#but in her mind it's solicited

[fazcinatingblog]

My dad is the type of person who would say honey on toast is too bland so they've responded with:

[demonbarberofbeepbeep]

morning toddheads

[tastycitrus]

cassandra is actually her middle name. her full name is batgirl cassandra cain

[disteal]

So I haven’t talked about this on main before, but the situation in South Gaza has gotten so horrifying that I’m p much throwing caution to the wind to desperately plead for eyes on this. I’m raising awareness about stories from activists in Gaza right now, including one of our own.

My lovely, wonderful friend Swin (aka tumblr user @combaticon) was deployed as a volunteer medic to a Gaza hospital on the 9th.

When the bloodshed started, she heard they needed extra hands in Gaza, she spoke Arabic and had the training, and she went.

I’ve been in contact with her throughout. She’s so incredibly brave it takes my breath away. My heart bleeds for these children she’s taking care of and how resilient they are is… astonishing.

Swin and these poor people have been under siege for so long, and they’re in desperate need of critical supplies. They have to filter water through their clothes, and it’s getting dangerously cold. Foods finally been getting through, but there’s not enough blankets and jackets to go around and there’s no fuel for the generators.

Their comrades in the West Bank have been completely pushed out by settler thugs. It’s incredibly unsafe to even be doing humanitarian work for Palestinians. Remember this the next time a Zionist tells you they’re doing this to ‘feel safe’. The IOF is arming lynch mobs.

On a personal note, this has been the most gut-wrenching week of my life. Every day when I wake up without a text from her I feel so much fear. I fight back the grief but I don’t know how to help or what to do. It’s terrifying.

Swin has asked for nothing, absolutely nothing other than something it can show the people around it to make them feel like they’re not going to be abandoned. To make sure they’re not forgotten in some pit praying Rafah opens before Israel decides to slaughter them all.

Today was a bad day. She’s alive but beyond worrying about her privacy now; she’s asked me to share this and to beg that we not lose steam and forget about them. Please share this, and please keep being fucking annoying and loud and digging your heels in with fury because we cannot let these people die silently.

[Times of Gaza] [QUD network] [Eye on Palestine]

[link to GCC registration website as the link in this picture is broken]

Please keep in mind that the Global Conscience Convoy is NOT soliciting donations, and registration is to sign up for attendance to the actual event in Cairo. There’s a list of other actions you can do to boost awareness for their protest at Rafah on the website.

[nereidprinc3ss]

no sweeter innocence (than our gentle sin)

in which spencer reid is gentle with overwhelmed fem!reader after sex

18+ (fluff, implied intimacy) warnings/tags: it's just aftercare, but like psychological aftercare, implied intimacy duh, vague descriptions of sex but nothing explicit, hurt/comfort without the hurt, allusions to postcoital dysphoria, reader cries but its not really sad, spencer reid is so kind i wish men were real, i think that is all a/n: guess who wrote an entirely different thing instead of touching her wips..... AGAIN...... this bitch cant do anything omggg!! but this was based on a request so go me also what a strange time to be posting but it's only 1k words and nobody can stop me

“Hey. Are you with me, angel?”

You blink your eyes open in the dark room—reorienting yourself to the tangle of your bodies. How many minutes has it been?

“Hm?”

He chuckles—a quick huff from his nose as he brings a hand up to push hair from your face. 

“I asked you if you’re with me.”

It takes you a moment to answer. You’re still trying to make sense of where you are in space, each sensation coming back to you one by one—the weight and pressure of him against you, the slip of cotton sheets and a cool breeze from the cracked window over your heated sticky skin. 

“Oh.”

It’s not much of an answer and your voice is small. For a moment he lets it sit, cupping your warm cheek. Your eyes flutter shut again. His voice comes gentler, dipped in concern. 

“You okay?”

This time you don’t try to speak. Your tongue is like a lead weight in your mouth and your brain is running on dial-up. The best you can do is to cling to him, hiding your face in the curve of his neck and hoping he’ll understand that your firm hold on him is a request for him to tighten his own arms around you, until you’re sure you won’t float away. He reciprocates and it makes you feel more secure immediately. 

“Can you answer me?” He murmurs, all sweet solicitation, lips brushing the top of your head in this new airtight position. And then, a moment later— “Baby. I wanna hear your voice.”

“Mhm,” you manage. 

Spencer rewards you by rubbing your back in slow circles. His hand feels nice on your bare skin. The way you love him is too big for words. It could make you cry. 

“Wasn’t too much? You’re not hurting anywhere?”

You shake your head and try to ignore the ache in your bones when you can’t seem to get him close enough. 

