#A secret hidden within a friend

[anotheruntitledsong]

i did like the hidden palace but (SPOILER if anyone hasn't read it?) i'm genuinely so annoyed at how Arbeely is handled like... I wish i could be sad but i'm just fucking irritated. I was overly invested in him and that's def why but i just feel like they did him dirty

[bizarrelovetriangel]

keep quiet.

mdni. 18+. not for the kids, pls look away.

dry humping. semi-public. fingering (briefly).

sylus gets a taste of his own medicine. let's go back to immobilized, shall we? but let's make it a little more freaky.

Somehow, you and Sylus found yourselves back in this situation: stuck in a small, tight closet that's barely big enough for the two of you. This time, you weren't hiding from your friends to keep your relationship hidden, but rather, to hide from the guards that are roaming around the private building that you've broken into.

This time, staying quiet was much harder.

It was all for business. Sylus needed to retreive a special weapon that was stolen from him, and you needed information that'll help with your investigation on Ever. Once Sylus sent you the invitation to join him for a mission, you didn't hesitate to agree.

While you two could easily take down any guards that get in your way, the whole point in sneaking inside that base was to keep quiet, snoop in the main offices for secret information, find Sylus' weapon, go in and out without getting noticed.

The base resembles a nice, modern business building filled with plenty of offices. It has three floors, and you two managed to get through the first two easily. The third floor is where all the secrets are hidden, which is why it's much more guarded, according to Mephisto's surveillance.

One guard almost spotted you as you made a turn at a hallway, but luckily Sylus was fast enough to pull you into an empty office, and right inside a closet, since it's the only thing that could fully hide your bodies.

You could hear guards walking around outside, all over the hallway, so there's no way you're getting out of there anytime soon. For now, the best thing to do is wait until they're gone, or at least, wait until the number of guards lessen. You will be waiting for Mephisto's signal to let you know when the coast is clear as he is outside watching the guards.

You were peeking through the small slits on the closet's door, guard on high, just in case one of them detects a movement from your direction. You were doing your best to stay quiet.

Sylus.... was not helping.

Teeth nipped the shell of your left ear, lips feverishly pecked on the skin behind it, and tongue gliding down your neck.

He was standing right behind you, left hand snaked around your waist, pulling you back so that your back is touching his chest.

"What are you doing?" you hissed, right hand catching his wandering fingers on your right thigh, creeping at the ends of your shorts.

"Just trying to pass time, sweetie." You could hear the smirk he has on his irksome, beautiful face without even looking at him. "Looks like we'll be here for some time. Since you don't want me to handle them and be out of here within a minute, we'll have to entertain ourselves while we wait for their bedtime."

You scoffed. "We are trying to not get caught so we can reach the main offices and get information along your damn precious weapon. If you fool around and make too much noise, they'll - "

"I'm not making any noise." He cuts you off before his mouth dove back into your neck. You closed your eyes as you felt him sucking your skin to leave a mark. "As for what kind of noise you'll be making.... that's up to you, kitten."

You spun around and tugged on the collars of his black buttoned-up shirt, lowering his face so your lips could align with his. "You are so annoying." You covered his mouth with your own so that he doesn't say anymore things that'll make you feel hotter than you already do in that tiny closet.

You felt him smile against your lips right before a hand supported your back and he deepened the kiss, your body leaning back while he leans forward. You closed your eyes and tangled your fingers through his hair, listening to nothing but the sounds of your heavy breaths and lips colliding against each other tenderly.

A gasp slipped out of you as his teeth caught your bottom lip. Sylus' legs started to drive you backwards, intending to push your back against the back wall of the closet. "Remember, sweetie, try not to make too much noise."

You halted and stood your ground. "Me? And what about you?"

"I told you, I'm not making any noise. All they'll hear is a mewling kitten."

Your eyes twitched and shoved him forward so that you could trap him against the wall instead, though the plan failed instantly as Sylus was surprised by your action and suddenly lost balance, causing him to fall on his ass. Fortunately, no one outside the room caught the noise.

"...pffft..."

Sylus looked up at you with a raised brow as you suppressed your laughter behind one hand. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Not yet."

A grin was displayed on your face as you lowered yourself onto his lap, thighs on the sides of his hips. His breath instantly hitches as you pressed your weight against him and hovered your lips right in front of his, while your hands rested in the back of his neck.

You kissed him hard enough for his head to tilt back, and he instantly melts against your touch, closing his eyes and sighing against your tongue.

Soon enough, Sylus was thrusting his hips upwards, letting you feel how hard he had gotten. You returned the favor by increasing the friction, grinding down on him while kissing him even harder.

There was a low growl before hands gripped your thighs and made their way back to squeeze your ass, while simultaneously pushing you and guiding you into rubbing your core against his cock.

"Fuck... so good..."

You pressed down harder and shifted back and forth faster against the tent in his pants, earning a groan out of him.

"Ssshhh..." you covered his mouth with one hand without stopping your movements. "You need to keep quiet, Sylus."

Both of you were starting to sweat from all the heat emitted by the closet as well as your bodies, yet you couldn't stop.

He could feel your soaked underwear through your shorts, just as you could feel his pre-cum through his pants.

"Sweetie - I need you. Now." His chest was heaving, one hand unable to stop itself from reaching inside your shorts to feel you and easily insert two fingers inside you.

You stopped yourself from squealing and quickly pinned his hands back down to his side. "Sylus.... remember to be quiet, okay?"

You were determined to get pretty noises out of him, first and foremost.

Sylus swallowed his saliva as your hands unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He raised his hips so you could pull it down and remove them and free his aching cock. But you had other plans, it seemed.

You only unzipped him, but didn't fully remove his pants, and you kept his boxers on, leaving his cock straining and leaking through them.

"What are you - "

"Ssshhh."

Grinding against him with less layers of clothing felt even better than before, and you only stopped yourself from moaning with ecstasy by sinking your teeth against his neck and letting all the noise you let out be muffled by him.

"Faster." Through his grunts, Sylus whispered against your ear, causing your body to burn up even more. Just the sound of his strained voice had you clenching with need.

You increased your pace rutting against him, even when his hands flew to your hips as a warning. Sylus shut his eyes, unable to stop himself from breathing heavily.

"Fuck. I'm..."

A cry of euphoria makes it pass his parted lips as he comes and releases all over his boxers and pants.

It was a sound that you'd heard plenty of times, and a sound that you'd never get tired of. It's a sound that's meant only for you.

But if the guards outside the room heard it..... well.... that's a problem for another time. For tonight, as of now, you've already accomplished one of your missions.

"Sylus." You rested a hand on his chest as he takes a moment to collect himself. "Did you forget to be quiet? Or did you want those guys to hear you?"

Oh, you were so going to get it later. For now, he has to figure out how the hell he was supposed to finish the mission with cum-stained pants and a smug lover who looked like she just won a war.

[mstase]

☾ you find happiness when you are..

moon in the houses

MOON IN THE 1ST HOUSE: you find the most joy in being able to freely convey your emotions, forming connections with others, nurturing those around you, recharging in solitude, making independent choices, and trusting your instincts.

MOON IN THE 2ND HOUSE: you experience happiness when you achieve financial stability, can provide for yourself and loved ones, feel secure and worthy, possess numerous assets and possessions, maintain control, and are surrounded by comfort and familiar things.

MOON IN THE 3RD HOUSE: you experience the most joy when expressing your feelings through writing or speech, having someone to talk to, engaging in conversations with siblings and friends, participating in meaningful discussions, reading, learning new knowledge, and feeling stimulated.

MOON IN THE 4TH HOUSE: you find happiness in emotional security, having a safe haven, feeling protected, receiving comfort and nurturing, earning praise from your family, fostering positive relations within your family, and feeling a sense of belonging and acceptance.

MOON IN THE 5TH HOUSE: you experience the greatest joy when expressing your childlike nature, being surrounded by fun people, engaging in creative hobbies, enjoying freedom from responsibilities, expressing yourself dramatically, and feeling recognized and accepted.

MOON IN THE 6TH HOUSE: you find the most joy when you’re productive, sticking to a stable daily routine, offering help to others, accomplishing tasks, receiving recognition for your efforts, maintaining a healthy body, solving problems, and keeping your home well-organized and tidy.

MOON IN THE 7TH HOUSE: you find happiness in companionship, cultivating deep emotional connections, maintaining balanced and fair relationships, mutual understanding, empathizing with others, feeling nurtured, feeling accepted, and having a reliable person to lean on.

MOON IN THE 8TH HOUSE: you find the most joy when you can trust and feel trusted, express intimate emotions, be vulnerable, feel a sense of safety, have secure financial matters, discover secrets, know what motivates people, and establish deep connections with others.

MOON IN THE 9TH HOUSE: you find happiness in mental stimulation, embracing change and variety, experiencing freedom of thought, exploring different places, expanding your knowledge, seeking wisdom, trying new things, embarking on adventures, daydreaming, and learning about diverse cultures and foreign subjects.

MOON IN THE 10TH HOUSE: you find joy in receiving recognition for your career, maintaining a positive reputation, gaining approval from the public, witnessing progress, pursuing a career that resonates with your emotional needs, feeling validated, earning trust, and emotionally connecting with others.

MOON IN THE 11TH HOUSE: you find happiness in forming friendships, establishing connections with like-minded individuals, embracing individuality, feeling involved in a group or community, sharing innovative ideas, helping others, bringing people together, and nurturing harmony within your social circles.

MOON IN THE 12TH HOUSE: you find the most joy in solitude, connecting with your inner self, valuing privacy, residing in a peaceful environment, engaging in artistic pursuits, escaping into imaginative realms, daydreaming, and exploring the hidden things in life.

[wholoveseggs]

Could you possibly write something with Elijah and boudoir??

I had the idea of the reader being best friends with Rebekah and Rebekah brings up the idea to her as a gift for Elijah and reader agrees. When she gets the photos back she ends up slipping them to him randomly during the day to get him worked up,, like at the breakfast table, while he’s reading, while he’s in his study working, ect ect. And finally he ends up snapping and he ends up punishing her for getting him all worked up… maybe with some spanking?? Then she gives him the photo album and he admires all the photos while cuddling?

If not,, that’s totally fine, please don’t write anything you’re not comfortable with!! I love your writing!!

Polaroids

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!reader} Hidden in his suits, tucked in his ties. Each scandalous polaroid Elijah finds drives him closer to the edge… until he finally snaps.

♡♡ Thank you for the lovely request darling anon!!! This is a late valentines day gift to you && all my beautiful followers ~xo ♡♡

4.8k words - Warnings: smutt, teasing, sexual tension, lingerie kink, boudoir photography, Elijah losing his legendary patience, spanking, an awkward family dinner, Rebekah being mischievous, Elijah's walk-in closet (a sacred space), && a dirty limerick ...

Elijah is a man of many layers, secrets within secrets, locked away behind centuries of careful control. He valued privacy, he valued discretion, and most of all. He valued you.

You had been dating for years now. He knew you inside and out. Or at least, he thought so.

It was almost Valentine's Day, and you had a special surprise planned.

It was a bit unusual for you to be so open about these kinds of things. You were private. More private than him, even. He never would have asked you to do something like this, not in a million years. And that’s why it was the perfect gift.

Rebekah had sparked the idea, encouraging you to go all out. Professional makeup, high-end lingerie, lighting, everything. She insisted on being the one to take the photographs, partly because she was better at it than any photographer you could hire and partly because she was the only person you trusted enough to see you in the state that you would be in.

At first, you both couldn’t stop giggling. It was awkward, playful, and you kept messing up every other pose. But soon enough, with Rebekah’s expert guidance, the session took on a sultry rhythm. By the time it was over, your cheeks burned from more than just laughter.

You were a little apprehensive when the prints came back. The images were intimate, and you knew that the moment you slipped the polaroid's into the pockets of your boyfriend’s suits, you would be signing him up for the most torturous few days of his life.

And it would all be worth it.

So, so, so worth it.

Elijah’s sense of fashion and style had always been immaculate. From the moment you met him, you had been drawn to the way he dressed.

The way he would take his time picking out his suits. The way his fingers skimmed over fabric, thoughtful, methodical. You thought it was cute that he liked to match his pocket square to his tie and his socks. It was the little things that made him endearing.

Which was why you had to wait until he was out to sneak into his closet. The one place no one but him was allowed to enter.

You felt like a teenager, sneaking around. His closet was locked, but you knew where to find the key. Hidden in his underwear drawer.

With shaking hands, you unlocked the door and stepped inside, exhaling softly at the sight before you.

His closet was nothing short of opulent. Dark mahogany wood gleamed under the soft recessed lighting, every shelf, drawer, and rack meticulously arranged. The rich scent of cedar and his cologne lingered in the air. A lush rug stretched across the floor, muffling your footsteps as you wandered deeper inside.

Your fingers trailed over the polished surface of the central island, where rows of ornate, vintage cufflinks sat nestled in velvet-lined drawers, each one a tiny work of art. You knew Elijah had collected them over the centuries, tiny fragments of history locked away in his closet like the rest of his carefully preserved past.

You could have spent hours just admiring the contents of his closet, marveling at his taste in clothing and accessories. It was like a museum of men’s fashion, every outfit an exhibit.

But today, you had a mission. You had spent weeks planning it, and now that it was finally here, you were equal parts nervous and excited.

Slipping your hand into the silk pouch you brought with you, you pulled out the first polaroid .

It was one of your favorites. Your body stretched out on the bed in nothing but the sheer, lacy red set Rebekah had picked out, soft lighting casting shadows over the curves of your thighs and the swell of your breasts. Your lips were slightly parted, eyes half-lidded as if waiting for someone. Waiting for him.

Smiling to yourself, you wandered over to where his suit jackets hung. Your fingers ghosted over the smooth lapels. A charcoal gray, a deep navy, a crisp black. Every piece, tailored to perfection.

Your eyes scanned the row, searching for the perfect jacket. You settled on one of your favorites. A midnight blue with a subtle herringbone pattern woven through the interior fabric.

Elijah wore this one often, and the idea of him wearing it again while the photo sat tucked safely away made your heart flutter with anticipation.

Carefully, you slid the photo into the inner breast pocket, smoothing out the fabric so there was no trace of it.

Next, you moved to his drawer of perfectly folded trousers. You slipped another polaroid into the pocket of his favorite charcoal slacks. This one of you kneeling on the floor, your hands behind your back, wearing nothing but a thong and an expression of pure obedience on your face.

He was going to lose his mind when he found that one.

One by one, you continued your game, tucking a scandalous little piece of yourself into his daily wardrobe. A black-and-white photo of you reclining in his chair, wearing only his dress shirt. ..Unbuttoned, of course...Went into his favorite black blazer.

Another, of you perched on his desk with your legs spread just enough to tease, slipped into his coat.

Finally, you approached the island in the center of the room, where his drawer of ties sat waiting.

You had saved the most provocative ones for last.

A dark navy tie caught your eye. It had tiny little hearts stitched on the inside fabric. The kind of thing he would wear for valentines day, a subtle touch no one else would see.

You reached out, gently lifting the tie from its place.

This one was special. This was the tie you were going to put the last photo in.

And the final photo… was truly the pièce de résistance.

You were fully bare, stretched across his bed on your stomach, ass in the air, a red heart-shaped buttplug nestled between your cheeks. Your face was turned to the side, biting your lower lip.

You had a feeling this was the one that was going to break him.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you carefully slid the photo into the interior lining of the tie, tucking it away so it was completely hidden. He would most likely find it when he was adjusting his tie, perhaps even in the middle of something important.

Your cheeks flushed, and you couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips as you imagined his reaction.

For now, all you could do was wait. And when Elijah found them? Oh, he was going to make you pay for it.

Dinner at the Mikaelson estate was, as always, a grand affair, even if it was just a normal day. The dining room was dimly lit by the warm glow of the chandelier, the long mahogany table set with crystal glasses and fine silverware, an assortment of dishes spread elegantly before them.

Klaus was already half a bottle deep into a vintage red, while Kol swirled his own glass with a knowing smirk. Rebekah sat across from Elijah, offering him a look that was just a bit too smug for his liking.

He ignored her.

He had to.

Because for the past five days, he had been enduring your little game. One he was certain his sister was a part of.

He found the first photograph on Monday, tucked neatly into the breast pocket of his favorite suit jacket. A stunning, sinful image of you stretched across his bed, lace barely covering anything, your gaze dark with invitation.

That was the moment he knew he was in trouble.

Tuesday, just as he was leaving for a meeting, he slid his hand into his trouser pocket. Only to freeze as his fingers brushed against glossy paper.

He had been halfway out the door when he dared a glance.

A photo of you kneeling, hands behind your back, lace panties so sheer they might as well have been nonexistent.

Elijah had promptly shut the door, canceled his meeting, and spent the next fifteen minutes in his office. Door locked, tie loosened, cock hard, a photo of you crumpled in his hand, the other pumping his cock as he pictured your face.

On Wednesday, he was convinced he had discovered them all.

Until he stepped into his Italian leather shoes.

And felt something crinkle beneath his foot.

For the first time in centuries, Elijah actually stumbled.

Rebekah, who had been passing by in the hallway, had stopped short, staring as he clutched the doorframe.

"Did you just trip?" she had asked, stunned.

"Hardly," he had responded, straightening immediately. As if his pulse wasn’t hammering in his throat.

He had waited until she disappeared before slowly, cautiously, extracting the latest piece of your torment from inside his shoe.

This one had been even worse.

You. Wearing nothing but one of his ties, wrapped neatly around your wrists.

His cock throbbed at the mere memory.

But he hadn't broken.

He could withstand this.

He was Elijah Mikaelson, and he would not be defeated by a few naughty pictures. He was a man of patience and refinement, and he could endure. He would wait until Valentine's Day, when he would show you what it meant to tease a vampire.

But that morning, as he adjusted his cufflinks at breakfast, he reached into his suit jacket pocket out of habit and immediately clenched his fist around the next scandalous polaroid .

He had been mid-sip of his coffee.

He had not been prepared.

For the first time since the invention of coffee, Elijah Mikaelson had actually choked.

Kol had howled with laughter.

"Blimey, brother, you alright? Coffee too hot?."

Elijah had merely dabbed at his mouth with his handkerchief, offering his most practiced, impassive look. "I'm fine."

He was absolutely not fine.

Now, sitting around with his family and you at dinner, mere hours away from Valentine's Day, he was rattled.

You had been purposely avoiding him all week. Staying at your own place, barely responding to his messages, keeping your distance. It was clear you were waiting him out, playing games.

Well, Elijah was a patient man. He would endure. No matter how scandalous, how sinful, how provocative you were being, he would not falter.

At least, that was the plan.

Niklaus leaned forward, swirling his wine lazily, and said, "So, Elijah, any plans with your lovely y/n on Valentine's Day? You are always so sentimental about the holiday," he teased.

"I have something special planned for us," you replied before Elijah could say anything, smiling mischievously.

Rebekah hid her snort behind a sip of wine and Elijah gave her a withering glare.

"What? You aren't making the plans Elijah? Do you remember... I think it was back in the 17th century... when you were obsessed with this baker girl? Such overtures for a bread maker…" Klaus began, grinning at the memory.

"No, not this story, please, Niklaus, not tonight," Elijah groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You placed a hand on his arm, giving him an apologetic look. But you desperately wanted to know the story.

"He had been sending her these love poems. You know how he was, always so proper, so romantic," Klaus continued.

"They were sonnets," Elijah muttered.

"Anyway, this little baker girl decides to send him one back, but it was rather crass limerick about how she wanted him to take her in the bakery," Klaus went on.

"There once was a baker so sweet, who begged, ‘Lay me down on the wheat" Kol began, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"She said, ‘Knead me like dough. Fill me up nice and slow," Rebekah joined in, leaning forward.

Elijah closed his eyes, wanting to dissolve into the flooring.

"And make sure that I rise with the heat!" the three of them finished in unison, all dissolving into laughter.

You could hardly breathe, you were laughing so hard, tears pricking at your eyes. Elijah looked as though he was going to stab someone with his fork.

"What happened to the girl?" you managed to ask through gasps.

"He ate her," Rebekah laughed.

"I did not," Elijah said immediately, scowling at the three of them. "She died of an infection, actually."

You wiped a tear away from your eye, still giggling, and reached out to stroke his cheek.

"I'm sorry, babe," you cooed, kissing his jaw.

He didn't seem impressed, but his gaze softened as you leaned into his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his.

