#'so much the man will destroy just to feel in control'

[cruel-seduction]

Please stay?

Summary - Y/N never expected to fall for Tom Riddle—let alone be dragged into his cold, calculating world. Their relationship is anything but conventional, full of manipulation, games, and secrets. But when Y/N begins to pull away, refusing to let herself become just another piece in Tom's twisted plan, the truth about their connection forces both of them to confront feelings neither of them ever expected. Can Tom learn to love in his own way, or will his obsession with control destroy everything?

Glimpse - His knees hit the ground, his gaze locked onto yours, something unspoken hanging between you both. His hands twitch at his sides, his breath slow but measured. And then—in his own way—he gives you what you asked for.

"I will never be the person you deserve," he murmurs, voice rough, edged with something unreadable. "But I will treat you as you deserve to be treated. I will try my best"

It’s not perfect. It’s not a romantic declaration. But it’s Tom. And for the first time, he is trying.

a/n - In the starting the reader will look like a pathetic person with no self respect but trust me it gets much better. AFTER ALL you know your worth. And I can’t write about a girl with no self respect. I am so sorry 😔😔😔. Divider Credit goes to @bernardsbendystraws.

The sky is heavy tonight. The kind of oppressive, ink-black stretch of nothingness that seems to press against the castle like a living thing. Even the stars refuse to shine, swallowed whole by the thick storm clouds slithering across the heavens. A biting chill cuts through the air, sharp and merciless, the lingering dampness from the afternoon rain clinging to the stone walls of Hogwarts like an unshakable ghost.

You pull your cloak tighter around you, fingers numb from the cold, but it’s not the weather that unsettles you. It’s him.

Tom Riddle walks beside you, his steps eerily soundless against the damp grass. His dark robes move like liquid shadow, effortlessly blending into the night, making it seem as if he’s not walking at all but simply materializing forward with each step. You used to take comfort in the way he carried himself—like a king, untouchable and certain of everything. But lately, certainty feels like something slipping between your fingers, something you can no longer grasp.

You steal a glance at him, watching the way the dim torchlight from the castle catches on his sharp features. There is something unnervingly perfect about him—his pale skin unmarked by time, his high cheekbones carved by something otherworldly, his expression unreadable as ever.

You wonder if he’s even real.

Because lately, it feels as though you are losing him.

He’s always been distant in a way no one else could be, keeping the world at arm’s length with cold, calculated detachment. But with you, it has been different. Not soft—Tom Riddle is not a man who indulges in softness—but something just as fragile. Something that could almost be mistaken for tenderness if you weren’t careful.

It was in the way he let you closer than anyone else, the way his gaze lingered just a moment too long when you spoke, the way his hand would ghost over your wrist as if grounding himself. It was in the way he would listen, truly listen, in a way he never did for anyone else.

But now? Now, his patience frays faster. His touch lingers less. Now, when you reach for him, you are met with nothing but air.

You don’t confront him. Not at first. Instead, you try harder.

You remind him of the quiet moments. You stay up late to help him study, even when he doesn’t ask. You sit beside him in the library, carefully passing him books before he even has to request them, anticipating his needs before he speaks.

You let your fingers brush against his when handing over a quill, searching for the ghost of something that once was.

But it is never returned. His touches are colder now, calculated in a way that makes you feel like a pawn rather than something cherished. There are no more absent-minded gestures, no more moments where his hand finds the small of your back without thinking.

And still, you do not speak of it. Instead, you watch.

You start noticing things.

The way his jaw tightens when you linger too close. The way his fingers curl ever so slightly when your voice is too gentle. The way his dark eyes, once alight with intrigue when they settled on you, now hold nothing but unreadable emptiness.

It is suffocating. The slow unraveling of something you never had words for, slipping from your grasp with every passing day. Tonight is no different.

You sit beside him in the dim candlelit corridors, your books spread out between you both, but it is silent. Too silent. Tom Riddle is many things—brilliant, ruthless, endlessly composed—but he is not quiet instead he is sarcastic.

But now, he reads in absolute stillness, the flickering candlelight carving harsh shadows across his face. You watch him, fingers curled tightly in your lap, your throat tightening with every second that stretches between you.

Say something. But you don’t. Because you’re afraid. Afraid that if you speak, the truth will slip past his lips— That you are not enough. That you were never enough.

So, instead, you say, “You’re tired.” It’s an offering, a small piece of normalcy, an attempt to breach the invisible wall between you. His dark lashes lift as he glances at you, his expression unreadable. Then, after a pause— “I have work to do.”

His voice is smooth, effortless, but there’s something clipped beneath it. Something that makes your chest tighten. You swallow. “You should rest.” A flicker of something crosses his face, but it’s gone before you can name it. He exhales slowly through his nose, setting his book aside with deliberate care.

“I don’t need rest, Y/N,” he says, and for the first time in days, you hear something sharp beneath his words. Frustration. At you.

You should leave it alone. You should nod, change the subject, let him be. But you don’t. Because you can’t take it anymore. You tilt your head, voice quiet but firm. “Then what do you need?”

A second of silence. Then— His gaze darkens, his entire body tensing, as if you’ve just asked something he’s unwilling to answer. But he doesn’t have to. Because you already know. You can see it in the way his fingers tighten on the armrest, in the way his throat works around words he doesn’t say.

He is slipping from you, and neither of you knows how to stop it. And for the first time, the weight of it crushes you whole. And you left. 

Hogwarts always hums with whispers.

They slither through the corridors like living things, curling around corners, tucking themselves into the spaces between students. You’ve never paid them much attention.Until now. You’re not looking for it, not eavesdropping, not chasing ghosts through the castle. But sometimes, the truth finds you whether you want it to or not.

The voices are hushed, just around the bend in the empty corridor. You wouldn’t have stopped if not for one single, cutting syllable— "Riddle."

Your stomach tightens instinctively. Not because of fear, but because it’s been weeks of this—of something shifting between you, of watching him slip through your fingers like water, of knowing and not knowing all at once. So you listen. "...come on, you really think he gives a damn about her?" A laugh—low, smug. "Riddle doesn’t care about anyone. She’s just another pawn in his little empire, like the rest of us."

The words should bounce right off you. They should feel absurd. A reach. A lie. But the response— Tom’s response— Never comes.

No denial. No sharp, clipped correction. Not even an ounce of amusement. Just silence.

And somehow, that silence is a knife through the ribs. You don’t even realize you’re backing away until your heel catches the stone step behind you. The sound barely registers. The hum of students in the distance is nothing but static. All you can hear is the echo of that damning silence ringing in your skull.

He let them believe it. He let them reduce you to something disposable, something useful, something beneath him. And he said nothing.

It’s not fire that burns through your veins. Not a dramatic, gasping devastation. It’s cold. Cold like the winter frost clinging to the stone walls. Cold like his fingers when they stopped lingering against yours. Cold like the way he looks at you now—like he’s forgotten how to be anything else.

You find him that night.

Not because you need him to deny it. Not because you need reassurance or soft-spoken words to piece you back together. But because you refuse to let him walk away from this without owning it.

The Room of Requirement is dimly lit when you step inside, your breath steady, your fury simmering just beneath the surface. He stands near the towering shelves, his back to you, his long fingers curled around the edge of an open book.

He doesn’t turn around. He felt you the moment you stepped inside. You know he did. The air thickens. Silence stretches between you, sharp and suffocating. You let it fester for exactly three seconds before you speak.

"Tell me I was just a game to you." His fingers still on the parchment. "Tell me," you continue, voice low, controlled, "so I can walk away."

Nothing.

Not a single breath of a response.

Your jaw tightens, nails biting into your palms. "No clever words? No manipulation? Just silence?" You let out a sharp laugh, one that barely contains the bitterness bleeding into your chest. "How strategic of you, Riddle." His posture remains perfect, unaffected, as if your words barely graze him. But you know him better than that. You know what to look for.

The faintest twitch of his jaw. The way his fingers tighten just so on the book’s spine. He swallows. Then, slowly, he closes the book, placing it back onto the shelf with calculated precision.

You cross your arms, raising an unimpressed brow. "Say something, Tom. Anything. Unless you’d rather me assume the worst."

He finally turns.

His dark eyes meet yours—still unreadable, still calm, but beneath it, something lurks. Something careful. Controlled. He steps forward. You don’t move. The dim light of the torches casts shadows across his face, making the sharp angles of his features even more devastatingly severe. He looks like something sculpted from darkness itself—something untouchable.

But you’ve touched him. You’ve known him.

Or at least, you thought you did.

His gaze drops to your lips for half a second. Then, back to your eyes. He studies you like a puzzle, as if trying to find the exact shape of your anger. Then, quietly— "You seem upset."

You laugh. The sheer audacity of it knocks the air from your lungs. "Brilliant observation, Riddle," you sneer. "Ten points to you." His expression doesn’t shift. He waits.

You shake your head, stepping closer, refusing to be the first one to look away. "So? Is it true? Have I been nothing but a convenient distraction for you?" Another unbearable beat of silence.

You expect an argument. A deflection. A game of words where he twists things back on you, makes you doubt what you heard. Because that’s what he does. That’s what he’s good at.

But instead— He gives you nothing. No lies. No truths. Just silence. The emptiness of it hollows out your chest more than any cruel confession ever could.

And suddenly, you understand.

Tom Riddle is a man who will never be honest about what he cannot control. He is a man who will never let himself be seen—not fully, not in the way you thought he had let you see him.

And the worst part?

You don’t know if he’s staying silent because he doesn’t care. Or because he does.

Your throat tightens, but you refuse to let it show. Instead, you tilt your chin up, exhaling slowly through your nose. "Right," you murmur. "Got it."

You turn, walking toward the door, forcing every step to remain steady, to not betray the way your ribs feel like they’re caving in on themselves. Behind you, Tom remains motionless. Watching. Silent. He doesn’t call after you. He doesn’t stop you. But he also doesn’t tell you to leave.

And that, somehow, makes it worse.

The halls of Hogwarts had never seemed so cold.

You’ve always known how to handle Tom Riddle. How to wear your strength like armor, how to make sure your words cut sharper than a blade. But now… now it’s different. There’s something behind his silence—something that gnaws at you more than any insult could. So you change.

You work harder. Push yourself to exhaustion in every class. You’ve always been brilliant, but now you push it further, always one step ahead, one move too sharp. You stop seeking his approval. You stop trying to meet his gaze.

You mirror him.

Cold. Detached. Untouchable.

If he can be like that, then why can’t you?

You don’t need him. You tell yourself that, every time the ache in your chest grows too heavy to ignore. You can’t allow yourself to need someone like him—someone who would so easily abandon you in the name of his control. You don’t need his warmth, his approval, his twisted little games.

Instead, you dive deeper into becoming something else—something better than him. You perfect the art of indifference, make it so tight you can’t feel a thing. The way you look at people changes, the way you speak shifts. You’ve learned to show no weakness.

Tom notices.

He watches from the shadows, silent and calculating, as you slip from his grasp. You used to be so sharp, so fiery,funny, sarcastic, cheerful, a force he couldn’t ignore. But now? Now he watches as you become a replica of everything he despises in himself, not that he will ever say it out loud. Hardened. Detached. Unreachable.

It pisses him off more than he wants to admit. He doesn’t want you like this. He never wanted you like this. He can’t stand it. The way you hold yourself back. The way you don’t show anu ounce of feeling

He hates it. And he hates that you think you have to change, to become something you’re not, just because of him. 

He tries to fix it.

Not with words. Not with warmth. Not with care. No. He tries to pull you back in the only way he knows how—through control. He corners you after classes. Put his hand on the door before you can leave. Block your path in the hallway. His presence is suffocating, but you don’t flinch.

You don’t even look at him. His eyes narrow, his lips tightening into a thin line. He can see the walls you’ve built. He can feel how cold you’ve become. He hates it more than he hates anything else.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, voice laced with a mix of frustration and something darker. But you don’t answer. You don’t even look at him. You just walk past, ignoring him like he doesn’t even exist.

And it drives him crazy.

This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. He’s Tom Riddle—he’s always been able to control everything, everyone. But you? You’re slipping. Slipping through his fingers, and he can’t get a hold on you anymore.

It infuriates him. The fact that you don’t need him. The fact that you’ve become this stranger he no longer understands.

But you? You don’t even care.

In the end, he’s left standing there—staring at your retreating form, realizing he’s losing you in the only way that matters to him: control.

And for the first time in his life, Tom Riddle feels something that isn’t power. Something sharp, unfamiliar. Something he’s never had to acknowledge.

Love? Care? Fear?

The days stretch on in silence between you and Tom. You don’t speak to him. Not a word, not a glance. You’ve locked yourself away in your routine, pushing forward like nothing has changed, though everything inside you feels fractured.

Tom doesn’t seek you out immediately. But it's not because he doesn’t care. It’s because he doesn’t understand it—what this is, what you are, how you’ve slipped so easily through his grasp.

People don't walk away from him. They never have.

He’s Tom Riddle—his name alone commands respect. Authority. Power. People cling to him. They crave his approval like a drug. His cold, calculating nature and the control he exudes make it impossible for anyone to slip away. But you? You’ve walked away, and that doesn’t sit right with him.

It unsettles him in a way he cannot even begin to articulate. He’s used to being the one with the upper hand, used to manipulating the people around him until they bend to his will. But this—this—is different.

And for once, he’s left standing there, unable to do a damn thing about it.

Tom watches you from afar.

Every moment you ignore him, every second you smile at someone else, every time you don’t acknowledge his presence—it stings. He watches you from across the courtyard, from the hallways, from the edge of the shadows.

It drives him mad. The way you’re slipping from him. The way you don’t need him.

And worst of all?

He can’t control it.

It’s late one night, the library unusually quiet, and there you are, sitting alone, exhausted. The stress of the past few days hangs like a weight on your shoulders. Your hands grip the edges of the book in front of you like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

And then, like some predatory shadow, he’s there. Tom Riddle.

You don’t even look up. You already know he’s standing there, that familiar presence looming over you.

“We need to talk,” his voice breaks the silence, cool and commanding.

You don’t bother to look at him. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” you reply flatly, not willing to spare him a glance.

Tom doesn’t take rejection well. He never has.

He doesn’t wait for your permission. In a single fluid motion, he slams your book shut, his hand still resting on it as his dark eyes bore into you. His voice is low, dangerous, like a storm brewing on the horizon.

“That’s not an option,” he says, a quiet rage simmering beneath the surface.

Your patience snaps. You look up at him now, your eyes blazing with fire. “I am not one of your followers, Riddle. You don’t get to control me,” you spit the words out, each one a jab.

Tom’s jaw clenches. His expression tightens with something you can’t quite place, but it’s raw—almost desperate. “That is not what I’m trying to do,” he says, voice tight, controlled, but something beneath it betrays him.

“Then what are you trying to do?” You stand, the fire in your voice only intensifying. “Because I don’t know what I was to you, Tom. A game? A challenge? Something to entertain you fucking dick—”

“Stop.” His voice cracks like a whip, and it cuts through the tension, sharp and unforgiving. He takes a step closer, a flash of something unfamiliar in his eyes, but he doesn’t reach out to you. Doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t move to claim anything.

“I never lied to you,” he says, and the words seem so damn final. “I never played you.”

“But you let them think you did,” you counter, your voice small but vicious in its accusation.

Silence falls. The kind of silence that feels like it could shatter everything in the room. He doesn’t deny it. Not this time.

He’s done it. He’s let the whispers—let the rumors—fester in the air, letting them become truth in the eyes of everyone else. The things they said about him. About you. About how he doesn’t care.

And this is where Tom falters.

For the first time in his life, he’s standing there, feeling something—but it isn’t control. It isn’t power. It’s raw. It’s human. And he doesn’t know what to do with it.

