#I hate you red light face masks

[unicornicopia1]

Fear of aging is getting so extremely out of hand and I’m sick of it

[heich0e]

"so... how's work?"

you accidentally click the edge of your wine glass against your teeth as you tip it back, jarred by the strange question from the man standing at your side. you swallow the tiny mouthful of wine you manage to sip, turning to look at suna in bewilderment.

"work?" you ask him incredulously. "why are you asking me about work?"

suna rintarou doesn't care about what you do for work. truthfully speaking, you're not sure he even knows what you do for work—you certainly don't remember ever telling him, and the memory would stand out quite starkly considering all you ever seem to do when you run into him is bicker with him uselessly.

suna is a friend of a friend. or a friend of some friend's ex. or something. all you know is that every so often the two of you end up at the same social event, and there's something about the guy's face that just... makes you want to pick a fight.

and he has yet to turn down your instigation.

your friends all think it's funny—like you're some kind of comedy duo, and this is your special bit—but you don't see the charm in the slightest. you suspect they've started inviting you both to events just to have some entertainment.

"what?" rintarou asks, fiddling with his cellphone in his hand—pinching it between his thumb and his ring finger while he twirls it with his index. "i'm not allowed to ask about work? isn't that normal small talk for a christmas party?"

you're a little taken aback by his words. first of all, because he's right (which you hate). second of all, because he seems strangely defensive about it.

"normal for other people, maybe," you mutter, more to yourself than anything, before taking another tiny sip of wine. you swallow it, but somehow it doesn't help the dry feeling in your mouth. you're not sure you like this particular wine, you think, as bitterness clings to your tongue. "work is... fine."

suna perks up beside you at that, and you feel his eyes on your profile like he's waiting for you to go on.

"things get, uh... things get slow this time of year, so I'm mostly just answering stupid emails and ordering gifts online while i sit at my desk." you swirl the glass of wine in your hand, watching the way that the light catches in the deep red surface. "my section chief has kids and loves the holidays, so she's been pretty checked-out lately, herself. makes it easy to get away with slacking off."

you risk a glance over at him, and are somewhat dismayed to find him listening intently.

"must be nice to get a little break," he offers.

"yeah, i guess," you reply. your words are in agreement with him, but still your brow furrows.

what the fuck is going on?

you look around the room, as though checking for a hidden camera, or some other sign that might give away what the hell this guy's motives are. but around you is simply a room of friends enjoying each other's company—sipping drinks; eating finger foods the hosts had been carefully set out to graze on; chatting amongst each other about their lives, their holiday sweaters, their work.

everything seems totally normal, other than what's transpiring in the quiet corner where you and suna rintarou find yourselves standing side by side.

"how is... your... work?" you manage to ask, though it sounds as though the question is pulled from you with considerable effort. stiff and strained in every way a question so innocuous doesn't have any right to be.

suna laughs a little under his breath, masks it with a clearly fake cough, and then rests his hand over his mouth. he's smirking. you know he is. he's revelling in every second of your discomfort like the twisted little freak he is.

you're about to tell him as much, but he cuts you off.

"it's good," he replies to your pained question with an unexpected sincerity. "we're coming up to the half-way point in the season, so training is still pretty intense. we do get a day off for the holiday though."

right, he's a volleyball player. you'd learned that upon your first meeting, before your opinion of him was quite so hostile. you remember thinking at the time that he looked like a volleyball player—tall, lean, with big hands that made the beer can he'd been holding look almost laughably small in comparison.

you glance down at those hands again, still idly fidgeting with his cellphone. he's not drinking a beer tonight, and you wonder if maybe it's because he's in the middle of his season.

you think about asking him.

but you don't.

suna seems to be waiting for you to say more, but when you don't, he continues on the conversation himself. "i thought about taking the train to hyogo for the day, but it wouldn't really make sense just to go visit for a few hours."

you take another sip of your wine. you decide that you do not in fact enjoy it.

you hum a bit, ditching your mostly full glass on the edge of a table that rests within reach. "tough to just make a day trip, especially since the weather's so..." you trail off, gesturing vaguely with your now empty hand in a way that's supposed to indicate the unreliability of the winter climate.

suna laughs.

you look at him in confusion.

"the weather?" he asks you, rubbing at his mouth again like he trying to hide the expression underneath his fingertips. it might work if his eyes didn't crinkle at the corner when he smiles. "we're talking about the weather now?"

your lips part indignantly at his jibe. he's the one who'd initiated this hellscape of small talk, and now he had the nerve to chide you for it?

"oh, i'm sorry," you guffaw, feigning remorse, "is there some pressing matter you'd rather discuss?"

rintarou dips closer to you from his greater height, and the fact that he's so much taller than you are only irritates you more.

"there is actually," he says with a nod.

"oh, yeah?" you roll your eyes, gearing up for a fight. you turn to face him properly, tilting your chin up to meet him eye to eye without wavering. "and what's that?"

"are you aware that we've been standing under mistletoe for the entirety of this conversation?"

you slowly look overhead.

like something out of a horror film, you find that for once in his life (or at least the few months you've known him) suna's chosen to say something factual. overhead, a little bundle of mistletoe has been affixed to the ceiling with a piece of tape that seems to barely be hanging on—the decoration at risk of falling at any moment.

you feel sick.

"so what?" you ask him, swallowing down that feeling of dread and maintaining (what you hope is) an air of indifference.

"so that means we're supposed to kiss," he tells you matter-of-factly, almost a bit pointedly, like he can't believe you didn't know.

"i'm aware of that," you hiss. "i don't, however, bend to the whims of plants, as a general rule."

"weird rule," he remarks, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

you feel a throb of irritation behind your eyes.

"you're the one who came over here to bother me," you point out. "if you knew there was mistletoe hanging up there, that means this is your fault."

suna shrugs a bit.

you keep going, your pulse thrumming beneath your tongue and fanning the flames of irritation churning in the pit of your stomach.

"if anything, that makes you the weird one for coming up with some scheme to trick me. we're not children. if you wanted to kiss me so bad you could have just aske—"

"can i kiss you?"

what?

"i asked if i can kiss you," rintarou says, and you're not sure if that means you voiced your thought aloud or it was just plainly written across your face. he inches closer to you, and though you would usually shift away to accommodate for the intrusion, the table where you'd discarded your glass of wine keeps you mostly trapped in place. pinned. cornered. "you said that if i wanted to kiss you, i should ask. so, i'm asking if i can kiss you."

why?

suna sighs after a moment of contemplating the look of abject shock on your features, slumping forward and resting his forehead on the wall beside your head, caging you against the wall with his lanky frame. you can't breathe with him this close—too startled by the proximity and the warmth radiating from him to even think about drawing air into your lungs. too confused by this entire situation to meet your basic human needs.

"you really don't get it, do you?" he asks quietly. he's so near that you feel his words more than you hear them—especially since they were spoken so quietly just next to your ear.

"get what?" your own voice sounds distant—sounds strange—to you when you finally manage to speak.

suna pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, and you're shocked to see just how pink his face is. he looks mortified—and desperate—as his eyes find yours. he tilts his face towards you, and when he speaks again you feel the warmth of his breath break against your lips.

"you're the only person in this room who i'd enjoy listening to talk about the weather."

and it's not until much later, when the lingering bitterness from the wine has been replaced by something much sweeter (though entirely unexpected) on your tongue, that you realize rintarou was the only person in the room tall enough to reach the ceiling.

a/n: for nana, who forced me to write this entirely against my will but whom i love dearly in spite of it

[ohodie]

SETTLE DOWN!

luke castellan x reader

★ “for crying out loud, settle down!”

ABOUT - you hate his guts. he hates yours. but you’d by lying if you said you didn’t want to make out with him until his lips start bleeding. and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like that idea.

WARNINGS - sexual references, sexual comments, enemies to lovers, steamy makeout scenes, no explicit smut. both luke and reader are very horny and very mean sooo two red flags lol

A/N - please don’t make fun of my english/australian vocabulary. i know americans don’t use the word ‘fit’ but LET ME LIVE IN PEACE!!!let me know if you’d fancy a part 2 <3

WC - 3.7k words

it’s hard to recall when exactly your distaste towards luke castellan first developed.

maybe it started off as rude comments and shoved shoulders, or simply the act of tripping over each other's shoes, paired with a few nasty glances. either way, you hated his guts.

this sentiment was obviously returned by luke, who was eager to constantly egg you on and rile you up. maybe he found it amusing- watching the ever so calm and collected eldest daughter of the hypnos cabin going absolutely ballistic whenever luke did something slightly annoying. he loved the way her mature and gentle persona shattered as soon as he provoked her.

it was rather strange how quickly they let their masks slip, letting themselves shout foul obscenities at each other as soon as a conflict arose between the two of them. it was like being near each other was the primary catalyst for their arguments and squabbles- not the actual contents of the disagreement itself, but the players involved.

curiously, luke’s terrible attitude was never extended to anyone other than you. around everyone else at camp half-blood, luke was the perfect gentleman. warm and welcoming to anyone who happened to walk past him, a great swordsman, well-kept, respectful and polite, the list goes on. he was perfect. but as soon as his eyes met yours, his entire body shifted. he became something colder, something ravenous- something hungry. he was out for blood, he just didn’t understand why.

you were slumped over a picnic table near the cabins, tiredly observing all handful of half-blood kids from various cabins making friendship bracelets.

it was dark out, the moon and the embers of the nearby fire acting as the sole providers of light for the camp that night.

truthfully, you didn’t want to be there. you would rather be in bed, coddled up between your sheets for hours before heading down to the infirmary to help out the younger kids with their sleeping troubles. maybe afterwards you could go down to the theatre and join in on a few songs with the apollo kids, or even practice sparring with clarisse.

whatever it was, you didn’t want to be there. not with luke castellan’s eyes studying your every move. you didn’t need to lift your head to know he was looking at you- you could feel it. the arrogance was radiating off him and you could smell his pride from across the picnic table. your nose easily picked up on notes of wet grass, a neutral deodorant, pure spite, and vanilla candles.

after what seemed like an eternity, you eventually shot your head up to meet luke’s unwavering gaze.

“someone’s sleepy.” he smirked, his voice calm and cold. he looked satisfied; content with watching you slowly rise in anger as he began to coddle you and patronise your every move.

you ran a hand through your hair, fixing the messy state it was in after laying down for so long. “i’m not sleepy, just bored.” you retorted, letting your hands hold up your head as you stared deeply into his eyes, not breaking eye contact.

luke played along, refusing to blink as he picked up on the competitive gesture. “bored, huh?” he mused, shooting you a cocky grin as he leaned forward over the table. “you’re never satisfied, are you, princess?”

you rolled your eyes, letting your pupils meet the back of your head as you stifled a groan. you slowly covered one side of your face in your hand, hiding your pink cheeks as a result of his use of the nickname ‘princess’.

“don’t you have a loser convention to get to?” you asked, referring to the cabin councillors meeting that he was supposed to be at.

luke shrugged, looking to his side as he watched a young demeter boy making a bracelet. “got cancelled. now i get to look at your pretty little face for an hour straight.”

“i’m going to bed.” you grumbled, standing up from the picnic table, an unfinished friendship bracelet left discarded. you walked away, hearing little to no protests from the rest of the table.

luke’s eyes met the bracelet you left behind, studying it for a moment. the colours were cute and the beads were placed strategically along the string, creating an interesting and visually pleasing combination of textures and shapes. luke’s hand wandered over to the bracelet, quickly snatching it before securely tying it and stuffing it in his pocket.

luke wasn’t sure why he stole the bracelet. maybe he thought he could taunt you with it, or maybe he could just wear it for shits and gigs. it was a pretty bracelet- why wouldn’t he want to wear it?

a week passed by, and it was time for capture the flag.

luke had consistently come out of the games a champion, securing his place as the best swordsman at camp half-blood whenever possible.

you were tired of it. you promised yourself that when the opportunity arose, you would beat him to it. you would earn the praise he revived so effortlessly.

your determination to win capture the flag was also partially encouraged by the events of the previous tuesday.

you, luke, and a few other older demi-gods were forced to monitor the younger campers on a trip to the nearby lake. simple, right? wrong.

things went south fast when luke ‘accidentally’ nudged your shoulder a bit too hard, forcing you to fall into the lake. luckily, you were a strong enough swimmer and were able to get back on land safely.

“sorry about that, y/n. maybe next time you should keep out of the way?” he leaned in close, whispering in your ear.

luke smirked lightly as his dry hand rubbed the soaking wet and now transparent fabric covering your shoulder. his lips softly grazed your neck as you released yourself from his grip, shooting him a dirty look.

“you should watch your step, castellan. things like this happen to anyone.”

luke scoffed, looking you up and down as he took in the sight of your shivering body. “do they now?” he asked, his head turning to follow your figure as you walked past him.

as you walked away, luke couldn’t help but study your body as it became revealed by the fabric of the camp t-shirt sticking to your skin. how could he not admire the way he could see the vague outline of a lacy black bra underneath your top? or the way your wet hair was framing your angry little face? how you stared him down as your friend offered you a towel.

if you weren’t so acutely aware of how your figure was on full display, you would’ve pushed him in as well- but you were way too infuriated to even get close to him at this point… as well as the fact you didn’t think you could handle the idea of him taking off your shirt in front of you, all wet as his hair let water droplets roll down his torso.

maybe you could handle hitting him with a baseball bat a few times, but the idea of his face all beaten and bloodied was strangely appetising as well.

in all fairness, luke’s actions were not unprovoked. it’s not like you didn’t also tease him and fuck around with his temper.

for example, the very day before the incident at the lake, you had used your abilities as a daughter of hypnos to put him to sleep… for 19 hours, causing him to miss out on camp activities and lose hours of valuable training time.

you felt pure bliss watching him as he stepped out of the hermes cabin, confused and disoriented as hoards of campers instantly surrounded him.

“are you okay luke?”

“i heard you were in a coma!”

“we thought you were a goner,”

luke blocked out the concerned comments of his peers as soon as he caught you gazing over at him from the deck of the hypnos cabin.

with that ‘i got you good’ smirk plastered across your face, luke knew he had to get you back. getting to see your semi-exposed and cold, shuddering body in the process of doing so was only a bonus.

he felt a high from getting to see what he caused. what he did to you. it made him hungry for more. how else could he anger you? get you to show him more? how could you return the favour? would you? he didn’t know if you realised the effect you had on him- but he was going to do anything in his power for you to feel it too.

but those incidents were nothing compared to what was about to go down.

2 hours into capture the flag, and you had managed to fool and scare off enough members of the blue team, causing many individual members to go off track. those hours practising sword fighting with clarisse were definitely worth it.

you leaned against a nearby tree, closing your eyes for a moment as you fiddled with your sword. lost in thought, you heard something coming. more specifically, someone. you didn’t even have to open your eyes to know who it was.

“oh, hey castellan. isn’t it past your bedtime?” you asked, rubbing your eyes open as you lazily swung your sword back and forth.

luke scoffed, taking a step towards you. “i think i like you better when you’re drenched in lake water.” he smirked, looking into your eyes without breaking contact. he couldn’t look away. it wasn’t even because he wanted to intimidate you; he simply couldn’t stand to have you exit his field of vision. not right now, at least.

you look a step backwards, getting into position as you use your shield to protect yourself. “are you gonna try to maim me or what?”

luke took another step forward, mirroring your stance as he took the defensive. “and hurt your pretty little body? i’d rather die.”

you turned red, your mouth agape as you processed what he had said. “excuse me?” you spat, your voice breathy as your eyes widened.

“you heard me,” he smiled innocently, deceiving you before beginning to attack. you blocked every move, pacing around the area as you swung your sword at him. “you’re such a fucking prick!” you grumbled, trying to catch your breath as you struggled to mark him with your blade.

“language, princess.” he scolded, still smiling at you as he continued his attempts at disarming you.

that was the moment when you realised something.

you can play dirty.

not with your sleep-themed party tricks or your weak little fists, but with the power of unpredictability. the element of surprise.

you let him get closer to you, pretending to settle down before him. luke chuckled at the sight of your loosened grip on your shield and increasingly tired eyes, noticing the way your footsteps shuffled backwards and forwards.

“someone’s getting tired-“ his cocky sentiment was quickly cut off by the feeling of your hands tightly gripping his arm- his shock only furthering as your teeth dug into the soft skin on his wrist.

he instantly dropped his shield, his sword still held firmly in his other hand. you quickly released him from your bite, taking a step forwards as you put your weight on his shield. “ow- what the fuck?!” he stammered, looking up at you with red cheeks and a bleeding hand.

you were stumped. you hadn’t thought further than getting rid of his shield. “i didn’t mean to break skin to be honest. sorry.” you shrugged, picking up his shield and throwing it far away while he was still frozen in shock.

luke continued looking at you, silent as he became overwhelmed by the feeling of a ruthless war finally coming to an end within his mind.

obviously, he found you attractive. you were a pretty girl. sure, a lot of girls at camp half-blood were pretty. but for some odd reason, he thought you were much prettier. the type of pretty girl that deserved to be called cute nicknames every day and covered in gentle kisses every night. he wanted to kiss you softly, hold you tightly, say you looked gorgeous, make you tacky beaded bracelets that were the same colour as your eyes. he wanted to make you feel loved.

but he also thought you were a brat. always teasing him and only him. driving him insane with targeted comments and insults. purposefully making him look stupid in front of the younger campers and even patronising him for it. luke wanted to put you in your place. he wanted nothing more than to push you onto his bed in the dead of night, marking you as his. he yearned to hear your strained voice whimpering his name as he towered over you. he wanted to exchange knowing glances and pretend nothing had changed, despite the images of your hands gripping his bedsheets as you let out stifled moans etched into his mind.

luke often wondered how the two could overlap. how the fuck could these two perceptions of this one girl coexist? but luke didn’t wonder how it was possible to think about anymore, he didn’t care about that. now, he wondered if it was possible to act on both of his separate desires for her. he wondered if she even wanted him as much as he wanted her- if she wanted him at all.

“hey, i said i was sorry for making you bleed!” you called out, snapping him out of it.

“stop sulking! what, do you want me to kiss it better or something?”

luke blinked for the first time in what felt like centuries, shrugging as he let a sly smile creepy onto his face. “oh, im not sulking.” he insisted as he stepped closer towards the shorter girl.

he extended his wrist out towards you, a deep and bleeding bite mark engraved into the skin. “you gonna kiss it better, or…?”

you turned red, shaking your head. “i was just joking, castellan.” you murmured coldly, trying to avoid his gaze.

he kept his hand extended towards you, temping you to just take it and kiss it to get him to leave. “fucking loser…” you grumbled, holding his hand in yours as you gave his wrist a soft kiss.

“there, better?” you scoffed before luke’s hands began to tightly grip your wrist, spinning you gently onto your back as he pushed you to the ground, hovering over you. luckily, you still had your sword in your hand. you quickly moved it in front of you, holding the blade close to his neck.

“be careful, princess” he cooed, his sword digging into the dirt ground, standing upright in is position as the skin of your right thigh pressed against the blade. his hands gripped your shoulder and waist, keeping you bound to the floor as you began to squirm under his grip. “ugh, are you kidding me?!” you huffed, your face red from the feeling of intimacy between the two of you arising.

luke was basking in it, relishing the moment as he became almost addicted to the feeling of your skin against his. he let out a hitched breath, his eyes trailing down her frame as he finally realised just how close they were. the vulnerable yet stubborn look in her eyes set off a switch in him. you watched him curiously as he suddenly became a flustered mess, quickly scrambling off of you and standing up.

you lifted your back off the ground, using your hands to rid yourself of the dirt that had accumulated on your shirt.

“are you gonna explain whatever the fuck just happened, luke?” you asked, calling out to him from your spot on the ground.

he rolled his eyes, turning around to face you. “shit, y/n- are you fucking stupid?” he questioned, his voice reeking of irritation and frustration. you furrowed your brows, standing up as you approached him, sword and shield in hand. “oh, alright. forgive me for wondering why the dickhead who threw me into a lake a few days ago was pinning me to the ground in the middle of capture the flag for no reason?” i explained, seething as i pushed him back by the shoulders.

“what the fuck is your problem?” you asked again, letting yourself back him up against a nearby tree.

the game didn’t matter to you anymore. what mattered was getting to the bottom of why this prick was fucking around with you. sure, you liked how it felt being pushed against the ground. you liked the feeling of his blade pressing against your thigh. but you liked the boy more than his actions. you hated yourself for it, of course. this was the dude who’s been teasing you about and pushing you around for 3 summers straight- so why the fuck did you think he was the fittest guy you had ever laid your eyes on?

why did you want him to run his hands through your hair? suck on your neck till it went purple? why on earth did you spend countless nights dreaming about him holding you close as he slept next to you?

you were the eldest hypnos daughter at camp half-blood. you could’ve changed your dream easily; came up with literally any other fantasy at the drop of a hat- but you didn’t. you let it continue. because as much as you hated to admit it, you liked him. you wanted him bad. every last inch of him.

luke let your words echo through his mind for a bit. ‘what is my problem?’ he thought, his expression blank as he stared at you. “i don’t know, y/n! maybe my problem is you?” he said, his voice strained, yet still snarky and somewhat dramatic.

you rolled your eyes again, stepping forward. you kept your hands on his shoulders, pressing him further against the tree he was pinned against. “i’m your problem?!” you asked angrily, holding your sword against his neck once more.

“yes! you make me feel fucking weak.” luke confessed, gripping your wrist tightly as he pushed your hand away in order to create some space between his neck and the sword. “i can’t control myself around you.” he exclaimed, pushing his hand against yours as you retracted the blade from his neck.

“you bring out the worst in me, and i hate you for that.” you arched your brows, leaning forward. “that sounds like a you problem.” you quipped, defeatedly pushing the top of the blade of your sword into the ground as you let your newly free hand grip his chin- forcing him to look down at you.

luke’s hand wandered over to your face, his thumb softly grazing your bottom lip as you tilted his chin downwards, letting him look you in the eyes.

“don’t act like you don’t get exactly what i mean, princess.” he cooed, his voice low as his fingers traced over your lips and cheekbones, his other hand gently caressing your jawline as his fingertips wrapped around your neck.

you grumbled, standing on your toes to reach his height. “you’re a prick.” you scoffed, your eyes fluttering closed as you eagerly kissed him on the lips, his cheeks turning red as he mirrored your movements. he let his hands run through you hair, his other hand resting on your waist as he turned you around- pushing you against the tree now.

his hands ravenously scattered across your delicate frame, trying to feel every curve and dent on your face, back and waist. you pressed your body against his as his hands travelled across your form, closing any and all distance between the two.

after a few straight minutes of violently making out, you pulled away for air, staring into his eyes as your lower lip trembled in shock. you both tried to steady your breathing, lost in each other's eyes as your heartbeats returned back to normal.

“i’ll kiss you again if you turn around and let us win.” you said quickly, the offer seemingly the first thing you could think to say.

luke stayed quiet for a moment, before bursting out into hesitant laughter. “i mean, that’s a pretty good offer…” he said softly, letting his fingers trace your facial features as he studied the colour of your eyes.

“sure.” he said, a little smile on his face as you both leaned in again, the kiss a lot more passionate this time around. you held a clump of his hair in your hand, lightly pulling on on it as luke’s fingers jumped between gripping your neck and shoulders- the other hand running up and down your waist and hips.

you felt his knee hit the bark of the tree, slightly bent as it lightly pressed against the inside of your thigh. that’s when your hands began to grip the back of his shirt, your lips gliding down to the side of his neck. quiet moans escaped luke’s lips, only encouraging you to keep going. he moved his hand downwards, tracing circles into your hips as he moved his other arm hand upwards, cupping the space on the side of your breast with his thumb, lightly rubbing your ribcage.

the moment was only increasing in intensity- before luke was cut off my the sounds of someone calling his name. he quickly pulled away, leaving a gentle kiss on your lips before stepping back.

“right, time to hold up my end of the deal.” he chirped up, leaving one more needy kiss on your forehead.

“oh, by the way-“ he paused, before quickly pulling the bracelet you made the week before out of his pocket. “did you want this back, princess? or can i have it?” he asked cheerfully, his voice low as he looked over you.

“keep it.” you said hastily, your cheeks a vibrant shade of red. luke nodded, giving you one final kiss on the lips as he put the bracelet on the same wrist you had bitten earlier. he gave you a subtle wink and a smile, before jogging away- leaving you frozen in place.

you could hear him talking to his friend from a distance, noting on how he lied to effortlessly- saving your arse over a few kisses.

needless to say, the red team won capture the flag. but luke couldn’t bring himself to care about losing. how could he care about anything other than y/n and her hands and her smile and her eyes? her witty comments and remarks? the way she tilted her head up to look up at him? the way his face fits perfectly in her palm? how could he care about anything else ever again?

[jaylalolz]

❛ 𝐌𝐑 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 ❜ . . . nicholas chavez

ENEMY!reader x ENEMY!nicholas

SUMMARY, Nicholas didn’t enjoy attending parties, but he was forced to attend one. he immediately is drawn to a fascinating girl he saw, with a mask, only to discover that she is his only enemy.

WARNINGS, smuttyyyy

A/N, i love this plot sm. i hope you guys enjoy!! make sure to heart and leave a comment 🪽

The Halloween party was full, the throbbing beat of the music vibrating through the walls of the old house. Fog machines puffed clouds of smoke that snaked between costumed dancers, and the flashing strobe lights made it hard to tell where one person ended and another began. Everyone was masked, faces hidden behind elaborate disguises. Nicholas stood near the edge of the dance floor, observing the chaos around him through the dark eyeholes of his Ghostface mask.

He hated parties, hated the noise, hated the feeling of people crowding in too close. But what he hated most of all was her. Yet here he was, lingering on the outside because she was supposed to be here tonight. He didn’t know why it mattered—maybe he just wanted to see what kind of ridiculous costume she’d chosen. Probably something overly dramatic, like her personality.

Nicholas tugged at the sleeve of his black robe, adjusting the plastic knife in his hand. His friends had laughed when he chose the Ghostface costume, saying it was cliché. But right now, he was thankful for the anonymity it provided. He could watch, unbothered, shielded by the mask.

He scanned the room. People twirled and laughed, faces painted in ghoulish shades of makeup, masks obscuring their identities. Then he saw her.

She stood at the bar, her dark curls cascading down her back, black lace gloves covering her hands as she leaned against the counter. She was dressed in a black corset, the burgundy velvet of her skirt flowing around her legs. Her lips were painted a deep red, and even through her masquerade mask, Nicholas could tell she was trouble.

He didn’t know who she was, but there was something magnetic about her. Something familiar, though he couldn’t place it.

His feet moved before his brain could catch up, taking him toward the bar where she stood. She was sipping from a crimson-colored drink, her eyes scanning the crowd with an air of detached amusement.

Nicholas cleared his throat as he approached, and she turned to look at him, her gaze flicking over his Ghostface costume. She raised an eyebrow, but there was a hint of a smirk playing on her lips.

“Nice mask,” she said, her voice smooth, but there was an edge to it, like she wasn’t easily impressed.

“You too,” he replied, though he had no idea what her costume was supposed to be. He wasn’t exactly up to date on vampire shows or whatever dark, gothic look she was pulling off.

She tilted her head, her eyes glittering beneath the mask. “Katherine.”

“Ghostface,” he shot back, earning him a chuckle.

Without another word, she downed the rest of her drink, then slid the glass across the bar. Her gloved hand extended toward him, a playful challenge in her eyes. “Dance?”

He hesitated for a second. Dancing wasn’t his thing, but something about her made it hard to say no. Maybe it was the mystery, the way her body moved with fluid grace, or the way she didn’t seem to care what anyone thought. And that smirk—it was infuriatingly tempting.

He grabbed her hand, the warmth of her fingers a surprise through the lace gloves, and let her lead him onto the dance floor.

The music shifted to something slower but still pulsing with energy, the bass thrumming through his chest. Around them, people swayed, masks blending into the darkened space, the flashing lights creating a disorienting blur of color.

She moved in closer, her body pressing against his as they danced. Nicholas felt the sharpness of her hips against his as she swayed, her arms snaking up around his neck. The contact sent a jolt through him, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he moved with her, their bodies falling into rhythm.

For a moment, he forgot about everything—the party, the rivalry, the irritation that always bubbled under the surface when he thought of her. All that existed was the masked woman in front of him, and the strange pull between them.

She tilted her head up, her lips barely an inch from his ear. “You dance better than I thought.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Nicholas muttered, his voice low, but there was no venom in his tone. It was strange, the way she was getting under his skin, making him forget about the person he usually was—the person who was always at odds with someone else.