The rest of the meal was a little less chaotic, and soon enough, it was time for dessert. There was an impressive spread of valentine's themed desserts. Heart shaped cookies, red velvet cupcakes, chocolate-covered strawberries, and a tray of mini éclairs.

Elijah was leaning back in his chair, sipping on his wine, his arm draped casually over the back of your chair. You had been stealing glances at him throughout the meal, trying to gauge his reaction. So far, he seemed unphased. It was clear he had not found the final photograph, and you were a bit disappointed. You had really hoped he would have discovered it by now.

But that was an easy fix.

You cuddled closer to him, reaching out to place a hand on his chest, stroking his tie idly. He glanced down at you, offering a warm smile.

Your eyes met his, and you subtly loosened the knot of his tie and moved it off center.

Just a fraction of an inch.

His eyes narrowed a bit.

But you didn't say a word.

Elijah took another sip of his wine, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer before he fixed his tie. His fingers dipping underneath, tightening the knot again.

As he did, his finger brushed against something. Something stiff, thin, glossy, hidden inside the liner.

His body went rigid.

A sharp, almost imperceptible inhale.

Not again.

Not here, in front of everyone.

Carefully. Deliberately. He curled his fingers around the photo, his movements slow as he lowered his arm and tucked it beneath the table, keeping it hidden against his thigh.

Rebekah watched him over the rim of her wine glass, her lips twitching. She glanced at you and you had to look away before you burst out laughing.

"Valentine’s Day," Elijah said smoothly, raising his glass, as if his pulse wasn’t steadily climbing, as if his fingers weren’t currently gripping the newest piece of your torment. "I propose a toast. To love, and all the beauty and passion that it brings."

"To love," the others echoed.

You smiled, and clinked your glass against his, watching as he brought it to his lips and took a long sip.

"Elijah," you purred, leaning close, "I'm going to go upstairs and get ready for bed, why don't you join me soon?"

He kissed your temple and murmured, "Of course, my darling."

With a wink, you stood, excusing yourself from the table and making your way towards the staircase.

His fingers twitched around the polaroid, burning with curiosity.

Rebekah had the audacity to grin, resting her chin on her hand as she observed him like a predator awaiting the moment its prey faltered.

Elijah refused to give her the satisfaction.

With calculated ease, he lowered his gaze beneath the table, unfolding the final piece of your torment.

And what he saw nearly had him choking on his wine.

Bloody hell.

You. Completely bare. Laid out on your stomach.

And nestled between your ass cheeks… fuckk you were going to get it.

His grip tightened on the photo, so fierce that it nearly ripped. Heat licked up his spine, sharp and demanding, pooling in the very depths of his control.

He had spent this entire week enduring your carefully orchestrated torture.

And now?

Now, you had officially broken him.

You knew you only had a few minutes before Elijah made his way upstairs.

With quick, light footsteps, you changed into the same lingerie you had posed in for one of the polaroids. Giggling as you pulled up the matching thigh high stockings.

He was going to lose his mind.

You went to sit on his bed, when you paused, a delicious idea forming in your head.

His closet.

You quickly grabbed the key and unlocked the door, stepping inside. It was dark, and you turned on the single lamp that was perched on a shelf, casting the small room in a soft glow.

You sat on the island in the middle of the room, crossing your legs and trying not to squirm as the excitement built.

You could hear the sound of him walking down the hall. His heavy footfalls. Then he paused when he entered his room, momentarily confused as to where you had gone.

And then his gaze fell upon his closet door.

You had left it open, just a crack.

He groaned, fuck you were playing with fire, and pushed the door open the rest of the way.

He saw you there, bathed in the dim golden light, dressed in the most lovely sheer lace. He would burn every precious item in this room just to get a taste of your skin.

He took a deep breath, composing himself. He wanted to play this out perfectly. Adjusting his cufflinks, he sauntered in, his eyes dark, hungry, a dangerous smirk tugging at his lips.

"Darling," he murmured, leaning against the island across from you. "I believe we have something to discuss."

You tilted your head innocently. "What's that?"

He stepped closer, bracing his hands on the edge of the table, caging you in. His gaze slid over your body, the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts, the slope of your waist.

He opened a drawer next to your thigh, pulling out a neat pile of Polaroids, fanning them out so they were all visible. Then he pulled the latest one out of his jacket pocket, uncrumpling it and adding it to the rest.

You swallowed thickly.

"Quite the collection," he hummed, tapping the stack against the palm of his hand. "A beautiful, scandalous display, truly."

He slipped a hand under your chin, tilting your face up so you were forced to meet his gaze. His thumb ghosted over your lower lip.

"Although, I've always been partial to the real thing."

And then he leaned down and captured your lips with his.

A moan slipped from your throat as he pressed his tongue past your lips, the kiss heated and passionate. His free hand slipped down the curve of your waist, grasping your thigh and hooking it over his hip.

"You've been so very naughty, sweetheart. Teasing me all week, putting such sinful things in my clothes, right under my nose," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your jaw, and then another, slowly trailing his lips down the column of your throat.

"Do you have any idea how many meetings I've had to cancel because I was thinking about your perfect little pussy, or those sweet, tempting lips wrapped around my cock?" He nipped at the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder and you whimpered.

His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the island, spreading your legs and settling between them.

"And to involve Rebekah? That's diabolical. What did I do to deserve such a vengeful, cruel lover?"

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "Are you saying you didn't enjoy it?"

His fingers danced over the sheer lace covering your breasts, tugging the cups down so he could cup the soft flesh in his hands, massaging them, kneading them, squeezing until you gasped.

"That's not what I said, darling," he purred, leaning in and capturing a pert nipple between his teeth. You whimpered, your back arching.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as he kissed and licked and nipped his way down the curve of your body.

"Elijah," you moaned softly as he got on his knees, spreading your thighs and licking a hot, wet stripe against the fabric of your panties.

He pressed his thumb against the wetness that was already seeping through, and then hooked his fingers around the waistband, peeling the flimsy lace down your thighs, leaving it tangled around one ankle.

"So beautiful," he sighed, kissing the insides of your thighs, his lips trailing higher and higher.

You gasped, your head falling back as his mouth met your pussy, his tongue sliding between your slit, low moan vibrating against you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, holding him close as he feasted on you. He had been dying to taste you all week, and now, he was going to savor it.

"Elijah," you moaned, writhing as his tongue swirled around your clit. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out, but his firm hands held you steady.

He groaned against you, the vibrations sending another pulse of pleasure through your body. He eased two fingers inside you, moving slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you. His tongue flicked, teased, circled, building you up only to pull back just before you could tip over the edge.

You whimpered in frustration, your fingers tightening in his hair. "'Lijah, please-"

He chuckled, the sound dark and full of wicked amusement. "Please what, darling? Use your words."

Your body was burning, every nerve alight with need. You bucked against his mouth, desperate for more friction, more of him. "Please let me come."

He hummed in approval, the heat in his gaze almost unbearable as he lifted his head, his lips slick with your arousal. "Good girl."

His fingers curled just right, and his mouth latched back onto your clit, sucking just hard enough to make stars burst behind your eyes. The coil in your belly tightened, wound so impossibly tight you thought you might snap.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice like silk against your skin. "I want to feel you shake for me."

That was all it took. Your body arched as pleasure crashed over you, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as your orgasm consumed you. He held you through it, drinking in every shudder, every gasp, until you were trembling in his grasp.

Only then did he pull back, his eyes dark and hungry as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh before standing to his full height, his body towering over yours.

"You look exquisite like this," he murmured, tracing a finger along your trembling thigh. "Completely undone. And yet, I fear we're not even close to being finished."

You barely had a chance to catch your breath before he was lifting you into his arms, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. He carried you effortlessly, striding back into the bedroom and laying you down on the bed and turning you over, face down with your ass propped up in the air. Just like his favorite polaroid.

He stood at the edge of the bed, undoing the buttons of his shirt with slow, deliberate precision. "Tell me, darling," he mused, letting the fabric slide from his shoulders. "Was all of this worth it?" His eyes gleamed as he pulled his belt from its loops with a sharp snap. "Because now, I'm going to make sure you remember exactly why you shouldn't play games with me,"

You bit your lip, unable to stop the moan that spilled past your lips as his palm smoothed over your ass, massaging and squeezing. He pressed his hips into yours, letting you feel the hard length of his cock through his trousers.

You pushed back against him, grinding against the bulge, your body aching with anticipation.

Elijah hummed appreciatively, and then brought his palm down sharply against your ass.

You yelped, glaring at him from over your shoulder, the sting making you shudder. His other hand smoothed over the heated skin, rubbing gently before lifting and spanking you again.

You moaned, pushing back into his hand, a delicious thrill racing through your veins.

"Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" he purred, leaning down to press a kiss to your neck. "It's a good thing I have no intention of holding back."

He smacked you again, and again, alternating between each cheek, the sharp crack echoing in the room. He rubbed the stinging skin, his other hand freeing his cock from his trousers, giving himself a few languid strokes.

You whimpered, pressing your ass against his hand, pleading without words.

"Look at you, getting off on being punished," he mused, a dark chuckle rumbling through his chest.

You whimpered, burying your face in the sheets. You could feel heat spreading through your body, desperate and needy.

He leaned down, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. "Tell me, sweetheart. Do you want me to fuck you like this? Bent over the edge of the bed, that's not very romantic,"

You could hear the rustle of fabric as he shrugged off his trousers, and then the firm, searing heat of his cock as he settled between your thighs, the thick head teasing your pussy, coating himself in your arousal. He groaned at the wetness that clung to him, the way your body pulsed with need.

"Please, 'Lijah," you whimpered, rolling your hips.

He tutted, a dark chuckle vibrating through his chest. "Patience, sweetheart."

You cried out as he finally eased inside you, his cock stretching you impossibly. Your toes curled, the delicious sting of being filled too much and not enough all at once.

He let out a low groan as he sank to the hilt, his cock buried inside your tight, wet heat. He gripped your ass, his fingertips digging into your reddened skin, and began thrusting slowly.

"Ohh, yes," you moaned, pushing back into him.

He picked up the pace, his hips snapping against yours, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you're so wet," he growled, his hand tangling in your hair, tugging just enough to have you whimpering.

"Please, 'Lijah, I'm close," you gasped, the fire in your belly building.

"That's my good girl," he praised, his grip tightening, his hips picking up the pace, fucking you harder.

You cried out, his cock hitting you deep, a string of moans falling from your lips.

He released your hair and leaned down, bracing himself with one hand, the other reaching to squeeze your ass and give it another sharp spank.

You came undone, a scream of pleasure tearing from your throat as you came, the fire inside you roaring through your veins.

"That's it, sweetheart," he groaned, his hips snapping against yours, driving you further into the mattress.

You shuddered, pleasure washing over you as the world melted away.

Elijah came with a low, feral growl, his hips slowing as he filled you, his grip tightening as he rode out his high. His hands squeezing your hips, holding you against him as he came, the warmth filling you.

He pressed a lingering kiss to the nape of your neck, and then eased out, taking a step back.

You were a mess, the lingerie twisted around your body, hair disheveled, face flushed. He chuckled at the sight.

"Prettier than any picture,"

He scooped you up, pulling back the covers and tucking you into the bed. Your eyelids fluttered as you watched him climb in next to you, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close.

"I love you," you murmured, cuddling into his chest.

"I love you more," he replied, kissing your forehead.

"I have one more gift for you," you hummed, sleep already dragging you under.

He smiled, his hand running along the curve of your hip, his fingers curling possessively. "And what might that be, darling?"

You shifted a bit, rolling over and reaching into his bedside drawer. Where you stashed a small wrapped package.

"Here,"

Elijah sat up, accepting the gift and opening it carefully, a small smile playing on his lips.

It was a photo album. With a small note taped to the front.

'For Elijah's eyes only,'

He raised an eyebrow at you, and flipped the cover open. He froze. Dozens upon dozens of polaroids. Of you. All of them in a variety of scandalous poses.

"Happy Valentine's Day," you giggled, nuzzling into his shoulder. "Oh, and I have more where those came from."

He let out a low chuckle, and then he was on you. Pinning you beneath him, his eyes burning with need, his cock already stirring against your thigh.

"You," he growled, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss, "are going to pay for this."

And oh, what a beautiful, wonderful punishment it was.

[intromortal]

✷ OUT OF OFFICE ⸻ P.JS

your coworkers can't begin to imagine what goes on between you and Jongseong when no one's watching.

this work contains ⋆ smut ⋆ minors do not interact ⋆ workplace relations ⋆ jealousy ⋆ brat tamer jay ⋆ toxicity if you squint (it's okay this is freak central we enjoy it) ⋆ alcohol consumption ⋆ don't like don't read! ⸻ rules ⋆ m.list

length ⋆ drabble ⸻ 4.1k words

✷ NIA — heyyy... how y'all doin... quick snack before i finish the actual fic i'm working on

smut warnings under the cut ⋆

mean jay ⋆ choking ⋆ degradation ⋆ punishment ⋆ male masturbation ⋆ orgasm denial ⋆ oral (m!rec) ⋆ brief shoe humping if at all. more like mention of it ⋆ body shots but make it nastier ⋆ hair pulling ⋆ reader fucked around and found out ⋆ like two singular instances of praise

There is something about men like Park Jongseong—men in power, men who seem to always have it together and every situation under control—that makes you want to slowly strip them of their restraint piece by piece, as if playing jenga, until it all comes crashing down.

You take pride in knowing how to get Jongseong to crumble in a just a few moves.

"I told you to only wear that when we're around friends," Jongseong says as he follows you through the entrance, hot on your heels. He rids himself of the jacket that is making sweat drip from his hair and down his forehead, then pulls at the collar of his shirt.

You ignore the bark in his tone, and twirl around in front of the huge mirror in your living room. You wanted a floor to ceiling one, but the ceiling in your and Jongseong's apartment is so high, you had to request it to be custom made. Expensive, but worth the money, and you can't wait for it to be delivered. You have plenty creative ideas on how to better utilize it, ones you're sure Jongseong is also eager to put in practice. "Don't I look good, boss?"

You don't need to look back to know he's probably staring daggers right through your back. He hates when you call him boss with that little mocking tone you reserve only to get under his skin. You two have equal power in the company, he is not your boss and you are not his, but within the walls of your bedroom, you enjoy messing up the dynamics a bit.

The light from the overhead lamp catches the diamond decorating your ring finger as you smoothen down the silky fabric of your dress. The ring is proof of Jongseong's devotion to you, the sight of it a reminder of your time spent all the way in Italy, just the two of you in a beach resort with the dreamiest view.

Ever since the engagement— which was kept a secret from pretty much everyone— Jongseong had softened down. You don't know if it's the prospect of a life together, of a family, that's making him go easier on you during your most intimate times, but one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place is the never ending game of cat and mouse you two got accustomed to playing. One you aren't ready to give up yet, or at all for what matters.

So, you take matters into your own hands. If he hesitates to play, that just means you have to bring out the big guns.

"That was a business dinner, not some random brunch with your girl friends. You were not dressed appropriately." Jongseong walks up to you and grabs your waist with a roughness so uncharacteristic of him. Everyone knows him as calm and collected man, never prone to anger, heart of gold. Only you get a peek into this side of him, the more jealous and possessive one he keeps hidden in the shadows. Knowing it's something reserved for you only makes you want to poke the bear all the more.

"A very uneventful dinner, my girls' brunches are way more fun." You know the reason for his anger is not because your dress doesn't conform to whatever dress code was put in place long before you or Jongseong got into the business world. It's a front he's putting up, to not admit that what he really feels is jealousy. Jealousy because he had to sit across you, pretending you don't live at the same place, pretending he's not balls deep inside you every other night, pretending he isn't the man who proposed to you months ago. Jealousy because he had to see his very rivals openly flirt with you all night long, uncaring of the ring on your finger that should have been enough to keep them the fuck away from you.

He's mad because he knows you and how you love playing games, he knows you push him on purpose, and as aware of it as he is, he can't help but fall for it every single time, even when it means giving you exactly what you want.

He bunches up the cream colored silk in his fist, his wrist glimmering with the heavy watch you got him for his birthday, and the slight movement is enough to uncover what you are wearing underneath.

"Is this your idea of fun?" He laughs, and the sound is devoid of any humor. It makes a shiver runs down your spine, but it also tells you you are on the right track.

It's the same lingerie you wore for him on the night he proposed, the one he spent hours picking out during one of his business trips instead of resting at the spa of the five star hotel he stayed at. It's white and embedded with a shower of diamonds. The best money can buy for his own jewel waiting for him back home.

He specifically bought that one for the special occasion, claimed you as his in it that same night. And you wore it around the very men trying to surpass him, crossing your legs here and there to give them a peek.

Jongseong is an enjoyer of the finer things in life. The tiniest detail of his life is hand picked by him personally to display his refined taste. From the bedding he imported from across the globe, to his very personal wine cellar stocked by Mr. Sim's private collection, to the fragrances he wears daily, formulated with the help of the most talented perfumers. All of it has to fit perfectly to his taste and parameters. He is a man of sensations, the touch, the smell, the feel. They all awaken memories in his mind, that's part of the reason why the lingerie you wore the first time he made love to you as your fiance had to be perfect. But now you have tainted it.

And for that, he has to make you pay.

"Come on, it's just the panties. I didn't even wear the bra, so it doesn't count," you say, putting on your best pout. You know it's useless when you meet his gaze and find his pupils blown out, the warmth you're accustomed to being met with seemingly gone.

Jongseong's other hand slides up, feeling the dress under his palm, taking his time in cupping one of your tits. He's careful, almost sweet in his exploration. If his eyes didn't tell you another story, you would think the anger had evaporated out of his body. It's what tells you he's not letting you off the hook easily this time, but deep down, it's what you wanted all along.

You meet his hand with yours, smaller fingers caressing the skin of his wrist then sliding up to intertwine with his longer, thicker ones. You guide him to squeeze your chest, enamored with the way he looks at you, like you're the most beautiful piece of art he has ever laid eyes on. Like you're his and in dire need of a reminder. "It's nice right? Custom made in France."

He lets out a hum. Then, moves his hand to rest on your neck.

Your breath hitches. He barely applies any pressure, but the weight alone is enough to make you want more. You crave the fuzzy feeling that courses through your veins when you let Jongseong decide how much and when you get to breathe, the delicious lightheadedness that comes with it.

It's what gets you going, the knowledge that you could say your safe word out loud and he would drop his hand immediately. Knowing he would rush to reassure you and take care of you like he usually does. There's power in granting someone else your submission, and at the end of the day you both know it's you who is calling the shots.

You follow his hand again, pushing to get him to apply more pressure on the sides of your neck. Even when you know you're gonna let him do whatever he wants, you enjoy making him work for it.

He frowns, and you smile. You can practically guess what he's thinking: if he punishes you, he's giving you exactly what you want. But if he doesn't, he's letting you off the hook with not so much as a slap on the wrist. No matter what he does, you have already won.

Jongseong makes his choice for the night. His grip on your neck strengthens, and you wheeze when he brings his face impossibly close to yours, whiskey and mint breath fanning on your lips. There's a something in his eyes you don't think you have ever seen, the look of pure unadulterated fury. It looks much like obsession does, in the way it's icy cold and not burning hot like one would expect. It stings like dry ice, like frostbite.

He has never looked better, and your thighs move on their own, squeezing in search of relief. You bite your bottom lip to silence any sound threatening to spill out, but Jongseong sees right through you. He sees the raw lust overtaking your body even when you try to deprive him of the show.

"You enjoy pissing me off, don't you?" he asks, venom dripping past his lips. You want to kiss it off of him.

"You're—" He squeezes, and you gasp. You have to gather strength to finish your sentence. "Easy to piss off."

"I think I've heard enough from you tonight." He relents his grip on you, smoothing the wrinkled mess on your dress like he wasn't just choking you mere moments ago. "Go sit on the bed. Dress on, don't make me repeat myself."

You follow his instructions, much to your surprise, like your legs are moving on their own. Half the reason is the sternness in his voice, you can't recall a time when he has ever sounded quite like that. The other half you guess is curiosity, when it comes to punishing you, he rarely makes detours.

When you walk into your room, you find it tidy just like you left it before heading to dinner. Your side of the bed is overflowing with pillows while Jongseong's only has two. One is the pillow he uses when sleeping and the other one is heart shaped with a case printed with his favorite picture of you. You got it for him as a joke, half expecting him to laugh and then never think about it again. Instead, he treasures it like it's the most precious gift you could have ever given him, despite how poorly made it is. Even when most of the pillows on your shared bed end up on the floor during the night, he makes sure that one never does. You think if it came down to it, he would rather lay on the floor himself.