“Mm-mm.”

It’s not entirely true—your legs are sore, but it’s nothing that needs tending to, and your lower back is a bit crampy, but he’s already working on that. 

He hums. “You’re pretty out of it, sweet girl. What’s going on with you?”

Spencer is always careful with you. He’d never hurt you, or sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure. That said, he’s just as passionate as you are. The stretch of your arms above your head is still fresh in your mind—the ghost of his grip, pressing your wrists into the mattress, or pushing your leg up, or pulling you exactly where he wanted you by the hips. It’s all wonderful, and you never feel safer than you do when you’re with him, but it doesn’t make you feel any less vulnerable, any less raw, after all is said and done. Maybe it’s precisely because you trust him so much that you’re so sensitive afterward. But he never, ever makes you feel bad for having an intense reaction to an intense experience. He always meets you where you’re at. That in itself makes you emotional. Spencer is different than any of the partners you’d had before. 

Again, he’s patient as you try to process his question and work up a response. Maybe a minute later, you’re breathing out something that feels true. 

“Overwhelmed.”

The word is a tap against glass you didn’t know was there until it’s fracturing like a spiderweb. With no warning, and for no good reason, you find yourself choked up. 

“Oh,” he says, sympathetic and drawn out as understanding sets in. “Do you need me to back off for a minute?”

You squeeze him even fiercer and shake your head, unable to stop the tears from drawing their shiny paths down your cheeks and sinking into the weave of the pillow case. 

“Shh. You’re okay,” he murmurs, quiet and slow and almost sing-songy as he smooths your hair, though you know he doesn’t really expect you to stop crying. “You’re okay, pretty. Remember what I said about all the hormonal shifts in your body after you come?”

Once more you nod against him with a small, shuddering sniffle. 

“And how sometimes your body regulates by crying? Kind of like a… a reset button?”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm.” He shifts from rubbing your back to tracing light lines in shapeless patterns with the blunt edges of his nails, and your breath catches before you’re melting in his hold. “It’s okay to have big or confusing feelings after sex. It’s actually really common. I just want you to be honest with me about those feelings, right? So we can keep you safe?”

“Right.”

“Would you tell me if you were hurting, or if something I did or said was bothering you?”

“Yes.”

If you were looking at him you know he’d be smiling ever so slightly at your monosyllabic responses, charting an upward path with his hand and pushing it through your hair at the nape of your neck. “You can just nod, baby. You don’t have to talk. I know you’re tired.”

You make a small noise of gratitude and nuzzle closer, feeling better as the tears slow, quickly as they’d come. 

“Do you want a bath in a little while?”

Another nod. He scratches at your scalp. “Okay. We’ll do a bath, and then dinner, and then I’m finally going to make you watch that documentary about Helvetica. It’s a little outdated, and there are a few basic errors about the origin and development of the font as well as misinformation about the typeface subgroup in general, but I can amend those as we watch and afterward we can read the director’s tenth anniversary statement. I was waiting to read it until we watched it together.”

Spencer knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’ll fall asleep ten minutes in, curled up on the couch under a blanket in your biggest hoodie with your head on his lap and his hand in your hair, just like this. 

He’s actually really looking forward to it.

[apomaro-mellow]

steddie falls into porn cliches on accident

Steve was in the middle of washing the conditioner out of his hair, loving the silky smooth feeling and watching the water turn from cloudy to clear as it was all rinsed out. He was ready to start washing his body in earnest now, when he heard the doorbell ring.

For a second, he was ready to just ignore it, thinking it might be a delivery or someone trying to solicit. They could leave whatever they had on the doorstep or keep moving. Then the bell rang a second time and Steve remembered that he was in fact supposed to answer it.

Robin had hired a plumber to fix their sink. She told him they'd be coming between 8 am to noon. Steve had gotten in the shower exactly at eight, thinking surely he had enough time in that window. What kind of plumber showed up this promptly!?

Steve turned the shower off and grabbed the first robe off the hook. It wasn't his, he knew that. But in his defense, Robin wasn't home and he liked to air dry when he could. She could get mad at him later for snagging hers. He tied it hastily, rushing to the door before the plumber left.

-------------------

Eddie waited for the door to be answered, checking his watch while he did. Today was his only appointment, so he thought he was doing well by showing up on the early end of the window. He was ready to spout the rehearsed script when the door opened. Good morning, Munson and Son Plumbing. You got a problem with your drain pipe? Well I'm here to fix it. Fun fact, I'm a guitarist, so I'm pretty good with my hands. Anyone you know looking for lessons?