“Big talk for someone hiding behind a mask,” she teased, her breath warm against his neck.

“You’re one to talk,” he shot back, his grip tightening on her waist. The banter felt effortless, but different. There wasn’t the usual bite to it. Just an undercurrent of something electric.

She let out a low laugh, her body pressing even closer, her hand sliding up to his mask. “What if I take it off?”

He froze, his heart thudding. For some reason, he didn’t want her to know who he was. Not yet.

“What if I don’t want you to?” he replied, his voice a little rougher, his thumb brushing over the fabric of her glove.

She paused, eyes flicking up to meet his through her mask. For a moment, the space between them crackled with tension—like they were standing on the edge of something neither of them quite understood.

Instead, her lips curled into a small, knowing smirk. Without a word, she nodded toward the stairs, a silent invitation.

Nicholas hesitated for a second, his thoughts tangled. Should he do this? But something about the way she moved, the subtle tilt of her head. It felt different. More dangerous.

And despite every instinct telling him to walk away, he found himself moving toward her.

She turned and started up the stairs, her skirt swaying with each step, and Nicholas followed, his heartbeat quickening. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he couldn’t stop himself from being drawn into whatever this was. The rest of the party faded away behind them, the noise muffled as they climbed higher, leaving the crowd below.

At the top of the stairs, she paused, glancing back at him with that same mischievous smile. "Coming?" she asked, her voice a little breathless, though still laced with challenge.

"Do I have a choice?" he muttered, his tone sharp, though his feet kept moving toward her.

"You always have a choice, ghostface," she replied, her gaze flicking over him like she was daring him to turn back.

But he didn’t.

She led him down a quiet hallway, stopping in front of a door that was cracked slightly open. Her fingers brushed the doorknob before she pushed it open wider, revealing a small, dimly lit room. It looked like a guest bedroom, draped in soft shadows from the single lamp in the corner. The sound of the party downstairs seemed miles away now, the noise distant and muted.

She stepped inside, casting a glance over her shoulder. "So," she said, her voice lower now, softer, but still carrying that familiar edge, "was the dance everything you expected?"

Nicholas stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, the click of the latch loud in the quiet space. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with careful eyes. "What are you playing at?"

She shrugged, moving to the center of the room, her fingers trailing along the edge of the bed. "Who says I’m playing?"

"Why did you invite me back here," he shot back, his eyes narrowing.

Her lips quirked up, but it wasn’t the smug smile he was used to. There was something else there, something more dangerous hiding just beneath the surface. "Wanna play a game, Mr ghostface?," she said quietly, turning to face him fully.

Nicholas swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

"Yes" he says, his voice more certain than he intended.

She stepped closer, her fingers brushing lightly against his chest. "Simon says.. lay on the bed" Her eyes searched his, her hand lingering over the fabric of his shirt.

Nicholas tensed under her touch, his heart pounding. Every fiber of his being told him this was a trap, that she was playing with him. But another part of him, the part that had spent the entire night dancing with her, wasn’t so sure.

"Okay" he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He lays down right at the center of the bed.

She looked up at him, her eyes dark. She starts crawling to him in all fours and sits on his crotch; making him gasp. “Wanna make a deal with the devil?”

Her words hung in the air between them, thick and heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. Nicholas felt his pulse quicken, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

Before he could think about it any longer, she was closer, her breath warm against his neck as she looked up at him. Her hand slid up, fingers lightly grazing his neck. "What’s the matter, Ghostface?" she murmured, her voice teasing but softer now, more intimate. "Scared of a challenge?"

But instead, he reached out, his fingers sliding through the soft curls at the back of her neck, pulling her closer. "I never back down from a challenge," he whispered, his breath mingling with hers.

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable, and for a moment, they were frozen, caught between something much more dangerous.

She took a slow, deliberate lean closer, looking up at him with that same devilish smile. “Simon says.. take my corset off”

He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, but then his hand moved finding the ribbons on her corset and untying them. She didn't move, her eyes locked on his, and the air between them crackled with tension.

"Good boy," she said softly, her lips curving up into a satisfied smile.

“Tell me you want this.” she demands

He nods his head eagerly. “Y-Yes i want it..” he says softly.

"You wanna grind a bit baby?" she smirks in interest. He nods in desperation, dying for it at this point.

He undoes his belt and is about to undo his jeans. His bulge is visible when he unzips, but it is kept hidden by his briefs.

He gently begins to rub himself up and down against her as he rubs his confined erection against her covered core. Her lips parted with an involuntary whimper into his as her gut clenched a sharp knot at the sensitivity.

Her lips twitched at his mercy, pressing herself up against him through the flimsy covering they wore. Her legs began to expand, which allowed him an enormous amount of access. He stretches out his hand to take a firm hold of her hair. "Fuck sakes—that feels good." she responds, pushing his bulge up and down.

He grabs her throat with a forceful motion and turns them over onto the large bed. He reaches down into her panties and runs two fingers up her slit while hovering above her. "Are you soaking wet for me, princess?"

He touched her clit, and she parted my lips. He holds her throat, caressing her core with his fingers.

"You sure you want this?" For the last time, he says. She nods rapidly, aching all over now and pleading to feel him. She cusses, unable to wait any longer, "Please fuck me."

He slowly presses his hips forward while maintaining his position. He drives his tip inside her calmly, her body stretching around him. "Fuck..." He lets out a low sigh.He gives a deep sigh of relief as he pushes just past the head, freezing with just enough. Along with the sensation came a surge of intense pressure and pleasure.

He tries to ease her into the change very slowly, rocking with only half of himself.

“Shit.." He whispers to himself. "You're so tight”

He continues to press until she eventually feels his hips reach the back of her thigh, which was now fully in contact with his chest. She threw back her head and stretched a little, gasping out as she was so full and tight around him. "I can feel you clench around me.." With a stutter of delight, he stammers into the air, the squeeze tightly holding him.

He begins to make more rhythmic hip movements. She felt a warm sensation of pleasure begin to flare up in her lower abdomen as he began to swear. She arched her back involuntarily, but he quickly secured her back into a flat position on the bed.

"Yes— right there." she cried out in pleasure. Her fingers came in contact with her mask as she yanks it out of her face.

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

It was her. His rival. The girl he couldn't stand-the one who always got under his skin, who infuriated him more than anyone else.

The realization sent a thrill of anger— and something else-coursing through him. “Fuck!” She presses against his shoulder as he loses control and grips the back of her neck, slamming her against him. She gasped at the abrupt angle, but before she could react, he grabbed hold of her and began thrusting up into her.

He shouldn’t have continued what he was doing when he realized she was rival his him. But instead, it motivated him to move more quickly. She slams her head back against the mattress. Her thighs quivering in his presence. She was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that she didn't say anything during the high.

She groans at the sensitivity even though she was suddenly exhausted by his sloppy and sluggish thrusting. She couldn't take her eyes off him, even if her lids were heavy.

He twitches inside her, then instantly releases his hold on her stomach by pulling out. Releasing in his climax, he was death grasping the bed cushion above and behind her head. his big hands gripping her sides and his head was buried in her chest.

“Are you gonna take your mask off?”

“I think It’s best If I don’t”

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 TELLING THEM THEY'RE PRETTY!

FEATURING: dazai osamu, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol

SUMMARY: telling the bsd boys that they're pretty! (wordcount: 3.5k; sfw; fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: i had cute dividers but this won't show up in the tags if use them D: ! i had sooo much fun with this! i hope you guys enjoy! :D

DAZAI OSAMU

You can’t seem to drag your gaze away from him. 

As a long day of work comes to an end, you rest your head on your arms and lean on your desk. Kunikida is still tapping furiously away at his computer, Tanizaki and Naomi are whispering about something together, Ranpo is sorting through his candy, and Atsushi and Kyouka are looking through files. But your eyes are tracing over Dazai Osamu as he leans back in his chair, lazily spinning and bobbing his head to the music he’s listening to. 

The setting sun casts an ethereal glow over him, his lips idly turned up and his lashes brushing his cheeks as rests his eyes waiting for the day to end. Dazai Osamu is pretty—you’ve always acknowledged that—but there’s something about the peace of this moment, the domesticity of the office and the ambience of the lighting that has you utterly enraptured.

He looks so at ease, and Dazai Osamu is never at ease. Even when he throws up that clownlike mask of his and spends his day entertaining under the guise of joy and humor, you can always see the strain in the corner of his eyes and lips. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible really—if you were anyone else, you’d miss it, but you’re not anyone else, much to his displeasure, because you know he hates how easily you can see right through him.

After a few minutes, Dazai peeks his eyes open—and you’re almost breathless, because his eyes are like melted honey beneath the sunset, warm and gentle, glittering with amusement. You think you can stare at him forever and never tire of it.

He rolls his chair closer to you, resting his forearms on your desk so that your arms are brushing and laying his head down on them so that his face is mere inches from yours, matching your position. There's a smile on his lips, soft and teasing as he whispers, "You've been staring at me for five minutes."

"Mhm," you agree, voice just as quiet as if to not disturb the tranquility of the office. You can feel his breath light against your face from the proximity he's laying at and you can smell peppermint on his breath from the candy you’d seen him swipe from Ranpo’s desk earlier when the other man had gone to speak to Fukuzawa.

“Is there something on my face?” he asks playfully, dark eyes glimmering as he waits for your response.

You can tease him back and say yes, as you usually do and is probably what he expects—and you fully intend to do just that but the words that leave your lips are not that. 

“You just look really pretty today,” you say softly, watching as his eyes widen just a bit at your words, pink dusting his cheeks. 

His lips part to say something but no words leave them. He opens and closes them a few times and you marvel because Dazai must know that he’s pretty from all of the attention he gets from women, so you don’t understand why he’s so thrown off hearing you voice it out loud. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him genuinely speechless before now.

“So you don’t think i’m pretty every other day?” Dazai pushes his bottom lip out into an over-exaggerated pout, recovering swiftly from your words, though you expected nothing less from him. But you can’t help but note that his cheeks are still a bit pink and there’s something indecipherable in his eyes.

“Prettier than usual,” you amend and watch as the flush on his cheeks darkens and he instead resorts to completely burying his face in his arms with a frustrated groan.

“I am supposed to be the flirt, bella,” he complains, voice muffled by his arms as he hides his face from your view. He cannot hide the way his ears have gone bright red, and you have half a mind to reach out and tug at them

You lift your hand to your lips to hide the giggle that rises to your lips, scooching your chair a bit closer so you can knock your shoulder against his. 

“I’m not flirting,” you say. “Just stating a fact.”

He turns his head to the side, just enough so that he can give you a heavy side eye—you can only barely see the red hue coating his cheekbone. 

“Not mutually exclusive,” he says grumpily, and you lean down to press your lips against his now exposed forehead, smiling softly as his eyes instinctively flutter shut and his body relaxes as the touch.

Then, you receive a pencil to the side of your head. You yelp as your hand flies to where it had made contact with you, scowling at your assailant who is none other than Ranpo, smiling widely as he waves at you and then motions to Kunikida, who is red faced and staring at the two of you. You can’t tell if it’s in embarrassment or anger.

“Not during work hours,” he snaps, and you realize that he’s definitely embarrassed, so you share a short look with Dazai, who has regained that mischievous look in his eyes as he glances over at Kunikida and back at you.

Without saying a word, or giving any other sort of warning, he leans in to press his lips against yours. It’s a short and chaste kiss, but his lips are soft and taste of candy, and you think you might be able to kiss them forever if you get the chance.

Now you’re the one flustered, you can feel heat rising to your cheeks as you stare at Dazai, who is evidently thoroughly pleased to not be the one uncomposed if the unscrupulous grin on his lips has anything to say about it.

He tosses you a wink before rolling his chair back over to his desk, animatedly complaining about Ranpo and Kunikida being lonely and bitter and getting in the way of Dazai’s chance at true love because of it—you only roll your eyes at his dramatics, as you usually do when Dazai goes off on tangents, but it’s with much more fondness this time. 

•••

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

You are not listening to a single word that he’s saying. 

It’s a dangerous situation to be in with Fyodor Dostoevsky, you’re sure he’s noticed by now and he will be petty enough to finish his brief about his plans and your involvement and then ask you to repeat what he said, but you just can’t focus. 

He tied his hair back, you note, still quite a bit awed by the sight. There are two locks framing his face and his bangs are falling between his eyes, but the rest of his hair, which has grown a bit long in the weeks that he’s been ardently preparing for the final stages of his plan, is pulled back into a lax bun. 

He looks so casual, and Fyodor Dostoevsky never looks casual. He’s dressed in a turtleneck and loose pants as he leans back in his chair. There’s a folder resting on his lap that he’s idly flipping through and he keeps glancing up at you occasionally, pale lips flat and violet eyes disapproving, but you just nod along to his words even though you know that he knows that you’re not paying attention. 

And you think, distantly, that you probably should be paying attention because he’s talking about your upcoming mission and what you should expect from it but you figure you’ll be fine—it’s a simple infiltration mission, nothing to worry about. And you’d much rather prefer to appreciate Fyodor’s rare repose than to listen him droll on about boring topics. 

Sometimes, you think if he just kept his mouth shut all the time, he’d be perfect. But you think you’d miss his sharp-witted comments and the lengthy debates the two of you have after a few glasses of wine.

He looks extra pretty tonight, even beyond the casual hairstyle and clothes and his uncharacteristically relaxed demeanor, and you think it’s because of the way the flames of the fireplace are casting an enchanting orange and red glow over his face. It makes the violets of his eyes burn alive in a way that they usually don’t, you’re far too used to the glacial visage they take whenever he puts his attention on someone. Every time he glances up at you, you swear that you can get lost in them.

“… And you are not listening to a word that I am saying, are you?” 

Fyodor is giving you the heaviest side eye as he finally calls you out, expression unamused. His brows are furrowed and his pale skin is taut with thinly veiled irritation.

“Of course, I am,” you dismiss, waving your hand. “Infiltration mission, detective agency, get close to the tiger boy.”

Fyodor looks distinctly unimpressed by your words, brows deepening—you figure you must have spoken wrongly, you probably shouldn’t have been so indifferent, and you bite back a sigh before reaching forward to press two fingers between Fyodor’s eyebrows, as if to forcibly smooth away his annoyance.

He blinks and draws back, out of reach of your arm, and then casts you an even more irritable look.

“You’re not taking this seriously,” he accuses. “This mission will be dangerous, you’ll be at risk of being exposed every moment you are in the agency and if you are exposed-“

“Your plans will be ruined,” you finish, forcing yourself not to roll your eyes. “I kno-“

“You could be killed,” Fyodor corrected, voice cold and sharp, and you look back over to him. He looks unusually intense, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the appearance that the flames of the fireplace are giving him as they flicker dangerously across his face or if it’s because he’s that displeased with you being distracted. Either way, you find your mind drifting again because wow. “Dazai Osamu is not a man to be taken lightly. When he manages to figure out who you are and what you’re doing, we will need an immediate extraction plan.”

“Careful, Fyodor,” you drawl, watching as his violet eyes narrow briefly, “almost sounds like you care.”

Fyodor’s lips twist but he doesn’t respond. You raise your eyebrows, he looks away. Your eyes shoot open.

“You have a bigger role to play,” Fyodor finally says, but he’s no longer looking at you. “You cannot be killed yet.”

“Yet,” you repeat, amused. Fyodor’s jaw tightens, he doesn’t look at you, his eyes are trained on the fireplace to the side of the two of you and you can vaguely see the flames reflecting in his eyes, burning ardently against the familiar violet.

You lean forward again, shifting off of the couch to sit on the coffee table between the two of you so you can reach him. You reach forward to brush your knuckles against his cheek—he doesn’t move away this time, but his eyes cut to the side to watch you carefully.

You don’t say anything for a moment, absently tucking one of the locks of hair framing his face behind his ear. His hair is soft, freshly washed—for once—it smells faintly of lavender and vanilla and you wonder if he stole your conditioner.

“You look very pretty tonight, Fyodor,” you say quietly, and then smile. “It’s hard to focus when you look like this.”

The expression Fyodor directs toward you is extraordinarily blank, except for the faintest specks of pink that glare compared to the pallor of his face. 

He shakes his head, looking away from you yet again. 

“… You cause me much suffering,” he murmurs, and somehow, you know that might be the closest you might get to an admission of love from Fyodor Dostoevsky.

You smile to yourself. “And you to I,” you say, voice a bit teasing, and then you add, “Now, can you tell me again what to look out for?”

The moment is ruined. Fyodor’s eye twitches and he’s giving you that unamused look again, and you think having him repeat himself might be a mistake because now you’re even more distracted, but Fyodor sighs and starts on his lecture again so you force yourself to listen.

It takes about three minutes for him to release a sigh of utter suffering when he realizes that your eyes have glazed over yet again. 

•••

NIKOLAI GOGOL

Nikolai has a wild sort of beauty about him. He’s unpredictable and dangerous, and it’s widely apparent in his frenzied laughter and chaotic behavior. His eye glitters and his teeth gleam sharply beneath the glow of the moonlight as he waves his hands around, animatedly describing to you all of the details of the things he’s been doing while you were away. 

Fyodor’s masterplan has involved Nikolai apparently taken upon an infiltration role at the ministry of defense—you think it’s a bold move for Fyodor to use Nikolai for such a tenuous mission, but he’s apparently been having the time of his life with it. Though he thinks his boss is deplorable and one of his coworkers has evidently pissed him off beyond repair, because now he’s telling you about how he’s been ‘pranking’ the man in righteous vengeance. 

You think Nikolai’s idea of pranking varies from yours, because you’re pretty sure him using his ability to break into the man’s house constitutes a crime not a prank. But you don’t have it in you to make that distinction when he’s so excitedly telling you about how every day he’s been going into his house to move around all of his stuff and hide some of his belongings to make the man squirm. He’s succeeding outstandingly in his ambition, if the videos he’s waving in front of you have anything to say about it. 

You watch as he frantically scrolls to the next video—“this one is the best,” he claims, as he has for every video thus far. You watch with an amused smile as his dark-haired coworker steps into his apartment and nearly starts crying when he realizes that all of his stuff has been moved again, scrambling for his phone to call the police, who have—according to Nikolai—apparently already told him multiple times that there’s nothing they can do about it. The video is shaking wildly, as if the person filming can barely hold the camera straight, and you’re convinced that’s exactly what it is because you can hear Nikolai’s muffled laughter coming from recording.

Nikolai naturally finds it much funnier than you do, half-way keeling over as he wheezes, his laughter shattering the peaceful night. The two of you are sitting at a park near the apartment that Fyodor had leased for you for the duration of the Yokohama operation. The moon is high in the sky, casting a bewitching glow over the lake in front of you and there’s a chill in the air—it’s a nice night all around, you think there will probably some frost dusting the grass in the morning but the cold hardly bothers you now with Nikolai pressed to your side as he laughs himself into a near-coughing fit over his harassment of his coworker. 

“Why aren’t you laughing?” Nikolai suddenly complains loudly, scowling at you, but even then he keeps having to bite back residual laughter whenever he glances back down at his phone. “It’s funny.”

“It is funny,” you agree. Nikolai gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you. “It is.”

“Then why aren’t you laughing?” Nikolai accuses doubtfully, and then adds, even more accusatory, “You hate me.”

You’re not sure why you aren’t laughing, honestly. Usually you’d be burying your face into his shoulder trying to smother your snickers, because even though you might not entirely agree with Nikolai’s idea of a prank, you can still find some humor in it. Because it is kind of funny. Kind of. 

But then you realize that you’re probably not laughing because you’ve been spending most of the night admiring Nikolai rather than listening to him prattle on about his escapades and watching his poorly recorded videos, so you can’t fully appreciate the humor in the videos. With his cheeks flushed from copious amounts of laughter and his eyes glowing with excitement, you think he’s very pretty tonight—Nikolai is always pretty, but the angle at which he’s sitting leaves the moon haloing behind his head, and maybe it’s just because you’ve missed him the past few weeks when you’ve been abroad dealing with a territory dispute with Tolstoy, but you think there’s something special about tonight. 

“I don’t hate you. I guess I’ve been too busy admiring you,” you finally say, a playful smile on your lips as you tilt your head to the side to look at him. “You look pretty tonight.”

Nikolai blinks, eyes wide and owlish as he processes your words. The longer he goes unresponsive, you acknowledge that a quiet Nikolai is far more unnerving than a loud and erratic Nikolai, you’d expected a more… theatrical response to your comment. A swish of his cape, him leaping to his feet with a twirl and an agreement, even just a wild laugh; instead, he looks away abruptly. He doesn’t even just look away, he physically turns his whole body away from you. 

You blink.

“Nikolai?” you ask, a bit astonished when he literally ignores you. You lean forward, trying to get a look at his face, but then he swivels around even more and your lips part in shock. “Nikolai.”

You’re only met with a face full of his soft white hair, impeccably braided, as per usual—you have half a mind to tug at it hard to try to get a response from him, but you aren’t in the mood for the lewd comment that would likely spill from his lips after. 

“Koly-“

“Poor me, poor me,” Nikolai suddenly cries loudly, “The little koshenya mocks me when all I do is try to make her laugh. Poor me, poor me.”

His hand flies to his face, melodramatic as he bemoans your alleged cruelty. You stare at him, mind trying to piece together what exactly is happening—Nikolai is always hard to predict, but you feel like this is a bit strange even for him, and that’s saying something. 

“… What?” you start to ask but Nikolai has thrown himself into a loud and theatrical tirade about how he doesn’t deserve such injustice and how he was only trying to make you laugh, and how it’s so, so cold-hearted of you to taunt him when this is the first time the two of you have seen each other in weeks. 

Nikolai is impossible to bargain with when he gets like this, so you only sigh and tilt your head up to the sky, his words flying in one ear and out the other as you wait for him to settle down on his own. 

Instead, you swear the world is against you because rather than settling down, he becomes increasingly more noisy and distressed, and his accusations become even more asinine. Now, he’s saying that you’ve always had it out for him and how you weren’t laughing at his jokes because you hate him and want to report him to the police and how he should tell Dostoy about your betrayal, or better yet, he should stuff you in his cloak and leave you there?

You side-eye Nikolai heavily as he continues on, slightly alarmed, but brush off the casual threat as just Nikolai being Nikolai. You don’t know how to shut him up, you think you might be out here all night listening to him, and now you’re the one bemoaning your fate because how did a simple compliment turn into this. 

Finally, an idea strikes. 

You brace yourself, questioning your sanity and your entire existence before you interrupt him with a loud, “Quiz time!”

Nikolai goes silent instantly, head snapping toward you, eye even wider than before. 

You think you’ve hit an all time low as you say, “Was I trying to mock you before?” Nikolai opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off before he can. “What’s that you say? I wasn’t? Ding ding! We’ve gotta winner!” 

You think Nikolai might be having an internal crisis. He’s staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time in his life—his lips are parted, his eye void of the usual mischief dancing in it. He looks as if he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what. 

You let out a long breath as you go to speak up again, but before you can, his eye is glittering again, sharp and dangerous, and his lips are curving up into a slow smile. 

Nikolai inhales and then he takes a complete one-eighty as he bursts into loud cackles and says, “Ahahaha! I knew you loved me!” as if he wasn’t just lamenting your irrational hatred for him moments before.

Your eye twitches. He begins a second tirade, this one far more embarrassing for you than the last. 

You regret everything.

[ilylovelyz]

⍣ ೋ the times they cried because of you

☆ includes ushijima, iwaizumi, atsumu, kageyama, bokuto

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI — he never cries. you met this guy when the two of you were young freshman in high-school, and you quickly became a good friend of his. that being said, you never saw him cry. even when the two of you began dating in your senior year, you still never did. years passed, and it was the same as the previous years. sure, he occasionally got upset, but even then, he still put on a stoic display, never really letting you in on that side of him. even at your wedding, he sure showed some emotion but he didn't cry. then came the birth of your first child.

"she's so cute, isn't she 'toshi..?" you said weakly, forehead still damp with sweat, bodu trembling with the aftershocks of your hard, long labor. your eyes fluttered open, focusing on the sight of your dear wakatoshi holding your newborn baby.

your heart fluttered at the soft image of your husband holding the tiny baby closely again his chest, his forehead mere inches away from the baby's forehead. it was barely there, barely noticeable. if it weren't for the reflection of light, then you wouldn't have been able to see the way his eyes were glazed over, corners red, tears brimming at the borderlines of his eyes.

he was so memorized, so in love with this product of you, this product of his and your love. god, you just make him the happiest guy on earth.

with a grunt, he sniffled lightly, trying to mask his emotions. "yeah.."

IWAIZUMI HAJIME — he hates crying. but being the responsible and knowing person he is, he knows that crying is inevitable. but the "strong", reliable guy in him wants to punch himself every-time he feels his eyes sting at the feel of salty tears brimming at his waterline. unbeknownst to you, he would avoid you every-time he felt like he was going to cry, usually hiding in the locked confides of the bathroom. he thought he was hiding it well, until one fateful day where it all came crashing down..

"haji?" you said on the other side of the door. he immediately shot up, his eyes darting to the doorknob. he always made sure to lock it, but today, he was just so exhausted and down that the idea of a lock was forgotten. crap, "hey wait-," before he could even rise up from his slouched kneeling position on the bathtub's side, you opened the door unknowingly. "i just need my–hajime?"

there he was, in all of his fucking glory, hunched over, his face long and clearly expressing his hurt feelings. his heart fell to his stomach, his vision going cloudy as his day just kept getting worse. "hajime?" you called out once more, only your tone had softened, more light and tender. you reached a hand out to him, eyes full of concern. he couldn't help but jolt away from your hand, eyebrows furrowing at your softness.

he didn't like your tone. why are you looking at him like that? like some sad kicked puppy lost in the middle of nowhere? it made him feel so small, so weak. "haji.. are you okay?" you whispered, crouching down to his level outside of the bathtub. you attempted yet again to touch the side of his face, lightly pressing your fingertips against his cheekbone before fully pressing your palm against the side of his face.

his lips trembled as he was just a second away from breaking down, his eyes locked on a single object as to hold on to the last of his will. you sighed softly at his resistance, of course he wouldn't want to cry in front of you, but you don't understand why, afterall, what makes a person weak for crying? "it's okay, hajime."

with that, fat tears finally ran down his cheeks, his eyes shutting close as he finally broke at your words. he could only grab onto your hand as you climbed into the tub, his head going straight into your chest as he sobbed and wailed.

MIYA ATSUMU — surprisingly, you've seen this guy cry many of times before. he cried when getting accepted into nationals, winning nationals, just crying at things any normal person would do. but he never cried for you. no, he held himself to higher standards. he'd never cry for someone, not even for you. yeah, he loved you, but he wasn't about to cry for someone like a little child. all high and mighty, he never thought you would actually have an affect on him like you do now. him being someone who wears his heart proudly on his sleeve, he found himself getting into an argument late at night with you, too prideful to back down.

"are you serious atsumu?! you know i'd never do that!" you yelled, voice hoarse and scratchy due to the ongoing screaming match between you and your boyfriend. "oh really?! then why were ya' 'll over that fucker earlier? huh?!" he yelled back, pointing out the way you were seemingly flirting with a guy at the club earlier.

but you weren't? you would never do that, you're not a scum. "what?! we were just talking?! am i not allowed to TALK to people atsumu?" you scoffed, arms crossing defensively. "if you wanna consider talking as flirting, then let's talk about that girl you were laughing with the other day? huh? let's talk about that!"

his eyebrow raised at your counter, fumbling nervously as he wondered what to say. "w-wh- you know what?! fuck you! i don't know why i'm even dating a bitch like you!" he said, almost immediately regretting his words when he saw the way your eye's widened at his harsh words. the apartment was finally silent as you registered his words, he wishes you had any sort of expression on your face, but you had nothing but a stoic and emotionless face.

"okay then," you finally said, arching your eyebrow in a taunting way, resting your hand down on your hip. "bye." you followed, grabbing your bag and your keys, turning your back on him.

he watched, frozen in his spot as you exited out the apartment with your composure. his body jolted when he heard the slam of the front door, finally letting out that breath he was unknowingly holding. he scoffed at what you said, clenching his jaw tightly as he tried to hold onto his pride. "damn it." he said.

he felt the tear roll down his cheek before he could even register that he was crying. "..damn it!"