If Jongseong is pleased, he doesn't show it, because soon enough he walks into the room with two brown labeled bottles of red wine and stemmed glasses, not sparing you a single glance.

He takes his sweet time reading the back of each one, unscrewing only one bottle open. It's his way of getting back at you, making you wait. Each second that passes makes you more curious about what his next move will be, about how he is gonna punish you. Your eyes never leave his figure, his buttoned shirt doing nothing to hide how the muscles of his arms work as he untwists the cork. Your hungry gaze travels down, devouring him inch by inch, finding him already hard in his dress pants. No matter what he says, you know he enjoys this little game as much as you do.

"Can you be quicker?"

"I told you I've heard enough." The cap gives up with a pop. Finally. "No more talking unless I ask questions."

He pours a glass, then dangerously walks up to the bed where you are sat and hands it to you. "Open up."

It takes you a few seconds to comply, but ultimately, you do. You keep your gaze fixated on his as he tilts the crystal glass, pouring the bitter liquid down your throat. It stings on its way down, it paints your lips in hues of red.

When Jongseong removes the glass from your lips, you poke out your tongue to clean the mess left behind, gaining a hum of satisfaction from him. Still, it's not enough for him to voice out any praise.

He pokes his thumb into your mouth, lowering your jaw open to make sure you swallowed every last bit. The action is innocent to the untrained eye, but the execution is so charged with lust, it has you squirming on the edge of the bed. "Is the wine to your liking?"

You nod, but he quirks his head, waiting to hear you say it out loud.

"It's nice," you say, voice still rough from earlier.

"Good. That's good. I'm glad." He puts the glass down on the shelf facing the bed, right next to the bottles and the corkscrew. "Because you'll have more of it later."

He leaves you no time to process his words, grabbing a fist of your hair and pushing your face right on his crotch. The surprised gasp that leaves you is muffled against the cotton of his dress pants, and it takes you a second to understand what he wants you to do. "Stick your tongue out for me—yeah just like that."

He guides your head with his iron grip on your hair, letting you mouth at his clothed cock until his pants are soaked with your spit. It's messy and obscene, it leaves you wanting to feel his skin on your tongue, to get an actual taste. You want him to take his frustration out on your mouth, to use it like his own personal toy, and you make sure to show that to him.

"You're so dirty… look at you, so eager to please. What happened to all that attitude from earlier, mhh?"

You lick a long stripe, from the belt to the underside, putting more spit in it the lower you go, looking for any reaction.

When he bites down on his lip to keep a sigh of pleasure in, you feel emboldened enough to grab the button holding his pants together with your teeth, pulling it between them to signal him to take them off. Instead, he pulls your head off of him completely, ignoring your whines.

"Awww baby," he mocks, titling your head up. "You thought you'd get what you want so soon? You know better than that."

He undoes his belt and his pants, then leans back against the desk right behind him. "You've been such a bad, bad girl all night. I think you don't deserve to have fun yet. Am I wrong?"

"Please, I'll be good from now on." You look at him, glossy eyed. But he's way past the point of being impressed by your words. All you do with that filthy mouth of yours is lie anyway.

"We'll see about that." His shoulder relax with a sigh as he palms his cock briefly, alternating between squeezing the outline and stroking it, before dipping his hand down the waistband of his boxers. He takes it out, revealing the length to you too. It looks delicious in his hand as he gives it a few experimental pumps, the red tip glistening with accumulated precum, more abundant with each stroke. "Stay put where you are. No touching yourself until I give you permission. Understood?"

You're too lost in your own thoughts, too in awe of the sight before you to really register what Jongseong says. Your mouth waters as he works his hand around his thick girth, and you wish it could be your lips wrapping around it instead. Your hand runs down your body, still covered by the dress, looking to give yourself any sort of relief from the pressure that has built inside your belly, a feeling no amount of squeezing or grinding down on the linen bed sheets is enough to satiate any longer.

Jongseong catches you instantly, and stops moving his fist. In return, this snaps you out of your daze. "I said, no touching. Try that again and you're not cumming for a week. Yeah?"

"Yes. I'm sorry," you meekly say, snapping your hand away from your core like it burnt you. You believe him when he tells you that, because it has already happened. The first time he threatened it, you ignored it, convinced he wouldn't actually leave you dry and hanging. You learned the hard way Jongseong doesn't really take promises lightly.

"Good." He resumes his movements after ridding himself of his shirt, torso glistening under the light. He starts off slow and steady, deliberately showing off just how thick he is because he knows it's your favorite thing about his cock. It sits heavy in his hand, and every few strokes he squeezes, recreating the way your cunt clenches around him when he's buried in you to the hilt.

More than anything, it's the sounds he makes that really get to you. Jongseong's little moans and gasps might just be your favorite things in the entire world and being the one to rip them out of him is something you take pride in, it's your motivation to keep going when you're tired and spent. He sounds beautiful as he keeps jerking himself off, his hair slowly getting wetter and wetter with each movement of his arm.

The veins running down his length look fuller, and so do those on his arm. A sick part of you wants to bite down on the flesh of his biceps, leave your mark on him for everyone to see. There's no worse punishment than not being able to touch him, and after so many times he's tried to put you in your place, he might have actually cracked the code on how to get you to behave for at least a little while. Jongseong continues working on himself, his brows furrowed in pleasure and eyes closed, imagining who knows what.

It's only when he looks at you to check if you're keeping your hands to yourself, and finds you with your arms glued to your sides, eyes teary from desperation, that his movements falter. He throws his head back, stuttering through a chain of fuck fuck fucks, fist squeezing on his cock to stop himself from coming on the spot. He takes a few seconds to regain control, breathing so heavily you would think he just ran a marathon.

When he's sure he won't cum from your sight alone, he opens up his eyes again to take your disheveled form in. One of the straps of your dress fell down, and the silk got all bunched up at your waist, culprit panties on full display. Your makeup is smudged on your cheeks, but he thinks you look better like this anyway. He almost caves in.

"Come here," he says, but most of the anger and bark in his tone from earlier is just a faint accent. He's a weak man for you, unfortunately for him.

You get on all fours on the floor, literally crawling to be at his feet. He grabs your face to caress it, sweet and gentle, runs his fingers along your jawline. There is the faintest twitch of a smile on his features. He wants to cave in. "Do you know your place now, baby?"

The light hits your features in a way that almost makes you look angelic, but you're a much more devilish creature. And when you nod, the hunger in your eyes betrays you. Jongseong wants to cave in, but he doesn't.

He gives you a light slap, its sole purpose is to admonish you, not hurt. He grabs your face again, this time with more strength, and squishes your cheeks together. "But I don't think you do yet."

A hiccup leaves your lips when he lets go of his hold on you and turns to the shelf behind him, the little glimmer of hope you held out on now trampled under his foot. "Please— I'll be good, I'll listen to you from now on, I'll do any—"

Jongseong interrupts you, full glass of wine in his hand and an amused curl on his lip. "Yeah? Then prove it to me. Get to work." He lets some of the wine fall down his torso in little streams of red. It drips down his abs, the hard ridges shaping the flow of the liquid. It goes lower, and lower, and lower down his v-line and thighs.

You stare at the imagine, enamored with it, mouth watering as your eyes follow the droplets' descent down your fiance's body. You're so captivated Jongseong has to remind you to take action with another light tap on your cheek.

You lick a stripe of wine off of him, from his thigh to his pelvis, reveling in the way his leg bounces under the stimulation, under the sheer power of your sultry gaze locked on his. His Adam's apple bobbles when your tongue traces its way to his cock, red and angry from the edging he subjected himself to. You go to wrap your hand around the base of his length so you can suckle on his tip, coax more of that delicious salty precum you adore out of him, but his hand swats yours away.

"No hands, keep them behind your back. Show me how you use that mouth."

The order has you gushing in your panties, now too ruined to ever be worn again. Your thighs are slick with want, from all the wetness seeping out of your poor untouched cunt, from all the times you have clenched around nothing ever since the night started. You know the only way to cum is to follow Jongseong's orders until he's happy and satisfied with your compliance.

So you do. You bring your hands together behind your back, pretending an invisible restraint is keeping them out of the way, then bend forward to take his tip inside your mouth, giving it a few experimental sucks that have his hips stuttering to push more past your lips.

You take more in, trying your best to relax your mouth as you do so because he's so thick, but the sight of your struggle makes his throb.

"That's it. Good fucking girl. Such a good girl for me."

The praise hits you right where you need him most, and you can't possibly hold in the moan you release around his girth, the vibration making him throw his head back in pleasure.

He lets more wine dribble down his body as you work your magic on him, the liquid cold against his scorching skin. Some of it gets on your dress, staining it, and you think this might have been his plan all along.

"Aw. Look at your dress, now you won't be able to wear it anymore. What a pity," he groans. "So good, your mouth is too fucking good."

You double your efforts, and Jongseong coos at you. "Poor little thing, you wanna feel good too, don't you?" He sets the wine aside again, opting instead to push the hair out of your face so you have better access to his cock without anything getting in the way. "Wanna get a pillow to hump?"

You make a muffled sound of displeasure, and he laughs. Of course, he knows that's not what you want.

"What is it then?"

You think he's about to pull you off of him so you can speak, but he doesn't. He keeps you in place, mouth on his length right where it belongs, and instead expects you to voice your needs without a chance to breathe.

You want to tell him it's his touch that you crave, and you try your best to, but it comes out incomprehensible, a muffled jumble of sounds that don't quite hold any meaning.

"I'm sorry, couldn't hear you. Try again?"

Tears prickle your eyes, squirming in your spot, at his mercy and on your knees for him. You try again, with even worse results.

Eventually, he relents. His shoe moves, pushing under you, until it comes in contact with your dripping clothed pussy. Your reaction is immediate, a long drawn out moan at the smallest, faintest contact. He teased you for so long, you think even a brush could be enough to make you come undone. Yet, he makes you work for that too.

"Hump my shoe then, make yourself come if you want to so badly." He bends down, fist still in your hair to pull your head backwards. "But hold it until you make me cum first. After you swallow all I give you, then you get to let go. Understood?"

[roxyyastro]

The placement of Venus in the composite chart can reveal much about how the partners met/will meet and how they connect romantically and socially.

• Composite Venus in the Houses

1st House:

Meeting Context: The relationship likely began with a strong immediate attraction. You may have met in a setting where appearances and first impressions were important, such as a social event, a public place, or through activities involving beauty or aesthetics.

2nd House:

Meeting Context: You might have met in a setting related to finances, possessions, or personal values. This could include a workplace, a financial institution, or even while shopping. The relationship likely has a strong foundation in shared values and a desire for security.

3rd House:

Meeting Context: The connection likely began through communication. You might have met in an educational setting, through writing, social media, or mutual acquaintances. Intellectual compatibility and shared ideas are significant in your relationship.

4th House:

Meeting Context: The relationship may have started in a homey, familial, or private setting. You could have met through family, at a family gathering, or within a close-knit community. The relationship has a strong emphasis on emotional security and home life.

5th House:

Meeting Context: You likely met in a fun, playful, or creative environment. This could include parties, creative workshops, or recreational activities. The relationship is characterized by romance, creativity, and joy.

6th House:

Meeting Context: The connection may have started in a practical or work-related setting. You could have met at work, through a health-related activity, or while performing daily routines. The relationship emphasizes service, health, and mutual support.

7th House:

Meeting Context: You might have met in a setting focused on relationships and partnerships. This could include a social gathering, a matchmaking event, or through a mutual desire for partnership. The relationship has a strong focus on balance, harmony, and cooperation.

8th House:

Meeting Context: The relationship may have started in an intense, transformative setting. You might have met through shared experiences of change, at a place dealing with joint finances, or through a significant life event. The relationship is deep, transformative, and possibly mysterious.

9th House:

Meeting Context: You likely met in a setting related to travel, education, or philosophy. This could include a university, during travel, or at a cultural event. The relationship is characterized by a shared love for adventure, learning, and exploration.

10th House:

Meeting Context: The connection may have started in a professional or public setting. You might have met at work, through a career event, or in a place where status and reputation are important. The relationship has a strong focus on ambition, goals, and public image.

11th House:

Meeting Context: You likely met through social networks, groups, or community activities. This could include clubs, organizations, or through friends. The relationship emphasizes friendship, shared ideals, and social connections.

12th House:

Meeting Context: The relationship may have started in a secluded, spiritual, or hidden setting. You might have met through a spiritual retreat, a place of solitude, or while dealing with hidden aspects of your lives. The relationship is characterized by a deep, spiritual connection and possibly hidden or secretive elements.

•Composite Venus in the Signs

Aries:

Meeting Context: The relationship likely began with a bold and energetic encounter. You may have met in a dynamic, action-oriented environment, such as a sports event, an adventure, or during an assertive pursuit of interests.

Taurus:

Meeting Context: You might have met in a setting related to nature, beauty, or comfort. This could include a garden, a restaurant, or a place where you could enjoy sensual pleasures. The relationship is grounded, stable, and sensuous.

Gemini:

Meeting Context: The connection likely started through conversation and intellectual exchange. You may have met at an event focused on communication, such as a seminar, a party, or through mutual friends. The relationship is lively, curious, and mentally stimulating.

Cancer:

Meeting Context: You might have met in a nurturing, home-like environment. This could include a family gathering, a cozy café, or a community event. The relationship is emotionally sensitive, nurturing, and home-focused.

Leo:

Meeting Context: The relationship likely began in a vibrant, creative, or dramatic setting. You may have met at a party, a theater, or a place where you could express yourselves freely. The relationship is passionate, expressive, and filled with joy.

Virgo:

Meeting Context: You might have met in a practical, service-oriented environment. This could include work, a health-related event, or a situation where you were helping others. The relationship is detail-oriented, supportive, and focused on improvement.

Libra:

Meeting Context: The connection likely started in a social, harmonious setting. You may have met at a social event, through mutual friends, or in a setting focused on beauty and balance. The relationship is balanced, harmonious, and partnership-focused.

Scorpio:

Meeting Context: You might have met in an intense, transformative environment. This could include a place dealing with change, deep emotions, or shared resources. The relationship is deep, passionate, and transformative.

Sagittarius:

Meeting Context: The relationship likely began in an adventurous, expansive setting. You may have met during travel, at a cultural event, or in an educational environment. The relationship is adventurous, optimistic, and filled with exploration.

Capricorn:

Meeting Context: You might have met in a professional or goal-oriented setting. This could include work, a career event, or a place where ambition is key. The relationship is structured, ambitious, and focused on long-term goals.

Aquarius:

Meeting Context: The connection likely started in a unique, unconventional setting. You may have met through a social group, an online platform, or a community event. The relationship is innovative, free-spirited, and based on shared ideals.

Pisces:

Meeting Context: You might have met in a spiritual, artistic, or dreamy environment. This could include a place focused on creativity, spirituality, or healing. The relationship is compassionate, dreamy, and deeply emotional.

[satinestales]

❝programmed for pleasure❞ | qimir x fem!reader

pairing: qimir x fem!reader

summary: Your best friend Qimir always had your back, and that didn't change when the Jedi accused you of treachery. Without hesitation, Qimir helps you hide. After days of close quarters and constant danger, things get heated and secrets flow to the surface.

warnings: this is just filth, english is not my native language, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (who needs it with him right), fingering, hints of mind control, reader finds out qimir's identity during the act, choking, cockwarming, degradating, praising, 5k+ words, not proofread

a/n: in ep2 when osha was pretending to be mae and qimir's mask dropped- so did my panties and i wish we could see what would happen if the jedi didnt barge in

also i apologise if this is not my best work my brain's rotting

now playing, fill the void by the weekend and lily rose depp

The sun blazed overhead, casting long shadows across the bustling market square. The air shimmered with heat, and the scent of exotic spices mixed with the dust kicked up by the steady flow of people. The cacophony of merchants hawking their wares and customers bartering for goods filled the air, creating a lively yet chaotic atmosphere. That's when you jumped in, covered in a heavy cloak, weaving through the crowd, moving with desperate urgency that contrasted sharply with the slow pace of the marketgoers.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and sweat trickled down your temples, but you didn’t dare slow down. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the fear that suffocated you.

You glanced over your shoulder, scanning for signs of your pursuers. There, in the distance, the unmistakable silhouettes of Jedi Knights moved with an unerring determination, their robes flowing like liquid shadows. Panic surged within you, propelling you forward even faster.

You stumbled into a fruit vendor, nearly toppling the cart, and barely registering the vulgar complaint thrown at you, only focused on your desired destination.

Ahead, through the throng of people, you spotted the familiar sign of your friend’s shop. It was a small, unassuming place, nestled between two larger establishments, almost easy to miss if you didn't know what to look for. You aimed yourself toward it like a ship setting course for a distant star, your legs burning from the exertion.

Another quick glance back showed the Jedi gaining ground, their calm, composed faces a stark contrast to your own panic. You had to reach the shop; you had to get to safety. With a final burst of energy, you pushed through a group of curious onlookers, thrusting them to the ground, and practically threw yourself against the door of the shop.

It swung open with a jingle of bells as you tumbled inside, the cool air a welcome relief against the overheating streets. You slammed the door shut behind you, the noise causing your friend, Qimir, to look up from behind the counter, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Hey, what are you—"

"Shush," you panted, leaning heavily against the door, trying to catch your breath, scanning any sign of the Jedi through the glass door. "I need to hide."

“What is going on?” Qimir appeared right behind you, his face a mix of concern and curiosity. He motioned for you to follow him. This wasn’t the first time you had begged Qimir to help you, and many times you had promised to pay him back, but you never did. You tried to calm yourself as you followed him to the back of the shop where the infamous hidden trapdoor was placed.

“I owe you,” you breathed out, looking up at Qimir before you kneeled down to get in, climbing your way into a narrow space, the darkness of the room slowly enveloping you.

“You always do,” he murmured to himself before he closed the door, leaving you alone in the pitch-black darkness. You’d been here many times, so it wasn’t difficult finding a certain switch, turning on the lights that partially blinded you. As you quickly got used to them, your other senses heightened, hearing Qimir making his way back to the front of the shop above your head.

You pressed yourself against the cool earth, willing your racing heart to calm. Above, you could hear the faint murmur of voices, the unmistakable timbre of the Jedi questioning. You held your breath, every muscle in your body tense, praying that your hiding place would remain undiscovered.

You calmed yourself, putting your hand on your chest where your heart would be, carefully listening to the conversation above you.

“Have you seen a cloaked figure running by this shop? We saw them run this way; do not bother us with lies,” came Yord’s unmistakable voice. You had never liked him, even as a youngling or a Padawan. He finished his trials sooner than you and felt the need to remind you every second. Today was the last day you decided to respect it.

“I think I saw someone pass by, but I didn’t see their face or where they were going,” you heard Qimir lie to the Jedi, protecting you again. You never grasped how he could lie to the Jedi and not get caught. You always suspected he was Force-sensitive and accidentally blocked everyone out of his mind, but that theory vanished quickly when he once face-planted on the ground after you woke him from his peaceful sleep. Maybe he was just a good liar.

Minutes felt like hours, but eventually, you heard the Jedi grow quiet, leaving the shop. You allowed yourself a tentative sigh of relief, knowing that you had narrowly escaped capture. For now, you were safe, as long as you stayed with Qimir.

It didn’t take long for Qimir to come back for you, opening the trapdoor to get you out. You climbed fast, jumping at him, almost crushing him with your suffocating hug.

“I’d like an elaboration on this one,” he declared into your ear, waiting for you to let go of the hug but returning it with slight pressure. “Weren’t you supposed to be in the Outer Rim? That’s where your Master sent you.” You let him go, running your fingers through his hair, making a big mess on his head. He let out an annoyed scuff, furrowing his eyebrows, but his smile betrayed him.

“Hmm,” you whispered, turning back to him to walk to the door and shut down the blinds. The Jedi might have been gone, but you weren’t sure. “I was already there. Mission accomplished.” You replied with excitement as you threw away your cloak on the counter, turning in a circle back to Qimir. His expression was to die for.

“Wait,” he picked up his hand as if to stop you from coming closer to him. You stopped your movements, a cheerful smile playing on your lips. “You killed Kelnacca, without a weapon, and managed to come back and do whatever you did for the Jedi to hunt you down?” He didn’t trust you at all, and it was painfully obvious. He circled around you to block your way, even if you had no intention of going outside and leaned against the counter.