His uncle didn't always like him plugging his side gig, but putting up posters around neighborhoods wasn't quite as successful as actual face time. Then the door fully opened and he got an entire eyeful. A dripping wet god of a man, his modesty just barely preserved in a bath robe. It did nothing to hide his thick, hairy thighs or impressive chest.

"Hi I'm here to handle your pipe!", Eddie blurted out. "I'm mean I'm good with my hands! P...plumbing! I'm the plumber, I'm here for your plumbing."

"Oh, y-yeah, we've been expecting you", Steve tried to close the top of his robe more and that made Eddie self conscious about staring.

Steve introduced himself and Eddie did the same as he was let into the house, somehow not putting his foot in his mouth as he did. Steve took him to the problem sink and Eddie got to work while Steve excused himself.

He went into his room, looking for something presentable only to find it was mostly his stuff for the club. Definitely not appropriate for a plumber visit. Then he remembered why. He had started a load of laundry last night. And when he woke up this morning, putting it in the dryer so it'd be ready once he was done with his shower.

He went to the laundry room to do just that, emptying the contents of the dryer into his hamper, bending over to do so. Once he was done, he'd be able to put together an outfit that didn't make him look like a desperate housewife.

Eddie had just finished tangling with the pipe. It didn't take as long as he had expected but his shirt was drenched now. He listened out for Steve, hoping he was nearby so that he didn't have to call for him, only to hear something...odd.

He followed the sound until he came to an open door and realized what the sounds were - little grunts of effort. Eddie bit his lip, letting logic and reason work themselves out. Steve knew he had someone in the house and the door was wide open so he couldn't be-

Eddie walked through the door and there was Steve, bent over, top half in the dryer, bottom half sticking out. His robe had began to hitch up, revealing just the bottom of that perfect ass.

"Holy shit", Eddie squeaked out.

"Hey? Plumber guy? I know this is awkward but would you mind helping me out? My robe got caught on something and I can't-I can't free myself."

"Um, okay? So should I just...should I just?", Eddie got behind Steve, hands fumbling. Should he adjust the robe or would that be rude?

"Just grab me and pull", Steve said, wriggling around more and stopping when he heard a rip.

"Yeah, okay, yeah I'll just", Eddie grabbed Steve's hips and pulled, to no avail.

"Gonna have to do it a bit harder than that", Steve said. "Here I'll, I'll try and push too."

Eddie swallowed as he pulled again, Steve's hips coming flush with his own and eliciting a gasp from the other man.

"A...again."

Eddie pulled again, harder this time. He had kind of been working with a half chub. The kind Steve had to feel right between his cheeks every time Eddie pulled on him.

Steve gasped with each time their hips came together and it was getting hard to pretend his asshole didn't flutter with each movement.

"Fuck, just fuck me already", Steve whined.

Eddie wasted no time in dropping his pants and rubbing his cock against Steve's ass, precum dripping and Steve still wet from the shower. The tip slipped in with ease and then the rest of him and Steve's hips wouldn't stay still and then he was fucking him oh shit he was fucking him he was fucking a client while on the clock.

Steve's voice sounded goddamn ethereal, echoing inside the tub of the dryer. He was giving as good as he got, pushing back with each thrust and Eddie got to watch his dotted cheeks jiggle with each impact.

Eddie pushed the robe up more, licking his lips as he was rewarded with the sluttiest back arch that he'd ever seen. He wasn't going to last and this Steve guy wasn't either. Eddie came first, one hand on Steve's hip and the other bracing itself on the dryer so that he didn't fall over. Steve's cock spilled into the floor, a mess to be dealt with later.

"Fuck...you really are good at handling pipes", Steve laughed through his panting.

When Eddie left that day, he didn't get Steve's number. But a week later their company got a call about a clogged toilet and specifically requested that Eddie come over, that they only trusted his expertise. This time, Eddie wouldn't let it slip through his fingers. And this time when Steve greeted him in a half open robe, it was on purpose.

[queenie-the-court-jester]

slumber party!

Yandere friend group x fem!reader

Tw: none that I can think of, reader is mentioned to have a childhood author randomly thought of, you can change it in your mind if you like. Not proofread 🌺

⭐you grew up with your friends, having known eachother since diapers! Your parents often left you in a daycare since they were busy with their jobs, and that's how you met Cassidy. A bright and cheerful girl, capable of lighting up a room with her toothy smile. When she saw you crying in a corner, missing your parents, she hastily snatched a couple of crayons and rushed over. Sitting next to you and holding out a pudgy hand, offering the red crayon.

