#and his expression was pretty neutral/blank

[dustinslovehandles]

I swear I mean this in the nicest way possible, but there is something about seeing Trent's eyes when he was standing at the barricade during Orange's match that remind me of cow. They are big and brown and politely waiting for you to do something.

...the something is violence in this case, but still.

[fangirl-dot-com]

🤨Everyone is Convinced that You Aren't Together

*part of the reverse trope series*

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x FerrariDriver!Reader Genre: Fluff/SMAU Warning: Name calling? Summary: What is your love language? Acts of service? Quality time? Physical touch? Let's just say that you and Logan have a very different type, and no one thinks that you could actually be together.

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

“Hey dickwad!” 

The sound of the not-so-nice name had people in the main hospitality turning in your direction. However, the person whose attention you were trying to get kept on eating his lunch, making you more semi-annoyed than you already were. 

You huffed rather loudly before sitting down across from him and whoever he was eating with. The table, comprising of Lando, Oscar, and Alex, was filled with pairs of wide eyes except for two. When the blond still didn’t look at you, you reached over and grabbed a fry off his plate. 

Then, and only then, did he finally look up to glare at you. Oscar just kept eating. 

“Did you seriously just take my last fry?” Logan questioned, eyes squinting in a glare. 

You raised an eyebrow in retaliation. “Yes. And?” 

“It was my last fry, fat ass.” 

“Like I said: yes, and?” 

Logan huffed, knowing that this was a losing battle already from the start. He put his head back down and started to finish his chicken sandwich. You had momentarily blanked at what you were there for, before quickly remembering. 

You looked to the man on your left. “Are you using this?” 

Lando, with wide eyes, shook his head as he watched you take his spoon. You reeled your hand back and threw it at Logan. When it hit him in the head, he looked back up at you. 

“What the actual heck was that for, whore?” 

You shrugged. “I remembered why I was here.” 

Logan rolled his eyes. “And you decided to throw a spoon at me?” 

“Yes. You forgot your jacket again at the hotel.” 

Alex, who had been in fear of a giant argument breaking out, watched as Logan’s eyes visibly softened. He had been confused for the entire thing. 

“Did you bring it here?” 

“No.” 

Then Alex watched the glare of annoyance come back to the blonde’s eyes while you smirked. 

“Y/n!” 

You turned around at the sound of your teammate’s voice. 

“Yeah, Charles?” 

Charles could see that Alex and Lando were getting uncomfortable at the table and wanted to subtract you from the equation (even if that meant taking you away from your boyfriend). He could sense Logan’s “playful” glare from outside the hospitality. 

“We have a meeting in five minutes.” 

“Oh shit.”

You quickly stood up and rounded the table, stopping right in front of Logan’s chair. The American looked up at you. Lando and Alex watched as you stooped down. A sigh of relief was on the cusp of Lando’s lips, hoping that you’d kiss the American before you left. 

However, you just flicked his forehead. “Don’t forget to drink water, bitch.” 

With that you left with Charles on your right, conversation already flowing due to the race that weekend. 

Alex and Lando looked at Logan with wide eyes and were still surprised to see a pretty neutral facial expression as he ate a bite of his sandwich. Next to him, Oscar seemed unbothered as well. Logan was just finishing his sandwich when his eyes landed on something by Lando. 

“She left her water bottle after telling me to remember to drink water. What a cunt.” 

With a sigh, Logan stood up, grabbed the bottle and his plate, and walked over to the door. He put his dish in the return station before walking out the door. Alex’s and Lando’s eyes were glued to Logan’s figure before he went out of sight. After they turned to Oscar who was looking at his phone. 

The Aussie could feel the pair of eyes on him, but decided against it. There were a few moments of silence before George came over and sat in Logan’s empty seat. 

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” he asked, fork stabbing his food. 

Lando blinked a bit. “George, would you call Carmen a cunt?” 

George’s face twisted in disgust. “No?” 

“Would Carmen call you a bitch?” 

The Briton shook his head. “I hope not.” 

Lando’s head hit the table in a thunk, making George turn to Alex. “What’s wrong with him?” 

Alex rubbed his face. “What’s wrong with Logan and Y/n is the better question. They must be messing with us, because there is no way that they’re together.” 

George took a bite of his salad. “They are a bit . . . odd. Pretty mean to each other if you ask me.” 

“They’ve been like this for forever. It’s nothing new,” Oscar finally decided to add his piece. “It’s their love language.” 

Lando scoffed. “Like words of affirmation?” 

“More like words of insults. I could never insult Lily like that,” Alex muttered, taking a sip of his drink. 

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Y/n grew up with brothers and so did Logan. It’s romantic teasing if anything. You saw how Logan grabbed her water bottle. He probably took it to her.” 

Lando held his arms out. “But she didn’t bring his jacket! Is it one sided love from Logan?”

The Aussie just huffed, before he turned around. “Benny, did Y/n bring Logan’s jacket by Williams this morning?” 

The personal trainer, who had been silently laughing at the whole ordeal, smiled. “Yep. And she brought him his protein shake since we were out.” 

Oscar pointed. “See? And Ferrari doesn’t even carry those types of shakes.” 

Benny shook his head. “Nope. She would have had to go out to get it.” 

Lando was still unconvinced. “There is still no way. Maybe they can be best friends, but a couple? It’s not happening.” 

Alex winced. “I think I have to agree with Lando on this one.” 

Oscar wanted to refute once again, but he noticed it was time to go. He only hoped that maybe this weekend, Lando would be able to see that you and Logan were together. He knew that the fights between you two were good jests, and the insulting nicknames started from an inside joke that he didn’t even know the extent of. 

When it came time for the drivers’ parade, Oscar pointed out how you and Logan were practically joined at the hip. He took his designated spot to Logan’s left, while you stood to the right. He gestured for Lando and Alex to join him. 

But with a group, it seemed like you and Logan wanted to amp your antics. 

You waved to the crowd with a dazzling smile; however, your words to Logan were not as nice. Your elbow connected with Logan’s side. 

“Think you can actually finish the race today, loser?” 

Lando winced at your harsh words. Alex just stared with wide eyes. Oscar just sighed.

Logan kept his smile sharp as he also waved. His finger shoved your face back. “You think you can maybe win a race, asshat?” 

From behind you two, Max and Lewis had their mouths open as Charles giggled. The Monegasque was well aware of yours and Logan’s fun nicknames as he had heard many phone conversations since you became his teammate. 

Max leaned over to Charles. “Did she really just say that?” 

A nod from the Ferrari driver confirmed that the Dutchman did, in fact, just hear you say that. Not wanting to hear any other comments, everyone else left you two to be. But doing so, they missed Logan’s arm wrap around your waist and your head resting on his shoulder. 

The race, for you, went surprisingly well. You had, once again, finished second behind Charles, who had managed a second race win of the season in Barcelona. Max finished the podium placers. You had been too busy to try to find Logan right after the race, but you wished deep down that he had at least finished. 

After the podium, you had been on your way to media when Ellie, your PR manager pulled you to the side. 

You cocked your head. “Is everything all right?” 

The girl bit her lip nervously. “Well, Logan finished in points today. It was P8 actually. But he had some issues with Lance during the race.” 

Well, that had your blood pressure rising. 

Your eye brows scrunched. “Did something happen?” 

Ellie looked down at the floor, not wanting to be on the receiving side of your anger. Everyone knew that you, and only you, could mess with Logan about his racing. 

“Stroll mentioned something about Logan’s racing style and made some snide comments.” 

You took a deep breath before turning to walk toward the media pit. “I’m guessing you have something for me to say?” 

The poor girl tried to keep up with your bigger strides as she thrust her phone near you. You had barely glanced at the words before deciding that you didn’t want anything to do with what Ferrari had written out. 

You were a bit out of breath as you approached the microphone. You licked your lips before glancing over at Ellie, a pitiful look on your face. You wanted to say sorry for what you might say during the interview. 

“I’ll say what I want,” was picked up by the mic, making the journalist wince a bit. 

You looked at the journalist as you put your hat on. The man tried to smile before he asked you some questions about your race. He could tell that you were disinterested in the questions, so he steered the interview in a different direction. 

“We watched Logan, your boyfriend, finish the race in P8. It was a really nice race on his part. Have you been able to watch the finish?” 

You shook your head. “I wanted to see him after the race but I had to be on the podium. I’m sure he did a very great job, and I’m proud of him getting points.” 

Both Ellie and the journalist saw a sliver of a smile on your face. Too bad it was about to disappear. 

The man clinched his teeth before speaking again. “After what Lance Stroll said on the radios and after the race, do you have any plans to speak up on that?” 

Your head cocked in a slightly annoyed manner; smile wiped from your face. Around, you, some drivers went silent as they waited for your words. Charles had been behind you, waiting for his turn. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face, and his eyes kept glancing to your back. 

Oscar, who had been talking to Alex, also went quiet before they were called to do their own interviews.   

“I can’t speak on something I haven’t heard him say. Do you want to do the honors of telling me?” 

Your hands rested on the barrier, shoulders hunching. Everyone was bracing for impact. 

“He said some choice words over the radio, and then said, ‘Sargeant is lucky that his driving style is cowardly. He’s a dumb ass for trying to pull that move, which inevitably ruined my race. He’s just a total idiot. Next year will be nicer for sure’.” 

You pursed your lips as you mulled over Lance’s words. He was definitely insinuating that Logan wasn’t going to be on the grid next year. Something that no one knew for sure. Your eyes flickered around, trying to find some shade of green. However, you couldn’t see any, and maybe that was for the best. 

You gave a very fake smile as you said your response. “Well, Lance is just a cunt, and he can learn to keep his mouth shut. I haven’t seen anything about his contract renewal, so he should really focus on his races. I can show him cowardly if he would like?” 

Your smile was sickening as you slightly threatened the Canadian. It was then that you decided the interview was over as you thanked the man before turning around to leave. Ellie gave him an apology as she trailed behind you. 

On the way to Williams, you had managed to lose Ellie. On the inside, you were apologetic for how you acted today, but Logan needed you. You really weren’t expecting to see Lance on the way, but somehow fate was in your favor, and against his. 

Oscar, who had finished, was behind you and saw the moment you made a bee-line for the Canadian. 

“Oh shit,” he muttered, picking up his pace to possibly stop you from hitting the brunet. 

When he got there, your finger was pressed against Lance’s chest as you berated him in front of the paddock. 

Alex and Lando, who had joined Oscar in trying to gently redirect your attention, were wanting to start laughing as how scared Lance was. They had finally started to drag you away, but you were still not done with Lance. 

“And if you think that you’re safe on the grid, then you’re a bigger dumb ass than I thought. You better watch out Stroll. Your head is getting too big for your body. A beau cave is what you are, and yes, I can speak French you insolent fool!” 

Oscar snorted as they finally got you into the Williams garage, Lance out of sight. You were puffing still as you tried to calm down. 

“Are you done now?” a voice sounded, making everyone’s head whip around. There Logan stood, now out of his race suit and into more comfortable clothes. 

You pouted. “Yes.” 

Logan affectionately rolled his eyes as he walked over. He put his arm around your shoulders and brought you in. “You didn’t have to do that you know. Ferrari might get mad.” 

You huffed again, sticking your head into Logan’s chest. “No one gets to call you dumb ass except for me.” 

The American hummed before kissing your forehead and then your lips. 

While you two were caught up in the moment, Alex and Lando had their mouths open. Oscar had a smirk on his face as he looked at two others. 

“Now do you believe me?” 

Lando blinked for a moment. “I do now.” 

Alex rubbed his chin. “They’re actually quite cute.” 

You knocked yourself out of Logan’s arms before punching his shoulder. Logan gawked at you as he rubbed the hurt spot. 

“What the hell was that for you bitch?” 

“That was for getting points and not telling me you swine!” 

Oscar smacked his forehead. “And we’re back.” 

logansargeant has posted

liked by sargeant4president, y/nferrari, logan2sargeant, and 74,039 others

logansargeant finally putting it the points! thanks you all for the love and support 💙

see all comments

f1slay LOGAN MY MAN

y/nxlogan the couple that stays together, slays together

americanf1fan YEE HAW LET'S GO 🦅

y/nferrai I love you bitch, I ain't neva gonna stop lovin you bitch

logansargeant love you too ass hat 🎩

alex_albon I liked you two better when you were nicer

oscarpiastri let them love the way they know best

y/nferrari awww thanks loser 😗

oscarpiastri HEY

y/nsworld Logan and y/n are the power couple of the grid

y/nferrari has posted

liked by y/nsworld, daddysmoney, logansargeant, and 1,204,395 others

y/nferrari another day, another p2, another day of Logan calling me a fat ass (but I love him) ❤️

see all comments

y/n.nation the caption is everything

logan4president the matching team colored hearts was a nice touch

Ferrari you'll get Charles in Austria 💪

charles_leclerc no she won't 🥰

logansargeant but you're my fat ass 🤤

y/nferrari maybe you'd get more points if you stop staring

logansargeant maybe you'd win a race if YOU stopped staring at charles's or max's ass

maxverstappen1 I knew it 😌

y/nferrari SHUT UR MOUTH

trustthefund I'm still worried about Lance, he looked shooked

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-s2 @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis

[momodita]

snapshots. [—chilchuck tims]

TAGS / WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, modern au,       minor pining, background marcille/falin WC: 1,000 NOTE: divorced father of 3 save me... save me       divorced father of 3...

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

“Move over.”

Chilchuck’s voice startles you. The bowl in his hands is steaming: a hearty stew made with Falin and Marcille’s collective effort—(“Senshi’s tried and true recipe!”). A thick slice of bread perches on its rim. It smells just as heavenly as it did at dinner.

“Here?” you ask, stupefied. The armchair you’ve claimed is wide; there’s easily enough space to fit a Chilchuck-sized person, but your mind jumps—unbidden—to the reason he’d been late in the first place.

“Where else?” He nudges you with his knee. “As if I’m gonna sit near that love-fest over there.”

“You’re not welcome anyways,” Marcille tuts, midway through dipping the maraschino cherry from her sundae into Falin’s mouth.

“This is my apartment!”

You concede with a laugh: it’s just your bruised heart working overtime. The moment his body settles, shoulders touching, you stop being able to taste the ice cream Laios had scooped into your bowl. Existence narrowing to that point of contact with a familiar little rush.

It’s Laios’ turn to choose tonight’s movie, much to Marcille’s dismay—(“A documentary classifies! This is a really interesting one!”)—and he scrolls to find it as Chilchuck digs into his food.

Midway through, you engage him in a thrilling mock-battle of fencing spoons. Falin dozes, lulled from the careful stroke of Marcille’s fingers through her hair. By the time the credits roll, they’re folded onto each other, soft snores drowned out by music.

“They fell asleep again,” Chilchuck drawls, chin cushioned against his hand.

“Must be crashing after all that sugar,” Laios suggests, drapes a blanket over them.

“They were pretty high energy tonight. Eager to hear about how Chilchuck’s date went, I guess,” you tease, taking up the mantle with Marcille fast asleep. “You didn’t even tell us her name.” Keeping the tone casual despite the haunting little pit in your stomach.

(It’d been a shock to hear about it: for as long as you’ve known him, Chilchuck has been eager to keep his life private—even from long-time friends. And there’d been no signs of anyone—except you and your little group—coveting his time and attention; no extra, unexplained toothbrushes, no brands you don’t recognize in his pantry, no missed get-togethers.)

“Huh?” He gives you a look, confusion twisted in his features. The TV’s light illuminates a silver hair. “I wasn’t with any girl.”

Your brow furrows. “…His name? Their name?”

Chilchuck stares. This close—where the minuscule twitches in his expression are noticeable—it’s strangely evaluating.

“You know Marcille was joking when she said it was a date, right?” Heat sears along your cheekbones; embarrassment flushing hot under his gaze—the realization of your mistake.

“Of course I knew,” you say stupidly. Chilchuck’s eyebrow quirks. “Shut up. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, then if it wasn’t a date, who were you with?”

“Senshi,” he says. “He was—we, uh,” his eyes slide off to the side, “I asked him for a favor.”

“Oh?” you hum, relief and mirth creating a warm hum behind your ribs. “Looking to get a side hustle as a cook?”

“Not even close,” he grunts, looking away.

“Should we start calling you our little master chef?” You nudge him with a grin.

“Chilchuck is already quite good at cooking,” Laios pipes up without taking his eyes off the screen. “Maybe he’ll learn to make something else after mastering ramen.”

“Hey—”

“Ramen?” you ask, head tilting. “Like, the instant kind?”

Chilchuck splutters. “No!”

“From scratch!” Laios beams. “Senshi’s said he’s been making really good progress since his first day.”

“Oh?” you grin. “Our little master chef is gonna open a ramen shop?”

“Shut up. No way. Not ever,” Chilchuck grumbles, the high curve of his ear a soft pink.

“I hope you’ll make it for us one day—I love ramen,” you say. “Very tedious, though, so I’ve never done it myself.”

His face scrunches, mouth pursing together like he wants to speak, but doesn’t. His cheeks puff with air, releasing as a long, quiet sigh.

“Oh, hey, so after ramen”—you lean a hand on the chair’s opposite arm, boxing him in with a cheeky little smile—“you should look into French onion soup. It’s probably easier than ramen but caramelizing the onions takes so long—”

“You—!” he leans back, shoulders tense and eyes wide. “Don’t go making requests before I’ve even cooked anything decent.”

“Why not? I bet it’ll be great! You’re good with your hands, so soup is probably a piece of cake for you.” You watch—with no small amount of pleasure—as Chilchuck’s face flushes with vivid color.

“Get away from me,” he mumbles, but his tone is so insincere all you do is laugh. He knocks a loose fist against the inside of your elbow. A surprised noise jumps out; you retreat back against the chair, rubbing the spot.

“Mmh?” Marcille rouses with a sleepy hum. “What’re you requestin’?”

“Chilchuck is making us ramen,” you joke, relishing the way he knocks an admonishing leg against yours. “He’s our little master chef.”

“Oh, yeah. Did Laios end up spilling the beans?” Marcille yawns. Falin stirs, eyes fluttering. “Congratulations, you two.”

Chilchuck goes stiff beside you. “What do you mean?” you ask.

Marcille pauses, head tilting with a drowsy look of confusion. “Huh? Didn’t you ask why he’s learning to make it?” she asks. Falin tugs her sleeve.

You blink. “No. Should I have?” Marcille doesn’t respond right away, head bent to put an ear by Falin’s mouth, expression pinched as they whisper. Then, with a sigh, she reaches up to stretch.

“No. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” Laios is quick to grab her attention.

“Hey, so are you actually opening a ramen shop?” you whisper to Chilchuck.

“You’re such an airhead,” he grunts against his palm.

“I’m great,” you reply. His eyes meet yours, holding your gaze. When next he speaks, his voice is soft—acquiescing easily to your jest.

“Guess you are.”

[livelaughlovesubs]

~ 08.10 - Fyodor ~

Dom!abilityUser!reader x sub!Fyodor - reader is gender neutral

Warning: wrong use of ability, aphrodisiac, handjob, teasing, marking, biting, little manhandling, mind break, sub space (?), cum eating, finger sucking, dacryphilia, use of pet names like baby - darling, kinda manipulation (on both sides), hints of hierophilia

~ Word count: 5k ~

Nini!rant: did I repeat myself a lot during this fic? I hope not…

Kinktober list 2024

Your vision blurred. The smoke burned your eyes and lungs, and a rough and painful ache spread from your chest to your throat. It didn’t help that your consciousness was fading in and out, or that you felt like blanking out every time you closed your eyes. You coughed, repeatedly, enough for blood to drip down the corners of your lips. Its metallic taste was one of the very things still keeping you sane. Then you dropped to your knees, fingers clawing at the filthy floor, nails filled with dirt as everything around you got rendered to ashes.

The heat made you sweat, and even though you could feel a chilly sensation run down your spine, flickering lights and the crunch of wood burning filled your awareness. With the last bit of strength you had, you looked up, arms reaching out to your mentor. They were the one who raised you, and the one who were shrieking and burning on the ground.

“Ughh- guhh…!!” You tried to talk, to call out to them, yet your voice was hoarse. Only groans of pain alongside incoherent grumbles left your lips as a dark figure approached you. The person kneeled on one knee, using their hand to cover your dry eyes as they whispered, “This is the punishment for their crimes, their sins.” Before long, your vision turned black.

An infinite amount of time passed as you slumbered comfortably. It felt way more comforting than the harsh reality you've been exposed to. When you eventually woke up, you were still alive and breathing, there was also no pain anymore. The smoke subsided, the fire ceased and all the burning buildings disappeared, or were you simply somewhere else? How long has it been since you were knocked out? You sat up from where you were and tried to look around, that’s when you noticed the soft cushion beneath you. Someone brought you here, someone saved you-

“You are awake.” A pretty voice emerged from somewhere. You had a surprised expression on your face, though it almost immediately turned into an alert one the moment you saw whom the voice belonged to. “You- you are..! Urghh!” As soon as you raised your voice a little, you began coughing again, the pain also returned as if it was only playing a prank on you. “I’d advise you to not overuse your voice.” The male said, closing the distance between you two, and taking a seat opposite of you.

There was a large window behind him, where warm rays of sunlight gently illuminated the room. Some of the orange light shone upon his silky black hair, causing it to have a colorful glow. The sky was a mix of red and pink decorated with some elements of orange and yellow, all these shades faded and intertwined, creating a scenery worthy of the title 'perfect'. Based on that alone, it must be dawn right now. In your memory, it was in the middle of the night when that horrific accident happened. It means you’ve been knocked out for at least a day.