“I killed Kelnacca without a weapon, came back here, and killed Torbin.” You smiled, hoping for Qimir to cheer up too, for he was the one always believing in you and your Master’s missions for you. “That’s why they chased me; they found out. But it’s done. I did it.” You couldn’t help but jump towards him, looking up at him as he stared you down.

“You killed them both without a weapon?” he repeated his question, scanning your figure up and down, like he was trying to figure out if you’re joking or serious. Your smile dropped, as you realized he was more of a puppet to your master than your friend. You liked Qimir, but there were times when you didn’t know what he was thinking or where he was going on random days.

You scuffed to yourself, annoyed but understanding in some way. You weren’t always the best apprentice, but you earned it. You earned your place as his pupil and hoped, one day, your master would show his face to you.

“Is this what you want?” you asked, irritated, throwing a tied bag on the counter, right next to Qimir’s hands. He was hesitant but opened the sack, revealing two Jedi lightsabers: Kelnacca’s and Torbin’s. “I could have brought their heads, but that would defeat the purpose.” You added, frustration obvious in your tone. You were so excited to tell Qimir, your friend, about the great news and were immediately let down by his reaction. You hoped he’d be happy for you, finally safe from your Master as you satisfied him with your work.

"Sorry, just shocked," he let out a small chuckle before closing the bag again and leaving it on the counter. "He'll be so pleased with you," he turned to you, a wide smile on his lips. The drastic changes in his mood always scared you, but now you were simply happy you could share the happy news with him.

“Of course I’m proud of you too,” Qimir added, coming towards you to pull you into another hug, this one warmer and more reassuring. You hesitatingly wrapped your arms around him, melting in his embrace. However small and skinny he looked behind his untidy clothes, whenever he hugged you, you almost disappeared between his arms.

“Now who’s gonna tell him?” you muttered into his shoulder before he let go of you, his hands leaving your back seconds later. You were so happy about your success that you never thought of informing your master. Even though you passed his test, you were still nervous about talking to him. His mask was scary enough for you, and his quiet mannerisms were even worse. You could never read what he was thinking, what he was planning next, or what he might be contemplating doing to you. If Qimir volunteered to inform him, you wouldn’t protest.

“Well, you should,” he stated to your bad luck. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” He smiled before going behind the counter to search for something on the lower shelf. You had to snort at his choice of words.

“Please,” you chuckled. “My Master? Thrilled?” You came behind Qimir, observing as his long fingers grasped a small glass of orange drink and set it on the table. “I don’t think he’s ever shown any emotions besides boredom and anger.”

“That’s because he’s wearing a mask,” Qimir pointed out, pouring the orange fluid into two separate small glasses. “Maybe he’s smiling behind it.” You admired Qimir’s delusion.

“I bet,” you started, waiting impatiently for Qimir to finish pouring the drinks, “he’s actually planning my demise behind that mask.”

Qimir handed you a glass, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Or he’s planning your next big test, which he’ll pretend doesn’t impress him but secretly makes him proud.”

You raised your glass to his, a smirk forming on your lips. “To surviving another day and confusing my Master,” you toasted.

Qimir clinked his glass against yours. “To more victories and shared secrets.”

As you took a sip, the cool, sweet liquid refreshing your parched throat, you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. Despite the looming threat of your master’s reaction, Qimir’s unwavering support made you feel like you could handle anything. With a deep breath, you set your glass down and looked at him, determination shining in your eyes.

“Alright,” you said, your voice steady. “I’ll tell him. But if he decides to execute me, I’m holding you responsible.”

Qimir laughed, a sound that felt like a balm to your frayed nerves. “Deal. But I have a feeling you’ll come out of this stronger than ever.”

“Let’s hope,” you sighed, leaning against the counter on your elbows, letting Qimir’s eyes wash over you. “Also, he has to be hiding something.”

“What do you mean?” Qimir asked, a confused expression on his face as he put his already empty glass down.

“What if he’s deformed under the mask?” you let out, your face scrunching at the thought. “Or what if he’s just ugly?” You stared at nothing, not paying any attention to the words you were saying.

Qimir’s eyebrows twitched with amusement as he scanned you carefully. “You haven’t seen his face yet?” he asked, noticing how you played with your ring between your fingers as you stared down at the ground.

“You know I haven’t,” you replied with an annoyed sigh. “Look, I made peace with it, but I’m still curious about what he looks like. I want to know who’s teaching me all these things.” You complained, pushing yourself away from the counter, your eyes glancing at the black curtains over the window.

Qimir leaned back, crossing his arms with a thoughtful look. “I get it. It’s human nature to want to see the face behind the mask. But maybe it’s more about what he’s teaching you than what he looks like.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head. “Leave it to you to find the deeper meaning. I just want to make sure I’m not taking orders from someone who might be scarier without the mask.”

Qimir chuckled, stepping closer. “You’ve faced Jedi Knights, completed impossible missions, and survived under his training. Whatever he looks like under that mask, you’ve proven you’re stronger than any fear or curiosity.”

His words settled over you like a comforting blanket, and you felt a bit of the tension ease from your shoulders. “You always know what to say, don’t you?” you turned back to face him, a genuine smile on your lips. Lately, you had noticed the way he looked at you. How his eyes darkened when he thought you weren’t watching. How his arms twitched your way when you walked past him and his intense gaze during your conversations. Like now.

Qimir was your friend, supplier, and occasional therapist. You could always vent to him about your Master, and he listened carefully. Many times, you slept over in his shop, passing out on the floor, exhausted from your tests and missions. You couldn’t count how many times you bled out in front of him and woke up the next day with your wounds bound and healed. You knew Qimir had his own secrets that he wasn’t confident in sharing with you, but some things kept you awake at night, wondering.

Despite his poor hygiene and greasy hair that framed his face in an unflattering way, you found him magnetic and charismatic. Something about him pulled you closer, and you didn’t know what. Between the nightmares and horrors, you were a victim to in your dreams, Qimir showed up to comfort you many times. You were embarrassed every time you woke from them, but the images never left your mind. And whenever you saw him after, you deep down wished they would become true.

Two days have passed since then, yet his intense gaze still lingered in your mind. He let you use his shop as your personal sanctuary, a hidden refuge from the Jedi that didn’t stop searching for you. Each day, you watched them through the window. Three times they've marched past, and twice they've entered, repeating the same questions, their eyes scanning for any sign of you.

Qimir once suggested you could leave the planet, but you quickly dismissed the idea. The Jedi now controlled who could leave or enter the exosphere. You regretted not hiding Torbin’s body, leaving him there to rot. Anger had taken over. You wanted the Jedi to find him. You wanted to shove it in their faces.

The days began to stretch into what felt like weeks, with only the tension between you and Qimir keeping you alert, even though it made time drag. The first night when you jumped out of the shower and had to borrow his clothes, you didn’t miss the way his eyes flew to your legs that the towel didn’t fully cover. Or when you tied your hair into a braid, his gaze never wavered. You didn't mind being observed, but with Qimir, it was different. His gaze made your stomach flip, and you couldn’t decide if in a good or bad way. His touch made you shiver, his presence alone made your skin burn. The only relief was that he wasn’t sensitive to the Force. If he knew what you thought every time you saw his hands or brushed against him, you’d want to drown yourself.

A few hours after you hid in his shop and got drunk together, you both decided it would be fun to practice some moves and fighting techniques, without lightsabers. Minutes later, you found yourself straddling Qimir’s lap, pinning his hands above his head. You knew he could easily turn the tables and have his way with you, but he didn't move a muscle. Instead, he laid there, letting you crush his lap as he circled your face. You remembered it vividly: how his breath tickled you, how his lips were so close that moving an inch would ruin your carefully built friendship. You were grateful for the self-control classes your Master put you through.

Now you were seated on the floor, leaning against the cold surface of the counter, staring out the window. The black curtains were no obstacle to you. You heard Qimir coming out of the shower; he didn’t want to smell like the gasoline you accidentally spilled on him. You held a glass of some beverage Qimir had prepared, both of you slowly getting dizzy from boredom and drinks. Resting your head against the table, you closed your eyes and saw Qimir through the Force. He was still in his small, cozy bathroom, drying himself with a towel. His hair was wet but looked better than it had a few days ago. His back muscles flexed as he raised his arms to dry his hair. You hadn't realized he was so fit under his clothes, and it made you squirm in your seat.

You knew you shouldn’t be spying on him like this, but the only time you had seen him like this was in your dreams, and reality was far more enticing. Your thoughts grew louder with each passing second, one screaming over another.

He was your friend and also worked for your Master. It would be wrong. You knew the consequences it could have on your relationship with Qimir, and you didn’t want to risk it. But the way he looked at you, the way his proximity made you feel, and the thought of his body against yours drove you crazy.

Your Master wasn’t against you having lovers and fulfilling your desires, as long as you stayed loyal to him. But you weren’t sure how he would feel if his two subjects started something together.

“You alright?” Qimir’s voice woke you from your thoughts as he stood in front of you. Only in his pants. You looked up at him, trying to contain your craving as you checked him up. Droplets still falling down his chest as he leaned against the other shelf, looking down at you from dangerous vicinity.

You almost choked on air, forcing yourself to look away.

“Yeah,” you choked on your words, lifting the glass to take a sip of your untouched brew. “Why you ask?” you forced a smile, missing his still wet, glossy chest to get to his face. Your heart dropped as you met with his prolonged stare. Half-lidded dark eyes staring right at you, his silhouette towering over you as he took a step closer, throwing the towel he was holding on the table.

“You staring into distance kind of scared me.” He chuckled, tilting his head as he leaned against the counter, you almost broke your neck looking up at him. He was right above you.

His hand was placed right above his pants that got to caress his thighs first. His skin was clean and wet, scars decorating his abs. His muscular chest was uncovered, free for you to admire. When he spoke to you his voice was low and raspy, different from the one he usually used. Your heart fluttered as you noticed his eyes wondering around you as he awaited your response.

You had to move, you thought to yourself. Pushing yourself against the floor you lifted yourself to your legs, the drink in your hand spilling as your hand twitched from almost falling into Qimir’s arms. You could feel the warmth radiating of off him and smell the shower gel he used. His hair was dripping wet, droplets adoring his sharp collarbones. His nipples were hard from the chilly temperature in the shop, his forearm big and large, holding his body above the table.

“Just, concentrating.” You coughed, putting the glass on the counter. “So,” you woke yourself from your dreaming, turning away from him, trying hard not to stumble. The drinking wasn’t as bad as Qimir’s half naked figure centimeters away from you. You felt faint and your thoughts only got worse, like somebody was putting them in. You felt a pressure, but you were convinced you were doing it to yourself subconsciously.

“Is everything okay?” You heard Qimir asked again behind you, feeling him walk towards you. You could feel his hands lifting, so when you turned back to face him, they brushed against your stomach. You had to fight back a moan.

“Just, the Jedi thing.” You smiled, hoping you were convincing enough, and he wouldn’t suspect even the theme of your thoughts. Resting your hip against the table and crossing your arms against your chest, you put a leisure expression on your face, as your mind raced with images. “It’s stressing me out.” You unnecessary added, trying to stare anywhere but his face or his arms or his exposed chest. He had to be cold.

“It’ll pass in a few days.” He smirked, lifting his arm to rest it against your shoulder. The cold skin made you gasp but not as much as his dark eyes.

“I just don’t want to bother you here for days.” You tried to convince yourself. “You surely have things to do, and my Master will be waiting for the news. I’ll go after sundown.” You didn’t wanna go but you had to inform your Master and the air between you and Qimir started to be intoxicating if you didn’t do anything.

“I’m sure he already knows.” He cocked his head, pulling his arm away but leaving his fingers to tickle your skin.

“You told him?” you wondered, pushing your thighs together as a small smirk appeared on his smile.

Fuck.

“No,” he denied, his eyes leaving yours, to trace them down your body. “But I’m sure he knows. Maybe he wants you to relax for a while.” He implied. You dropped your gaze from his eyes to his lips, your core slowly heating up.

“I would rather still be sure,” you swallowed your saliva, your voice breaking, his body dangerously close to yours. “Aren’t you cold?” you let out, embarrassment washing over you. He let out a chuckle when he saw your hand awkwardly pointing at his bare chest.

“Not really,” he replied, scanning your expression. He knew you were nervous; he knew your legs were about to give up and how you struggled to pretend to breathe normally. He enjoyed every second of it.

“Good, good.” You uttered, nodding along. “As long as you’re comfortable.” You wanted to fall into some deep hole and never come out.

“Are you comfortable?” he purred, closing the space between you two, his hand lifting to your face but not actually touching you. Just hanging there, below your jaw, right next to your neck.

“Why, why wouldn’t I be.” You stumbled over your words, his eyes burning your skin open. You felt his breath against your face, his curtain bangs brushing over your forehead. His feet met with yours, his chest in front of your face.

“You don’t look the best.” He whispered, leaning in, his lips now touching your ears, sending shivers down your spine. You moved your hand to the counter next to you, praying and holding yourself for dear life. “I think you need to relax.” He teased against your ear, slowly moving to your neck.

“I think I should get ready to go.” You panted, but not moving a muscle. His one hand moved right next to yours on the table, fingertips touching yours. You were so frozen by his lips tickling your neck, you inhaled sharply when you felt his hand sneak behind your waist to pull you against him. Your hands automatically pressed against his chest, closing your eyes.

“If you want,” he rasped, lifting himself to face you. You couldn’t recognize him. His eyes were pitch-black dark, animalistic look set in them. His lips were full and pink, not a sign of the Qimir that you talked to few minutes ago. You were breathless, your heart pounding heart against your ribs.

“Do you want to go?” he whispered, carnal lust in his gaze staring right back at you. You felt the wetness between your legs growing stronger with every passing second. “Do you want me to let you go?”

“No.” you answered so fast you felt ashamed. But what followed fulfilled all your dreams and more.

All the useless items and glasses on table thrown on the floor without any of you touching them, to make a room for you as Qimir lifted you up on the counter. You shakily brought your hands into his hair as he dived into your lips, imitating sex. His hands groped your breasts, fondling them and pinching your nipples through the thin fabric of your borrowed blouse.

You felt his hand abandon your face, making its way between your legs, feeling your wetness through the pants. You were soaked. You didn’t miss the smile on his lips when his fingers pushed against your core, feeling how wet and useless you were for him.

You whimpered against his mouth when he pulled away, resting against your forehead as you breathed each other air.

“For how long you were this wet?” he smirked against your lips, his fingers putting pressure against your pants making you gasp. He knew the answer, he knew exactly what you liked and where you liked it. But he wanted to hear it coming from your mouth.

“Since I first saw you,” you muttered, rolling your hips against his fingers for more friction. As soon as you made that movement, he pulled his fingers away to shoved them inside your mouth. You didn’t protest and without hesitation started to circle your tongue around them. His fingers were thick and long, making you choke when he moved them deeper.

“Such a fucking slut.” He growled, his legs spreading yours apart. Your heart fluttered at his words and confirming its statement when you let out a moan, from his fingers sneaking its way under your pants and panties to find your burning clit. You threw your head back, as your back arched, wanting to feel more of his touch.

Qimir watched you with satisfaction spread on his face as he felt you getting wetter and wetter, your body responding to his digits. He continued teasing your clit, rubbing it in circles as his other hand squeezed your breast roughly.

“You want it that bad?” he murmured, his voice raspy and electrifying. He chuckled at your failed attempt to respond, inserting his finger into your soaked hole. He pumped it slow and deep, reveling in your reaction. “No worries now.” He taunted.

Qimir couldn’t keep the smirk off his face as he watched you squirm and moan. He relished the power he had over you, keeping you in the dark and letting you believe you weren't being humiliated in front of your Master. He added another finger, scissoring them to stretch you for his cock.

“Let me hear you beg for it,” His eyes gleamed with lust as he towered over you, plunging his fingers deeper inside of your cunt. He curled his fingers inside you, rubbing your g-spot as he pumped them faster. “I want to hear you plead for my cock.”

You had no idea Qimir had this in him, but you were so dizzy because of his fingers fucking you hard, you had no strength to focus on anything else.

“Please Qim-“you shivered, eyes rolling back in your head. “Please I need you inside me.” Your breath hitched, his fingers curling and spreading your cunt.

“Atta girl.” He whispered to himself before pulling his fingers out of you, receiving a vulgar insult thrown at him. He relished in seeing you like this. He dreamed of this every day, wanting you, his pupil, spread open in front of him, letting him take you however he wanted. You were his and he was gonna make sure you understood what exactly that meant.

He smirked mischievously before leaning forward to kiss you deeply, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “Once I start, complain all you want, I’m not gonna stop.” He whispered against your lips before breaking away and looking deep into your eyes. He was a totally different man and it made you shiver throughout all your body. Even his energy changed, letting it wrap around you in the Force.

Qimir startled you when his hands landed on your chest, pushing you back so you’d lay open on the counter, legs spread open for him to take. Smiling excitedly, he grabbed your hips and move you closer to the edge of the table, before slowly unbuckling his pants.

“You ready?” he asked, licking his lips before pulling his cock out, already covered in pre-cum. He looked so beautiful above you, his hips so close to yours, his hair falling into his face and his chest raising as fast as yours. You looked a mess, but you were his mess and he wanted to devour you.

Nodding, you made yourself comfortable on the table, its cold surface making you shiver.

Smirking, he positioned his dick at your entrance and slowly thrust himself inside, making sure to stretch you nice and slow, taking his time to make the moment last. He bit back a moan, looking down at you lovingly as you struggled to keep your eyes open and not pass out at his thick cock filling you up.

“You’re doing great so far for me.” He grinned, before pulling out and slamming back in, his movements becoming faster and rougher. You forced yourself to grab the ends of the table to hold yourself in place, Qimir’s grip on your hips being nothing compared to the way he was treating your pussy.

His thrusts became harder, loving the way your walls wrapped around his cock, squeezing him tightly with each thrust.

“You’re finally getting what you dreamed of,” he groaned, lifting your hips to drive his cock deeper before pounding away. “Getting fucked by your Master.”

You cried out when his cock brushed against your sweet spot, not realizing the meaning of his words until seconds later.

“What,” you tried to lift your head up, but the way his grip tightened on your waist to fuck you harder had you failing to catch your breath. Your heart started to pound faster as the realization hits.

He saw your expression change but your body kept replying to his merciless thrusts. His hand moved from your waist to reach for your head, lifting you up, face to face. His forehead was covered in sweat, his long hair curling around his ears.

“You did so well on your last mission, I had to reward you.” He panted, not stopping his assault on your cunt. He read the conflict in your mind, letting you come to your own conclusion.

“You’re,” you trembled, his cock spreading your walls so good you had trouble to even consider the words he was saying, denying yourself.

“You’re such a good apprentice but such a slut now,” he mocked you, his hand moving from your hair to your neck, putting in pressure. “I wished you realized sooner tho. We could’ve had this every little visit of yours.” You cried out as his hand fully wrapped around your neck, his cock never stopping filling your cunt.

“Master, I don’t understand,” you managed to breathe out, feeling his cock start twitching inside your walls. You heard him groan, right next to your ear, at the feeling of your tight hole gripping him. He started to thrust harder, feeling the friction build up.

Resting your foreheads against each other and swallowing each other’s moans, had the both of you sweat, the room picking up your scents.

Qimir reached down, rubbing your clit as he continued to fuck you hard. He could feel the tension building inside of you and knew you were close.

“Cum for me, love.” He growled, his hand never leaving your neck and pulling you closer to him. “Cum for your Master.” He hitched, picking up the pace, slamming into you as hard as he could. He could feel his own orgasm approaching.

His grip on your throat tightened as he fucked you harder and faster, slowly losing control of his strength. He could see the look of pure ecstasy on your face as he pounded into you and squeezed your throat harder. Your hand automatically few to his hand that held you, struggling to breathe but not enough to make you pass out.

“You belong to me,” his voice broke, letting you know he was getting closer and closer to losing it. “You’re mine.” He whimpered into your ear, his hips bucking wildly, driving his cock deep inside of you as he came, filling you up, marking you as his. His paced slowed down to match yours, wanting to feel you cum around him, your walls almost crushing him.

Qimir didn’t move and kept his cock inside you, letting himself and you calm down and try to catch your breath. As you regain your composure, your head against Qimir’s chest, your mind almost exploded with the overwhelming thoughts.

I fucked Qimir.

I fucked my Master.

Qimir was my Master all along.

You wanted to run away, hide yourself and never come out, but Qimir’s, your Master’s arms wrapped around you and your pussy still keeping his cock warm, had you melting, not wanting to move an inch. You were confused, terrified, and thrilled all at the same time. All the times when Qimir disappeared without explanation, all the time he lied to the Jedi or did things only Force sensitive beings could achieve. It all made sense now and clicked together like a puzzle.