"hi! I'm Cassidy! But you can call me cassie.. what's your name?"

🛍️ skipping a few years, you and Cassidy were in first grade. Obsessing over my little pony and worms, when suddenly you came across Michelle. A prickly girl you've known since kindergarten, but she was always too stuck up and bossy to ever get along with anyone. She held out a chocolate with a furrowed brow, looking flustered as she moved from side to side, the way your choir teacher hated

"can.. may i.. play with you, please..?" You swore you could hear your homeroom teacher cheering in the background

🎀it was 4th grade, you, Michelle and cassidy were in that ripe age where all boys were Icky and gross and had all types of nasty cooties. The constant squabbling and booger picking you'd see from the aforementioned solidly confirmed it. You spotted the new girl, Vivian getting harassed by the class weirdo, some Asian fetishizer. So you bravely stood up, walked over.. and tripped on your untied shoe laces, landing face first into the carpeted floor. Viv gasped and quickly rushed over to you, making sure you were alright before letting out a soft giggle

"you should be more careful.. you're y/n right? You have a very lovely name"

💀 7th grade, the emo and dragon ball z kids were making themselves known. You were laying on the classroom floor, resting your head in Vivian's lap as Michelle dangled a vine of grapes Infront of your mouth. Giggling when you obediently opened and bit one off. The giggling stopped and you opened your eyes to see a hot topic magazine boy standing over you all.

"hey! You on the other girls lap! You're my girlfriend now." "...what."

After the boy almost got his shit rocked by your scarily protective friends, you Introduced yourself "y/n" "kiross.." the girls were glaring daggers at him

💕 9th grade, you were starting to see a pattern, a new member of your group joins every few years. So you were preparing yourself mentally, all while Talking and suddenly turning around to walk backwards. Not noticing the boy you were just about to bump into. Your friends quickly rushed forward to try and catch your ass, but it was no use. You fell straight into.. a soft body. The boy you fell ontop of blinked owlishly, before realizing it was you and giving a devilish grin. surprisingly he looked hotter than most guys in your class

"haha, looks like god answered my prayers to send me an angel, my name's Alexis. Nice to meet you"

🔪12th grade came, soon you'd be free from the hell hole known as public high school. You clinged and sobbed in Cassidy's arms, only 6 more months to go. Whining something about not having a boyfriend, ignoring how offended kaiross looked. You dramatically fell to your knees and held your hands clasped together towards the sky, yelling that you wanted a hot hunk and you wanted him right now... Only for an incredibly heavy object to land straight into your back. Sending you both to the ground as the thing made a grunt. Looking up, you damn near had a nosebleed to see the hottest man you've ever seen, daichio

"ah.. sorry pretty girl, you okay down there?" "yeah.. more than okay.." "alright break it up! No soliciting"

⭐after daichio joined, tensions rose in the little friend haven. Vivian and Michelle would squabble over anything involving you, daichio would purposely provoke kaiross to a fight, alexis would pick on Cassidy for always being so close to you. Until you finally had enough. Giving them the biggest tongue lashing they ever had as you yelled at them to be normal people for once and get along

🛍️...maybe it would have been better if they kept fighting, because now they were a hive mind. After secretly talking behind your back, Daichio and kaiross were like your guards dogs since they had the most muscle. Cassidy was your right hand, Alexis being your tutor. Vivian was your emotional support human, and Michelle was your fashion critic and healthy lifestyle planner. You didn't really mind since now they stopped being little bitches and you had free unpaid workers like Kim Kardashian

🎀you didn't even realize when your group suddenly started gathering attention. Becoming the most popular in the span of a few weeks, how? You didn't know. And quite frankly you didn't want to know. You just wanted a partner, good grades and a scholarship. Looks like your getting all three. People often crowded around your table or desk, trying to get all buddy buddy with you. Just for a little recognition. Your friends were docile until, well, the confessions came rolling in. But that's another story

Fun facts:

Cassidy goes by she/them and is a very friendly person. Naturally, people confess to her everyday but she only has eyes for you, bisexual!

Michelle's mom is a cop, and her dad a businessman so she comes from a somewhat well off family. She likes to go on shopping sprees and gives you any clothes she doesn't want, a lesbian in denial

Vivian is soft spoken and shy, wherever you are rest assured she's close behind, pansexual

kiross is inlove with you and it's very obvious, it's just that nobody brings it up, he goes by he/them and bisexual

Alexis is very demanding, you could consider him a female version of Michelle. Sometimes mich gives him any clothes she doesn't want, pansexual!