He doesn’t know how to fix this.

You stand, ready to leave, but before you can take a single step, his hand catches your wrist.

It’s not a harsh grip. Not a demand. Just a touch—one that shouldn’t feel as damning as it does.

"Don’t go."

It’s not an order. It’s not manipulation.

It’s a request.

A quiet, almost broken thing.

And that stops you cold.

Because Tom Riddle does not beg.

Your breath is uneven as you turn back to him, searching his face, looking for some flicker of deception, some indication that this is just another game, another tactic to keep you under his thumb. But what you find isn’t calculation. It’s not cold control.

It’s something raw. Something real.

"Give me one good reason," you whisper, your voice dangerously close to cracking.

For a moment, he just stares at you, something shifting in his dark eyes—something unreadable, something vulnerable. And then he says the words that shake you to your core. "Because I don’t know how to be without you."

It’s not flowery. It’s not poetic. It’s just true.

Tom Riddle does not understand love the way normal people do. He doesn’t offer promises of forever, doesn’t whisper pretty words into the air like they mean nothing. But he understands you. He understands this.

And for him, admitting that he needs someone? That’s bigger than any declaration of love could ever be. Your chest feels tight, emotions threatening to drown you, but you force yourself to stay steady. He has cracked something inside himself, something he has never dared to expose before.

But it’s not enough.

"Then be better," you tell him, voice firm but not unkind.

His fingers tighten around your wrist, his breath a little uneven, but he nods. He doesn’t promise—because promises mean nothing without action. You slide your fingers between his, lacing your hand with his. "Come with me."

The Room of Requirement shifts and bends to your needs, pulling from the deepest corners of your desires, your emotions. When the door materializes, you push it open and step inside, pulling him in with you.

The room is bare. Empty. Except for a single tulip in the center of the space.

The air is thick with unspoken words. Tom watches you carefully, as if trying to decipher some grand meaning behind your every move. You step forward, plucking the tulip from where it rests, before turning back to him. You hold it out to him, the petals soft against your fingertips. "Get on your knees."

His dark eyes flash. Tom Riddle does not kneel. But then again—Tom Riddle has never cared about anyone enough to chase them, either. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. You don’t move. You don’t waver.

His jaw tightens, tension coiling through his frame. But then—after what feels like a lifetime—he does it. He lowers himself. Slowly. Controlled.

His knees hit the ground, his gaze locked onto yours, something unspoken hanging between you both. His hands twitch at his sides, his breath slow but measured. And then—in his own way—he gives you what you asked for.

"I will never be the person you deserve," he murmurs, voice rough, edged with something unreadable. "But I will treat you as you deserve to be treated. I will try my best"

It’s not perfect. It’s not a romantic declaration.

But it’s Tom.

And for the first time, he is trying.

You kneel in front of him, pressing the tulip into his palm. His fingers close around it carefully, as if he’s never held something delicate before.

"This is your last chance, Riddle," you whisper, voice laced with finality. "Don’t waste it."And in that moment, as he holds onto the single flower like it might shatter in his grasp—he knows he won’t.

[haloberry]

Long post! HotGuy being a manipulative bitch, and theories behind it!

I got so many words for HotGuy in the latest DDVAU chapter, but something I kinda want to point out is that yes, he IS an asshole, it has a something behind it. Scar was Grian's coworker for years, and Grian had always been a reliable figure for Scar in civilian life. It was only recently where HotGuy got to know Grian, that Grian had showed a different side as a ACAB believer. HotGuy got to saw the 'real' version of Grian, showing, at least to him, that Grian will only listen to power.

Of course, we it's even more present in Mother Spore. Grian had let Scar go, but after realizing the fungus get destroyed by fire, with Grian's wings still there afterwards, Grian gets outed after hiding it for 32 years. Yet, Scar still cares for Grian.

It's fucked up, because he is manipulating Grian as HotGuy, but Scar cares for Grian and HG can't let that connection be made.

Scar was scared for Grian, Scar was hurt that Grian hid that, Scar felt regret for injuring Grian during the battle. But, Grian is the Grian he knew. The man that helped grade his student's homework is a man who was an unregistered mutant, and attacked the school under the influence of a mushroom. If Grian was a regular human like his registry said, the whole situation could've ended differently.

HotGuy needs information, and clearly HotGuy gets information that Scar doesn't. Beside being the head of the military, HotGuy got more out of Grian the Scar ever has.

HotGuy makes it a point to say he not impressed with Grian's secret, but Scar was wondering why he never noticed it. HotGuy's face was never shown again after the battle in pt3, the visor being filled in to make that distinction clear. He could've talked to Grian behind cell walls, but he cares. Though, between the job that gives him everything, compared to a friend who in his eyes lied to him? Well, a drastic emotion change seems on par. Of course, this doesn't make the HG better. He still blackmailed Grian, and was using society's social prejudices against the man who just got out of a fucking coma, but his job is more important. HotGuy was shocked when he learned the Spore moved towards Grian, as previously he thought Grian was the one controlling the spores. He had a suspicion, but nothing concrete until Grian came forward with information. Even the labs with Cub have nothing to go off of, and with Grian being the only one who could offer ANY clarity at all, Grian holds the key to solving the case.

Of course, HotGuy can't ever let Grian feel in control. He needs Grian to come forward with any information available, and doesn't want Grian to go off and ruin it. He needs Grian to be under him. So he lied to the public and said the wings were grown after the attack, and is using Grian's life long secret to make sure the other doesn't move from under him. It's horrendous, I hate that I love it. There is still so much we don't know, like if HotGuy knows Grian is also a witch or does he think it was part of the shrooms, or if HotGuy is putting the pieces together and thinking Grian is CuteGuy, but alas we must wait for the next chapter. :>

DDVAU MARYTN WOOD IF YOU CAN HEAR MEEEEEE!!

[quietwingsinthesky]

this song is objectively bad when I remember it’s about hilary clinton because it’s about hilary clinton but it’s objectively good if it’s about my blorbos actually because that makes it no longer about hilary clinton

[nippular]

***

[not-neverland06]

we're dating? ♡

logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've decided using the same X-men name/powers for the reader in my Logan fics is easier because coming up with superpowers is hard and stupid. They call you flux, like once, it's really just a nickname incoming warning for fluff so bad you'll get a cavity Summary: You're on probation from the team and official house arrest after a little accident with your powers. Logan knows you're going stir-crazy so he takes you to the arcade for some fun. And then your friendship takes a weird turn. (80's timeline in mind, but characters not from the 80’s will be mentioned) Clueless!reader

You’d had an accident, a few weeks ago. Well, accident might be downplaying it too much. You’d destroyed the garden and left a ten-foot crater in the backyard of Charles’ prestigious grounds. In your defense, you had warned them all that it wasn’t a good idea to take your cuffs off. 

The metal bands are entirely necessary to make sure you can’t lose control and wipe out everything around you. Manipulation at an atomic level is beyond fatal. You don’t want to think about what would have happened if you’d had the meltdown and the kids were anywhere near you. 

Charles had been able to shut you down, but now he’s keeping you on probation. You’ve been locked up in the mansion, unable to leave until you managed to get your abilities under control. There’s never been a problem with wearing the cuffs before. You don’t understand why he’s so against them now. 

You’re going stir-crazy. There’s only so many times you can pace your room before you start to lose your mind. He’s not even letting you teach classes anymore. You’re stuck training, all day, every day. 

“Focus!” Charles snaps and you resist the urge to turn his bones liquid. Maybe that would get him off your back. 

Instead of killing your friend, you glare at the large tank of water in front of you. You do what you’ve been doing for the past half hour. It fluctuates from liquid to gas to solid, and then liquid again. An endless cycle of repetition that makes you want to melt your brain so you don’t have to do this anymore. 

You drop your hand and huff. “This is pointless, Charles. What’s this even teaching me?”

He crosses his arms, walks over to you, and pointedly glares at the tank in front of you. You roll your eyes and look back at it. “Shit,” you hiss. In your frustration, the glass has cracked and splintered into dust. Water pools around your stool and leaks through the wood of the floor. You flick your wrist, the glass swirling around you before reforming into the tank. The water follows along, droplets lifting from the floor and dropping back into the container. 

“One moment of frustration, of distraction. That’s all it took.” Charles shakes his head and walks back over to his desk. He picks the cuffs up and you slip them silently back onto your wrists. “How can you be trusted to protect your team on the field if you can’t control this? What are you going to do when you’re panicked and fighting for your life?”

Shame bubbles in your gut. It makes you nauseous and forces your eyes to the floor so you don’t have to face him. He sighs, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezing gently. You glance up at him briefly and he offers a strained smile. 

“This is for your protection, as much as you hate it, Flux. It’s necessary.” You scoff at the use of your X-Men name. Not much of an X-Man if you’re not even on the field anymore. 

“Right,” you mutter. “Thanks for the lesson in incompetency,” you don’t let him respond and slam the door to his office closed behind you. You feel bad the second you get outside and onto the porch. He doesn’t deserve your bitchiness. It’s your own fault you can’t get a handle on this. You don't have anyone to blame but yourself. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, throwing yourself into a rocking chair and running your hands over your face. The once comforting weight of your cuffs is now oppressing. It just feels like a constant reminder of your failure. You should already have a handle on all of this, but you struggle to even manipulate water. 

“Rough day?” You don’t open your eyes as Logan walks by. He takes a seat on the rocking chair beside you, letting out a low groan as he stretches. 

You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at the sunset so you don’t have to face him. You’ve already dealt with enough dejection today. You don’t need to look at him and be reminded that you want him in a way you can never have. 

“Mhm,” you hum, propping your head in your hand as you watch the sun disappear behind the clouds. The sky is painted in hues of pink and orange that seem too hopeful for how you feel right now. 

Logan chuckles, the sound low and gravely. It makes your heart stutter in your chest and you cringe in embarrassment. You know he can hear the way your heart practically beats free of your ribs when you’re around him. You’re sure with that nose of his he can smell some sort of hormonal change in you every time you lay eyes on him. 

You swear you’ve never felt this way about a man before. You haven’t had many boyfriends before, it’s not really common among mutants. Not many people are accepting of you when they know what you are. And some people are too into you. 

But you've had crushes, and none of them have been as bad as this one is. You want to gnaw on him. It sounds fucking insane every time you think about it. But when you train with him and he tears his shirt off, you want to sink your teeth into him and never let go. 

You feel feral around him, a side of you surfacing that you’re not used to. Maybe it’s because of his mutant abilities. They are very animalistic, it’s easy to blame that on how desperately you crave him. 

You hate being around him and despise not being in his presence. It’s conflicting, and more often than not you sound like a bumbling idiot when you speak to him because your brain is going in a million different directions. 

You hear the familiar click of his lighter and then he shifts again. You risk a peek over at him and regret it the second you do. His head is tilted back, eyes closed in relaxation as he stretches across the porch. Smoke leaks out of his lips as he groans in satisfaction. 

You have to pick your jaw up off the floor and make sure there isn’t drool on your chin. This is insane. You’re a grown woman, how does he have this much of an effect on you? He’s not even doing anything! He’s just sitting there and you want to jump his bones. 

You whip your head around, mumbling incoherently to yourself to get it together. Logan peaks an eye open and you miss the mischievous tilt to his lips. “Something wrong?”

I need to have sex with you or I’m going to explode. 

You stutter for a few seconds, getting your mind back together. “Just training with Charles,” you mutter. 

He sits up a little straighter and quirks a brow. When you don’t continue he sighs. “And?” He prods, impatient for your answer. You hope you’re not reading into it, but you think he’s been as disappointed by your absence from the team as you are. He always complains about being partnered up with Scott. You like to think it’s because he misses you. But you’re probably just delusional. 

“And, nothing,” you sigh. Your hands flop against your legs and you glare at the bands on your wrists. “No progress. I still can’t control them without these on, and my abilities are watered down and useless with the cuffs.”

Logan huffs, you’re caught off guard by the sudden warmth on your thigh. You glance down, eyes widening ever so slightly when you see his hand on your leg. It nearly covers the whole thing and when he squeezes your thigh you think you’re going to pass out. 

You’re friendly. But you’ve never been touchy. At least not like this. The placement of his palm is very intimate and you are struggling not to just get on your knees and profess your undying love. You take in a deep breath, looking up at him so you can get your heartbeat under control. 

But looking at him just makes it worse. Because there is so much faith and fondness in his gaze as he looks at you. His lips are tilted up, eyes soft, and you’ve never had someone make you feel so warm and secure from just a look. 

“You aren’t useless,” he tells you. He squeezes your thigh again before he retreats back to his chair. You have to clamp your jaw shut so you don’t beg him to keep touching you and never stop. “You’re just stuck in this house all day. You’ve got nothing to do but sit in your failure.”

You scoff and throw yourself back in your seat. “Don’t remind me. I’ve begged Charles to let me out.” Your gaze drifts to the crater in the backyard. Some of the kids have been working on filling it in, but whatever energy you’d let go of has left a permanent mark. “He refuses to give me permission.”

Logan laughs, the noise teasing and a little mean. Your brows furrow and you glance over at him with a questioning look. He tilts his head in disbelief like you’re an idiot. “Seriously, Flux? Just fuckin’ leave, who gives a shit?”

“Uh,” you think on it for a minute before weakly settling on, “Charles?”

His face falls and you sink lower into your seat. He looks out at the yard, gaze distant. His jaw clenches a few times before he puts the cigar out on the ashtray beside him. He gets to his feet and you think he might just leave. Instead, he turns towards you. 

You’re caught off guard by the little smirk on his face. “Wanna have some fun?”

Only an idiot would say no. 

You grin and place your hand in his, yelping slightly at how easily he pulls you to your feet. You stumble into his chest and are hesitant to back away when his hand drifts to rest on your waist. He looks down at you, smiling, he squeezes your waist once before he backs up. 

“Come on, kid.” He tugs you inside the house, leading you downstairs to the garage. You already know what he’s going for before the door is even open. 

“Didn’t Scott tell you to leave his bike alone?” Logan takes a step inside. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder and grinning at you. It makes your breath catch in your throat, the happiness on his face. You never see him like this around the others. 

You hate thinking like that. Placing too much importance on your relationship with him will only lead to heartbreak down the road. But, you never see him act the way he does with you with anyone else.

“Since when have I ever listened to Cyclops, sweetheart?” 

“Good point,” you mutter, moving to stand next to him. 

He straddles the seat and looks over expectantly at you. “Don’t you need a helmet?”

You shake your head, “Oh, no, it’ll ruin my hair.” You laugh but he gives you a deadpan look. You don’t regenerate the way he does. An accident would be a lot more fatal for you than it would be for him. You huff, “Relax, Lo, I can use my powers.” When he looks like he’s not going to drop it, you let some energy swirl around your fingers. It solidifies the air around your skin, you reach up and flick at his skull hard enough to hear the metal ding. 

He grunts, glaring down at your hand while you grin. “See,” you whisper, sliding onto the back of the bike and wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m perfectly safe.” He shakes his head and starts the bike. 

The ride to the arcade is spent in silence. Logan always seems to break every speeding law known to man whenever he takes Scott’s bike out. You’re not sure if he does it to purposefully piss the man off, but it makes you cling to him like a wild animal. You feel like if you hit one speed bump you’re going to go flying. 

By the time he parks your legs feel like jello. He laughs a little at the way your face has blanched. Again, he offers you a hand and holds the door open to lead you inside. You’re trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this whole thing is odd. 

You guys are friends. And you’re friendlier with each other than most of the mutants in the school. But this feels different somehow. For one, Logan kind of despises the arcade. It’s an amalgamation of bad smells and loud noises, and it overwhelms his already sensitive senses. You’ve heard him complain about the smell of body odor and fake cheese enough times when you went on a field trip with the kids. 