KAGEYAMA TOBIO — to him, life is volleyball. his childhood consisted nothing of volleyball, and so will his adulthood. maybe his obsession with volleyball was a little extreme, but you never really minded. he respected you greatly for your patience, he wasn't dumb, he knew that his priority of volleyball was evident, so he always tried to make it up to you by spending time with you whenever you wanted. but it seemed like after awhile, he began to take your patience for granted. it wasn't until the nth time when he didn't show up for the nth date was when he realized.

kageyama was careful to shut the front door as quiet as he could, tiptoeing as he took off his shoes and walked throughout the dark hallways and into the master-bedroom. he jolted like a cat when he sat you sitting up on the side of the bed, back facing the doorway.

"y-you scared me. what are you doing up at this time? it's nearly 10PM." he stuttered obliviously. it was silent for a few seconds before you sighed, slowly turning your head to face him. "you forgot." you muttered before turning back to look at the wall. forgot? forgot what? it was then he noticed the way your hair was done, still clad in a pretty dress.

"o-oh.. the date! i-i'm sorry y/n, i promise i can make it up to you"— "don't bother." you interrupted, voice stern yet monotonous. what do you mean 'don't bother?' you love going on dates don't you? his lips pursed into a straight line, chewing on his bottom lips nervously. "w-what do you mean? i really promise, this thursday i have a free day.." he trailed off when you suddenly stood up from the bed.

"i mean that i think we should break up." his heart dropped at your words, eyes widening. break up? his mouth was agape, mind spinning with different solutions and apologies. before he could detest, you walked over to the corner of the room, pulling up a suitcase that he didn't even notice.

"b-but why? you said yourself that me and you are meant to be together?" he cried out, quickly rushing over to your side and grabbing onto your wrist. he watched your face closely, eyes taking note of every single feature of yours. you inhaled deeply, still refusing to look at him.

"i said that when we were in high-school and didn't have any major responsibilities. things have changed, we aren't in high-school any more. you're now a pro-volleyball player with big responsibilities, and i'm.. someone who clearly has too much time on their hands, wasting it on someone who can't give me any of theirs. it's not your fault, kageyama, but we just don't align anymore."

you finally said, tugging your hand away from his grasp. before you could take a step, his hands were once again on you, gripped onto your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. "but.. you said you would be there for my game at nationals.." he whimpered out, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

it was then, when you were finally walking out of his apartment, out of his life, was when he finally did realize, that maybe, he did take your patience for granted..

BOKUTO KOUTARO — this guy cries a lot. he's cried so many times you might have to start writing it down somewhere. he rarely masks his emotions, he's an open book. thats what you love so much about him, that he's so open and honest. you love the way he's so eager and sweet, you love the way he's always willing to talk to you and so damn clingy it's like you have your own personal koala. aside from the times he's happy, he's sad, sad because he didn't perform well, or because you didn't kiss him. but you never really made him cry, you'd never do that. or so you thought.

"y/n!! i missed you!" you hear a booming voice yell, his footsteps speeding up at the sight you. he paid no mind when you didn't respond to him, as you were currently hunched over the your work desk, laptop gleaming at you brightly. your back was turned to him, so you were basically calling him for a back hug.

"y/n!" — "not now koutaro." you interrupted, tone serious and stern. he raised his eyebrows at you with surprise, his arms a few inches away from your shoulders as they stilled in their preparation to hug you. "babe? is something wrong?" he asked curiously, lips pouting at your stern denial. you never decline a hug. you love them. right?

"i'm working. can't you see that?" you spit out, sighing deeply. you pull away your cramping fingers away from your keyboard, rubbing them over your sore eyes. "my gosh." you mumble under your breath, eyebrows intensely furrowed with stress. you had been working for a few hours straight, staring at nothing but a bright screen with words that were becoming incoherent to you.

you yelp out when you're suddenly pulled from your chair, being lifted up into bokuto's strong arms as he spins you around. "don't be so sad!" he says cheerfully, hoping to cheer you up with a big warm hug. only— this seems to make you mad. "put me down, koutaro!" you yell, pushing his chest away and forcing him to practically drop you.

"don't you see i'm working?! why are you so damn clingy? you're so annoying, god, why don't you just leave me alone?" you spit out. your words are like venom, stinging his heart greatly as his hair is quickly deflating once your words reach his ears. you simply return to your laptop once you've finished, typing mindlessly once more.

him? annoying? he didn't mean to annoy you..

he couldn't help but softly whimper, left standing in shock. he opened his mouth to say something before your previous words were reminding him to stay silent—leave me alone. he clutched his palms, looking at your turned back with teary eyes. he hopes you don't find him annoying for long..

[nosyp]

No Way Out

Continuation of this

Next part

A/N = Sorry no smut this time y'all

Warning = captivity, violence, guns, front man, mild spoilers, kidnapping, isolation, controlling behaviour

Pairing = Front man x reader

Summary = You, a captive, fought to escape In-Ho's creation, but freedom slips further away with each attempt.

Word count = 2.1k

Read beloowoww 👇

All you could hear were gunshots and screams echoing through the rooms for hours. You hated this. Every blast tore through the silence, through your sanity, as you begged your partner to stop. But he never listened. He claimed it was "saving the world," as if those words could justify the horror. You’ve had enough with his shenanigans, but the thought of leaving… of escaping… it just felt impossible. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think. You were trapped in a nightmare of his creation.

When the shots finally stopped, an eerie silence followed. It was the kind of silence that sent shivers up your spine… and the worst part was that… you had no idea what was coming next. You stepped back instinctively as you saw him walking toward you, his tall figure silhouetted by the dim light from the room.

His mask glowed under the lights of the room, making him look even more intimidating. The polished black surface revealed nothing, yet you could feel his gaze piercing through you.

“You’re shaking,” he said, his voice as cold and steady as ever.

You swallowed hard, clenching your fists to keep them from trembling. “This… this isn’t saving the world. You’re just killing people.”

His head tilted slightly. “Sacrifices have to be made to save the world,” he replied. “You don’t understand now, but you will soon. Someday, one day, you’ll see the bigger picture.”

“I don’t want to see the bigger picture,” you snapped, anger replacing the fear that had gripped you. “I want this to end. I want out.”

He stepped closer, and for a moment, you thought he might actually lash out. But instead, he reached up and removed the mask, revealing a face you could never quite grow accustomed to. His expression was unreadable, but his dark eyes held a flicker of something. Was it pity? Regret? You couldn’t tell.

“You say that now,” he murmured, his voice softer. “But there’s no escaping this. Not for me, and certainly not for you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you took a shaky step back. “I didn’t sign up for this. You made me a part of it. You trapped me here.”

“And I’ll protect you,” he said, his hand reaching out to brush your cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost tender, and it made your stomach twist with conflicting emotions. “Even if you hate me for it.”

You slapped his hand away, the sting of your palm against his skin making a loud crack. “I don’t need your protection. I need my freedom.”

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Freedom comes with a price. Are you ready to pay it?”

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. His face hardened instantly, the mask slipping back into place as he turned toward the noise.

“Stay here,” he ordered, his voice sharp and commanding.

You wanted to argue, to tell him you wouldn’t stay and be his prisoner any longer. But the weight of the situation and the danger outside made your words catch in your throat. You hated how powerless you felt, how much control he had over your life… and hundreds of others.

As he disappeared into the hallway, gun in right hand, you clenched your fists again, this time with determination. If you couldn’t find a way out now, you’d make one. One way or another.

Someday, maybe you’ll decide to betray his command and go out of the room, explore the whole island. Maybe you’d even expose the island to the real world beyond it.

Then you heard footsteps, they weren’t his though. This was a completely different shoe and pace. They were a bit more rushed, not as deliberate as him. It was probably one of those red-hooded masked people. They’d been ordered to not only take care of the players… but also take care of you. To not let you escape and make sure you stand where you should be.

Click.

The door clicked open and you turned your head that way. It was a square masked person, of course. They were the highest rank after all.

You were allowed to watch the game, do anything. As long as you stayed in the room and on the island.

But that wasn’t enough for you anymore. It never had been. The constant screams, the endless violence, the way lives were reduced to a stack of cash… it gnawed at you endlessly. Your stomach churned every time another body fell, and yet, you were expected to sit there, detached, like someone watching a movie. You weren’t allowed a phone either, so you really couldn’t film the events for evidence.

You’d tried to reason with him before, begged him to see the madness in all of it, but his answers were always the same. Cryptic. Dismissive. As if your objections were nothing more than a nuisance.

But you weren’t going to sit still any longer. You couldn’t. Not when every fiber of your being screamed to break free, to take action. Anything would be better than standing idly and watching.

Your gaze flicked to the door. You knew what leaving meant. He wouldn’t forgive it. He might even…

You pushed the thought away, determination setting in. If you couldn’t stop the games, maybe you could find a way out. Maybe you could stop being a prisoner in this hellhole.

“I’m hungry.” you say, echoing through the full black room. He definitely had something for the black colour. All of the furniture was dark… you should ask him about it later.

The masked person then walked out of the room and swiftly came back with a plate of food.

They set the plate down in front of you with a heavy silence, their eyes lingering on you for just a moment too long. The air between you both felt charged, like the space was about to crack open.

“You should eat,” the masked figure said, their voice devoid of any emotion. “You’ll need your strength for what’s to come.”

The food sat there, its aroma faint but still enough to stir your hunger. But you didn’t feel like eating. Your mind was too full of plans, too full of thoughts of escape, of breaking free. You hadn’t even realized how much the games, the endless violence, had hollowed you out until now. You stared at the food, but your gaze didn’t linger. Instead, your thoughts kept drifting back to the door, to the escape that still seemed just out of reach.

“I’m not staying here any longer,” you said, your voice quieter this time, but laced with conviction. “I don’t care what you or he says. I won’t watch another person die in front of me.”

The masked figure didn’t respond immediately, simply watching you. You could almost feel the weight of their scrutiny as they observed your every move. It was as if they were measuring you, calculating your next move.

You clenched your fists at your sides. You were done being a prisoner in this room, in this world.

The sound of footsteps grew louder from the hallway, more hurried now. Your heart skipped a beat. This could be it. Maybe this was the moment you made a good decision, a choice that might finally free you.

You stood up abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor with a loud sound. The masked figure seemed to tense at the sudden movement, but they didn’t stop you. They knew better than to try to control you right now. It was clear that whatever you were about to do was bigger than anything they could prevent.

“I’m leaving,” you muttered to yourself, more to yourself than to them. You turned toward the door, walking past the plate of food, as if it meant nothing now.

Then the door creaked open, and you crossed the threshold, breath stuck in your throat. There was no going back. Not this time.

The hallway beyond was dimly lit, shadows were dancing along the walls. You didn’t know where you were going, but you couldn’t stop now. Every step you took felt like it was taking you closer to freedom… or closer to your end. Either way, you were done staying in the dark room, done with the games, done with being a silent observer.

The footsteps behind you grew louder, closer now. Someone was coming. The thought of being caught, of being dragged back to that room, surged in your chest, but you didn’t let it stop you. Not now. Not when you were this close.

Then a voice, low and commanding, called out from behind you.

“Stop.”

It was one of his lackeys. They had found you.

You stopped, but you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. The fear, the adrenaline. It all mixed together into a weird feeling, but you refused to let it break you. You weren’t going back.

“I won’t stop,” you said, your voice steady, defiant.

The tension was unbearable. The silence stretched between you both as you waited for his next move, for whatever he planned to do now.

And then, just as quickly as the moment began, the sound of heavy footsteps receded. You had been given a moment, perhaps your last chance.

You didn’t waste it.

You ran.

You knew this was risky. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to turn back, but the urge to escape had grown too strong, too consuming. The sound of footsteps behind you had long faded, and the small light guided your way as you snuck toward the edge of the building.

But just as you neared the side of the building, your body was yanked back with an iron grip. Your heart leaped into your throat, and before you could make another move, you were shoved hard into the rough stone wall. A sharp pain ran through your shoulder, but you didn’t have the chance to recover.

“You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?”

The cold voice sent a shiver down your spine. The red-hooded person was there, their hand gripping your arm tightly, pinning you in place as they stared down at you, their face hidden behind the mask.

You tried to twist away, struggling with everything you had, but their hold was unyielding. The sound of their boots scraped against the ground as they shifted, pressing you even harder against the cold stone.

“I told you,” they said, their voice low and full of amusement, “you don’t get to leave. Not like this.”

Your chest tightened with frustration, but before you could retaliate, you heard more footsteps. The familiar click of boots nearing. Another figure.

“They’ve already informed the boss,” the second masked person said, their tone dismissive as they reached you. “It’s time to return.”

Your stomach dropped. There was no chance now. You had failed.

As they began to drag you back, the sharp sting of defeat spread through your chest. You’ve tried. You had truly tried to escape, but here you were, dragged back into the clutches of this place. No matter how far you went, they were always one step ahead.

The second person gestured to the door that led back inside the building, the familiar room awaiting your return. The one place you had tried so hard to escape. But now, it was where you were going to remain.

“Get inside,” the first person snapped.

You were shoved forward, stumbling into the room. The cold air hit your skin, but it did little to numb the sharp pang of frustration that gnawed at you. They weren’t going to give up on holding you here, were they?

As the door clicked shut behind you, your heart sank further. There was no point in trying to fight them now. You were back, just like they had predicted.

Your gaze drifted to the center of the room where you knew he would be. And sure enough, there he was, his tall form standing in the shadows with his mask still in place. His unreadable eyes flicked toward you as the door slammed shut, locking you back into the cage you’d fought so hard to escape.

You had failed.

But you wouldn’t give up. Not yet.

You would find another way. Someday. Maybe not today. But soon.

You were brought back into the dark room, with the huge screen allowing you to watch. This time, you spotted a familiar face. Player 001.

[ghostsy]

Stay

YANDERE x READER

WARNINGS: yandere, implied imprisonment, a lil angsty

read at your own discretion.

❈ ◦•≫────≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫────≪•◦ ❈

“Don’t leave me.”

The arm wrapped around her middle tightened, squeezing the remaining air from her lungs. But she stifled her discomfort; he would only ever reprimand the feeling. 

“I won’t.”

It had been like this for a while now; where he crawled into bed at night, oftentimes after he made sure to thoroughly bed her, and wrapped himself around her like a child–an overgrown child with strength that could snap her in half if he so chose. But a child nonetheless.

The whining was new, though. 

“I’m serious,” He rasped, breath tickling against her hair, “Don’t you ever leave me.” 

As if it were her choice. She was silent for a moment; what response could she give that would assuage his paranoia, or more pertinently, spare her the consequence of his rage? 

“I’d die,” He continued, lips brushing her ear, “I’d kill everyone, and then I’d die.”

“You won’t die,” She sighed out the words, trying and failing to stamp down her building annoyance, but self-preservation won out in the battle against her own emotions, “I’m here, so you won’t die.”

She felt his heartbeat speed where his chest pressed against her, “No,” He curled deeper into her if it were even possible, face pressed to the crook of her neck, “But you’d like me to, wouldn’t you?”

Before she could respond, she felt wetness on her skin. Was he crying? “Bet you dream about it,” She’d never seen him cry before, never seen a chink in the armor, “Leaving me here to rot.” She didn’t like the uncomfortable burn in her chest as she listened to the shuddering breaths behind her. It had to be pity. Of course, it was pity.

“That’s okay, you can dream,” The rasp of his voice made even deeper with the cracks in his words, “You can dream all you want, so long as you’re here with me when you wake,” Before she could even consider her actions, she was turning in his arms. Or struggling to, only succeeding as he lessened his iron grip when he was sure she wasn’t trying to leave. 

His eyes were wide when she was face to face with him, no doubt surprised she’d chosen to be closer to him of her own free will. He was handsome, with a devastating kind of beauty to the lines of his face. She always thought it cruel, a handsome monster she was chained to forever. 

“I don’t,” She breathed, lips uncomfortably close to his own, “Want you to die, I mean. I don’t want it.” She wasn’t sure if she was lying, but the words had the opposite effect she’d intended.

His brows furrowed in the way they usually did before red hot anger took control, but the night was full of surprises, it seemed, because this heat was only directed at himself.

“You should,” He spat, the arm at her waist squeezing so harshly she couldn’t help but wince. He weakened his grip immediately upon notice, "You should hate me," And she saw what she could only call self-disgust swimming in his eyes.

“Yes, I should,” The words spilled out before she could stop them, but this moment between them felt it was owed honesty, promised safety. 

“I’d still love you if you did,” It was a breathless confession, and he pressed his forehead against her own, eyes closed, “No matter what, I would still love you,” He made it sound like an apology, like he knew his love was a torture he’d inflicted on her without reprieve. 

“That’s stupid.” She sighed out the words, but her hand came to rest at his cheek, nearly admiring. Admiring the unbelievability of his vulnerability. 

“Yeah,” He huffed out a low laugh between the unsteady breaths, and turned to press a kiss to her palm, “It is kind of stupid.”

There was a sort of finality to the words. Because in the end, his cruelty masked as love, stupid as it was, was not something either of them could escape. It was a painful realization that he hadn’t just trapped her in a cage, but locked her into his own.

Her fingers traced patterns along his jaw, and their eyes met in the low light of the early morning hours. Maybe when the sun rose he’d return to the monster she knew, and she would only have this moment as a memory with a man she thinks she could have loved. She’d take a moment.

Slowly she inched forward, and his breath hitched, fingers flexing where they rested against her skin. Before she could connect them she froze, considering, hesitating, rethinking. But he took the opportunity, and pressed forward, lips uncharacteristically soft against her own, before retreating nearly as quickly. A stolen kiss. Unbearably cruel in its deceptive innocence. 

“Just tell me,” He whispered it like a secret, “Tell me you’ll stay with me.”

“I will.”

❈ ◦•≫────≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫────≪•◦ ❈

Couldn't pick just one character, but had a few in mind:

BNHA: Bakugou, Shinso, Todoroki Shoto

JJK: Yuta, Megumi

Blue Lock: Nagi, Rin

Haikyuu: Oikawa, Bokuto, Kuroo

BSD: Dazai, Chuuya

[urlonelystarrr]

pretty in red

ghostface x you

synopsis -> during a halloween festival, you catch the eye of a certain killer, pretending to be a scare actor.

tags/warnings -> public sex, killing, bondage, pussy fingering, a little knife play, a little cnc, oral!reader giving/receiving, ghostface is a little manipulative/violent, slapping, nipple sucking, body worship, ass eating, raw penetration, slight degrading, dirty talk, dom!ghostface, sub!reader, & kidnapping.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁

in the quiet town of woodsboro, people were hesitant when it came to halloween. maybe because of the murders in previous years, the ghostface costumes that were still sold in stores despite the tragedies surrounding them. but instead of mourning the losses this year, you and your friends had decided to go to a haunted house festival. people were starting to move on, they were bringing back trick or treating, pumpkin carving, the very essence of fall.

fall had always been your favorite season, it wasn't too hot or too cold, the scent of pumpkin spice, the desserts and baking, everything seemed perfect about the season. it's currently the early week of october and you want to spend it as much as you can, which is why you've dedicated the whole night before to getting ready, who knows, maybe you'll get lucky in a haunted house?

your phone rings in the other room, and you've just gotten out of the shower. the tiles feel cold against the bare underside of your foot, light taps following until you've reached your phone. "hello? hey girl, i just got out of the shower....yeah, yeah i'm about to get ready. i'm excited," you smile as the sound of sophia's voice flows out from your speaker, her excited pitch matching yours. she's been your best friend for the longest time, since elementary, probably.

"ohh my gosh, i don't know what the eff to wear!" her voice squeals, "am I going for a cute fall look, or scary halloween?" she asks, and you can already picture her holding up shirts in front of herself while she pouts in front of the mirror. "i'm going with...cute fall, since october just started," you say, setting your phone down on the vanity to put on victoria secret panties and a bra, you know, in case.

"girl you're so right, let me check pinterest," she says, murmuring to herself distractedly, as you put on your deodorant, your lotions and body oil. it's sacred to you, to take care of yourself. whatever you're going to wear - it's a little basic but it's cute, and you've spent the longest time figuring out what to wear. your clothes wait for you on your bed, but you throw on a old sleeping shirt so that your makeup doesn't get on it.

"hey are you still there?" sophia asks, the phone shuffling as she almost had forgotten that she called. you hum in response and she takes it as a sign to continue talking, "so listen...logan is coming with us, but in a different car. is that okay? and he's bringing a friend, uh, alex, yeah."

"sophia?" your voice raises a pitch, your eyes widening momentarily, the neutrogrena hydro boost sheet mask on your clean skin shifting along with your facial expression. "what?" her voice almost sounds panicked, but you're not freaking out that much, are you?

"that's lana's ex-boyfriend, and lana's not coming with us." you said into the phone, letting the mini pink standing fan blow over your face, your skin drinking up the mask's hydrating ingredients. sophia sounds dumbfounded, as if she doesn't understand how it might look, and she stutters, "i don't get it..."

"i mean, wouldn't it look weird to hang out with our friend's ex-boyfriend? and i heard he was such an asshole, i never knew what he looked like, but i hated him from how lana described him." you say, adjusting the mask on your face, peeling it into the correct position. your skin almost prickles from how chilly it is inside your room, the mask's cooling sensation washing over your skin in a refreshing way.

behind the phone sophia is choosing her outfit carefully, and she sighs. "ohmygosh," she says so fast that it's jumbled into one word, "you're totally right. maybe we should just jump him when we see him?" she asks. you laugh on the line, and see that the timer is almost up for your mask, only five seconds. you peel it off as you talk, "we should! but...another time. let's just...i don't know, ignore him." you sigh, tossing the dried out mask into the bin, starting to do your makeup. sophia paces around her room, almost overthinking the situation by a lot, "ignore him?! girl, im going into the haunted houses with logan!" she says, stressing about the situation. it's not that big of a deal, you think to yourself. surely it isn't. it won't be a problem, just ignore lana's ex.

whether or not you and sophia outwardly say it, you know about lana's tendency to overreact, or read deeply into situations. and so, your fingers move across your keyboard and you immediately text lana about who's coming and why, hoping to clear the air. she sounds normal, you think. and the sudden beep in the driveway alerts you that sophia's come. thankfully you've been getting ready at least three hours before it's time to meet at the hangout, and now you're finished. you walk out, and get into the car, sophia compliments your perfumes, you compliment her outfit, and she nearly cries and says she loves you.

it's beginning to get dark but barely, and shit, the haunted houses are a lot bigger than you've imagined. this place looked bigger than the reviews said, and they even have rides. suddenly you feel twice as excited, not only about rides and haunted houses, but masked men too? the thought disappears as fast as other thoughts come, and the sensation of sophia's hand squeezing yours gently, reassures you of a fun night. her expression lights up when she sees logan and alex waiting at the front gate, their wristbands already on. logan and alex are a tall pair, and logan has brown hair that's cut into a modern looking mullet, and he has on baggy jeans with converse shoes, and a hoodie on. his cross chain peeks out from the top of his hoodie. you think he looks basic, sophia thinks she's met her husband, but it's okay.

"hey guys," sophia says with a smile, purposely avoiding alex, a guy with darker hair than logan, cut into a short textured fringe with a fade, and he's wearing grey sweatpants and a black shirt, and a chain as well, and his shoes are black air force ones. he's also basic, in your eyes. but a part of you feels bad for thinking he looks good, but he has a cocky look on his face that's an ultimate turn off. logan is a nice guy and you don't have any issues with him, but he's too hyper for you, which is why he's perfect for sophia. logan immediately hugs sophia with a boyish grin on his face, and you smiled at how happy sophia looks. she's wearing doc martens and a pair of sheer black tights, and a black miniskirt and a cute sweater, and you forgot to include her cream colored leg warmers. logan pays for her ticket entry, and alex pays for yours, despite the amount of times that you've declined his offer.

and you're even more surprised when they buy fast pass tickets, which includes haunted houses and rides. it's not like it's an amusement park where the prices are ghastly, but $60 dollars sounds like a steal. you awkwardly thank him, and inwardly curse for staggering behind logan and sophia.

"look at 'em, they're already leaving us behind." his voice is smooth as he talks, and he looks over your appearance, subtly checking you out. you look cute, you have on fur boots, and low rise miss me jeans, and a zip up jacket that also has the same fur on the hood. "yeah, i figured that would happen." you say, trying to keep up with them. the first thing you guys do is go on rides, since it's still too bright for haunted houses just yet. you're at least thankful that sophia is willing to go on a few rides with you, and then you have to sit next to alex.

your attention is drawn when the four of you wait in line for a ride, which has a few people in front. you're focused on a certain guy, and immediately your heart starts to beat a little faster. a tall guy, obviously dressed as ghostface, can be seen scaring people and even kids, but he slowly turns his head to stare at you.

you're not in a fucking movie where time seems to stop, so you immediately look away and feel awkward for staring. as you and sophia talk again, logan and alex chuckle, and you follow their gazes and jump a tiny bit when ghostface is so close to you. the only thing separating you both is the metal gate, and his knife is raised menacingly. the eyeholes of his mask are so dark and you can tell that this mask isn't the shitty one you see in costume stores. it's well made, and part of you wonders if he can even see. almost sensing your attraction, the tip of his knife gently tilts your head up, and you look up at him, hearing them giggling behind you.

"your wristband," a hand taps your shoulder, and you see logan, sophia, and alex (the one who tapped you), all being let into the ride. you turn to see ghostface, half expecting him to see him disappear like in movies, but he remains still, watching as you go into the ride. the man scans your wrist and you take a seat next to alex. the ride was a tall one, it was almost built like a crane, that one ride you see that holds many people, swings back and forth and goes upside down. the overhead bar clamps down on your shoulders, and your feet dangle. surprisingly they play good music here, a lot of throwbacks, which you sing along to on the ride. alex notices and smiled and laughed, his foot grazing yours.

you're sure you've ridden all of the rides by now, skipping the baby ones, until logan begs to go on the bumper carts, which sophia feeds into. "i'm hungry," alex says, "y'all can go on the bumper carts or whatever, i can just grab us food." alex says, and logan and sophia agree since you all wanted food from the same place. you follow alex and the two of you wait in line, with the two of you memorizing their orders. "logan eats like a baby," alex laughs, seeing the text that logan sent him. you laugh along, "well, sophia's not too far off, i guess. but she's more open minded," you smile, spotting them in the distance, in the line together. "they really look like they're dating, i can't believe they're not." you say, sighing and looking over the menu.

"i know, logan needs to stop being a pussy and just get with her," alex said, looking at the menu. "what are you getting?" he asks, looking at you. "um...i want the steak bites," you said, and he seems to change his mind. "fuck, that sounds good. i'm not getting a burger then," he says, placing the order to the man. "and i'll get a strawberry funnel cake," you tell the man, he nods and you pay for your own food this time (and sophia's), and he covers himself and logan. by the time your food is done, logan and sophia are already headed back to the two of you, their eyes widening at the sight of the amount of food. "holy mukbang," logan says, sitting down and eating his fries and chicken tenders, and sophia eats the same thing. the four of you converse and laugh together, and you share your funnel cake with everyone, since it was bigger than you thought. alex takes his thumb and wipes the corner of your mouth, which makes you feel embarrassed, and you shove him away lightly. "don't do that," and he laughs at your expression. despite the amount of fun that you're having, moments come where you feel like alex is too flirty, and it makes your gut twist with guilt - lana.

alex seems to notice when you look away from him, or when you catch yourself engaging too freely with him. it's an uncomfortable conversation to have inside a haunted house, that even some scare actors refrain from popping out behind old wooden cabinets to scream in your face, it's painted faces that stare back at you as if they hesitate, the sound of alex growing annoyed. "why the fuck are you being weird?" he grumbles at you as the two of you walk, "im not weird...i just don't want you flirting with me," you say, an attempt to try to calm him down. "you're cool one second, and then the next you're like ignoring me, and yeah i am flirting but there's nothing wrong with that."

"i know-" you cut yourself off, seeing him in the distance, not fully but you see the sway of his robe behind him, decending boots going down the structure of the haunted house, behind curtains. "but lana's my friend, im not gonna flirt back with her ex-boyfriend," you say, your heart thumping just a bit harder. he nudged you with his shoulder to walk in front, "i don't get you," he says, his voice bordering on frustration. "if you want me to be honest i think you're really pretty and funny."

this feels like torture. it's so awkward and you don't know what to say or do. "i don't see you that way," your gaze pretends to look at the house and you realize that the two of you have strayed too far, it feels like you're taking the wrong path. there's not many actors, it's just a dark open space. "fuck, where's the exit?" you try to steer the conversation in a different direction, in hopes that it won't be so fucking awkward, and as you're trying to find a exit, you realize only too late that you've somehow separated from alex. is this good or bad? on one hand, it's not awkward, on the other, you're on your own in this maze of a haunted house, and the worst part seems to come up, as you stare into multiple reflections of yourself, and you're lost in a maze of mirrors. one thing is clear - movies are dramatic.

it's easy to find your way out, easier than you thought, as you look at the ground, indicators of corners, or where your reflection isn't dulled. a deep breath, then a muffled scream as a gloved hand clamps over your mouth, your eyes wide with terror. you shove whoever it is away, but your pounding heart calms when your eyes lock into the black eyeholes of a ghostface mask. it's all part of his act, his job. so why does the knife he's clutching look oddly real? and why does a hint of cologne churned with iron waft off of him? he's got you trapped, confused, and alone.