Daichio is a playboy and is good friends with kameron, he speaks English, japanese and currently learning Spanish, straight asshole. BORINGG

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more words for characterization (pt. 3)

Mentality

abhorrence, absentmindedness, abstraction, ache, aggravation, agonize, alarm, allergy, amazement, angst, anticipation, apathy, assurance, attention, attrition, awe, bathos, behalf, belonging, bitterness, boast, bosom, breast, buoyancy/buoyance, capitulation, care, censure, cheer, clemency, cogitation, comfort, complex, compulsion, conception, confusion, consideration, constancy, content, contrition, corollary, credit, curiosity, darkness, decision, deference, delight, delirium, dementia, dependence/dependency, design, despair, difficulty, disaffection, discipline, discomfiture, discontent, discrimination, disinclination, disorder, disquiet, distraction, disturbance, dolor, dumps, ecstasy, elation, emotion, enjoyment, envy, esprit de corps, exaltation, excitement, exhilaration, expectation, exultation, fat city, felicity, firmness, fog, forbearance, foresight, forgetfulness, frame of mind, free will, fret, frustration, funk, fury, glee, gratification, grief, happiness, heart, heartbreak, heaven, hoopla, huff, humanity, humor, idiocy, impulse, indignity, insight, introspection, jealousy, joy, kick, lament/lamentation, letdown, levity, madness, mania, melancholy, merriment/merrymaking, mirth, monotony, mope, mortification, mourning, nausea, neglect, nervous breakdown, neurosis, objection, observance, obsession, optimism, outlook, panic, paroxysm, pathos, penance, perception, pessimism, pity, Pollyanna, pout, precognition, premonition, presence, psyche, push, qualm, rage, rapture, red herring, rejoice, repent, repose, resent, resignation, resolution, restlessness, ruckus, sadness, satisfaction, security, self-satisfaction, sensibility, sentiment, servitude, simmer, slump, solace, sorrow, soul-searching, status quo, strain, stress, surprise, sympathy, telepathy, temperament, tension, tolerance, torpor, trance, triumph, umbrage, unrest, vanity, waver, wonder, worry, zeal, zest

Attributes of Mentality: aback, absconder, absent-minded, absorbing, accustomed, affected, afraid, aghast, alert, amatory, angry, apathetic, apprehensive, assumed, attentive, averse, bad, beaten, believable, berserk, bewildered, bigoted, bleak, blue, breathless, broad-minded, brokenhearted, burning, captive, cautious, cheerful, chipper, clairvoyant, compassionate, concerned, confused, contemplative, contented, crabby/crabbed, crazy, cross, curious, daffy, dearly, dejected, delirious, depressed, desolate, desperately, disaffected, disbelieving, disconcerted, discontented/discontent, discouraging, disenchanted, disgusted, disillusioned, disinterested, dispirited, dissident, distressed, doleful, dotty, down, downcast, dumbfounded, elated, emotional, enamored, enraged, excited, exultant, fed up, firm, flushed, forgetful, forlorn, frenetic, frightened, fulfilled, furious, glad, gleeful, glum, grateful, grief-stricken, gut, half-baked, happily, hard, hard-boiled, harried, headstrong, heartsick, high, hopeful, huffy, hysterical, ill-tempered, impassioned, inattentive, inconsolable, indifferent, indiscriminate, insane, insecure, intent, interested, intoxicated, irate, irresolute, jaundiced, jovial, joyful/joyous, jubilant, keen, languid, lethargic, livid, lonesome, loony, low, lukewarm, mad, malleable, manic/maniacal, mental, mindful, mirthful, mixed-up, morbid, mournful, narrow-minded, nerveless, neurotic, new age, normal, numb, nuts/nutty, objectivity, observant, obsessed, off-guard, one-sided, on the fence, opposed/opposing, overjoyed, partial, pensive, pent-up, petrified, phlegmatic, platonic, pooped, predisposed, prepared, profound, provincial, psyched, psychological, pumped, punch-drunk, puzzled, rabid, radical, rapacious, realistic, regretful, restless, rigid, rueful, salacious, sanguine, saturnine, sectarian, self-assured, sensitive, sick, skeptical, small-minded, solicitous, sore, sorry, sound, spellbound, steady, strong, stupefied, sulky, susceptible, tearful, tender, testy, thirsty, thoughtless, tired, torn, tough, ugly, unbalanced, uncaring, uncommitted, undecided, unemotional, unfeeling, uninterested, unsound, untroubled, upbeat, versed, wacky, wary, weary, wide-awake, wishful, woebegone, wrathful, wretched

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary.