Secondly, he’s being more touchy than he normally would. You’re not complaining. You weren’t exactly hugged a lot as a kid, mainly just passed between different mutant fetish clubs. Logan isn’t known for handing hugs out so easily. But right now, he doesn’t seem to be ready to not have at least one hand on you. 

Maybe he’s just cheering you up. You need to stop drifting so far into your mind and just enjoy the night. “Alright, what’s first bub?”

You grin and drag him towards the claw machine. “I’m horrible at these things,” you inform him as you put your quarters in. “But, I hold out hope that one day I’ll be able to actually beat this monster.”

Three failed attempts later, it’s become embarrassingly clear that you will never beat the claw machine. Logan isn’t even trying to hide his amusement as you become increasingly more frustrated. There’s a certain point where this game stops being fun and starts to be an affront to your character. 

Logan peers into the machine and asks, “What are you going for?”

“The pigeon,” you mutter. Your tongue pokes between your lips, and your eyes narrow in concentration. You aim the claw over the pigeon perfectly and slam your hand down on the big red button. 

You’re allowed five seconds of celebration before the damn thing slips out of the claws grasp and tumbles into the pile of stuffies below. “Dammit, Bart,” you let the ridiculous name you’ve come up with for the toy slip.

Logan snorts, leaning against the glass while you jam another quarter in the slot. “Bart?” He teases. 

You shake your head and give him a look out the side of your eye. “What, you think I call myself Flux because I’m good at coming up with names?” You give up after the last failed attempt and turn to face him with a huff. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Tough luck, kid.” He slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you towards the concession stand. 

“Shut up,” you laugh, slapping lightly at his chest. 

The rest of the night is nice. He doesn’t play much except for the strength-oriented games. And then you kind of just exploit him for more tickets. By the time you get back to the mansion, you’ve forgotten all about why you were upset in the first place. 

Nothing had gone wrong, you didn’t have a total meltdown and wipe out the entire arcade. You don’t know why Charles was so afraid of letting you out. 

Logan walks you back to your room, his hand heavy on your lower back as you head up the stairs. You’re talking endlessly, filling up any gap of silence with rambling you’ve lost track of. You don’t know what it is about him that invites you to yap the way you do, but you’re always embarrassed by it the second he leaves. 

You reach your door and smile up at him. “Thanks, Lo.”

He gives you a soft smile, his eyes wrinkling endearingly at the corners. He reaches up and brushes some hair off your shoulder. There’s a certain shift in his expression that has your breath stopping short. Whatever else you were going to say to him tumbles off into an incomprehensible whisper. 

He leans down and every inappropriate thought you’ve ever had about him suddenly surges to the front of your mind. Your lips part in anticipation, thinking he’s going to kiss you and your fantasies are going to come to life. 

His lips brush against your cheek so gently you almost don’t feel them. “‘Night Flux,” he leans back and your body goes with him. He backs off with a smile, walking down the hall to his own room. You feel dazed, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as you fan your cheeks and try to come to terms with what just happened.

He didn’t kiss you, but you oddly aren’t disappointed. You go to bed that night with a lovesick grin on your face. Well, you would have. Were it not for the annoyingly British voice ringing out in your head, “Training’s at four tomorrow morning. Consider it your punishment for sneaking out.”

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself. Stupid fucking telepaths. 

You thought the arcade was a one-off moment. But Logan keeps sneaking you out of the mansion. Charles hasn’t officially lifted the house arrest, but he’s given up trying to keep you inside. Besides, you’ve essentially got a chaperone since Logan is always with you. 

You make lunch for the two of you and he’ll take you out to the woods for a picnic. Or you’ll go to the movies together. Sometimes you don’t even do anything, just linger around each other. You enjoy the company, and you love having these quiet moments together with no one else around. 

Your favorite part of all of this has to be the way he’s started touching you. He’s always got a hand on your leg or back. And if he can’t do that, then you’re tucked into his side. It’s feeding into a starved part of you that you’ve left neglected for far too long. 

It’s only been about two weeks of these fun little adventures and odd behavior. You’re dreading the moment they’ll stop. You’re not sure when Logan’s going to deem you properly cheered up, but you’re hoping it’s not anytime soon. 

There have been a few more moments where you think your friendship might turn into something more, and every time you’ve been interrupted. You’re actually starting to feel a little edged. You’ve been considering just grabbing him and planting one on him. But every time you think about it you get sick to your stomach. 

You don’t want to make a move on him and end up getting rejected. You know he’s just being a good friend and taking care of you so you don’t end up spiraling too far in your head. It’s happened before, when you’ve been struggling with your abilities. He’s just keeping you from shutting down again and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable because you’re hopelessly in love. 

When you walk out of your room this morning you’re immediately smacked in the face. “What the fuck, guys?” You yell at the two kids running past your room. Not the best language for someone who's supposed to be a role model. You can’t be bothered though, not when they’re running around throwing pink rolls of streamer at your face. 

“Sorry!” Mary calls over her shoulder, laughing as she pins a heart up onto the wall. You’re sure Charles won’t appreciate the hole in his old ass mahogany wood. It’s only as you watch her run down the stairs that you register just what is going on. 

There is pink and red everywhere. It looks like Dollar Store Cupid has thrown up all over the mansion. You’ve been so caught up in your attraction to Logan that, ironically, you’ve forgotten what month it was. 

You grumble bitterly to yourself as you trudge down the stairs. Another Valentine’s Day alone and single. How lovely. You spot two kids giggling to themselves by the banister, they lean in like they’re going to kiss and you gag. “Hey!” You snap, and they jump apart, eyes wide with fear. “Quit it, get out of here.” They scramble off and you feel just a little bit vindicated. 

“Not a fan of young love, Flux?”

You groan and roll your eyes, turning around to find a very smug Scott watching you bully teenagers. “Shut it, Summers,” you warn. You point an accusing finger at him and he raises his hands in surrender. Faux innocence played across his insufferable smirk. “When you’re in a committed relationship, you don’t get to judge me.”

His brows turn down in confusion, “Wait, but aren’t you and Logan-”

He’s cut off by the sound of a loud crash down the hall. You both turn around just as one of the classroom doors slams open. A bright pink explosion hurtles from the doors and a throng of coughing students follows. 

Jubilee walks out a minute later, a guilty expression on her face. “Sorry, I was just trying to make it more Vanetine-y.” 

You glance over at Scott, grinning widely at him while you pat his shoulder and walk past him, leaving him to clean up the mess. “Enjoy the young love, Summers.”

You actively avoid Logan all day. You’re already facing constant reminders of how lonely you are. You see kids walking around with baskets of bears and chocolates. Or you catch them passing notes in class with scribbled hearts all over the front. 

There’s only so much a girl can take before she loses it. The last thing you need is to be faced with the man you have the worst unrequited crush on in history. But he doesn’t seem to get the hint. He’s everywhere you go, popping up around corners and trying to catch your attention. 

You keep brushing him off and pretending like you have something urgent you’re going to be late for. Eventually, though, he was going to catch up with you. 

It happens in the kitchen. Most of the kids are in their rooms or the library. The noise has died down and you’re alone. You grumble to yourself, ripping down a pink streamer that keeps drifting across the top of your head and pissing you off. You grab a frozen meal from the fridge and are about to microwave it when he speaks. 

“Huh, thought you’d want something a little more romantic than a frozen burrito.” 

You gasp, clutching your chest and whirling around on him while your heart races. “Logan, Jesus, you scared me.” He’s frowning at you, eyes glaring at the frozen package in your hand. “Um,” you toss it back in the freezer but the look on his face isn’t going away. “Yeah, I might just go with cereal instead.”

He looks at you and then glances behind him. You peer around his shoulder but you don’t see anything. Without much warning, he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the stairs. “Logan?” There’s no point in trying to resist him, he could just toss you up the stairs if he wanted to. Still, the silence is kind of creeping you out. 

You call his name a few more times but give up when he makes it clear he’s not going to be answering you anytime. There’s a rotten feeling in your stomach. You have this awful idea like you’re in trouble for something. Like a little girl who's gotten her hand caught in the cookie jar too many times. 

He stops you in front of his door and nods towards it. “You want me to go inside?” He crosses his arms and glares down at you. You huff and mutter, “Jesus, fine.” What the hell is wrong with him?

You grab the doorknob to his room, glaring at him while you do. You throw the door open dramatically, taking a step inside and surveying the area. “Wow,” you suck your teeth and shake your head. “You have not decorated at all.”

“Shut up, smartass,” he mutters in your ear. Chills prick at your skin from his proximity. A shudder goes down your spine as the low tone of his voice reverberates through you. “Look a little harder.”

You roll your eyes but acquiesce. Another run over the room finally shows you what you missed. You gasp and rush towards his bed, “Holy shit, Bart!” He chuckles behind you as you pick the stuffed pigeon up. 

“Went back for him after we left,” Logan tells you. 

You glare at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How many tries did this take you?” He mouths a smug one and you roll your eyes in irritation. You look back down at the pigeon and smile.

He smells like the inside of a claw machine. His head is sewed on crookedly and you’re pretty sure he’s missing an eye. But he’s absolutely perfect to you. You’re about to thank Logan when you spot something metal wrapped around the stuffie’s neck. “What’s this,” you mumble to yourself. 

You slide your fingers under the chain and tug it off Bart’s neck. Logan’s dog tags dangle off your fingers and you stare at him in shock. A sudden cold dread washes over you and you find yourself immobile. “Logan,” you trail off, an unspoken question following his name. 

He smirks, walking towards you and slipping the tags out of your hand. “I wanted you to have this,” he says, his voice low like this moment is too precious to break, “so you know you’re not alone. You’re always so afraid of what’s going to happen if you lose control out in the field. But you forget, you’re not alone. You have me, you’re always going to have me.” He places the tags over your neck, untucking your hair from the chain. 

You don’t even have words for him. It’s such a deeply personal gift. But this also feels incredibly intimate. There’s no possible way for you to reason this away. This isn’t something “just friends” do. 

He seems to prefer your silence, anyway. One of his hands drifts from your neck and cups your jaw. With the utmost tenderness, he lifts your face to his. “Wanted to do this for a while,” he whispers. You almost ask what he’s talking about, but his lips are already covering yours. 

It’s incredibly soft, this kiss, softer than you’re used to. He’s barely putting any pressure on you and it makes you realize that you’re still not moving. You’re just standing there in shock, eyes wide open while the man you’ve wanted since you’ve known him kisses you. 

You drop Bart to the floor and your arms come up to twine around his neck. You finally close your eyes, let your body melt into his knowing he’ll catch you. The second you reciprocate he really kisses you. Neither of you hold back, each of you pouring all the pent-up desire you’ve felt for each other. 

You’ve spent so long dancing around this, around each other. It’s like a missing puzzle piece is returned to you as Logan holds you. You feel full, complete, warmer than you ever have before. 

You part from him - needing air - painfully slow. You don’t want to spend a second away from him now that you have him. You wish you didn’t have to breathe. Wished you could have kept kissing him and never stopped. 

Logan chuckles, pressing a kiss against your forehead like he can read your thoughts. You can feel the dorky smile that’s about to split your cheeks. You bite your lip, hoping it might suppress it, but you know it’s pointless. 

You look up at him with a cheeky twinkle in your eye. “Are you asking me to be your Valentine, Lo?”

He scoffs and pulls away from you slightly. “Do you have to ask your girlfriend to be your Valentine?”

Your eyes widen and your mouth opens and closes rapidly. “I- Well- I mean,” you take a full step back from him and shake your head. “What?” You finally settle on. “I mean, I’m not objecting, at all, but what?”

Logan tilts his head, a disbelieving look on his face. “What do you think we’ve been doing the past three weeks?”

You shake your head, stuttering and struggling for an answer. “I don’t know. I thought you were being a good friend!”

He smiles, there’s no irritation on his face at your cluelessness. If anything he seems to be more endeared to you. “You think I take all my friends on romantic picnics in the woods?”

You sigh, letting out a long disappointed breath. You can’t believe you’ve been so blind. When you think about it, his behavior lately makes a lot more sense. You’re not sure how you were able to trick yourself for so long. 

“Well,” you start, walking back towards him as he pulls you into a hug, “certainly not Scott.” He huffs and shakes his head. You give him a sheepish smile, brows knitted together. “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

He just presses another kiss to your temple and shrugs. “It’s alright, sweetheart, you can make it up to me by being my Valentine again next year.”

There’s something unspoken in his voice. A promise that he’s planning to be around for a lot longer than a year. You smile at him, silently promising the same. “Only if you’re mine.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

a/n: i’m gonna gag actually. Made myself cringe there at the end. I want a valentine next year so bad, it’s sad. But what’s the point of a valentine if it’s not going to be Logan?

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[hy6erion]

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐬 ໒( ͡ᵔ ▾ ͡ᵔ )७

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐣𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Viktor is not a weak man.

He has spent his life controlling his impulses, refining his mind, dedicating himself to work instead of want. He does not let himself be distracted. He does not chase pleasure the way others do.

But when it comes to her? -gods help him- he is ruined.

And when he is alone, when there is nothing but the low hum of the city outside and the unbearable ache in his cock, he lets himself think.

And it destroys him.

Viktor who thinks about your mouth too much, too often

The way you smirks, the way you drag your bottom lip between your teeth when you’re thinking, the way your tongue flicks against the rim of your wine glass, casual and unbothered while he is barely breathing.

He wonders how you would taste

If you would let him lick into your mouth, slow and deliberate, if you would sigh against him, or if you would bite him instead.

Would you let him be greedy?

Would you let him devour you, let him pin you to the desk, let him press his knee between your thighs while he fucked your mouth with his tongue?

Would you let him drop to his knees, grip your thighs, bury his face between your legs and keep you there until you are shaking?

Viktor grits his teeth, grinding against nothing, cock twitching at the thought.

But it's your hands that truly undo him.

Gods, your hands. He has watched them ruin people. He has watched them trace Jayce's throat, dig into his jaw, push him down like he was nothing more than a plaything.

He wants them on him. Wants them to grab his hair, pull his head back, press against his throat and fucking own him.

Would you grip his cock, tease him, stroke him slowly just to watch him break?

Would you wrap your fingers around his throat, whisper against his ear, tell him how fucking pathetic he looks, how much he's begging for you?

Or worse-would you just watch him? Would you sit there, perfectly composed, while he got himself off in front of you, while he fisted his cock, leaking and aching, desperate for your fucking touch?

His hips jerk involuntarily at the thought, his cock straining against his trousers, already leaking from nothing but a fucking fantasy.

And then, there's your pussy.

The thought of it wrecks him completely.

Would you let him spread you open, let him look at you, let him run his fingers through your folds, teasing, slow, until you‘re wet and dripping for him?

Would you ride his face, grind against his tongue, use him until you are shaking and breathless?

Would you let him fuck you like he was starving-because he is, because he needs you, because the thought of feeling you clench around him, warm and tight, makes him ache to the point of pain?

Or would you be cruel? Would you pin his wrists above his head, sink down onto him, milk him dry, and then tell him he isn't allowed to cum until you says so?

Would you edge him for hours?
Would you leave him fucking shaking, cock twitching, begging, desperate, leaking down his own stomach, just to watch him suffer?

Viktor groans, his fingers gripping the edge of the table, cock fucking throbbing.

He should not be thinking like this. He should not be fucking himself up over you.

But he already has.

And gods-if you ever let him have you, even once-

He wouldn't fucking survive it.

[flwrkid14]

Take My Heart, Take My Name

Listen. Danny is a menace with affectionate nicknames, and Tim is so weak for it.

It starts small, a casual “hey, babe” here, a “thanks, darling” there. Tim thinks he’s fine at first—sure, his heart skips a beat, and yeah, maybe he has to take a moment to compose himself, but he tells himself it’s no big deal.