"can't run now, can ya?" his voice is rasp, the iconic deep murmur that can only belong to ghostface. you seem to be at a loss for words, your eyes wide as you look down at his black boots, footsteps imprinted into concrete floors, staining them red. your eyes follow the path, and you run past him. he doesn't flinch. he doesn't attempt to grab you as you run past, that confident that he can catch you. that he can outrun you, even if you've got a head start. you whimper and hide inside a fake bathroom, the area set up in fake blood and decorated well for the budget. you hide in a dark corner, covering your own mouth to shield any noises, and your eyes scan the area, seeing the under sole of black air force ones, and you creep towards it, walking and crouching. attached to that black shoe is a grey leg, the cotton of the sweatpants drenched in red, and you let out an ear piercing scream, the slashed throat of alex is a blatant slap to the face, there's no saving him.

and that guilt lingers behind as you sob and run away, your legs suddenly feeling shaky, you should've stayed with him. you should've-

it sounds like somebody's running, you turn around and you're so horrified by him running at you, that you seem to freeze, and every moment you've judged anyone for freezing up in horror movies, it all comes back to you. sometimes you're scared shitless that fear takes over you, and your body freezes in hopes that it will somehow camouflage you. but it feels like such a long gap that you freeze, only five seconds. five seconds too late, even though you start to run at full speed, his hand reaches the back of your shirt before your hand can reach the exit handle. "no, please!" you wail, his hand clamps over your mouth and you thrashed around and tried to run, but he was so fucking strong.

a grunt escapes his mouth as he knocks you out, bringing your body to a part of the haunted house that's unused.

sophia and logan have started to question why you and alex have been away for so long - and even though logan insists to sophia that you're okay, she doesn't believe him.

"fuck," ghostface mutters under the mask, hauling your body onto a large, stainless steel table. he restricts your hands and legs to the table, leaving you in just your bra and panties. the moment you wake up, your head throbs with a full pounding, and your eyes try to make out whatever is in the dark room.

you whimper, jerking your hands and feet to find that they're restricted, and a light overhead shines down on you. you wince and shut your eyes, letting out a small groan. his hand blocks the light out for you, letting you see him. "fucking finally." he grumbles, staring down at you, while you pitifully stare back up at him, with teary eyes and furrowed brows.

"don't beg me just yet." he murmurs into your ear, his fingers - gloved in leather, caress the column of your throat, reacting to you swallowing. you feel a chill climbing up your spine - and you can't tell if it's him or everything else. the chilly table underneath you, the fact you're fucking half naked. "beg you for what? to release me?" you ask, your voice as shaky as it was before.

"yeah, sweetheart. you're not leavin' me so soon," he cackles, finding amusement in your demise. the way your eyes water and your makeup runs, fuck it's so sexy. "who's alex? your boyfriend?" he suddenly asks, his hand squeezing your cheeks together. you shake your head, "no he's not! he's not even my friend but-"

"oh, doll." he scoffs, releasing your jaw. "he wanted you. that's why i had to do it." he says, as if it justified what he did.

"no you didn't," you sniffle again and your voice breaks. "why'd you kill him?" you say, your chest heaving and shuddering as you sob.

he watches you cry and shakes his head, chuckling darkly. "fuck baby, you're making me horny seeing you cry."

"fuck you!" you cried out, whimpering and thrashing, but all it ends up in is him slapping the shit out of you, making you quiet instantly.

his hands go down to his belt, his robe opening to let you see the black jeans he's wearing, gloved hands unbuckling the leather, and he ties it around your mouth as a temporary gag. you look at him, wide eyed as his hand reaches down and cups one of your tits, and you stay still. "fucking beautiful," he says, raspily. "you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen." a hand reaches for the knife holstered to his thigh. you should be disgusted. you should throw up and scream at him to stop, but something is oddly erotic about the situation. the way he's praising you...it makes you feel something, something you shouldn't. the tip of the blade traced your belly, his fingers gently squishing down into your stomach, before he reaches your panties. he doesn't focus on that part yet, instead he moves up and turns his mask to expose a jaw with a tiny bit of stubble, leaning down he kisses your cleavage.

"don't want me to stop, do you, doll?" he sounds like he's fucking smirking. you whimper in response and he opens the gag for you to speak. the way he's touching your body makes you feel oddly...worshipped. his touch is careful, in comparison to the way he touches other people.

your brows furrow. "you slapped me." you say, your cheek stinging red. "i did, didn't i?" he says, caressing your cheek. "sorry doll, I had to let you know who's in charge."

and for some reason, you're not bothered.

"look at this pretty little body," he murmurs, caressing the dip of your waist and the flare of your hip. "gonna make you feel so good baby, better than any guy you've been with."

you swallowed. "what makes you so sure, huh? you- you basically kidnapped me and tied me up." your heart beats faster when his hand squeezes your thigh. "you're a fucking killer, how would you even treat me better than any other guy?" your voice raises. you don't know why you're being defiant when deep down you like this game, it's always been a part of you that you forced yourself to bury deep down.

"cause you know id kill for you, doll." he leans down and kisses your stomach, and you have to force yourself to not make a sound. to not give into what he wants, he wants you to react, to submit. but he loves a brat. he loves someone who'll fight back the way you do.

his hands cup your tits again, relishing in the pretty leopard print bra you have on, with rhinestone straps and black lace decorating the cups. no matter what tit size you are, he fucking loves it. he grabs his knife again and presses the handle of it to your clothed pussy, making you gasp, as he kisses your cleavage, pulling your bra up to suck on one of the puffy peaks, forcing you to make a sound. "oh my god," you say in a slight whine, trying to press your thighs together, your head turning to the side as you gasp and shiver. he pulls away and unties your hands from the table, but they're still tied together. he's able to take off your bra by disconnecting the straps from the cups, and his mouth kisses and sucks on your tits, sucking on the soft fat, and then sucking a nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the bud, while the handle of the knife grinds into your pussy, wedged between pussy lips. you're a moaning mess and he fucking loves it. "good girl, that's a good fucking girl."

the front of your thong is pulled down, and he kisses your soft mound, the knife cutting away at the binds on your ankles, letting you spread your legs wider for him. he pushed your thighs up to your chest, peeling your panties off and keeping them in his pocket. "look at this," he purrs, "look at your pretty pussy, baby." he groans, leaning down and licking one of your pussy lips, before spreading you open and licking at your clit, sucking your soft folds into his mouth.

"please," you cry out, your hands tied. "stop this, we're in fucking public!" you say, trying to lift your head to look down at him. it feels so surreal, that ghostface is gonna fuck you in the backstage of a haunted house out in public. the bloodied corpse is in the back of your head, thoughts overrun with his tongue and lips, pleasuring you. he's so hungry, he's so horny for you that it makes you feel somewhat appreciated despite the situation, and the way he sucks and kisses you, it feels like he knows exactly what you want, what you need.

or maybe you've just been unaware of the eyes that watch you through your window whenever you masturbate, whenever your fingers are stuffed down your panties. the same panties he snatches from your laundry pile. the haunted festival isn't his first time seeing you. he'd been watching for months.

"n' im about to be fucking you in public," he mumbles into the wetness of your cunt, the shine coating his lips and chin. he gives one last eager suck, and one last eager lick up from your asshole to your clit. but once he tastes your ass, it was like he was going to stop, but ultimately decided against it. now his tongue is lapping at your asshole, and a gloved thumb is rubbing your clit, and a third stimulant is his other thumb, lightly fingering your pussy. it's too much, too much that your eyes roll back and you let out a pretty moan, and your back arches from the table, your body tensing before you cum, cumming hard. a few seconds after your orgasm he suckles hungrily onto the new wetness that leaks out of your pussy hole.

"holy fuck," he rasps, "look at'cha, making a mess all over my hands. dirty girl, ain't you?" he quickly takes his jeans off, showing off the large bulge in his black Calvin Klein boxers proudly. "dirty fuckin' slut, know you wan' suck my cock, don't you?" while you lay on the table for him, he takes a large step towards you, looming over your head. a gloved hand bunches your hair in a tight grip, while his other forces your mouth open, and he guides his pink tip towards your mouth, hissing when the warmth surrounds the tip of his cock. "fuck baby," he says between clenched teeth, "mouth's just as wet as this pretty pussy," he says and lightly smacks your pussy, which makes a wet squelching sound. you stare up into his mask, lightly moaning while providing him suction, your tongue wrapping around the wet tip, and his grip in your hair tightens. he could cum from just the sight of you, mouth sucking him up like an easy slut, your eyes glazed over with an expression that's begging for some dick in you. his grunts morph into a small, breathy groan, eyes rolling back behind the mask, he pulls out to get on the table, almost straddling your face while he fucks your mouth, holding your head in place while he thrusts his hips fowards.

"fuck, shit..." he grunts, keeping a hand next to your head, his breathing heavy. you eagerly suck, grunting and your brows furrow when his pace is too rapid. your thighs press together. "nuh-uh," he scolds, "no moving. lay there and suck my fucking cock."

the table creaks, and you suck him real good until he cums. he shoves his cock deep, squeezing your hair while emptying his balls in your mouth, with a throaty groan. his thighs nearly shake from the pleasure, but he's got high stamina.

in an instant you're flipped onto all fours, and he smacks your ass hard with his hand and smacks between your pussy lips, making you moan when his tip thwacks against your clit just right. "gonna fuck you so hard you can't remember your name," he mutters into your ear, positioning himself behind you, his cock teasing your cunt, your ass, anything he can drag and fuck. "fuck, baby, your pussy's so fucking tight. can't wait to ruin this little cunt." he grunts, and after teasing your hole with the head of his cock, he can finally slip inside of you, hissing at the feeling of you, so tight and fucking warm around him.

"fuck, please," you whimper, the side of your face pressed into the stainless steel table underneath you, the once cool metal now feeling warm from how long you've been laying there. he smacks your ass hard, "beg for my cock. you like that, don't you? having a killer's cock inside your pussy?" he taunts, wrapping your hand around a gloved fist, pulling your head back. "maybe ill slit your throat and fuck you at the same time. i bet you'd like that," he sneers, starting to thrust, after your begging. you can't believe this, can't believe you're enjoying it so much that your pussy sucks him in so good, drooling all over his veiny length, the tip of his cock almost kissing your warm insides. and you can't believe the words that come out of your mouth, out of pure humiliation and submission, he's got you wrapped around his cock.

your pants turn into moans, drool dribbling down the side of your mouth, like a fucked out slut that he loves. his thumb slides into your asshole, fingering it lightly while he fucks you, groaning with each thrust, each sound your pussy makes. "feels...s'good, please," you whine and beg, feeling it so fucking close that it's hard to keep your thighs spread like this. he had you on your side, in missionary, and he's now on the table with you, your legs pushed up to your chest, and him almost sumo squatting above you, pounding into your pussy. a slippery thumb lightly stroked your clit, rubbing in circles, trying not to slip off the wet nub. "you like that, baby? like the way I pound this little pussy?" he grunts, balls feeling hot as he pounds into your pussy, losing himself in the warmth. you're crying, and it makes him so fucking horny that he squeezes your throat, groaning as he fills your pussy with his cum, fucking it until your poor hole has no choice but to push it out, mingling with your own cum. your breath is a shuddering gasp, that only echoes in the empty haunted house.

you've been fucked so hard that the naturally dark room feels darker, parts of you suddenly remembering the fact that there's people, that you're in public and the memory makes you freeze, as he wipes your pussy down, half using his cum and something like a napkin, or a towel, you're not sure. the door jingles, an indication of another presence, forcing you to yank your clothes on, and he's right behind you, grinning behind his mask, his hands rubbing over your tits while you two hide inside of a closet, your breathing shuddering as you attempt to re-dress yourself in the tight space.

a flashlight illuminates the slightly wet stainless steel table, chains and cuffs laying around. the security guard moved on, the light emitting from the flashlight disappearing from your sight. you have no idea what to say to him, after he gave you dick that good? it's hard to really think, but then you feel the hardness of his mask gently dig into your shoulder, "don't worry. I'll find you." he says, low and throaty, a clear threat, or a promise of something more.

once you leave the haunted house, confused and fucked out of your mind, the coolness of autumn greets you, refreshing the sweat glistening skin, making you stagger to blot your face with napkins, that smell like fry oil and other things. sophia and logan are always in clear sight, the two of them sharing ice cream that could probably feed four but you don't judge. you run up to sophia and hug her tightly, your eyes suddenly feeling watery.

and he watches you from afar.

the bloodlust grows stronger, each day, each kill, each slash of the throat. he loves the way you pretend to act innocent and unaware, the look of doubt in your gaze when questioned about alex's disappearance. the twitch of your fingers when you play with your clothes. he enjoys it all. and he knows he's got you, encasing you in webs, making sure you never leave, like the perfect meal made just for him. you can't get rid of him.

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authors note: hey so.....I know I said I'd post this by Halloween. I lied. I'm actually so grateful for everyone that likes my posts, even though I'm a liar and a lazy writer sometimes </3 and I would say that I've been busy with school, and I have been, but I did have a lot of free time which I spent playing Roblox on :D it's hard to write sometimes. You don't feel as motivated as you used to, but whenever y'all hype me up it makes me want to write more, and like I said, I'm going to be doing newer characters (cod & maybe tlou) and I'm really sorry but I'm out of my anime phase (I have been out of it since a few years ago...). But I hope you freaks enjoy this one !

[lilacgaby]

i guess i'm stuck forever by the glue,

oh, and you.

pairing: spiderman!megumi x reader

synopsisꨄ: you and megumi have been on and off for a while, one situation to another has you two webbed together. not like either of you mind. wc: 3k

tags: fem!reader, cursing, fighting, use of she/her, drinking, yuuji is the goat, suggestive (kissing(???)), fluff, pet names, college!au, megumi has a lip piercing. yeah.

as megumi swung back from a night full of work, greeting his roommate yuuji with a fist bump and an exhausted smile as he pulled up his mask, he laid down on his bed exhausted.

his black webbed suit now discarded by the bed as he stared up to the ceiling of his room. his chest heaving slightly as he put an arm over his eyes, blocking out all light so he could sleep for a couple hours before it all began at nine.

not.

he had classes today, classes he dreaded for one reason. you.

something happened between you that should've never been given a single thought, never should've been conceived even in his mind.

he'd kissed you. and that was putting it lightly.

it was at some random college party he'd been convinced to go to by yuuji, he had been taking down cans of cheap beer mindlessly, the bottle now a bit crushed in his hand as he saw you walk in.

fitted dress, hugging you so right. jewelry shining in the dim light of the party, but this place was forgotten as his eyes settled on you. and yours in him.

a lot of the party was a blur in his mind, events playing together and becoming one because the only thing he kept focused on was you.

he thinks you drank a lot too, he can't quite remember. his hand slaps over his eyes in frustration, because the one part he thinks he'll never forget plays in his head on repeat.

your lips on his, you on his lap as his hand held you against him. you were on a bed, how did you get there? he didn't know but didn't care. his hand tilting your head slightly, with the feeling of your hands in his hair. the piercing on his lip rubbing almost addictively painful against yours, his tongue almost slipping in your mouth until–

todo. his stupid upperclassman barged in, a comically loud gasp coming from his lips as he yelled, “megumi and [name] are making out in here!”

safe to say you jumped off of him pretty quick, his hands ripped off your waist as he stood to attention, you shoving past him as you left. megumi shot an annoyed glare as he walked past him, only for yuuji to laugh in his face as he settled back onto the couch of the living room.

“what?” megumi grunted, he was already annoyed, he didn't need yuuji laughing at him right now.

“it's just..” yuuji pointed a finger to his face, before cracking an impossibly wider smile. “you have lipstick all over your face megumi.”

after throwing a pillow at yuuji’s face, he went home.

but you've been on his mind ever since, and he didn't know what to do about it.

you've been ‘friends’ for a while, only because of mutual relations between your other friends. but you'd always had this weird connection between you two. sharing wired headphones during school trips, lending a shoulder to sleep on, studying together.

he'd hate to think it'd be lost just because of a drunken— no it wasn't an accident. far from it. but he just wished he talked to you before it got that far.

with a groan, he shoves his head into a pillow, letting out a muffled scream.

he finally felt his thoughts calm down, his eyes closing as he fell asleep..

and awoke to the beeping of his alarm clock. he threw a web at it and stuck it to the wall. this was going to be annoying.

you seemed to be just as awkward as he was about this whole ordeal, fingers playing with each other as you avoided eye contact with him at all cost.

not like he fared any better, anytime he tried to start up conversation with you, his eyes would fall to your lips and make him flush red.

just two hopeless idiots.

class ended with no words spoken between you two and a voice screaming at him to do something. anything.

but he didn't, and you were already gone. he sighed before packing up and heading back to the dorm.

yuuji had become sort of like his intelligence.. though it wasn't the best idea megumi ever had, he was good hearted about it at least.

as megumi snacked on a bunny-shaped popsicle, yuuji looked shocked to see him. he looked at him blankly before starting, “i didn't think you'd be here.”

megumi squinted, “why wouldn't i be in my own house?”

“because doc oc attacked by one of the school dorms?”

a moment of silence passed, the bunny now miserably dripping down the drain forgotten, as megumi ran to put his suit on. “lead with that shit, idiot!”

he zipped out the window of his room, yuuji yelled out behind him, “dorm 5-C!”

megumi swung quickly, the black and white suit making him stand out in the broad daylight as he sped over there. landing a kick on the face of the man controlling the robotic suit, before landing perfectly on the top of the dorm.

“hey freak. don't you have anything better to do?” he mocked, before webbing down one of their arms.

“oh, nice of you to finally show up, spiderman.” the man spoke, attempting to grab him but slamming his hand down onto the building instead. “so slow, what if i'd killed someone already?”

“you think you're that good?” he sped over to land a kick on the main body of the mission, making the man keel over.

“no, i know so.” the man retorted, before slamming down three arms at once. he missed megumi entirely, but one section of the dorm was now completely cut off.

‘crap’. megumi thought, before attaching a string of web to the man's neck. “can you be more considerate next time?” before he could swat it off, a wave of venom passed through his neck, paralyzing him.

megumi, after breathing a sigh of relief, quickly did a once-over of the damaged area. swinging by only to see you, standing at the broken off chunk of what must've been your room with a horrified look.

you stared blankly at the outside, an odd look on your face. the boba that you stopped to get at the cafe now dropped on the floor.

megumi rushed over to you, moving you from the dangerous edge as he instinctively asked, “[name]! are you okay?”

you looked at him, tilting your head in confusion as he held you close. “..spider-man? why do you know my name?”

shit.

“uhh. i.. know one of your friends? he spoke of you once.”

“really? who?”

“um.. oops.. his name must of slipped my mind.”

“oh?”

“just– listen, you've got to find someone to stay with. sorry about this, but your dorm is wrecked.”

it seemed to get your attention off the topic for a second you looking over and mentally crying at all your lost things. “aw man, my stuff.”

he finally let you out his embrace so you could start calling up people to let you stay with them. “um.. i'm really sorry about this [name].”

“it's not your fault spider-man,” you said while texting, “i probably would be dead if you didn't come when you did. so thank you.”

you gave him a polite smile, before he nodded and swung off.

he finally made it back to his dorm, slumping over at his desk, changing quickly so he could just be done.

he walked out his room, sweatpants hung low as he went to go get another bunny popsicle, only for this one to meet the same fate as its predecessor when he saw you walk in with yuuji.

“hey megumi!” yuuji waved, his eyes wide as if to signal something.

“she's gonna be staying here, since her dorm was ruined by a villain. isn't that horrible?”

“why are you being weird?”

“i'm not?”

megumi stood jaw slack at the implications of living with you, his face flushed before he let out a small. “okay.”

weeks living with you weren't bad. you were a good roommate, you'd clean, do your part of the dishes, hang out as you three, it was all good.

he'd let you borrow his clothes, his sweatshirts and pants became you new style. since his fight with that villain had left you without any clothes.

everything had been fine, you'd even hung out in his room one on one once, lazing about as you laid on the silken sheets, not knowing how you were affecting him.

one day, an altercation with some random villain had left him bleeding from the stomach, stumbling as he walked in. he only managed to make it to the living room, before falling onto the floor. he didn't have his suit on thankfully, he had been caught off guard and had to fight without it, but he'd never missed the slight protection it gave him until now.

you saw him, keeled over on the floor, and rushed to his side. “megumi? what's–” you let a sharp gasp escape your lips at the sight of the blood puddle under him. you flipped him over as gentle as you could, pulling up his shirt and running to find a kit.

you didn't think you'd ever need to use your sewing skills for skin, but you were weaving the needle in and out of the huge wound with precision, ignoring the tears burning at you eyes.

you didn't know what was going on with him, why'd he'd leave at random hours throughout the night and come back bruised every time. but you couldn't find it in yourself to ask.

now you wish you did.

“megumi?” he was out cold, face still as you poked his cheek gently. you dabbed at his wound, cleaning it up before getting yuuji to help him into his bed.

he woke up alone, his wounds even from the months before having been taken care of. when he walked in to the kitchen, only to have you grab his hand.

“megumi.”

“ah. [name].” his eyes were wide as he stared at your grip on him. “what.. what do you do when you go out? you come back all.. bruised and stuff.”

crap.

“i.. i can't tell you.”

you gripped his hand tighter at that, before letting go completely. “‘kay. but,” you held up a finger to his face. “i'll take care of your injuries everyday.”

his eyes widened impossibly, before a small smile overcame his face. “yeah? sounds good.”

that's how he found himself, every night with your hand tending anything that ailed him. you'd make jokes about what you think he was out doing, beating up underclassmen or whatnot. until.. he left his mask in plain vision once.

“hey, why do you have spider-man's mask in here?”

his breath hitched, eye catching the object that fell out of the closet he shoved it in.

“uh.. i'm.. spider-man's friend?” he mentally face palmed.

…

“oh!” you said, eyes brightening. “now i get it! wouldn't you believe it if i said that i met spider-man when my dorm like.. got destroyed?”

“yeah. uh– he told me.”

“oh! he said he had a friend, i didn't know it was you!”

“yeah i help him. research and stuff, get caught in the aftermath a lot.”

“that makes sense. you're so cool megumi.”

he flushed, becoming hyper aware of your hands on his.

“yeah, whatever.”

your almost nightly ritual was only cut off by a party your friend was throwing. you were so excited, not having gone to one since your dorm room was destroyed.

until you needed someone to help zip up your dress. with your friends half an hour away, you wrapped a towel around yourself and knocked on megumi’s door.

“yo–” whatever he was going to say got caught in his breath at this sight of you, clad in a towel.

“hey megumi. can you help me real quick?”

he ripped his eyes off of you momentarily, before averting his eyes and gesturing for you to come in.

he almost freaked out when you dropped the towel, only to see a gorgeous dress underneath. “can you zip me up? i can't reach.”

he sucked in a deep breath, before putting a thumbs up.

with shaky hands he zipped up your dress, instinctively you turned around. “how do i look?”

he couldn't voice his words, but as you saw the gulp that came over him, you knew you looked good. with a pat on the back and a, “see you there!” you set off.

and you found yourself in the same position as the last time, except he was on top of you, your hands pulling him closer as your legs wrapped around him. same bed too, not that it mattered.

you felt the same pressure from his piercing from last time, you two weren't nearly as drunk as then though. it was bruising your lip, you two were breathless, his hands moved, about to hold your face when–

his phone rang. you both jumped, but when he saw who it was he knew he had to answer. it was yuuji, and he wouldn't have called if it wasn't important. “sorry.” is all he said before he went outside.

he always kept his suit near him, so he slipped it on and went to the site where it was reported doc oc would be. being he escaped prison and all.

you were upset and angry in all senses of the word. you stormed out into the streets, the cold biting your skin as you stomped away. only to find yourself… entangled in an iron hand.

“spider-man likes you, right?” a man asked, warped voice behind you. “stay still and i won't hurt you. too bad.”

you were dragged, silent as to not upset this strange man. he settled over a random building, holding you over an edge.

“stay quiet 'til he gets here, i don't wanna hear you scream.”

—-

all the information had been wrong, doc had been on the complete opposite side of the city. with a screaming yuuji in his ear, he now knew the villain held you in his grasp. great.

the guy was shaking you around over the edge, the one you were tumbling over mentally was now physical as the far distance to the bottom loomed under you.

his heart sped up at the sight of you, he made his presence known. “hey, how'd you escape from the psych ward?”

“it was confinement, and i don't owe you any answer spider-man! you'll let me beat you down or– or i'll throw your girlfriend off this roof.” the villain shook you slightly, making you yelp.

“you won't be doing anything.”

“oh, yes i will.”

the arm with you encircled in it raised, he sped over to web the base of his body to the ground, kicking the control in with his leg.

the dome surrounding the villains body shattered, leaving a shaking man in its wake.

“d-don't hurt me! or i'll–”

a punch by the side of his head shut him up. “put her down, before i put you down.”

“i– i can't! that arm is broken! t-the whole panel is!”

he looked and sure enough he was right, the control buttons were electrified and tweaking.

he scoffed. “stay here, actually.” he webbed him down, with a little venom just to be safe.

he walked calmly on top of the arm, seeing the relief form on your lips bruised from him.

“hey pretty.” he said, not knowing where the sudden confidence came from.

“spider-man! thank god.” you breathed a sigh. “yeah, don't thank me yet.” he muttered. “you have to trust me [name]. can you do that for me?” he asked, looking right at you as he stood over the only thing keeping you alive.

“i mean.. yeah.”

“okay then. you're going to fall. but i'm going to catch you, okay?”

you nodded, closing your eyes. “okay. don't worry, i got you.”

before you knew it you were falling, you screamed obviously, because you stupidly opened your eyes to the cars moving below. the lights blinding as you fell closer and closer, until you were suddenly in the embrace of him.

“are you okay?” he asked, looking at your face of pure shock at the feeling of being swung around. “yeah, now that you're here! this is so cool!” he smiled, the fabric of his mask wrinkling as he took you to your unknowingly shared home, though he took the long route.

he was a bit too happy when he dropped you off at your window, antsy as you finally settled in. “thank you, spidey.”

“ah, it's nothing. just doing my job you know?” he smirked, you nodded. you tilted you head slightly as you moved towards him, heart in your throat as you put your hand under the neck of his mask, lifting it up just to reveal his lips.

“what, you trying to pay me for my trouble?” he genuinely didn't know why he was acting on his impulses so much around you, maybe it was the freedom of being spiderman. but you didn't mind as you kissed him. sparks flew, almost literally.

a lightbulb went off in your head, you gasped when you felt the metal of his piercing nudge against the sensitive bruise on your lip from earlier.

no way. “megumi?”

he froze, before a small, “hi?” escaped him.

you pulled off his mask, green eyes greeting you and a messy bunch of hair that you have no idea how it fit being revealed. all you could do was laugh, before planting another kiss on his lips.

“you're so dumb. but i guess i am too, huh?”

a smile overcame his lips, matching yours as he let out a small laugh too.

“guess we are.”

the night ended with you two in each others arms, him speaking on his experiences as spider-man and you questioning him on it. his hands now playing with your hair.

“name slipped your mind huh?” you joked, reminiscing on your first conversation with spider-man.

“tch, shut up.” he grumbled, before silencing you with a kiss. he physically didn't want to be far from you anymore, he held you even closer. even if you poked fun at him.

a webbed seal of fate tied you two together, a web woven by cupid themself.

[pucksandpower]

Collared

Day 29 → BDSM 💋 Toto Wolff

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The bar pulses with low, red lights, casting shadows that stretch and bend with each flicker of the candles lining the tables. You sit quietly at the table, trying to focus on your breathing, the rhythmic pounding of the bass beneath your feet, the way the leather of your collar tightens just slightly around your throat every time you swallow.

It’s supposed to be comforting. A reminder. But tonight, it feels like a noose.