Now wasn’t the time to admire nature's beauty, you had more important things at hand, for example, the person in front of you. He has been reticent since he sat down, piercing through your skull with his violet eyes. It felt like he was trying to read your mind, this pressure was suffocating. “Fyodor Dostoyevsky.” You mumbled weakly, each word you uttered itched and hurt. This man was the one who burned your home, he’s the one who put your mentor to sleep. But why?

Many strong emotions filled you from the inside, about to make you explode. Though you couldn’t, now wasn’t the time. “Why… did you let me live?” You asked him, hoping to get to know what your value is in his eyes and the reason behind his actions. Was he planning on using you as a war trophy? “What did master do to you?!” Due to your lack of voice, you were whispering, yet the way you stressed your words showed your intentions, you were in despair, and pure confusion.

Instead of answering anything, he poured you and himself some tea, then gestured for you to drink. “It's a simple black tea with lemon and sugar, to soothe your throat," he explained as he reached for his cup, but you bested him to it. Out of concern and wariness, you took his cup instead of yours, not caring about politeness in the face of death. Fyodor didn't stop you, he pulled his hand back to let you have full access to his cup, then grabbed yours and took a sip.

Despite the absurdity of the situation, you were thankful for the beverage, its effects showed in less than a minute. Afterward, he got up to go over to you, he leaned forward to cup your cheeks, and his gesture was painfully gentle. It tugged at your heart, it stung and you felt tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, the loss of someone dear was still a fresh wound.

For some unknown reason, you couldn’t move, too overwhelmed to act, too speechless to push him away. The burning sensation returned, a small part of you wished you could go down with your instructor. “As for your question, it's because I only punish the sinners.” He showed you a look of pity, full of what seemed to be genuine empathy, brows furrowed as he cooed, “Your mentor, he… he has been torturing the innocent souls of this world, there was no other way.” The way he talked was peculiar, strangely foreign yet elegant.

When the news of your teacher being a cold-hearted murderer echoed through your mind, you felt your world crumbling for a moment. They would never do that- right? After all, if they were that ruthless, they wouldn’t have taken you in. You didn’t know where to look at. What if he was lying? Was your faith in your guardian so poorly that you’d believe false information this quickly? Yet you weren’t able to shake off that ominous feeling, that familiar sense of betrayal and doubt.

"I'm sure it came across as quite the shock, but I ask you to believe me." The male said, pulling out a stack of paper from under the desk, and slamming it onto the tea table. "Feel free to look through it, take as much time as you need. And, my condolences." A hint of bitterness laced his tone. Your heart was wavering now, torn between whether or not you should believe him. The way he acted seemed to be real, though it could also be that he was a fantastic actor. In the end, you decided to reach out to the proof he provided you, holding one of the papers as you scanned over it.

It was a detailed report doting down the various crimes your mentor apparently committed, you even realized some of the events, but in a different setting. "Is... is this for real..? Haha- I can't believe it, and, if that's so, I didn't find out all this time?" Your thoughts hung from your lips and showed on your expression, a part of your world was crumbling down on you.

A sense of guilt and dizzy disgust engulfed you, shaking you from the core, and making you question all the memories made with him and your very existence. Could you still call yourself innocent after aiding such a horrible person with such a nativity? Even though you were still lost in your own little space, he raised your chin up, to stare down at you. Your noses were almost touching with how close he was. And with how the light drew across his features, paired with the romantic nature of the atmosphere, you couldn’t stop an impulsive thought from occurring.

The short-lived idea of him being a saint, a divine sent to expose the truth and bring salvation— he has saved you, twice now. You blinked a few times, wondering how you could think of something like that, it was crazy. Your brain must be struggling to process all this information, which led to you having some insane ideas, that must be the case, surely.

The closeness was making you feel dizzy again, eyes staring right into his dark pupils. He was smiling at you, kindly so, though his eyes had nothing but emptiness behind them. Even someone great like him isn't perfect in the art of acting, the eyes are said to be windows to the soul after all. “Y/n.” Fyodor mumbled his voice tender as it wrapped around your heart like a seductive spell, making you feel grossed out by your body's perception of him.

“Focus on me.” The male reminded you, the corners of his lips going up a little. You resumed staring at him, feeling the mood change involuntarily. It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t pretty, and he appeared even more beautiful when he calmly suggested, “Y/n, why don’t you join the decay of angels. By doing so, you can pay for the sins of the deceased, and he'll eventually be able to rest in peace.” He wasn’t asking you, he was making a deal.

You didn't know why but something about him made you feel drawn to him, it made you want to peruse him. Whatever it was that caused you to feel this way, you didn’t want it, it was annoying how it kept clouding your judgment. The thought of joining the enemy group so soon without mourning for the departed didn’t seem correct.

But you couldn’t decline either.

All you could do was stay in your seat, a drop of sweat dripping down the sides of your face as you subconsciously admired him. This bubbling sensation spread to every fever of your being, and in the end, you nodded meekly. The smile on his face widened, and then he asked you, “Y/n, please tell me how your ability works.” Once again, he didn’t seek your opinion, only stating what you had to do. But he was also aware you were an ability user, which might tied into the reasons why he saved you.

With a little hesitation, you reached your hand out to stroke his hair, his didn’t pull back or flinch, as if he was used to it, and nudged into your warm palm. Without missing a beat, you whispered in the still rough voice, “It’s poisonous gas.” As soon as he heard that, he noticed a sweet smell coming from the direction of your hand and he shuddered. Eyes widened while the sickening grin didn’t leave his face, as if he was proud of your small victory against him.

Before he could open his mouth, you added, “It’s not a life-threatening one, don’t worry.” He didn’t look angry, only amused as he let go of you, lingering for a moment longer than necessary before pulling back, sneering almost confidently, “A sly one, aren’t you?” You gave him a bright smile in return, "and you're confident much."

After his touch departed from you, he could feel his body heating up, a strange rush of need engulfing him, eating away at him from the inside. He blamed it on the poison, and he wasn’t wrong. His mind searched for the kind of poison this might be, trying to match the symptoms before he got interrupted by you, or more specifically your hand which had been placed on his head, without him noticing, he must have been careless. You scratched his scalp as gently as he has been treating you. It didn’t look like you were caressing a person but rather a cat, crawling at his skin.

For some reason, his heartbeat went higher and his blood rushed to his head, a meek whine slipping past his rosy lips, “Hmm...” He was in disbelief at his own voice, baffled by how foreign it was. Hell, he didn't recognize himself, this was like a completely different person. “What did you do-” Fyodor's gaze shot up to you, he sensed something ominous.

Consequentially the hand on his head moved down and clasped over his mouth while your other one wrapped around his waist. Then you pulled him closer, getting up in the process and pressing him into the soft cushions. The warmth of your body heat still lingered on his skin, it felt strangely comforting. A heavy blush crept onto his features as he furrowed his brows, both of his hands now crawling at your wrist, trying to peel you off him.

Though he didn’t need to do that, since you were willing to let go by yourself. Alternatively, you were holding his slim waist with both hands now, fingers sinking into his flesh loving yet roughly. “Uh-hmm..!” This time, he placed his hands over yours, trying to signal you to stop. Whenever you pressed down on his hips, a tingly feeling would course through him and he’d shudder helplessly. Poor boy didn’t take it that well, head hanging forward while he gritted his teeth. His pitch-black hair framed his face, sliding past his shoulders and tickling you by brushing over your skin.

“Let go, y/n..” he voiced out those shaky words, letting his facade crumble. You got even closer, nose now in the crook of his neck as you took a deep breath. Then you whispered into his ears, “Thank you for saving me and telling me the— truth…” The last word became so quiet he was barely able to register it. After that, you stuck the tip of your tongue out to lick his earlobe, at the same time you drew circles on his hips with your thumbs.

“Hnngh.. w-what are you..?!��� Fyodor winced again. Because you were basically pressing your upper body against his, he couldn’t help but lock his hands around your neck, holding onto you tightly as he pressed his chin against your shoulder. His eyes were half-lidded as more lewd sounds escaped him. At the same time, this weird emotion coursing through him kept making him feel all buzzy inside. Confusion was a word much too vague to explain the state he was in.

On the other hand, you thought the way he held onto you was cute, it was like a little kitten that didn’t want you to leave. “...So please let me repay you.” You uttered, finishing your sentence from before after a long break, then answered his questions, “You are currently under the effects of an aphrodisiac, I thought it might help me service you better.” That’s why he’s feeling this way, so hot and bothered. It was because of your ability.

“M-make it go away then…!” He groaned, glaring at you. You weren’t expecting him to engage in such unsightly acts now, were you? “I am doing that right now. Don’t worry, you’ll feel so good.” A somewhat sinister smile spread on your lips, and then you bit his ear. “UhmM..! No- what?" Fyodor shuddered, head spinning a little from all these foreign sensations. "Are there other ways?” This is bad, it was so pleasurable that it was maddening. His body has become so sensitive all due to the poison, that he was reacting to your every touch, every light brush of your skin against his.

“Begrudgingly, no. Since there’s no other way, try to enjoy it.” You explained, one hand moving to his collar and unbuttoning his shirt while your eager tongue trailed down from his ear to his neck, leaving behind a wet path. “Haaah… you- ughh!” He eventually gave in, squeezing his eyes shut as his body quivered. Now both hands were working on his clothes, but you did it slowly, teasingly slow. At the same time, you licked over his skin, occasionally sucking on a specific area. It didn’t take long until you found a spot he especially liked.

You knew by how he squirmed around, arms losing strength as they limped and fell back next to his body, a dark reddened spot forming where your lips last touched him. It was too much, this drug was making him go insane, he couldn’t think of anything but giving himself to you. “Please..” he begged unbeknownst to himself, feeling you prying his shirt open. Then your knee pressed against his tightly shut legs, trying to separate them and force your way between.

After you did, you grabbed his waist and adjusted his position a little. He didn’t show any resistance, only whimpering in silence as he let you manhandle him. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes from raw lust, the need for your touch made him so frustrated that he became impatient. “Hurry up.. take responsibility for the mess you made,” Fyodor demanded while wearing a needy expression, you didn't know he was such a touch-starved man. “If that’s what you want.” You smirked devilishly as you took a bite out of him, or rather, you left your teeth marks on his pale skin.

The marks were deep, sinking down on him, like a form of testimony for this shared intimacy. Many hickeys were placed around the bite marks, decorating his sickly-looking body with colors. “Cute,” you commented on his appearance, then moved your lips past his chest down to his belly button. Fyodor didn’t react to that silly compliment, thinking it must have been a slip of the tongue. He let out a shaky breath when he felt you rubbing your cheek against his smooth and soft skin. That single gasp soon turned into a series of huffed moans due to you teasing his nipples.

You used both hands to skilfully circle around the nuds, sometimes flicking them with the tip of your fingers, or nudging them lovingly. Small gestures like this were enough to make him turn his head to the side, cursing out this annoying poison. The more you played with him, the stronger his reactions became. When you got to rubbing his cute and hardened nipples, his thighs squeezed around your waist, subconsciously trying to hide something very inappropriate. But you noticed anyway. He got hard by having his chest played with, enough for him to leak through his pants.

“Fyodor, I didn’t know your nipples were this sensitive.” You gasped excitedly, acting more dramatic than needed. A small yet noticeable wet patch was on his pants, the sticky fluid seeping through the fabric. “It’s because, hah.. of the aphrodisiac.” The male argued, gazing up at you all hostile. “Mhm, sure sure.” Instead of letting it get to you, you continued what you were doing. Humming to yourself before questioning him, “Well, do you want me to touch you?” His eyes basically lit up at that question, drool on the verge of dripping down the corners of his mouth.

“Mhm…” his tone was meek as if he was deliberately hiding his excitement. Putting his pride aside for now, he nodded almost too eager for his liking, and proceeded to avoid your gaze again. Since you got his approval, you decided to take it a step slower, leaning back to take your time to admire him. To worship him. That’s when you noticed how slim he was. Maybe it was due to his hands that were buried in his sleeves, or his shirt that was slipping down his arms, no matter the reason, he looked so petite right now. He was not intimidating or scary at all, not like the demon he was rumored to be.

You’ve already noticed his rather weakly looking physique, but to think it was this apparent. He didn’t really have any toned muscles, nor did he have any colors on his face. To be honest he seemed fragile, like a porcelain doll. When you put your hands on his hips again, gently holding him up and making him arch his back, the only thought running through your head was how easily you could snap him in two, causing you to be even more gentle with him, way more than before. All to take care of this man who was like a saint sent from above.

“D-don’t tease.” Fyodor groaned, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. His arms were still holding your back, clinging to you. Seeing him so needy and defiled made you impatient as well, and you rubbed his bulge through his clothes. The dark patch grew in size, and some of the liquid stuck to your hand. “I-I said don’t tease.” He repeated his words, this time putting more emphasis on his tone, toes curling while he tried to close his legs, of course to no avail. “I doubt this is only the work of the aphrodisiac.” You commented, then pulled his pants down alongside his underwear, revealing his throbbing cock.

It was twitching around in an angry shade of red, leaking pre with no end in sight. “You look like you enjoy it so much, it's so lewd.” You commented, smiling satisfied. The boy glared at you, he didn’t seem to appreciate your commentary, sneering, "Don't let that imagination of yours run wild. It's all the work of your ability." Then he locked his legs around your waist before scoffing, “Just get on with it.” He held you close to him, so close you could hear his weak but fast heartbeats. It had a weird sense of calmness to it.

Ignoring the fact his voice trembled with every word, he was simply too adorable to take him seriously. “Of course, if you allow me the honor of corrupting you?” You asked sarcastically, and your snarky question was met with a fierce glare from him. “I’m not getting corrupted, I’m thriving out the pest inside my body. And may I remind you just whose fault it is?”

Following closely were the muffled laughs from you, hoping to not embarrass him. “Yes yes~ it’s all my fault, so I’m taking responsibility.” Then you wrapped your hand around his shaft, pumping his dick up and down. “HnggGhh! Ah- ahh.. wait, that’s so s-sudden..?!” He moaned loudly, unable to restrain his voice. Your other hand caressed his body, still placed on his waist and holding him up.

“Was I wrong when I speculated you wanted this to be over quickly?” You pressed your forehead against him, slowing down to rub his sensitive gland. More and more precum collected at the tip, dripping down his member, making lewd squelch sounds whenever you moved your fingers. “Haaah…” he squeezed his eyes shut, clawing at your back to balance out the growingly overwhelming sensations. Moaning into your ear, encouraging you with the sweetest melody known to mankind. “Huh? Yes.. you, you weren’t wrong. So hurry… please.”

Right now, you must be grinning so stupidly, totally captivated by him. You quickened your pace, hands gliding across his skin. It was very easy since he had been dripping so much, and you couldn’t stop yourself from making a comment about it, “You are so wet down there, Fyodor. Are you that excited?” He pinched your back, embarrassed by your words, “Don’t- nggGhh… make my body sound so perverted ♡.” Afterward, he continued to try and bite back his moans, but he failed miserably.

“Ah- hmmm..!! It’s too intense, y/n.” Pretty tears rolled down his cheeks as he mumbled as quietly as possible, his voice all breathy and broken. When you noticed these fresh tears climbing down his face, you leaned close to him and licked them away. His tears were salty, like any other human, and they were still warm when they reached your tongue. He sobbed meekly in response to your questionable course of action, his cries stiffening a little.

Why was he crying? Was it due to the embarrassment he felt, or the troubling feelings bubbling inside him? Or because he was too overwhelmed by his own emotions, by this growing heat that was on the verge of exploding? Nonetheless, he blamed it on the aphrodisiac, to shelter himself from the truth, to deny reality once more.

“It’s alright, it’s normal to feel this way.” You whispered against his smooth skin, only moving your lips minimally. With the hand that used to be on his waist, you wiped the tears from the other cheek, watching the water dry after a while, commenting with an adoring voice, “So beautiful.” He was stunned by how tender you were with him, it made his skin crawl and his heart tighten. It was noticeable by the way his blush seemed to intensify. His dick twitched against your hand, uncontrollably so, desperate for more friction and attention. “A-a bit more— I, hic, a little bit…” Fyodor said, unsure what he meant with little, but he knew he was close.

Your hand was all slippery with his juices, and you made sure that he knew every single detail. “Look at that, my hand’s all sticky and dirty now, thanks to you.” To demonstrate what you meant, you raised your hand and held it in front of him, waiting until he opened his eyes to have a look. “Ah..” he winced a little at the loss of pleasure, then buried himself into the nook of your neck, choking out a muffled sentence, “I-I don’t want to see that.. just- make this heat stop… it h-hurts ♡.”

When he did that, you felt your own heart skip a beat, and you cooed at him, “Aah.. right, yes, my bad. You are just too cute.” He held his breath, and only exhaled when he felt your finger wrap around his weeping cock. You kissed his hair, wrapping one arm around his head and playing with the hair on the other side, stroking and caressing it. “So very cute.”

Fyodor seemed to have a rather hard time registering the fact these compliments were meant for him, and not just for the heat of the moment. He stayed quiet, except for the occasional whine that’d escape him when you drag your hand up and down his twitching dick. Then you raised the speed of your hands again, now trying to bring him over the edge. His nails dug into your flesh when he noticed a knot forming in his stomach, toes curling while he gritted his teeth. Your touch was simply heavenly, there was no better way for him to describe it.

"Arghh, y/n..? D-don't stop, don't you dare- i- nghh!!" The male threatened though he wasn't able to finish his sentence without his moans interrupting him. "Hmm~? Why can't I stop?" You teased him, despite knowing the reason very well. Your hand pumped him fast and steadily, slowly down only to take extra care of his tip. He inhaled sharply, opening his mouth to speak but ending up biting your shoulder with a messy expression. "Mfmmhh..! HnnGh~"

A shiver ran down your spine, you could barely stop yourself from grinning as you asked again, "Is something the matter, Fyodor?" If only he wasn't so messed up right now, he'd be seething with anger. Because right now, no matter what expression he pulled, he looked like a ravished and whithering animal. Wet and dried tears continued spilling from his swollen eyes, his entire upper body was covered in marks like a cherry blossom, and his skin glistened with sweat and a heavy blush.

Now moving down to his lower body, which looked like something straight out of a sinful magazine, he was so wet and sticky that he felt ashamed. To be this aroused from nothing but a simple handjob as well, it was a huge hit to his ego. Fyodor took a few moments to collect himself, and once he did, he mumbled almost inaudibly, "It feels too good.. m' gonna cum.." That was the moment you absolutely lost it, you were so infatuated with him it was worse than hypnotise.

Quickening your pace once more, you chuckled happily, "It's alright baby, cum for me, spurt it alll over my hand ♡♥︎" the sudden rise in intensity and pleasure caught him off guard, so badly that he scratched your back, screaming in ecstasy, "aaHhHGgg! W-wait, s-stop~!! It's- it's too muucHhhh! ♡♡ cumming, cumiiinnnng, pull away, it's dirty~ ♥︎♡" The boy looked like he was going crazy from all this bliss, head thrown back while his pupils turned heart-shaped.

He was mewling, drooling, and shaking from his core, brain way too mushy to think, to see if what he was babbling even made sense. Never would you have thought you could turn such a composed and fine man into this dumb little thing, addicted to the sin of the flesh. You kept moving your hand to help him come down from his high, lips pressed against the shell of his ear, "Shhh, it's alright darling, it's okay. It doesn't hurt, right? So it's okay, defile my hand like how I defiled you."

A few minutes passed in silence. You gave him enough time to get used to the feeling and cope with the reality. In the meantime, your hand departed from him, your fingers were all slick with his body fluid, and a pool of thick semen collected on your palm. While you were wondering what to do with it, his breathing was ragged and heavy, looks like he was still not used to all of this. You reached for some tissues from the table, wanting to clear up this mess if not for him to suddenly grab your wrist, bringing your finger to his lips and sucking on them feverishly.

He lapped up all the fluids clinging to you, all while gazing at you with the same eyes as before. Heart-shaped and pleasure-ridden, addicted, and out of his mind. Despite him still having your fingers in his mouth, he cried out, "he heet if stell here, i-if dihmmd woo.." (the heat is still there, it didn't work) before taking your fingers out, gulping down the fluids, and pleading sweetly, "p-please purge me more...♡♥︎♡" This was unexpected, you didn't expect him to react in this way. But you weren't going to complain, you didn't mind taking it a step further. Just...

How were you going to explain that you never used your ability on him?

Tags: @showtime-ss @thisisnotangel @ghostgoosygoose @i-dont-fooken-know @chuuya-brainrot @allyfoxglove @thigh-o-saur @fallenthemisticalyingyang @fem-dom-roze

Nini!rant 2.0:

An aphrodisiac sounds like something really fun, right? Though sadly there is no such thing in real life. According to science, all these foods and pills that claim to raise sexual desire and lust have no real correlation with boosting arousal. Because after all, sexual desire is created due to a series of brain chemistry and sometimes hormones. And that is something so complex it can’t be mimicked with chemicals or food.

Chocolate? The sugar raises euphoria and others, but not lust. Oysters? Apparently it raises testosterone levels, though that’s not arousal neither. Cinnamon and exotic spices? Now that’s a stretch. Sometimes the things suggested by people aren’t even healthy to consume! Like the Spanish fly, which helps with getting an erection. But that’s actually just blisters in the urethra, the tube in the penis…. Cuz the fly comes from blister beetles… yea

Though I’m not saying it can’t work, because sexual desire is created by the brain, right? So if you believe eating a banana helps then you can trick your brain, and it ends up actually helping. Or the rumour with the spices, most of the time it’s about the smell, and if you smell something nice that you like, that calms you, you’re more likely to become turned on then agitated or sad.