Except then Danny takes it up a notch, like he’s testing Tim’s self-control.

Honey. Danny calls Tim honey one night and Tim seriously thinks it's game over. He's done for. Finished. Danny could ask him to jump into a Lazarus Pit, and Tim would already be in mid-air. “Hey, honey, can you grab my jacket?” Yes. Yes, he can. He can grab Danny’s jacket, his wallet, his hand in marriage—whatever Danny wants.

And just when Tim thinks he’s adjusted to that, Danny has to go and casually destroy him again.

“Morning, Polaris,” Danny says, voice soft and warm, and Tim nearly drops his coffee mug. Polaris. His chest tightens at the word, at the meaning behind it. The North Star—the one constant in the sky, the guide through uncertainty. That’s how Danny sees him? It’s almost too much. Tim has to physically turn around and pretend to check his phone, hiding the way his face burns and his throat tightens with something dangerously close to tears. Danny doesn’t just say it like it’s some throwaway nickname; he says it like it’s a promise, like he’s quietly reminding Tim just how much he means to him.

But the real killer? The absolute fatality? It’s when Tim overhears Danny talking about him to someone else.

“Oh yeah, Tim’s amazing,” Danny says, casually. “My man’s the smartest guy I know.”

My man.

Tim’s entire world stops. He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until he exhales a few seconds later, completely dazed. My man. It’s not just that Danny’s saying it; it’s the way he says it. The pride in his voice, the casual possessiveness, the ease with which he claims Tim like that—like they’re already this unshakable thing. His. And Tim can’t believe it.

It doesn’t matter that they’ve been together for a while; hearing Danny claim him like that still makes him feel like he’s the luckiest person alive. Every time Danny says it, Tim can feel his heart racing, his head spinning.

And how could he not? He wants to give Danny everything. Every inch of himself, every breath, every dream, every fear. Tim wants to live his life wrapped in Danny’s laugh, stitched into the fabric of his love. If Danny wanted proof, Tim would carve his devotion into the stars themselves, would pluck out his own heart and place it in Danny’s hands as an offering. He’d give up anything, anyone, just to keep Danny smiling like that, to hear him say my man again.

Tim’s in a puddle, utterly lost in the warmth of it. His chest tightens, and he can’t stop the little smile that’s spreading across his face. My man. That’s his Danny. And God, if this is what it feels like to be loved by him, then Tim’s never going back.

And the thing is, Danny knows exactly what he’s doing. The way Tim lights up whenever he calls him something sweet? The soft little smile he tries to hide? Danny lives for it.

“Baby, are you okay?” Danny asks one day when Tim is just staring at him, dazed and lovestruck.

“Yeah,” Tim mumbles, his voice barely audible. “I just… like when you call me that.”

Danny grins, leaning closer. “What, baby?”

Tim nods, face bright red.

And from then on, it’s over. Tim is officially a nickname addict. Sweetheart, baby, honey, love—he eats it all up. It’s his lifeline. His kryptonite. And the best part? Danny never holds back.

[runa-falls]

what a mess~

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader cw: smut, established relationship, superhuman stamina, overstimulation, cum EVERYWHERE, 'use a condom, it's too messy X(', 'bitch stfu i'll show you messy'..., so many sheets, reader is a pushover (bc I WOULD BE TOO) wc: 1k + a/n: i um... just take this and I'll go to a corner of a room and think ab what I've done.

---

Having a superhero boyfriend is great – he gets you discounts at your favorite restaurant, he easily carries you home after a long night out at the bar, he saves you from getting kidnapped by his arch-nemesis for the fourth time this month (though isn’t that his fault in the first place?....) – but there are aspects of the relationship that you didn’t consider before. 

Apparently, with great power comes great… stamina. 

To put it plainly, Miguel’s (sex) drive is unheard of. You better clear out your schedule for the whole day because he can go for hours. And most nights, you can barely sit up after he fucks you.

You like that – or you did when you could afford to be sore every other day. You like how enthusiastic he is – how much he wants you. It makes you feel desired and beautiful. But it’s not just the intense workout you risk every time you steal a kiss that turns into more – it’s the number of times he can…finish. 

Every time you think he’s finished, he’s still hard and thrusting into you, overstimulating you until black stars start to fill your vision. 

It’s a mess in the end. 

You lay on top of him, filled to the brim, dripping all over his lower stomach and onto the sheets under you, breathing so hard you’re sure you’d rupture a lung. You feel like you’re barely conscious on the bed as your heart beats harshly against your chest from how hard you came. Hair sticks graciously against your forehead as your eyes struggle to stay open to see Miguel, who gently pulls out and watches his mess spill out of you. 

He whispers sweetly of how well you took him, how pretty you look all fucked out, how much he loves that he can turn you into a blabbering – mindless whore. Being the possessive man he is, he attempts to shove it back in, using two of his thick fingers to gather and push his essence back into you, hoping that, against all odds, it’ll take, despite the fact you take your birth control religiously. 

Of course, when he sees how your thighs shake and squeeze around his hand from the overstimulation of him fucking his fingers into you after you just came, he immediately gets hard again. 

He gazes down at you with apologetic red eyes as he bites his lip under a sharp fang, “I can’t help it when I see how wrecked your pussy is for me…”

It’s nice – it’s hot – but you end up having to change the sheets 5 times a week. He’s insatiable… well ok, you’re just as thirsty as your boyfriend, but the amount of maintenance you need for each session is ridiculous. You basically gave up washing your sheets after every fuck, and instead ordered several identical sets of bedding to make the process easier. 

Many sheets have been destroyed beyond recognition. Okay, maybe you’re being a bit overdramatic, but the amount of cum-stained sheets in your linen closet is insane. How are you supposed to hide this if you were to have guests over?!

After staring at the layers of folded-up and stained sheets that you’ve accumulated over the past few months, you decided you were going to do something about it. 

You can still have fun without the mess.

…right?

—

Miguel has you on your back at the end of the bed with your legs resting on the crook of his arms. You have on a cute little nightgown – white to symbolize purity (though what you were about to do was far from pure) – with nothing underneath. It was one you bought just to get a reaction out of him – and now you got it. 

He holds you open for him, regarding you like he would a special gift – though there’s nothing to really celebrate (unless you count his raging erection). He breathes harshly against your neck as he paints your skin with kisses and nips. You’re nearly folded in half with how closely he’s pushed against you, but you can barely recognize the mere tinge of soreness in your legs with how fluidly pleasure seems to travel from his lips down to the apex of your thighs. 

Miguel O’Hara, the strong, independent Spider-Man, is truly a mess in front of you. His once neatly ironed tie now hangs loosely around his neck, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned halfway down, and his hair a tangle of unruly curls. His fingers, now caressing your body, are already dripping in your slick from when he forced a couple of orgasms out of you right when he got home. 

You find a sense of satisfaction in the disheveled state of his appearance, relishing how his once meticulously groomed demeanor has been disrupted – how his eyes transition from their usual chocolatey brown to a striking blood red, how his lips swell sweetly with lust. 

Miguel groans deeply as he grinds his clothed hardness against your wet center, “Mm…I want you so bad.” He unbuttons and unzips his pants, sighing as he releases himself from the tight fabric. No underwear? 

“Wait, Mig." he pauses his movements, waiting patiently – prepared to do whatever you want. “Get a condom.” …Except maybe…that. 

“Condom?” He could barely hold back his sneer, but you could faintly hear the growl vibrate from his chest. 

“Mhm, we’ve been too messy lately. We can’t just keep buying new sheets every week!”

“...We could…”

“Miguel!”

“I don’t see what the problem is… this is just how it is.”

“But it’s too messy.”

“I thought my baby likes to be filled up…”

“...I-I mean, I do sometimes, but –”

“Don’t you like it when I get you all messy?” He leans in close, distracting you from denying him. “Have you dripping with me for days?” He presses closer, and you can feel his hard cock slip against your wetness, dragging against your sensitive clit. 

“Miguel.” You whine.

It’s so hard to deny this man.

“How about we just try to be more careful, hm?” He presses against you gently, nearly entering you, but not quite. It feels so good, the tip of him barely stretching past your entrance. 

“Okay…j-just this once though…” You surrender with a whisper.

[arminsumi]

THE HORNIEST

↳ GOJO さとる + fem!reader

Summary : Horny!Gojo needs you so bad, he's insatiable. A menace.

Warnings : minors do not read/interact : smut/explicit content, it's very horny lol, not proofread, c*mshots and creampies, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, implied drunk sex

Note : lmk if you want more horny gojo lol 👍 reqs open!! anyways lol the title cracks me up. he ain't the strongest he's the horniest :(

Horny!Gojo introduces himself to you in the flirtiest way possible, cooing a sweet and drunk "Who invited the goddess?" into your ear. He's sat on the couch with you, one night at a stupid frat party. Starstruck by you. And your reciprocation made his chest feel fluttery for the first time in years. It also made his dick stand up in his pants.

Horny!Gojo leans into you for the whole night, whispering flirty things and dirty jokes into your ear like his mind is a factory pumping them out. You match his playful energy so well, he says "I think we're made for each other."

Horny!Gojo has his sharp eyes wandering to your thighs, then your shoulders, then your lips as you speak — and he licks his lips to wet them.

Horny!Gojo showers you in compliment after compliment, relishing in your reactions and getting greedier; he needs to get you alone. "Wanna go someplace quieter?" he has to shout over the music to ask you.

Horny!Gojo assures you with cocky confidence, "Yeah, I could make you cum. Aw, don't give me that eyeroll, it's turning me on. I know for a fucking fact I could make you cum. I could make those eyes roll back. I could make your legs shake."

Horny!Gojo squeezes your hand tightly when he leads you upstairs, and giggles with you as the two of you escape into a quiet, empty bedroom. His heart is panging so hard in his chest. His body feels electric. He's so horny it's the only thing he can focus on.

Horny!Gojo whimpers when you crash your lips into his. He starts making out wildly with you like he's a sex-deprived loser. Because he is. A sex-deprived, touch-starved college boy.

Horny!Gojo hits those deep, hard strokes with no breaks just to destroy you. He never lets up. Never stops to have a breather or lets you catch your own breath. "Working up a sweat b—abyyy? Too much dick stuffing your little cunt? Yeah? Is it too much? Too big? Too deep? Fuck, you're gonna squeeze my dick off, haha, calm down. It's just a little dirty talk."

Horny!Gojo murmurs into your ear, "All I wanna do is make you finish over and over again." desperation and conviction in his voice. He really just wanted to fuck you into bliss, have you dumb on his fat cock, have you squirming and whimpering and going feral for him.

Horny!Gojo pins you down like a beast but also pounds into you like he's the bitch in heat. "Oh my god oh my god yes yes yes fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckkkk that pussy's so fuckin' gooooodddd" he's a mess, just swearing and moaning like a broken record.

Horny!Gojo almost sobs your name into your mouth when he cums, draining every drop of cum that he's worked up for you in the past hour.

Horny!Gojo turns his creampies into whipped cream with his thrusts, smacking his hips so hard into you that you feel his balls slap against your ass. They're so heavy and full, makes you think that if you weren't on birth control you'd definitely get knocked up with just one of his fat nuts.

Horny!Gojo goes round after round, becoming a melting sweaty mess of a man and feeling his muscles tire out. He pins you to the bed with his whole weight, and gives you his all just to show off a little.

Horny!Gojo has such a strained but enthusiastic voice after fucking you into next year with his dick. "Wow... that pussy's so fucking creamy." he grins toothily. A sweat drop beads off his cheek. His bangs are stuck messily to his forehead, some brushed to the side.

Horny!Gojo is insatiable, he calls you long after the party, over and over, shows up at your door and relishes in how his horniness rubs off on you. He's always a giggly mess in bed with you.

Horny!Gojo needs you so bad some days that he comes to you straight after his workout at the gym, no shower just sweaty gym boy abs, and fucks you as a way to "push his limits" for like three hours.

Horny!Gojo needs to cum everywhere he can. It's like he has a cumshot checklist. Thighs? Yes. Tummy? Yes. Ass? Yes. Chest? Yes. Face? Yes. Pussylips? Yes. Hands? Yes. In your panties? Yes.

Horny!Gojo is so fucking cute when he kisses you after sex, nuzzling your neck like a cat and telling you how good you treat him with that five star pussy.

Horny!Gojo jerks himself alone when you can't come over :( always to you, of course. Sexts like a menace. He's a bit too good at it.

Horny!Gojo gets so pussy drunk sometimes that he begs you to become his wife. His dick feels so raw and sensitive but he keeps squeezing it into that tight hole of yours.

Horny!Gojo is obsessed with you, mind body and soul. Just the sight of you and sound of you makes his dick stand up. And then he's whisking you off your feet and frantically throwing you onto the bed, and you're giggling at your horny boyfriend— oh... when did that happen? Hm. Well now he's your boyfriend.

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[nightingale-prompts]

How to Raise Your BatBoy

First | Previous | Next

Dick sighed into his cup of coffee. This is not what he wanted to see when he woke up in the morning. That and the giant bat wing covering his face this morning.

Danny was getting bigger. Not physically but his bat features are changing. The teen was getting better at changing shape. His ears are sharper ending in slight points, his fingers are more clawlike, and he has grown a thick ringed collar of white fur around his neck. Thankfully that's as far as his transformation can go right now. Danny has learned to pick and choose what traits he wants.

Danny has claimed Dick's gymnastic equipment as his. The aerial equipment is now used as roosts for Danny to hang off of and nap. But that hasn't stopped him from sleeping on top of Dick like an overgrown cat.

Bat wings expel a lot of heat as blood circulates through the thin skin which cools the blood in hot environments that they are native to. So to regulate their temperature they rest together to conserve heat. That's probably why Danny decided to grow the fur collar and sleep on top of Dick.

And why is Dick so frustrated? Because he's fighting for his goddamn life in this house. His cute aggression is barely contained. He wants to squish the kid's cheeks and ruffle his hair all the time.

Dick would be going over case files while Danny watches tv on the floor and Dick will feel the insatiable NEED to go bother him.

That damn fuzzy neck fur calls to him like a cat picking up a kitten.

Danny chirps! He fucking chirps! Like a baby bird!

Dick is trying so hard to be normal but if you had an adorable and clingy batboy you'd do the same.

Dick wants to tell the world about his batboy.

And he does. When he's Nightwing he will not shut up about how much he adores his sidekick. God forbid Robin is visiting, Dick will cry while taking hundreds of pictures of them together.

Damian doesn't like Batboy at all. At least that's what he says. He's just jealous that Batboy has bat wings. Damian warms up to him after they go out gliding together and get to study his wings.

It however goes downhill when they go on a misadventure and Batboy took a bite out of Scarecrow. Batboy had an immunity to fear toxins, instead, it overstimulated him. He ended up lounging at Scarecrow when he taunted Damian as the boy was paralyzed by the gas. When Damian was able to get back on his feet he found Batboy sobbing with his mouth covered in blood.

"Im sorry. I didn't. I didn't mean to-" His wings shielded him from sight.

Scarecrow was alive but the two sets of puncture wounds on his neck and the claw marks were not doing him any favors. The bite seemed to render him immobile at least for now. A symptom of a bat bite was paralysis.

Damian notified the others. Bruce and Dick got there first. Both adults were thankful they were okay but there was a disagreement.

"Nightwing you don't even know what the boy is. He could have killed Scarecrow. We don't know what he's capable of yet. He lost control." Batman stated firmly looking at the blood-stained teen that clung to Nightwing.

"He was protecting Damian. He didn't want to do that." Nightwing pulled Batboy behind him.

"It doesn't matter what he wanted to do. What will you do if he loses control and actually kills someone next time?" Bruce crossed his arms.