But you also realized he had the power to read your thought all along. He could see the impure images, the ideas, and pictures you had in your mind. Your complains and desires. Your fear. But that didn’t matter anymore. You let your Master used you, like the good apprentice you were. You had no idea what would happen now, your heart wanting to jump out of your chest, your skin covered in goosebumps. You were scared but the desire was stronger. And if Qimir ever taught you something was to transform those emotions into power. And you had enough desire to annihilate the entire Jedi order, with Qimir by your side.

[mythblossoms]

to come home

pairing: zayne x gn!reader

content: fluff and comfort, soft yearning, kissing, suggestive if you squint?, lighthearted, established relationship, unedited

a/n: i just think zayne deserves a quiet life where he can be the little spoon ♡ coming back to writing after so long is scary but hi ♡

wc: 1.1k

It’s 11:01, the harsh blue glow of his computer screen illuminates his office, and Zayne is thinking of the comfort of home. 

Not the physical structure - all concrete and glass, hard walls enclosed around structured spaces that begged for routine, but the warmth that often resided within.

You, curled up on the couch, book in hand and eyes slowly skimming through the words. You, perched on the counter top, sipping a sweet latte and sighing contently. You, watering the plants on his windowsill and whispering little words of encouragement. You, a warm sun that cast light into every room you stepped into, leaving the space a little darker, colder when you left. 

It’s 11:05, as Zayne stares at the remnants of a hazelnut latte sitting on the corner of his desk - delivered to him by you several hours earlier. A drawing of a little snowman poking its head over the sleeve of the cup. A small dose of warmth in an otherwise blurry day. He missed you. Not that you hadn’t seen each other, but this was different. Rushed, fleeting moments existed — small, sweet treats that left behind a craving. Truthfully, he didn’t think he could ever be fully satisfied, not when the treat was gone but the sweetness still lingered on his tongue.

It’s 11:15, and the soft ping of his phone is notifying him of messages from you with hidden notes tucked tenderly between the letters.

- ping

Have you eaten yet? (I miss you, take care of yourself)

- ping

Let me know when you’re on your way! (I care about you, please come back safely)

He had grown accustomed to these secret words and meanings interwoven into the space that was you and him. With each message, his heart ached a bit more. 

It’s 11:27, and the lights of Zayne’s office are off. A cup with a snowman drawing is gently placed in a waste bin. His bag and coat are missing from the coat rack by the door and he’s driving to his home. 

It’s interesting how home can be anything. Home can be a house, the things gathered to create a space that belongs to the person living there. It can be a family or a person, the people who hold the hearts of their loved ones close. How odd that Zayne never thought of home before you. 

Seeing you silhouetted in the ambient light, his cardigan draped on your figure - too big in the shoulders, too long for your frame - the smell of mint tea hanging in the air — this is what it meant to be home. His heart swelled as you turned, that bright smile welcoming him home. 

“I see someone has found a sweater to their liking.” 

“Yep,” you quipped, hugging the cardigan closer to your body. “I think it likes me more than its current owner. It wants to live with its friends back in my closet.” 

Zayne smiled slightly, stepping into the warm kitchen as you placed two mugs on the counter. “Is that so? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t keep it from its true desire.” 

His arms circled around your waist, pulling you back securely against him. He tucked his head into the crook of your neck - settling into the warmth and pressing one soft kiss onto the collarbone peeking out from the collar of the cardigan. A contented sigh leaving your lips as you leaned into him, cupping the warm mug in your hands. 

“Thank you for this,” he murmured, attempting to stitch every unspoken feeling along those four words. ‘Can we stay like this a little longer?’ ‘I want to be with you - always.’ ‘You’re home to me.’ You had a way of weaving these declarations tenderly into your actions and words. Zayne hoped, by closing his eyes, by holding you closer, these unsaid words would flow to you. 

Gently, you turned in his arm to face him, one hand still clasped around your mug. You gazed up at him, placing your other hand on his chest, feeling the warmth there. “I’m glad you’re home,” you whispered. No hidden meanings - stated so honestly as you smiled. 

Zayne took the mug from your hand, setting it on the counter behind you, and dropped his forehead to yours. “If I can be a bit…selfish,” he breathed, ghosting his lips over yours. “There’s one more thing I would ask for.” His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks, and guided your lips to his. Slowly, his lips moved against yours. His hands, cool on your warm face, moved down your shoulders, dipping underneath the oversized cardigan and caressing your waist. Each movement intentional, as if his fingers had memorized the curve of your body - the feeling of you under his hands grounding him. 

Again, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing slowly as he released the kiss. His eyes locked on yours, dazed, as his hands tightly held your waist. Words were no longer needed, every movement proclaiming every feeling Zayne had tried to contain. He leaned down to grasp your waist, lifting you onto the counter. 

“Oh-”, you mumbled as you felt the cup behind you. “Your tea!” 

“Tea,” he said, pressing another kiss to your jaw, “can wait. Right now - I just need you.” His voice was soft as he slowly trailed his lips up your jawline, punctuating each sentence with a light kiss. 

Zayne was always so patient, quiet in a collected way. Need was a new word - and your heart ached as his hands pressed in your lower back. Your arms found their way up around his neck, running your fingers up and through his hair. “I’m here,” you whispered, pressing light kisses up his jawline to the shell of his ear. “You have me.” 

Zayne took a deep, controlled breath as he ran his hands up your spine, fingers tracing the arch of your back. “I like it when you’re here,” he murmured. His lips found yours again, savoring the way they melded together — relishing in the small sounds you made as he deepened the kiss and held you as though you were keeping him afloat. 

He hesitated again, his eyes still closed and hands still pressed against your back. “It would be even better, if you were here all the time.” He chanced a look at you then, barely opening his eyes. 

And you were smiling at him, pulling him closer still and cupping his face in your hands. “Is this your subtle way of asking if I would like to move in?” Your lips, still pink from the previous kisses, pressed one small kiss to the tip of his nose - an unspoken answer of ‘I want to be with you all the time too.’

Zayne looked down, the corners of his mouth slightly turning up. “How else will I retrieve all my missing sweaters?” He hooked his hands under your thighs, lifting you off the counter. “I think I’ll start with this one.” 

Your warm laughter filled the air as he carried you to his room, the mint teas left to cool on the counter.

[d1stalker]

Second Nature [Logan Howlett]

Summary: In the freezing cold of the wild, you are saved by a man with many secrets. He takes you in, and soon you learn that you’d follow him anywhere. Takes place during The Wolverine (2013)

Warnings: does not accurately follow the events of the movie, hairy logan (heart eyes), misunderstandings

WC: 4.2k - MASTERLIST

----

Northern Canada was just as unforgiving as it was beautiful. The chilled air bit at your skin, and the vast wilderness stretched out endlessly, it was a place where few dare to venture.

It had been days since you’ve seen another soul, your only company being the towering trees and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures in the brush. You weren't not entirely defenceless as a mutant, though your powers were something you keep close to your chest.

The day started like any other—cold, silent, and solitary. You were making your way through the dense forest when you heard it: the deep, guttural growls of a pack of wolves. Your senses went on high alert as you froze, but before you could react, they were upon you. 

There were too many of them. You fought as best you could, using your powers in quick, controlled bursts, but the wolves were relentless, and violent. Just as you thought you might not make it out, a figure burst through the trees. He moved with immense speed, claws extended from his hands—no, not quite claws, but something far more lethal. He tore through the wolves with an ease that spoke of years of experience, and within moments, the threat was gone.

You were left standing in the snow, gaping at the man who had just saved your life. He was wild-looking, with long, tangled hair and a thick beard, his eyes fierce and sharp. He didn’t speak at first, just looked you over, assessing mutely, before finally grunting out a rough, “You alright?”

You nodded, though your heart was still pounding from the encounter. “Yeah, thanks to you.”

“Shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said gruffly. “This place isn’t safe.”

“I can take care of myself,” you replied, though you knew full well how close you had come to an early demise. You didn’t offer any explanation for why you were out here, and he didn’t ask. Instead, he simply turned and started walking away, as if saving your life was just another day for him.

You hesitated for a moment before following him. He didn’t seem to mind, and you were curious about the man who had appeared out of nowhere. He led you back to a small, rough cabin hidden deep in the woods. It was clear he had been living here for a while—there was a worn, lived-in look to the place.

Over the next few days, you found yourself staying in that cabin. The man, who you learned was named Logan, didn’t talk much, but he didn’t seem to mind your presence either. You kept your powers hidden, mainly out of habit, but a part of you was unsure of how he would react if he knew the truth. You knew he was some sort of mutant too, but he had an air of someone who had seen too much, who carried a heavy burden, and you weren’t ready to add to that.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, a quiet companionship developed between you. Logan was still rough around the edges, but there were moments when you caught glimpses of something softer beneath the surface. He was a man who had been through hell and survived, but the scars were still there, etched into his soul.

You weren’t sure when you started to think of him as a friend, but it happened slowly, in the small, unspoken ways you helped each other. He taught you things about the wilderness, how to track and hunt, while you offered a quiet presence that seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders.

Then, one day, everything changed. A woman appeared at the cabin, her hair bright red and her demeanour as sharp as a blade. Yukio, she called herself. She had come to find Logan, to tell him that his old friend Yashida was dying and wanted to see him one last time in Japan. Logan was reluctant at first, but Yukio was persistent, and eventually, he agreed.

You hadn’t expected him to invite you along, but when he turned to you with a serious look in his eyes and said, “Come with me,” you found yourself nodding before you could think about it.

----

When you arrived at the estate in Japan, Yukio immediately declared that a cleanup was in order. Logan resisted, of course, but she insisted. You were too tired to argue and knew she was right. You hadn’t had a proper bath in weeks if not months. The little tub in the cabin did barely enough to make you feel freshened up, and the idea of finally being clean was too tempting to pass up.

She led you to your separate rooms, where hot baths and fresh clothes awaited. The water was blissfully warm, and as you soaked, you felt the tension slowly ebb away. You scrubbed your skin clean, washed your hair until it felt soft and light again, and when you finally stepped out of the bath, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. The fresh clothes Yukio provided were simple yet elegant, a far cry from the rough, dirty outfit you’d been wearing for days.

After dressing, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. For the first time in a long while, you felt... pretty. It was a strange sensation after everything that had happened, and you weren’t entirely sure how to feel about it. Logan already waiting for you when you saw him. Your breath caught in your throat. His long beard was nowhere to be seen, a uniquely styled facial hair left in it’s wake. His hair was trimmed as well. His usual gruff demeanor was still there, but he looked... different. Handsome, in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

He was staring at you too, a look of surprise flickering across his face before he quickly masked it. "You clean up nice," he said lowly.

"Thanks," you replied, trying to sound casual, though you were acutely aware of the way his eyes lingered on you.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, taking in the sight of each other. You had always thought Logan was attractive in a natural, untamed way, but seeing him like this, it made your heart stir in your chest.

Yukio interrupted your thoughts, her voice cutting through the silence. “Good. Now that you two don’t look like wild animals, we can get to work.”

----

Yukio led you and Logan through the estate’s winding paths, the sound of your footsteps muted by the soft ground. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the garden, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to admire the beauty of the place.

Finally, you reached a large, open room where an elderly man sat in a wheelchair, his frail form dwarfed by the spaciousness of the room. Yashida’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow and labored, but there was a sense of peace about him, as if he had come to terms with his impending death.

“Logan,” Yukio said softly, her tone respectful as she gestured for him to approach.

Logan stepped forward, his usual confidence tempered by something more subdued. He stopped a few feet from Yashida, his hands clenched at his sides as he struggled to find the right words.

“Yashida,” he eventually said, addressing the man before him. “It’s been a long time.”

Yashida’s eyes slowly opened, and when they focused on Logan, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Logan,” he rasped, his voice weak but filled with warmth. “You came.”

“Yeah,” Logan replied, his tone softening. “I came.”

Yashida’s gaze shifted to you, and you felt a strange mix of emotions as his eyes, still sharp despite his age, studied you intently. “And who is this?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

“I’m just a friend,” you said, offering him a small, respectful bow. “I’m here to support Logan.”

Yashida’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “Thank you for coming,” he said, his tone sincere. “It means a great deal to me.”

Then, another figure entered the room, a young woman with delicate features and a quiet grace that immediately drew your attention. She moved with the fluidity of someone who was used to being in control, but there was a sadness in her eyes that mirrored Yashida’s.

“Mariko,” Yashida said, his voice softening as he spoke her name. “Come, meet Logan.”

Mariko stepped forward, her gaze flicking to Logan with a mixture of curiosity and caution. “Logan,” she said quietly, her voice as soft as the rustling leaves outside. “It’s an honour.”

Logan inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment before he looked away. “Likewise.”

There was an awkward silence as you stood there, feeling like an outsider in this reunion. You watched the way Mariko looked at Logan, her gaze filled with something you couldn’t quite place—respect, maybe, or perhaps a cautious admiration. Whatever it was, it made your chest tighten with an emotion you weren’t ready to examine.

“Please, sit,” Yashida said, gesturing to the cushions on the floor. “We have much to discuss.”

You sat down beside Logan, feeling the tension in the room build as Yashida began to speak, his words measured and deliberate. He spoke of his time with Logan, of the bond they had shared during the war, and of the gratitude he felt for the life Logan had given him. But there was something else in the way Yashida spoke—an underlying desperation that made you uneasy.

“I have a gift for you, Logan,” Yashida said, his eyes locking onto Logan’s with an intensity that belied his frail appearance. “A gift that will free you from your suffering.”

Logan stiffened beside you, his expression darkening. “I don’t need anything from you, Yashida,” he announced.

“But you do,” Yashida insisted, his tone growing more urgent. “You’ve lived long enough to see the world change, to see those you care about die. I can give you what you’ve always wanted—mortality.”

The room fell silent as Yashida’s words hung in the air, the weight of them pressing down on you like a physical force. You glanced at Logan, searching his face for any sign of what he was thinking, but his expression was unreadable.

“I didn’t come here for this,” Logan said after a long pause. “I came because you asked.”

Yashida’s expression faltered, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face before he nodded slowly. “Very well,” he said. “But the offer stands. Should you change your mind...”

Logan didn’t respond, his jaw clenched as he stared at the floor. You could feel the tension radiating off him, and it took everything in you not to reach out and touch his arm, to offer some kind of comfort.

----

The air was thick with the scent of incense and the soft murmur of prayers as you stood at Yashida’s funeral, surrounded by mourners dressed in black. The solemnity of the occasion hung heavy, but there was an undercurrent of tension that you couldn’t ignore. Logan was beside you, his expression unreadable, though you knew him well enough by now to sense the unease in his posture.

In that moment, your mind wandered to the days you’d spent in the Yukon, the solitude that had once been your only companion. You hadn’t ended up there by choice. No, you had been running—from a world that feared what it didn’t understand, from people who saw you as a threat. The fact that you were a mutant had always set you apart, but it was also the reason you had been hunted, feared, and ultimately driven into the wild. 

You still hadn’t told Logan about your powers, not out of a lack of trust—hiding them had simply become second nature to you. But as you stood at the funeral, watching the proceedings with a growing sense of dread, you realized that your secret was about to come crashing down around you.

It happened so quickly that you barely had time to react. One moment, the funeral was proceeding as expected, and the next, the mourners were scattering in panic as a group of Yakuza thugs stormed the ceremony, their eyes locked on Mariko, Yashida’s granddaughter.

“Mariko!” Logan’s voice was a deep growl as he pushed through the crowd, his adamantium claws shooting out. You sprang into action right behind him, your heart pounding as you watched the Yakuza close in on Mariko. You knew that even though he was fast, Logan wouldn’t make it in to her in time. 

Suddenly, the world seemed to slow down, and your instincts took over. Thrusting your hands out, you called for your powers and the air around you responded, swirling with a sudden, powerful gust that sent the Yakuza stumbling back. Logan's head whipped over to you, his eyes widening in shock, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Fire erupted from your fingertips, a controlled burst that seared the ground between Mariko and the attackers, creating a barrier they couldn’t cross. But the attackers didn’t yield, and they regrouped quickly, readying themselves for another assault.

Logan was at your side in an instant. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I—” you faltered, the words catching in your throat as you continued to fend off the enemy. The earth beneath you trembled as you called on your powers again, sending a wave of stone and dirt crashing into the Yakuza, knocking them off their feet.

“I didn’t know how,” you finally admitted tightly, from the strain of maintaining control over the elements. 

Logan’s expression was a mixture of anger and something else—something deeper. But he didn’t have time to respond before the Yakuza pressed their attack, forcing both of you to focus on the immediate threat.

Together, you and Logan fought them off, your powers weaving through the chaos as Logan’s claws tore through the ranks of the attackers. It was over in minutes, but it felt like an eternity. When the last of the Yakuza fell, you stood there, breathing hard, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Mariko was safe, but the damage was done. Logan turned to you, his gaze intense. “You didn’t trust me,” he said, the hurt clear in his voice.

“It wasn’t about trust,” you said quietly, lowering your hands as the last remnants of your power faded into the air. “I’ve spent my whole life hiding who I am, Logan. It’s not something I can just turn off.”

He was silent for a moment, his eyes searching yours. “I get that,” he finally said, his voice softer now. “But you knew about me––my mutation. I thought—”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” you interrupted, your voice breaking slightly. “It’s just… I didn’t want to bring attention to it. I wanted to leave it in the past.”

Logan’s expression softened, the anger fading as he listened to your words. “You don’t owe me an explanation,” he said after a moment, surprising you. “But I want you to know… I would’ve understood.”

You looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. It was strange, how this man who had saved you, who had become your friend, could look at you with such understanding, after you had hid something so important from him. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words heavy with the weight of everything you hadn’t said before.

He didn’t say much after, just turning and heading toward Mariko, going to check on her. 

----

In the days following the incident at Yashida’s funeral, something between you and Logan shifted. It was subtle at first—an awkwardness that hadn’t been there before, a hesitation in his eyes whenever he looked at you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that things had changed, and not for the better.

Logan had started pulling away from you. At first, you thought it was because of Mariko, and his new mission—that he had simply found something else to focus on. But as the days went by, you realized that it was more than that. Logan wasn’t just distant—he was hurt. And it wouldn't take a genius to know why.

He had been wounded by your secret, by the fact that he thought you hadn’t trusted him enough to reveal your powers. You had tried to explain, to make him understand that it wasn’t about him, but the damage was done.

The distance between you pained you. You had grown to care for him deeply. It had started as friendship, a bond forged in Canada, but somewhere along the way, you knew your feelings had begun to change. You hadn’t meant to fall for him, but it happened all the same, creeping up on you like the first rays of dawn after a long, cold night.

But as you watched him pull away from you, and towards Mariko, those feelings felt like a mistake.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want Logan to be happy—far from it. You cared about him too much to wish anything but the best for him. Still, seeing the way he looked at her, the way he seemed drawn to her despite the mayhem surrounding them, made something inside you ache. You had thought that maybe, just maybe, there could be something more between you and Logan, but it was clear now that whatever you had shared was truly just a friendship. Nothing more.

And that realization hurt more than you cared to admit.

You tried to push those feelings aside, to focus on the task at hand. There was still so much to do, and Japan was far from safe. The Yakuza were remained a threat, and Yashida’s legacy was more tangled than you had ever imagined. But no matter how hard you tried to concentrate on the helping, your mind kept drifting back to Logan and Mariko.

So, you did the only thing you could—you pulled away. You gave Logan and Mariko space, leaving them to each other whenever possible. It hurt to do it, to step back when all you wanted was to be by Logan’s side, like you’d for months, but you convinced yourself it was for the best. If this was what Logan wanted, if she was who he needed, then who were you to stand in the way?

Even as you distanced yourself, you continued to help them in whatever ways you could. You were still in Japan, still part of the mission Logan got roped into, but you became a shadow, always there but never too close. You helped Mariko when she needed it, fought alongside Logan when necessary, but you never lingered, never gave him a reason to think you wanted anything more.

----

When the trip was over, and the two of you returned back to Canada, things were different. The easy companionship you had shared was strained, the unspoken tension between you making every moment feel heavy with uncertainty. You weren’t sure where you stood with Logan anymore, and it was driving you mad.

He had been quiet since your return, keeping to himself, and you had done the same, unsure of how to bridge the growing distance between you. It hurt, more than you wanted to admit, but you weren’t sure what to do about it.