I wish aphrodisiacs were real though 😔

[amourane]

smitten

pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader

genre: fluff

w/c: 0.7k

summary: jeonghan is completely smitten for you and he refuses to admit it.

warnings: noneee

a/n: aaa i hope you guys like this <3 i wasn't gonna post two fics in a row but i whipped this one up in about half an hour so i hope you guys enjoy it! not sure if i should make it a mini series, lmk!

Jeonghan found it hard to breathe with you around. He found it hard to focus, to concentrate. He had always been one to keep his cool, to stay calm and collected but ever since he met you all logical thinking had been thrown out of the window. He wasn’t a type of guy that would get nervous and he certainly wasn’t the type of guy that would get distracted. Jeonghan prided himself in being the stoic and very attractive star student at Seoul National University. 

So why did he find himself completely befuddled in front of you?

You who were so beautiful, so pretty, so gorgeous yet so annoying. He had never met another girl who would claw at his bones more than you. Your tinkling laugh and bright shiny eyes. It all made him go positively crazy and he couldn’t do anything to help that. You had this magnetic pull that would drag Jeonghan along despite his protests. 

His friends had all teased him for it. They had seen the way his cheeks would flush whenever you stared at him or the way he would look at you with the most lovesick eyes. Nevertheless, he continued to deny his affections. 

It didn’t matter anyway. You were too dense to notice how everyone seemed to snicker whenever you went up to Jeonghan or the way everyone would peer over their textbooks whenever you asked to partner up with the infamous student. You, who’s smile was so bright, failed to see how everyone could tell how smitten Yoon Jeonghan was for you even if he denied it. 

“Hannie!” Your voice echoed through the hallway and Jeonghan winced at the loud sound. His expression remained neutral as you came bounding up towards him with the most adorable grin on your face. “Guess who just got full marks on her test? Me!”

The test paper you shoved in his face made Jeonghan go cross eyes as he struggled to decipher your scrawled answers and the red pen the professor had marked with. The biggest thing that caught his eyes was the 100 in the top right hand corner. 

“That’s good Y/n.”

“Is that all you have to say?” You pouted as you removed the test paper from his face. “I worked so hard for that Hannie, I pulled all nighters and everything! I didn’t even ask you for any help, isn’t that impressive?”

“Yeah.” Jeonghan felt the cage of butterflies fly open in his stomach and he gulped. “That’s amazing Y/n but you really shouldn’t stay up revising, it actually decreases the chance of taking information in. You can enter sleep deprivation and it has a really high chance of simply going blank in exams and that’s not good at all you know.”

Your smile remained on your face as Jeonghan continued to rattle off the side effects of lack of sleep. You stepped closer towards him, only inches away. Jeonghan’s breath hitched as he stared at your pretty face. His eyes flickered to your lips and then your eyes. The eyes he could stare into forever and not get bored with. 

“Then you help me revise. I could use help from that brain of yours. I actually did go blank in my exam but it wasn’t because of sleep deprivation.”

Jeonghan knew better than to ask what but he couldn’t help the curiosity that was gnawing at his mind like a beast begging to be set free. He stared at you, your bright expression rendering him speechless as he tried to come up with words to say.

“What was it then?” He croaked out, voice trembling at the close proximity. “Why did you get distracted?”

You giggled leaning in closer so that your lips were brushing his ear. “You.”

Jeonghan froze, his whole body stood still like ice and you continued to giggle and he saw the way your smile seemed to grow bigger. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched you step back, the test paper still clutched in your hands. He felt his cheeks burst into flames as his jaw hung open in shock at your words. 

“See you later Hannie! I’ll pop over so we can exchange notes.” 

You waved him goodbye before skipping away as if you hadn’t just caused the poor guy to melt in his shoes. Jeonghan gripped his textbooks tightly and he tried to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. The beating of his heart could be heard in his ears and he tried desperately to calm himself down.

You were the only one capable of making Yoon Jeonghan grow completely flustered and he hated it.

[kyuuppi]

Genshin men Instagram HCs

Ft. Xiao; Scaramouche; Zhongli; Childe; Alhaitham; Kaveh; Tighnari

(gender neutral reader but wears a dress in Scara & Zhongli's parts)

Xiao // @ a1atus

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Very rarely posts

Never pictures of himself, you’ll only see his face in tagged photos

If he does post, it’s probably a new album cover of a band he likes, a particularly good plate of almond tofu from his favorite café, or—if he’s in a particularly good mood—a cute stray cat that befriended him on the street

Never edits anything but still takes pretty decent photos because he understands basic composition rules

Never tags anything but will sometimes write simple captions like “new guitar”

His pfp has not changed since he made his account and its literally just the blandest selfie you’ve ever seen—but he’s effortlessly photogenic so even when he’s just staring at the camera with a blank expression he looks hot

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

Xiao will unintentionally do his loyal boyfriend duties and like all of your posts but he never actually leaves a comment unless you specifically ask him to but you have to tell him what to say or else you’ll just get something like “your hair is nice” LOL

Maybe makes one post related to you but it doesn’t have your face—just picture of your hands holding each other or a photo he secretly took of you from behind as you admire some paintings from when he took you on an art gallery date

Still doesn’t write much in captions but if the post includes you, he always adds a little black heart emoji 🖤

Scaramouche // @ balladeer

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Vehemently claims he’s not chronically online but he definitely is

Def has a dark / emo aesthetic profile and puts more effort into it than he’d ever admit

Uses stories pretty frequently

Usually to show off his game stats and victories or to vent about some annoying inconvenience that's just happened to him 

balladeer Jfc the train is late again I may as well just walk home everyday ffs

All his late night gaming photos are so highly saturated in his pitch black bedroom, the only source of light being his screen on max brightness and his violet RGB keyboard. If you raise the screen brightness on your phone you might be able to make out some empty Monster cans and ramen cups on his desk—he absolutely gives Discord / Reddit mod vibes ���

Definitely has a story archive just for Valorant 🤮

I wanna fuck him so bad it makes me look stupid���

Posts a few selfies to show a new piercing or the very rare occasion where he’s feeling really confident in his looks

unintentionally thirst traps the emo boy lovers; yes, I am talking about you and I—

Lightly edits photos or uses filters to make them look good but nothing extreme or super aesthetic, mostly just for decent contrast

Usually the first one to see any of his friends posts but never ‘likes’ them

Will leave snarky or sarcastic comments when the mood strikes tho

His pfp is a candid picture someone else took that he thinks he looks decent in—sticking his tongue out and giving double middle fingers to the camera

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

Makes a post or story for every date you guys have, even if it’s just a vague picture of your shoes together

He likes to show off that he has such an attractive s/o but also lowkey just wants to have a memory to look back on for the nights he feels lonely

Doesn’t post just you though, he’s always in frame holding you or touching you in some way—he feels the need to put some sort of claim cause he thinks people are gonna shoot their shot with you—he’s kinda paranoid and insecure, pls have patience w him

Likes and comments on all of your posts. Sometimes it's a snarky quip like if you post about you and your friends doing something funny he might comment “lmao ur so dumb” but if its a selfie or something you’re proud of, he leaves a little compliment and heart emoji.

YN0103 [bedroom mirror selfie of you shyly posing in a dress]

YN0103  Bought a new dress today…it’s not my usual style but I rlly like it 🥺

balladeer cute 💜

If anyone ever confronts him in person about his nice comments on your posts tho he’ll get flustered and claim his account was temporarily hacked LOL

His heart def flutters when you post a picture of him on your own account

He kinda can’t believe you’re proud enough of him to publicly post about him

Changes his pfp to the two of you together and, if you zoom in and squint, you can tell he’s kind of smiling <3

Zhongli // @ rex_lapis

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

I’m sorry but I have to do it…

He has Facebook grandpa vibes

Like he has no idea how to use half of the features; stories are an absolute mystery to him. What is a reel?

But he tries to be supportive of his friends and will leave way-too eloquent comments with a Wikipedia levels of supplemental information

a1atus [ photo of a shiny Fender acoustic guitar laying on what seems to be a bed]

a1atus new guitar

rex_lapis Lovely new instrument, Xiao. You seem to have quite good tastes – that particular model is popular among many professional musicians. It is well renowned for its clear sound and beautiful mahogany exterior. If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to hear you play it someday over tea.

a1atus @ rex_lapis thanks

the way I cackled writing that exchange ygweyufgwyu Xiaos just like ‘thanks for commenting dad’

His pfp is not him—it’s probably a famous painting he likes or a beautiful white flower from a garden he visited

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

If you want him to improve his Insta game, you’re going to have to teach him, I’m sorry

On the up side, Zhongli is a great student and is eager to learn anything you teach him

Will try to post pretty regularly; usually somewhat mediocre photos of beautiful scenery like sunsets and flowers

Like Scaramouche, he enjoys the idea of documentary your time together so he posts something at the end of each of your dates

Your heart lowkey melts when Zhongli, very earnestly, asks after dinner if you’ll allow him to take a selfie with you to post on his Instagram

Regularly asks for feedback on his posts to ensure he’s properly taking your advice and improving :,)

He even starts organizing and naming story archives on his profile—simple titles like “tea,” “nature,” “friends,” and “my dearest”

Likes and comments on every single one of your posts and replies to all of your stories, even if he was there with you

Usually just lathers you in compliments on your beauty or tastes but they’re so thoughtfully written that it’s obvious he’s not “just saying it” and genuinely believes all the kind things about you he writes

YN1231 [photo of you twirling in a summer dress amidst a colorful of bed of flowers in a botanical garden, take by your friend]

YN1231 It’s finally starting to feel like spring! 🌸🌼🌺

rex_lapis While the camelias are lovely, they pale in comparison to your radiance. Your yellow sundress is also quite lovely and compliments your complexion in the morning sunlight. Truly a divine sight. 

balladeer @ YN1231 @ rex_lapis ugh can you guys keep it in the DMs

- Changes his pfp to a selfie of himself smiling after you told him he should. The angle is a little odd but he’s so naturally attractive that he still manages to look good. 

Ajax // @ tartaglia_on_top 

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Doesn’t post too often but when he does, it kinda gives stereotypical frat boy

Like, lots of parties and shirtless beach photos with his friends

The surprise is the occasional posts of his little siblings and kids he volunteers with in between

He sometimes posts championship and practice photos from his martial arts competitions with captions thanking his team and mentors

Is pretty popular—has a few thousand followers, many are people he met just once or twice at parties or genuine friends and classmates, but the vast majority are online fans who just follow cause he’s hot LOL

Is the type of person you followed once after meeting a long time ago and never talk to again but you can’t bring yourself to unfollow cause he’s nice and his updates are kinda interesting and he’s hot

Isn’t online that much so he doesn’t like/comment on his friends’ every post but usually tries to leave congratulatory messages when someone accomplishes something or graduates

His pfp is a closeup of himself with a boyish grin he cropped from a group photo

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

It is super obvious when you guys start dating cause almost every post from that point is about you in some way LOL

tartaglia_on_top [photo of Ajax, sweaty and exhausted but clearly excited as he holds a trophy in one hand with the other wrapped around your waist while he presses a kiss to your cheek]

tartaglia_on_top Officially a 3 year championship winner! Thanks to my biggest supporter @ YN0720 😘

He’s not even consciously trying to post you all the time, it just happens because you are either always together or any memorable moment he thinks are worth an Insta post involve you in some way

You’re the only person, aside from his family - that he actually likes/comments on all posts for

Is the type of boyfriend to leave those super dramatic, embarrassing comments on your selfies like “DAAAMN BABE 🥵 finna make me act UP” and, in one particularly shameless case, “god youre so hot pls step on me queen 😍” 

Please block him

He shamelessly liked all your past posts from before you too met as well—you were kinda mortified to wake up one morning to a notification that just said “what a lil cutie ❤️” on a post of yourself from seventh grade. 

Changes his pfp to a couple selfie he took of the two of you kissing on a winter vacation in the mountains

Kaveh // @ kaveh.designs

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Obsessed with having an aesthetic profile

Like, the color palette of the background and clothing in his pfp selfie are carefully matched with the cover of each of his story archives, down to the hex code

He carefully edits every post and uses filters to make them all fit with his theme no matter how inaccurate to real life they may become

“Huh…I thought your bedroom wall was a bit more orange than this…” 

“Oh, that’s cause I use 30% Juno in all my bedroom photos for a warmer finish.”

“???”

Despite his aesthetic profile, he doesn’t come off as particularly vain or narcissistic—only posts selfies when he’s has a particularly good hair day or changed his accessories

Most of his posts are of places he travels to (museums and big cities with interesting architecture) or his own sketches and rendered design projects

Online pretty frequently, always checks insta when he wakes up, before bed, and during lunch breaks

His stories are often project updates, interesting things he encounters throughout the day, or food photos

Only likes posts he actually likes and sometimes comments with photography critiques

tighnar1 [photo of a cluster of three bright blue mushrooms clustered against vibrant green grass and patches of dark, wet soil]

tighnar1 Proof the forest is an amazing place: found this beautiful little cluster of juvenile Rakkhashava mushrooms on my hike today. Great spotting by @ colleeei. Check my story for some cool mushroom facts. 🍄

kaveh.designs great photo composition, Tigh, perfect golden ratio on the caps.

tighnar1 @ kaveh.designs Thanks I guess…

Has a decent number of followers, many of whom are also artists familiar with Kaveh’s reputation from the Kshahrewar. Others just like his OOTD stories and charming smile

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

Kaveh revamps his entire profile once you two become official

His pfp becomes a candid taken by a stranger of the two of you together at an aquarium, holding hands as you point something out to him through the glass

It was taken by a photographer working at the aquarium as part of a promotion—the photographer showed you two the photo and asked for permission to post it on their official website and Kaveh was absolutely obsessed with the photo—it’s still one of his favorite and it doesn’t even show your faces

He still matches his archived story covers to his new pfp but his actual feed had become a lot more relaxed and natural now

He still slightly edits photos so they look as good as possible, but he doesn’t like using filters on photos of you or the two of you together because he thinks it would be a disservice to your natural beauty

Like Ajax, his posts and stories naturally become mostly about you whether scenes from your dates—candid photos he takes of you where he insists you look like art even though you’re just in pajamas with an unmade face—or even photos of things he sees throughout the day that remind him of you

Sometimes he posts stories of funny reels or art pieces he knows you’d like and tags you in them with messages like “@YN0709 omg remember when we were talking abt this?” and “me & @ YN0709💕”

Similar to Childe, leaves the most downbad, dramatic comments on your posts

YN0709 [swimsuit selfie]

YN0709 happy summer! ☀️🌊

kaveh.designs Oh my god my heart– 💘 I cannot believe I get to come home to this every night 👅💦

YN0709 @ kaveh.designs omg kaveh pls 💀

al_haitham @ kaveh.designs Every time I see one of your comments I regret ever learning how to read.

Alhaitham // @ al_haitham  

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Only made an account so his friends would stop bothering him about not keeping up with things tbh

Checks his feed a few times a day but skips through stories if they’re too long/too many

Absolutely hates concert stories the most cause they’d loud, long, and filled with off-key drunken singing

Never likes or comments on anything unless it’s really interesting to him

Occasionally shares reels in his story that are like interesting history facts or official Akademiya announcements

Has a few posts (and only cause Kaveh would not shut up about it) but they’re mostly just pictures of book covers he’d just finished reading with a detailed review or literary analysis as the caption—but he’s mindful of avoiding spoilers for those who haven’t read it

However, he does have one post that stands out quite a bit

He posted an unintentional gym third trap because he just happened to be working out, as is routine, and thought it might be nice to share some tips on proper rope pushdown form 

If you’re not a gym babe and don’t know what this is, I beg of you, please look up a gif or video and imagine Alhaitham doing this, shirtless. You’re welcome.

It has become his most popular post by far

His pfp is probably taken straight from his faculty ID card: plain background, bright lighting, neutral facial expression

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

After you two have become official and are pretty comfortably established in your relationship, he’ll post a photo of the two of you—probably one you took - with a simple caption like “Late night at Puspa Café with my favorite person 💚”

Everyone who knows him freaks out in the comments with variations of “omg hathie got an s/o???” and “wow he finally posted a normal pic of himself, y/n is a good influence” but he doesn’t reply to any of them lmao

If you use Instagram a lot, he’ll naturally become more active too because he enjoys learning more about what you like through your posts and stories

He likes all of your posts but never comments—if one of your posts interests him, he’d prefer to wait until he sees you later to ask you about it in person 

He just wants an excuse to talk to you more

As he becomes more active, little bits and pieces of your relationship naturally infiltrate his feed

His latest book review post has your favorite mug in the background because the two of you had breakfast together

His informational story post of an antique Sumerian emerald he found at a street vendor is being modeled by your pretty hands because you were with him when he saw it and later given to you after the vendor insisted on Alhaitham gifting it to his “beautiful spouse”

He changes his profile picture to the two of you from one of your many reading dates, comfortably lounging on a loveseat in a quiet corner of the library—and this time, he’s softly smiling

Tighnari // @ t1ghnar1

Surprisingly active on social media

He thinks social media is a great way to share information about the importance of forest conservation and get people to appreciate the beauty of Avidya forest

Makes one post almost every day and multiple stories

Needless to say, 90% of his posts are of plants or small animals he finds on his hikes or while working

His most popular posts are those of cute squirrels and birds that are being nursed back to health after being found wounded—animals just seem to naturally love him so the pictures are usually taken by his coworkers because his arms are full with cuddly animals that refuse to move

The other 10% of his posts are from the occasional hang outs with friends or coworkers after work—snaps of iced fruit teas from Puspa café or colorful clay plates overflowing with Collei’s homemade pita pockets. 

He makes sure to reply to or at least like every comment, particularly those from people asking questions about the plants he posts or how to become a forest ranger. Even simple “wow that's so cool” comments often get at least a “thanks, glad you liked it” from Tighnari

He tends to use some cute forest or food emoji when they fit with his posts. For example, 🍄,🥙,🦊,🐦, etc.

Also tends to use “:)” when replying to his followers because he knows it can be difficult to read tone in text-based communications

Tigh is basically a social media manager at this point oops

Because he is online so much, he naturally keeps up with almost everything his friends post and will like or comment on things he finds interesting

His pfp is a selfie of himself with a small yellow bird perched on his shoulder from one of his patrols

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

All Tighnaris written by me WILL follow the “fennec foxes mate for life” trope regardless of AU, it is an indisputable law of the universe

If you’re in a relationship with Tighnari, you should be prepared for stability and commitment in general

While he doesn’t go out of his way to make an official announcement post or anything like that, you become a regular feature on his page

Will tag you in anything you’re related to, unless you specifically ask him not to

t1ghnar1 [photo of a small, cream-colored fox brushing itself against Tighnari’s leg and looking up at the camera with large eyes]

t1ghnar1 On a walk with @ YN1229 this morning we spotted this cute little kit without her mom. 🦊 While adorable, foxes - even kits - are wild animals and should never be approached unless by professionals. We have informed the local animal control where she will be taken care of until we can locate her family. Photo by @ YN1229

He never outright announces you as his lover but he seems to spend so much time with you and refer to you so casually that his followers who don’t know him just assume you’re his spouse LOL

He doesn’t bother to correct them either :,)

bennie_boy Wow, that mountain is so high up - wasn’t ur spouse scared to go up there?

t1ghnar1 @ bennie_boy Y/n has been on so many trips like this with me that they’re pretty used to it. :)

Likes your posts as he see them on his feed and occasionally leaves a short comment like, “beautiful <3”

[buzz-in-your-veins]

Helping Them<3

Helping your S/O via the wonderful art of cockwarming.

CW: Sex, cock warming, face/pussy fucking, gender neutral reader with a vagina, possessive, violence (not to reader), minor slut-shaming possibly, minor voyerism, then talked about.

Vox

Vox loved to have you in his tv room with him. Having you around reminded him you choose him, and your sweet nature always made his days easier.

But he had to admit he liked you best like this, under his desk as he watched the denizens of hell, mouth wide and warm, eyes glassy as drool slipped past your chin.

Feeling more than hearing your hiccuped moans as you stayed still on his cock, pussy spread wide around his plug, nothing better to do than keep Vox warm as he worked.

Vox was always possessive over you, and after Valentino himself had very nearly lost an eye for walking in unannounced, Vox no longer had to worry about people coming in and seeing his precious baby reduced to a filthy whore.

Vox hissed as you whined around his cock, the vibration in your pussy verging on too much. Glancing down, Vox groaned.

You were looking at him with the most beautifully pleading expression, slowly jolting your hips, mouth spread around his wet dick.

“Good Baby, just like that.”

Vox started thrusting into your mouth, unable to resist anymore.

“Fuck baby, yeah that’s it.”

It quickly turned into Vox pulling you up and fucking your pussy, better than any plug, pushing you headfirst into orgasm as Vox moved faster.

“O-oh. S-shit baby, fuckkkkk-”

Vox whined as he came inside you, and you couldn’t help but giggle as you heard Velvette scream up a storm as the power went out.

Lucifer

Lucifer seemed to be allergic to his work. He would absolutely refuse to compleat any of the paperwork he had, and point blank ignored the meetings he was supposed to hold.

The two of you had finally worked out a compromise.