"All of us are capable of losing control and killing. I did it and you never came down on me like this. You are a hypocrite. You think he's a monster because he's not human." Nightwing was not going to let Batman point a finger at his son like this. He killed Joker once and he had don it out of rage and hate, not even to protect someone else.

"What I'm saying is that he isnt human. We don't don't know how he can be affected. We don't know his weaknesses. What if someone else figures out what fear toxin does to him and turns him into a weapon? Will his guilt be enough to stop him or will it destroy him? Do you want him to become like Man-Bat? Do you want to put your son in danger?" Batman didn't give in to Nightwing's taunt and stated his view firmly.

"We're leaving." Nightwing picked up the shrinking Batboy and made his escape but not before hugging Robin goodbye.

Nightwing had to move quickly. He could feel Danny getting smaller with every step.

This happened sometimes. Danny would sometimes retreat inwards when he was stressed. He changed to become as vulnerable as he felt.

When they got home Danny looked to be just 3 years old.

"Its okay baby bat. Not one is going to hurt you. I promised remember?" Dick held the chind aginst his chest.

"I'm so sorry. It's all my fault." Danny said between gasping breaths trying not to cry. His small wings wrapped around Dick's shoulders

"No, its not. You did the right thing no matter what Batman says. I'm proud of you."Dick said stroking Danny's black-streaked white locks.

(*Does a silly jig*)

[nemesyaaa]

pygmalion au // rafe cameron x reader

summary ; “ you love someone you can shape, who has no will to escape. ” artist!rafe x muse!reader.

warnings ; unsafe feelings. slight of angst. smut. kind of fantasy/magic. art glorification. attachment issues. innocent!reader. fear of losing somebody. first time. rafe being a lost boy. dubcon. pygmalion' weird story. toxic!rafe. mentions of drugs. oral (m. receiving). p in v. insecurities. praising. artist hands appreciation. minors DNI.

author's note : 3,5 k words for this. one-shot. also a lot of tummy appreciation (tysm @shawtycoreee 🫶🏿). out of the smut, i tried to write it so poetic 😭🤟🏿

— “ wrap me up, enfold me. i am small and needy. warm me up and breathe me. ” breathe me by sia.

it was alone and late at night that rafe cameron began to create you, not really knowing at the time he started his art what work you would produce. he only cut the stone with his hands. before forming your body, he fantasized about it internally, not really knowing what a woman's anatomy actually looked like. you were like a crazy dream he was trying to sort out, a fantasy he was trying to make real. he sculpted with his straight calloused and tired hands, manipulating the fragile and sensitive material with precision.

he hated doing badly, but it was what he did best. as he worked, he sank into his own fascination. you were magnificent, no, you were divine, the glorious treasure from his hands. it was scary and breathtaking. he had never done anything so beautiful, never created anything so charming. you had this firm, seductive chest, completely bare and hard, the movement of the stone making your belly round and chubby. you were carved in marble, an inanimate statue that had found favor in the eyes of his creator.

when he had finished your face,

he had been amazed but above all frightened by what his fingers had achieved. he had given shape to your lips, your nose, your mouth and your eyes. and now that you had a look, it was like you were confronting him. because now that you had pupils, you could look at him too, you could judge him too. you could be as superior as him, but also equal to his worth.

you were his most beautiful work of art, literally his ethereal and angelic muse. and above all, you made him nervous. not only were you realistic, but you were a woman, you were like one of the goddesses from greek mythology, completely naked.

it was unexpected, but he had knelt before you, before your altar, on his legs and his hands. he was so white and desperate like a lost sinner having only his god to pray and glorify in order to survive.

you had seen his lips part in a prayer, his mouth tighten in a whisper. and you had ears, certainly made of stone, but you had heard it. you had heard his wish lost in the void. yet he had nothing of a believer, you could hardly imagine this man on the benches of a church, but you were also cruelly incapable of seeing and understanding who he really was.

when he stood up, you felt his hands on your skin, the coldness of his ring, but also the awkwardness of his touch. you could tell it was the first time he touched someone intimately, because he didn't really know where to put his hands but he also didn't know how to touch you without destroying you.

rafe cameron was not a god. he could break anything he touched. and maybe that was why he was so nervous and pathetic. you belonged to him now that he had created you so he refused to lose you without even knowing you.

he had hoped that god would make you a real woman, because you were perfect, too sublime to be just a piece of stone.

he didn't need to pull himself up to reach you, he was much taller, more intimidating in terms of size. he could lift you up and control you with just one hand.

you looked so alive so why, why did he only hear one heartbeat in the room? why was he alone breathing in this cold and empty room? why did you only have life in appearance?

you could feel in his look that he was questioning, that he was troubled, that all the beauty of his blue eyes was overwhelmed. but you had also felt his face so close to yours, his breath fanning across your molded lips. he had been hesitant, but his mouth had finally found yours.

and you surprised yourself by loving the taste of his pretty lips, but above all by being able to touch it.

and it was like that kiss had been real enough of how he felt about you that god had decided to give him a chance.

you had sensed all the ivory of your body, of your muscles, becoming sublimely gorgeous, all your stone beauty becoming human and alive. as if his devotion had allowed you to be free and to exist.

when he felt your mouth melt on his, he pulled back in fear. you weren’t supposed to be real even if he wanted you to be. since when did statues come to life?

"oh fuck, what's going on here?... i think i'm going crazy...all that fucking coke…”

“you created me.” you replied, slightly hurt by his reaction because he was supposed to be happy.

"no, you're not supposed to be alive. i mean, you're art, you can't be human."

“i’m human!” you contradicted, stepping forward from your marble base.

rafe wasn't sure if it was a nightmare or a dream. but his gaze was anchored on you, he couldn't take every inch of his eyes off your body. he was magnetized by your magnificence.

you came just close enough to take his hand and place it against your chest. “don’t be cold to me. don’t leave me. what would i do without you? you can't reject me. you need me. ”

maybe that was the game changer for rafe cameron. because he had just understood that since you were his, you belonged to him, you were entirely dependent on him. you couldn't escape, and above all, you had no desire to.

he could do what he wanted, you were like a doll created to respond to the slightest of his favors without ever complacent. you were not only perfect but unimaginable.

” be on your knees for me.”

and the next second, you were staring at him waiting for another order.

"mmh...i know your body by heart. i shape all of this. but you have never seen mine. no worry, i'm going to fix that, okay? you're going to please me tonight and not make me regret 'have given you life?”

you nodded in agreement and he smiled because you were too innocent, too sweet for someone like him. he had unzipped his pants, making them fall to his legs like his boxers.

and it was the first time you saw a naked man in front of you, but it was also fair for you because you had no clothes. “let me help you…” he offered with a smirk. his thumb had rolled over your lips, creating a slight slit between them. “ you need to open that pretty mouth wider...” he added, taking advantage of your vulnerability to use you.

"you know it will only hurt if you don't relax. so don't be tense. because even if it's big, you're gonna take it, doll. not gonna be easy on you because it's your first time. show me what you can do baby, let me feel how grateful you are for your creator. "

he had pushed his tip against your lips, forcing his way into your mouth, making you open bigger to accommodate his cock in your cavity. it was new to you, and you weren't even sure if you could satisfy him because it was the first time you had done something like that, and especially used your mouth in that way.

you thought this area was used to create intimacy between people, not to do dirty things.

“baby, i really appreciate how sweet you can be, but don’t let me do all the work…” he had scoffed. and your heart skipped a beat when he shoved himself further in your mouth, so much so that you felt him hit the back of your throat, all the speed of his harshly strokes leaving you breathless.

you choked on his movements, saliva pooling and dripping between the corners of your enlarged lips. “that’s what happens when you don’t do your part of the job properly…” his tone was falsely accusatory as you couldn’t catch your breath from his pace. he had no pity, you had turned on him too much. and to fix it, he blamed you by harassing your throat with his fat cock.

"but since you leave me no choice, let me show you how to be a good girl for me..." he had plugged your nose, pinching it hard, forcing you to take him entirely, without being able to breathe. his length swallowed in and out, your tongue barely able to support his weight which grew as he bullied your lips.

you belonged to him so he didn’t care if he ruined you a little. he told himself that he would repair you.

he released your nose when he felt you were about to pass, with a sadistic giggle. your eyes were wet with tears. “oh baby, don’t give me that look, you’re wasting your time, i don’t feel pity. ”

you continued to pump him until your jaw arched tighten and become more tense. he pulled out for a moment, spitting in your tongue, before using your throat again. his grunts were frantic and rapid, hot breaths in sync with the pornographic sounds that emanated from your sucking. his large palm was wrapped around the back of your neck, controlling your posture. “ give me that sweet eyes again, and i will make them cry.”

he took so much pleasure in watching you swallow him hard, grunting every time he entered your throat hoping to relax it but causing the opposite effect. "'ot finished. take those balls too." he had pulled back to lift his painfully throbbing dick and place it against his stomach, you had started to lick them, letting your tongue work the entire surface, coating them with saliva. "feel? how full they are. they're gonna stuff you real bad. " you sucked on them when he pushed them directly into your mouth, making him let out throaty sounds. your mouth felt so good, he wondered if your pussy would be just as her.

between your legs, it was completely soaked. your sloppy slit dripping onto the floor. it wasn’t like rafe was ignoring that mess. he was just purely mesmerized by your lips, by the way you cupped his balls so well, and how his cock reacted to each of your licks.

you were definitely his best work. it was more than art, it was heavenly. he was incapable of not using you after creating you. he had his urges, and you had to respond to them.

he had started fisting his length, leaving you lapping at his genitals dangling above your face. the cum had gushed through the air, landing on you. he had rubbed his trailing tip on your cheeks, giving a new color to your skin.

he wondered if you were human enough to feel all this degradation. in a short movement, he had placed you in front of the standing mirror of the workshop, and had driven his body against yours. he spat into his hand before jerking off a little, pressing the head of his cock against your sticky dirty folds.

he placed his arm across your stomach, one hand gripping one of your breast, pressing it more firmly once lodged inside you and grunted as he felt how tight you were, how hard your pussy stretched in his path. thanks to the mirror, he could see each of your reactions, but above all, see your part pumped each of his inches. all his size had disappeared between your flowing walls.

your twitching cunt clenched around his girth, your canal squeezing him. his thrusts were merciless, burrowing into your soiled folds. rafe rocked his hips roughly, as his dick bullied your puffy core. he wondered how a loser like him could have created a goddess like you. and he was desperate to know if he could make you stupid, if his cock that destroyed and filled you was good enough for someone like you.

you had created a mess and frustration in him.

he was in love with the bouncing flesh on your tummy against his arm, your tits swaying when you took him. it was a grace.

he reached out and hit your spot every time he buried himself inside you, his face sank in your left shoulder. you could feel the strands of his hair against your skin, his mouth against your collarbone. you were his, he was fucking you like this. you were only alive when he touched you. you could feel his obsession and adoration in every thrusts, no matter how brutal they were. it was his way of showing you that you couldn't escape him and that you could never.

his rhythm was hard, as your pudgy tummy jiggled under his strong fingers who were digging into you. you were so giddy, fucked like a ragdoll not able to said if it was the butterflies that make your stomach spiraling, or that thick dick shoved inch by inch further into your messy slick. his other digits at your clit, massaging the small and eager bud. he was big enough to maneuver you and embraced your small frame with his muscular biceps.

you were too little, too fragile underneath him.

he was your creator, he gave you air but he could also take it away from you. you were completely dependent, not only you, but every crumb of your body. he was pounding into you with the inability to detach his cock from your fluffy pussy. he loved hearing your voice choked with tears and moans against his ear. it was a sweet melody, a symphony.

your body was perfect, straddling his, your skin slapping his. your lips gurgling around his fingers that you could no longer take without dropping them, because of his violent assaults. you drooled all over your mouth, struggling with the drool that splashed all over his hand.

you couldn't see anything anymore, it was blurry. you didn't even feel tired anymore, you felt like a stupid doll, unable to think and reflect, only able to take this cock nastily harassing you and stretching you violently.

with his muscular and heavy hand on your throat, he forced you to look at the mirror. there was something incredible and perfect in his hands, and you knew it from the moment he started sculpting you. they were so good and incredible, covered with veins that systematically bulged. they captured your belly fat well. “don’t hide this from me. it’s my property.”

he had harpooned your flesh between his fingers, making it move and hang down more as he fucked you senseless.

“if i shaped you like that, that meant i wanted you like that.” your tummy was caged in his grasp. “ i mean, look at that belly, it's all beauty, i swear.”

he had moved his hand to the lower part of your stomach, pressing that area of your skin, feeling his bulge farther in you. in this corner of the room, there was only you and him, only your whimpers against his fingers and the pleasure you felt. there was only this mirror that stared at you and reflected you in the darkness with the only light of the moon as a beacon.

you were divine, you had the perfect body of a goddess. and even having cum with you, even causing your third orgasm, he didn't want to pull out. it was as if he was afraid of the emptiness he expected after this. and maybe you too were dreading the emptiness inside you after he filled you up so well, your soaked pussy dripping with his cum, drooling all over the floor.

he had finally taken it out, his fingers entering you to collect his mixture and place it against your lips. “don’t let it go to waste.”

you had cleaned his fingers until they were pure again.

he had his eyes on you, like a human in front of art.

he still didn't realize. but he refused to let you escape. but it wasn't like you could. he had created a home here, all over this room and in you. he had established a domain in every inch of your skin. he only had to see you to know that you were his own creation.

you kissed him, slightly awkwardly but he made up for it with his mouth on yours. “you can’t abandon me.” he whispered. “i don’t want to abandon you.”

and it felt good to hear your words. you didn't know him well enough, or not really, to know how sick he was. but you felt grateful that he gave you life, because it was priceless. he had made you, and you were his.

“ what are you doing?” when you felt chains encircling your wrists, you weren’t sure if you liked it. "i really want to believe in you sweetheart but i also can't trust anyone. you have legs, you can run away from me but with this metal, you're stuck.”

“i don’t really like it…” you admitted and he replied “no one likes it but the difference is that you don’t really have a choice either. you're mine. your feelings, your body, your eyes, all of that is mine. even that pouty sweet face of yours. ”

you turned your head to let him know that you didn't appreciate it, and to give him the silent treatment. and he smiled. “it doesn't kill me, baby. you can pout. ”

you didn’t respond. "you really want to give me this treatment? maybe you really don't want me to be nice to you after all..."

he had smiled. “"okay...I'll give you what you want." he had disappeared for a few minutes before coming back with an object that you couldn't identify. " what is this ? "

"now, baby wants to talk...but it's a little too late, i'm making the rules here so...say hello to your new favorite toy. it's a gagball.”

you didn't feel it was useful until the ball went into your mouth and stopped you from speaking. you could only drool and grumble around the object.

"why that face, baby? that's not what you wanted? i swear you still look pretty. just quieter. i'm going to go to sleep. and tomorrow you'll show me how sorry you are for that attitude. you want to know if i would forgive you? maybe it would be too easy, you understand? you have all night to prepare excuses and they better please me because i can be even more creative than that to punish you. “

the next day he woke up in a good mood. and above all, you were always there.

he had picked up the bottle of water from his table, wondering if you were thirsty. but when he arrived in front of you, he changed his mind. he used it to wake you up.

"i'm so clumsy...sorry, baby." but there wasn't an ounce of regret in his voice so you knew he was joking. you learned to read his face.

“you know how sorry i am…” he added, facing your gaze.

“you’re not…”

"yes, right. such a clever baby. are you thirsty?”

" yes..."

“maybe if you show me how good and nice you are today, i can consider bringing you another bottle.”

"what do you want..."