You had spent the day wandering the snowy landscape, trying to clear your head, but no amount of fresh air could chase away the doubts that had settled in your mind. By the time you returned to the cabin, the sun was beginning to set. You hesitated at the door, your hand hovering over the handle as you debated whether to go inside or keep walking.

Before you could decide, the door swung open, and Logan stood there, his expression unreadable. “You’ve been gone a while,” he said, his voice rough from disuse.

“Just needed some air,” you replied quietly as you stepped inside.

Logan closed the door behind you, his eyes lingering on you for a moment. Then, “We need to talk.”

You nodded, your stomach twisting with anxiety as you followed him to the small living area. You sat on the edge of the worn couch, your hands clasped tightly in your lap as you waited for him to start.

Logan remained standing, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I’ve been thinking… about everything that happened in Japan.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “So have I.”

He looked up at you then, “I don’t know how to do this,” is all he could get out.

“I know."

“I’ve been thinking about why things got so messed up between us,” Logan continued, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “And I think… I think it’s because I was hurt that you didn’t tell me about your powers, that you’re a mutant too. I took it personally, and that was wrong.”

You shook your head, “I shouldn’t have lied to you. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Logan. I just… I didn’t know how to stop. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Logan stepped closer, his hand resting on the back of the couch as he looked down at you. “You didn’t lose me,” he said quietly. “But I think I almost lost you because I didn’t know how to deal with it. That’s why I pulled away. I didn’t want to get hurt, so I put up walls.”

“And Mariko? I mean, it's not like you need to justify anything to me, but--fuck--I...” You started, letting your words drift off. You didn't know where you were going with this, but Logan would have to be a real idiot to not catch on.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and it scared you. When he finally spoke, his voice was low.

“When we were in Japan… I was hurt. Not just by everything that was happening, but by what I thought was going on between us. I felt like you didn’t trust me, like you were keeping me at arm’s length, and I didn’t know how to handle that. And then there was Mariko… she was there, and I turned to her because… I don’t know, I guess I was looking for something to distract me from what I was feeling.”

You stayed silent, letting him speak.

“But it wasn’t what you think,” he affirmed. “It wasn’t about feelings, or love, or anything like that. Mariko was just… there. I was in a bad place, and she was someone who didn’t expect anything from me, who didn’t know me the way you do. We got physical, but it wasn’t real."

You blinked, trying to make sense of his words. “So, it didn’t mean anything?”

Logan shook his head. “Not the way you’re thinking. I won’t lie to you—it happened, and I’m sorry for that. But it wasn’t because I didn’t care about you,” he paused, taking a deep breath, “It was because I did, and I didn’t know how to deal with my own emotions. I made a mistake, and it hurt you, and I hate that.”

You could see the regret in his eyes, the way he was struggling to find the right words. “I thought you wanted to be with her,” you admitted, “That I was just… in the way.”

He swallowed, “You were never in the way. I pushed you away, and I’m sorry for that.”

You looked up at him. “Where does that leave us then, Logan? Should I… should I stay here? With you?”

Logan’s eyes softened, and he reached out to gently cup your face in his hand. “I want you to stay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But only if that’s what you want too.”

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch as a wave of relief washed over you. “I want to stay,” you whispered back, your heart pounding in your chest. “I need to know that we’re on the same page though, that this is more than just… friendship.”

His thumb brushed against your cheek. “It is,” he confirmed, “I care about you, more than I’ve cared about anyone in a long time. And I want to figure this out, whatever it is between us.”

You opened your eyes, looking up at him with a small, trembling smile. “I want that too.”

Logan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He leaned down, nuzzling his nose with yours as he spoke, an action that nearly had your heart bursting in your chest. “Then let’s do this. No more hiding, no more running. Just us.”

“Just us,” you echoed, happy.

------

[reignpage]

Light Show

Summary: in which alien!reader and Gojo are getting to know each other Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: talks of nudity, fluff, a little sexual tension, not proofread

Day 3

“No.” Satoru tuts. “That’s not for eating.”

Hands on his hips, he sighs. 

You’re currently gnawing on a wooden spoon you found in his kitchen drawer, fully clothed in a baggy shirt and sweatpants (his, of course). Before, you were gnawing on one of his shoes, then it was the tv remote, and then it was his phone. Apparently, your kind explores with their mouth. He’s just glad you don’t have more than one of those; he’ll have teeth marks on everything at this rate. 

Tilting your head, you drop the spoon, and it falls on the counter with a clank. You mull your thoughts a little longer before you ask, “No?”

“That’s right,” he confirms with a nod.

“No eating?”

Your Japanese is coming along great, within three days you two have learnt how to communicate, albeit not by much. You’re not going to be discussing current events or the secrets of the universe any time soon, but at least you can understand him when he says ‘no biting’ when you come across something new.

For the most part though, you’re pretty normal. Satoru was surprised you can eat human food like bread and eggs, but pleasantly so — the alternative could have very well been human flesh. You seem to have a circadian rhythm (and yes, he did have to google what that is) because you sleep and wake up the same time he does. 

Over breakfast, he teaches you new words like ‘hungry’ and ‘sleepy’ so you can communicate your needs, and at night he explains movie plots to you. In your first night, he made sure you knew how to dress yourself, though you do still go to him to tie up his way too large sweats on your hips – he needs to buy you your own clothes but oddly enough, he feels no rush. It was kind of funny how you hissed at all sorts of things like the toaster, the kettle, his phone and the sound of footsteps outside his door. But he knew that to reduce the risk of you smashing his beloved coffeemaker on is shiny floor he'd have to teach you what was safe and what it isn’t. 

And it wasn’t easy. 

At times, it felt like teaching his students to keep their lives was so much easier. But you’re so earnest and eager to learn, he couldn’t even get frustrated when you took apart his speaker and tried to swallow a spring. 

The thing he’d been putting off teaching you, however, was how to shower. At first, he debated whether to even broach the topic; it’s inappropriate for him to be the one to teach you. But he also doesn’t have many girl friends who’d entertain the idea of harbouring a literal alien.

He was also aware of the possibility that aliens don’t bathe the way humans do. Maybe you simply need to, perhaps, press a hidden button on your body and BAM! Brand, spanking new.

Testing that theory out, you followed him into the bathroom and watched as he turned the shower on, fully intending to lecture you on the history of bathing. But, pleasantly and shockingly, you’re already stripped and stepping in, water beading down your supple body, dipping between the valleys of your breast and flowing down where he really shouldn’t be looking. 

Satoru cleared his throat and left you to do what you needed to do. He totally did not have to adjust as he stood outside, worried you might slip or turn the wrong knob and burn your perfect skin.

Much to his chagrin however, since then, he’s been struggling with teaching you not to drop your clothes at the sight of running water. When he turns the tap on to wash the dishes, he doesn’t need to look at you to know you’re already untying the knot of his sweatpants. He can’t even close his eyes and avoid the sight of your body. 

Curse his Six Eyes!

He’s working on teaching you a sense of decency and shame when it comes to nudity, but it feels wrong to do so when there’s not really anything wrong with being naked in front of him, right?

Your new friend would never take advantage of you, and he’d certainly never let anyone else in here before you’ve learnt enough things to stay safe and become independent, and that’ll be far, far in the future. So, for now, he’ll just settle for shaking his head and giving you a disappointed look and hope that’s get the message across eventually.

Apart from that, you guys have been getting along very well. You watch movies together and point and laugh at the things you like and then tuck your face in his chest at the things you don’t. When he orders food in, you follow behind, brows furrowed as you eye the delivery man like he’s a threat. 

Satoru knows he should tell you off for being aggressive with strangers, but with the policemen and hazmat suit guys still surveying the area, he’s just happy you have any survival instincts at all. Especially because you haven’t manifested any superpowers like in the movies. 

It would have been so cool if you could, like, move things with your mind or had super strength. So far, however, you’ve just been a normal, slightly disoriented, possibly amnesiac woman. 

A beautiful, amnesiac woman but that’s neither here nor there. 

Peeking through the curtains, he eyes all the people crowding in the parking lot where the crater you created is taped off. They’ve got vans full of doohickeys and weird gadgets, testing this and that, and though he was able to take you from there to his place too fast for the CCTV to pick up, he knows it’s not going to take long before they link it back to him. 

So, reluctantly, he calls Ijichi and informs him that he needs to pull his strings and get all the government interference waved away. Thankfully, experienced and efficient as he is, he asks minimal questions and Satoru’s able to get away with simply humming what sounds like an agreement when he asks if it was a curse. 

“Toru?” You pull at his sleeve, confusion marring your face. “Leaving again?”

That’s the thing about being Gojo Satoru: he’s always needed. Once or twice a day, he’s called away on a mission and expected to work his magic with a cursed technique here and a cursed technique there, blah blah blah. The last two days however, he’s taken a faster approach to those tedious things — with a simple wave of his fingers, the curses are evaporating, and the world is safe once more. No more of his silly joshing around, not when he has someone waiting for him at home. 

Regardless of how fast he’s able to exorcise the curses though, he still has to leave you. And the sad look on your face makes him wish he didn’t have to. Every time, he only ever has one thought in his head: is twenty-eight too young an age to retire?

“Yeah, sorry, E.”

“Stay?”

Satoru shakes his head and sighs out, “Can’t. But I’ll be back in an hour, okay? Then we can watch a movie.”

You smile at that. Nodding your head, you let go of his sleeve and jump onto the sofa with a bounce. In your tight grip is the remote, you’re cradling it like it’s the most precious thing in the world, head tilting and eyes blinking at your new friend. 

“Cute,” he mutters under his breath. Patting your head, he shakes up the hair there and reminds you, “Don’t open the door for anyone.”

Satisfied with your blink, he teleports away, leaving your smile dropping and legs folding, tucked to your chest whilst you hug them. Rhythmic vibrations thrum in your chest, whirring as you wait. 

He always comes back.

————

It’s nightfall when he returns, manifesting in the living room, in the exact same spot he disappeared from. The apartment is flooded in darkness, light dust settling in the air, but he finds your sleeping form with ease. 

You’re all curled up, the remote squeezed in your death grip, and your head lolled between your knees. His shirt is slipping down a shoulder, and his hand is reaching to fix it before he could realise the silliness of his actions — the last thing any lost, sleeping woman needs is a man touching them in the blanket of the night. 

He may be an idiot, but he’s not stupid. 

Satoru’s been sleeping on the couch whilst you’ve taken shelter in his bed, which is not ideal since his ridiculously long body far exceeds the length of his own furniture, and he makes a mental note to buy a longer one. That being said, he doesn’t grumble when he grabs a blanket and fluffs up a pillow, bidding you a goodnight. 

This is the first time, therefore, he’s ever seen you sleep, and it is the most curious thing. He has discovered one other thing that sets you apart from his human peers, even amidst the smooth skin, the eyes, nose, lips, mouth etc etc: your skin lights up when you’re sleeping. 

There are waves of blue light pulsing beneath the surface, flowing up your arms and disappearing under his shirt. And he’s so painfully curious to know if the rest of your body glows like that, if he’ll see that insanely fascinating blue light rising up your legs, if he can trace their paths and find their origin. It’s not the brightest light, in fact it’s barely perceptible, but Gojo Satoru has impeccable eyesight and it’s as clear as day. 

“I’ve found myself my very own night light,” he muses, thoroughly entertained. 

Taking slow and careful steps, he stands before you. He’s debating whether he should just leave you there, all comfortable and emitting light, or if he should wake you up. Maybe you’ll get a crick in your neck from the way your head is bent down. Maybe that’s not even possible for you. 

Maybe the right thing to do would be to carry you to bed, but it’s still early in the evening and you were both looking forward to watching a movie together. He didn’t work hard for hours dealing with ugly little things to not be rewarded. With an impatient huff, Satoru pats your head, gently jostling you awake.

“Hey, E,” he whispers. “Wakey wakey.”

You’re groggy and all confused when you lift your head up. Satoru’s lip twitches in amusement at the faint hum of light on your face, fading as you step back into consciousness. 

Despite the heaviness of lethargy weighing you down, you still manage to smile and gaze up at him in the dark. Huskily, you ask, “Toru back?”

“Toru home, E. Can you say that for me? Home? Home.”

Tasting the sound in your mouth, you mimic the opening and closing of his. “Huh um.”

He shakes his head, fingers pinching your chin with a thumb pulling at your bottom lip. Guiding your movements, he sounds it out with you. “No. Try again. Home. Hohmuh.”

You clutch his wrist with both hands, pinkie slipping under the sleeve, and he has to fight to keep his focus on your lips, soft and plump. He hadn’t even realised that he had bent down or that his face is far closer to you than it should be, but he doesn’t move. 

“Toru. Home,” you parrot back to him. 

Satoru grins. “Well done, E! Yes, Toru home! I’m home.”

“Toru home!” You grin back. And with agile strength, you’re wrestling him onto the couch with you, his gangly limbs flailing in the air as he falls with a laugh, harmonising with your excited giggles.

His head lands on your lap and his legs dangle over the armrest. Within seconds, you’re expertly switching the TV on and picking a movie that must have caught your eye before. It’s one he’s watched already, and he can’t decide if he likes it enough to rewatch it, but he knows better than to argue with you about movie choices since, on the first night he showed you E.T and likened you to the wrinkly creature, you tried to bite his arm off. 

Thank goodness, once more, for his infinity. 

“Alright, alright. No need to be all violent,” he playfully complains, “it hurts my ego when you easily throw me around like a rag doll.”

As the movie drones on, Satoru remains lying there, eyes spending more time scanning your face than the screen. In these three days, he’s developed a routine that feels so imbedded in his bones he can’t remember how he spent his days before.

His once quiet house has turned into a messy, chaotic home where most of his belongings have teeth marks, and his clothes are scattered all over the floor. It used to feel so big, so empty no matter how many fancy, shiny things he’s filled it up with but now he thinks, maybe his place is too small for the both of you, maybe it’s time he considered a proper house. 

One with a garden so you can run around, and you can have fresh air instead of being all cooped up here, hidden away. 

He wonders where you used to live before, whether it’s very similar to his humble Earthly abode or if it’s completely different and magnificent and captivating the way he imagines your world must be to produce you. 

He wishes he could ask and receive an answer. By all that is heavenly, he wishes he could see into that head and know all your thoughts, to be inside and feel you, unrestricted by a language barrier, undivided by what feels like a whole galaxy between you. In the depths of the night, he stares up at the ceiling, overwhelmed with a sense of injustice at the realisation that he’ll never know all of you, not your past, your current thoughts, or your future. 

“Toru okay?”

Satoru snaps back to reality. “Hmm?”

It’s only when you clutch his wrist again, he realises he’s brushing his knuckles against your jaw, skimming and tracing absentmindedly. You don’t stop him, you just hold him there like you’re also seeking his touch, adorable fingers tapping. 

How much of this is real?

How much of this dynamic, this relationship, is based on concrete things like trust and understanding and friendship, rather than mere reliance?

“Toru hurt?”

Sighing, he shakes his head and drags your hand down onto his chest, keeping it there whilst he turns to watch the movie. None of it matters. Because regardless of anything and everything that kept you apart to begin with, you’re here now, and he’s holding you and you can talk and laugh, and he’s happy. 

What else is there?

[neigepomme]

˙ ✩°˖ ✈️ playlists / caleb x reader

synopsis; sharing your music streaming account with caleb; maybe you weren't the only one feeling something deeper than friendship.

🍎 pomme's notes - i had to put this on paper (? screen..?) before i forgot about it... big fan of love songs and i have my very own caleb playlist (which will be shared at the end of this post)!! do share your calebcore songs with me in replies :9

⋆ 400 words / fluff / reader is gender neutral / 2nd person / point form / two fools pining for each other..

✈︎ caleb who you've shared a spotify account with for as long as you can remember.

✈︎ you'd always check what he was listening to, and he did the same.

✈︎ "aww pipsqueak, this thing's full of love songs. you feeling lovesick or somethin'?", he'd say, with a boyish grin plastered on his face.

✈︎ he teased and poked fun at you, but secretly wished for the love songs in your playlist to reflect how you felt about him. after all, he'd listen to songs and think of you too.

✈︎ and they were. tons of sappy melodies, all of which reminded you of his bright purple eyes. those eyes that looked at you like you were the world.

✈︎ you'd send each other songs, all of which had some sort of message hidden within them. lines about falling in love, the warmth of one another's arms, how the world felt conquerable when they were by your side.

✈︎ that was caleb to you, and you to caleb. no matter what happens, you'd be the anchor he needs, and he'd be the star in your night sky.

✈︎ "shut up, caleb.. i've seen the bruno mars in your playlists! is there a secret someone i'm not aware of?" you'd reply, cheeks burning. you knew he spent all of his free time with you, but seeing the cute little songs within his rotation, you couldn't help seeds of doubt getting planted in your mind.

✈︎ "me? never", he chuckled and with the most sincere look he could muster, he looks at you; "you know you're the only one for me, pips. no one comes close."

✈︎ you could swear you see his ears turning a deep red. he reaches out, inserting an earbud into your ear, knocking the words you were gonna utter out of your mouth.

✈︎ "let's call a truce and listen to our sappy songs together, yeah? we can be lovesick losers together" and with a bit of a tremble in his hand, he grabs a hold of yours.

✈︎ you hum, interlacing your fingers with his. whatever it was that you two were, more than friends, not quite lovers, you were content not giving it a title for now.

✈︎ if you can stay by his side, in this small and warm world you created, then you're okay waiting, and he doesn't mind waiting even longer, just for you to take a step and open your arms to him.

✈︎ for now, it was just you two, shared earbuds, and a soft romantic melody.

🍎 pomme's final notes - he's so sweet.. i've been debating his music taste with my friends and all of my friends say he's got a 2010s loser music taste which i agree with, but i think he's oh so sappy.. he listens to doo-wops & hooligans and he's got the biggest smile on his face thinking about you when 'just the way you are' comes on!!!! i just know it.. 

click this for my calebcore playlist! this leads to a youtube playlist full of songs that remind me of him! he canonically listens to whatever you listen to i think? which is so so so sweet. need me a caleb!!