Lucifer loved having his cock in you, pumping in and out of your pretty pussy, sliding in between your lips, jerking in your hand, it didn’t matter, he just loved having his cock in you.

So lucifer would do his paperwork with you sat on his cock, wet folds spread around his dick as you refused to let him move.

“Please. Please my love. Duckling please. Please anything.”

Lucifer loved being inside you.

And he wasn’t afraid to let you know.

“The papers Luci, then anything you want.”

Lucifer hadn’t even looked at the sheets as he signed them, going through them as fast as possible, whining the whole time.

As soon as ten had been stamped Lucifer swept his arm across his desk, sending papers and tools to the floor, and laid you back, before starting to completely wreck your pretty pussy.

“Please, I need it love, please my duckling.”

Lucifer begged so sweetly how could you refuse?

As soon as you nodded you felt heat spreading through your core as Lucifer came.

Then immediately dropped to his knees to eat you out.

The meetings were harder. Lucifer couldn’t be quiet whilst he had his cock in any part of you, and vehemently refused to share even the noises you pulled from him, so cockwarming wasn’t an option.

But lucifer going to the meetings with your juice still coating the inside of his mouth and outside of his dick?

Knowing you’d be ready and waiting for him to get back?

That seemed to work.

Alastor

Alastor didn’t see the same appeal of sex as others did. He found the act, and subsequent swearing and fluids, rather gross.

That didn’t stop him from pleasing his doe, however.

The radio demon being less that stellar in anyway?

That won’t do.

Often, Alastor would use his shadow or his tentacles to pleasure you, an act both of you found pleasurable and fun.

There were however rare times Alastor would pleasure you himself.

Today was one of those times.

Alastor was fascinated, watching as you came apart on his cock. His cock he hadn’t moved for the hour it had been inside you.

Watching as you cried pretty tears and begged for him to move through hiccuped pleas, hips trying ever so hard to buck down, pussy leaking and spasming around his cock.

Hearing you whine and moan as every breath you took jolted you was delightful.

Hearing you scream when he finally thrust in was ecstasy.

You came two thrusts later, so Alastor bent you over the desk and fucked your sensitive pussy through a second orgasm, until he added his own cum to the mess between your legs.

Angel Dust

Being one of the best hookers in hell, Angel has cockwarmed before. He’d never seen the appeal of it.

Siting on someone’s cock doing nothing?

It was just a waste of time.

So when you asked him if you could cock warm him to help you keep focus, he was reluctant at first.

Surely it would just cause more hassle?

After some talking, and your reassurance you did want this, Angel agreed.

Cock firmly inside your tight warm pussy, Angel quickly began to see why this was so popular.

Watching as you sat on his cock, seemingly paying it no mind, even though Angel could feel you getting wetter?

Fucking nevhana.

Realizing ever move he made affected you? Hearing your bitten of moans and choked whimpers? Angel was quickly realizing why this was so popular.

Shifting slightly, Angel smirked as he felt your pussy clench.

It stayed that way as you completed your assignment, Angel shifting ever so slightly to feel your walls clench around him, and when you finally finished?

Angel wasted no time in picking you up and dropping you back down on his cock, using you as a prop while he chased his own release, all the while playing with your clit.

You came twice as Angel used your pussy as a fleshlight.

The two of you were definitely doing that again.

Adam

Adam loved you like this.

All quiet and pliant under his desk.

Mouth stuffed full of his cock as he did the necessary paperwork. He usually got Lute to do this bullshit but these ones were beyond her pay grade.

Lute was also the only one with permission to just walk into Adam’s office.

Which she did.

“Your coffee, sir.”

Adam smiled as he felt you swallow around his cock, this was his favourite part.

“Awesome super tits! Did you finish your work?”

You were forced to stay quiet and pliant on Adam’s cock as he spoke with his lutenante.

But two could play that game.

“Extermination is in thr-ah-hree months.”

You smirked as Adam lost some of his composure. You didn’t see Lutes eye roll. You did however, hear her leave.

“You little slut! You wanted her to catch us didn’t you? Pulling that stunt.”

Adam pulled you off his cock and stood you up, plunging two fingers into your pussy.

“Look how fucking wet you are, I should fuck you with the door open next time, all of heaven can see you getting your pretty slutty pussy split open, huh?”

Adam pulled his hand out of your pussy, sucking your juices off his fingers as he bent you over the desk and shoved his cock in instead.

“Maybe we should ask Lute to join us next time, bet my little slut would love that.”

Adam fucked into l you roughly, never stopping his words, working you to orgasm three times before he came himself.

“Should make you walk around with my cum leaking out your slutty pussy, no pants, let everyone know your mine, and no one else can have the pretty slut huh?”

Dispite his words, Adam did clean you up.

It was then that you noticed the second coffee. Your favourite iced drink.

Your face flushed as you thought of Lute buying you the iced drink, knowing you were under her bosses desk.

Feedback is always appreciated<3

Comments are my high.

~Vyrus

[yurinaa-world]

hello, can I request Jing Yuan, Caelus and Welt with an injury prone reader who constantly hides and dismisses their injuries? (Getting hit by falling objects, being the unfortunate victim of harsh attacks, Getting shoved down a flight of stairs by accident or tripping over objects)

Despite the fast reflexes developed to avoid a good chunk of injuries, they still get hurt to the point of needing medical aid (bloody head, heavy bleeding ext.) and are unable to tell immediately due to their high pain tolerance. Even then, reader avoid being healed like the the plague and running off to tend to their injuries on their own. If they wake up in a hospital, they will sneak out of said hospital and dismiss concerns of their Injuries when found.

Reader will say "oh its just a scratch" as if their arm hadn't been nearly mauled by a bear.

Thanks,

Characters: Jing Yuan, Dan Heng, and Welt yang x Gender-neutral Reader

Synopsis: reader who get injured easily, but dismisses it

Warnings: Fluff and spelling mistakes, mentions of blood, stitches, wounds/injuries

Notes: sorry I don't write for Cealus so I replaced him with Dan Heng if you don't mind

𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃

You’ve been avoiding him for a while; anytime you see him around the corner, you run the opposite way. You were injured from a pretty nasty fight with monsters, but knowing Jing Yuan, you would have to wait a good 5 hours to heal up properly so he wouldn’t notice the injury and force you into the hospital, and you would rather deal with it yourself. One thing is that he doesn’t take your word on you dismissing your injuries. Don’t believe he doesn’t notice since you always do the same thing when this happens.

You also go to the guest bathroom to stitch and clean yourself up properly, especially making sure that the servants won’t tell Jing Yuan, yet some little stitching does. You might as well go through the guest window instead of the door (which you did go through a handful of times).

You have to clean the evidence, like scrubbing down everything to make sure not even a drop of blood is left behind, and burn the cloth that had all your blood on it along with stings and needles used for your stitches (anything you used to clean your wounds).

All that’s left is to face him, which is another annoying problem.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

+(Bonus blurb)

You lay back against the headboard of your shared bed. stretching your shoulder and sighing, feeling the little sting from the stitches that you did yourself for a couple of hours. “Is something wrong with your shoulder?” Jing Yuan asks while reading his book.

He didn’t even glance up from the text in front of him. You looked down at your shoulder, the very tint of where the stitches are. “Oh no, I’m fine, just stiff is all." “Are you sure?" "yeah,” you nodded, sweating a little.

"I didn’t see you today,” he commented, saying it in an unusual tone that made you look over at him. It was an expression you never thought he would wear—blank, almost mad, or not wanting to say anything.

“Ah, I stayed home,” you replied, looking away. “The servants informed me that you went out and then came back home bloody.” Oh, you gotta be kidding about those damn snitches!

you thought, but instead just smiled nervously at Jing Yuan. He finally closed his book and looked up at you, his gold eyes freaking at you.

“well?”

"I tripped!"

“You can’t fool me," he stated flatly, crossing his arms around his chest and face and switching to his smirk, making a whole change in the atmosphere, and you couldn’t help but shiver.

"Fine," you huffed, rolling your eyes. "I got a little hurt and fixed myself with stitches. “I’m perfectly fine, though!" You added trying to play off your injury.

“What shall I do with you? Maybe tie you up?”

“Tie me up?! Over this!”

“Sounds fitting for you.”

𝒟𝒶𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝓃𝑔

You avoid everyone like plague and stay in your room, locking your door and not letting anyone in. It takes you such a long time to stitch up and clean up your wounds. If March knows, and even if you asked her to keep it away from Dan Heng,  she just can’t keep her mouth shut.

Whenever you do get hurt in front of him, you immediately tell him you're fine and avoid any help from him, even if you look like you got jumped by 15 different people.

There have been times you forgot to lock your door, which happens when you run into your room cleaning up your very messed-up wounds without more of your blood ruining your floor.

But also the part about having a big mouth and your door being unlocked—yeah,  him seeing your trashy, shaky hand trying to stitch yourself up freaks him out that he has to help you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

+(Bonus blurb)

You groan in annoyance, sitting at your little two-seat table, medkit on your table, trying your best to pull string in the skin of your arm without causing more damage than necessary. needle going through your skin with the rest of the string in your mouth. Your lips tug on the thread, and you feel the tug in your teeth.

“What are you doing?” You hear Dan Heng say something, making you stop in your tracks as you attempt to pull the string out of your mouth. You sigh, turning around to face Dan Heng. "Uh, Dan Heng, what are you doing here?" you sweat. “March said you weren’t feeling well and I should check on you; it looks like she’s right." stupid march! “You don’t need to bother,” yet he doesn’t listen to you.

He goes over to your chair beside the one you were in, pulling it up so that he is sitting next to you, taking your arm with trashy stitches on it, removing it, and cutting it off for a fresh new start.

"You shouldn’t have the string in your mouth; germs could transfer to the wound and give you an infection.”

He scolded gently, cleaning up the wound, taking the string, and gently taking your arm, slowly taking the needle and gently pulling it through your skin, being careful not to tear the flesh.

“Dr. Dan Heng, you really do know everything." You laugh slightly while watching him work his magic on your arm.

“Dr. Dan Heng? It’s good to know about this stuff when it comes to you,” he shrugs nonchalantly. He completely fixes your arm, and you look at your cleaned arm with an impressed look.

“Thank you, Dan Heng.”

𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝓎𝒶𝓃𝑔

You worry a lot about him; you can’t even hide it or play it off with him; he can just see the slight change in your body, your stunning white walking, or how you clutch at your shoulder and go to change bandages, and even more blood starts to soak out.

While you are sleeping together, he wakes up to a weird feeling, turning the lamp to see a little pool of blood by the shoulder and the shoulder of your clothes, also stained in crimson red, while you look so uncomfortable by the wet feeling.

He wakes you up, and you fix up while you're still half asleep, not knowing what’s even happening as he cleans the sheets, wounds, and clothes to make sure your blood doesn’t leak out again.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[cqaeluvs]

can you do the housewardens with a m!mc who collects a bunch of stuff? like cool rocks or gadgets (and he gives them to people he cares about a lot or has a big crush on)

A familiar books seems to shine, begging for your attention .. would you like to join in ..?

omggg hii... i totally havent vanished from tumblr.. its been like, a year and nearly a week !! so im back !! this was an interesting request and a bit w self insert(? since i do then to collect rock of gadgets and give them to friends/ family !! anon didnt specified much so im going to do little headcanons & scenarios !

some of them might be longer that others !! because i am under huge stress and writers block !!3kfjger gejrg send help (i wrote this at 3am)

(reader is gender neutral, and implied to be yuu !!) (no proof reading so maybe spelling mistakes !!)

-- Even if you two started with the wrong foot, as you did with almost half of the school...

-- Time went on and after the event's of chapter 2, both of you went into a more friendly territory, and not long after was when he started to notice the way you seem to collect diferent types of rocks, somehow you found a ruby and gave it to him like nothing ?!

-- Now even if he looks at you with a blank expression, the moment he gets to his dorm, carefully looking around his hands go to a drawer and he takes out a box, that kept every single rock and gadget you given to him safe and sound, perfectly clean too!.

" Oh, another one? .. and of amazing quality too, as long as you are not stealing them from anyone nor are you breaking any rules to get these, i am more than willing to take all of them. "

-- He smiled at you, your hands came into contact with his own as you handed him another of the pretty rocks you find, he can't help but think that only someone as gorgeous as you could find this type of good quality gadgets.

-- Oh?, and from where did you found such a good quality brooch, you aren't stealing from other people are you Herbivore? he chuckles as you looked at him annoyed that he would think of you as a thief. both of you know he doesn't mean it, and even if you were actually stealing them he would turn a blind eye

-- He does the same thing Riddle does, he saves them in a box away from any public eye, including Ruggie's. Every morning he checks them and makes sure every one is there, as he goes back to sleep.

-- He enjoys the feeling of your presence, nose twitching at the faint smell of that perfume he left on Ramshackles' door on your birthday, so he knew that a new rock or gadget was gonna be soon layed on his chest.

Leona's ears twitched as your footsteps became louder, one of his eyes opening slowly as he watched you carefully placed a shiny small rock on his chest, when you left his hand went to his chest grabbing carefully the rock with a caring yet tight grip in a case someone wanted to act funny and steal it from him.

-- Azul and you also didn't start with the right foot !!, but since you seem to have a fascination for the beach you guys started to bond quite a lot.

-- It was one of this days that the sea decided to give you quite the beautiful stone to gift to your beloved crush, a beautiful lilac that reminded you of the octopus that stole your heart without knowing.

-- You cleaned it really well, looked at the sea one last time as you decided to run as fast as your legs can let you, nearly bumping into Azul himself, who seemed startled as you placed the beautiful stone on his gloved hands.

Azul ajusted his glasses that slided a bit from his nose because of the jump you cause him since you appeared out of nowhere screaming at him when you saw him from the corner of your eyes. He cleaned some inexistent dust as he looked at you nerveous, his hand your hand. He felt the small rock placed on his palm, as you told him how much i reminded you of him because of the lilac color feeling the need of giving it to him.

-- You must be really naive if you think you can give him anything and not expect anything in return, Jamil is starting to get gray hairs because of you two. Kalim needs to stop throwing so much money, especially with how greedy NRC students can be.

-- The first time you gifted him an cheese shaped erased he felt to happy and also unable of using it because it's a gift from you !!.

-- And at the next day, there was a silver necklace for you, or if you are one of the gold people!, a beautiful gold ring was in quite the expensive box, behind it .. more boxes, with clothes and food.

" Ah, Hello !, did you liked the gift i left at your porch this morning?, i felt like its the least i could do for you. How do you feel about some ride on the carpet in the night?, or you can go and have dinner with us in Scarabia!, im sure Jamil won't mind. "

-- A rainbow diamond ? .. Dear potato from where you got this ?.

-- The Dwarfs' Mines .. !? Potato that so dangerous ! How and when did you go there ?!

-- A rainbow diamond is what you found the first day as a janitor, in that cave after the chandelier accident, you couldn't help yourself from grabbing it besides the magestone that Deuce grabbed. And until now, you have kept that diamond safe.

-- When you met Vil, your first thought was the rainbow diamond no one but him seemed fit for the gem in your eyes, every thing about him reminded you of the diamond, and so when the VDC camp started, late at night when it was just you two, you carefully gave the blond the perfect and beautiful rainbow diamond.

" How.. Potato, do you know how rare and expensive this is..? " Vil looked at you in a disbelief he masked immideatly, his gloved hands carefully traced over the beautiful gem, he hid how flustered he felt when you explained him that out of everyone in NRC, you only saw him fit to have such a rare and expensive gem but you didnt know it was that rare, he cleared his throat as he sent you off to sleep, considering how late it was. As he walked towards his dorm in Ramshackle he made sure to hide it very well as a small pink adorned his cheeks.

-- Since Idia barely comes out of his room, you mostly go find Ortho, giving him rocks and flowers. Some for him and Of course, Idia.

-- As you cleaned around Ramshackle, something fell on your head .. some weird blue heart shaped rock? weirdly specific, as you caressed the rock your thought drifted to the blue-fire haired man, such an awkward man that you couldn't help but find him endearing, and his little brother has always been there for you.

-- You placed the cleaning kit back into that small room, fixing yourself a little bit as you decided to give the rock to your crush face to face, you walked towards the mirrow hall then you stood infront of the mirror that lead to Ignihyde.

-- As you looked around, Ortho who looked beyond happy to see you there, taking your hand he lead you into his and Idia's room.

Idia jumped from his chair as Ortho open the door with a loud bang, as he was about to sigh and scold him, the familiar picture of his crush appeared, he jumped even higher as he tried to escape. He closed his eyes as he felt his hands touch something cold, his slim finger wrapped around your warm hands. His hair started to turn pink the moment you left the dorm, he could feel the smoke leaving his head, feeling like an overheated console. when he open his hands, he nearly fainted at the small heart shaped rock with a flower, putting the rock into his pocket, playing with inbetween his fingers, Idia looked the monitor screen with a blank stare with tainted cheeks.

-- Oh?, trying to court him now or are you not, dear child of man?.

-- When you first gave him a random rock you found outside of Ramshackle, he looked perplexed. Not only you were not afraid of him, but you were also actively trying to court him?. Oh dear, you two just met a few minutes ago, but he wont mind.

-- Infact he love it, and as dragons have their fascination for special types of treasure, of course as Riddle. Malleus has a special box where he saves all of the rocks and gadgets you had given to him.

" Child of man, are you aware of what this means .. ? " Malleus looked at you, many stones in his hands. Different sizes and colors as he looked at you crouched a few miles infront of him, colleting more rocks and gadgets to give him. If Malleus had his dragon tail out, it would be wagging like crazy, dilated pupils as he stared at the back of your head, with pure adoration as he extended his hands for the new pile of rocks that you are placing.

AND ITS NOW OFFICIALLY 6 AM AS I FINISH WRITING THIS !! I CANT TO THIS ANYMORE, im going to vanish for a year again because oh lord !!, i hope you guys enjoyed it (i cant put more tags?!?!?!)

[neoneun-au]

THE MIRROR-BLUE NIGHT; ACT I

―PAIRING: joshua hong x fem!reader ―GENRE: SLOW burn, affair au, suggestive, angst, romance ―CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 11.2k ―CHAPTER WARNINGS: mild language, very minimal josh in this chapter (sorry), death mentions, cheating, lots of introspection ―STATUS: ongoing

―AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is act i to my entry for svthub's world tour collab. it's heavily inspired by wong kar wai's film 'in the mood for love', and it's been fun to play around with a totally different atmosphere and setting, and i hope everyone that reads this enjoys it! if you do, please consider reblogging with your thoughts and comments i would love to hear them. hopefully before long i will have the following two acts out for you to continue <3

ACT I

. . .

It’s raining. You hear the patter of droplets as they fall against your windows, a symphony of sorrows cascading from gray skies. When you were a child your mother used to tell you that the rain meant the heavens were crying. That some angel high above was weeping for the sorrow of those below–for the tragedy of humankind. She made up a lot of lies when you were young, stories to either make you feel better or to just force you to stop asking her questions while she was trying to watch her favourite shows. 

It never worked, and you never believed her. 

It was raining, too,  on the day that you cremated her. A near torrential downpour that had washed out the roads on your way to the funeral home and caused a four car pile up on the on ramp. You made it, breathless and haggard, just in time to drip your way through the procession to the front of the church pews where you sat, cloaked in the black of mourning, to watch a small line of people espouse pretty stories and prettier lies about the woman who raised you. 

Were you sad about her death? Of course you were. Death was always sad, in some deeply philosophical and uniquely human way. The ending of all things–life moving onwards to something better (or worse). Leaving everyone else behind to deal with the sorrow and suffering and debt. You could feel her death around you everywhere you went. The last breath of her life sighing over you on windy streets, the final whisper of her words in the chattering of birds in the morning dew. She was omnipresent. Oppressive. Somehow even more than she had been when she was alive. A heavy shroud over your every move. 

You were sad about her death, but you did not feel the pang of it in your heart as you might have if she had been anyone else. Instead it was abstract–elusive. A fleeting thought that followed you throughout the day. A thought that you were sure would dissipate over time. Molecule by molecule as her soul moved on from this world it would dissolve and you would finally be left standing in a life of your own making, no longer bent to the will of the woman who molded you to fit neatly into her own life. Her death was sad but it also finally opened you up the hope for freedom. 

When it was your turn to speak, after the mass had ended and the few other speakers had said their peace with your mother overseeing from inside her casket, you hesitated. Standing in front of the crowd of people that had managed to crawl their way through traffic for the promise of a free lunch and a voyeuristic look at the poor, bereft daughter left to deal with this whole mess. The only remaining relative of this woman that had made everyone’s life around her a living hell. You stared out at their faces, blank with waiting, and expected the words you had prepared to come out as you had rehearsed. None ever did. You stood silent under the scrutiny of a hundred eyes and seconds ticked by into minutes as the blank expressions morphed into confusion or pity. Even your husband’s carefully neutral expression devolved into one of concern as he stared up at you from his seat. 

Thunder clapped outside the church, the rain picked up speed, buffeting the stained glass windows in its fury, and you thought that maybe your mother hadn’t been lying to you when you were a child. Maybe it was her fury that was clinging to your clothing–soaking you to the bone. 

You left the altar without a word–just one apologetic glance cast over the audience of mourners–and sat back down next to your husband. Head held high against the brewing storm. You realised finally that you had nothing to say. 