“it’s not what i want, sweetheart. but what you will do to satisfy me. see the small difference ? ”

it had been several weeks, a month in fact, since the day of your creation. you had spent your time in this workshop, chained to this wall. you were only alone when rafe left, when he left you in the shadows.

in fact, he was clearly having fun with you. you were dependent on his affection, and he knew it. you reacted to the slightest attention he gave you, even the most mean and bad. but above all you were incapable of hating rafe cameron.

he had made you a magnificent creature, a living human, you would be even crueler than him if you hated him.

after all, you were his muse. he had the right to use you. that was also the thought he had drilled into your brain.

everything he did was for you. and you should be grateful.

but sometimes he wondered, if he killed you, would you come back to life? was there magic in you or was he just in a fucking wonderful dream? he did enough coke to get high for days but this time it lasted too long for it to be fake.

your relationship was strange because sometimes you felt loved, especially when he hugged you after being rough with you, his palm gently caressing your back. like any human, there was tenderness in him. he could be nice. he knew how to be one but that didn't mean he enjoyed being one. he just thought that if he was too mean, you would disappear.

and that was not something he could tolerate. during all this time spent with you, he had not learned, no, he had not succeeded, to live without you.

artists brought art to life, but art gave meaning to the artists' lives.

before you, he was alone.

he had prayed for you. he needed you. it was his final call.

rafe cameron fell in love with you before he created you, before he even imagined you.

and maybe that was why he was so mean to you, because he never knew love, so how can you blame him for not knowing if you loved him back or make fun of him?

he was pathetic, full of rage and violence. but you couldn't hate him, because you and him shared the same tears. the same pain.

he made you, and you made him. he was afraid and you were scared. you wanted someone to love you, and he wanted someone that could love him.

“ i swear, y/n. don't leave me alone. even when you looked away, you make me feel like a monster when i'm not. so please, do the same as me. ”

“ what ? ”

“ don't make me feel like somebody else exists. i'm the only world you can live in. ”

[icanlife]

Very tired of people who continue to argue that Bill destroying Euclydia was completely on purpose and he didn’t care about anyone at all because he’s just trying to garner sympathy in The Book of Bill, despite all the supporting evidence outside of Bill’s words that allude to how deeply traumatic it was, (so many, many things about) how he loved and misses his parents, how much of a sore spot the topic is for him, how much he wants to return home but can’t, etc. in addition to how perfectly Alex and co. crafted a parallel narrative between Bill and Ford, including how they hurt the people they love out of carelessness and blind pursuit of their dreams, justifying to themselves that the people they hurt just couldn’t understand

Yes, Bill is an unreliable narrator, and that includes all the very obvious posturing that he did it all on purpose and it was actually a very good thing, that everyone loved him, that he’s NOT incarcerated or anything and that he’s still a really all-powerful being, etc etc etc. To fully believe that EVERY vulnerability he reveals is an evil manipulation tactic, and not actual character writing, you have to interpret his very prevalent denial of weakness, which continues into the conclusion of the book where he already knows he’s lost the reader and is still denying any emotional needs or trauma, as itself a lie.

There’s a reason why the Pines family cracked open this book and laughed at Bill, calling him a fractured, pathetic mess.

The Book of Bill has a plot, a great plot, and great character writing. It’s a crazy companion to Journal 3, Ford’s story. Parallel stories, but where one ends with someone healing from their trauma, coming to terms with one’s mistakes and accepting the need for human love and relationships, the other ends with one stuck forever in their layers and layers of denial, never acknowledging their own trauma, never acknowledging their need for human companionship, grasping in desperate need at their continued facade of hating to love and loving to hurt.

Bill isn’t an always-in-control sly master of the mind, he’s a delusional and desperate man, fractured by his own trauma, who will continue to hurt others to prove that he’s in control. I’m tired of the false narrative that abusers can’t have trauma, aren’t people, giving them this otherworldly status above all humanity. Aside from not being narratively or societally productive, it undermines the ending and message of the book. Acknowledging Bill’s brokenness gives his victims POWER over him. The fact that Bill needs Ford, but Ford doesn’t need Bill is powerful. Them laughing at his desperation is powerful. Looking at someone who once seemed untouchable to you and realizing they’re just a suffering meat sack like any other human being is powerful.

The ending of The Book of Bill is the demystification of Bill. The book is a real look into his mind, telling a story that’s actually very tragic. It’s a very real story, a cautionary tale. You’re not being manipulated or tricked if you feel bad, it’s a very intentional writing decision that this ending elicits that dark pity, as he desperately fades away (arts and crafts materials confiscated) saying that he’s FINE.

So yeah, The Book of Bill and the website are a masterwork of the character, I love them, they’re incredible, and I don’t want to see such a tight character story discredited as “you can’t believe ANY of it!”

[fangdokja]

You tried to break up with him… but did you ever really want to?

❤︎ Synopsis. You thought walking away from him would set you free, but now you’re trapped in a game of his making, where every step away pulls you closer into his dark web. Breaking up was never an option—he’s already planned your return.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Johan Liebert x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Geto Suguru x Fem. Reader (separate)

♡ Headcanons. Never Really Gone - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 6,342

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con + heavy manipulation, sexual themes, fear play, hints of rough play and sex, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, gaslighting, victim blaming, psychological manipulation and conditioning, manipulation of circumstances, white knight strategies

♡ Note. All art on the banner does not belong to me, and belongs to the artists who created the artworks.

♡ A/N. Yes, I wanted to philosophize this time. Been a while, since I wrote something like this. But, actually, before Tumblr and Ao3, I wrote these kinds of works often. Anything in relation to morality, humanity, existential questions, and more. It's fun.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer whose philosophy is rooted in the idea that nothing is truly unattainable. He grew up in a world where survival was an art, and morality was an illusion crafted by the powerful to control the weak. To Chrollo, freedom isn’t about doing what you want—it’s about taking what you desire, consequences be damned.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who applies this philosophy to you with a terrifying elegance. He doesn’t love you like a man loves a woman; he loves you like a collector loves a rare artifact. You are a piece of perfection he wants to study, admire, and ultimately keep under lock and key. His love is subtle, almost suffocating in its gentleness. He doesn’t need to raise his voice or make threats; his words are calculated to burrow into your mind and make you second-guess your every thought.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who uses your intelligence as a hook, weaving conversations so deep and enthralling that you forget he’s untangling every thread of your mind. He is endlessly patient, unraveling your independence slowly, methodically, until you reach a point where you don’t know where you end and he begins.

In your relationship, Chrollo is attentive but detached, like a scientist studying a delicate experiment. He knows when to praise you, when to pull back, and when to remind you of just how much you need him. He never forces his will outright; instead, he leaves breadcrumbs, ensuring that every choice you make feels like your own—when in truth, he’s orchestrated it all.

———

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert whose philosophy is a chilling combination of nihilism and superiority. He sees the world as a fragile construct, its meaninglessness a playground for his manipulation. To Johan, people are tools, and love is the ultimate form of control—an emotion that binds people tighter than fear or violence ever could.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who views you as an exception to his usual detachment. Your quiet demeanor and sharp mind fascinate him in a way he can’t quite explain. You’re not like the rest of the world—mindless, hollow, and easily disposable. You’re a puzzle he wants to solve, a light he wants to snuff out and relight just to see how it flickers.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who expresses his love with an eerie calmness. He doesn’t smother you with affection or demand anything from you; instead, he quietly infiltrates your life. He learns everything about you—your fears, your dreams, your weaknesses—and uses that knowledge to become indispensable. He convinces you that he’s the only one who truly understands you, the only one who can keep you safe in a world that’s out to destroy you.

In your relationship, Johan is a paradox. He’s gentle, considerate, and impossibly kind, but there’s an undercurrent of control in everything he does. He’ll encourage your independence on the surface while quietly sabotaging any attempt to leave him. He’s the type to smile and say, “I’ll wait for you,” even as he ensures that no one else ever gets close enough to take his place. To Johan, love is about possession, and possession is eternal.

———

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru whose philosophy is steeped in a twisted sense of superiority and duty. He believes that the strong have an obligation to protect the weak, but only those who are worthy. His disillusionment with humanity has left him with a stark view of the world—most people are parasites, unworthy of existence. But you? You’re different.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who sees you as a rare exception to his disdain. Your quiet intellect and detached nature resonate with him, a kind of purity he thought had been lost to the world. You’re not a parasite; you’re a treasure, someone who needs protection—not from the world, but from yourself.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who loves you with an intensity that’s almost reverent. He admires your mind, your resilience, but he also sees your fragility, and it terrifies him. He doesn’t want you to break under the weight of the world, so he takes it upon himself to shield you, even if that means isolating you from everything and everyone else.

In your relationship, Geto is controlling but not overtly so. He frames his actions as concern, his possessiveness as devotion. He doesn’t raise his voice or demand obedience; instead, he calmly explains why his way is the best for you. He creates a world where you feel safe and cared for, even as he slowly strips away your autonomy.

To Geto, love is a responsibility, a sacred bond that justifies any action. He doesn’t see himself as manipulative or cruel; he genuinely believes that what he’s doing is for your own good. And even if you hate him for it, he’ll accept that—because your hatred is still a form of connection, and he’ll take anything you’re willing to give.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who was drawn to you the moment he noticed the sharpness in your eyes. You had a mind that cut through deception like a blade, a presence that remained unshaken even under scrutiny. You never sought validation, nor did you waver under pressure—you existed on your own terms, and that made you utterly fascinating to him.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who admired your strength but saw it as something that could be refined, polished into something even greater. And who better to be your guide than him? His involvement in your life was never forceful, never imposing. It was patient, meticulous. A thoughtful conversation here, a well-placed question there. “You’re remarkable,” he’d muse, studying you with a gaze that saw too much. “But do you ever wonder if you’re carrying too much alone?”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who never took anything from you—rather, he gave. Insight, solutions, a sense of ease. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, you began to turn to him. Not because you had to, but because he always seemed to have the answers, the right words at the right time. A reassuring presence in the background of your life, always available, always understanding.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who never demanded your dependence, yet it became inevitable. He never corrected you outright, only offered perspectives that made you rethink your choices. “I trust you, of course,” he’d say, a gentle lilt in his voice. “But sometimes, even the most brilliant minds need a second opinion.” And over time, you found yourself hesitating before decisions, waiting—expecting—his input.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer whose love felt like a safety net you didn’t realize you needed. By the time you noticed how much of yourself had subtly reshaped around him, it no longer felt like change—it felt like growth. A natural evolution, one where he was woven into the fabric of your existence. And that was all he had ever needed.

———

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who recognized something rare in you the first time he met you. Not just intelligence, but an elegance in how you carried yourself. A quiet depth, the kind most people overlooked. You weren’t swayed by charm or intimidation; you existed in your own world, untouched by the trivialities that consumed others. And that made you irresistible to him.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who never sought to change you—no, that would be crude. Instead, he aligned himself so seamlessly with you that his presence felt like an inevitability. He listened with an attentiveness that made you feel understood in a way few ever had. “You’re extraordinary,” he’d say softly, his admiration never loud, never overwhelming. Just a simple truth, spoken like a secret only he was privy to.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who became your quiet refuge, the person who knew exactly how to soothe the weight on your shoulders. He never told you that you needed him, never implied that you were weaker alone. But somehow, in moments of uncertainty, his words would surface in your mind. “You overthink things sometimes,” he’d once told you with an affectionate smile. “You don’t have to bear it all alone.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert whose influence never felt like pressure, only gentle guidance. He never dismissed your thoughts, only reframed them. “You’re brilliant, but even the most brilliant minds falter under unnecessary burdens.” His words never undermined, never dictated. Yet they lingered, shifting the way you perceived yourself, the way you navigated your own decisions.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who, without ever asking for it, became the foundation you leaned on. And by the time you realized how deeply his presence had integrated into your life, it felt too natural, too comforting to pull away. After all, what was so wrong about relying on someone who had only ever wanted the best for you?

———

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who was intrigued by you from the start. A woman who stood with unwavering confidence, who carried an unspoken wisdom in her gaze. You weren’t someone easily impressed, nor did you seek approval from others. You knew your own worth, and that fascinated him.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who never sought to diminish your strength, only to ensure it was preserved. “You’re exceptional,” he’d tell you, watching the way you dismissed the weight of his words. “But strength isn’t just about standing alone. It’s about knowing when to let someone stand beside you.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru whose care never felt like control. If anything, he encouraged your independence—praised it, even. But beneath that praise was something else, a quiet implication that true strength was knowing when to yield. “You don’t have to prove anything,” he’d remind you, his voice soft but firm. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who never outright questioned your choices but always offered an alternative. “I trust you,” he’d say with a smile, never condescending, never doubtful. “But have you considered another perspective?” And it was never an argument, never a dismissal—just enough to make you pause, to make you wonder if your certainty was truly your own.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who, with time, became the voice in your head, the presence you unconsciously sought out before making a move. Not because he had ever demanded it, but because he had gently guided you to a place where his insight felt indispensable. Where, without even realizing it, you had come to need him just as much as he had always needed you.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who made his love feel like a sanctuary, a safe place to rest. And in the end, you never saw it as dependence—you saw it as trust. A quiet, unshakable trust that tethered you to him in a way you couldn’t quite explain, yet never wanted to escape.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who folds his hands neatly on the table as you tell him, your voice unsteady, that you think the relationship needs to end. He listens without interrupting, his expression as serene as ever, the faintest trace of curiosity in his eyes.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who tilts his head slightly, the movement so slight it’s almost imperceptible. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” he says, his tone warm and understanding. “I can see how difficult this is for you.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who doesn’t argue or plead, instead leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. “If you feel this is best for you, I won’t stop you,” he says, his voice measured and calm. “But I do wonder…” He pauses, just long enough to make you glance at him. “Is this truly what you want? Or are you running from something you don’t fully understand yet?”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who lets his words linger in the air, unchallenging yet heavy, like the weight of a velvet curtain falling over the conversation. “Regardless,” he continues, “I respect your decision. You’ve always been someone who values their independence.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who, as he pays the bill and walks you to the door, doesn’t make a single misstep. His movements are fluid, his smile genuine. “Take care of yourself,” he says softly. “I only want what’s best for you.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who watches you walk away, his expression neutral, almost unreadable. There’s nothing overt, nothing dramatic, just a quiet shift in his gaze that feels like a shadow passing over the sun.

———

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who sets down his coffee cup with a soft clink when you tell him, in a trembling voice, that you need to end things. His expression doesn’t change—calm, patient, as though he’s hearing something inevitable.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who leans forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he listens to you. “You feel like you’ve lost yourself,” he repeats, his tone thoughtful. “That must have been so difficult to admit.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who doesn’t try to dissuade you, doesn’t argue or press for answers. Instead, he nods slowly. “If leaving is what will make you happy, I won’t stop you,” he says gently, his words carefully chosen, as though he’s weighing each one before speaking.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who lets the conversation drift into silence, his gaze soft yet focused. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he says after a moment. “And if you ever need anything—anything at all—I’ll always be here for you.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who watches you stand and gather your things, his smile faint but sincere. “You’ve always been strong,” he murmurs as you hesitate at the door. “Even now.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who remains seated long after you’ve left, his expression unchanged. There’s no visible reaction, no sign of distress—only the quiet stillness of someone who never truly lets go.