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary ⚜ Part 1 ⚜ Part 2

[thinemoonshine]

༄LECHE OF THE SIRENS.ೃ࿔*

corrupt!enhypen ot7 x siren!reader warning(s): those stated in the first chapter, jay is a two-faced ‘gentleman,’ he sleeps with (y/n), members are sexually frustrated, sunoo is growing more obsessed with (y/n) by the second, riki and jungwon make their appearance, (y/n) feeds to the nobles’ delusions to get what she wants, heeseung grovels type: mini series word count: 8.9k

(y/n)’s created a rift between them. she has sunoo wrapped around her finger and she who controls the puppeteer, controls the puppets—but she needs more. so, what better left to do than to subjugate the real genius behind the genius?

𝓟𝓐𝓡���� 2

𝒥ongseong stirs in his bed before he sits up, disgruntled from having his sleep interrupted and grumbles as he walks to his doors. Swinging them open, he's prepared to give the intruder a good earful but finds himself frozen instead upon seeing a timid (y/n).

Clad only in her nightwear—a white satin nightdress that reaches mid-thigh with snowy lace trims, its collar lower than the typical and exposing her cleavage that makes his eyes pop and the fabric is thin…almost sheer that his gaze struggles to remain still.

His blatant ogle makes the corners of her lips curl but they fall instantly as she takes a step forward.

"If you don't mind, would you like to accompany me for a cup of tea? I know it's unconventional seeing how this is past bedtime however, I have trouble sleeping from what transpired earlier on..." She starts quietly, voice in a whisper as if afraid to awaken any other as eyes draw figures onto the floor. Jongseong can see her gulping nervously before she lifts her gaze to him. "D-did I disturb your slumber?"

He recalls his irritation from having awakened from his rest and yet, he shakes his head as a cordial, gentle smile stretches onto his face. "No, of course not. I found myself engrossed in a book and have been awake for a while. Please, come in.”

She doesn’t miss the way he rakes his lecherous gaze up and down her figure as she walks past and as soon as she hears the door shut softly behind her, she knows she’s already won.

He manages to keep his genteel manner throughout their tea time—behaving solicitously, making a few lighthearted jokes to see her smile and giggle, pouring her tea for her—and acting like a true gentleman.

If only his eyes didn’t lower to her bosom whenever she would lean forward, or to her legs whenever she would cross them or even lick his lip when she would ‘accidentally’ spill tea from the corners of her mouth from abrupt sips or rushed tilts.

“You’re very kind, Jongseong. Don’t tell the others but I feel much more comfortable with you than I am with them,” she confesses bashfully and gosh, does the pink blooms on her cheeks fuel his hunger and his legs part wider below the table as he feels blood rush between.

With a soft, endearing chuckle, he envelopes her hand that rests on the table with his which makes her raise her eyes to him with surprise. Those glossy, naive doll-like eyes that he so desperately wants to see brimming with tears of pleasure—or fear. As long as it’s him causing it.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” he assures and she too, titters at his claim before her focus shifts to his hold. Slowly, she lifts it up, grasping it in hers before she touches the calloused pads of his fingers. He notices. How can he not when her touch is so feathery and warm? “Ah, the sword training and instruments I’ve played over the years left their marks.”

“Do they hurt?” She asks, voice wispy as she tenderly caresses the hardened skin. There is a sudden shift in atmosphere, tension rising and heat prickling at their skin as she looks up at him curiously, intently.

The noble lets out a ragged exhale. “No… Not at all.”

At this, a smile graces her face. “I’m happy to hear that.”

Kiss.

Jongseong’s eyes widen at the sudden intimacy—her lips against the pads of his fingers, one by one. Her actions slow, so deeply tender and pure—thus, his restraint snaps.

THUD!

His chair violently falls backwards at his abrupt rise and (y/n) finds herself pinned against the wall, tongue tangled with his.

Seong grunts into the heated kiss as he presses his clothed arousal against her before a guttural groan sounds when she reciprocates, bucking her hips forward at his advance.

By the time he pulls away, their faces are flushed and he revels in the way she shudders with desire. With lips swollen and red from his relentless presses and chews, he smirks darkly—lust clouding his eyes and rationality.

“Stop,” (y/n) rejects suddenly. Her hand against his chest as she holds him back and her shaky pupils refuse to meet with his. “We sh-shouldn’t be doing this. It’s inadequate.”

Jongseong looks down at her, his breaths hot and heavy as he feels his blood rush at her meekness. Her demureness excites him in ways he can’t comprehend. To see her trembling and panting as she struggles to remain still below his fervid gaze and yet flinches and melts into his every touch—she’s so innocent and delectable.