For your husband’s part, he played it well at the time. His silent hand found yours and gripped it tight as you both kept your gazes focused on the priest as he tried his best to stitch the proceedings back together after the abandoned eulogy. He kept your hand in his throughout the rest of the funeral–from the end of the mass, through the reception, and all the way to the committal he was there with you. The anchor at your side. 

When had he stopped? 

When had he stopped being there–holding your hand, playing his part as your partner through it all on this grand stage of life. When had he decided he no longer wanted to be that? 

You watch a rivulet of rain carve a line through the reflection of your face, splitting you in two as you stare out through the window in your living room and into the neon darkness of the city surrounding you. Who were the heavens sad for tonight? 

For your own part, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel much sadness. Only a hollow aching at the pit of your stomach, like a hunger long ignored. Gnawing at your insides as you stare out into some unfixed point on the horizon and wait for your husband to return home. Late, again. Always late these days. Always some excuse or another. Traffic, work, friends wanting to grab drinks, errands to run. Tonight though, perhaps, the excuse would be the rain. 

With a sigh you abandon your post at the window, floating through the apartment by the dim light of the city pouring inside. No reason to turn the lights on inside–you knew your way around. The remnants of your dinner sit undisturbed on the kitchen counter, steam long since evaporated, as they wait for a mouth to enter, a stomach to fill. You had lost your appetite when you received the text message. 

You knew it was coming, had known for months. At first it was easy to trick yourself into believing that nothing had changed at all. Everything was normal. These excuses were all truths and you were in fact in the wrong for not believing your husband when he told you. After a time this denial stopped working, however, and you moved on to believing that the changes were only superficial–temporary–that the fissure that had opened up in your marriage was not a yawning pit preparing to engulf you but an easily repairable crack in the foundation. Before long he would return to you as a ship to the shore. He would pour out his feelings and you would mend them easily, with tears of your own. Your relationship would grow in strength for enduring this storm and all would be well again. 

As the days and months dragged on, though, it grew harder to ignore the signs. You had seen them so many times before–on television, in film, in friends’ relationships, in your own parents’ marriage before it fell apart when you were 9. 

A whiff of an unfamiliar perfume in the air, breezing behind your husband as he enters the apartment after work–orange blossom, ginger, patchouli and jasmine. Cloying and heady. A scent of seduction and sex in the wake of a man that hadn’t touched you in days. He waited to kiss you hello now, waited until he had changed out of his clothes, maybe until after he had a shower. You would sit, perched on the arm of the couch, and stare out the window of your living room while he scrubbed the scent of another woman off of his skin. 

More evidence collected over the next few months. Pastel purple and blue splotches dotting the nape of his neck–just above the birthmark you used to trace over with a loving fingertip in the early days of your marriage. Lipstick stains faded on the white collar of a shirt–brick red, a shade that never painted your own lips. He was getting careless–bold. And you continued to observe without a word. Maintaining the calm on the surface of your life, letting the stains and perfume to sink deep underneath. 

Maybe you should have confronted him early on, when the days were still young and you still had lingering affection for this man that was becoming a stranger to you. You should have yelled, screamed, fought, let your tears flow freely in a torrent of anger and betrayal. Every rational thought in your mind was screaming out for you to face him down and do something. You would work yourself into a fury of anger and anxiety waiting for him to come home but the second he stepped across the threshold of your apartment, all of it dissolved. Melted away into nothingness and left only that old, hollow ache until that was all you had left inside.

You remember how your mother had reacted when she found out about your dad’s affair. The consequences were swift and brutal–a storm of emotions and rage bursting out and swallowing everyone in its vicinity. If rain was sadness, surely her rage had been a tsunami. Your dad left and you retreated–into your room, into yourself. Left alone to rebuild in the wake of this natural disaster. 

When you got married your mother warned you–warned you of your duties as a wife. To keep him happy, keep him home, and remember that marriage is work. Life was so hard after your father abandoned us, she would say, don’t let the same happen to you. She would sermonize his weakness and cruelty, and you would listen. But you loved your father, in spite of all his flaws and humanity. He was kind and soft-hearted and you never blamed him for what happened, how could it all have been his fault? This one man that bought you ice cream and tanghulu and took you shopping for school uniforms up until he died? No. You blamed your mother.

What would she say to you now, sitting alone in the dark staring at a photo of your husband with his arm slung casually over the shoulders of another woman, her head resting against him with a soft smile on her face. Pathetic, spineless child. 

You shrug off the ghost of your mother and focus back on the picture. They were in a restaurant, tucked into a corner booth. The low lighting cast soft shadows over their faces, obscuring the details of their features, but there was no doubt in your mind that  it was him.  It was the same slope of brow and cheek that you have run your fingers over so many times before. The same slight upturn in the corners of the mouth that you fell in love with. The glimmer of mischief and daring that so easily drew you in when you first started dating, now turned towards someone else. A stranger? You were sure you didn’t know her but there was something familiar about her in the photo, something about her profile that tugged at the recesses of your recollection. 

Your imagination has been running frantic circles in your mind since you opened the message. Where had he met her? Work? He wasn’t a part of any clubs, didn’t play mahjong on the weekends with friends, hadn’t been selected for any work trips where he might have brushed elbows with her in a conference. Might have snuck into each other's hotel rooms, followed each other onto the plane. She could have been a stewardess–as alluring as they are professional. An untouchable creature bending to your every whim and all you can do is look and hope and wish. Slip her your number as you disembark, pray she deems you worthy enough to contact. 

But he hadn’t been out of the city in at least a year. So that couldn’t be it. 

Maybe she had a more humble occupation. She worked at the hot pot restaurant his company frequented after work. That was how you had met so is it so out of the realm of possibilities that lightning might strike twice? 

Maybe he had always known her. Maybe you were the other woman–some twist of fate had led him to marrying you instead of his highschool sweetheart. A girl that had occupied his mind for longer than you had known him. Maybe she had traveled after graduation–moved to the US and taken his heart with her while he pined away and finally, losing all hope, he settled for the strange girl with the zealot of a mother. Turned you into a project to fill his loneliness and occupy his thoughts until she returned and he was reminded of all the things that she had been for him that you never could. 

Maybe. 

Or maybe she was just a whore. 

Your thoughts flitter back and forth; all possibilities confronting you at once, neon red  in alarm. You watch taxis and motorbikes speed through traffic on the rain soaked street 15 stories below your apartment–each one weaving a new thread of anxiety in your mind as you wait for one to stop in front of your building. Wait for your husband to emerge, shielding himself from the rain and rushing to get inside before his white-collared shirt is soaked through with the sins of his flesh. 

He arrives shortly after you give up waiting and prepare for bed. The rain has begun to let up and with it he steps through the front door of your apartment while you sit perched on the edge of your bed, running a hand over the embroidered silk duvet coverlet you had received as a wedding present. You listen as he drops his keys, briefcase, coat onto the kitchen counter. Focus on the sound of his footfall as he  walks through the short hallway to the bathroom. He doesn’t see you sitting in the dark, doesn’t seek you out to greet you. You watch as he flicks the light on to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. The sound of the shower running follows a few moments afterwards. 

You brace yourself when he enters the dark bedroom after washing himself free of the day. Body tense as he slips under the blanket beside you. The anticipation of something, anything, stiffens in your muscles and you wait for him to say something, to give you some explanation for his whereabouts. Nothing comes. He, believing you to be asleep, slips too into the arms of the night and you’re left alone–staring blankly into the dark of the room before you give into the heaviness of your eyes. 

Morning dawns, grey and overcast. You’re alone again, your husband having left for work with the tin of leftovers you had pre-packed for him, and the day stretches out in front of you–long and lonely–as you shove all thoughts of last night to the back of your mind and turn your attention to the household tasks that require it. 

The fluorescent lights of the supermarket buzz overhead as you make your way through the aisles with a basket hanging on your arm. You know what you’re getting–you’ve rotated through the same small selection of meals since you were 11 years old and started cooking for yourself–but you take your time anyway. Wandering through the rows of produce, fish, and imported goods. Enjoying the distant company of strangers, their idle chatter and routine conversations are a welcome reprieve from the oppressive silence that has dominated your apartment over the past few months. 

You drift to the fruits, letting their bright colours draw you in, and reach for a melon. It’s heavy in the hand, weighed down with the density of the flesh inside. It would be delicious–perfectly ripe, bursting with flavour and juice–you could almost salivate at the thought of slicing into it, bringing a cube of its sweetness to the tip of your tongue. You haven’t had it in ages. Your husband was not fond of fruits–he never had been. Always preferred spice and heat over sweetness, and you were more than happy to accommodate–to oblige his tastes and sacrifice your own for the sake of love. But now? 

The melon stares up at you in askance and you set it back on the stand with its brethren before you can give the temptation a second thought. As soon as you do, a hand reaches out to grab it, neatly manicured fingers wrapping around the fruit still warm from your touch. You smell her perfume before you see her face–that aroma of orange blossom, patchouli,  and jasmine (with a hint of ginger) cutting through the air of the supermarket like a knife through fruit. It’s even more overwhelming first hand. You turn your head, catching a glimpse of her face, her bright red lips, before she turns away and clacks towards the green wall of vegetables. 

You follow transfixed behind her as she weaves her way through the market, picking up an array of items as she goes. Mindlessly you fill your basket behind her, hands reaching out for whatever as you try to disguise your objective. You had only seen one blurry photo of her, clandestinely snapped with her head buried in the crook of your husband’s arm, but you would know her anywhere. In fact you did know her. Not by name, you had never been introduced, but you recognize her instantly now in the bright noonday lights of the shop. 

She lives in your building, a few floors up, you were sure of it. You had run into her in the elevator a few times, never exchanging a word, but always evaluating each other with that cold calculation of strangers destined to become rivals. Not that you knew that at the time. She had a husband. A man with kind eyes and a kind smile. You weren’t sure if it made you feel better or worse to know that you weren't alone in your suffering, that someone else was tied to the other end of this red string that entangled the four of you in its noose-tight vice. 

Does she recognize me? you wonder as you get in line a few people behind her at the register. Your eyes remain fixed on the back of her head while she pays and you tap your foot in anxious impatience as her form disappears through the doors and you’re left waiting for the elderly woman in front of you to deal out her entire coin purse to the cashier for spring onions and flour.

Finally you step out into the streets, bag of assorted groceries clutched tight in your fist, and you whip your head around to try to locate her. It doesn’t take long–she’s a flash of red in a sea of black–and you hasten your stride to catch up with her as she rounds the corner towards your apartment building, taking care to maintain a neutral expression. You trail her over the few blocks it takes to get back home, pulse quickening whenever her step halts–paralysed with the fear that she may turn around and realise what you’re doing. 

Does she  know who you are? Aa a neighbour, maybe, but as the wife of the man she’s having an affair with? Has he told her about you, have they shared jokes in confidence at your expense? Or are you some shameful secret he has kept hidden in his coat pocket. Maybe he slips his wedding band off before each meeting, spinning it around his finger thrice before tucking it out of sight, alongside his conscience. Does he know about her husband? Does her husband know about him the way you know about her? Were the same thoughts turning over in his mind as he sat at his desk at work, staring idly at their wedding photo? 

You follow her, a few paces behind, through the lobby of your shared building. Part of you–a bold, reckless part–wants to slip into the elevator with her, just before the doors can slide closed. Meet her face to face. Confront her and lay bare your knowledge of her discretion. Maybe she would cry, maybe she would yell, maybe she would laugh. Not one of the scenarios you envision ends with you triumphant, in each one your husband’s arms reach forth to comfort her and leave you standing alone, consumed with the red hot fires of rage and seething hate. 

You push that part of you away, back into the shadows, and watch as  she gets into the elevator. The numbers on the display above the doors climb higher and higher as she ascends and you hold your breath, waiting for them to halt. 22. Higher up than your own, more expensive. So it wasn’t money that had drawn her to your husband. You jam your finger against the button, calling the lift back down and wrestling between going home with this new knowledge or feeding into your curiosity and following her up to her door. Would you know the right one if you saw it? 

You press both floor numbers when you finally climb into the elevator, staring at the illuminated buttons as you slowly ascend. You stand still, staring at number 22, and wait as you move up and up–torn between the two options you’ve given to yourself. The doors finally slide open to reveal your floor, 15, and you stare out into the empty hallway, waiting for some unseen force to push you out of the lift. To make up your mind for you. Nothing does, and you just stand silent and still, frozen in time until they slide closed once more and you’re left looking blankly at your own twisted expression in the stainless steel. You keep eye contact with the twisted version of yourself reflected back at you and wait as the elevator continues its ascent. 

What were you hoping to gain from following this woman? Confirmation that she is, indeed, real? As if the brush of her arm against yours as she stretched out for your relinquished fruit hadn’t been enough to convince you. Her head bobbing through the crowds of people on the street as you kept pace behind her was just a figment of your imagination. Did you think you would find him there? Waiting for her? Eating slices of fruit from her outstretched hands in an act of worship? Your reflection purses her lips, eyebrows knit in thought, and you shake your head at her in askance, a silent plea, before the elevator finally stops at floor 22. 

The door slides open for the second time and you brace yourself to alight, but your path is blocked. 

“Oh, sorry,” he says, stepping aside to give you space to pass, “are you getting off here?” 

You freeze on the spot, standing on the threshold of a million converging thoughts as they crash through your mind. His smile is the same as you remember it, soft and kind. The smile of someone for whom life was easy, someone who hadn’t seen much strife. Or perhaps the opposite . Someone who had seen all the horrors life had to offer him and chose to remain soft despite them. You’re distantly aware that you look like a fool, standing there in the elevator with your mouth hanging slightly agape as you stare into the eyes of your husband’s mistress’ husband, but you can’t make yourself move. Paralyzed by a strange twist of fate that had, unbeknownst to him, entangled you in a web of deceit and betrayal.

Surely he didn’t know. 

“Is this your floor,” he asks again, prompting you to move or speak or do something more than just stand still as the elevator beeps its final warning. It wasn’t going to wait much longer. 

“N-no,” you stammer, trying to right your thoughts. “I was going down, actually.” In a panic you jam your finger against the button for floor 15. If he notices the obvious lie, he doesn’t say anything–instead politely skirting around you as he steps into the lift and presses the button for the ground floor.

The lift jerks as it starts to descend, and you hold your breath. Afraid that any movement might somehow reveal every thought you’re holding tight within. He keeps a polite distance, checking his phone as he stands in the opposite corner of the narrow, enclosed space. The elevator inches closer to your floor and your muscles tense in preparation to bolt through the door as soon as it slides open at floor 15. You stare up at the numbers as they transform–20, 19, 18. Eyes transfixed on the digital display as your brain whirrs with static noise. 

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” You jerk your attention towards him as soon as he speaks, head spinning too fast to pass off your expression as casual and you’re sure that you look as panicked as you feel. “When we first moved into the building, I mean. It’s been a while but I recognize you.” 

You nod and take a second to clear your throat of the built up nerves before replying, voice trembling with a light quiver. “Yes, I uh–it’s been over a year now I think. I’m sorry but I don’t remember your name.”

He smiles–that same soft, kind smile as earlier–and shakes his head reassuringly. “It’s Joshua. Hong.” 

“Joshua?” your voice betrays a hint of curiosity–it’s not a common name here. 

“I moved here from LA years ago with my wife,” he supplies the answer to your unspoken question. Unwittingly adding a layer of intrigue to his personage that you hadn’t expected. At the mention of his wife, however, you feel the hairs on your arms rise to attention. A cold chill ripples through your body. The elevator dings, startling you out of your daze as it arrives at your floor. You turn to face the hallway as it appears between the doors, lingering astride the threshold between him and the emptiness ahead of you. Something inside of you hesitates, hanging back to remain in his presence despite the anxiety still flooding through your body. Something about the way he spoke had drawn you in, a strange curiosity taking root in your mind. You shake it loose; it’s not your place to say anything, and it’s not your place to further entangle yourself in this web. His life is his own. You take a step forward, finally clearing the door just before it beeps its insistence at you. 

You turn to say a farewell to Joshua–it wouldn’t bode well to appear impolite after he was so courteous to you a moment before–but before you can open your mouth to speak, he beats you to it. 

 “I think she and your husband know each other, actually. My wife,” he says, and you freeze again, stuck now staring at him from the hallway. He waves goodbye as the doors slide closed and you’re left standing statuesque in the hallways alone. Ears ringing with the echoes of his words. 

Does he know? 

Nothing in the way he held himself, in the casual expression gracing his handsome, well composed features would have led you to believe so but…why else would he have said that? 

You stand still, staring at the scuffed stainless steel doors of the elevator as if they might reopen and he might still be there. That he might dull the sharpness of your anxieties with some clarity . Instead you’re alone, bag of groceries cutting the circulation in your fingertips off as they hang forgotten in your hand.

You try to search the memory of his face as it lingers in your mind’s eye for any clue–any miniscule hint–as to what thought had been hiding beneath his calm facade. His face twists and contorts in your mind, swirling and transforming as you try to keep hold of the static image. Joshua, your husband, his wife, your own warped expression in the polished metal of the door. Many parts of an ever colliding whole. 

When you finally manage to get your legs moving and step away from the elevator the hallway seems to stretch out in front of you endlessly. You walk as if to the gallows, imagining all the horrors waiting for you when you open the door to your apartment. Your husband, Joshua’s wife. Limbs entangled in carnal desire. The heat of their bodies steaming the windows and fogging your vision as you stumble through the darkness. The thought overwhelms you, slows your already stuttering pace, though you know in your logical mind that no one’s there. She’s in her own apartment, and your husband is at work, and you’re alone. A state you’ve become numbly accustomed to. 

The familiar silence of your apartment is all that greets you when you finally enter, in spite of the baseless worries of your frazzled mind. It soothes the storm of worries clouding your mind as you stow away your meager haul of groceries and set out the ingredients needed for dinner. Joshua’s face fades to darkness as you slip back into routine–letting your hands take over and your mind to narrow to a single thought. 

So what if he did know. Would that change anything about your present circumstances? If he wanted a scene he had the chance to cause one and let it go. He could have held you in that elevator and interrogated you for all your husband’s many sins; pouring his hurt and betrayal out at your feet as you bear witness to your own anguish reflected in another person. But he didn’t. Instead he was polite, almost kind, and you parted without the cosmic clash the worst parts of you might have anticipated.  

The water for the noodles starts to boil and you quickly finish chopping your small array of vegetables before turning the heat down to simmer and tossing them in. Leftover shrimp lay on the side of your cutting board, ready to add in at the end. It was a lazy meal–one you never would have made early on in your marriage–but who cared about that now? You knew it would be the same routine tonight. Eating without tasting, alone in the kitchen, lit only by the light filtering in through the windows, while you stare at the clock on the wall. He’ll show up after you’re finished–maybe 15 minutes later, maybe an hour–and eat the portion set aside for him while you disappear into the bedroom and will the day to come to an end. 

Would Joshua’s night end the same or were he and his wife better at maintaining the charade of marriage? Were their hearts as distant when they lay in bed next to each other, barely touching? 

You had a hard time imagining it. You try, between mouthfuls of noodles and broth, to capture the image of them. Joshua sidestepping his wife in the kitchen, carefully avoiding her touch–her skin stained by the kiss of another man. Was his smile as soft and kind when turned upon the face of the woman who, with every breath she took, dared to remind him of the sadness that lurked beneath the surface of their life? Was the love he still held for her enough to erode all of her transgressions, even as she continued to transgress? Did he still hold her in his arms at night like no one else had ever touched her? Like he was the only one for her? Why, if he could so easily absolve her of her crimes, could you not do the same for the man you had promised yourself to? 

You shake your head, ridding yourself of the scene that was playing out. You knew nothing about this man–about his life or his thoughts. This scene you had conjured up, fleshed out with his feelings and emotions, was just a projection of some possible life dwelling within you.

But still, you couldn’t help but wonder. How different would things be if you tried?

The night drags on as all the previous ones have. You sit in front of the window, letting the TV drone on in the background, and stare down at the street below. Watching as people come and go–each with their own thoughts, their own lives, their own worries and desires. None more or less important than your own. It was comforting, in some odd way, to imagine the lives and futures of others. It took the distinct sting out of imagining our own. 

The front door opens, earlier than expected, and you glance over your shoulder to see him enter. He nods in greeting and you return the gesture before acting on an impulse you haven’t followed through on in months. You move towards him. You don’t even realise you’re doing it until his form comes into focus only a few feet in front of you. He doesn’t notice you right away, too busy reheating the noodles; you wait and you watch as he moves through the task with a slight droop to his shoulders. He’s tired. 

“How was work today?” you ask. The question spills unbidden from your mouth but you don’t rush to stop it. 

“Long,” he sighs, stirring the food as it begins to steam in the pot. There’s no hint of surprise or shock in his voice at your sudden interest in his day. He accepts it–whether from sheer exhaustion or ignorance of the deafening silence that has defined your life for the past few months. Maybe he never noticed how distant you were. How could he when he still held someone so close? “How was your day?”

“Fine,” you reply, intending to leave it at that before a thought flashes through your mind. “I ran into one of our neighbours earlier, in the elevator. Joshua Hong. We met them once or twice when he and his wife moved in just over a year ago, do you remember them?” 

“I can’t say that I do,” he shakes his head, flicking the heat off on the stove. His back is still turned, so you focus on his tone, on the micromovements of his muscles under his shirt. Searching for anything other than the polite disinterest he was feigning. Anything that might betray some feeling brewing below the surface. Fear, love, guilt. Anything at all. 