———

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who sets aside his tea with a quiet sigh when you tell him, in a shaky voice, that you want to break up. He leans back slightly, his dark eyes thoughtful as he processes your words.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who gives you his full attention, his brows furrowing slightly in concern but not disbelief. “I see,” he says softly. “You’ve been feeling this way for a while, haven’t you?”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who nods slowly as you explain, his expression calm but attentive. “You don’t feel like yourself anymore,” he repeats, his tone careful and deliberate. “That’s not something I ever wanted for you.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who leans forward, his elbows resting on the table as he regards you with a quiet intensity. “If this is what you need,” he says, his voice low and steady, “then I won’t hold you back. You deserve to be happy, even if it’s without me.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who stands as you gather your things, his movements slow and deliberate. “You’ve always been someone who knows their own mind,” he says, his voice almost wistful. “I admire that about you.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who watches you leave, his posture relaxed but his gaze lingering on the door long after it’s closed. He doesn’t move for a long time, his expression serene, though there’s an almost imperceptible tightness in his jaw—a subtle crack in the façade.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who, after the breakup, doesn’t chase after you. He respects your decision—or so it seems. He remains polite, understanding, and almost distant, as if he’s already moved on.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who reaches out with carefully calculated timing, sending you little notes or messages that seem innocent. “You left your favorite book at my place. Should I drop it off, or would you prefer I mail it?” A reasonable question, but the reminder of how well he knows you lingers in your mind.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who subtly plants seeds of doubt without ever making it obvious. He’s a ghost in your life, popping up in conversations with mutual acquaintances, always painted in a positive light. “Chrollo’s been so generous lately; he helped fund a library downtown.” His altruism makes you wonder if you misunderstood him.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who manipulates circumstances so that you start to feel isolated without realizing it. A lost job opportunity here, a canceled appointment there—small inconveniences that seem coincidental but slowly erode your confidence.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who remains patient and kind when you reach out to him in moments of weakness. “I’m here for you, no matter what,” he says, his voice soft and reassuring. “You don’t have to do this alone.” It feels genuine, but his subtle inflection reminds you of how much easier life felt when he was by your side.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who ensures that you remember the best moments of your time together. A framed photo he “forgot” to return, a familiar scent in a letter—it’s never blatant, just enough to make you second-guess whether leaving him was truly the right choice.

———

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who remains composed and graceful post-breakup, never pushing boundaries or demanding your attention. He doesn’t reach out directly, but his presence feels inescapable.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who ensures you hear about him through others—always in glowing terms. “Johan organized a fundraiser for the children’s hospital. He’s such a kind soul.” The stories make you question how someone so compassionate could have ever harmed you.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who plants doubts in your mind with precision. A single comment during a chance encounter: “You seem tired. Are you sleeping well?” It’s not accusatory, but the implication lingers, making you wonder if you’re truly okay on your own.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who subtly orchestrates situations where you feel overwhelmed and vulnerable. A sudden financial setback, an unexpected confrontation at work—problems that only seem to resolve themselves when he’s tangentially involved.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who appears at just the right moments, offering support that feels both coincidental and inevitable. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but I noticed you were struggling. Let me help.” His calm demeanor makes refusing him feel illogical, almost cruel.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who always speaks to you with warmth and understanding, his words like a balm to your insecurities. “You’ve always been strong,” he says softly, “but even the strongest people need someone to lean on.” His sincerity feels unshakable, even as his influence quietly tightens around you.

———

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who doesn’t fight the breakup, respecting your decision outwardly. He gives you space, never contacting you directly—yet his presence feels as steady as ever, a quiet force lingering just out of reach.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who subtly ensures that you notice his absence in your life. His knowledge of your routines allows him to step back at critical moments, leaving a void that feels unnervingly hollow.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who uses logic as his weapon, planting subtle doubts with precision. A chance meeting at the grocery store leads to a calm, reasoned conversation. “You’ve always been independent,” he says casually, “but it’s not weakness to need someone, you know.” His tone is gentle, unassuming, but his words stay with you.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who doesn’t sabotage you outright but instead carefully positions himself as the only stable constant in your life. When other relationships falter or opportunities slip through your fingers, he’s always there, offering quiet, unwavering support.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguruu who uses your own logic against you. “I understand why you left,” he tells you in a rare moment of vulnerability. “But I wonder if you’ve thought about what you really need. What makes you happy?” His words are measured, reasonable, and devastatingly effective.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who never pushes too hard, his manipulation so subtle it feels like guidance. His calm demeanor and thoughtful advice make you question whether he’s truly the villain in your story—or if you’ve misjudged him entirely.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who waits patiently, never rushing, as the cracks in your resolve begin to show. He continues to be the steady, reliable presence in your life, always there when you falter but never overtly pushing.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who uses your love for independence as the final thread to weave you back to him. He leaves an innocuous invitation one evening: a handwritten note left in your mailbox. “There’s something I think you’d find interesting,” it reads. “Come if you’re curious. No pressure.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who takes you to a quiet library hidden deep in the city, its dimly lit shelves lined with rare, obscure texts—exactly the kind of place that would ignite your curiosity. He shows you something you’ve never seen before: a book you’ve spent years searching for, one you’d nearly given up hope of ever finding.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who smiles softly as he places the book in your hands, his voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t let you miss out on this,” he says. “It’s too perfect for you. It belongs with you.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who, as you flip through the pages with trembling hands, adds, “There are more like this. Rare treasures, hidden away. I’ve already started gathering them for you. No one else would understand their value the way you do.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who, with his calm voice and unwavering gaze, ensures you feel that only he could ever truly see you, that his presence in your life is not control but a partnership you’d be foolish to walk away from.

———

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who never pressures you, never raises his voice, and never crosses a line—his demeanor as gentle and perfect as it’s always been. He remains at the edge of your life, always watching but never intervening overtly.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who appears on your doorstep one rainy evening, his expression calm but his eyes soft with concern. In his hand is an envelope. “I wasn’t sure if I should show you this,” he says quietly, “but I couldn’t bear to keep it from you.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who hands you a collection of documents—letters, reports, and photographs that seem to detail a series of coordinated misfortunes in your life. The lost job, the failed opportunities, the strange tensions with old friends—all traced back to a third party whose name you don’t recognize.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who lets you pore over the evidence in silence, his presence steady but non-intrusive. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he finally says, his voice low and steady. “But I’ve been keeping an eye on it. Whoever it is—they’ve been trying to isolate you. I’ve done my best to protect you, but...”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who watches as the realization dawns on you: the world is far more dangerous than you thought, and you are far more vulnerable than you ever realized. His timing is perfect—just as your walls are crumbling, he positions himself as your only sanctuary.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who places a hand on yours, his touch warm and steady. “You don’t have to face this alone,” he says. “You’ll always be safe with me.”

———

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who lets you spiral on your own, his involvement so subtle you don’t even realize how carefully he’s guiding you back to him. He never imposes, only steps in when absolutely necessary, his calm presence soothing your growing unease.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who, one evening, reaches out with a cryptic message: “I found something that might interest you. Thought I’d share it with you before anyone else.” Attached is a link to a seemingly unrelated incident—a local scandal, a breach in security at a place you once frequented.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who meets you in a quiet café to discuss it, his tone as calm and logical as always. “It’s strange, isn’t it? The way things have been unraveling around you.” His words are measured, his expression thoughtful, as though he’s piecing together a puzzle.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who, after weeks of planting subtle hints, reveals his “final discovery”—a detailed explanation of how vulnerable you’ve become without him. He shows you the ways the world has already begun to erode your security, pointing out how reliant you’ve unknowingly been on his guidance all along.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who leans back in his chair, his eyes calm but piercing. “I never wanted to burden you with this,” he says softly, “but I’ve been handling it for you. Keeping you safe. If you’d rather face it alone, I’ll respect that. But... I hope you’ll let me help you, as I always have.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who knows exactly when to pull back, leaving the choice in your hands—but ensuring that the only logical answer is to stay with him.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who doesn’t pressure you after helping you with the book and other rare treasures. Instead, he gives you time to process, staying polite and distant as though respecting your boundaries.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who contacts you weeks later with a calm, measured voice. “I just wanted to check in. You seemed troubled last time we spoke. I hope I didn’t overstep by helping you.” His tone is apologetic but faintly accusatory, planting the idea that you’ve been ungrateful for his efforts.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who listens carefully as you stumble through your words, his quiet sigh barely audible over the line. “I understand,” he says softly, “but it’s disheartening, you know. I’ve always supported you, even when you pushed me away. I thought we were a team.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who turns the conversation into a reflection of your supposed failings. “I never wanted you to feel weak or helpless,” he says, his voice laced with disappointment. “If anything, I was trying to help you see your potential. Was that really so wrong of me?”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who subtly reframes every moment of doubt you’ve ever had as evidence that you need him. “I saw how hard you were struggling,” he murmurs. “You didn’t see it, but I did. I thought... I thought you trusted me enough to let me help.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who lets silence hang in the air, his tone calm but weighted when he finally speaks again. “But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should’ve let you fall instead of trying to catch you. Would that have been better?” His logic is irrefutable, his manipulation so subtle that it feels like an honest conversation.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who ends the call with a resigned but loving note: “I’ll respect your decision, but know this—I only ever wanted what was best for you. I hope, one day, you’ll see that.” The guilt lingers long after the conversation ends, pulling you back toward him.

———

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who doesn’t push after revealing the evidence of your supposed “stalker.” He lets you sit with the knowledge, never bringing it up again unless you do.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who runs into you by chance at a quiet café. He smiles softly, his demeanor as kind and understanding as always. “You look well,” he says warmly, but there’s a hint of concern in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who, when you thank him for helping you, brushes it off with a graceful wave of his hand. “I only did what anyone would’ve done,” he says. “But it’s good to see you taking control of your life again. I was worried about you for a while.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who, over the course of the conversation, gently reminds you of all the ways you’ve struggled since leaving him. “It’s not your fault,” he assures you, his voice soft and soothing. “You were trying to be strong, but the world isn’t always kind to people like you—people who see things differently.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who subtly blames you for your insecurities without ever making it obvious. “You’ve always been so brilliant,” he says, “but sometimes you get lost in your own mind. That’s why I stayed—I wanted to ground you, to help you focus on what really matters.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who smiles sadly when you start to falter. “I know I’m not perfect,” he admits, his tone tinged with regret. “But I’ve always believed in you, even when you didn’t believe in yourself. That’s why it hurt so much when you left—it felt like you didn’t trust me anymore.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who leaves you with a parting comment that stays with you long after he’s gone: “You’re strong, but strength doesn’t mean pushing everyone away. I hope you’ll remember that.”

———

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who remains calm and composed after showing you how vulnerable you’ve become. He doesn’t push or pry, allowing you to come to your own conclusions—or so it seems.

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who waits until you reach out to him, his voice steady and reassuring when you speak. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says sincerely. “I was worried you might’ve felt overwhelmed after everything I told you.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who never raises his voice or shows frustration. Instead, he uses reason to guide you back to him. “You’ve always been so determined to stand on your own,” he says, his tone thoughtful. “But sometimes, it’s okay to admit when you need help. It doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who subtly reframes the breakup as a mistake on your part. “I didn’t want to say this before, but when you left, I was... worried about you. You’re so capable, but the world isn’t always fair. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t lose yourself.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who carefully plants the idea that you were at fault for how things ended. “Maybe I was too involved,” he says, his voice tinged with regret. “But I only wanted what was best for you. If that came across as controlling, then... maybe I need to rethink how I approach things.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who gives you just enough space to doubt your own decisions. “I never wanted to take anything away from you,” he says softly. “I wanted to help you build something better. But maybe I failed in showing you that.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who ends the conversation with a quiet, almost resigned comment: “Whatever you decide, just know that I’ll always be here for you. I can’t promise I’ll stop worrying, but I’ll try to respect your wishes.” His logic, his kindness, and his subtle manipulations leave you questioning whether you ever truly understood him—or yourself.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who watches you crumble before him, your voice thick with regret, your hands trembling as you reach for him. He doesn’t stop you. Instead, he lets you grasp at his coat, his touch featherlight as he brushes away the tears staining your cheeks. “No, my love,” he murmurs, his voice velvet-smooth. “You were simply lost. But now you’re here, where you belong.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who holds you that night, his body heat wrapping around you like a silken cage. His lips trace the slope of your neck, his breath a whisper of devotion. His fingers skim the ridges of your spine, languid and patient, memorizing every inch of your body. “I would forgive you a thousand times,” he breathes, “as long as you never leave me again.”

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who makes love to you as if he’s weaving scripture into your skin, each touch deliberate, each thrust a vow. His hands map your body with a reverence that borders on obsession, his lips branding you with soft, lingering kisses. And yet, there’s an edge beneath his tenderness—a silent warning in the way his nails dig just a little too deep, the way he marks your throat with his teeth.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer whose dark gaze never wavers as he cups your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His voice is soft, almost hypnotic. “Say it,” he coaxes, rolling his hips with slow, devastating precision. “Tell me who you belong to.” When you moan his name, it’s a prayer he drinks in greedily, his smile both serene and possessive.

♡ Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer who strokes your hair afterward, his lips grazing your temple as you succumb to exhaustion. His voice is barely audible, a lullaby meant for your ears alone. “Even if you left me again, I would always find you.” And though his words should unnerve you, the weight of his arms around you is far too comforting to resist.

———

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who cups your face in his hands as you break apart before him, your apology spilling from your lips in frantic sobs. He hushes you gently, his thumbs smoothing over your damp skin, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite decipher. “You don’t need to apologize,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I knew you’d realize, sooner or later, that I was only protecting you.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who takes his time with you that night, his touch languid and knowing, as though he’s unraveling you piece by piece. He kisses down your spine, savoring every shudder, every hitched breath. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, his hands molding to your hips, holding you in place as he takes what is his.

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who moves with slow, intoxicating precision, drawing out every whimper, every moan until you’re trembling beneath him. His grip tightens, his control absolute, and yet his voice remains unbearably gentle. “You were made for me,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “No one else will ever know you the way I do.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert whose every touch is a calculated act of devotion, his movements measured, each moment orchestrated to ensure you never forget the way he makes you feel. His lips curl into a soft smile when you cling to him, your breathless cries spilling into his skin. “That’s right,” he purrs. “Stay with me. Just like this.”

♡ Yandere! Johan Liebert who traces lazy circles against your bare shoulder as you lay entwined in the aftermath. His voice is almost absentminded, laced with quiet amusement. “It’s fascinating,” he muses, “how easily you let me shape you. But that’s all right—you don’t need to think about that.”

———

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who watches you with quiet patience as you stammer through your apologies, his fingers threading through yours as if to ground you. He tilts his head, his gaze unreadable. “You don’t need to explain,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over your knuckles. “I always knew you’d come back to me.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who handles you with deceptive gentleness that night, his touches reverent, his kisses lingering. And yet, there’s no mistaking the quiet command in his movements, the way he holds you against him as if daring you to slip away. “You’re mine,” he murmurs into your skin, his teeth scraping over your pulse. “You always have been.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who takes his time breaking you down, his pace unhurried yet devastating, his hands keeping you right where he wants you. His voice is low, soothing, as he whispers against your ear. “You don’t have to think anymore,” he coaxes, his fingers threading through your hair, his grip just firm enough to remind you of his strength. “Just let me take care of everything.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who leaves traces of himself all over you—bruises shaped like fingerprints, love bites blooming across your skin like evidence of his devotion. His lips brush against your temple, his voice a promise disguised as a lullaby. “You’ll never need anyone else,” he murmurs. “Not when you have me.”

♡ Yandere! Geto Suguru who holds you close as you drift into unconsciousness, his fingers idly tracing patterns over your spine. His voice is barely more than a breath, a thought he speaks into the darkness. “Even if you wanted to leave, I’d never let you.” He pauses, his lips curving against your skin. “But you won’t, will you?”

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[chrolloluvr]

May you please write Mammon x reader smut. Where the reader is short and has a size difference kink. If you do I give many thanks in advance (Seriously love this blog so much)

♡ Mammon w/ A Size Kink ♡

Note: AHHH TYSM BOOKIE!!! Also yes this has been on my mind for so long... and I have not made a proper NSFW fic yet until now. So here you go! (alot more NSFW coming soon, especially for this man...) So here are my thoughts! Also sorry if its a bit short...

