask, unraveling the enigma that hides his true face. The anticipation swells, thick with anticipation and a heady blend of fascination and trepidation.

The gleaming metal falls away, exposing his determined features framed by gray hair. Even without his helmet, his eyes remain shielded, adding to his mystique.

You lean in, captivated by the sight of his weathered face illuminated by the flickering flames. You watch closely as he unfastens his chainmail, layer by layer. Each link reveals a new scar, another battle won, a testament to his resilience.

Caressing his arms, you trace patterns of old wounds hidden beneath the smooth surface of his skin. This rugged exterior belies the tenderness found within; a gentleness reserved exclusively for those who earn his trust.

Leaning in, you place a tender kiss on his lip, savoring the salty taste of him. 

"I’m yours. Only yours", you whisper against his lips.

The warmth of his stare held a mix of hunger and tenderness; they were feelings so powerful; words alone couldn’t express them adequately.

You appreciate his beauty. You start moaning, as he starts to thrust against you.

Every movement made your entire body feel electric with pleasure. His rough, calloused palms pressed against your hip bones, giving you goosebumps and heightening your sensitivity.

His piercing gray eyes met yours, sparkling with unspoken promises. "Don't close your eyes. Look at me. Let me see the desire burning within them", he growls seductively, gripping your hips more securely, pulling you closer.

It dawned on you, then, why people say that love is blind.

Amidst the smoldering ruins of war-torn cities and the endless cycle of life and death, you discovered true companionship in the eyes of this Stoic Tarnished. Your hearts beat as one, your souls are connected, intertwined, and bound forever.

Gideon's strong arms encircle you protectively, your bodies moving in harmony. It is an age-old dance of love and lust, fueled by the mutual longing that has brought you here.

Each touch sends ripples throughout your entire being, intensifying the sensuality coursing through every nerve. With unwavering intensity, Gideon Ofnir moves closer, his lips brushing lightly against yours before plunging deeper. His tongue teases and dances with yours, driving you wild with anticipation. The tender kiss turns into something fierce, his teeth nipping playfully at your lower lip as he pulls away, only to return even more hungrily than before.

Gideon's eyes narrow as he abruptly stops his movements, his grip on your waist tightening. A cruel smirk plays on his lips as he leans in, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "Not yet, darling. You don't get to come until I say so."

He pulls out of you entirely, leaving you feeling empty and frustrated. Gideon's hand trails down your body, his touch teasing and maddeningly gentle. He circles his fingers around your sensitive bud, but doesn't apply the pressure you so desperately crave. "You see, lass, I control every aspect of your pleasure. Your release is in my hands," he taunts, his voice filled with dark amusement. "You're going to have to beg for it. Beg me to let you come."

He continues to stroke and tease you, his touch sending shivers of need coursing through your body. Gideon leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, "Tell me how much you want it. How badly you need to come. Beg for it."

The ache between your legs intensifies, and the need for release becomes unbearable. You find yourself succumbing to his dominance, to the power he holds over your pleasure. With a desperate edge to your voice, you plead, "Please, Gideon. Let me come. I need it. I need you."

A wicked grin spreads across Gideon's face as he finally relents, his fingers applying the pressure you crave. The pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as you ride the waves of ecstasy. He watches you, his expression one of smug satisfaction as he revels in the control he has over your pleasure.

Without a word, he positions himself back at your entrance and thrusts inside you once again, his movements forceful and unrelenting. His grip on your hips tightens as he sets a punishing rhythm, his hips meeting yours with a primal intensity. The sound of your moans and the slap of skin against skin fills the room, echoing with the raw passion between you. Gideon's voice is filled with a mix of dominance and lust as he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "You can't get enough of me, can you? Your body craves my touch, my control. You're mine to use, to pleasure." His thrusts grow faster and harder, driving you towards the edge once more. Gideon's grip on your waist leaves marks, a testament to his possessiveness. 

As the rhythmic movements continue, your body becomes a symphony of pleasure. Pleasure swells inside you, reaching its crescendo, and finally bursts forth in glorious abandon.

Lost in a sea of ecstasy, you cry out his name, unable to hold back anymore.

With his own climax approaching, Gideon Ofnir quickens his strokes, as his control slips away. As you reach the crest of pleasure together, he slides deep inside you one last time, pulsing powerfully.

Exhausted and spent, Gideon collapses beside you. He traces gentle circles around your checks, brushing the locks off your forehead. As he studies your sleeping visage, the intensity of his regard seemed almost tangible.

The moonlight casts a dreamlike luminescence over your body, rendering it ethereally beautiful. The silhouette of your profile stood proud against the wall, highlighting the sharp angles of your nose and jawline. Yet despite your delicate appearance, you possessed a steely resolve, evident in your unflinching gaze and steadfast determination during training sessions. You were more than a pretty face – you were a force to be reckoned with.

During these quiet moments, Gideon allowed himself to admire the bond forming between you two.

For someone so young, your understanding of the world around you far exceeded that of most of your peers. It amazed him how swiftly you assimilated knowledge and developed skills beyond your years. However, your innocence remained undeniable, especially when it came to matters of the flesh.

Despite your shared desire for physical gratification, Gideon takes immense satisfaction in mentoring you in the ways of passion. While other men might see you merely as a sexual object, Gideon views you as a worthy partner capable of satisfying his needs intellectually, emotionally, and physically.