Across from you, your boyfriend — no, your Dom, the man who’s supposed to make you feel safe — leans back in his chair. His eyes are cold tonight, detached in a way they rarely are. You glance up at him, searching for something — anything — to read in his face. But he’s unreadable. The cool, collected mask he puts on when he’s decided to shut you out.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you anymore,” he says, his voice sharp enough to cut through the music. He leans forward, arms crossing over the table, as though the weight of his words needs extra support.

Your stomach drops.

“What do you mean?” You manage to ask, even though your voice wavers.

He sighs, rolling his eyes, and the way he does it makes you feel small. “You’re not … cut out for this. For us.” His eyes flick to the collar around your neck, a disgusted curl of his lip. “You’re a horrible submissive. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You want to argue, to explain, to tell him that you’re trying — you’ve always been trying. But the words stick in your throat like shards of glass, and instead, all you manage is a strangled, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry’s not enough,” he spits, loud enough for the tables around you to hear. He looks over his shoulder, and now you can feel the eyes on you. People are staring. Whispering. “You’ve embarrassed me for the last time. I’m taking my collar back.”

Your heart stops. “Wait-” But before you can finish, his hands are already at your throat, unclasping the leather with a precision that’s almost practiced. He holds it up, examining it like it’s some trivial thing, and then — God, no, please — he tosses it on the table like it means nothing.

Your knees give out. You don’t even realize you’ve fallen to the ground until you hear the gasps from the crowd around you. You try to get up, try to stop the tears, but the panic is rising in your chest, fast and hard, and suddenly you can’t breathe. Your hands fly to your throat, but the collar’s already gone. There’s nothing left. He took it.

You’re nothing.

Your chest tightens, your vision blurs, and the world around you fades to a dull roar. You think you hear his voice — maybe he’s still talking — but the words are swallowed by the pounding in your ears.

“Get up,” he snaps. “Jesus, you’re pathetic.”

The room tilts, and then someone’s hands are on your shoulders, strong and steady. Not his hands. Someone else. You blink through the tears, your head swimming, trying to focus on the tall figure looming over you.

Toto Wolff.

You know him instantly. Everyone does. He’s a legend in these circles — the Dom that no one can touch, no one can ever seem to get claimed by. And right now, he’s looking down at you like he’s going to destroy the man who just broke you.

Toto’s voice is low, but firm, addressing your ex with an authority that leaves no room for argument. “Get out.”

“What the fuck-” your ex starts, standing, but Toto’s hand is already raised, a warning.

“You don’t want to do this.” His eyes narrow, and there’s something so deadly in them that it makes the entire room go still. “Leave. Now.”

For a moment, it looks like your ex might fight back. His jaw clenches, fists tightening at his sides. But the weight of Toto’s presence is overwhelming, and slowly, too slowly, your ex stumbles back. He shoots one last hateful look at you, but it’s fleeting. He’s nothing here. Not anymore. He slinks away into the crowd, muttering under his breath, but you don’t hear it. You can’t hear anything.

You’re trembling. Still on the floor, your hands are cold, numb, clutching at your sides as though you might disappear if you let go.

Toto crouches in front of you, his hands hovering near you, but not touching. Not yet. He’s careful, respectful. “Breathe,” he says softly. His voice is steady, soothing, as though he’s done this a hundred times before. “I need you to breathe for me, okay?”

You nod, trying to take in a breath, but it catches in your throat. It’s too tight, too raw.

“I know,” he murmurs. “But you’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you.” His hand brushes against your arm, and it’s warm, grounding you. “Can you stand?”

You don’t know. You’re not sure if your legs will work. But before you can answer, Toto’s already moving. Gently, he slides his arms around you, lifting you with an ease that makes you feel weightless. He cradles you against his chest, one hand resting on the back of your head, the other under your knees.

You bury your face in his shirt, and the tears come faster now. You can’t stop them. You’re shaking, the sobs wracking your body, but Toto holds you closer, murmuring something under his breath that you can’t quite hear. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, a metronome of safety in a world that just collapsed.

“Shh,” he soothes, his lips brushing against your hair. “It’s okay. Let it out. You’re okay.”

He carries you through the crowd, and you barely notice the way people step aside for him, the way they avert their eyes. He’s not just powerful here — he’s respected. Feared. No one would dare challenge him, not tonight. Not when he’s got you in his arms, broken and fragile.

Toto kicks open the door to a private room, the noise from the bar fading as he steps inside. It’s quiet here. Safe. He sets you down gently on a plush couch, kneeling in front of you, his hands still resting on your arms as though he’s afraid you might fall apart again.

“You’re safe,” he repeats, and this time, you believe him.

You wipe at your eyes, embarrassed by the tears. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so-”

“Don’t.” His voice is soft, but firm. “You don’t apologize for this.”

You shake your head, struggling to find the right words. “I should’ve been better.”

Toto’s brow furrows, and for the first time, you see something like anger in his eyes — not at you, but at the thought of someone making you believe that. “No,” he says, and it’s almost a growl. “You were perfect. He didn’t deserve you.”

The weight of his words settles into your chest, and for the first time in what feels like hours, you take a full breath. It feels strange. Like maybe he’s right.

Toto studies you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Then, without breaking eye contact, he pulls a pillow from the couch and places it on the floor in front of him.

“You need to kneel?” He asks, his voice gentle. “For yourself?”

You nod, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for. All you know is that the world feels unsteady, and you need something — anything — to hold onto.

Toto doesn’t hesitate. He helps you slide off the couch, guiding you to your knees, but not in a way that feels humiliating. It feels … right. Like maybe this is where you’re meant to be. At peace, for once.

He settles in front of you on the couch, his legs spread, his hands resting in his lap. “Look at me,” he says softly.

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. His eyes are dark, but there’s something tender in them, something that makes your heart ache in a way you can’t quite describe.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and it’s the first time in hours that you feel like maybe — just maybe — everything will be okay.

***

Toto watches you closely, his eyes never leaving your face as you kneel before him. His expression is calm, steady — grounding. You’re still trembling, but the storm inside you is slowly starting to settle. The silence stretches between you, warm and safe, the first real calm you’ve felt in hours, maybe days. You’re breathing again, slower, more measured.

“Good,” he murmurs after a moment, his voice low, smooth as velvet. “You’re calmer now.”

You nod, unable to find the words, still reeling from everything that’s just happened. The weight of your ex’s cruelty, the embarrassment of being stripped of your collar in front of everyone—it’s all still sitting heavy in your chest, but with Toto here, holding your gaze with his strong, steady presence, it feels … manageable. Barely.

He’s quiet for a few moments, and then his voice cuts through the silence. “I need you to talk to me.” The command is there, laced through his words, but it’s gentle, coaxing.

“About what?” You ask, your voice shaky, unsure.

“About him. Your ex,” Toto says, his eyes narrowing slightly, though not at you. “What was that relationship, really? What did he do to you?”

You hesitate. The flood of emotions is still too fresh, and you’re not sure where to begin. Part of you wants to hide from it, shove it all down where it can’t hurt you anymore, but the way Toto looks at you—like he’s not just asking for your words, but for the truth—you find yourself unraveling.

“It wasn’t always like that,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Not at first.”

Toto tilts his head, watching you with careful, measured patience. “But it changed?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “He started getting … impatient with me. Like I could never be good enough, no matter what I did.” Your hands twist nervously in your lap, the shame crawling up your spine. “It didn’t matter how hard I tried, it was never enough for him.”

Toto’s jaw tightens, but his voice remains gentle. “What would he say?”

You blink back the tears threatening to fall again. “He’d tell me I wasn’t obedient enough. Or that I was too needy. Too emotional. He said I made him look bad in front of his friends.” The words spill out faster now, like once they started, there was no way to stop them. “I thought if I tried harder, if I just did better, he’d see that I was … I don’t know, worthy of him? But nothing ever changed. He just kept pushing me down. And I-” Your voice cracks. “I let him.”

Toto’s fingers twitch in his lap, as though he’s barely holding back the urge to reach out and pull you into his arms again. But he stays where he is, giving you the space to continue.

“How long were you with him?” He asks, his voice dipping low, as if he already knows the answer will hurt to hear.

“Two years,” you say, your voice small, like the weight of it is too much to bear. “Two years of trying to be good enough. Of hoping that one day he’d just — he’d see me.”

“And he never did,” Toto finishes softly, the understanding in his voice breaking something inside you.

You nod, the tears slipping free now, running hot down your cheeks. “No. He never did.”

Toto shifts forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and the intensity in his eyes softens. “You don’t have to be ashamed of that.”

You blink up at him, startled by the words. “I-I should’ve known better,” you whisper, your voice thick with self-blame. “I should’ve seen it sooner. I stayed too long.”

“No,” Toto says firmly, shaking his head. “You trusted him. That’s what you’re supposed to do in a relationship like that. You gave him your trust, and he abused it. That’s not on you.”

You look away, your chest tightening again. “I still feel like it is.”

Toto’s voice drops even lower, steady and unwavering. “Then you’re wrong.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes you want to believe him. Maybe it’s the absolute certainty in his tone, or the way his gaze never wavers, but for the first time in what feels like forever, the self-doubt that’s been gnawing at you doesn’t feel so all-consuming.

You wipe at your cheeks, sniffling. “I don’t know what to do now,” you admit, the vulnerability in your voice both terrifying and strangely freeing. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

Toto’s brow furrows, his attention sharp, like he’s assessing a problem that needs solving. “What do you mean?” He asks, though there’s a note in his voice that suggests he’s already starting to piece it together.

You hesitate, shame creeping back up your throat. “He — he’s the only one on our lease,” you say slowly, the words bitter on your tongue. “He always said that as the Dom, he should have full control of everything. Our finances. Our apartment.” You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t have anything now. He made sure of that.”

Toto’s eyes darken, and for a moment, his hands clench into fists before he forces himself to relax again. “He controlled your money?”

You nod, feeling smaller than ever. “He said it was part of being a good submissive. That I had to trust him with everything.”

The silence between you is heavy, charged with an emotion you can’t quite place. But Toto doesn’t speak right away. He just watches you, the muscle in his jaw working as he processes what you’ve said.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “You’ll stay with me.”

You blink, surprised. “What?”

“You’re not going back there,” Toto says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ll come with me. You’ll stay at my place until you get back on your feet.”

You shake your head, the shame overwhelming. “I can’t. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You won’t be,” Toto says, his voice as steady as ever. “You need a place to stay. I have more than enough room. And …” His eyes soften again, just slightly. “I’d rather you be somewhere safe. Somewhere you can heal.”

Your heart skips a beat at the word *safe*. It’s been so long since you’ve felt truly safe, since anyone’s cared enough to offer you a lifeline like this.

“But I don’t want to intrude,” you protest, still not fully convinced.

Toto leans forward, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. “You won’t be intruding. I’m offering this because I want to.” His voice lowers, a gentle but firm command. “Say yes.”

You open your mouth, but the words are tangled up inside you. There’s something so powerful in the way he speaks, in the way he sees you, that makes it hard to resist. Not that you want to. You want to say yes. You just … don’t know if you deserve it.

Toto must sense your hesitation, because he reaches out, resting one large hand on your knee. His touch is warm, solid, grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

“You’re not alone in this,” he says softly. “You don’t have to carry it by yourself anymore.”

The knot in your chest loosens just slightly, and you nod, unable to hold back the tears any longer. They fall, hot and fast, but this time, they’re not from fear or shame. They’re from relief. The kind that comes when you realize you don’t have to fight alone anymore.

“I’ll stay with you,” you whisper, the words feeling like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.

Toto’s hand squeezes your knee gently. “Good girl.”

The praise hits you in a way that surprises you. It feels like balm on a wound, like maybe — just maybe — you’re not as broken as you thought you were.

Toto stands, towering over you for a moment before he offers you his hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

You take his hand, and he pulls you to your feet, steadying you with a hand on your back as you find your balance. The room feels smaller now, quieter, as though the storm that had been raging inside you has finally begun to calm.

Toto picks up your discarded collar from the table, turning it over in his hands for a moment before tucking it into his jacket pocket. “You won’t need this anymore.”

You nod, the weight of that statement not lost on you. It feels like a chapter closing, like you’re finally walking away from something that’s been holding you down for far too long.

Toto leads you out of the room, his hand still resting on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd that seems to part for him without a second thought. You keep your eyes forward, not daring to look at the faces that had watched your humiliation earlier. It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re leaving with Toto, and that’s all that matters now.

***

The guest bedroom is beautiful, opulent even — more luxurious than any place you’ve ever stayed. The bed is soft, the linens expensive, the walls tastefully decorated with muted tones. The space should feel safe, like the sanctuary Toto promised it would be. But sleep doesn’t come easy. It never does, not anymore.

You toss and turn under the sheets, your mind a storm of memories you can’t escape. The room may be beautiful, but your head is still trapped in the dark. You pull at the covers, kicking them off as your body grows restless, heat prickling at your skin. The emptiness at your throat burns, and you unconsciously reach up, fingers grazing your neck, searching for the collar that’s no longer there.

You find nothing but skin. Bare. Exposed. Unprotected.

The panic wells up before you can stop it. It surges in your chest, quick and violent, like you’re drowning in your own bed. You tug at your throat, pulling harder as if trying to force the collar back, trying to make yourself feel whole again. But it’s gone. He took it, and he left you with nothing.

In your sleep, you whimper, and the sound builds into a cry — frantic, desperate. You thrash against the sheets, tugging harder, scratching at your own neck. The empty space where your collar used to be feels like a gaping wound. You scream, raw and choked, and your hands fly to your throat again, nails digging into skin.

Suddenly, strong hands are on you — grabbing your wrists, pulling them away from your neck with firm, unyielding strength.

“Stop,” a voice commands, deep and steady.

You jolt awake, gasping, your heart hammering in your chest. The room is dark, unfamiliar, and for a moment, you don’t know where you are. Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts as you struggle to orient yourself.

“It’s okay,” the voice says, softer now, soothing. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

Toto.

Your eyes finally focus, and you see him crouched beside the bed, his large hands gently holding your wrists. His grip is strong but not painful—just enough to stop you from hurting yourself. He watches you with concern, his face bathed in the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains.

“I … I-” You choke on your words, your body shaking uncontrollably.

“You were dreaming,” he says softly, his voice a low murmur in the darkness. “You were hurting yourself. I had to stop you.”

You look down at your wrists, realizing how tight his grip had been. But it wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t like him. It was to protect you. Slowly, your breathing starts to steady, though the tremors in your body remain.

“I couldn’t breathe,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “It felt like I was choking …”

Toto’s expression hardens, but not with anger. There’s a deep sadness in his eyes, a kind of understanding that makes your heart ache. He releases your wrists slowly, carefully, as though he’s afraid you might break again. His hands linger near you, close enough to grab hold if you need him to.

“I shouldn’t have let you sleep alone,” he says quietly, almost to himself. He stands up, his tall frame towering over you, casting a shadow over the bed. “I thought … I thought you’d be okay.”

“I don’t know how to be okay,” you admit, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I don’t know how to sleep without feeling like I’m falling apart.”

He watches you for a moment, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. There’s a decision forming in his eyes, a quiet resolve that you don’t fully understand yet.

“You need me to take control,” he says, his voice low and certain. It’s not a question — it’s a statement.

Your breath hitches in your throat, but you nod, unable to find the words. He knows. Somehow, he knows exactly what you need.

Toto moves with purpose, walking over to the nightstand. He opens the drawer with a smooth, deliberate motion, his eyes still on you, gauging your reaction. Inside, nestled among other carefully chosen tools, lies a paddle — sleek, polished, made of dark wood. He pulls it out, holding it in one hand as if testing its weight.

Your heart skips a beat. You know what this is. You’ve seen paddles before, felt them before. But there’s something different about this moment. The air between you shifts, thick with anticipation.

Toto steps back toward the bed, his presence commanding but not overwhelming. “You trust me?” He asks, his voice quiet but firm.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. There’s no hesitation in your answer. You do trust him. More than you ever trusted anyone else.

“Good,” he says, satisfaction flickering across his face. “Then listen carefully. I’m going to help you, but you need to let me take over. No thinking. No questioning. Just do as I say. Can you do that?”

You nod, your heart racing, the tension inside you slowly unwinding at the promise of his control. The weight of your decisions, the confusion, the pain—it all feels lighter now, like maybe you can let go for just a moment and let him carry it.

“Words, liebling,” Toto says softly, reminding you with gentle authority. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” you reply, louder this time, your voice steadying. “I’ll do as you say.”

A faint smile touches his lips, approval shining in his eyes. “Good girl.”

He walks back to the side of the bed, motioning for you to sit up. “Get on your knees, facing the headboard.”

You comply without question, moving to the center of the bed and positioning yourself as he instructed. Your body feels tense, but it’s the kind of tension that promises release. You’re not scared—not of him. You trust him with every fiber of your being. The fear that had wrapped itself around you earlier is slowly unraveling, replaced by something else, something warmer.

Toto moves to stand beside you, the paddle still in his hand. He trails one finger down your spine, the lightest touch, but it sends a shiver through you. His voice is calm, deliberate. “You need to be reminded of what you’re worth. You need to feel it.”

You bite your lip, anticipation building in your chest. “Yes, sir.”

There’s a pause, and you can feel him watching you, reading you. “Do you know your safe word?” He asks, his voice quiet, but the seriousness of his question is undeniable.

You nod. “Red.”

Toto nods in approval, his eyes dark with focus. “Good. You say it if you need to.”

Then, without another word, he raises the paddle and brings it down against your ass — not too hard, but firm enough to send a jolt through you. The sound of wood meeting flesh fills the room, sharp and clear. You gasp, your body instinctively tensing, but the pain is quickly followed by a rush of warmth.

Toto leans down, his mouth close to your ear. “You can take this,” he murmurs. “You’re strong enough. You’ve always been strong enough.”

Another strike. Then another. The rhythm is slow, measured, and you find yourself sinking into it. Each smack of the paddle pulls you further from the chaos in your mind, grounding you in the present moment. There’s no room for doubt here, no space for the fear and confusion that usually haunt you.

It’s just you, him, and the steady beat of the paddle.

“You’re not broken,” he says between strikes, his voice steady and low. “You’re not weak. Don’t ever let anyone make you believe that.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but not from pain. It’s the words, the weight of them sinking in. For so long, you believed you were weak, that you were nothing without someone else to validate you. But now … now it feels different.

You feel different.

“Say it,” Toto commands, his voice firm. “Say you’re strong.”

“I’m strong,” you gasp, the words catching in your throat.

Another strike, harder this time, but the warmth it leaves behind spreads through you like a balm. “Again,” he orders.

“I’m strong,” you repeat, louder this time, the conviction in your voice growing.

Toto lowers the paddle for a moment, his hand resting on your back, warm and steady. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so well.”

You breathe deeply, the tension in your body slowly melting away. Each strike, each word of praise, is like a piece of the armor you didn’t know you were building. By the time he sets the paddle down, you feel lighter than you have in years.

Toto pulls you into his arms, guiding you back down onto the bed. You’re trembling, but it’s not from fear. It’s from release. From the overwhelming sense of safety that only he seems capable of giving you.

“You’re safe now,” he whispers, cradling you against his chest. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believe him. You’re safe. You’re strong. And with him, you can finally start to heal.

***

Morning light filters through the wide windows of Toto’s dining room, casting soft, golden hues across the hardwood floor. The house is quiet, serene in a way that makes you feel like you’re in a different world — far removed from the chaos of the night before. As you sit at the edge of the bed, still wrapped in the warm blankets from your sleep, the memory of Toto’s firm, steady control lingers, calming your racing thoughts.

You spent the night in his guest room, but not alone. After the paddle, after the soft words and the gentle touches, Toto stayed with you, holding you until you fell asleep, cocooned in the safety of his presence. It was the first time in what felt like forever that you didn’t wake up gasping for air.

Now, with the sun rising, you feel a strange mix of emotions. There’s a sense of peace you haven’t felt in so long, but there’s also a flicker of nervousness. You wonder what happens next. What does Toto expect from you now that the night is over?

Dressed in one of the soft robes Toto left for you, you make your way down the wide hallway, following the smell of coffee and something warm cooking. As you reach the dining room, you see him — Toto, seated at the long, polished table, a newspaper spread out in front of him and a plate of food waiting beside it.

He looks up as you enter, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. “Good morning,” he says, his voice deep and smooth, like the rumble of an engine. There’s a softness to his tone, a warmth that sets you at ease.

“Good morning,” you reply, shy but hopeful. You take a step toward the table, and then hesitate, biting your lip. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but you’re not sure how to say them. The air between you feels lighter, but still charged with the weight of everything that happened last night.

Toto tilts his head, sensing your hesitation. “What is it?” He asks, his eyes never leaving yours.

You swallow, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. It’s a simple request, but one that feels loaded with meaning. “May I …” You pause, gathering your courage. “May I kneel for you?”

For a moment, Toto says nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he puts down the newspaper, folding it neatly and setting it aside. His eyes soften, and the faintest trace of a smile pulls at his lips. “Of course,” he says, his voice gentle but sure. “You don’t need to ask.”

Relief washes over you, and you feel your body relax as you move toward him. There’s something about kneeling for him that feels right — like it’s where you belong, like the world makes sense when you’re at his feet. You sink to your knees beside his chair, the cool floor beneath you grounding you as you settle into the familiar position.

Toto watches you carefully, his gaze filled with quiet admiration. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise sends a rush of warmth through you, filling the hollow spaces left by doubt and fear.

You look up at him, your hands resting on your thighs, waiting for his next move. There’s no rush, no urgency — just the steady rhythm of your breathing and the quiet hum of the house around you.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, his voice low and intimate. It’s a simple question, but the way he asks it makes you feel seen, cared for. Not like an obligation, but like someone who matters.

You nod, your stomach fluttering. “Yes, sir.”

Toto reaches for the plate of food beside him — fresh fruit, toast, and eggs, all arranged neatly. But instead of setting it in front of you, he picks up a piece of fruit, holding it delicately between his fingers.

“Open,” he instructs, his voice calm but commanding.

You part your lips, and he gently places the fruit in your mouth, his thumb grazing your lower lip as he pulls his hand away. The sweetness of the fruit spreads across your tongue, and you close your eyes for a moment, savoring the taste. It’s such a simple act — being fed by hand — but it fills you with a deep sense of connection, like you’re being cared for in a way that goes beyond words.

Toto watches you, his eyes dark and focused, as if he’s studying your every reaction. “Good?” He asks, his voice soft.

You nod, swallowing the fruit. “Yes, sir.”

He picks up another piece, this time offering you a small bite of toast. “Tell me how you slept,” he says as he feeds you, his tone conversational but still holding that edge of authority.

You chew slowly, thinking about the question. “I … I slept better than I have in a long time,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t wake up … panicking again. Not like I usually do.”

Toto’s gaze softens, and he nods, as if he expected that answer. “You felt safe,” he says, more a statement than a question.

“Yes,” you reply, looking up at him. “I did.”

He feeds you another bite, his eyes never leaving yours. “That’s how it should be,” he murmurs. “You should always feel safe. You deserve that.”

His words are like a balm to your soul, soothing the raw edges of your emotions. For so long, you believed that you didn’t deserve safety or kindness — that you were only worth something when you were serving someone else’s needs. But Toto’s care, his quiet authority, makes you feel like maybe you’re worth more than that.

He offers you another bite of fruit, and you take it without hesitation, the act of being fed by him making you feel more connected, more grounded in the moment. You don’t have to think or worry. All you have to do is trust him, let him guide you.

Toto sets the plate down after a while, wiping his hands on a napkin before reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is soft, tender, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he says quietly, his voice thick with understanding. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to rush anything. You take your time. You come to me when you’re ready.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his voice. “I … I don’t know what to do now,” you confess, the vulnerability in your words making your chest tighten. “I don’t know where to go or how to start over.”

Toto’s hand lingers on your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” he says, his tone reassuring. “You’re not alone anymore. I told you last night — I’ll help you. You’re safe with me.”

The sincerity in his words makes your throat tighten with emotion. You never expected to find someone like Toto — someone who could take control without making you feel small, who could care for you without making you feel weak.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with gratitude. “For everything.”

Toto smiles, a small but genuine smile that makes your heart swell. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says. “Just focus on taking care of yourself. That’s all I ask.”

You nod, feeling a warmth spread through you. There’s still so much you don’t know, so much you’re unsure of. But in this moment, kneeling at Toto’s feet, being fed by his hand, you feel like maybe — just maybe — you can start to heal.

Toto reaches for his coffee, taking a sip before glancing down at you again. “Do you want to stay here with me?” He asks, his tone casual, but you can hear the underlying importance of the question.

Your heart skips a beat, and you look up at him, searching his face for any sign that he might be offering this out of pity. But all you see is quiet determination, a calm certainty that tells you he means every word.

“I … I don’t want to be a burden,” you say softly, though the thought of leaving fills you with a quiet dread.

Toto shakes his head, his expression firm. “You’re not a burden,” he says, his voice unwavering. “You never were. And as long as you want to be here, this is your home.”

The weight of his words settles over you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel the stirrings of hope. Maybe this is the fresh start you’ve been searching for. Maybe, with Toto’s help, you can finally begin to rebuild the pieces of yourself that were broken.

“Then … yes,” you say, your voice steady but soft. “I want to stay.”

Toto’s smile widens, and he nods, as if that was the only answer he was expecting. “Good,” he says, his tone final, as though the decision has been made and that’s the end of it. “You’ll stay with me, and we’ll figure it out together.”

As you kneel there, with Toto’s hand resting lightly on your shoulder, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’ve found the place where you truly belong.

***

The sun is warm against your skin, a soft, golden light that glimmers across the surface of the pool. The water is crystal clear, reflecting the bright blue sky overhead. You’re stretched out on a plush lounger, eyes closed, feeling the tension melt away from your body as the heat sinks into your muscles. For the first time in what feels like forever, you can actually breathe.

Toto’s house is like a sanctuary — a far cry from the cramped, tension-filled apartment you’d shared with your ex. Here, everything feels expansive, open, and safe. The sound of the water gently lapping against the edge of the pool is the only noise around, a soothing backdrop to the peaceful afternoon.

You turn over onto your stomach, adjusting your bikini to soak in more of the sun’s rays, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to forget about everything that’s happened. Here, in this moment, there’s no anxiety clawing at your chest, no panic bubbling just beneath the surface. Just the warmth of the sun and the soft breeze ruffling the leaves of the nearby trees.

It’s strange, being here without Toto. He left for work this morning, after making sure you had everything you needed, and though he’s been gone for hours, you still feel his presence lingering around the house. It’s comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. You can’t help but wonder what it will be like when he returns, how he’ll look at you, what he’ll say.

The thought brings a small smile to your lips, and you close your eyes again, letting the peacefulness of the moment wash over you. For the first time in ages, you’re not afraid of what the future holds. With Toto, things feel … different. Better.

By the time the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the pool, you’ve already showered and changed into a light sundress, feeling refreshed and relaxed. The house is quiet when you make your way to the dining room, but you know Toto will be home soon.

As if on cue, you hear the soft hum of an engine outside, followed by the sound of the front door opening. Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a flutter of nervous excitement in your chest. You glance toward the door just as Toto walks in, his tall frame commanding the space without even trying.

“Good evening,” he says, his deep voice sending a familiar warmth through you.

“Good evening,” you reply, your voice soft but steady. “How was work?”

He smiles, a small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips. “Busy,” he says simply, walking over to you. His eyes linger on you for a moment, taking in your relaxed posture, your bare feet against the hardwood floor, and the soft fabric of your dress. “I see you’ve been enjoying the pool.”

You nod, feeling a little shy under his gaze. “It’s beautiful out there.”

Toto steps closer, his presence as calming as ever. “Good,” he says, his voice low. “I want you to feel at home here.”

You do. More than you ever expected.

He gestures toward the table, where dinner is already laid out, simple but elegant, with a bottle of wine breathing in the center. “Shall we eat?”

You take a seat across from him, and the two of you settle into an easy rhythm. There’s no awkwardness, no tension — just the quiet sounds of silverware against plates and the occasional murmur of conversation. As you eat, you steal glances at Toto, watching the way he moves, the way his eyes darken when he catches you looking at him.

It’s peaceful. But there’s something else simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken but palpable. You can feel it in the way Toto’s gaze lingers on you, in the way his voice drops an octave when he speaks. There’s a tension, but it’s not the kind that makes you anxious. It’s the kind that makes your pulse quicken.

After a while, Toto sets his fork down, leaning back in his chair. His eyes find yours, and there’s a new intensity in his gaze, something that makes your breath catch.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “About us. About what you need.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you swallow hard, suddenly feeling exposed under the weight of his gaze. “What do you mean?” You ask, though you have an idea of where this is going.