And to be the one to corrupt such purity—

He shivers with delight, grin widens and adrenaline courses through his veins like molten lava—igniting him from the inside out as his tongue wets his bottom lip.

“Shhh… There’s nothing to worry about,” Jongseong soothes, breath steaming against the shell of her ear and at her flinch, he almost lets out a moan of contentment. “I’m just trying to help you fall asleep.”

“How?” She asks, eyes blinking up at him with a curious twinkle and Seong brushes her hair away from her face. His gaze is affectionate, endearing and even when he kisses her forehead—so soft and loving.

If only he isn’t a corrupted man.

“I’ll show you, hm?” He starts with a charming, seductive lilt and his hand gradually climbs up her thigh with a searing touch. A glint in his sharp, clouded gaze as his lips pepper kisses to the side of her neck and down to her bust.

—

Riki watches the girl who has been the centre of his brothers' attention. It’s astounding honestly, how they’re all suddenly pursuing one girl with such enthusiasm he’s never seen before.

It almost makes them pathetic.

‘They are pathetic,’ Riki scoffs mentally and picks up a pebble off the garden floor before tossing it to the defenseless girl.

She jumps when the stone grazes her arm but quickly turns to its source. Her head tilts with confusion once seeing Riki exiting through the garden's archway to her. “Do you need something?”

“I require an explanation,” the other casually replies. His sharp eyes wander up and down her figure before cocking up a brow. “You. What sorcery have you casted on my brothers for them to act like mindless mutts?”

She puts a hand on her chest, taken aback. “Sorcery? I don’t comprehend.”

He scoffs, cynical. "Of course, you wouldn't. A witch would not simply confess to being one."

"Witch...?" (y/n) repeats, now fully understanding his insinuation. "I'm sorry but, I fail to see why you would assume such a thing.”

Riki says nothing, only continuing to glower at her before turning his face away. As much as he wishes to demand for answers, to treat her just as he treats any other disposable being to get what he wants, he can’t.

The news of Jaeyun and Sunghoon almost being permanently removed from Sunoo’s residence have spread like wildfire so Riki knows better than to touch the host’s most prized possession.

He exhales heavily, irritated before taking a big step towards the girl—instantly looming over with his chest near her face. He looks down vainly before he brusquely grasps her face in his large hand, eliciting a squeak from her. “I will find out what it is that you have up your sleeves, wench. And when that time comes, trust that you will be discarded to the streets, left to rot in your worthless, deplorable self.”

A heavy, abrupt silence engulfs them. The air stills and not a single leaf nor flower is dancing, neither the slightest rustle. The chirping birds have strangely quietened and even the clouds have shifted to cloak the sun—dimming the previously sunny and cheery ambience of the morning.

(y/n)’s brows knit as her previously apprehensive gaze sharpens to a glare of antipathy. The rims of her eyes red as her pupils stare dead into his, unwavering, unafraid as her soft, amicable aura seems to thicken into something completely different.

Hateful and…baneful.

Riki would be lying if he said he isn’t the slightest bit daunted.

So he lets her go.

“You disgust me,” he hisses before leaving the scene with long strides.

(y/n) stares at his furthering back, hands clenched to her sides as her patience thins by the second. It’s taxing to be entertaining these rambunctiously revolting and uncouth men. It’s easy when they’re at sea, her home, where she has the advantage.

But here, on land, her powers are weakened and she needs to play her cards right to ensure none would escape before she can finish them off. As vexing and laborious as it is, the result is always satisfying. To see them slowly meet their demise—crying and begging for mercy. A truly picturesque view.

“Lord Riki!” She calls and he hears her nimble footsteps chase after him before her figure stands in front to halt him. He raises a brow irritatedly. “I heard you and Sir Jungwon are commendable in the arts of dance. If you don’t mind, would you…aid me with my ballroom choreography?”

The noble scowls distastefully. “Do you not have Sunoo hyung for that?”

“He’s been busy as of late—taking care of the household and whatnot,” (y/n) explains briefly and looks up at him with the most sweetest of gaze and loveliest of smiles yet simultaneously pitiable as to gain his favour. “But if you’re unavailable, I can ask the his grace Jungwon.”

Riki’s sharp eyes scrutinize her mien and his furrow deepens at the entirely juxtaposing image he sees. Was the air of hostility she felt around her before a figment of his imagination?

He hates to leave things unsettled. So what else to do then to investigate?