[areislol]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤobsession bound

pairings. m!yandere x gn! reader

warnings. yandere, mature explicit 18+ content, MDNI, suggestive content, toxic obsession, stealing clothes, stalking, the whole yandere package.

a/n. i don't condone this irl guys!! please do not fantasize about this

wc. 2.9k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤi love you like an alcoholic - the taxpayers

he knows everything about you. not just your favourite foods, hobbies, or the songs you play on repeat, but the details you wouldn’t even think to share. the way your nose scrunches when you’re deep in thought, the pattern of your breathing when you sleep, the subtle twitch in your hand when you’re anxious. he’s studied you as though you were a divine text, each quirk and habit catalogued and committed to memory.

your presence is his religion, and you, his deity. he doesn’t just love you—he worships you. to him, you’re the very essence of perfection, the axis on which his world spins. every smile you offer, every word you speak, is a blessing he clings to with an almost fanatical devotion. if he could, he’d bottle the sound of your laughter and keep it close, playing it on loop in the quiet hours when he can’t be near you.

his obsession began innocently enough—a fleeting glance in passing, a shared space for mere seconds. but those seconds were enough to ignite something dangerous within him. from that moment on, you consumed him.

your image invaded his thoughts, leaving no room for anything or anyone else. it wasn’t enough to see you from afar. he needed to know you, to possess you, to make sure you could never leave.

he follows you everywhere, his footsteps as silent as a predator stalking its prey. he’s always there, just out of sight, ensuring you’re safe—or so he tells himself.

when you stumble, he fights the urge to rush forward and catch you. when someone dares to get too close, his fists clench, his jaw tightens, and dark thoughts swirl in his mind. no one has the right to invade your space like that. no one but him.

every trace of your existence is precious to him. he’s collected everything—strands of your hair caught in your brush, the lip balm you left on your desk, even the receipt you crumpled and threw away. he keeps them in a secret box, hidden away like a dragon hoarding treasure.

he’ll run his fingers over them, murmuring your name like a mantra, his mind spinning fantasies of the life you’ll share once you finally see the truth.

he keeps a journal where he writes about you obsessively. page after page filled with your name, detailed accounts of your daily activities, and his dreams of your future together. he’s planned it all—your wedding, the house you’ll live in, the names of your children. he knows it’s premature, but in his mind, you’re already his. the only thing left is for you to realise it.

his jealousy is a violent, uncontrollable thing. anyone who gets too close to you is a threat that must be eliminated. he doesn’t care who they are—friends, coworkers, even family. they don’t deserve to share your attention.

they don’t love you like he does. he’s not above sabotage, spreading rumours, or even more drastic measures to ensure they stay away. it’s for your own good. can’t you see how much safer you are without them?

his methods of surveillance are disturbingly meticulous. cameras hidden in your home, trackers on your phone and keys, even your favourite coffee shop isn’t spared. he needs to know where you are, what you’re doing, and who you’re with at all times. if he sees something he doesn’t like, he’ll act without hesitation. a threatening text to someone he perceives as competition, a “chance” encounter to remind you he’s always there—it’s all part of his carefully crafted plan.

the nights he spends in your home without your knowledge are the most sacred to him. he’ll sit in your chair, run his fingers over your belongings, and breathe in the faint scent of you lingering in the air.

when he’s feeling especially bold, he’ll lie in your bed, his heart pounding as he imagines you beside him. the boundary between fantasy and reality blurs, and for those moments, he allows himself to believe you’re already his.

despite his madness, there’s a tenderness in his obsession that makes it all the more unnerving. he’ll leave gifts on your doorstep, thoughtful things he knows you’ll love, but always unsigned. he’ll take care of things you don’t even realise—paying overdue bills, fixing a broken lock, replacing the lightbulb you forgot about. in his mind, these are acts of love, proof of his devotion. he’s your saviour, your guardian. why can’t you see that?

his darker thoughts are carefully hidden beneath a façade of adoration. but they’re there, lurking just below the surface. he’s imagined what it would be like to keep you locked away, safe from the world that doesn’t deserve you.

a place where it’s just the two of you, where no one can hurt you or take you away. he’s convinced himself it would be for the best. you’d be scared at first, but eventually, you’d understand. you’d love him like he loves you.

he’s a master of manipulation, always a step ahead. when you start to suspect something, he’ll play the perfect confidant, the shoulder to lean on. he’ll comfort you, reassure you, and subtly guide you into his arms. every move he makes is calculated to draw you closer, to ensure you never look anywhere else but at him.

his love is suffocating, overwhelming, all-consuming. it’s not just a feeling—it’s a need, a compulsion, a fire that burns so fiercely it threatens to destroy everything in its path. he doesn’t see the danger in it. to him, it’s pure, untainted, the way love is meant to be. and if you ever tried to leave, he’d see it as a betrayal so profound it would shatter him. he’d do anything to keep you. anything.

he’s utterly captivated by every little thing about you—your smile, your voice, the way your clothes hug your figure just right. his eyes linger longer than they should, memorizing every curve, every subtle movement. he tells himself it’s just admiration, but the way his thoughts wander late at night says otherwise. the image of you is burned into his mind, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t escape it.

his fantasies are vivid, detailed, and deeply personal. he doesn’t just imagine holding you close or brushing his lips against yours; his mind ventures further, into moments that would make your cheeks burn if you knew. he’s thought about how your skin might feel against his fingertips, the warmth of your body pressed to his. he knows it’s wrong, but the idea of being the one to make you blush, to see the shy tilt of your gaze, is intoxicating.

he’s fascinated by the small, intimate details of your life—the scent of your shampoo, the way you unconsciously adjust your clothes when you’re nervous, the way your lips part when you’re lost in thought. it’s not enough to simply watch; he wants to know what it feels like, what it tastes like. the thought alone sends a shiver down his spine, a mix of guilt and desire twisting in his chest.

your photos are his most cherished possessions, though he’d never admit it aloud. he’s saved everyone he’s found, both those you’ve posted and those he’s taken without you noticing. they’re his solace on nights when his need for you becomes too overwhelming. his fingers will trace over the screen, wishing he could reach through and pull you to him, to claim you as his own in ways only he dreams of.

his touches are deliberate and lingering, though he always makes them seem innocent. a hand brushing against yours when you pass him something, a too-long hug where his hands press just a little lower than they should. he tells himself it’s harmless, that he’s just expressing his affection, but the heat that pools in his chest whenever he’s near you betrays his true intentions.

he’s memorized the way your clothes fit, the way they shift when you move, and he often imagines what lies beneath. it’s an intrusive, maddening thought that he tries to push away but can’t. he tells himself it’s only natural to wonder about someone you love this much, but the intensity of his fixation borders on obsessive.

his jealousy takes on a darker edge when he sees someone else earning your smiles or making you laugh. he imagines pulling you into his arms, pressing his lips to your ear, and whispering that you’re his, only his. the idea of someone else touching you the way he wants to sends a wave of anger through him, but it also stokes the fire of his need to claim you in every way possible.

he’ll leave little hints of his affection, gifts that seem innocent at first glance—a necklace that sits just right against your collarbone, a dress that hugs your body in a way that makes his heart race. he wants to see you wear them, to know that he had a hand in how you look, to feel like you’re his in some small way, even if you don’t realise it yet.

the nights he spends in your home without your knowledge are where his darker fantasies come to life. he’ll stand in your bedroom, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you sleep, his mind wandering to places he knows it shouldn’t. he wants to reach out, to touch, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm, but he stops himself. not yet. it’s not time yet.

he’s thought about what it would be like to have you entirely to himself, away from prying eyes and other distractions. a place where you wouldn’t need anyone else but him, where he could show you just how deeply he feels for you. his fantasies are tinged with possessiveness, imagining you looking at him with flushed cheeks and soft whispers of his name, the way only he would ever deserve.

he knows your body as well as he knows your habits, even if he’s never touched you the way he dreams of. the way you stretch when you’re tired, the curve of your lips when you smile, the smooth expanse of your neck—he notices it all, cataloguing every detail to revisit later in the privacy of his own mind. you’re a living masterpiece, and he’s the only one who truly appreciates every stroke of your beauty.

his obsession isn’t just emotional; it’s physical. he craves the warmth of your body, the softness of your skin, the way you might gasp if he were to press his lips to yours. it’s a hunger that grows stronger with every passing day, consuming him until he’s left trembling with the sheer intensity of his desire. he tells himself he’s patient, that he can wait for you to come to him, but his restraint is wearing thin.

he imagines the way your voice would sound, breathless and needy, calling his name. the thought alone makes his heart pound, his breaths shallow. it’s a dangerous game he plays, teetering on the edge of madness, but he can’t help himself. you’ve become his addiction, his obsession, and he knows there’s no turning back.

he loves jerking off to photos of you taken by him. he flips through the steamy photos on his phone, a wicked glint in his eye begins undoing his pants, freeing his rock-hard erection. a low groan escaping his lips as he wraps a hand around the thick shaft and starts stroking it slowly.

steals your clothes. he's practically grinning maniacally as he rummages through your dresser, his fingers trailing over the fabric of each garment with a possessive touch. he snatches up your most intimate items - panties, bras, and even that cute little skirt from last night - holding them to his face and inhaling deeply before tucking the stolen clothes into his bag like precious treasures.

—

the sound of footsteps trailing behind you wasn’t unusual. you had grown accustomed to the presence of people bustling through the streets or even just the echo of your own shoes against the pavement.

tonight, though, something felt...off. the streetlights flickered overhead, casting long, thin shadows that seemed to stretch and waver unnaturally. you clutched your bag tighter as a cold breeze cut through the air, the faint rustle of leaves amplifying the eerie silence.

unbeknownst to you, a figure lingered a safe distance behind, his breathing steady, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that bordered on fanaticism. he had followed you every night for weeks now, taking meticulous care to remain unseen.

you never noticed the subtle changes in your routine—the slight chill in your room despite closed windows, the faint smell of cologne that wasn’t yours, or the way your things never quite seemed to be where you left them. he made sure of that.

when you finally reached the safety of your apartment, fumbling with your keys, a wave of relief washed over you. the feeling of being watched dissipated the moment the door clicked shut behind you. you didn’t know he was already inside.

hidden in the shadows of your closet, he crouched silently, listening to your every move. your obliviousness only deepened his obsession.

he had memorized your schedule down to the minute. he knew the way you stirred your coffee in the mornings, the playlists you hummed along to while cleaning, and the books you kept on your bedside table. each detail was etched into his mind as sacred knowledge, proof that you were meant to belong to him and only him.

his fingers itched to touch the belongings he had stolen—your hairbrush, the shirt you thought you lost, even the empty chapstick tube you tossed away without a second thought. they were treasures to him, pieces of you he could keep close when he couldn’t have you entirely. not yet.

you were so kind, so trusting. it amazed him how naive you could be. When he brushed past you in a crowd, intentionally grazing your shoulder, you had offered an apologetic smile as though it were your fault. when he sent anonymous gifts to your doorstep, you accepted them with gratitude, never questioning their origin.

you had no idea who he was, but he knew you. he knew everything. He watched as you unknowingly consumed his devotion and smiled sweetly, blissfully ignorant of the storm brewing just beneath the surface of his calculated calm.

the days passed in a blur. you noticed small things—a lingering glance from a stranger at the café, a text from an unknown number asking if you’d gotten home safely.

you chalked it up to coincidence, even as unease began to settle in your chest. little did you know, he had orchestrated it all. the stranger wasn’t a stranger at all. The text wasn’t random. everything was deliberate. everything was for you.

one night, you woke to the sound of something clattering in the kitchen. heart racing, you crept out of bed, clutching your phone tightly. the light from the hallway illuminated the edge of a shadow—a tall figure, unnervingly still. your breath hitched.

before you could scream, a hand clamped over your mouth, and you were pulled into an unrelenting grip. his voice, low and desperate, whispered your name like a prayer.

"shh, it’s me," he said, as though that explanation should bring you comfort. "i couldn’t stay away anymore."

you thrashed against him, but his hold was iron. His tone turned sharp, frantic. "stop. please don’t fight me. i've done everything for you. don’t you see that?"

your heart pounded in your chest as his words spilled out in a torrent of obsession. he spoke of how he had protected you, how he had eliminated those who dared to insult you, how he had waited so patiently for this moment.

it didn’t make sense—none of it did—but the sincerity in his voice was chilling. He believed every word.

when he finally loosened his grip, you stumbled away, trying to catch your breath. his golden eyes shimmered with something between adoration and madness. he took a step closer, and you backed away instinctively. "don’t look at me like that," he pleaded. "i’m not a monster. i love you. i've always loved you."

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. fear constricted your throat, making it impossible to form words. he noticed your hesitation, and his expression darkened.

"you don’t understand now," he said softly, almost to himself. "but you will. i'll make you see. you don’t have to be afraid of me—i’d never hurt you. i'd only hurt anyone who tries to take you from me."

your legs trembled as you pressed yourself against the wall, desperate to find an escape. he tilted his head, watching you with an unnerving calm. "you’re so beautiful when you’re scared," he mused. "but i don’t want you to be scared of me. i want you to love me back."

the realization of how deeply unhinged he was hit you like a wave. this wasn’t just a stranger breaking into your home. this was someone who had been in your life—lurking in the periphery, shaping your reality without your consent.

you had no idea how much he had already taken from you, how much he was willing to take to keep you his.

and he wouldn’t stop. no matter how much you begged or how far you tried to run, he would always find you. because in his eyes, you were already his.

you are his world, his everything. and in his mind, that’s not obsession—it’s love.

note: if you would like to be added to the yandere oc taglist pls just ask me!! dont be shy

taglist 🏷️: none so far

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!

[rainsinheaven-if]

PLAY THE DEMO

Last updated: March 7, 2025 - and includes the prologue + chapter 1 with 14K words (without code)

Warnings: Blood and injuries, sexism, profanity, temporary character death, child neglect, parental physical and emotional abuse, optional sexual content, and more. Suitable for ages 16+. List will be updated in the future.

This game is in early development and a work in progress. There may be future changes to location names, plot etc.

You’ve never felt loved by your family before.

Born a twin but feeling more like a shadow, you’ve watched your younger brother, Nolan, receive all the love and praise you were denied. But no matter how unkind you are to him, Nolan’s loyalty and kindness towards you remains unwavering. It’s as if there’s a bond pulling you back everytime you think of leaving it all behind.

Now a mysterious illness has swept through Valorian Kingdom’s royal court, leaving many nobles, including the king at death’s door. The Oracle’s prophecy offers a single hope: the Crown Prince must gather five lost souls to join him in a dangerous journey towards Coven’s Swamp, an ominous and foreboding area hidden deep within the mystical forest.

You are chosen to be one of those five.

As you venture deep into the forest, the journey will push you to the limits of courage and loyalty, forcing you to question everything you believe about family and love. This might not just be a journey to save the day, but a journey towards self-discovery for you and everyone in your group. So when the journey ends, will there be anything left of the person who first stepped into the darkness? 

Customize your MC! Change your appearance and control your personality. MC starts out as female, but there will be transition options.

Grow a relationship with your twin! Choose to either continue being unkind to your twin brother or getting to know him instead. Your MC's relationship with him may affect some major events.

Develop relationships! There are six romanceable characters - 3 male, 2 gender selectable, and 1 non-binary. Or you can avoid romance and keep it all platonic.

Learn and improve your skills! With the option to choose to focus on offensive or defensive magic, you can learn and improve your skills to become better at what you do.

Find yourself! Journey through the mystical forest to not only find a cure, but to self-discovery. There are plenty of secrets to learn about that may or may not change the way you think and feel.

More to be added…

Below are the six romanceable characters in this story. You can choose to flirt with everyone, but at one point, you'll have to decide on one. Also keep in mind that there are other important characters as well that are not listed here.

Ver/Vera Forrest | Gender Selectable | 21

Playful and energetic with golden-retriever-like energy, V is always ready for adventure. They never fail to be there for you when you need someone to rant to, or a shoulder to lean on. Their cleverness and sneakiness keeps them out of most trouble due to the way they were raised. And it’s exactly how they are raised that has made them hide their burden under their positive enthusiasm.

You are best friends, so why don’t you know any of their secrets? 

Oliver Astoran | he/him | 21

With a cold demeanor, Oliver holds a strong desire to protect the people he cares about, especially those whose kindness is exploited. Your unkind treatment towards your brother causes him to despise you. You are always able to press on the right buttons to rile each other up. He shows a strong sense of determination that marks his mental and physical strength. But perhaps there’s something more to the reason behind his behavior than what the eye sees.

Will you ever be able to see him in a different light, or will it just be fighting, fighting and more fighting?

Ethos Van Winston | he/him | 22

Burdened by the responsibility of being heir to the throne, Ethos is reserved, guarded, and serious. As a child, he was once carefree and one of your closest friends. But after an incident that left unspoken, lingering tension between you two, he now elicits a melancholic presence. His warm side is hidden away somewhere, and you wonder if there was more than just the incident that made him change.

You weren’t the reason he changed… right?

Theodore Eaves | he/him | 24

From a young age, Theodore’s life has been defined by duty and training. He’s mature for his age and has a tendency to act like an older brother to you and the group. He’s well disciplined and stoic, rarely having time to express vulnerability. His focus on duty has left him oblivious to romantic interest, despite his admired reputation due to his looks and status. His obliviousness goes further though, for reasons that he himself hasn’t fully discovered and understood.

Will you ever get to see a vulnerable side of him, instead of just that brotherly figure?

Mattie | they/them | 19

Curious as ever, Mattie often gets themselves into trouble. But with their charming personality and resourcefulness, they’re able to get themselves out of trouble. They are playful, enjoying the work of teasing others and instigating drama to get chaotic, and hopefully flustered, reactions. Their skills and knowledge about the forest have proven him to be a good asset, but there is more to them than what meets the eye.

For someone who is so bright and playful, they can’t surely have anything to hide, right?

Yaran/Yara | Gender Selectable | 22

Nobody is sure they know who Y is. They seem ambitious, cunning, and deceiving; doing risky things to achieve their own goals at the cost of someone else’s pain. They are unpredictable, popping in and out of your group - sometimes being a guide, but other times hindering progress. Despite their ambiguity, they are charismatic and mysterious enough to leave your group intrigued. All there is to do now is truly learn who they are and what they have hidden inside.

Who is Y and can you trust them with anything, especially your life?

ROs Profiles | Discord

music inspiration

This is my first attempt at creating an interactive fiction game and using Twine Sugarcube. Please be patient and kind <3

Shares are appreciated :)

[misssakuramochi]

A SENKU x READER DRABBLE

Synopsis: Normally, you're perfectly happy to idle away at Senku's side as something of an assistant, helping wherever he might need you. It's not until a few hard-hitting comments by the campfire that you start to think you might be overcrowding your favourite scientist.

Requested by: A Lovely Anonymous Requester

Request: 'I am sorry I am distrubing you but do you open for request now? I apologize if Iam impolite but if yes, can I request drabble of senku x reader (dr.stone) where reader is a clingy person who follow Senku everywhere and do things Senku ask that are within her ability. Reader love language is physical touch though doesn't show it to Senku because afraid of annoying him. Basically , How do you think Senku will react if Reader suddenly doesn't cling to him anymore because afraid of annoying him.'

Age Rating: N/A

Warnings: Topics of insecurity and self-doubt

Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

There was no way to sugar coat it, or any more flattering way to splice it; you were, for better or for worse, clingy. You knew it - Senku knew it - everyone knew it. It wasn’t a secret you exactly tried to keep hidden. Mindful as you tried to be of others social energy and where it might not align with yours, you couldn’t help but find your days more enjoyable when you had those you cared for at your side to enjoy them with you. It wasn’t always romantic - you tended to cling to your friends, too, often finding yourself craving the company of some manner of companion over the entertainment of your own thoughts. Of course, that wasn’t to say it was entirely unromantic either. Once the spark of attraction was lit, you couldn’t help but crave the attention of the person who interested you most over that of anyone else. So, once you had finally realized just how much you had come to like Senku, you had begun to find it hard to keep yourself apart from him.

Very much contrary to yourself, Senku wasn’t a person for such sentiments. He had a goal in mind, and if he wanted to finish it in time to see it come to fruition he had a lot to get done. For better or for worse he was level-headed, practically minded, and extremely logical. If spending time with someone would take away from his goals, he wasn’t going to be inclined to do it nearly so often, enjoy their company or not.

Drawbacks as they may have had, the machinations of Senku’s mind were something you’d come to love about him. His over-logical, straightforward responses often triggering fondness in your chest where others may have faltered under his blunt-faced words. Respect his nature as you might, though, none of that stopped you from wanting to spend time with him. So, you resolved ever-simply to make yourself useful.

It wasn’t as though that was a particularly tedious goal for you to start. It had always been important to you to be useful, to help the people you cared for however you might be able to. After the world’s descent into stone it was more important now than ever to work together, anyway, so helping Senku rebuild what was lost hardly seemed to be any sort of burden.

Before long you’d earned yourself the honorary title of Senku’s loyal assistant. Though it was a name first given to you in jest by Gen, who’d opted to poke a little fun at you for your ever-obvious feelings for your mad scientist of a leader (and he had been chastised rather quickly by Senku for it) it hadn’t taken too many more days of you following around after Senku to help with whatever work he happened to find for himself for the nickname to catch on. 

It had embarrassed you at first, a little, to be called out so bluntly for the way you followed Senku about, admittedly a bit like a lost puppy. But, behind the teasing words were kind smiles and supportive friends, and soon you’d settled into the moniker. Once you’d begun to take the jabs with teasing pride Senku’s disdain for them all but seemed to disappear, the joke becoming commonplace.

A loud voice pulled you from your reminiscence and a slight inclination of your head brought Yo into view, arms waving enthusiastically above his head as he beckoned you to join the group he sat with at the fireside.

“Yo! It’s [Name]! Rare to see you out of the lab. Senku finally pass out on his paperwork?” The bellowing laughter that came to follow would have told you Yo was drunk even without the wafting smell of stone-age alcohol that coated him like overapplied cologne, hitting you like a wall as you came closer. Still, rambunctious as he got, he wasn’t… bad, exactly. So, even as a bulky arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you into a sloppy, sideways hug, you just gave Yo an awkward smile.

“Oh, no, he just told me I should take a break. We’ve been working since lunch so I thought maybe I’d bring him someth--”

“Ahhh, that’s rough!” Yo’s sudden exclamation took you by surprise, especially as one dramatic arm (the one that wasn’t still holding you in a drunken embrace) raised to hold his brow, lips downturned in a deep frown, “No wonder you came to grab a drink, eh? You! Go get them a double.” Though you initially met Yo’s apparent sympathy with blank-eyed confusion, the solemn nods of the others around the fire had your brow slowly curving in concern. While the agreement of Yo’s men was questionable, even Magma and Mantle were nodding along as if witnessing some unspoken tragedy that you, despite being the star of, had yet to be informed about.