“Hmm, yeah I couldn’t remember him well either at first,” you agree, pausing to allow him the space to settle in, to pour his dinner into a bowl and sit down at the counter. He leans forward, blowing the steam away as he prepares to take a bite. “He mentioned you though,” you say finally, watching his face as he glances up at you with his chopsticks suspended above his bowl. “He mentioned you know his wife.” 

Silence. One brief, fleeting moment of hesitation. A slight lift of the eyebrow. You watch his Adam’s apple bob at the base of his throat, just above the knot of his tie. 

“That’s odd,” he replies, voice carefully neutral, he drops his gaze from yours and brings his chopsticks the rest of the way to his mouth to slurp up the hanging noodles. You stay silent, watching–waiting–as he finishes his bite before he continues. “He must be mistaken.” 

“Must be,” you nod, trailing a finger lazily over the countertop. You don’t say anything else. You don’t need to. You let the silence settle in between you–an observer of its own, interrogating him with the absence of speech. You’ve had months to become accustomed to it, to make friends of the stillness of the air in your apartment, but you can see as your husband carefully avoids your lingering gaze that he hasn’t. He’s been too preoccupied to even notice it as it slowly moved in, taking over his place at your side. 

After a few moments you shrug, straightening your posture and smoothing down the front of your dress–releasing him of the heaviness of your gaze. The atmosphere settles back into one of easy stalemate and your husband resumes eating in silence. Nothing more is said. You slip back into blue.

 You never wanted a traditional wedding. 

With your father long buried and your mother under the spell of religious fervor, you never saw any appeal in the tradition or ceremony. You felt estranged from your scattered family–disconnected from the broader world. You floated in blissful independence, living life on your own terms and only reigning it in to pay fealty to your mother when required. Then you met him. 

He was handsome–dark hair and dark airs and expertly sculpted features. The sort of handsome that was easy to overlook at first but unraveled more and more as soon as you tugged at a loose thread of it. You looked at him across the lecture hall and took your time, dissecting his profile as the lectern’s voice melted out into the distance. It didn’t take long for your introduction to follow these looks. College is like that. Friends of friends of friends, dorm rooms, study hangouts in the library. Before you could even notice, your blissful independence had given way to comfortable partnership. 

After college, still in the early days of your courtship, you had grand ideas of elopement. The last lingering strands of your individuality. Traveling to a foreign country, marrying on a beach under the stars, and not telling your families until you either came back or decided you were going to live out your wedded bliss and future marriage in the streets of Rio de Janeiro or Sydney. 

He would entertain these fantasies–feeding into them, one morsel at a time, filling you with the hope of your aligned future. Filling you to the point that when the proposal inevitably came you couldn’t see the hunger still gnawing inside of you. 

Your husband was a good son, and his family paid for the wedding. It took little effort for you to resign yourself to ceremony and cast aside your dreams for love. The story of every fool in the world. 

That should have been the moment you knew that this would not last. Or at least that the happiness and contentment that shrouded your relationship was just that–mere illusory material. If you could turn back time, redo the last years of your life, you would have taken your meager inheritance from your father and booked a one way flight to the US. Used what little connections you had from distant family to build a life and chase your dreams. Live for yourself instead of the external expectations that you had been raised to abide by. You could have sent your mother back what little extra income you had–supported her from a distance as she ruined her own life where you did not have to bear witness. 

Instead, like the perfect picture of a good daughter, you went along with your husband and his family’s wishes. You let them arrange the entire thing and you–a mere passenger in your own life–silently went through the motions. Assured by word and by every soft kiss that all your dreams would be realised once it was all over. Your hands would reach the farthest destinations of your imagination, your feet would touch the sands of your desire. You let yourself be carried forward into this future with a smile, unaware that the only sand your feet would see would be the foundations of your own life as it crumbled and fell around you. 

You could only blame yourself. Even your mother tried to warn you, in her own way. Her own misery bearing down on your throughout your life–her inevitable cracking under the weight of everyone else's dreams bearing down on her until she simply couldn’t take it anymore. If you had been smart you would have seen it for what it was when you were 12. 

But you didn’t. You continued to simply go with it, smile waning as the years began to drag on and none of those golden promises spoken to you at night ever materialised. Business was good, now was not the time to take a break away it would only spell financial ruin for yourself and your entire family. Fine, you could wait. Were happy to wait, in fact. Dutiful and loyal and ever patient as you filled your days with the duties you had accepted in spite of yourself. Homemaking, cleaning, cooking. You had longed to work yourself, use your degree for something other than simply occupying space on your wall, then in a drawer–but no, your obligation was to the home, to your husband. Business was good. It was the right time to start trying for children. Did you want children? Did it matter? 

The flames of passion burned bright in your union early on. Your skin was on fire in the moonlight, bathed in sweat and dappled by the heated kisses of your new husband. Your body felt like a temple of worship, and he was there to pay his respects. He was the first man you had ever been with and you felt like you had won the jackpot each night as he brought you to new heights with his devotion. 

Maybe it’s true what people say about newlyweds. That passion is fleeting. The newness and excitement of having each other at the tips of your fingers would inevitably dull down until even sex simply became a part of your daily routine. A task to be completed, to stave off the questions of family and friends speculating on the growth of your family. Yours wasn’t meant to grow, though, it seemed. No matter how often you came together in pursuit of it, your monthly courses came as consistent as the full moon. Month after month until you stopped trying.

But there was love there, in the beginning. You think about it still, lying silent in the vast wilderness of your marital bed next to your sleeping husband. When you think to yourself  ‘how could I have let this happen’ your mind drifts back to those moments–wrapped up tightly in his embrace as he peppered your face, neck, shoulders, with kisses and promised you the world. How could you have known that it was built on such faulty foundations? That it would all drift away over time? 

You run a slow finger over your thigh, tracing the paths that he would take each night before. Remembering the love that you had shared. Wondering if the woman he shares it with now feels it as deeply as you had. Did he think of you when he was with her or had she eclipsed you completely in his memory? Was her back the only one that arched as he was deep inside her, spilling his love into her? 

The thought digs its barbed wires into your chest–ripping and tearing at what little tenderness you still held for the man. You let the pain sing you to sleep–weeping and burning for what once was and what might never be again as you let the darkness consume you in the dim blue of your bedroom. 

Dawn comes, as it always does, sunlight taking the place of the filtered neon of the city–streaming its way into your windows and nudging you awake long after your husband left for work. You’re alone again, and the thoughts don’t cease for the daytime. 

The flickering bulbs of the supermarket welcome you as you hunt around for a decent bunch of spring onions for dinner. Your hands find them and you add them to your basket, moving on to the next item on your list while your mind is half-occupied by the thought of the woman from yesterday. 

You wonder if she’ll make an appearance again. Standing behind you in line, perhaps, or waiting for you in the cold section–eyes scanning tanks of crabs for the perfect one. You wonder if she’ll be wearing red again. The contrast of the colour against her milky white skin as it hugs her body just so, conveying the image of someone with the world at her fingertips. 

Your own dress–emerald green, accented with black florals–suited you well enough. It was clean, well made, and fit you well even after all these years of wear, but it was just that. A dress. Function over form. It was the dress of someone who didn’t want to stand out, who wanted to blend into her surroundings and remain unnoticed as she moved throughout her day. It was the green in the shade of the bright red orchard as it shimmered in the sun.

As if summoned, a flash of red lights up your periphery–calling your attention away from the pear you had been inspecting. You lift your gaze to see her, a few stands down from you, a beacon of red just as you had envisioned her. You blink a few times to solidify her existence–not entirely convinced that you hadn’t just conjured her up out of smoke and mirrors. She remains, gathering a small selection of tomatoes before striding out of the produce section. 

The shock of her appearance from yesterday has long since faded. You’ve had time to reckon with the weight of her existence in your proximity. What was once a desperate, aching curiosity has since dulled to a cold, calculated interest. Instead of abandoning your grocery haul you stick to your list–taking the time to pick out the right ingredients–and achieve your own goals all while keeping her in your sights. You time your actions to match hers, moving on as she adds items to her basket, lingering by the teas as she stalls at the opposite end of the aisle from you. You make your way to the till, trailing her casually, and choose the cashier adjacent to her so you can pay at the same time. 

You leave the market assured with the knowledge of your mutual destination. No need to hurry, no need to chase, no need to match her pace. You let yourself fall into easy step a few feet behind her–content with enjoying the temperate weather that the day has brought. She arrives at the apartment a minute before you but you meet her in the lobby, standing silent beside her as you both wait for the elevator to descend. 

The anxieties of your trip yesterday melt away as you evaluate her through the steel mirror of the door–letting your gaze drift over her distorted figure. How long until she starts to notice your presence as more than mere coincidence? Would you be able to maintain this routine–living alongside her and watching from the peripherals as she goes about her daily tasks without so much as a second thought? 

As if in answer her eyes meet yours in the reflection. You politely avert your gaze, unwilling to be bested in this dance before it had even begun. Whether she was aware of who you are or not, you didn’t need to relinquish the satisfaction of knowing to her. 

The doors open at your floor and you alight into the hallway, leaving her to ascend the rest of the way to her own apartment where she would maintain her own charade. Your heart lurches at the thought, an odd disruption to the calm satisfaction you had been feeling up until now. You remember Joshua’s face from yesterday–the soft curve of his lips as he spoke to you. Polite, kind. You could blame yourself easily for your own husband’s infidelity but what had Joshua done to deserve this? 

Was he plagued with the same self loathing thoughts that haunted your every step? Or was his kindness, too, an illusion? Hiding some deeper malice that lurked at the heart of everyone wrapped up in this love affair.

You shake your head free of him as you enter your apartment and set your groceries down on your kitchen counter, but he returns as swiftly as he leaves. A thought circling round and round–unable or unwilling to give you a moment's peace as you unpack your bags. 

Somewhere in life you had adopted this sense of pessimism about life and the people that walked through it. It was easy to imagine cruelty at the hearts of everyone–to picture the worst case scenario, the worst intentions. But something inside of you revolted as you tried to apply it to Joshua. 

How silly, you think. I don’t even know him. 

And yet it remains, this tiny revolution inside of you. A hope for a kinder heart amidst the sea of troubles that you had been cast adrift on. Some lifeboat in the blue-black of it all. If you just reached out, maybe you could save yourself from drowning. 

Foolish, you think, casting the thought aside. No one is coming to save you. Not from your misery, not from your life, not from yourself. You had gotten married under the guise that your life would forever be tied to another person–that you would carry each other through everything–and now that that has dissolved to nothing, you know. You are alone. You have always been alone. 

The fog of winter rolls in shortly, blanketing the city in gray. For a few weeks in the beginning of December, your husband’s mistress disappears. He comes home on time, eats dinner with you, and you spend your days together like any married couple might. You’re lulled into a false sense of security and for a moment you think you could simply float back into the life you had expected to have and forget everything that has been. But only for a moment. Before long she reappears, her hair cropped shorter and  a spring in her step as she bounds through the aisles of the market. Your temporary marital utopia dissolves into the mist and you resume your post as observer. 

The weather starts to warm again, sunlight finding its way through cloud and smog to dapple the sides of buildings, and you take up a nightly ritual of walking through the streets in your neighbourhood. You never stay out too late, or stray too far, but you were starting to feel like a caged animal as you paced through your home and your thoughts night after night. 

On the nights your husband stayed out–either still at work or somewhere with her–you would forgo cooking all together, instead heading to a nearby restaurant as the sun starts to set over the city skyline. You eat slowly, relishing in each flavour and texture, and watch the rest of the patrons as they would do the same. It makes you feel less alone–or at least, less alone in your loneliness–as you would sit and watch the strangers around you bury their own miseries in the warmth of the broth steamed over countless hours. Their minds filled with thoughts and worries of their own. 

Tonight is much the same. You linger at home, straightening cushions and wiping down already clean surfaces to keep your hands occupied while you watch the clock tick down the time. Your phone lights up with a message–your husband informing you that he will be home late, telling you not to wait up. You slip on a light jacket and head out the door. Your feet know the way by now, they carry you almost mindlessly forward–down the elevator, out through the lobby, down the street, two left turns, one right turn, a few blocks ahead. You pass by some familiar faces–vendors and other denizens of the evening that you’ve become accustomed to during your walks–and you acknowledge them as a friend in your mind. Kindred spirits. 

You enter the small restaurant, blinking away the temporary fluorescent lights induced blindness, and take up your usual seat in the corner. Time ceases to exist in this place. If it weren’t for the last vestiges of sunlight forcing their way through the small, foggy window at the front, you wouldn’t be able to tell if it was day or night. 

Over the month or so you’ve started becoming a regular fixture of the place, you’ve grown familiar with a number of the other restaurant denizens. The cook and his wife–presumably the owners of the establishment–are ever silent unless yelling instructions about orders back and forth at each other. The wife, a small woman of indeterminate age, would move with efficiency between the five tables dotting the small space–taking orders, handing them to her husband in the kitchen, taking payments, refilling tea. She never appeared to be rushing, and no one was ever left for too long waiting for anything.

Occasionally a young man would take her place–likely their son or another relation roped in to help with the family business for a night. He was young–university aged maybe–and clearly disinterested in spending what little free time he had serving customers and bussing tables. The disinterest showed plain on his face even as he scribbled down your order (the usual, hot and sour soup and tea) and delivered it to his father in the kitchen. 

Tonight it was the woman, she didn’t even bother to ask you what you wanted as you had ordered the same thing every night over the past week. After a few moments she walks over with a teapot and cup in hand, setting them down with a silent nod, before turning to greet the next customer as they enter through the front door. 

You take a sip of tea, not too hot, before leaning back in the chair to settle in for another evening of people watching. The window in the front of the restaurant is clouded slightly with steam built up from the inside, and a light dusting of grime from the outside, but your eyes have adjusted to the distortion over the past month. You sit and watch as people pass by on the street outside, a few salarymen will stop in throughout for silent meals alone before returning to the streets, but often you’re the sole patron during the few hours you spend there each night. 

You watch as the new patron takes a seat at the table nearest the entrance–you haven’t seen him here before, but he looks the same as the rest. The same white button down, creased with a long day's work; the same black trousers; the same black tie and blazer thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. They were a dime a dozen in the city, these salarymen. Your husband had been one of them, once upon a time. Even with his many promotions over the years he still dressed much the same. You wonder briefly what made him stand out from the crowd to his mistress. 

The woman returns to your table a few minutes later, bearing your soup in her work worn hands. Steam billows from the top and you thank her before straightening in your seat and picking up your spoon. 

The food is not remarkable–truly nothing about this place is. Much like the salarymen that dip in and out through its front door, it’s no different than any of the other random hole-in-the-wall establishments that populate this city. The menu varies little from the usual, and the dingy white tiled walls do little to visually differentiate it. Everything about the place appears to be almost designed to blend into its surroundings. To serve its purpose without disturbing the status quo. It was solid and reliable and it's this very reliability that keeps drawing you back. 

It could be any restaurant. You could be any woman. 

You sink into the anonymity, slowly savouring the warm comfort of your food, and watch the slightly obscured figures of people as they pass by outside under the darkening sky. The man at the table by the door finishes his food quickly–in all of 15 minutes he orders, eats, and pays–with the chiming of the front door you’re left alone again as the only customer inside and the wife returns to rifling through a stack of papers spread out across the small table next to the kitchen. 

An hour passes as you sit in your chair, draining your soup and sitting silently as the scene repeats itself twice over. You glance at the clock on the wall, nearly 8:00pm, then down at your phone screen. No messages, no notifications. The light of the evening sun has all but disappeared by now, only a faint yellow clinging still to the corners of blue that construct the city at night. You push your bowl to the side and sigh–both ready and not ready to head back out into the street and begin your short walk home. As has become the routine, the woman sets her papers aside and presses a few buttons on the old till. You linger a moment longer at the table, watching a pair of women stroll by outside, before getting up and pulling out your wallet. No word is exchanged as you set down a few paper bills on the counter in front of her. 

The night air still bites with the remnants of the winter air and you tug your jacket tighter around to your chest as you step onto the sidewalk. It’s a quieter part of your neighbourhood, but still the streets are abuzz with people even aa the sky deepens with the threat of twilight. You fall in line behind a trio of women, walking a few paces behind them and letting your mind focus in on their conversation as they talk and laugh with each other.

Their conversation is nothing interesting–daily gossip about people you know nothing about, feel nothing for–but it reminds you of when you would wander around at night with your friends in University. Aimless and carefree, talking about nothing and everything that came to mind. When was the last time you had seen any of them? Not for months, surely. Maybe you should reach out.  

The women make a left turn a few blocks later, disappearing in the opposite direction that you’re headed and you let your thoughts drift off as their voices do. Would your husband be home already? Would he be upset with the lack of prepared dinner? He hasn’t mentioned anything about it up until now, but you do wonder how long that might last. You know you should summon up some excuse for why you’ve taken up these walks, why you’re sometimes not home when he gets back, but you can’t bring yourself to care enough to lie. What does it matter anyway? 

You round the final corner towards home. The building looms ahead at the end of the street, lobby lights casting yellow highlights onto the pavement out front. 

“Mrs. _____.” You don’t hear the voice at first. Your attention is far away, lurking in the recesses of your thoughts, and it takes a minute and a repeated call for you to register that acknowledgement. With a quizzical look, you turn towards the source of the voice and see Joshua Hong striding towards you from the opposite side of the street, pace quick to avoid an encroaching motorbike. 

“Mr. Hong?” you ask, wavering with confusion. Still unsure if he’s a real person or a spectre come to warn you of some impending doom awaiting you as you approach your apartment. 

“I thought that might be you,” he smiles, coming to a stop under a streetlight a few feet away. “How are you?” 

You blink him into reality, righting your attention back to alertness after it’s time away. He’s sporting a cream coloured corduroy jacket over a plain white t-shirt. Blue jeans. He looks the same as the last time you met him in the elevator–the same dark brown hair carving waves over his forehead, the same easy smile. You return the smile, sense reasserting itself enough for you to remember your manners. “I'm well, thank you. How are you?”

“Also well,” he replies, gesturing for the pair of you to resume walking towards your shared building. “We were away for a while, my wife and I. Visiting my family in LA.” 

You know this–the kiss of sun on her skin and your previous knowledge of Joshua was enough to clue you into where they had disappeared to those few months ago. Though you weren’t about to tell him this. “Ah, that sounds lovely. How long have you been back?” Polite conversation demands the question, though the answer to it is already blaring red in your mind. 

“About two months ago or so,” he replies. “It was a nice  trip, thank you.” You arrive at the entrance to the apartment complex, Joshua reaches for the door before you have the chance and you nod a thank you as he holds it open for you. “Have you ever been?” 

“To LA?” you ask, though the question is rhetorical and serves mainly to fill the empty spaces in between. He nods, affirming. “No, I haven’t.” You fall into step beside him, low heels clacking across the well worn black and white tiles of the lobby floor. You think to leave your answer succinct but reconsider it as you approach the elevator for fear of the silence that might ensue if you do. “Though, I did once have a dream to move there and become an actress,” you laugh. 

“Oh?” He looks surprised at the sudden confession and you worry you might have said too much about yourself. “Why didn’t you?” 

No one had ever asked you that before. It’s your turn to be taken off guard now as you step up to the dual elevators. Joshua presses the ‘up’ button and you consider how to reply. 

Why didn’t you? 

“I–well,” you start, fumbling through your thoughts. “It wasn’t a very serious dream, and it wasn’t like anything would have come of it. My mother preferred that I stay here and do something more practical.” 

He nods, thoughtful, appearing to seriously consider your response as you watch the numbers descend on the display above the right side elevator. “That’s understandable,” he says after a minute, “I think most parents just want security for their kids. Acting isn’t the most stable or assured career.” 

The elevator arrives, its buffed stainless steel doors sliding open to grant you access to the lift. Joshua gestures for you to step in first, so you do, lighting up the button for your floor as he steps in behind you. 

“Which floor?” you ask. Another question you know the answer to but he humours you anyway and you press the button for him as well. 

Silence steps into the elevator with you just as the doors shut. You realise you’re twisting your fingers together in front of you–a nervous habit you thought you had gotten rid of years ago–and you shake them lightly before dropping your arms back to your sides. 

“What about your father?” Joshua breaks the silence after a moment and again you take a second to register his question, too focused on the audible sound of your breathing. 

“I’m sorry?” You glance at him, not trusting that you had heard him correctly. 

“Your father,” he repeats, soft smile still lightly dusted over his lips. “What did he think of this acting dream of yours?”

“Oh, I don’t–” you pause, clearing your throat. Truthfully, you had never even told your mother about it, you just knew what she would have said if you had. “I’m not sure, he passed away when I was 14.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, expression sombering. 

You revert to silent passengers as the lift continues to rise towards your floor. A part of you aches to say something, to break the silence again and continue polite conversation. Something about his demeanour was easy–easy to talk to, easy to be with. But you flounder for questions, comments, topics to mention. The weight of your partner’s affair presses at the front of your mind and you wonder how long you’ll be able to keep it at bay before it spills free from behind the dam of your resolve. 

“What were you doing?” he asks suddenly. Breaking the silence just as you think you might not be able to withstand it any longer. The question confuses you and it must show on your face because he clarifies, “when I ran into you outside. It was getting pretty late.” 

“Oh, right of course,” you say, “I was just out for a walk.”

He nods, understanding. “I was as well. Do you walk often?” 

“Most nights, these days,” you reply. 

“Does your husband not mind?” 

You want to laugh. “He’s not home often, these days,” you answer after a moment, casting your gaze to the floor. Dancing around the implications as the weight presses heavier in your mind. “Your wife?” you ask, flirting with the edges of truth unspoken nestled between you. 