Toto’s eyes never leave yours as he speaks. “I think you know,” he says quietly. “Last night was just the beginning. There’s more to this, to us, than what we’ve explored so far.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine at his words. There’s something about the way he says “us” that makes your heart race, something about the promise of what’s to come that sends heat pooling in your core.

Toto leans forward, his eyes dark and focused. “I want to know if you’re ready for more,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “If you want to do a scene with me.”

The question hangs in the air between you, thick with anticipation. You can feel your pulse quicken, your breath hitching slightly at the thought. A scene. With Toto.

You’ve imagined it — more than once, if you’re honest with yourself. But hearing him say it, seeing the way his eyes darken with desire as he asks, it makes everything feel real in a way that sends your nerves tingling.

“I … I think I’d like that,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toto’s lips curl into a small, satisfied smile. “Good,” he says softly. “Finish your wine, and I’ll show you the playroom.”

Your heart is racing as you take the last sip of your drink, the anticipation building with every second that passes. When you finally set your glass down, Toto stands, offering you his hand. You take it without hesitation, and he leads you through the house, his grip firm but gentle.

He leads you to a room you hadn’t noticed before, down a long hallway at the back of the house. The door is heavy, made of dark wood, and when he opens it, your breath catches in your throat.

The room is stunning.

It’s large, with high ceilings and soft lighting that casts a warm glow over the polished floors. Along the walls are racks of gear — everything from ropes to floggers to paddles, all meticulously arranged. In the center of the room is a large, padded bench, and beside it, a St. Andrew’s cross. It’s a dungeon, but one that’s been designed with care and attention to detail.

Toto walks you further into the room, his presence calm and steady, but you can feel the shift in the air. There’s an unspoken power here, something that makes your skin tingle with anticipation.

He picks up a set of wrist ties from a nearby rack, running his fingers over the soft leather. “We’ll start with these,” he says, his voice low. “They’re comfortable, but secure. I want you to feel safe, but I also want you to surrender.”

You nod, your breath coming faster now as the reality of the situation sinks in. You’re about to do a scene with Toto Wolff — the man who has been nothing but gentle and caring with you, but who is now looking at you like he’s ready to take control in a way that leaves no room for hesitation.

He steps behind you, his hands brushing against your wrists as he fastens the ties, his touch firm but not painful. “Let me know if it’s too tight,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck.

“It’s perfect,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling slightly with nerves and excitement.

Once your wrists are secured, Toto steps in front of you, holding a flogger in his hand. It’s light, with soft leather strands, not designed to hurt, but to tease, to stimulate.

“Tell me your safeword,” he says, his voice steady.

“Red,” you say, your throat dry with anticipation.

He nods, satisfied. “Good girl.”

Toto steps back, giving you a moment to adjust to the feeling of being tied, the weight of the flogger in his hand a promise of what’s to come. His eyes are dark, focused, and there’s a hunger there that makes your knees weak.

Without another word, he begins, the flogger landing softly against your skin, a gentle rhythm that builds with each stroke. It’s not painful, not yet — it’s more like a caress, a reminder that you’re here, in this moment, with him.

As the strokes continue, the sensation shifts from gentle to something more intense, and you feel your body responding to it, your breath coming faster, your skin tingling with each impact. It’s overwhelming in the best way, and you can’t help the soft moans that escape your lips.

Toto’s voice cuts through the haze of sensation, calm and steady. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” you breathe, your head spinning. “I feel good.”

He nods, his movements never faltering. “Let go,” he murmurs. “Surrender to me. I’ve got you.”

And in that moment, you do. You let go of everything — the fear, the doubt, the pain of the past — and you give yourself over to Toto, trusting him completely.

For the first time in a long time, you feel whole.

***

The restaurant is exquisite. Soft lighting glimmers off crystal glasses and polished silverware, casting a warm, intimate glow over the white-clothed tables. The hum of quiet conversation fills the room, an undercurrent of sophistication and elegance that’s perfectly in tune with the setting.

It’s one of those places you’d only ever heard of — an elusive three Michelin-starred restaurant tucked away in the heart of London, where every dish is a masterpiece and every detail, no matter how small, is perfectly curated.

You glance across the table at Toto, who’s sitting across from you, calm and composed as ever. He’s wearing a tailored suit, dark and understated, but it fits him in a way that makes it clear he’s no stranger to this world of luxury. There’s something about the way he holds himself, a quiet authority that commands attention without ever needing to ask for it.

You, on the other hand, feel a bit like an imposter in this world. The dress you’re wearing — sleek, black, and impossibly flattering — had been a gift from Toto, something he’d picked out for tonight. It fits like it was made for you, but you still can’t quite shake the feeling that you’re playing a role in a scene that doesn’t belong to you.

Toto catches your gaze and smiles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You look nervous,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “Everything alright?”

You nod quickly, forcing a small smile. “Yeah, just … I’ve never been somewhere like this before.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich. “It’s just dinner,” he says, his tone teasing but gentle. “No need to be nervous.”

You know he’s right. It is just dinner, but there’s something more tonight — something unspoken but heavy in the air between you. For the past few weeks, everything has been perfect. Since the night Toto took you in, since he showed you what it meant to truly be cared for, things have only gotten better. You’ve never felt more seen, more understood. He’s given you space to heal, to grow, but he’s also taken control in ways that make you feel secure, grounded.

And yet, tonight feels different. There’s an anticipation simmering beneath the surface, something you can’t quite place. It’s been there ever since you left his house this evening, when he helped you into the car, his hand lingering on your waist just a second longer than usual.

The waiter arrives to clear your plates, and you offer him a polite smile, though your mind is elsewhere. The main course had been an experience in itself — delicate and flavorful, the kind of dish you’d never forget. But now, as you sip the last of your wine, you find yourself unable to focus on anything other than the man sitting across from you.

Toto hasn’t said much since the food arrived, but there’s a certain intensity in his silence, a weight to the way he looks at you that makes your heart race. When dessert is brought out — an intricately plated creation of chocolate and caramel — you glance at Toto, waiting for him to start.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans back in his chair, his hand slipping into the pocket of his suit jacket. For a moment, your stomach flips with confusion.

Then, he pulls out a large black box, the kind you’ve only ever seen in high-end jewelry stores, and sets it on the table between you. The room seems to grow quieter, though you’re sure it’s just your nerves making everything else fade into the background.

Toto watches you carefully, his expression soft but serious. He opens the box, and your breath catches in your throat.

Inside is the most beautiful collar you’ve ever seen. Solid white gold, sleek and elegant, with delicate diamonds studded along the edges, catching the candlelight in a way that makes them shimmer like stars. It’s not ostentatious, not overly extravagant despite its luxury — it’s simple, perfect, and breathtaking.

Your eyes widen, your hand instinctively flying to your throat, where the absence of any collar has been a reminder of everything you’d lost. The weight of your ex’s cruelty still lingers in the back of your mind, but in this moment, that’s not what you’re thinking about. All you can focus on is the collar in front of you, and the man offering it to you.

“Toto …” you breathe, your voice shaky with emotion.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve thought about this for a long time,” he says, his voice steady, but there’s an unmistakable vulnerability in his words. “You’ve been through so much. You’ve given me your trust, and I don’t take that lightly.”

You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes, but you blink them back, your heart pounding in your chest.

Toto continues, his gaze unwavering. “I want you to know that this — this collar — isn’t just a symbol. It’s a promise. A promise that I’ll take care of you, protect you, and guide you. If you accept it, it means you’re accepting me as your Dom. Officially.”

You’re speechless, your mind racing, your heart swelling with so many emotions all at once that it’s hard to process. This is everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you never thought you deserved after what happened with your ex. But Toto … Toto is offering it to you freely, without any hesitation or doubt.

He leans forward slightly, his eyes softening. “I want you to be mine,” he says, his voice low, filled with sincerity. “But only if that’s what you want too.”

Your throat tightens, and you can’t hold back the tears anymore. They slip down your cheeks, but you don’t feel embarrassed. Not here, not with him.

“I …” You struggle to find the words, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Toto smiles softly, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. His touch is warm, reassuring. “You don’t have to say anything. Just tell me what you feel.”

You look down at the collar again, the beautiful, shining piece of jewelry that represents so much more than just an accessory. It represents trust, care, safety —everything you thought you’d lost forever. And now, with Toto, you realize it’s all possible again.

“I want this,” you say, your voice trembling but certain. “I want you. I want to be yours.”

Toto’s smile deepens, a look of pure, unguarded affection crossing his face. He stands slowly, moving around the table toward you. You rise from your chair as he approaches, your heart hammering in your chest as he gently takes the collar from the box.

“May I?” He asks, his voice soft but filled with meaning.

You nod, unable to speak, too overwhelmed by the moment.

Toto steps behind you, his hands warm as he gently brushes your hair aside. You feel the cool weight of the collar as he fastens it around your neck, the clasp clicking into place with a finality that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s not tight, but it’s firm enough to remind you that it’s there — a constant, grounding presence.

He steps back in front of you, his eyes searching yours. “How does it feel?”

You lift a hand to your throat, your fingers brushing over the smooth metal. It feels … right. Like it was always meant to be there.

“It feels perfect,” you whisper, tears still shining in your eyes.

Toto’s expression softens even more, and he cups your face gently in his hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice full of warmth and affection. “You have no idea how much you mean to me.”

Your chest tightens, and you can’t help the smile that breaks across your face, despite the tears. “I think I’m starting to.”

Toto leans down, his lips brushing softly against your forehead, a gesture that’s both tender and protective. “You’re mine now,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “And I’m yours.”

The weight of those words settles over you like a warm blanket, comforting and reassuring. In Toto’s arms, with the collar around your neck, you finally feel safe. Safe, loved, and most of all, home.

***

The bar is just as you remember it — dark, atmospheric, and pulsing with a kind of energy that once felt daunting but now, with Toto at your side, feels like a familiar rhythm. You had known this moment would come eventually, but the thought of returning to the place where everything fell apart had lingered like a storm cloud in your mind for weeks.

Yet tonight, as you walk through the entrance with Toto’s hand resting firmly on your lower back, it feels different. You’re not the same person who left this bar shattered. You’re stronger now, grounded in ways you never thought possible.

Toto leans down, his breath warm against your ear. “Are you alright?” His voice is low, gentle, but the command behind it is unmistakable. He’s checking in, as he always does, ensuring that this is what you want.

You look up at him, giving a small nod. “Yes, sir,” you say softly, the words carrying a weight of truth and certainty.

He smiles down at you, his hand squeezing your waist briefly in a silent message of reassurance. “Good girl.”

Your body reacts to his praise, warmth spreading through you. Every time he says those words, it’s like a jolt of electricity, but tonight, it’s especially potent. You’ve come here with a purpose — not just to face the ghosts of the past, but to show yourself and everyone else, including your ex, that you are no longer that fragile, discarded version of yourself.

The bar is packed tonight, the same familiar crowd — subs and doms, some here to watch, others here to play. You scan the room briefly, and then your heart stops. Your ex is here. Sitting in one of the corner booths, drink in hand, his eyes scan the room — until they land on you.

You freeze, and for a split second, the memories of that night come rushing back — his voice, cruel and dismissive, the public humiliation, the way your knees had given out beneath you. But then you feel Toto’s presence beside you, solid and unwavering. His grip on you tightens, pulling you out of the past and back into the present.

Toto follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as they land on your ex. There’s no need for words. He knows exactly what’s running through your mind, and his jaw sets in a way that tells you he’s already decided how the rest of this night will go.

He bends down to your ear once more, his voice a soothing contrast to the tension in the air. “I think it’s time to show everyone exactly who you belong to.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. You nod again, this time with more confidence. “Yes, sir.”

He leads you through the crowd, toward one of the platforms reserved for public scenes. It’s in full view of the bar, the perfect stage. Your ex watches, his eyes locked on the two of you, but you don’t look away this time. You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you feel nothing but indifference. He has no power over you anymore.

Toto stops in front of the platform, turning you to face him. He brushes a thumb over your collar, the one he gave you at dinner just a few weeks ago, and you swear you see pride flash in his eyes.

“Are you ready?” He asks, his voice a quiet command.

“Yes, sir,” you respond, your voice steady.

He steps up onto the platform first, motioning for you to follow. You do, climbing onto the raised platform as the crowd’s attention starts to shift toward you both. There’s an air of anticipation, curiosity — everyone here knows who Toto is, and it’s rare to see him take part in public scenes. But more than that, they know you now too. You’re not the timid girl from before, you’re Toto’s submissive, and that means something in this world.

Toto walks to a sleek black bag he placed earlier at the side of the platform. From it, he pulls out something that makes your breath catch: a pair of dragon’s tongue whips. They’re long, thin, and flexible, made from braided leather that tapers into a sharp, stinging tip.

Most doms wouldn’t dare use them in a public scene — they require immense skill and precision to wield properly. In the wrong hands, they can cause real harm. But Toto … you trust him completely.

He turns to face you, holding the dragon’s tongue in his hand. His eyes meet yours, and in that moment, the rest of the room fades away.

“Kneel,” he commands softly.

You drop to your knees instantly, your heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and excitement. You glance out into the crowd, and your ex’s eyes are glued to the scene. You can see the shock in his expression — this is something he never could’ve done. He didn’t have the skill, the control, or the understanding of what it truly means to be a Dom. And now, he’s watching you submit to someone far more powerful, far more worthy.

Toto steps behind you, the dragon’s tongue sliding lightly over your bare shoulders. “You’ve been such a good girl for me,” he says, his voice low but full of affection. “And tonight, I’m going to show everyone just how beautifully you submit.”

The first strike lands, light but firm, sending a sharp sting across your back. You gasp, but it’s not pain you feel — it’s release, surrender. The second strike comes, and then the third, each one carefully controlled, perfectly measured. Toto is a master of his craft, and with each lash, you feel yourself falling deeper into the scene, into the space where nothing exists except his voice, his commands, and the sensation of the dragon’s tongue against your skin.

The crowd is silent now, watching with rapt attention as Toto works, his movements graceful and precise. You can feel their eyes on you, but you don’t care. You’re not performing for them. You’re here for him, and him alone.

“Good girl,” Toto murmurs after a particularly sharp strike, his voice like a balm against the sting. “You take it so well.”

Your ex is still watching, but his face is pale now, his expression a mixture of disbelief and something darker — jealousy, perhaps, or regret. But you don’t focus on him. You focus on Toto, on the way his voice grounds you, the way his touch brings you back from the edge.

When the final strike lands, your body is buzzing with sensation, your mind quiet and peaceful in a way that only Toto can bring. He steps in front of you, setting the dragon’s tongue aside, and kneels down to meet your eyes. His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

“You did so well,” he whispers, his eyes filled with warmth and pride. “I’m so proud of you.”

Tears well in your eyes, but they’re not from pain or sadness. They’re from the overwhelming sense of belonging, of being cared for in a way you never thought possible. You look up at him, and the only words that come to your lips are the ones you know he wants to hear.

“Thank you, sir.”

Toto smiles, a rare, unguarded smile that’s just for you. He stands, helping you to your feet, and guides you gently off the platform. The crowd parts as he leads you toward a quiet corner, away from the eyes of the bar. He sits down in one of the plush armchairs, pulling you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

“You were perfect,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “Absolutely perfect.”

You nestle into him, your body still humming with the aftershocks of the scene, but your mind is calm. You’re safe, you’re his, and nothing else matters.

Toto reaches for a bottle of water, uncapping it and holding it to your lips. You drink gratefully, letting the cool liquid soothe your throat. He continues to take care of you, checking in with soft, reassuring touches, whispering praises that make your heart swell with warmth.

And as you sit there, wrapped in his arms, you glance across the room to where your ex is sitting. He’s watching still, but now, there’s something defeated in his posture, as if he finally understands what he lost. But it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re not his, and you never will be again.

You belong to Toto now, and that’s all you need.

***

The sun is low, casting a golden glow across the living room, filtering through the sheer curtains that sway gently with the breeze from the open windows. You’re sitting on the floor, leaning back against the couch, legs folded beneath you, waiting for Toto.

The anticipation hums in your veins, a familiar pulse that always settles low in your belly whenever you two are about to engage in a scene. It’s a quiet evening at home — rare, given how often you’ve been traveling with him to races lately. But tonight is just for you and him, no paddock, no chaos, no cameras. Just intimacy.

Toto emerges from the hallway, his presence commanding, even in the casual black shirt and dark jeans he wears. The simplicity of his clothes contrasts with the intensity in his eyes as they lock on you, a silent question hanging in the air between you. You nod — your answer always the same when it comes to him.

“Come here, liebling,” he says softly, the endearment rolling off his tongue in that deep, soothing voice of his. You rise and step closer to him, the distance between you disappearing as he pulls you into his arms, kissing the top of your head gently before guiding you toward the center of the room.

Tonight’s scene is something more intimate, more casual than the ones you’ve typically done before. It’s not about spectacle or showing anyone else what you can endure — this is just for him, for the trust between you. He’s chosen a light flogger for tonight, one you both know well, designed for sensation rather than pain. It’s more of a way to ground you, to connect with him in the quiet of your home.

“Strip,” Toto commands, his voice a velvet command that wraps around you like a safety net.

You begin to undress, taking your time, enjoying the way his eyes track your movements. You fold your clothes neatly beside the couch before turning to face him, hands clasped behind your back, your breath already coming in soft, steady waves.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, stepping forward to lift your chin gently, his thumb brushing along your bottom lip. His approval is everything, and the warmth in his gaze fills you with that familiar, addictive need to please him.

Toto motions for you to kneel, and you drop down, your knees pressing into the soft rug beneath you. He takes a seat in the armchair across from you, leaning back casually as if this is any other evening, as if what comes next is just a natural extension of your time together.

He picks up the flogger, running the leather strands through his fingers slowly, deliberately, letting you watch. The anticipation builds, tightening your muscles with every passing second.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, even though the answer has already been given a thousand times over.

“With everything,” you reply, your voice steady.

The first strike lands across your shoulders, light and measured, a soft hiss of air leaving your lungs. It’s not pain — it’s connection. Every swing of the flogger, every strike that follows, is a conversation between you. The leather caresses your skin, each touch more intense than the last, your body warming under his control, but never overwhelmed. You float, suspended in this perfect, peaceful place, completely in sync with him.

Toto’s voice grounds you. “Such a good girl for me,” he whispers, and your heart swells with pride, each strike a confirmation of your submission, of the bond you share.

He continues, alternating between strokes and soothing touches, checking in with you through words and the soft brush of his hand across your skin. You lose yourself in the rhythm, the flogger a steady, pulsing reminder of the safety and love you’ve found with him.

So engrossed are you in the scene, you don’t hear the front door creak open. You’re barely aware of anything beyond Toto’s voice and the sensation of the flogger against your skin. But then, the unmistakable sound of someone gasping cuts through the haze.

“Uh … what … the …” George Russell’s voice cracks, full of disbelief.

Your head snaps up in shock, and Toto stills, the flogger dropping to his side as he turns, slowly, to face the unexpected intrusion.

George is standing frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth open in pure horror. His face is pale, and he’s gripping the door handle like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He’s not even trying to look away — he’s too shocked to move.

“Oh my God,” George breathes out, his voice strangled. “I — what the hell — what — Toto!” His voice rises in panic as he throws his hands over his face. “Why didn’t you lock the door?”

Toto stands calmly, his expression a mixture of amusement and mild frustration, as if he’d been interrupted during an important meeting rather than an intimate scene. “George,” he says in his usual calm, measured tone, “you really should knock.”

“I didn’t think I had to knock at your house!” George cries, his voice muffled by his hands still covering his face. “I thought you were just … I don’t know … watching TV or something, not-” He cuts off, his voice trailing into a horrified squeak.

You’re frozen on the spot, embarrassment flooding your face, your body still kneeling on the floor. The moment is so absurd, so unexpected, that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. You glance at Toto, and his calm demeanor seems to anchor you once more. But George — poor, poor George — he looks like he’s just witnessed something that will haunt him for the rest of his life.

“I — oh my God, I need bleach for my eyes,” George moans, stumbling backward toward the door. “I need therapy. I need to forget this ever happened.”

Toto steps forward, his hands raised as if to calm the younger man. “George, calm down. It’s not-”

“Calm down?” George interrupts, his voice an octave higher than usual. “Toto, I just saw you whipping your girlfriend in your living room! What part of this is supposed to be calm?”

At this point, you can’t hold it in anymore. A giggle escapes you, completely unexpected and uncontrollable. The absurdity of the situation, the sheer panic on George’s face — it’s all too much. You cover your mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it’s no use. Laughter bubbles up, and before you know it, you’re leaning back, laughing so hard you can barely breathe.

Toto glances at you, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He can’t help it either — he starts laughing too, a deep, rich sound that fills the room.

George stares at the both of you in disbelief, his hands still hovering near his face, but slowly, realization seems to dawn on him. “Are you two seriously laughing at this?”

Toto nods, wiping at his eyes. “George, it’s not what you think.”

“Not what I think?” George sputters. “What else could it possibly be?”

Toto walks over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “George, Y/N and I are adults, and we have an understanding in our relationship.”

“Well, I don’t want to understand! I want to un-see!” George exclaims, pulling away. “I came here for strategy discussions, not … this! Why didn’t you text me you were busy?!”

“I didn’t think we’d be interrupted,” Toto says, shrugging with a grin. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

George groans again, burying his face in his hands. “I need to go … bleach my eyes or … meditate or something.”

Toto chuckles, patting him on the back. “I’ll send you the race notes later, alright? Just knock next time.”

George spins on his heel, practically sprinting for the door. “Yeah, yeah. Never coming over without notice again. Noted. Bleach, then therapy. Lots of therapy.”

The door slams behind him, leaving the house in a stunned, laughing silence. You look over at Toto, still kneeling on the floor, your body trembling with laughter. He kneels down beside you, brushing a lock of hair away from your face, his smile wide and relaxed.

“Well,” you say, catching your breath, “that was unexpected.”

Toto raises an eyebrow, still chuckling. “You could say that.”

You both dissolve into laughter again, the absurdity of the moment too much to handle. When the laughter finally subsides, Toto pulls you into his arms, kissing your temple gently.

“At least now we know George will knock in the future,” he teases, his voice filled with warmth.

You snuggle into his embrace, feeling safe and loved, even in the midst of the chaos. “Maybe we should lock the door next time, just to be safe.”

Toto hums in agreement, his hand tracing soothing circles on your back. “Next time, liebling.”

And as you settle back into the peaceful quiet of the evening, the memory of George’s horrified face will be something you’ll both laugh about for years to come.

[morimemichael]

Calling the slashers/killers ‘pretty’

Head cannons on how slashers/killers would react to reader calling them pretty. Includes OG! Michael Myers, RZ! Michael Myers, Ghostface (Stu and Billy), Pyramid Head, Thomas Hewitt and Mark Hoffman (SAW series)

OG! Michael Myers

You notice him stalking you throughout the week, and it was needlessly to say you found it oddly interesting.

Of course you knew who he was, and apparently, for your brain, that was ‘attractive’ enough to wonder about him

So, the night he decided to break in to obviously kill you, you took action

Somewhere between all the struggle you made, his unexpressed latex mask flew off, somewhere around your kitchen floor

The light that came from outside was enough to see his face, and boy, you find him attractive

He panic at the fact of not having his mask, and quickly look for it and successfully found it. With a single swift move his mask was back on. He was ready to kill you when you spoke

“Y-your pretty Michael, you know that?”

He tilted his head at your statement, you couldn’t see it, but his cheeks were blushing. He didn’t know what hated the most, the fact that he couldn’t kill you now or the fact that he actually liked you calling him pretty

His hand holding the knife stutter for a second before letting you go and giving you his signature head tilt again

It’s not necessary to say that since that night he came to your home every night and took off his mask in front of you so you can call him pretty again

And this time you do see him blush

RZ! Michael Myers

You were a childhood friend of his, and the crush was mutual

Tho when you were like around 9yo, you moved to another town so you never found out about Michael killing his stepdad and sister, or at least you had no idea until many years later, when you moved back to Haddonfield

What he did was horrendous, yet you couldn’t stop feeling bad for him somehow

So this night you were getting ready to go to bed, brushing your teeth you notice a man standing behind you

You could see his reflection through the mirror you had in front of you

You knew Michael was, well a killer, but you didn’t know how he looked like, so many years have passed and the last image you had of him was completely different

Non the less, that didn’t stop Michael from recognizing you

You were about to scream when he got closer and covered your mouth with his enormous hand. By now you were struggling and panicked

Michael noticed this and with his free hand took his mask off, revealing his face. He was different but still you knew it was him

“Michael…?”

He didn’t answer, instead he moved his hand from your mouth and gently turned you around, slowly looking at your form head to toe

From the moment you saw his eyes you knew he didn’t have to answer, he was Michael indeed, how couldn’t you recognize his beautiful blue eyes?

“Michael!” You say happily

He stays silent, but a small almost invisible smile formed on his lips

You cupped his cheek with your hand, and rubbed his skin with your thumb

Smiling you tell him “We haven’t seen each other for over ten years and still your the pretty one” You smile

His hole face turned red when he herd the word pretty

You always wanted to tell him how you felt, but never got an actual chance for it

Once you told him how you’ve felt all this years, his reaction was the sweetest

He gave you a bag hug and swing you in the air, he was beyond happy

Ghostface (Stu)

“You know, you’re…pretty Stu…”

You were in his house, music as loud as it could be, you were hoping he didn’t hear you, cause you just kinda declared to him

He gave you a ‘what did you said’ look, waiting for you to answer

“Nothing…just forget it”

YEAH, YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS GOING TO WORK? Well it didn’t

He took you by the hand and made you fallow him upstairs

When you asked him why upstairs he gave you a lame excuse

“I didn’t catch what ya said down there” he said moving closer to you

“I said you’re pretty…” you look at him straight in the eyes

“Oh…I know, I heard you. I just wanted to have some…privacy” He had a mischievous smile on his lips

You grin before he pull you down to his bed

(Billy)

You two were having a heated kiss by the window of your bedroom when you herd footsteps coming up the stairs

You assumed it must be your dad or your mom

“Billy, you should go…someone’s coming”

He pouted and gave you his puppy eyes

“Pleaseeee?…” He asked

As much as you wanted to tell him ‘yes’, you knew better than to piss your dad or mom

“Come on pretty boy, you know I can get in trouble..”

He blushed a pale tone of pink at your words, he was staring at you like you left him dumb or something like that

He then snapped out of it “Okay, okay…see you tomorrow?” He asked

“Yeah pretty boy, see you tomorrow…”

He giggled and stumbled at the word ‘pretty’

Pyramid Head

Did you just called him pretty? No way, he must’ve herd you wrong

Oh…apparently he didn’t YOU DID CALLED HIM PRETTY

Now it’s stuck in his head and it’s all he can think about

He likes it tho

And definitely expect him to want you to call him pretty all the time

With time he even let you adorn his pyramid with cute little pink stuff

He won’t say that he likes it but trust me HE LIKES IT

Specially if you call him your ‘pretty monster’

He’ll definitely want you to call him pretty during segsy time too 😏

Thomas Hewitt

You called him pretty? Why tho? Haven’t you seen him?

That’s what he thought the first time you called him that

Immediately you receive the princess treatment

Cause why not? You treat him well, he wants to do the same with you. You’re his love after all

Expect him to giggle a little bit whenever you call him pretty or beautiful or what so ever

And if you kiss his unmasked face while you call him pretty? You’ll give him a heart attack

He loves it

He’ll make sure you feel loved and pretty as well

He’ll make you dinner and give you flowers every now and then

Basically anything you want, you get

Definitely expect him to want you to call him pretty 24/7

He’s like a child OK!?

Mark Hoffman

He thinks you’re joking, you must be joking

Nobody calls him pretty, and you wouldn’t be the exception, right?

Ha! Liar….deep down he loves it, and not just because you bust his ego, but also you make him feel loved….somehow

He thinks he’s unlovable, I mean, he’s a monster right?

Well, that doesn’t stop you from loving him or calling him pretty

The first times you would call him that, he would show no emotion or reaction whatsoever

But once you get to his, somehow, ‘tender’ side, he’ll slowly start reacting

Maybe a ‘you’re pretty as fuck too’ or maybe even a peck to your lips

And consider yourself blessed if you see him blush….cause he rarely does

And if you happen to see him blush..? Well you didn’t

Cause how could he blush right? Him? He’s mean and bad, he doesn’t blush

You even reacted once, to his blushing

“If-if you ever, you wouldn’t-Ahgg, please don’t tell anyone” He said, as he blushed even more, the tone on his voice defeated

You just laugh since you found him cute

“You’re little…pink secret is safe with me, detective” You told him

You kissed he blushed cheeks and called him cute

“Hey! I’m not!”