“Can’t say I blame him though. A man needs some space every now and again.” Magma’s shrug, heavy but dismissive as he threw a clean-gnawed bone into the fire, put together the missing pieces for you.

“Hey, don’t feel bad. Don’t get me wrong, Senku’s a good guy but he’s like. Weird, you know? Here, don’t beat yourself up.” Though Yo seemed to pick up on your shift in mood as your face fell, and you knew he was well intentioned as he pushed the drink he’d had one of his subordinates fetch you towards your face, but the acidic smell of alcohol against your nose burned like insult on top of injury, and as your mind swirled in new-found paranoias you found your feet moving, quickly untangling from Yo’s light grip as you found yourself needing to be anywhere else.

“Um, sorry I’m not really thirsty. I have something I need to take care of, so…” Polite as ever you tried not to trip over yourself as you made your exit, struggling to keep your voice even over the lump aching in your throat. Too distracted to catch the way Yo turned to chastise Magma, you found your thoughts all-encompassing, your walk back to the small hut that served as your sleeping quarters a blur of whirling emotion and the strained effort to hide it.

You had been trying, for a long time, to tell yourself that you weren’t a bother. There were others in the village who were stronger than you, smarter than you, more dexterous and more inventive. But, you had always told yourself that none of that mattered. Maybe you couldn’t be as intelligent and persistent as Senku and his unwavering spirit; maybe you couldn’t be as quick to learn and improvise as Chrome; maybe you couldn’t be as fast as Kohaku, as strong as Magma, as charismatic as Gen, but if you could just be useful, it didn’t matter. If you could just help everyone, anyone, in whatever way you could, you had told yourself that that would be enough. But, maybe you were a liar. Maybe all of that, all of those thoughts, were nothing more than an elaborate way to free yourself of the guilt of trying to steal all of Senku’s time away for yourself; of being deeply, whole-heartedly selfish. Were you even trying to help him, anyone else, at all? Or did it just benefit you?

It would be those thoughts that kept you paralyzed for the next week. Each temptation to find Senku, to check in on his progress or see if he might be in need of a hand, was met with the icy thought that he may very well prefer that you didn’t. Hesitation held a cold grip on your heart, squeezing when you pictured the confrontation. If you asked Senku if you were a bother, you knew he wouldn’t lie to you. While Senku’s honesty usually made you feel safe, right now you couldn’t help but admit that it scared you. And so, you found yourself spending your days shying away from the lab you’d spent the last several months in, time spent with the others keeping you sated and perhaps sane as they drove away the chattering demons of self-doubt. Living to keep the demons at bay led you into a pattern of monotony, empty-eyed and unenthused as you painted on a smile you knew wasn’t as convincing as you wanted it to be. Still, it was better than being a burden.

It was the final evening after your week of reclusion that you finally felt something other than cold emptiness and choking depression; hysterical terror. Though, this stint of horror was blessedly short lived.

When the end of your work days came you had, as of late, found yourself longing for the thoughtless bliss of sleep almost desperately. Shrugging free of your clothes as you walked into the mud and straw building you’d come to call home you’d drop into a bed of straw and wait for the darkness to come. It had become such a standard routine that, when it was broken, you thought yourself viable to have a heart attack. Stepping into a dark home and hanging the leather overcoat that kept you warm through the change of seasons and seeing movement in the dark would have been enough to set you on edge; the lighting of your bedside candle from across the room made you scream.

“Wh-- hey, it’s me! Calm down!” Standing at the opposite end of your hut, illuminated now in the flickering orange of candlelight, Senku had the audacity to look annoyed by your reaction to his break-in. As you stared at his familiar, flat expression you found your fear begin to ebb - only for it to flow back as your eyes caught the shadow cast on the wall. In the unsteady light of a tiny flame his hair swirled in angry shadows behind him, limbs overlong and twitching; Senku, and the version of him you’d been so afraid to face. It didn’t look like he was going to let you run anymore, either.

“What are you doing in my room?” Senku’s frown only dipped as you posed your question, eyes locking with yours with a stern hardness that told you he wasn’t here to play games with you.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Seeing you open your mouth to protest Senku raised and hand and continued, not giving you the opportunity to defend yourself; he didn’t want to waste time with the argument, “You’ve spent approximately 10 hours each day in the science lab working on projects with me each month up until last week - when you stopped coming altogether. You also haven’t been to any of the places you normally go, which means you’re avoiding whoever might look for you there.” Senku’s eyes dared you to challenge him, crossed arms speaking of his rigidity. Still, with your shoddy plans and simple intentions laid so plainly bare, it was hard to find any genuine argument.

“Well?” His simple response in the face of your downtrodden guilt snapped your eyes back from the floor to his, the casual, brow-quirked expression on his face only surprising you further. He hardly seemed upset - just impatient, perhaps as his hands found his hips and he inclined his head slightly towards you, “What did I do?”

This time your shock seemed to surprise him, too. Still, you couldn’t help your wide-eyed stare as, once again, the pieces clicked into place. You’d fit in the ones Magma had given you before, but you hadn’t stopped for even a moment to consider if they were even a part of the right puzzle. So overwhelmed with self-doubt and anxiety, you hadn’t stopped to see if they added to the right picture. While you’d been busy drowning yourself in your own tears, Senku had been trying to figure out how he’d upset you.

“N-no, Senku, it wasn’t--”

“Seriously, don’t bullshit me. If you’re mad at me I can’t fix it if--”

“Senku.” It wasn’t often that you spoke so softly and so genuinely, old habits of smiling to appease and speaking to placate carrying over even in this new world. It took Senku off guard to hear you speak his name that way, your smile somehow both guilty and earnest as you finally crossed the room to stand closer to your friend.

“I mean it. You didn’t do anything.” As his eyes pushed you for explanation you found yourself becoming bashful, gaze escaping his as nervous hands began to play with grown out strands of your hair as if you'd find an excuse less embarrassing than the truth within their tresses, “I just got worried that I was bothering you so I decided to give you some space.”

Senku’s eyes, narrowed as his lips pursed to push out a small hum, told you that explanation wasn’t quite enough for him - he could tell there was more, and he wasn’t about to let you go with any unspoken turmoils. Not after he’d gone through all the effort of learning your ever-changing schedule to corner you just to address them.

“Yeah? Who told you that?” The way your shoulders stiffened at the question told Senku immediately that he’d hit the right nail, and rather directly. It made him pause, for just a moment, thinking about how you specifically must have felt being made to think of yourself as burdensome; he was quick to sigh off the dull ache it caused in his chest, shrugging to himself. He’d found you and cleared the issue, which he supposed was all that really mattered now.

“Yo and Magma said that maybe… I should give you… space…” Senku had finally been ready to let it go when you opted to answer. The way he looked at you as you spoke, though, took away what little steam you’d had starting the sentence. Mouth having cocked ever so slightly ajar as brows flattened and eyes focused in on you, Senku’s reaction to this information was obvious. It did little to ease your embarrassment when his words came out to echo what his face already spoke clearly.

“You took advice from Yo and Magma?” Despite himself Senku found a grin quirking his lips as your cheeks tinged pink, pouting over your light-hearted embarrassment at having your actions laid bare so logically. As you began to whine about his assessment, Senku found himself unable to hold back a laugh. He couldn’t deny that you were cute.

“Look.” The sudden serious shift to Senku’s tone took you off guard once more, pout-protruded lips parting as you snapped back to genuine attention, “You don’t bother me. If I needed more time to myself I’d just say that.” Though the casual way he scratched at his ear feigned ease, you knew he was trying to settle your nerves.

“Besides,” Senku’s grin turned sharper as his voice took on a teasing lilt, fingers raising to give your cheek a teasing pinch, “who’s going to test out all of our experiments if I don’t have my assistant with me, huh?” As often as others had referred to you as Senku’s assistant, he’d never admitted it himself; hearing the words from his mouth made your heart clench and you moved despite yourself as your arms came to wrap around Senku’s waist, pulling him in for the hug you’d been aching to give him for ages.

Much as Senku groaned a mild complaint about the overly-emotional contact he made no move to resist you, fighting only the smile that threatened to show his thoughts more honestly on his lips than he wanted, for the moment. Rather, he allowed you your moment, reciprocating by means of a somewhat stiff hand resting atop your head.

“If you’re worried about something just talk to me about it. That makes the most sense.” Even under the light chastisement you just smiled, nodding into the loose leathers of Senku’s clothes. You’d spent more than enough time to find comfort in his bluntness, knowing he had just as much told you not to be stupid next time as he had told you that he was there to support you, and he didn't want you hesitating to rely on him.

“Thanks, Senku.”

“Yeah.” A soft scratch to your hair made you hold tighter, and Senku was quick to take to surprise.

“You can let go of me now.”

“One more minute.”

“Eh?!”

xxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Hello Anon! Please do not worry, my requests are open and I am always happy to have more things to write! You were not rude at all. Thank you for your request. I hope you like how it turned out!

As always, thank everyone else who took the time to read as well, and I hope you enjoyed just the same.

Safe travels, readers!

[7s3ven]

MAFIA AU! TASK FORCE 141 x MOB BOSS GF! READER

( master list )

Continuation of this

Do y’all want individual oneshots of how you met each of them?

Notes: reader has piercings (ear lobes and navel piercing + gets a tongue piercing), reader has tattoos (tramp stamp + shoulder)

Princess treatment… only the best for their sweetheart.

- There’s nothing these four men won’t do for you. Oh, you want more clothes? Price is already contacting a high-end boutique. You’re favourite YSL heels broke? No worries, Kyle has a back-up pair. You want a tongue piercing to match your navel one? Jonny is already making the appointment. You want a specific type of lobster that’s only found in a foreign country? Simon somehow has it on hand.

- The day you decided to get tattoos is the day Simon stopped functioning. He had his fair share of ink plastered on his skin but he can never look away from that damn tramp stamp on your lower back. It’s hard to concentrate when you stretch and your shirt rides up, giving him a clear view of the taunting tattoo

- It’s no secret that everybody is jealous of your relationship with your boys and vice versa. You’ve seen women eyeing your lovers, attracted to their muscles and tall height

- Trips to the mall are your favourite thing in life. They always have been. It gets better when your lovers start accompanying you. You’re on the phone, rattling to your friend about her unhealthy relationship with her boyfriend

“I don’t see the appeal in him anymore, Miae. I mean, he’s like, a total jerk.” You pause to take a sip from your iced tea, “He doesn’t even treat you with respect. That’s like, the first rule of being a boyfriend! On top of that, his cologne reeks. I literally drown in it every time I’m near him!”

- You best believe your boyfriends are trailing behind you, secretly listening to the conversation and agreeing that Miae should breakup with whoever this guy was

- You’re carrying multiple shopping bags as you stride forward, people subconsciously making a path for you. You look a spoiled heiress with four large bodyguards towering over everybody

- Price, Kyle, and Simon aren’t usually interested in gossip but when they hear about your gossip nights with Jonny, they have to join. They end up listening to you rant about a rather sticky situation your friend is in and when they see you next, they always ask for updates

- Online shopping is a must. What kind of girl would you be if you weren’t debating whether to buy that skirt or not?

- Your apartment has always been… messy. You never find the motivation to clean it and even if you do, you get overwhelmed quickly. Gaz intervenes most of the time, cleaning it for you. He cooks too. And bakes. Anything to see a pretty smile on your face

- Of course, Price bought you the apartment. It was the best (and biggest) one for sale

- All four men have a soft spot for you, doing things they usually wouldn’t just to hear your laugh. And they are the masters of cheering you up when you’re on your period

- If anyone dares flirt with you, it’s over for them. It’s an unspoken rule within the city that you belong to the TF 141 mafia

- The four men love seeing you dolled up. Most of the time, you’re wearing items they’ve bought you. You treat the Dior bag Simon gifted you like a damn puppy

- You are their whole world and you know what they say; ‘happy wife, happy life’. Sure, you aren’t married yet but it’s bound to happen soon. Your friend swore they spotted Price and Simon looking at rings

- Anything you want, you get, which includes new nails. Price adores paying for your nail appointments. The sight of you staring down at your decorative nails in awe when you think he isn’t watching is adorable

- Johnny isn’t so innocent. Yeah, the nails look good but they feel even better being raked down his back

- Kyle is the one surprising you with flowers. You once returned to your apartment only to find it overtaken by nature. He even leaves cute little notes in hidden spots

- Simon is… Simon. He’s not doing outwardly romantic gestures, choosing to keep it behind closed doors. His way of showing his love to you in public is keeping you close, a strong arm wrapped around your waist. Sometimes he lets you sit on his lap, his leg bouncing as a way to preoccupy himself while you scroll through celebrity drama

- They’ll be damned if they let someone else sweep you off your feet. It’s not like you’d leave willingly anyway. They spoil you too good and you feel too safe in their arms to even think of leaving

[heartfullofleeches]

Always the Bridesmaid

Male Ghost Darling Prologue

Word Count: 1.7k

[Major Character Death, Angst, Darling is a male who wishes to dresses and hinted to appear more feminine]

-

Stolen words sow seeds of resentment and hatred in an affair never meant to be. 

In school, the pretty ones received the most attention. 

Friends, admirers, confessions hidden between the pages of their books and in their lockers. The old you would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous, but the spotlight was not what spoke to you in whispers.

“Oh my god- Oh my god… Y/n… He asked me to be his date for prom! He said I was the prettiest thing he'd ever laid his eyes on…” 

Pretty…

Within the sanctity of your mind, just one time - you dreamed that someone out there would use the same words to describe you. 

Beautiful. 

Angelic.

Irreplaceable. 

All the lyrics sung by the infatuated heart of your best friend's secret valentine. The mystery of his identity was solved after the first note. It wasn't your intention, but you couldn't help but point out how similar the writing looked to a boy's that sat behind you in math. The two of you hardly ever spoke, but after passing his tests to the front for a quarter of the year, you wouldn't mistake that handwriting for anyone else's. 

You'd later find out your best friend had had a crush on him since her family moved into the house next to his. It stung to witness how protective over him she was, but after pinning over the same person since you were small - you guessed you'd be a little overbearing if your feelings were reciprocated after all this time. 

-

It was like a fairytale. Your best friend as the common maiden transformed into a princess for one evening, and her prince waiting with bated breath at her arrival. 

“If your feelings for me are the same, meet me in the corner of the auditorium. I'll be waiting for you with baby's breath.” 

You'll never forget the look as you both walked into together. Like he had seen the stars for the first time in all of his years. The twinkle in his eye dwindled as your friend rushed forward to embrace him. Still, he welcomed her with open arms. 

As the night ended, she left with him on her arm, while you stood alone with his jacket draped over your shoulders. He had noticed you shivering even with that puffy jacket of yours and offered it to you as they left. 

You begged on your hands and knees for the teachers to give you a minute along while you searched for something you had forgotten. Ensuring that you were the only soul in that auditorium that night - the stuffy hoodie you wore the entire night was ripped clean of your body and tossed into the ether.

It wasn't much. A cream shirt dress your friend had lent you for the occasion. In the dimmed light of the room, the dress almost appeared white. It wasn't much, but in that single moment - swirling to your heart's content til the stage lights above you sparkled the same as a starry night sky-

You felt…

“Gorgeous…”

The voice was barely audible over the music blasting in your ears.

“Forgive me… Think my keys are still in the pocket of my coat… It looks like you're having fun in here all by yourself… Would be nicer with company.” 

Your heart hammered in your chest. Your best friend was the only one who knew. You didn't know him. Despite what he said, there was no telling what he would say tomorrow with his boys. 

“May I have this dance?” 

His outstretched hand may as well been a dagger to you - a bundle of the same flowers he gave your friend rested in his palm. She wasn't with you, so why had the light returned to his eyes as he gazed endlessly into yours. You were scared. To this day, that fear lingers deep in the trenches of your chest. 

Collecting your discarded hood, you rush out of the auditorium as quickly as your feet will carry you - never looking back.

-

The events of that night were not a blip on your relationship with your friend's new boyfriend. As a matter of fact, the three of you were practically a trio. You were often the third wheel on their dates. If he bought her something, you frequently received a duplicate- sometimes before she received hers. The gifts were primarily sweets and stuffed toys, but there were a few outliers.

“This skirt is for me?... You know I'm a guy.. Right?” 

“Well aware.” 

You figured he was just being nice. After the whole fiasco at prom, there was no hiding from him. He knew your exact measurements and everything. She must've helped him. 

-

With college rolling around, it appeared as if their bond was growing by the day. Upon the confirmation that you all would be attending the same school, your best friend took the big leap herself and proposed to her boyfriend of almost two years. He never looked at her once as he spoke. You were standing right behind her. 

“I'd give my very life to spend even a day more with you. To have you by my side forever would be a dream come true.” 

You couldn't be happier for the two of them.

Venue hunting, cake testing, dress shopping. As the brother she never had, and the second most important man in her life, you joined her for it all. As you were out shopping for a day centered entirely around herself and her groom to be, your friend had one big surprise for you. 

“Pick one.” 

“I….I can't.. What if?...”

“If anyone says a word to you or even looks at you the wrong way I'll drag them out myself if I have to. You're not just my best friend, Y/n. You're family. And you deserve to be with us, comfortable in your own skin.” 

You already knew she accepted you as you were, but it was the first time you felt seen.

The pleasantries didn't end there-

Spirits high from the touching moment between you and having found the perfect dress for her on only the second day of searching, your friend had one more gift for you. 

“Try it on.” 

“W-what? But it's your-”

“And someday you'll wear one on your big day. That's what you want, isn't it? A glimpse into your future won't hurt, will it?”

It wouldn't. Even if there's no one waiting for you at the altar, you've always wanted to be that picture perfect bride on top of wedding cakes.

With tear eyes, you sit before her vanity as she dresses you - styling your hair for the veil's crown, painting your lips with a glossy shine that bleeds through the cloth’s transparency, shading your eyes with a shadow that would steal even the toughest hearts with a single glance. 

“How do you feel?” 

You don't just feel it. 

You are beautiful. 

“You could've been the one marrying him instead of me. Just thinking about that makes me so jealous…” 

Her words fly overhead as you gaze longingly at yourself in the mirror. 

“I….I think I have some jewelry in the basement that would suit you nicely. I'll be back in a minute!” 

Jewelry?...

Rising up from your seat as she departs, you dig through the contents of your book bag - fingertips lacing the plastic band of a fake ring you won months prior during an outing with your friends. You had an inkling the games at the arcade were rigged which is why you were lacking in tickets. It was between that and a piece of candy. Your best friend's boyfriend thought it was the funniest thing if he proposed to you with it in front of everyone. 

Slipping the ring onto your ring finger, your image is complete. No greater amount of jewelry would change how ethereal you were. The veil hid your insecurities, imperfections that with emotional growth and age you'd come to accept and love about yourself. Once you love yourself, perhaps you'll seek a love like that shared between your friend and her soon to be.

Your heart swells in your chest, it beats as if its readying to burst-

Enriching the blood that streams down your torso like the tears of a bride abandoned at the altar. 

It hurts.

Your legs give out before the pain fully registers. 

You gasp, every ragged breath growing wetter with the blood filling your throat. Through the veil's mask, you cannot see your attacker's face. You can hear it- The virtual rage and anger in their snarl, poison seething through their clenched teeth. 

“I can't stand the sight of you.” 

They grip the veil’s crown.

“For two years I've lived this lie. All while he's been right next to me this whole time.” 

Your hands perch over your chest in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding - a foretelling of your impending fate. 

“Did you really think I'd ever be happy with you?” 

Your vision flickers as the veil is torn clean - your worst suspensions proven true. You couldn't forget that voice. 

“....”

“....Y/n?” 

All the anger, the bottled up spite and disgust depletes from his body as he crumbles to the ground behind you. The additional pressure to your wounds does little to stop the bleeding. It's already too late.

“Y/n?.... Y/n?! No, no, no! What are you doing here! It was supposed to be her! It was supposed to be her….”

It's raining. Droplets rain down on your palling face as he slips his fingers between yours - a puzzle that fits perfectly in place. His finger rolls over the cheap, fake ring on your finger - the droplets increasing in frequency. 

“It was always supposed to be you. Ever since I saw you from her window. I've always… but she… she took every note. Even ones I didn't write. Everyone knew how beautiful you were.”

That can't be true…

“Am I… Am…I still….?”

“Yes, my love. You are, and always will be - the most beautiful person anyone has ever seen.” 

With those words you could die in peace. 

But there is someone who will never let you rest.

For as long as his soul still resides on this earth without you by his side.

His everything. 

His bride.