“She’s similarly occupied,” he responds, voice softening. You meet his gaze in the reflection of the doors. A spark of understanding reverberates through you and you wonder if he feels it as well. Swelling like a bloom of light bursting in your chest. He holds your gaze steady, unwavering but silent. He knows. He must. 

The elevator dings, warning you of your arrival, and you clear your throat, tearing your eyes off his and smothering the warmth that had blossomed in your heart. “Thank you,” you say, unsure exactly what you felt compelled to thank him for but giving sound to the sentiment anyway. “For um, the chat. It was nice to see you.” 

“You as well,” he smiles as the doors slide open to let you out. You nod and step into the hallway, torn between the eagerness to be alone once more and a strange resistance at departing from his company so soon. The doors begin to slide closed behind you but you hear him call your name once and spin to see his hand blocking their attempt. “Maybe we’ll see each other again soon, on one of our walks.” 

You nod again and watch as he lets his hand fall, body swallowed back into the elevator as the doors shut and it continues its climb upwards. You stand for a minute, stock still in the hallway once more staring at the space where he was. 

It's amazing how little time it takes for your whole world to shift. It’s a fact you’ve been presented with again and again throughout life–the deaths of your parents, accepting your husband's proposal all those years ago, the photo of him sent to you by an old friend with his arms around another woman. Mere seconds of time that seemed to move entire planets–rearranging your life without your consent at a subatomic level. 

Standing in the hallway now, with the sound of Joshua’s voice lingering in your mind, you get the uncanny feeling that you’ve just lived through another of these moments. You turn away from the elevator and walk the final steps to your apartment accompanied with this knowledge, and the hope that his final statement proves true. 

© 2024, neoneun-au. all rights reserved.

please consider reblogging, i would love to know your thoughts on the story so far !

[minawritesfanfic]

You are who you eat

Dexter Morgan x Reader

Word count: 2k

Summary: Dexter ponders if he should go back to rita but wavers as you understand him in ways she could never

Part 5

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☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Our second date was better than the first, then the third one was better than that, and so on. We went on several more dates and our relationship, albeit currently undefined, seemed to be going swimmingly and at a beautiful pace. Of course, it had only been a few weeks, so I wasn’t expecting to rush into a relationship right away but I was hoping it would be soon. However, from what I had learned from getting to know Dexter, he would need more than just a few hints to take that next step. I could tell that his hobby took up a majority of his waking moments and that he rarely allowed himself to live life beyond a cover for his killing. Truthfully the more time I spent observing Dexter and his mannerisms the saddened I became, he was like me in a way but his problems were rooted so deeply in him that he must think that being a killer is all he is.

I sighed to myself as I glanced over at Dexter, I had invited him to my place for dinner. We sat hip to hip on my couch, his arm draped over my shoulder and his gaze focused on the TV. He occasionally sipped from the beer in his hand as he quietly watched the sitcom on TV, his grip on the beer was loose and his finger traced the outline of the label. His expression was relaxed and blank as he watched but I swear I could see his lips twitch upwards as he watched the show, eventually, he noticed me staring and glanced over at me curiously.

“Is there something on my face?” I smiled shaking my head.

“No, I just was looking at you was all.”

“You confuse me sometimes, I truly wish I understood you.” He said furrowing his brows before returning to his neutral expression.

“Well I mean you can ask me anything, I’m an open book.”

Dexter paused looking away for a moment thinking likely of what to ask, but it was clear he only had one question in mind. “Why do you do it? You don’t have a dark passenger like I do, and you clearly don’t enjoy it. So why?”

“Oh uh well that’s certainly a heavy question, I want the world to be a cleaner place even if I have to dirty my hands to get there.” Not a total lie but jot exactly the truth, how could I say ‘I eat people’?

Dexter’s face remained neutral and didn’t give his thoughts away, “That’s a very noble cause but I expected you to say as much.”

“You did? I didn’t realize I came off as such a justice freak, do you think that’s a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily, the world needs more people willing to clean up all the trash littering it,” Dexter said with an uncaring shrug.

“That’s a great way to look at things, but now I have a question for you.”

“Hmm?” He faced me fully his eyes locked onto mine.

“Why did you agree to go on a date with me?”

Dexter didn’t respond diverted his gaze but eventually responded still looking away, “I thought things would be easier if I had someone like me by my side.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, we could have very well have just been friends.” I was wary of pushing too hard but I couldn’t help but hope that maybe there was more to it.

“…I thought that you were pretty and intelligent from how fast you were able to find me out, it was very attractive.” He admitted glancing back at me as his body grew stiff.

“Can I ask you another question?” I asked with a smile.

“Another one? What is it?”

“Can I kiss you?” He seemed shocked by the question and froze.

“Just don’t ask me why I said yes later.”

Dexter said as he turned towards me, I hesitated surprised he actually agreed but smiled and leaned over to kiss him. Our lips met uncomfortably and uncertainly at first, but as we both relaxed the kiss softened. I rested my hand on his chest and his hand came up to cup my cheek, the kiss was soft and gentle but quickly heated up due to our close proximity. Our lips parted and he slipped his tongue into my mouth, our tongues danced together slowly as we got to know each other's mouths. Dexter quickly took charge his tongue dominating mine as he set his beer down and pulled me into his lap, further intensifying the kiss. We pulled away for a brief moment to both catch our breaths before our mouths were connected again, I fumbled with the buttons of his shirt as his hands roamed my body curiously.

We both jumped at the sound of Dexter's phone ringing, at first he ignored it but as they called a second time he pulled away and took out his phone. Judging from his expression I assumed it was Deb, I climbed off his lap and let out a small laugh. Dexter looked at me before standing and answering the phone, he wandered off to another part of the house and I just sat there running a hand through my hair. I hadn’t expected things to grow that intense, not that I minded, though the thought of sleeping with Dexter had crossed my mind a few times. Admittedly he was an attractive man, albeit strange and a bit awkward he still had his own charm. I let out a sigh as I sunk back into the couch waiting for him to return, which he did after a while tucking his phone into his pocket. He looked at me with a strange intensity but it quickly disappeared as his neutral expression returned.

“That was Deb calling about the butcher, I need to go.”

“I figured, go it would suck if you got caught so soon.”

“Okay, I’ll call you.”

Dexter turned toward the door but hesitated before opening it, I looked at him confused as he turned back around and approached me. He leaned over me capturing my lips in another kiss as he squeezed my thigh, I was startled but welcomed the kiss. He pulled away prematurely and left me breathless and I just looked up at him slightly aroused but intrigued, he just stared back not saying anything at first before straightening up.

“Let’s pick up where we left off next time.” Before I could respond he was already out the door, leaving me speechless and dumbfounded.

★ ✮ ★

Dexter knew he shouldn’t be doing this this was wrong, he needed to fix things with Rita and make up for the whole Lila situation. But how could he do that when things felt so right with you? The more dates he went on the more he saw how perfectly you would fit into his life compared to Rita, he saw that even more clearly when you didn’t look at him sideways for rushing to his sister's aid. Rita never complained but Dexter always saw the look she gave him, and he’d be lying if it didn’t irritate him. But you were perfectly fine with rescheduling for another night, no questions asked especially when it came to things involving his dark passenger. It was a breath of fresh air Dexter didn’t know he needed, not having to always come up with a reasonable lie because you knew and understood him. It was almost enough to convince him not to turn himself in, how could he put an end to the spark you two had when it had barely even begun? Deb was the final nail in the coffin who truly convinced him not to turn himself in though. It was a good thing he made up his mind when he did as the police were closing in on the cabin and Dexter needed to get there before the police did, he had finally gotten Debto to leave his apartment and he started gathering his tools when he heard the door open again. He hurried out of the bedroom confused as to why Deb had come back but was surprised to see it wasn’t her at all, just you.

“I got a call from work as soon as you left, they found your cabin.” Dexter was momentarily stunned but not surprised that you knew about the cabin.

“I’m trying to head over there now to deal with it, if they find Doakes in a cage it kind of ruins my frame job.” He said turning around and heading back into the room.

“Perfect let me come with and help, two hands are better than one.”

Dexter was about to argue but decided against it as you were right, “Fine, but we do things my way alright?”

“Fine by me, they’re probably already in the woods by now. They found his car twelve minutes ago which I hope was nowhere near the cabin.”

Dexter wasn’t happy to hear that but he prepped his tools even faster, you both were out the door and into his car as fast as possible. Dexter flew through the streets trying to get to the cabin before they did, it was easier to break the speed limits once he was on the old country roads but he wasn’t getting there fast enough. He spied a familiar-looking car speeding as well in the opposite direction but he didn’t think much of it due to the more pressing matters. As he pulled into the dirt path a police officer stopped him from proceeding further, Dexter quickly pulled out his ID and you did the same.

“Hey, Dexter Morgan Maimi metro P.D. Forensics. We’re here to join the search for The Bay Harbor Butcher.”

“I’m from IT but all hands on deck right?” You said and the officer just shrugged it off.

“The search is on hold right now until they sort of the confusion.”

“Confusing, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s a real mess. Take a right at the fork and park outside the line of fire trucks.” Dexter nodded and slowly pulled off.

“Confusion requires firetrucks?” Dexter said aloud.

“And here I was hoping you had an idea of what was going on.”

He continued driving and parked behind the firetrucks, Dexter got out of the car and turned to you but you stayed in the car. He nodded knowing that he had the proper qualifications to be here while you did not, Dexter glanced at you once more before walking away as he put on his forensics jacket. You waved and just sat there watching in awe as they put out the fire, Dexter continued walking until he heard Debra call out to him.

“How the hell did you get here so fast, I just got here and I took a helicopter with Lundy.”

“I broke a lot of speed limits. After you left, I realized you were right. I didn’t want to miss the action. But what happened?”

“They think a propane tank exploded."

“How?” Dexter asked looking away from the fire and at Deb.

“Do I look like a fucking fire chief?”

“Well did they find a body?”

“Just bits and pieces so far,” Deb said as she walked back towards Lundy.

Dexter sighed he was trying to work out in his mind what the hell happened here, at least he knew you weren’t involved seeing as he had been with you all night. He wouldn’t be surprised if Lila was, now that he thought about it he did see her car on the way here. It all seemed to click in his head, she was a serial narcissist and obsessed with him. It made sense she would do something like this to get under his skin, but all Dexter needed to do was confirm his suspicions and he’d have all the justification to kill her. For now, he needed to make sure that his frame job was still going as planned, he would be in trouble if the police believed that Doakes was simply another victim and Dexter couldn’t have that. He had finally been able to relax, he didn’t need the police heavy on his back again.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

[ozzgin]

I can't get your yakuza headcanons out of my mind, Daitou's got me in a chokehold and I'm not complaining, like--

in regards to that doodle you made to show height difference between reader and the boys [I love your art btw (●♡∀♡)] - I can't picture myself in reader's style, I'm currently going through my goth phase in my 20s lmao; picture a big bitch with tattoos and messy hair who's listening to nothing but 2000s hits and screamo bands - so I'd like to request a headcanon of how Daitou would react to a gender-neutral reader like this :D I also like to incorporate the idea of them once being in a famous band that he's a fan of! (sorry if this seems like a lot, I have a huge imagination hehe)

but if he's more into the cute and helpless type, I'll just walk my ass out the door and yeehaw my way into another yandere's arms ✌😔

That's on me for not drawing the reader inserts as cartoonish cinder blocks :') In truth I'm a little bit embarrassed seeing how many likes that doodle has gotten, it was something I put together in a hurry and the clothing was meant to be baggy, shapeless, with not too many folds for the sake of simplicity. I myself am more of a pilgrim goth, just to emphasize the randomness of the choice.

Drawing reader inserts always leaves me a little anxious. If I use a light shade of gray, will people think I'm excluding poc? Will plus sized readers feel like they've been disregarded? What about masculine readers? As someone who's demiromantic I always struggle taking appearance or gender into consideration, because to me it has no influence whatsoever. Which is hard to express when you want to offer blank slate visuals as an extra to the story.

What I'm trying to say is that all of my characters would like you for who you are. Sure, they find your looks cute, but it's not the defining reason. Maybe you have similar traits to them, maybe you're the complete opposite and they find it intriguing. You could be a buff man and Daitou would be just as grateful to have someone who isn't afraid of him. I usually stick to a female reader for bigger stories to avoid messing it up long term, but in the grand scheme of things it makes no difference. I always imagine reader to be a shapeless blob that provides the dialogue I need for the story mood. There's no concrete preference or type for any of my OCs. I mean, ideally you'd like them back and not hang them upside down above a BBQ pit but I feel these are sensible requirements (?).

And now for the actual headcanons since my ramble is over.

First encounter is comically awkward but for reasons you’re unaware of yet. You’re obviously used to people staring at you (more so in a country like Japan), so you were expecting the curious glance every now and then. On the other hand, being under scrutiny, from a man even more unusual looking than you at that, is odd. Mildly uncomfortable. You’re shifting yourself from one leg to another, hoping to be done with the introductions soon.

On his end, Daitou is anxiously fidgeting and trying his best to focus. He’s seen this face before and he can’t shake off the familiar feeling. Where the hell…He obviously can’t downright gawk at you, and he isn’t sure how to politely formulate a question. After several sheepish peeks, it finally dawns on him: weren’t you part of that band he really likes? No, what would the chances be? Then again, how many people out there would look exactly like you? Is it rude to ask? He has no idea. He resumes his mumbled description of the apartment and hands you the papers to be signed.

Back at his place, he finally digs through his merch and sprawls out the available clues. “I didn’t know you were into this kind of music”, Kazuya comments as he looks over the man’s shoulder. He’d come over to ask about the new tenant. “I’m pretty sure it’s them.” He concludes, confidently placing his index over a CD cover. “Huh? Who? The tenant?” Kazuya holds back his chuckle. “Why would a celebrity show up for a shady apartment offer? You’re tripping, man.”

“I’m sorry, this is getting ridiculous.” You finally exclaim, annoyed by the persistent stares of the now two men facing you. You’re standing in front of the apartment building, arms crossed, huffing at the tall scarred man and his blonde friend. “No, I’m sure of it. Even the tattoo is the same.” Daitou turns to whisper to Kazuya, oblivious to your complaints. In turn, Kazuya lightly elbows him, mouthing something about being rude. “Just ask them, man.” He adds, this time louder. “Ask me what??” You groan. “W-were you…um…in this band by any chance?” Daitou manages to blurt out, searching his pocket for the CD case and ceremoniously laying it under your eyes.

Ah. It finally clicks and you exhale, relieved. You confirm their suspicions and show them some backstage photos to solidify your claim. You ask Daitou if he wants an autograph or something, then swiftly scribble your signature on a piece of paper and hand it out to him. He holds it with a wide, childish grin. “You’re a weird one, you know? You could’ve just asked. I guess I didn’t expect to find a fan in the wild, especially here.” Daitou carefully folds the souvenir, eyes lidded with nostalgia. “Oh yes, it’s great. Drowns out the screams.”

[eldritch-spouse]

Okay so you touched briefly on Bregg using his tail for penetration on Reader who couldn't take him

Would you mind expanding on that? 👀

It doesn't have to be this exact scenario but I just really need some tail-fucking content 😭🙏

-🙊

[Fem reader.]

TW: Tail fucking; He's a bit pushy at the start.

He's grinding on you again.

That on its own is no issue. Or rather, you've come to trivialize the fact that Breg just tends to latch onto you after a hard day of work. He always says the same things- That he misses you. That he's lonely, that you smell nice (you're pretty sure you're just sweaty), that he can't help it... And that's- That's fine. Because at least, after humping one out at your expense, he gets in much better moods and will practically bend over backwards no matter what you ask of him. Which is very useful.

What is not so fine is when Breg tries to put his dicks in you. Which is starting to happen a little too much for your tastes.

He knows it doesn't work. The two of you have tried time and time again, and you're just nowhere near that level of stretchiness yet. Breg needs to get it through his thick head that he's several feet taller than you and he's hung like a stallion and you're only human. These things take time and effort, he can't be impatient about things. When you explain this to the horndog, he nods along and it really does seem as if it's sunken in to his smooth brain- But then this happens!

You can only groan in distaste while he keeps trying to nudge your legs apart instead of settling for your thighs. As soon as Breg succeeds, chirping his approval and soaking one of his cocks in your slick, you try to stop him before the breeder gets any bright ideas.

" Breg. "

" H- Hm? " He sounds guilty already.

What, does he think you can't feel him trying to push in lightly, can't feel him slip and nudge your clit instead? Damn him and his stupid fat cocks.

" Breg. " It's a warning this time.

He just moans, trying harder.

" It's not going to work, you know this. "

He manages to catch the right position. Though, as soon as the male starts putting force behind it, a sharp stab of pain zings up your body and you push against his chest hard, making the breeder peel back and whine.

" Stop it, it's not happening. " For good measure, you grab his shaft, trapping Breg in place while he twitches slightly in your grasp.

" But you're so wet! " The monster insists, pleased at the notion, hormone fried brain not putting two and two together.

Much to your annoyance, he has the gall to try to slide his spare dick in, as if it would work, by some miracle. You shift your pelvis away and he slides harmlessly on the crease where sex meets thigh, resisting the urge to smack him with a pillow.

" That's not enough. We talked about it before, this needs time- "

Above you, Breg makes a sound like he's dying, defeated, drooling past grit teeth as wants and consideration war. " I just want to be inside you so bad... " He unhelpfully moans.

You shiver.

He acts like you don't want that too, the idiot. As if you're not distraught that you can't fit him either and how it might put a dampener in the sexual side of your relationship.

Huffing, you reach upwards to cradle his face in your palms, letting Breg lean into the contact. " Well, you can still do that. Just with your fingers or your tongue for now, while I work up in the size department, yeah? "

It was meant to console the breeder, keep him hopeful for the future, let him know that not all is lost even if his horndog brain says so. Instead, it inspires a very different reaction in Breg.

See, when those gears start turning, his face tends to fall into a neutral expression, which is to say, he kind of looks like a blank canvas. You squint at your roommate-turned-creepy boyfriend with some skepticism, wondering what's going through that mind right now.

" Hey. " He starts, grinning.

" Don't like that tone. "

Your comment is ignored, he dips to peck the top of your nose. " What if I used... My tail? "

Oh.

" Ew. "

It was a gut reaction. You didn't even think about it. His tail... He wants to fuck you with his tail? That's new. Said appendage wags rapidly behind the breeder, slapping on the mattress as if to commend Breg for his stupendous brainfart.

The craziest part is that, maybe, it could work. He's got fine motor control of it, and it has varying degrees of thickness. The only problem is... It's his tail. You know, the thing that's constantly knocking against stuff and getting in all sorts of places.

" Ew? What do you mean ew?? " Breg recoils, sounding vaguely offended and hurt.

" Sorry, that just caught me off-guard. " You cringe. " Is it clean? "

The monster relaxes and nods, grabbing the extremity and pulling it to his front. The body part is clearly still trying to express his happiness, even when trapped by strong hands.

" Of course it's clean! I'm clean. "

There's an eye roll. " No Breg, I've seen it drag on the floor behind you. All the time. "

He deflates. " Buh- "

" Not buts. Go wash it. "

As quickly as he slumped, Breg springs to a stand again, gripping his own tail hard enough to make you wince on his behalf. " Does that mean you'll give it a shot? "

You'd like to say you deliberated over the matter thoroughly, but in reality, you saw that hopeful goofy smile and decided immediately. " Yeah, I guess. "

" YES! " He nearly roars. " I love you, angel. "

You wave him away with a hand and heated cheeks, listening to the male scramble to the bathroom and turn a faucet on while you rest against the pillows and question if this is actually a good idea.

[...]

" Is- Is this good? "

He swallows, holding your legs up, one ankle held up and apart in each large hand as he stands between your legs, tail beneath his, driving what little length of itself it could fit there madly.

" Mmn- Y-Yeah, it's ah- " Your eyes roll, he's not being merciful or taking it slow in the least.

To Breg's credit, he's got better limb coordination than you expected, drilling his tail into your pussy almost mechanically, only ever faltering in the beginning. You've coated him in slime by now, and something in the back of your mind says that you're welcoming a bit more girth than you could before.

" Good, okay... " He murmurs, entirely distracted by the view.

The breeder can't tear his gaze away from the way how, even just using his tail, you still bounce with the force of each drive forward, all the soft parts of you swaying almost hypnotically to him. From tits to face to belly to legs to sweet cunt- He finds himself groaning heatedly like he was (metaphorical) balls deep in you.

" Fffuck, you're amazing. " It was meant to be a compliment, but it comes out more like pleading, Breg getting almost dizzy by the concept of actually getting to put either of his cocks in you one day. Your only response is to make a clipped whimper and turn your face away.

" You're clenching really hard. " There's a smile behind those words, immense pride about being able to make you feel so pleasured with seemingly any part of him. It's a real ego-stroker, so you let him have his fun for now.

" I can't wait to feel that on my cocks. " He bets it'll feel so nice, it'll make him come in a minute, you're so fucking perfect, he can't wait. " Hah- You're soaking me. "

The closer you seem to get, the more desperate the breeder becomes, brow ridges creasing as he's left neglected, throbbing aimlessly and occasionally bumping against you. Breg keens and instinctively bucks his hips when you move yours to chase more friction, too turned on to realize it only looks silly.

Eventually, his vocalizations alert you to what's happening, and even if you're debating getting your orgasm now, you can't help but feel bad for the monster.