“Yes you are!” You said as you walked away

“I love you so much….” Mark said, knowing you weren’t around to hear it

Cause you would have died right there in the spot

Well, I hope you enjoy this!! I’m also working on a Ghostface x Michael x F!reader fic, so stay tuned 😏

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

How Far Are You Willing To Go? - 1

PAIRINGS: Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

SUMMARY: Amid a quiet life post-divorce initiated by Ghost himself, his past resurfaces when his ex-wife and their young children are abducted. He's thrust into a desperate race against time to save them, facing his own demons and fighting to protect his family at any cost. Question is, how far is he willing to go?

WARNINGS: Angst, if you squint. Simon being a dummy for getting a divorce. Incorrect knowledge of allergies and asthma (please help a girlie out)

WORD COUNT: 1,096

*not proof-red*

ENJOY!

“Rylan needs to take his-,” you immediately get interrupted by his low and rough voice. “Meds, by seven in the evening after having his dinner. Yeah, I know,” you can’t help but feel that there is a trace of disdain in his voice.

Oh, how you’ve heard so many variations of that voice. From the usual rough and dark, to how soft and loving it could go. The latter was a rarity for people to hear, who meet him outside of your home’s doors. For you, however, it was common. Was being the key word. It may have not been the voice you heard 24/7, but it was a voice you heard daily.

You look at him and eye the black surgical mask he wears, “right,” you pause. “Just wanted to make sure,” you give him a purse smile, before bending down to be at eye level with your six-year-old.

“Kyla, be good and take care after your brother. Be kind in school and do your homework. Call me if you ever need some help with it, ok?” You try to wear out the imaginary creases on her little brown cardigan.

She nods her head like a mini determined soldier and says a very affirmative ‘yes Mama.” Then you move over to kneel in front of your youngest, Rylan. The four-year-old with the many existing allergies. He rubs his nose, and you tut at him, “use a tissue honey, here blow into this.” You hand him the handkerchief you always carry around for this exact reason. “Do you have your inhaler?” You ask your boy, and he nods proudly as he reaches into his pocket and shows you the small piece of plastic.

“Call me if you need Mama, ok Rylan?” You rest your hands on his shoulders, and pat down on the sweater, you look into the light brown eyes he inherited from his father and kiss his forehead. He nods at you one last time before turning around and running to your ex-husband’s family truck. Kyla kisses your cheek one last time before screaming a “buh-bye Mama” and running off to catch up with her little brother.

You stand back up and cross your arms, heart hurting a little knowing you’d be spending two weeks without your children. But what can you do? Not complain, of course.

It was part of the divorce agreement that Simon is allowed to have the children over at his place for three weeks maximum, whenever he returns from deployment. You reluctantly agreed, purely to the reason that you wouldn’t survive if you were in Simon’s place and couldn’t be able to see your kids.

You were kind in that way.

Simon loved you for it.

He loved everything about you.

He still does.

The ice around his heart thaws as he sees your eyes become bleary as you watch the kids climb into his backseat.

He hates seeing you sad.

He does everything in his power to mask the emotions he feels, and he does it well.

“Well,” you sniffle, “I-uh….I’ll leave you to it then.” You wipe your eyes nonchalantly before tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear as a sort of distraction to what you feel currently.

It was always hard for you whenever Simon comes to pick up the kids.

The mother hen in you does not want to send them with him. But you know, a 100 percent sure, that they’re safer with him than with you, considering Simon’s military experience.

One of the main reason’s Simon broke things off with you.

Simon nod’s, his hands remain in the pockets of his hoodie. You lift the little paw patrol and the little Bluey child suitcases and hand it to him. “There are three weeks’ worth of clothes in there, for each of them,” you stick your hands to the side immediately after he takes them into his rough and calloused ones.

“Please call me if-,” you start, but he interrupts you again. “Anything happens. Yeah, I know,” he says with a rough tone that says, “you seriously think they’ll get hurt with me?”.

“Right…...right,” you nod as you whisper, the words more of a reassurance to you.

You try to peak at his eyes under his hoodie, but to no avail, you couldn’t see them under his black tainted sports sunglasses.

His phone starts to ring, and he pulls out of his back pocket to see the caller ID revealing the caller “Price”.

“I’ll see you in two weeks then,” you say, knowing he has to go. He nods in response before turning away and heading back to his truck, he places the suitcases in the passenger seat before double checking the buckles on the child-seat’s where Kyla and Rylan are sat in.

He does all the dad checkup’s before getting in the driver’s seat.

He see’s you through the tainted windows of his truck.

He rolls the back window down so the kids can say their final goodbye’s

“Bye Mama!” Both kids scream and the wave with smiles on their faces. You chuckle wetly as tears silently roll down your cheeks.

You know they’re safe with Simon, but you heart still hurts that they won’t be around for a while.

Simon sees the tears and his own heart breaks.

He pulls out of the driveway with a heavy heart, hating to see the love of his life in tears.

He sighs before pulling out his phone and clicking on Price’s caller ID.

The old Captain picks up after two rings.

“Ghost, we need you.”

🎀🎀🎀

TAGLIST <3: @cntloup @identity2212 @somnorvos @yyiikes @bobateasilverpearl @animarix @outoftheseine

Guess who's back? Back again?

Hey Lovelies!

I know it's been a while, but uni has started and I am trying to re-slay. Here is the much-awaited Simon series I have always wanted to start.

Lemme know if you wanna be tagged!

Also....

Lemme know what y'all think!

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

[starry-bi-sky]

#danny to wes: whats ur plan if i wrap myself around you like the jaws of a hyena and drag us both out the nearest window. hypothetically#like a hyena??#HAHHA#youre great at this#thank you#:)

dude i'm just like - i can't say obsessed but Danny being an absolute freak to Wes because he knows he's Phantom is the absolute funniest thing to me. Like, Danny typically has some kind of restraint around his friends and Damian, but they know he's weird and so he doesn't really hide it too much, but with Wes around??? Danny amps that weirdness up to like, an eleven.

he just goes full troll on him. And he thinks its hysterical because Wes never knows how to respond, and its not like he can tell anyone - whose gonna believe him? So he will just say the weirdest shit to him with the most chill expression on his face, so maybe that he'll learn that the next time he wants to stalk someone, its not the masked vigilante who goes out every night to fight ghosts.

Like good job idiot, you got my attention. That's not a good thing and now i'm gonna make it your problem. I'm gonna tell you every new fun and morbid ghost fact i know and shit that would get me sent to a mental institute. Messing with Wes and being unhinged around him is the highlight of his day. Like you tell me that i've forgotten to act human with all the ghosts I hang around?? Let me show you how 'ghostly' i can be then!

it does not help that danny has those bright blue 'stares into soul' eyes. he puts his ability to not blink for a while to good use.

more clone^2 thoughts

you know who i just remembered ALSO has long hair? Vlad. Vlad Masters. Danny's worst enemy and biggest pain in the ass ever since he sent those vulture ghosts after his fucking dAD. Danny having long hair would make Vlad so inSUFFERABLE. Like look!! Proof that you are much better off as MY son. We have matching hair lengths! Come be my son! I will make you a halfa like me and we will become powerful allies together!

Danny almost chops it off out of spite. He ends up not doing it because he likes his hair long, actually, very much so and he's not growing it out again just because you're crazy! He's attempted to take a pair of scissors to Vlad's hair though -- THAT was a fight that got ugly. Danny's go-to threat whenever he sees him after that is that he's going to chop off vlad's hair when he's not looking - just you watch, Masters. He'll do it. HE'LL DO IT.

And if Danny wasn't keeping it a tight secret, he'd turn around and taunt Vlad about being a) a clone and b) a clone of BRUCE WAYNE. he'd say stuff like:

"How's it feel knowing my parents cloned a man richer than you"

"you're just mad that bruce wayne is more my dad than you'll ever be!"

"it could've been you that my parents accidentally cloned instead of Wayne, but instead you fucked off for twenty years instead!"

but also its a constant question Danny asks himself how he and no one else ever figured it out sooner that he was a clone. He doesn't understand how Vlad of all people didn't realize it when he went to college with the man with his parents and was also stinking rich, before remembering that he doubts Vlad remembers anyone who wasn't his parents in college, and has been a rich, recluse loser this entire time.

its a good thing though, danny's pretty sure vlad would attempt a hit on the man if he found out out of pure jealousy and indignant rage. And then he'd get his ass beat by Batman and his army of children.

All in all, Dany is a pure menace towards Vlad whenever he gets the chance, as is normal, and then Vlad's suffering gets doubled after he makes Ellie - of which she is even worse than Danny because she's the halfa that Danny Is NOt and thus has the powers to break into his house easy peasy and wreck shit. She steals his obsidian black card and goes on a shopping spree. This is a regular occurrence.

(and for anyone who isn't aware - Ellie is the same age as Danny in clone^2 bc i thought it'd be fun)

And then it gets tripled once Damian joins the family and gets caught up to speed on all of Vlad's tomfoolery and whoops, Damian's got better stealth skills than Danny and looks like Ellie has a partner in crime whenever they need to sneak into vlad's house to cause him grief.

Vlad's walls are the first canvas for Damian to test out his new spray paints on once he gets them :)

next up

Wes weston! i love this guy, he's so funny and he definitely knows danny is the Phantom in the clone^2 au. it's not as easy to figure out as it is in canon since its not just a simple colorswap, but perhaps he sees Danny taking off his mask after a daytime fight. and after that he becomes determined to reveal that quiet, strange fenton is the vigilante phantom.

he's putting some real,,, detectiveness? stalkerish? skills to use because catching photos of phantom is not as easy as it is if he were a halfa. He can't just snap a few dozen photos of fenton and phantom and then color compare the two of them either - Phantom wears a mask, and works primarily at night or in evenings, and typically avoids the living during the day. And he doesn't speak to the living either. Wes has to put in some extra work into his investigations and evidence.

He also makes the dumb mistake of cornering Danny in the bathroom one day early on and telling him he knows he's the Phantom -- now that Danny knows that Wes knows, he's going to be even more careful not to get caught. He puts in a little extra work in both Fenton and Phantom - another layer, perhaps a jacket, as Phantom, and baggier pants and boots he never wears as Fenton. His hood stays up in the daytime.

He was already putting in some extra effort to appear creepy and unsettling as Phantom - things like crouching low, tense movements, fluid movements. If he's perched on something he does a kinda-crawl like movement - think a mix between a bear and a gorilla crawl. It's weird, creepy. And he stares. Danny's mastered the art of not needing to blink for long periods of time, so if he sees you and sticks around he stares. It doesn't help that you can't see his eyes that well through his mask - its just two piercing green.

It helps endear him to ghosts and his enemies though - the annoying little human boy is engaging in ghost culture! That's eliciting some form of begrudging respect from his enemies.

And then compare that creepy, almost cryptid-like behavior to Fenton who, while considered a freak, really isn't anything more than just some dorky weirdo with occasional heart problems. He's kinda unsettling - he has those 'stares into soul' eyes - but its leveled by the fact that he's kinda just... dorky. It reads as normal, awkward kid behavior, and then gets disregarded completely as he gets older and it bleeds into 'very chill teenager'. Fenton being Phantom doesn't compute that much.

Paulina: you think Phantom is Fenton? Wes: I don't think, I know he is! I have proof-- Star: Just because they both have black hair doesn't mean they're the same, Wes. That's like saying Paulina and Manson are sisters because they also have black hair.

Wes's attempts to out him as Phantom means that Danny is a little more wary of him than he is in canon, since his vigilante identity isn't an entirely different ghost form its just him, so he has to be careful about where or when he takes off his mask in case Wes is around. Especially during daytime fights.

But other than that he has a lot of time messing with him. Wes is trying to convince his table group at lunch that Fenton = Phantom (again) and Danny just so happens to be within earshot of him and starts making fun of the idea.

"You think I'm Phantom?" and he's got the most disbelieving grin on his face that's only partially convincing. "That's totally bogus, man. The Phantom famously doesn't get along with my parents, why would I be a ghost hunter and not work with them?"

He has this most shit-eating, delighted look in his eyes that Wes knows is pure manic glee at being able to mess with him and get away with it. Wes is going to strangle him.

"Besides, dude, did you forget I have a heart condition? I can't be chasing around ghosts - my heart would give out from all that running and jumping."

Although Danny can get really serious at the flip of a coin if need be - especially with Wes when he gets too pushy about him being Phantom. A notable instance is when Wes cornered him in an empty bathroom to again talk about him being Phantom.

Except Danny, who had been working on a really difficult cold case about the death of a child, and hadn't gotten much sleep in the last 72 hours, plus a plethora of other stuff (like recently acquiring Damian, fighting ghosts, etc), wasn't in the mood to entertain him. It ended with Weston getting pinned to the wall and lowkey threatened by Danny. He apologizes for it afterwards but it's not forgotten.

Additional note: Wes Weston having a crush on Danny Fenton is a hilarious trope to me so Wes absolutely has a crush on Danny and the only one in denial about it is him. Everyone else - except Danny because he's more focused on the fact that Wes knows his identity, and has other things to worry about - knows about it, and everyone chalks up his obsession with Danny as being part of said crush.

Wes' friend: you know usually when you have a crush on someone you normally confess, maybe ask them out, pine from afar....

Wes: i dont--

Wes's friend: not accuse him of being the local ghost-fighting vigilante. Seriously, wes! His parents are ghost hunters!

Wes: i do not have a crush

Wes's friend: and ghosts aren't real! everyone knows that's a lie!

next up

Dan! Or Dante, but i'll call him Dan for the time being. Even if I dislike the name with a passion. Much like Wrath from my Childhood Friends au, Dan here is pretty different from his canon counterpart. Mostly because I wanted to experiment with Dan and different interpretations of him, and I thought; hey, where no better than an au where Danny has no powers?

so, dan? Dan is not a combination of Danny and Vlad's ghost halves -- now, don't get me wrong, danny still ends up under vlad's custody care after the death of his family, but he just doesn't fuse with Vlad's ghost.

So, what happened? What happened is that Vlad convinces a grieving Danny that he should let him make him a halfa (despite the fact that he has no idea how) because the he could go find his family in the ghost zone. Danny is in no mental state for any kind of experiments, but his hope and want to see his family and friends again gets him to agree.

It backfires. Vlad doesn't make Danny a halfa, he just ends up killing him completely. Danny comes back instantly as a ghost however, and enraged over being lied to, betrayed, and murdered, ends up killing Vlad in furious cold blood. He doesn't fuse with his ghost half, there's no ghost half to fuse with.

So a grieving ghost, Danny flees into the ghost zone. And, in this iteration, doesn't end up destroying the world. So how does TUE end up happening? Well, ten years later - with Danny remaining a forever 14 year old ghost - Dan ends up finding out about time travel. He finds out a way to travel back into the past, and he does.

So he can take over his past self's life. Danny just thinks he's fighting a weird doppleganger ghost, but ends up getting overshadowed. It's like being in a weird limbo, and Danny's not really sure what's happening - but his friends figure something out. After all, its been ten years since dan saw his friends, something has to give.

And that episode happens. Danny ends up meeting clockworth, beats Dan. But, well, it's not really happily ever after - somewhat. Ehh.. sorta. Danny's been traumatized by Dan's overshadowing - making him realize that despite everything, there are things ghosts can do that danny simply cannot and he needs to prepare for it. Onset paranoia, anyone?

Dan tells them his whole tragic backstory - there's a chance for redemption here, for him. For forgiveness. Not immediately, not yet, but its there. And he doesn't want to go back to the future - he's alone there. He's tired of being alone.

But he ends up being convinced - he needs to learn to look forward, not cling back. He can build himself up again, find new family. He doesn't have to be alone. So Dan goes back to the future.

"But come tell me if Vlad's giving you trouble --" and he smiles something wicked, "I'd be happy to handle him again"

and finally

not so much as any concrete thoughts as it is just me being emotional over Danny and Damian's brotherhood in this au and also Danny's hands. Again.

lIKE.. I put it in the tags of my reblog of my "danny's scarred hands' ficlet but im putting it here and its just?? Danny grabbing the blade of Damian's sword. Him grabbing the sword multiple times despite the fact that he knows it will hurt, that he will hurt himself. That he will keep hurting himself until Damian himself stops.

its just like??? whats it mean to spill your own blood just so that this little boy you've just met won’t have to ever again. he doesn't know any english and he is hurting you and yet you take him home and get him new clothes. he runs away and you go looking for him, every single time. you teach yourself arabic first so that you can converse with him.

this boy is a clone and so are you. you're a clone of his father he's a clone of your son - by nature of your existence this is your child. but it's not your child, its just a little boy who happens to share the same dna as you. and you take him home and he becomes your little brother.

what's it mean when its you whose been hurt rather than him? whats it mean when you’d hurt yourself again just so that he can start to heal, so that he knows that he’s worth it? you cut your hands on his blade, catch its swing, just so this boy can know, can learn, that there’s someone who will bleed for him. that there's someone who will scar their hands just to make sure that you wont scar yours.

you’re a bleeding heart and its spilling out onto your palms. you take bloody fingers and wrap it around your little brother’s and say "its okay. it’s okay. you’re safe. no one will hurt you here. i promise. i wont let them. no one will hurt you so long as i'm around."

"put the sword down. i can show you how. let me show you how."

and damian in this au just reminds me of the song "eight" by sleeping at last. like?? the lYRICS. he is sO "eight" coded

'show me how to lay my sword down for long enough to let you through.' 'here i am. pry me open. what do you want to know?' 'im just a kid who grew up scared enough to hold the door shut and bury my innocence' 'but here's a map. here's a shovel. here's my achilles' heel. im all in palms out. im at your mercy now and im ready to begin. i am strong enough to let you in.'

"by nature of our existence we are father and son, but by choice we are brothers. we are brothers we are brothers we are brothers. and i love you"

[magnificentstrawberryomen]

halloween party (noah sebastian x reader)

18+, mdni, nsfw, Ghostface and Halloween-themed

It is October 31st, meaning it is both Halloween and my room mate Noah’s birthday. Every year we celebrate it at the same time, along with me, the rest of the band and some other friends and crew-members.

I start to get ready, and I had decided I wanted to be an attractive vampire this year for Halloween. I wear a fancy white blouse with a black leather corset on top, with rose detailed designs on it, making it look chic like and perfect for the costume. Underneath that I wear a short leather skirt, black thin tights and long, warm black socks for over my matching leather boots, detailed with spikes and chains. My black hair is styled a bit messy and my make up is dark with red, matching with the blood colored lipstick on my lips, that I smug a bit on the edges. When I look at the reflection of the mirror, I look satisfied and am ready for the party.

When I leave my room to head downstairs, I hear Noah's door open and close, making me smile in excitement.

“Hey birthday guy—“

I want to greet him, but as soon as I see what he is dressed up this year, which is Ghostface, I am stuck in my tracks. My lips part as I slightly swallow, my eyes taking in Noah, feeling my cheeks slowly flush. No way he is dressed up as Ghostface, my all time favorite horror character, someone I secretly swoon about sometimes, since I might… have a thing for masks.

Noah clearly notices me eyeing him up and down, as he then amusingly asks, “Like what you see, y/n?” His voice is a bit muffled by the mask.

“Eh, yeah, you—you look very cool as Ghostface,” I stumble, swallowing once again, quickly tucking strands of hair behind my ear as I then move past him, downstairs down to the kitchen, making me suddenly very aware how short my skirt is again as I move.

He follows me down to the kitchen, feeling his stare burning behind me, feeling like it's completely taking me in, making me heat up even more.

“When will the others arrive again?” I then ask once we are in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water out of our fridge and taking some quick gulps. Our kitchen and living room is decorated and in the Halloween spirit, something I loved to do for Noah since I love both decorating and Halloween.

Noah stands next to me, and I notice a slight smile present on his face under the mask by the bright lights in the kitchen, looking around at my decorations as well. “You have outdid yourself this year once again,” he comments, before remembering my question. “They should be here in like 20 minutes.”

I smile up at him, appreciating his compliment. “Thank you, always try my best.”

I turn to put the bottle back into the fridge, and when I then turn back around to Noah again, his mask is off, revealing his messy hair that is slightly pulled back, and in combination with the gloves and robe he is wearing I almost choke in my own breath.

“Jesus Christ,” I then mumble underneath my breath as a I move myself to the couch before I can embarass myself even more.

Noah and I have been roommates for a year now, being kind enough to rent and share his space with me, and if I’m being honest I have found him attractive from the start. But since we became good friends and he is mostly away on the road with his band, I decided to let the possibility of something more blooming between us go.

Noah lets out a low chuckle as he notices me looking flustered as he sits down right beside me, clearly being very much aware of the effect he has on me. “You okay?” he asks, a slight smile on his face as he tilts his head at me.

“Yeah,” I mumble, as I then watch him for a moment, my eyes ranking down to his costume again. “I can imagine that being warm inside,” I then nod to his outfit, flushing once again, so I quickly flick my eyes down to my lap. Damn, I hate being so flustered so fucking easily—I shouldn’t and I know that it’s wrong, but he looks even ten times hotter with that damn costume on.

He raises an eyebrow at my comment. “You’re not wrong,” he shrugs, before he lets his eyes move down to my outfit as well.

“I can imagine yours is a bit heavy as well,” he then comments, his eyes raking over my corset.

“Oh, it's okay,” I shrug with a sheepish smile, looking down at my white blouse and corset on top. “There’s a chance that I’ll take the blouse from underneath the corset off later this evening though, since the house will be pretty crowded and stuff.”

Noah nods slowly at my statement, the image seeming to flash before his eyes for a moment. “Maybe I should take my robe off for the same reason,” he then jokingly comments, winking in my direction, before he gets up from the couch again, heading to the kitchen to get himself something to drink.

Oh, you definitely should, I mentally think to myself, feeling heated by his wink, and then quickly shake the thought away in embarrassment.

Twenty minutes later, Noah’s friends and band members arrive, all wishing him a happy birthday and some of my friends join us later. Even though Noah insisted that he did not want some special moment with a cake and candles he had to blow out, we of course did exactly that, and even though he rolled his eyes and pretended to be grumpy with his arms crossed in front of his chest, I could tell by the sparkle in his eyes that he secretly enjoyed it.

Later that evening, I’m sitting on the couch talking with some friends, laughing and drinking, and I feel Noah stealing some glances from me sometimes, making me blush and I stare back whenever I have the confidence. Now he just smugly smiles a bit, leaning against the counter with his Ghostmask off again, gloves wrapped around his beer, and my mind already goes to the most unholiest things so quickly—how the cold of the leather gloves would feel around my throat for example—

I clear my throat and quickly shake the thoughts away, trying to concentrate on the conversation with my friends again, mentally slapping myself against the head. I'm the worst.

But then, I feel someone sitting next to me, and almost jump when it's Noah, looking at me with an amused expression and some glint in his eyes that I can’t quite unravel yet.

“Noah,” I smile, “hi.”

He lifts his beer at me in a greeting gesture before smirking and turning his full attention to me. “How are you enjoying the party, Little Vampire?” he asks, coming up with a nickname right there on the spot, making me both blush in amusement and flattery.

He then leans back into the couch with a slight grin, before taking a sip from his drink. “Nice to see you didn’t cover your neck tonight.”

I can’t help but chuckle at his little joking comment. “Well, could say the same about the people around me, right? Need something to feed from after all,” I joke back.

He amusingly laughs at my remark, for sure noticing the redness once again spreading across my cheeks by the way his eyes seem to gleam even more.

Noah then leans in a little, making me let out an uncontrollable nervous breath, his eyes lingering on my lips for a moment before he looks into my eyes again, a mischievous glint now in his own dark ones.

“But have you found someone to feed of off yet? You’ve been eyeing me all night I’ve noticed.”

My eyes widen a little as he says that, my heart racing up a little, and I sheepishly smile at him.

“Have I? Oh—“

I blink as I don't know how to get the words out of my throat for a moment, and then proceed to quickly shake my head as my blush keeps spreading on my face, answering his question. “I have not found someone yet to feed, no—“

A smirk plays on Noah's lips as he notices my reaction, deciding to take it one step further. “Well you know… since it’s my birthday, I can give you a gift…” he then whispers into my ear.

Goosebumps appear on my skin as heat spreads now almost everywhere in my body at this point, and I slightly gasp at the feeling of one of his leather gloves then sliding up on my thigh.

“Aren’t people supposed to give you a gift when its their birthday?” I then answer back, looking at him through my lashes, the feeling of him squeezing the flesh of my thigh as well already unraveling so much inside of me already.

He lets out a playful hum, letting his hand travel further up now to my hip. He leans even more forward, his dark brown eyes trained on my lips again first before looking back into my eyes.

Then to my surprise he brushes his lips past my ear, his breath grazing my skin, making me hold my own. “Well… my birthday wish from you is to give me what you want most.”

A shaky breath escapes from my with red, blood colored painted lips, and I slightly turn my head to his face so our noses slightly brush against each other, faces dangerously close, making me able to feel his soft breathing through his nose brushing against my face.

I decide its now or never, wanting to take this chance, wanting him.

“How about you help a helpless vampire out and be my victim for tonight?” I whisper back, smiling slightly.

A slight grin forms on Noah's face as he hears my request. Leaning back a little he locks eyes with me for a moment before standing up, holding out his hand. “Follow me.”

With both nerves and excitement I take his hand, letting him pull me along towards the staircase that leads up to our apartments bedrooms, my heart pounding in my chest as we walk up side by side.

My mind is already spinning with nerves, desire and excitement. As soon as we reach his bedroom, he closes it behind us once we are in, and when he places his Ghostface mask back on his face again my eyes slightly widen, and the arousal between my legs begins to spread. Oh, he knows what he’s doing.

Then, Noah grabs me and pins me against his door, his hands resting behind me on each side of my body. He tilts my head at him, the mask making him look somewhat scary and yet mysterious—mysterious enough for me to become more flustered than ever. His eyes wander down to my lips, seeing the need to press them against mine but he clearly wants the game to continue first, just a little bit longer—by sliding his knee up between my legs, resting between my thighs.

I whimper as he does that, heart racing even more, and I need to hold onto his biceps for support because of the heat already being spread between my thighs, making me light headed with desire—and of course his biceps feel hard and trained, just like they normally already look like, and it makes me ache for him even more.

Noah smirks at the feeling of me holding onto him. “Already so needy and wanting for me,” he says into my ear, his hands sliding down my sides, feeling the lace of my corset underneath his fingers. He presses up against me with his knee to gain a little bit more friction against my core, making me let out another gasp.

“Noah,” I can’t help but gasp out his name, making me flush a little.

He leans his face against my neck, slowly taking off his mask again to let his lips hovering over my skin, his breath grazing the area gently, before pressing a small peck to the skin. “I can only imagine the sounds I can get out of you tonight.”

His teeth tug at my earlobe, before moving down towards my jawline, placing another kiss there. I groan, then wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him even more against me, making me able to feel his excitement growing, and it makes everything inside of me flush and heat up, and the desire for him grow. The thought that I’m the one that makes him feel this needy, makes me feel even more worked up.

Noah's hips push against mine, his head now buried in my neck, kissing the skin, even teasingly biting the skin at various places, not hard enough to cause any real harm, but enough to cause red marks that’ll stay for a while.

“Aren’t I the vampire here though?” I can’t help but teasingly grin at that.

Pulling his face out from my neck he looks into my eyes, the corners of his lips pulling up into a smirk as I say that. “I think you’re forgetting that tonight is my birthday, not yours, little vampire, and I get to do what I want… and right now, all I want is you.” He leans in towards my face, his lips just inches away from mine—so close, yet so far.

“And this is only the beginning of your gift to me.”

My doe eyes widen as I look up to him, eager and desperate, and I still stubbornly lean to his neck despite his words, placing a few kisses before marking some bits of his skin. I feel him shiver underneath my touch, a low groan escaping his lips, making my heart beat even faster.

When I pull back with a smug smile, I say, “Vampires still need to be fed, birthday or not.”

He takes a small step back from me, his dark eyes raking over my body slowly, a smirk creeping on his face. “Take off the corset.”

The fast beating of my heart goes up to the pulse of my neck as he asks me that, a confirmation of where I hoped this night between us would go, and I quickly nod as I then take off the corset, leaving me in just my thin white blouse, revealing the outline of my chest, and a fire builds up in the pit of my stomach by the way he watches my every move.