AFAB, Female!Reader

Warnings: Size kink, belly bulge, penetration, overstimulation, size transformation, oral (female and male receiving) ★

The height difference makes him feral. He is at least a couple feet taller than you. So he likes to use this to his advantage. By manhandling you. he will pick you up, grab your waist, literally rip your legs off of its hinges when he pulls them apart, etc. So, he likes when you are shorter than him. It gives him a power influx, and it makes him feel supreme to you. So he will basically use you like a glorified sex doll.

He will purposely make himself transform into a couple feet taller. Like a big, scary spider. So he can intimidate you, and get you riled up. He wont have actual penetrative sex with you in his big spider form, but he will eat you out.

And he delivers very well. His tongue is huge. You feel like your in cloud 9 whenever he eats your pussy, especially because he does not do it very often.

his favorite position, especially due to his size, is Full Nelson. He likes how in this position, he has complete control over you. With his upper hands behind your knees, his hips under your own, and his lower arms circling your sensitive clit, and his other hand pussy slapping you. Sometimes, he will place you in front of a big mirror, while hammering his hips into your vice, little pussy. Also making you look at yourself, being utterly destroyed by his large cock. He will tie your ankles together with his webs when he does this.

His other favorite is picking you up, and putting his hands under your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. He enjoys listening to the skin slapping sounds, and how lude they sound. And seeing your reactions to his every harsh thrust to your G-spot. And how especially cramped you are between his body, his cock, and his arms, with a tight grip on your ass. This position makes you more sensitive and vulnerable, which is just where he wants you.

Belly Bulge. Need I say more? It makes him laugh, and chuckle about how 'your gonna take it- fuck, yeah, you like that don't you- little fuckin' slut-'

It makes him realize just how large he is compared to you. How much he effects you and your body. He craves this kind of dominance over you.

He is a little bastard. When he sees you have a belly bulge from his constant plummeting, he will press down onto it. This, as he is well aware of, makes you see stars. You become a moaning, drooling, babbling mess under his large self. Which is what he wants, of course.

The sheer size of his dick. He cant help but feel aroused, when he compares you and his cock side by side. Every now and then, he will have you sat right behind it, while he holds you, and just admire how small you are. He has to prep you for your first time together, and even every single time you guys do have sex. Simply because of the size of it. And its not just long, its girthy too. So if you dont have some prep, he might end up abominating your poor womb.

He especially likes seeing you struggle, especially when you give him head. you can barely fit your mouth around it. Your jaw gets sore within literal seconds of putting his member in your mouth. So you have to use your hands (which also barely touch eachother), for the rest of his cock.

Overstimulating you. His favorite way of overstimulation you is with his arms and hands. He will have you trapped in between his legs. One of his lower arms will be fingering your supple core; the other one circling harshly around your clit. One of his upper hands holding your waist up; the other one toying with your breast and sensitive, puffy nipples.

He also likes overstimulating you, by having you cock warm him. Its one of his favorite past times. Especially when you two try to be sneaky, like during his pageants ontop of the webbing. (should I make a whole other post about this??) He just loves feeling the warmth of your pussy against his cold self. And he wont let you move. Like at all. Unless he grabs your hips and forcibly bounces you up and down, which is after a while of waiting of course.

Dirty talk. He loves making you feel smaller, so he will talk down upon you. Everything he calls you starts with 'my', because he is very possessive. things like "my slut", "my whore", "my princess", etc. He will never talk about you in a truly bad connotation. So he will say things like:

"You like being my little slut, yeah?"

"C'mon, you can take more. don't be a baby."

"yeahhhh. Takin' it like a fuckin' champ. Good fuckin' girl-"

"Oh fuck... shit just like that"

"Ohh yeah- thats some good shit."

"Dont you dare fuckin' move."

"You feelin' good princess? Yeah I bet you are. Fittin' me like a glove."

"Awww you want more? Your gonna have to wait a bit, m'kay?"

"You want it inside? Ya' want daddy to fill ya' up real nice?"

So overall, he favors when you are small and meek. Just be a good girl for him, and you wont have to worry about his intimidation, okay?

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Wrong move | The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: He thought you were in love with him....maybe he needs to show you how much you need him.

Warnings: SFW - Possessive!Salesman - Obsessive!Salesman - Controling!Salesman - Red flag basically - Unhealthy relationship - Power imbalance - DARK!Salesman - grammar mistakes -

Note: Not part of "Home Bliss", this is a different universe.

"No"

These were the words that have been in the Salesman's mind for a week now. His aparment, a place he used to love coming to since you were here waiting for him now felt like a empy box. Walls too grey to look at, too dull. The food did not have teaste and his bed felt too big.

When did things go wrong ? He did everything right.

Saw you one day at the local park, got enamoured by you. Followed you around, got to know your schendelure so he could see you from afar. Was able to hack your phone to know every last detail. Your social media were poorly secured. He got to know you like he knew his own skin, when he finally did approach you, you were already his.

And after two years, two years of beautiful moments together, perfectly crafted by him, each one calculated and made so you would fall more and more for him. He got you to move in with him, he was accepted by your friends, your family loved him, and saw him like part of it.

He was sure, centrain that this was the right moment. The perfect one. This was your favorite season, favorite month, perfect hour of the day and a well secured place so you would not feel pressure over it.

Some part of him wanted you to come to him willing.

But your words were marked liked fire. The exchange and after events lived rent free inside his head.

How he had managed to keep his facade he has no idea. The aparment (after you refused to get back) was the one that suffered his rage. All the expensive forniture was destroyed by him, some walls had blood by how much he had punched them.

He was a mess, a disaster. How could yo do it  ? After everything? Weren't you two the perfect match ?

A ding from his phone, the ding he had set just for you sounded.

"Sorry, I think its better if we stop seeing each other. I will pass to get my things soon"

The phone went flying. Were you breaking up with him by text ? When he had read all the exchange with your friends  ? Like how scared you were and how fast it felt. Why were you doing this?

And your doubts ? He never saw them, you seemed content by his side. And loved him like that.

But your personal diary on your phone said different. You felt trapped, like he knew too much, like he was not being honest.

Maybe he should have been more...severe? Showing you just how bad he could be, maybe he let your leash go too large and now he was paying the consequences.

But would he give up ? No. After all you were just confused, and scared, you just needed a reminder of how much you needed him. How he could be the only one for you.

He took the phone back, the screen broke but other functions working. He ignored your message and instead went to his contacts. He had many friends, friends that could ruin you completly.

"I need a favor"

Leaving him was the start of your nightmare.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

At first the relationship was fine. How does peopel put it ? Honeymoon? Well you two had it for very long.

He was the man any woman could ask for, gentle, caring, doting, never forgot a special date. And would get your favorite things.

But something was off. His eyes, the same dark eyes that sparked when he saw you, these eyes would change to sharp and cold around others. You felt like he was always on you, even when being away for work, he would just know when to send you a message or call you.

Would meet you randomly on the streets, knew when you wanted to do something even when you never mentioned it.

Something was wrong. Your gut told you to run from him but you did not know how. After all on the eyes of everyone he was perfect.

Then he asked to marry you, and you saw your chance. You could say you got scared and that things just did not work out after it.

But it did not go that way.

Once you had got your things from his aparment your Boss called, he had said how sorry he was but the company was cutting off some employees and you were one of them.

Your work, your dream work. The one you had passed years preparing yourself, tears and blood for it. The one that made your parents proud.

Ripped out from you with one call.

Then it came your social circle. Slowly your Friends stopped meeting with you, some removed you from their social media, and some blocked your number. You never got to know what was wrong, or what you did.

And later your parents, it was a shame losing your job, it was worse not being able to get another one.

"Sorry we are looking for something different"

"Your solicitude was read but right now we need another thing"

"We will call you"

Rent became impossible, and so you had to move back with them. Your mother was not happy, telling you how much of a failure you were, how your brother was making money overseas and how your sister had made a family.

Your father did not even look at you. Like he felt guilty, not even the company he used to work for would take you in.

Your days became a circle of sending out curriculums and doing your best to keep your parents happy even when you knew they did not want you there.

And some days you would go to the park and cry. Not caring if others saw you, your life was ruined, you had nothing. Maybe....maybe if you had said yes....

Checking your phone you saw the contacts, mom, dad, brother, sister and him. You were sure you had removed his number but it kept coming back. Maybe you were getting sick because of the stress.  Your finger went over the call buttom till you finally hitted it.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

He never wanted to see you like this, so broken, so out of life. Maybe he had insolated you too much. Let some lies to your Friends and mother that grew and now they hated you. Your father was a rough one, he had used some...other methods for him. But did coperate at the end.

"You dont seem so good" Were his first words and you looked down at your lap.

"Im sorry for have called you.., after everything"

"Dont say anything. I was glad I got your call. I wanted to know how you were doing" He lied, he knew you were miserable.

Only him could fix it.

"I have...well things have been bad" You addmited "I dont want to burden you with it, maybe this was a mistake"

You went to get up and leave but a firm grip on your hand stopped you. His eyes, cold and sharp like he was seeing his prey.

You, you were his prey.

"Sit" It was an order not a request "Lets talk for a bit more, maybe I can help you, for the old times"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

"Are you sure? (Y/N) you can still go back and say no" Your fathers voice cut off.

You were wearing a beautiful weeding dress, outside from a ceremenoy to take place.

"Dad...you have been saying that since I told mom and you that I was getting married. This is good, we actually made up and I even got my work back, with double pay. Was not what you wanted for me?"

Your father did not respond. He still remembers that night. The night your "perfect" boyfriend appear. When he told him how your life would be so bad you would be wishing you were gone.

"And if thats not enoguh, maybe leaving her limp like you will do the trick"

He had tried for many months to hide his injury, the injury that man had caused him and promised to do the same to you.

"Dad? Its your leg hurting? You are crying"

"No dear, im fine. A little emotional to see you go"

When the doors opened and he walked you in and saw the monster you were going to marry he felt like dying there. When he gave you to him he could see it, he was liking his pain.

"I will take good care of her" Were his only words, and by the time his eyes were on you it had changed.

Love? Obsession ? A twisted sense of care ? No one could tell, no one dared to ask.

Him ? He was just happy you finally accepted what was best for you.

Him, he was the best for you.

"Till death do us apart"

Not even death would be able to separate you from him.

[hoshifighting]

thoughts abt svt who’s s/o has a mommy voice 🙏

(i stalk ur account everyday 😭 i love your work sm 💗💗💗)

seungcheol’d try to act like he’s unaffected—like he’s too strong to be fazed by anything—but the minute you start with that slow, sexy tone, calling him “good boy” or something, his determination would just pulverize. he’d give you this look like he’s trying so hard to stay dominant, but deep down, seungcheol loves when you take control, especially when you use that voice. it’d hit him in a way he’s not ready for, and suddenly, all his confident energy is slipping away.

jeonghan would love it. he’d smirk at first, maybe tease you about how you're trying to “boss him around,” but you know that teasing smile is just a front. as soon as you start with that velvety tone, calling him out, telling him how good he’s making you feel, he’s the one who’s suddenly flustered. pretends to be unaffected, while his mind is spinning from how hot it is.

joshua the cutie—until you drop that voice on him. you’d be whispering in his ear, telling him how good he’s doing, how much you love his cock, and suddenly, he’s not so collected anymore, his breath hitching as he tries to keep up with you. his voice would crack a little if he says something, betraying how much your tone is destroying him. he’s the type to need that reassurance, and the way you give it, in that deep, commanding voice, it’s everything he didn’t know he needed.

junhui’s reaction would be straight-up surprise. he wouldn’t expect the shift in tone at first, his eyes would widen, his whole body reacting before his mind even catches up. “wow, okay, you’re serious,” he’d mutter, and you’d hear his breath hitch as he tries to keep up with the energy you’re putting out. jun would be so into it, though—he’s the type to fully give in once he realizes how much he likes it. he’d end up nodding, letting you lead, his mind already spinning with the way you’re controlling the mood.

hoshi would be completely caught off guard. like, one minute he’s all fired up and ready to take charge, and the next, you drop that deep, sultry tone, and he’s: “oh, shit—wait, wait, what?” he’d stutter, his mind racing to catch up. it flips the switch in his brain. he’d get this wide-eyed look, cock raising up in his trousers so fast that is almost comic, yeah, he’s putty in your hands.

wonwoois a person with a hot voice too, and he knows how much it can affect ppl. he would try to rationalize his way out of it at first, but deep down, he’s so into it. “you think you can handle me like that?” he’d say. but then you whisper something dirty in his ear and suddenly, he’s blushing, he’s more focused on the way your voice is making him feel than anything else. wonwoo loves when you’re in control—it’s just that he doesn’t realize how much until you use that tone on him.

woozi would try to pretend like he’s unaffected, but you know better. that’s exactly why he fins u sexy, because you always know, and you would tease him about it getting to him so much. the minute you start talking like that, his hands would tighten around your waist, and you’d feel his breath hitch. “you—you're really gonna do this now?” he’d ask, his voice weak, trying to stay cool, but you’d see the way his eyes widen just slightly. he’s so into it, but he won’t admit it. instead, he’d let his body do the talking.

minghao would love it, but he wouldn’t let on right away. calling him “my baby/my man” or praising him in that low voice, he’d just raise an eyebrow at first, trying to act unbothered. but underneath that he’s shaking. minghao loves the power shift—he loves it when you take control, and when you use that voice, it makes him shiver from feet to the last strand of hair. you’d see the way his lips twitch, like he’s trying not to smile, but deep down he’s thriving on every word you say.

mingyu’s so reactive to everything, and the moment you drop that mommy voice on him, his eyes would go wide, his whole body freezing for a second. “wait—oh my god, what?” he’d stammer, not sure if he should be embarrassed or completely turned on. but the more you praise him, telling him how good he’s doing, how much you love how he feels inside you, the more he’d melt. mingyu loves validation—and when you give it to him with that deep, bossy tone? he’s harder than ever. he’d start moaning louder, getting even more into it, begging for more without even realizing it.

seokmin’s reaction would be pure shock. like, he’d be so used to being the one who’s playful, who’s teasing and making you laugh, so when you suddenly drop that sexy, authoritative voice on him, he’d freeze. “oh, wow, okay, this is happening,” he’d mutter, his voice cracking a little as he tries to adjust. but once he gets over the initial surprise, he’s all in. seokmin’s secretly a bit of a praise kink guy, so when you start telling him how good he’s making you feel, calling him your “good boy” in that naughty tone? his head would spin. he’d be a moaning mess by the end of it, loving every second.

seungkwan would be so embarrassed, but also so into it. like, he’s the type to get flustered easily, and the minute you start talking to him in that voice, he’d turn bright red, stuttering out something like, “oh—what—uh, okay, this is new.” but as much as he’s trying to hide how much it’s affecting him, you’d see the way his body reacts. his hips would start moving faster, his breath coming in quicker as he realizes how much he loves hearing you talk to him like that. “you—you really think i’m doing that good?”

vernon’s eyes would widen, and he’d just stare at you for a second, trying to process what’s happening. you’d see the way his lips part slightly, his breath hitching. “oh, shit,” he’d mumble, his voice all shaky as he tries to keep up. vernon loves when you surprise him, and that voice would throw him completely off balance. he’d start thrusting harder, chasing that feeling, trying to get you to say more, completely hooked on the way you’re talking to him.

chan would be a mess, eyes going wide as he looks at you, and you’d see the way his body tenses. “fuck— you want me to— wait, what?” he’d stutter, not even sure how to process it. the second you start praising him in that sultry, he’d FOLD, hips jerking up involuntarily, his moans getting louder. you’d see him practically begging to use more of your voice eon him, craving every word that falls from your lips.