" Here- Here, let's try something. "

After a couple moments of puzzling out something appropriate, you end up on your hands and knees while Breg stands, his long tail winding around to keep fucking into you at the same steady pace as before, and your tongue alternating on which shaft to tend to.

Admittedly, it's a nice view, getting to see his abdomen flex in pleasure, blue teeth biting a thin bottom lip as he tries, and occasionally fails, to divide his attention between the pace of his tail and moving his hips so he can slide his drooling dicks on your face.

" Y- You're always so smart. So thoughtful- " He praises, twitching in anticipation, ever the infatuated fool.

" Oh, shut it. " You'd be lying to say this doesn't at least do wonders for your self-esteem.

He may be a little too big for your pussy, but you can put at least a bit of him in your mouth, thankfully, and you eagerly do. The moment you suckle on his left tip, looking up with doe eyes, Breg cranes his head back and furiously drops his free hand to his remaining shaft, pumping. The noises he lets out as he feels your walls around his tail and your lips hug his length are lurid. He's always too loud in his enjoyment, but that's almost endearing at this point.

In truth, your servicing becomes sluggish and sloppy the moment you start feeling that perfect coil in your core. Another couple inches of his tail slip further in and the suddenness of your orgasm hits you like a brick, having you wide-eyed and moaning deliciously around Breg's cock.

" Oh- OHhn! Fuck- Fuck I like that, do that again! "

He grunts from above, having the wherewithal to keep pistoning hard through your climax, almost jostling you in the process.

It was a satisfying orgasm, you'll admit. Probably the closest thing to being properly fucked by the breeder you'd done so far, and that leaves a sense of accomplishment in you.

As you stop to catch your breath, Breg's now slippery tail eventually drops from your well-fucked hole, and before you can question where it's going, you hear a nasty, foul slurp from above.

Predictably, he's sucking your cum off his tail like it's a glazed sugar topping, to which you make a vaguely weirded out grimace.

Still licking at himself, Breg smiles and moves to angle his oozing members back towards your mouth with a wanton leer.

" Please please please please- "

Well, it's the least you can do.

[restwellsoon]

NSFW Sex ABCs | Uramichi Omota

Minor, blank, and ageless blogs DNI! You will be blocked!

Uramichi Omota x GN!Reader

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Uramichi is clingy after sex, wanting to cuddle and kiss immediately after, despite your protests to clean up first. He even tells you that he doesn’t mind it when your skin sticks together from the sweat drying, despite him rubbing at his reddened skin after pulling apart.

He gets quite sentimental, and this side of him takes getting used to. Uramichi’s normally a neat guy, but he loves to admire how he’s made a mess out of you. The way your hair sticks to sweaty skin, swollen lips, that dazed expression on your face. He’s always afraid of this moment being the last, so you can help but oblige him when he quietly asks you to stay in his arms for a while.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Uramichi is surprisingly body neutral. Because of his former career in athletics, he’s more focused on his body’s ability to perform rather than its aesthetics. Needless to say, he’s incredibly proud of his strong core, the defining marker of a gymnast. He’s also pleased with the symmetry and size of his upper body in general–from his chest, his arms, back, and core–regardless of the comments others make about him being a gym rat. Having a strong upper body and core also allows him to fuck in positions that other men can’t, something he’s secretly smug about.

And in contrast, Uramichi loves all of your softest and squishiest bits, whatever they may be. It gives him a very cozy feeling, and he often loves nuzzling his face on that body part or grabbing it with his hands. You have a strong reason to suspect that he enjoys those parts because it subconsciously reminds him of using hand grips. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

The moment you tell him that he’s allowed to cum inside you, he decides then and there that a drop won’t be wasted. He has zero desire to cum on your face or any other part of your body. Uramichi wants your pretty little holes filled with his cum. He’s quite the vanilla man, but it’s a (sexy) surprise to find out that he really loves the thought of plugging your cum-filled holes after fucking you for multiple rounds.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

The quickest way to get him hard is domesticity. He fantasizes about coming home to you and cumming in you, bathing together, sleeping together, and stealing kisses while prepping food. He likes to think of your voice when you wake up or the way you snap when he annoys you too much. The vulnerability and intimacy you’d share together is his go-to when he wants a very satisfying orgasm.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Luckily for Uramichi, his mind-body connection is strong. Yeah, he might go through insane years-long dry spells, but it doesn’t mean that he’s forgotten how to sexually please a partner at all. He doesn’t have much experience, but he does know how to get the job done. He’s also very studious and isn’t afraid to ask you for help and tips to make you cum.

He watches porn for research purposes.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Deep missionary. Uramichi not only loves how it feels, but he loves how it makes him feel so incredibly close to you too. He loves looking at the different expressions that you make while he makes you feel good, and knowing he’s the only one that makes you feel like that way.

Also for completely unsexy reasons, he likes that deep missionary gives him access to all your erogenous zones without straining his body or having to switch positions. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Even when he’s goofy, Uramichi seems serious. His playful side often unintentionally makes him seem like a dom. Really though, he’s trying to be funny. You don’t mind the intensity though.

If you go back and watch the highlight reels of his gymnast career, you’d see that his sex aura and competition aura are nearly identical.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Uramichi’s used to shaving everything because of his career as a gymnast. Even though his happy trail is usually shaved, he does like to keep his pubes trimmed neatly.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He doesn’t even realize how romantic he’s being in the moment. He just loves kissing your neck softly and calling out your name. He firmly believes in physically showing you how you make him feel, so he gives it his all to make you feel good.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He goes through cycles where he’s incredibly horny and jerkin’ it nonstop to dry spells where he hasn’t touched himself in months. His cock is pretty sensitive so he cums easily.

Because he has a vivid imagination (He’s not sure if he should thank his anxiety for that or not), he usually doesn’t need erotic audio or visual materials.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He didn’t even know that it was a thing, but Uramichi finds out later in life that he has a scent kink. The scent of your shampoo on his pillows or your perfume on his sheets drives him wild. And the way you smell down at your center? He salivates just thinking about it.

It takes him a while to open up about it, but he has a breeding kink and goes wild when you call him daddy. Yeah, maybe it has something to do with his fucked up childhood, but the thought of having a family with you, taking care of you, and (as fucked up as it may seem) having a lifelong connection with you, drives him absolutely wild. He’s embarrassed to admit this to you–and he doesn’t want to seem insane either–but after growing closer, you find it incredibly sweet. You don’t mind indulging this kink of his.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Maybe if he spent his 20s fucking instead of destroying his body and mental fortitude through gymnastics, he’d be more adventurous. But alas, he’s now in his 30s and there’s no place more exciting to him than his bed.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It’s probably pathetic, but just showing interest in him fills him up with excitement. He wants to be seen as Uramichi, not the gymnast, not the taiso no oniisan, and definitely not by his surname. He really likes it when his crush (you, duh) calls him by his nickname.

Also scalp massages. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

For the love of god or whatever the fuck is out there, do not ask him to dress up for you. It gives him such a visceral reaction and reminds him of work that it kills his mood completely. 

You’d think that having a horrible father would make him have some needs for validation and praise, but surprisingly, Uramichi doesn’t have a praise kink at all. Because he’s been exceptional from a young age, he’s used to being praised but secretly badmouthed behind his back, so praise doesn’t do it for him when it comes to his performance. Instead, it’s more meaningful when you show him how good he’s making you feel (by cumming all over his cock).

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Of course Uramichi loves it whenever you go down on him. He loves hearing you gag and gasp around his cock, and he loves to relax by fucking your mouth gently, his fingers wrapped in your hair.

Uramichi never considered quitting smoking until he finally went down on you. His skills are sloppy but with good intention at first, and though he’s embarrassed by your prompting, he’s more than willing to follow through with your instructions. He loves going down on you and says that it helps with his oral fixation.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He loves starting off slow and sensual, trying to make each session last as long as possible. It’s a challenge though–because you feel so good–that he often ends up desperately fucking into you until he’s a mess.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Although Uramichi likes to go at his own pace, he doesn’t mind having a quickie every once in a while. Although he knows you’ll make him cum every time, he secretly stresses about you not being satisfied. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As someone who’s known for a lack of preference, experimenting is no different. He says that he’ll always try something once as long as it’s with you. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He has great stamina and recovery time. Unfortunately though, since he wasn’t having sex often before you two got together, he doesn’t last long the first few encounters. Rather than being annoyed though, you take it as a compliment for being that good. (Uramichi later tells you that this was one of the moments that made him love you.)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

You’re surprised to learn that Uramichi owns a cocksleeve, and it’s a source of embarrassment when you come across it in his apartment one day. He fervently denies buying it himself and says that it was a gag gift from Kumatani and Usahara. (Let’s be real, it was mostly Usahara’s idea though Kumatani thought that a sex toy would definitely help Uramichi lighten up.) Gag gift or not, you save Uramichi some embarrassment by not commenting on how well-loved it looks.

He’s intimidated by your toys at first, but eventually warms up to their usefulness, asking you to show him how you use them. Every once in a while, he’ll use them on you while you fuck.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He hates being teased and lacks the patience for it. But this man is constantly teasing you without even realizing it. Like I said, he thinks he’s being funny with some of his sexual comments or jokes, but really he sounds like a full-fledged dom ready to force you into submission if he has to. He really likes that needy side of you because it makes him feel wanted.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Uramichi’s relatively quiet in other settings, so you’re surprised to hear his soft moans and grunting when you fuck. Those rare times where he has a clear mind while having sex, he loves to praise you and to be praised.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

With stamina and strong forearms like Uramichi’s, this man is a fingerfucking king. Once he finds those sweet spots that make you squirm, he’ll attack them relentlessly, curling his fingers and going at a pace that seems nearly impossible. He loves licking his fingers after you cum or making you taste yourself. When he’s feeling naughty, he likes to finger you after he’s cum inside, using it as lube.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s longer than average but quite thick. Again, he’s quite neutral about his body, so he doesn’t understand why others think he’s impressive. He gets off on your reaction to seeing his cock for the first time though, the way your mouth hangs slightly agape and your eyes widen.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I don’t think he has a high sex drive at first since he’s been alone for so long and stays away from random hook-ups. Being with you sends his sex drive through the roof, however, and even he’s surprised with his sexual appetite.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He has all this pent up tension and stress that he never knew that fucking could get rid of. After a good cuddle sesh, he falls asleep quickly and feels well-rested after.

Thanks to the @/the-coldest-goodbye for sharing this prompt.) 

Also it's inevitable that I give every fictional man that I love a daddy and breeding kink. Sorry not sorry.

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The Main Masterlist

Life Lessons Masterlist

AO3

[monicahar]

—guide on how to fluster the wanderer in four simple steps!

ever wanted your mean lil gremlin of a lover to blush before your very eyes? well, well, you've come the right person!

gn! reader, crack & fluff, dark humor cuz obv i will never miss a chance to bully scara, gets suggestive at the end cause why not djsjsjdjdj idk what im doing i have 26 drafts collecting dust and this is the first thing i finished 💀 help me

# i. choose the appropriate time to strike.

this is the most essential factor in making your huffy lover get embarrassed and not accidentally behead you in a fit.

(he'd never do such a thing on purpose, atleast.)

failing to follow in accordance to this particular step will certainly lead to unwanted consequences such as;

ignoring you the whole day(😦), blasting you off onto another nation(😨), a slight chance of having your head not intact by the end of the day(😰), no warm huggie wuggies from your pretty boyfie(😫) and the ever-dreaded deprivation of authority over his hat(😱)—you couldn't bear to not wear it for a bare minimum of 10 minutes a day!

but if it all comes to shove and you successfully select the perfect timing to initiate your relentless attack on his pride and ego, you might as well prepare your fragile heart for a blessing of a sight such as reddened cheeks present on his fair face as everything from now will be considered smooth sailing! not that hard now, is it?

“you've been gawking at me for a while. what do you want?” you don't flinch a bit when he abruptly closes the book he was previously reading, turning his head to meet your staring eyes with a bothered glare of his own.

ignoring his rather harsh acknowledgement of your silent yearning for his attention to be woven towards you instead of that book he's holding, you blink to yourself as something hits you. he raises a brow at your silence and the seemingly fleeting moment of enlightenment that crosses your blank expression.

the quietude and solitary peace of the room and its atmosphere along with him not throwing his book at you from staring at him basically the whole time he was engorging himself in the piece literature he's holding strongly suggested he was in a good mood.

a perfect moment to strike arises!

# ii. formulate the right approach.

whether your attack should be mild/teasing or rather heated/steamy—it heavily depends on the situation you've chosen and deemed as the appropriate time to strike.

take note of some his small actions to concur what he's feeling at the moment—is he feeling a tad bit annoyed? is he currently in one his clingy moods? does he look like he wants to murder you? or is he just neutral, awaiting for something to interrupt the usual streak of normalcy and growing boredom in his day?

but right now, in your current time—he was just reading his book before he finally picked up and confronted your lengthened staring burning the side of his face.

so something a bit more on the light teasing side would fit. if you brought up some type of dirty joke right now amidst the very normal and quiet day you both are having, he'd probably stand up, approach you with his light footsteps, and backhandedly slap you across the face for being such a horndog.

(that was a joke, for legal reasons. he's more likely to just squint his eyes at you weirdly and continue on reading his book, resulting into the failure of your plan to see him get embarrassed. game over.)

choosing to be a clever dog just this once, you coordinate your attack to match up along with your reply to his earlier question—barking back with the intention to strike at one of his weak points only open to his lover; his perfected features that make up his beautiful face.

raising a hand to your cheek as to feign shyness from being caught red-handed by staring at him, you let out a hearty giggle to soothe his nerves—his frown immediately dissipating from the sound of your laughter. his last defensive barrier: shattered. shutting your eyes knowingly as you raise a cup of bitter tea to your lips, you already know you've won.

“hehe, my bad. you just look a bit more handsome today.”

“...”

a beat of silence overcomes the short exchange of words.

it might seem light or weak to others, heck, even you see it as a bit pathetic, but to the complete virgin former harbinger, he views it totally differently from how others would have expected.

a small push filled with sincerity and truth is his breaking point a hundred percent of the time.

lifting your eyelids as you place your teacup down, your heart clenches at the sight before you.

# iii. relish in the rare moment of weakness.

soak it all up as much as you can. but don't let greed take over you at the taste of victory.

moments such as these aren't anywhere near common at all. your excitement is nearly overflowing but you have to keep yourself still as to not ruin it for yourself.

you're so used to being shut down and ending in utter failure when trying to pry a positive reaction from him—that you could probably just burst from happiness alone when he finally concedes relents to your teasing.

you'd have to hold yourself down from pouncing on him from the display of sheer cuteness he's currently presenting to you, albeit you were quite annoyed with how he's trying hard to hide the rosy cheeks and ears you adored underneath the shadow of his hat.

why is he wearing his hat inside your shared inn? you don't know.

pushing yourself off from your seat, you quietly approach the man sitting across from you, cautious in your movements as to not startle and scare him away at this small window of vulnerability—already well-informed of his past experiences regarding it.

gently lifting his hat up and discarding it onto a nearby tabletop, he stares at you with wide eyes as you quickly swoop down to peck his forehead, and then down to his lips before pulling away just as hastily.

the caught-off-guard look on his face makes you coo at the sight in the back of your mind.

eyeing his flushed state, you can't help but let out a soft sigh as you seat yourself on his lap, wrapping your hands around him to pull him closer, chests against each other's as he remains stiffened underneath your loving hold.

cute.

“handsome.” you mutter, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw. “my handsome boy.”

# iv. now, freestyle. 😼

do you want to cut the moment short, play hard to get and leave him wanting for more? or do you want to prolong the playful mood—and quite possibly, lead it into something more?

if you've started something, then you're surely going to finish it, right?

the wanderer, after all—dislikes people when they're all bark and no bite.

“you said that just to tease me, didn't you?” his clammy hands that were suspended in the air for so long out of surprise finally made themselves home to your hips, his hold on it nearly bruising as he desperately tries to calm down his erratic emotions. “always think you're so funny, huh.” he mutters.

“i supposed so, initially. it still held truth in the end though. i like your cute reactions.” you admit with a lop-sided smile, cupping his burning cheek as you slight lean away to look at him wholly. “a very handsome boyfriend, indeed.” you nod in affirmation, making him narrow his eyes.

his blush is now non-existent as he's now back to his normal self, having gained composure as quickly as it left the moment you sat yourself on his lap. he was cute earlier, avoiding your gaze and all that, but this side of him was undoubtedly way more attractive. his exuding confidence always never fails to drive you crazy.

a shiver makes it way down your spine when an all-knowing smirk makes its way to his lips.

“alright then, [name].” he leans back on his chair, his hands not leaving your hips to keep you anchored atop of him, the expanse of his lean body now a lot more visible to you. “what's your next course of action? are you going to stand up and disappoint me? ...or are you going to live up to the hinted suggestions of your less-than-friendly touches just now?”

there it was. that daring gaze of his.

are you going to continue upholding the streak of normalcy you didn't know you were both capable of, or will you give in to your desires?

and then nahida barges in, slaps both of you with an overgrown radish and everyone starts behaving like proper educated adults 🥰 the end.

[finniestoncrane]

Arkham!Black Mask with a female S/O who's his fling/sugar baby ... not giving him any attention to taunt him at a party or just being a brat! To which he later spanks them on his lap ... perhaps fingering, edging, and orgasm control + denial may pursue—toss in the Daddy kink too < 3

Thank you 🫶🖤

Arkham!Black Mask x Fem!Reader, word count: 850 aheeeeeeem i can't imagine anyone being brave enough to give this man some attitude but it would be so fun to rile him up to the point that he just has to punish you 💀 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: spanking, fingering, ruined orgasm/orgasm denial

Sauntering into Roman's bedroom, you could make out his form on the edge of the bed. He'd waited for you, growing all the more impatient with every minute you had him sitting there. His fingers tensed, scratching at the fabric of his white, neat pants, as you tossed your hair so flippantly. The scent of your perfume floated over to him, and for a brief moment, just a millisecond, he was placated. But that reminder of how sweet you smelled only server to anger him more, knowing you were withholding from him and had been all evening.

"Would you hurry the fuck up."

Turning to him, no expression on your face, you responded to his harsh demand.

"Oh. Were you waiting on me, Roman?"

Though his skull was fitted with a permanent scowl, you could feel his own forming underneath it, the atmosphere of the room changing as he decided he'd had enough of your insolence for one evening. He'd put up with your ignoring him, tolerated your bratty attitude when he'd demanded you sit beside him and look pretty, but the nonchalant way you responded to him had pushed him to the edge.

As you made your way past him he grabbed at your wrist, leather gloved hands gripping you firmly as his fingers tensed around, pushing tendons and bones as he held you there. You didn't fight it, you accepted it. But you allowed yourself to keep a neutral, almost blank expression in the face of his attempt at regaining control of you.

"You can try and keep that face on all you want, you little bitch. But I'm not gonna make it easy for you."

Another quick tug, your shoulder almost yanked from the socket, as he jerked your body down, pushing your back and adjusting you roughly until you were bent over his lap facing the ground.

The palm of his glove skimmed up over your thigh, not stopping at the hem of your skirt but rather pushing it up, exposing your underwear to him. As his fingers reached your lower back, he hooked them into the band of your panties, pulling them down aggressively, tearing at them as they dug into your thighs on their way down your legs. His hand was smoothing over your bare ass cheeks in soft, careful circles as he lined up his shot. And then he lifted his hand, bringing it back down with a sharp strike, an immediate, red welt forming on your skin.

You took the punishment gleefully, as always, relishing in the way you could feel his cock stirring in his pants, stiffening against your stomach as he delighted in seeing your skin respond to the pain he inflicted.

He let his palm slide over your rear, following the curve of your cheek before settling flat between your legs against your cunt. A finger teased your swollen lips, moving from side to side to separate them, letting your slick spread over them as he collected it on the gloved digit. You shifted your body, trying to force the finger inside of you, desperate to feel him, not wanting to wait anymore, but you were quickly punished with a swift slap to your cheeks, and Roman's deep groan before he began tutting.

"Uh-uh. I don't think so, toots. You think you can get what you want that easily?"

You shook your head, fighting the urge to nod and piss him off further, knowing that riling him up would make for wilder sex, but would mean you had to wait longer for it.

"You gonna use your words?"

"No."

"No?"

Biting your lip to stifle the moan, you settled your breathing before giving him the answer he wanted.

"No, daddy."

"Good girl. Why can't you behave like that all the time, huh?"

It was out before you could stop yourself. A quick retort that made his cheeks warm, flushed with arousal and a little bit of rage at your insolence.

"Because you don't like it when I behave. You like it when I'm bad, Romy."

Two of his fingers pressed into you, rough and fast, surprising you with how easily he could slide himself inside of you. He tapped against your walls, watching you squirm around him, clenching and giggling as he orchestrated your building arousal. It was effortless, there wasn't much Roman couldn't do, and bringing you to orgasm with just the touch of his fingers was certainly something he could achieve. And he was close to doing so. As he growled, fingers pumping within your wet, warm cunt, you could feel your stomach muscles tightening, eyes closing as you felt your vision blur.

And then it was over. Everything grinding to a screeching halt, your moans devolving into a deep groan of confusion and irritation as you felt your climax being pulled away with the tips of his fingers as they exited your body, dripping in your slick.

With a pout, you turned to him, trying to catch his eye. You could hear his laugh in his throat, deep and cruel.

"And you like it when I'm bad, yeah?"