Noah then takes a slow step towards me, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me close towards him, hips rubbing against mine again. I start to breathe heavily, hands trembling as I feel nervous yet excited.

Lifting my chin, he presses kisses to my jawline again, nipping at the skin here and there as well and it makes me softly moan, the other hand slowly moving up to my chest, as it goes underneath the fabric of my blouse. I enjoy the feeling of his warm, large hand there, making a ragged breath escape from my lips.

His fingers graze across my collarbone, feeling my skin underneath, and the touch is so light, almost like a feather is touching me. His lips trace up from my neck to my ear, nibbling on my earlobe gently again. Then, he takes a step back, my eyes locked with his, before he speaks.

“Get on the bed, now.”

I eagerly nod at him, walking towards his bed, sitting down at it and already taking and kicking off my own boots without him having to ask me to, since I’m getting desperate and needy for him by the minute—I’ve fantasized about a moment like this for embarrassingly too long, and now that it’s finally happening I want it now.

Noah then watches me lay down on his bed, eyes raking over my frame, taking in what was going to be his gift for tonight. He walks over to me before straddling my hips, taking his gloves off with his teeth before letting them fall onto the ground. The sight of him doing that makes my eyes nearly pop out, it being one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

Leaning down, Noah places teasing kisses on my cheek, then jaw, and slowly moving down to my neck again, his hands working on unbuttoning my blouse. His lips kiss every little part of exposed skin down from my neck, to my collarbones and then down to my chest, making me whimper and shift my hips against the mattress in anticipation—and I already feel like I'm getting taken to cloud nine.

He lets his tongue run across my skin, tasting me as he unbuttons the last few buttons of my blouse, making me gasp. He pushes the fabric off my arms and down onto the floor, then pulling back, looking down and taking in the sight of my skin and exposed chest. He licks his lips as his hands glide up to my sides, caressing the soft skin.

“So, so gorgeous,” he whispers in the dark, almost more towards himself it seems, his eyes drifting back up to meet mine after.

It feels like I’m exploding with fuel and desire inside, being lit up with every touch and look of him, making my heart hammer inside of my chest from nerves but especially excitement. My hips start to grind against his a bit, making me able to press a little against his bulge, and I have to bite back a amused smile by that, as I feel myself drooling between my legs by the feeling at the same time.

A low groan escapes Noah's lips as he looks back down between the both of us, getting stimulated by my movements. His lips then find my jaw again, teeth scraping the skin before pulling back to look into my eyes. He gives me a dark, smug look before he stands up from the bed, his hands slowly taking off his robe and the long sleeved shirt he wears underneath, letting it slide down his body as it falls to the ground by his feet. “Tell me how much you want me, sweetheart, so I can give you everything and more.”

And Jesus fucking Christ—he’s a sight, a goddamn hot, tattooed and worked out sight as I let my eyes roam over his exposed chest, flushing madly by it

“I want you,” I whisper as my eyes go back to his own darkened ones again, “for so long. Even more… like this.”

His lips curve into a smile as he slowly steps back towards me again, moving his hands down to his pants, slowly unbuckling the belt while looking into my eyes that slightly widen in anticipation. “How long have you waited for this?”

“Too long to admit,” I mumble, my eyes going down to his belt. “It's embarrassing.”

Noah slides his pants down his legs along with his underwear, letting them fall to the floor as well before slowly climbing on the bed, hovering over me once again, making my heart rate rise madly. His hands slide down my body, down to my skirt, his fingers hooking into them as I continue to look at him.

“It’s okay, I have too. And I know how needy you are right now, sweetheart.” He kisses my jawline, hands slowly pulling my skirt down my body, leaving me in only my panties.

“You–really?” I stumble as I hear his words, and all the fire in me burns up again, making me need him so badly, and wanting him, craving him, more than ever before.

One of his hands caresses my thigh, feeling the soft skin underneath his lean fingers, before slowly gliding up to my covered center. He watches his hand as it moves slowly over my panties, his fingers grazing my core, applying a teasing but light pressure, making me squirm.

“Of course,” he says in response, a devilish grin on his face, eyes looking down at where his hand is touching, and God, it's another hot sight. His other hand goes to remove the rings he wears on his fingers, the chunky silver ones I've grown to love so much, and I get more needy for him by the minute, making my body tremble with eagerness.

I look down at our naked bodies, making me heavily flush again but also dampen with even more in anticipation. Once his rings have made their way onto the nightstand he leans down towards my ear again. His lips ghost over the skin of my neck, trailing down as he speaks, “Are you sure you’re ready to be mine?... To let me take you in every way possible? To make you completely mine?”

He nips at the flesh before pulling back a little to look into my eyes. I whimper desperately at his words, chest rising up and down heavily, my arms already wrapping around his neck.

“Yes,” I breathe out in response, my eyes then looking at his lips.

Noah's right hand cups my cheek, gently caressing the skin with his thumb, and then finally pressing a soft kiss to my lips—it’s slow, passionate, and full of desire. Soon, his tongue grazes my lower lip, teasingly asking for entrance which I instantly give him, before moving his other hand to my waist and starting to slide my panties down my legs, all while never breaking the kiss.

I moan deeply in our kiss, my legs already slowly opening for him in pure eagerness as he then throws my panties away once they are fully down. His tongue slips into my mouth, swirling with mine as he groans against my mouth, the taste of him sweet and heavenly.

Noah's hands then slide across my thighs, his teeth grazing my bottom lip as he pulls it back for a second to look at me, before leaning down and kissing me once more, and God, it kills me and makes my anticipation and need for him grow even more and more. His right hand slides up my thigh, his fingers feeling the warmth of my center before rubbing against it gently.

My back arches slightly, eyes squeezing shut by the pleasure, and my jaw drops as sounds of pleasure begin to escape me. Noah can't seem to help but moan into my mouth in response, it makes him feel how badly I need him. He breaks the kiss and moves down to my jawline, then slowly down to my neck, leaving a few bruising bites behind, and I know they'll show tomorrow when I get up.

My panting and moaning get heavier and heavier with the more pleasure he gives me, his movements teasing at first, but then speeding up—leaving me a trembling mess. I can feel myself getting close, and Noah is being able to know by my desperate sounds and the way I move underneath him.

His lips pull away from my neck again, and he slowly slides down my body, placing kisses against my skin as he goes, his lips coming to rest at my chest. His left hand moves up my side towards my arm, pinning it down against the bed, before doing the same with the other arm. And now he has me underneath him, completely at his mercy, making my heart speeding up even more, with lips parted as I look at him with anticipation, as I'm about to get closer and closer to the edge.

Noah continues to work his fingers against my core, lips kissing all the way down my chest and then towards the inside of my thigh, leaving a faint trail of marks behind as he goes. His teeth graze the skin while his dark, lustful eyes never leave mine.

“Please,” I then breathe out as his mouth goes closer to my center, “I need you there—”

He listens to my pleas as a grin forms across his face. “Such a needy thing you are,” he chuckles softly against my sensitive skin. His eyes look back up to mine before looking at my aching core, making me shift even more in need.

“But, I will give you what you desire,” he then hums. His tongue flicks out, teasingly licking a slow, but broad trace, making me sharply inhale.

”Fuck,” I heavily pant out, making my back arch even more. I feel him smirk as my hips buck against his mouth as he hears the sounds of me falling apart beneath him. The hand that was holding my arm down moves up towards my head, gently lacing his fingers into my hair before pulling it, and he looks up again at me.

“Be good and take it,” he then commands with a low voice, it being enough to make me moan out loud again.

“I’ll take it,” I pant in response, “fuck, I’ll take it all—”

Noah hums against my core, slightly vibrating against me, driving me crazy. He then looks up at me through his lashes, watching my face contort and twitch in pleasure. His left hand then moves to the desk next to his bed again, taking one of the gloves off it and sliding it on again, making my eyes widen. Oh god—he has definitely noticed what those gloves did to me the whole evening.

I see him having to hold back a grin at my reaction, confirming that. “Look at you baby, already looking wrecked,” he teases, his eyes and lips leaving my enter to look up at me, his gloved hand now moving down to my core, slowly rubbing me, and I gasp and squeeze my eyes shut at the feeling of the leather against me.

“Oh God Noah,” I choke out, feeling myself getting even closer to the edge, and his lips curve into a mischievous grin.

“And now look at you, begging me already,” he taunts after a dark, amused chuckle follows. “I’ll give you what you want, darling, but only if you say my name. That’s the only way you’ll get what you need.”

“Noah,” I desperately choke out, my voice sounding needy, practically shaking as I say his name, and he chuckles softly at how vulnerable and exposed I am right now. “I’m so close, please—“

“That’s my pretty thing,” Noah hums, his lips going back to my aching center, continuing to devour me with his tongue, and I let out the most desperate sounds, and soon enough I grab and pull his hair, hitting my edge, hard and with trembling legs he needs to hold with both his hands.

The sounds I'm making are almost loud enough for the others, and the realization makes my climax feel even more pleasurable and hot to me. Noah pulls away from my center, looking at me, taking in my dazed expression.

“What a pretty thing you are, y/n,” he praises me as he crawls over and hovers over me again.

I blush yet roll my eyes at the same time, chuckling lightly. “Yeah yeah,” I playfully respond as I swat his chest, and he joins my laughter.

“Now roll over for me, and make me wish you an even better happy birthday.”

[shysuccubusstuff]

day 25: Hate fucking + Deepthroat + Agoraphilia + Dacryphilia + Gaming + Degradation + (slight) Mindbreak + (slight) DubCon? - Streamer! Kinich

Summary: The streamer company you work for decided to throw a huge party in order to congratulate the great revenue of this year, inviting only the greatest. That included you, as well as that mysterious streamer called Pixel Dragon.

Content: Kinich has this kind of alter ego (Ajaw's personality) when he streams, that is the reason why he's extra mean!! + Non proof-reader, as always.

Word count: 4,5K

Note: I've been trying to end this for so many days but I always ended up burning out so it took me so much time... I didn't even realise that I had written 4K words... Sorry for taking so long, I hope all of you enjoyed this little Kinktober!! I'm already working on some other stuff for different fandoms ♡♡ Stay tuned!

It was November, finally the time in which the great parties for streamers took place. You had been invited, of course, after all, you had been able to remain the top creator during over five months, tightly followed by that gaming streamer, PixelDragon.

The name was a bit cringy, but he had been able to quickly rise to the high rankings thanks to his great skills on many of the different games he had tried, ranging from FPS to soul-like games.

When you finally arrived, you were greeted by the smiling sponsors, taking your hand and guiding you to the darkened room, the place being lightened by the dim red lights. You took a sit close to a masked man, the man moved to the side, allowing you to sit close to him while he checked his phone. You were barely able to imagine the face underneath, his lips shinning under the red lights.

“Are you going to drill my face the whole evening?” The man kept his gaze fixated on his screen, his fingers scrolling down mindlessly.

“How did you even---? Sorry, I was just curious about what you truly looked like under the mask.”

“Well, you are not definitely getting any glimpse if you keep it like this.” He turned off his phone, putting it on his pocket and looking into your eyes, his green orbs glistening as the spotlight moved towards where you were. Outraged, you decided to get up, rapidly taking your stuff before fleeting the scene.

By the time you were back to your usual self, the party had already reached its’ highest peak, with the music booming all over the place and the floor feeling sticky form all the drinks that had been spilled. You threw yourself against one of the many sofas that were laying around the place, suddenly hitting your head against something extremely hard. You turned around annoyed, only to find a red-faced man, his hazed green eyes shinning under the red lights of the club. “Are you ok?” Your words were a bit dragged, your whole mouth feeling a bit funny as you tried to talk as normal. “Do you hear me?” You screamed to his hear, perhaps he wasn’t answering because of the loud music. The man moved to the side, his face looking slightly annoyed.

“I can hear you perfectly, no need to scream.” He furrowed his eyebrows, moving a few strands of hair that were bothering him.

“Who are you? I didn’t see you before during the dinner.” You took out your phone, scanning through the many names of people that had been invited to the party. “I suppose you’re not the one called PixelDragon, am I right? God, that dude seems like such a prick, he’s always flexing about his skills during the collabs, even when we are supposed to be friendly about them, plus, he has been keeping his identity hidden even to his own workmates, I get that he wants to avoid leaks, but it’s not like the rest of us would be such losers, even I, who kind of hates his guts wouldn’t do something so fucking low. He always acts as if he’s far too good for the rest of us and it gets me so pissed off, though, I do have to say that he does have some good points, like his great abilities, or his deep voice, and yeah, his hands may look kind of sexy while smashing the buttons but that’s all, you know?” The alcohol was definitely getting the best of you, as you wouldn’t be able to stop your yapping even if you tried. “Are you listening to me, mister?”

“Yeah, I am. I hate to say it, but this might be a skill issue, like straight up.” The man laughed out-loud, his hand moving a few strands of his hair out of his face.

“Nice one, jackass, real funny. Anyways, how come I missed such a hot dude in the diner? You were def one of the masked ones, right? Promise I won’t leak anything, not like it would benefit me, you know?” You laid your head on one of his shoulders, turning around so you could touch the small part of his chest that was exposed because of his unbuttoned shirt. “Are you trynna get someone to accompany you tonight? You will def get a good one with me, handsome…” You smiled, enjoying how he started to react to your touch.

“You sure get comfortable with some random man, what if I’m some weird sicko that is planning on kidnapping you?” His right hand moved towards your hip, caressing it as his gaze started to darken.

“Then you wouldn’t be here, this place is exclusive for those working for our company, it’s ok, I can find some other dude, don’t wanna pressure you or anything, let’s see each other later, yeah? Next time you should tell me the name of your channel, we could make a collab or something!” You got up, leaving him with his words still in his mouth.

By the time you finally opened your eyes again, you were being taken by the arms of some random man, you quickly struggled, trying to get him to let you go, “Hey, don’t know who the fuck are you, but you’re def not someone I---”, the man put his hand on your mouth, turning on the flashlight on his phone so you could see his face, it was the hot dude at the party.

“Sorry, I saw some weird due trying to take you home, I know I can also be considered a weirdo, but hey, at least we talked, I guess, let me take you to your room, I won’t try anything weird, ok?” Your body relaxed, allowing him to carry your limp body to his room, finally allowing you to lay down on his king size bed.

“Thanks, hot stuff, promise I will compensate you tomorrow…” Just as you were about to drift to sleep, a known voice resonated from the man’s phone, it was that damn PixelDragon. Annoyed, you quickly got up, the nauseas getting to you, forcing you to stop for a second before speaking.

“Why are you listening to that jackass? He thinks he is some kind of big shot just cause the president started to pay more attention to him than to those who have been more time in the company. He may have nice hands and all, together with a real hot voice, but that is all that he has, he ain’t even that good, I mean---”

“You talk too much about him for you to simply hate him, aren’t you like lowkey wishing you knew how he looked? All your yapping about how he isn’t that huge of a streamer makes you seem even more of a fan than those crazy ones that send him his panties and stuff. Bet you want him to finger you with his slender fingers real bad, uh?” Your face flushed, feeling your head even more warm than before.

“You’re def projecting, I don’t want to fuck him or anything like that, why would I want that asshole’s fingers inside me—”

“Oh yeah? Then you will have no issue with that same asshole touching your whole body, uh? I’m sure that you have already imagined it so many fucking times. Tell me, are you really that naïve that you didn’t think eve for a moment that the man with the dragon-like mask was actually PixelDragon? It’s not like the mask that the president gave me was that mysterious, but I suppose that you can’t expect nothing great from an airhead like you, right?” The guy smiled as he started to change his clothes, leaving his jacket, gloves, and his necktie on top of the small desk that was within the room. “How about we do that collab that you wanted so much? Bet you would love to gain some more attention from my viewers, right? I can do a special live, just for you, what do you think?” You stopped for a moment, I mean, you were actually just a masked youtuber, and you were only focused on mature audiences, so, there should be no issue, right? You could probably use the mask he had used during the party. You nodded, crawling out of the bed and getting closer to the setup that he had already built for the duration of the event. “Oh, I forgot, can you plug in the cable under the table? I forgot to do it, but I have to keep on preparing the stream.” Once again, you were simply able to nod, getting on all fours and going under the table.

“Hey, there’s no plug missing or something like that, are you sure---?” You covered your mouth as soon as you heard the sound that marked the beginning of the live. You hit his leg, trying to remind him that you were still under the table, he lowered his gaze, trying to avoid making it much obvious. He smiled wickedly, moving one of his hands towards his trousers, carefully pulling down the zipper of his pants together with his underwear, the tip of his cock being left dangerously close to your mouth.

“So, yeah, we had a small gathering for the company, not that important, now it’s time to finally get back to what truly matters, am I right?” He read some of the comments that were already pilling up, answering with snarky comments to some, while he simply laughed to others. How was he even able to act as if he wasn’t with his cock out? A wicked idea crossed your mind, you could suddenly get out of there, making sure that the viewers were able to see you run out of frame, thus stealing his spotlight even further. That sounded like a great idea, of course, that changed until you realised that this little plan would lead to the boss yelling to both of you. Just as you were about to try and get out, his legs trapped you, causing you to end up almost hitting your face against the raging erection. “Oh guys, wait a sec, I gotta check that everything is in order.” He stopped the live for a second, making sure to disconnect the camera and mic. “Didn’t you want to make a collab?” Your face flushed, you weren’t really sure if it was because of how you felt your blood boiling, or maybe it had much more to do with the fact that his cock looked delicious, his tip flushed with a slight red tint. “If it’s too much for you, you can simply leave, I swear I won’t say anything to no one from the company, not like it would benefit me, right?” He moved to the side, allowing you to leave if you truly wanted to. You were about to do so, but then you realised something. Wasn’t that like admitting defeat against him? He would get the upper hand, making you feel as if you had to be grateful for his “mercy”! Not on your watch, oh no, so you swallowed all the embarrassment that you had been feeling, starting to leave small kisses all over his length. “I supposed so, oh wait, let me help you with a little something.” He got up from his chair, rummaging in his suitcase and then sitting back again, he made a sign for you to turn around, so you did, your ass facing his way. Suddenly, his slender fingers were moving your underwear to the side, a small object being inserted inside your cunt. “There, I hope this can keep my precious slut in place while I work, wait for me.” He waited for you to move back to your place, his eyes filled with a certain sense of superiority.

“Shut up, you’re just making it more difficult for me, keep your mouth shut for a while.” You nagged, trying your best not to stutter as you started to feel the small device starting to move. Just then, you heard how the live started back again.

“I’m back, missed me?” He went back to reading the comments with a playful smile. “Oh, shut up, not like I spent more than a few minutes. K, now let’s try to see who will be able to join the game….” He waited for a few minutes until the results of the online roulette popped up. “Well, congrats, I’ll send you the link to the VC, hope you all are ready.” You listened to him; it was quite impressive how he was able to keep his voice stable despite having your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock. “Dude, it must be real sad to see me play almost everyday and most of you are still hard-stucks, sucks to be you, uh?” His snarky comment caused the viewers to get wild, some were praising his skills, while others had gotten truly angered by his remarks, the sound of the flow of comments filled the room. You were just about to smirk at how even his own fan hated him, but your moment of bliss was suddenly stopped as soon as you started to feel how the small vibrator had suddenly moved much more rapidly than before. You clenched the fabric of his shirt, glaring at his extremely satisfied grin. “Anyways, get ready for it, promise me not to cry in the chat, I don’t want my mods to get tired from deleting your comments.” As the game started, you could perfectly hear how he was clearly cleaning the floor with his viewers, this was of course the perfect time to mess him up, right? So you did.

You started to move your tongue, slowly licking on his tip, while sometimes wrapping it over his length, making sure to let out a few noises in case that would actually rile him up, your eyes completely fixed on his face, not noticing even a single frow. If he wanted to play hard to get, then you would simply raise the stakes. You introduced his tip into your mouth, sucking on it as you used one of your hands to masturbate what was still left outside. It was then when one of his eyebrows furrowed, his lips forming a straight line as he tried to keep his mouth closed as best as he could, you were already celebrating your victory over him when you heard the sound that marked the end of his first victory, your head suddenly being pushed further down.

“GGs, next time send someone who is at least as good as me while playing with a stirring wheel. Let’s for the next game, yeah? No need for a break.” The players were once again chosen at random, quickly preparing the next game as one of his hands kept pushing your head, only releasing it when the game finally started. Your eyes were already watering a bit from the difficulty to breath, so you decided to step your little game even more, starting to take his whole length (or at least as much as you were able to manage without feeling as if you were about to throw up. His face quickly flushed, the grip on the mouse starting to strengthen, his jaw clenching and his eyes starting to darken. Despite his clear reaction to you, he was shameless enough to start to buck his hips, forcing his length further inside your mouth, not stopping even as you hit his lower stomach, trying to get him to either slow down his rhythm, or to simply give you a small break. Sadly, none of the choices were given to you, forcing your poor mouth open, his hand sometimes lowering just to carefully caress your hair.

Once again, you were soon able to hear the chat being flooded by comments after the great crushing he had done to his helpless viewers. “I gotta go now, remember to keep on playing so you all can at least hit me with a single bullet next time. See ya.” He quickly turned off the stream, his hands quickly gripping your hair. “Bet you had fun, uh? Sucking my cock while you heard my chat blowing up, pretty sure you must have been wishing they heard you under my desk sucking my cock. You must be fucking dripping, uh? Show me just how much you’re craving it.” He lend you his hand to get up, your legs almost giving up on you as you tried to stand up, his lean arms stopping you from falling. “Oh, I was sure that you were supposed to hate me, didn’t expect you to be the type to fall head over heels, but I mean, who wouldn’t fall in love with someone as hot---” His sentence was cut short as soon as you hit him on the stomach with your elbow.

“What the heck is that attitude? You kept on pushing my head against you, next time I will just bite your fucking dick off, bet that would give you more action that you have ever had.” You wiped down your tears, together with the saliva that had been running down your chin. “Why the heck would you even have something so--.” You stopped before ending the sentence, wondering just what would happen if his ego got even bigger.

“So… what? Finish the sentence.” He playfully touched your hair, his big hands petting you as if you were something precious. The heat was starting to rise to your cheeks, so you hit his hand, your gaze moving towards his temporary set.

“What is the code for this mic, pretty sure it’s one of the most expensive ones, right? Bet you must be blowing up your checks uh?” You got close, tinkering a bit with his stuff, moving all that was lying on top of his desk and looking around in case you were able to find a single tip on how was he able to keep his skills on point,  “Man you’re really—”

“Look, I’ve been trying to just act as if nothing is going on, but come on, you’re so bad at acting it’s almost embarrassing. You always walk around with that huge smile on your lips, shaking your hips as if you were trying as hard as possible for all the people around you to lick you from head to toe… You enjoy the attention, right? It gets you so high to feel as if you are better than the rest. Never had anyone show you where you truly belong, guess it’s my duty to do it then.” He took you by the arm, throwing you to the bed with just enough strength for you not to damage yourself. He quickly got on top of you, his body pressing against you as his hands started to get rid of all your clothes, your blouse and your skirt being thrown to the floor, soon followed by your bra and your underwear. “Since you want to behave like a brat, might as well and treat you like one.” He suddenly kissed you, his kiss being filled with hunger, rather than love or lust, he was planning on eating you whole.

“Come on, you’re just saying that to scare me, right? There’s no need for that, just, just let me go for now, I can, I can talk to the boss, you’re just being like this because you’re trying so hard to scare me, I get it, no need to keep this any further, just---” You put your hands on his chest, trying your best to avoid his eyes as they scanned you up and down.

“Open your mouth.” Your sentence was once again cut off, the room being filled with the sound of his clothes falling to the ground close to yours. He crawled, swiftly making his way to your face, his hardened dick facing you. “Do you expect it to suck itself? Open.” He grabbed his cock with one of his hands, the tip of his cock rubbing against your soft lips. You silently opened your mouth, unable to think about anything smart to say because of the current situation. “That’s right, open wide.” He carefully inserted the tip of his cock in your mouth, a deep breath leaving his mouth from the pleasure. “God, you should really consider becoming my own if you decide to leave the YouTube thing… you have such a pretty face and your body is just perfect, I will treat you as a queen, how about it?” His voice kept resonating inside your head, almost sounding a bit too good to pass on it, well the vibrator that was still inside you was definitely not helping you to stay sane. You sank your nails into the palms of your hands, trying to keep your own mind together while he kept on thrusting your mouth. “Just like that, you’re doing so good for me…” Tears once again swelled your eyes, your nails now digging on his abdomen as you tried to get him to let you rest even if it was or a second. “Oh, it seems you’re still able to put up a fight, let’s just change this then.” He finally let you breath, coughing as you were finally able to breath, this didn’t last much more, as you were suddenly lifted by him, then letting you sit on his lap, both of you facing the big mirror that was hanging on the wall. “You just need to realise what position are you on.” He lifted your body for a moment, taking off the vibrator, slowly inserting himself into you.

“Wait! I need a second to…to adjust, it’s difficult to do this without like, actually preparing.” You let him slowly make his way inside of you, finally bottoming out. “Fuck, just what do you even--- Shit…”

“Guess I was finally able to shut that reckless mouth of you, shouldn’t you thank me?” Of course, he just refused to give you even a single moment of peace, always running his mouth even as you were clearly able to feel his cock throbbing.

“Sure, like your dick isn’t barely holding on, you talk so much shit for someone who is balls deep inside me, I may not be able to kill you in the game, but I’m damn sure I will last much longer than your sorry excuse of a dic—” Your words were cut off as soon as he lifted you abruptly, your air leaving your lungs as his tip hit your cervix.

“You really don’t have any fucking clue about when to keep your mouth shut, uh? Always answering back even when I have the upper hand… Fuck.” His hips kept on bucking against you, not stopping even as the veins on his neck pumped up from his effort of not cumming. “This is no use, fuck…” He got up, not before taking the vibrator that had been inside you, his arms still holding you from under your thigs, walking until you were quite close to the mirror. “Look at your fucking face as I make you cum, yeah? Just fucking watch.” His hips started to move again, the position making it impossible for you to grip at anything in fear of him letting you fall, still, you tried to cover your mouth with both of your hands, denying him the possibility of hearing those sweet moans that were leaving your lips. “Cat got your tongue? You’re surprisingly quiet for someone as chatty as you, let’s see if I can fix that.” The rhythm of his thrusts sped up, forcing your eyes to roll to your skull as your insides got rearranged without you being able to do anything about it. Just as you were about to cry from the overstimulation, he suddenly let you stand on your two feet, well, if not because you almost fell face first to the floor, his hands gripped your hips with strength, his fingertips leaving marks on your skin. He took out the egg vibrator he had used previously, rubbing it a bit around your entrance before carefully inserting it inside you, he then decided to play with you a little by gliding his dick up and down, his tip constantly grinding against your clit. Before you were able to say anything, he entered you at once, the stretch making you squeal as your nails once again dug into his skin.

“Sure…Sure talk a lot of crap when you have still been unable to make me cum even once, your dick is so lame—” …Well, you surely had it coming this time, maybe the previous one as well, and well, maybe more times than just the last ones. But you never learnt, apparently.

“Fucking brat, just learn your position!” His last straw had been lost as soon as he saw on one of her streams you had been non-stop laughing at his supposedly small cock and your lack of bitches. He tightened his grip on your hips even further, lifting you from the floor and slamming his hips against your tender ass, your lips parting as those lewd sounds were once again filling the room.

“St-stop! My mind is turning really weird… Give me a second please!” You once again tried to hit him as an attempt to ease the unyielding rhythm he had established. He lowered one of his hands, suddenly levelling up the small roulette that controlled the vibrations, his fingers then moving on to start rubbing your clit, a degenerated smile appearing on his face as he saw your cunt dripping and some of the juices leaving your poor hole each time he slammed himself against you. Your vision was already starting to blurry a bit by the time you felt as if he was giving you even a tiny break, even the, it didn’t seem to have any plan of stopping, not even as you could faintly hear someone’s voice and hits on the wall from the close-by rooms.

You could clearly tell that he was about to cum, his lips bucking from time to time as he tried to keep that relentless rhythm. Just as you thought he was about to cum, he rapidly pulled out, his sperm staining your cheeks and part of your lower back. “You don’t even deserve my cum inside of you, next time you’ll learn how to keep your mouth shut, brat.” He let you down on top of the bed, walking towards one of the small doors that still concealed the rest of the room. Suddenly, he was back, a warm towel being passed around your whole body, his eyes showing a slight sign of concert. “…Name’s Kinich, I forgot to say it, I’m sorry.” …Was that brat really blushing? Fuck, even you were now flushed because of his teasing… Right?