“Alright, I will supervise you,” he agrees and the grin that stretches on her face unexpectedly makes his heart skip a beat. That genuine look of relief and delight is an expression rarely graced unto him. Infamous for being callous and pompous, it’s obvious that he won’t receive much…liking from others. They tend to deviate from him without giving him a chance to even speak but of course, he cares not. After all, he’s much better and grand than everybody else.

“Then, I shall see you in the ballroom!” The girl chirps and with a curtsy, she rushes away—long skirt flowing behind her in soft waves, akin to flower petals gently swaying in the wind.

Riki stares, his gaze transfixed and he swallows thickly as he takes note of his rapidly beating heart.

He can’t deny, she glows.

Meanwhile, in the main lounge are the mindless mutts—as per Riki’s words—who are enjoying their time together with rounds of billiard and glasses of expensive wine.

TACK!

Jaeyun strikes a ball and exhales a heavy breath through the nose after hearing their oldest’s query. He straightens his posture. “I’ve told you time and time again that my invitation was purely because I wished to ease her worries. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Heeseung scoffs, skeptical. “As if you could have innocent intent. I say you were hoping to win her favour and perhaps even entry to her private chamber.”

A scoff emits from the second older and they turn to Jongseong who’s swirling his cold beverage inside his crystal glass, watching it with a dreamy expression and a drunken grin.

“What’s with him? He’s been acting like this since morning,” Sunghoon asks, brows knitting at their brother’s weird behaviour. “It’s like he’s got his head in the clouds.”

Heeseung crosses his arms. “He looks strangely…blissful. What kind of ‘medication’ did you take this time?”

“Hm?” Seong raises a brow before shaking his head. That same, loopy grin still on his face as he sets down his glass onto the round table. “There’s no medication. Is it a crime for a man to simply be happy?”

Now all three are casting puzzled yet judgmental looks to him before they return to their game—which becomes instantly interrupted when he speaks his next words.

“Although I must say, this elation is all thanks to a certain, breathtaking maiden. Oh, such a sweet little vixen, she is,” he chuckles before inhaling the contents of his glass within a breath. “Truly the best I’ve ever had.”

“What??” They all blurt, almost in harmony and Heeseung strides to the intoxicated man before seizing his collar.

“What do you mean by that?” Hee asks with blatant frustration and at the other’s lovesick giggle, he tightens his grip. “Tell me!”

Knock, knock.

The other two momentarily shift their focus to the door but finds themselves mesmerized upon seeing the girl that enters with a tray of biscuits in hand.

She smiles brightly but it drops after seeing the unfolding scene. “Wh-what’s happening here?”

Heeseung and Jongseong turn at the sound of her voice and the former lets go to which the latter instantly flees to embrace the girl from behind.

His arms tight around her waist as he buries his nose into her hair, inhaling her scent and basking in her warmth that makes shivers crawl up and down his spine. Memories from last night replay in his head which instantly builds a tent in his trousers. “Hi, darling~”

His friends watch as the girl’s face flush deeply and widened eyes dart across each and every one of them before she wriggles away from the drunken noble’s hold.

“I-I heard you all were spending time in the lounge and prepared some snacks,” she says quickly with a clear of her throat, completely disregarding Jongseong’s inappropriate conduct.

Jaeyun is the first to step forward and takes the baked goods from her with his own grin. His face is radiant with joy and appreciation. “Thank you. We’ll make sure to enjoy them.”

Sunghoon nods and hand reaches out to grab one—humming with eyes turning rounder and brows raised to show his awe. “I am impressed. Did you make these on your own?”

The girl’s cheeks mantle with shyness as she bobs her head subtly. “I hope you don’t mind. I know that my skills are still lacking compared to others.”

Heeseung suddenly holds her hands in his before raising them up to press his warm, plush lips onto them. A handsome smile stretches and he gazes at her adoringly while thumbs caress her skin. “Anything made by these gentle, loving touch of yours is bound to be nothing short of perfection.”

His friends roll their eyes at his nauseating flirtatiousness and truthfully, (y/n) is repulsed by it too. If it wasn’t for the other presences in the room, she would have hissed at the man who’s so brazenly grasping her hands. He knows that, thus why he chooses to be so openly ‘affectionate.’

She smiles patiently which shifts his grin to a smirk at her defeat but his victory is short-lived due to a blotto Jongseong pulling her away and into his chest.

“Stop flirting with my woman!” He slurs with a drowsy glare at the older. He then, turns the girl around to face him before smashing his lips onto hers—eliciting large gasps and imbuing overflowing displeasure within the other three.

“What are you doing??” Sunghoon roars and roughly yanks the maiden away. His grip is forceful, enough to leave a bruise and judging from that itself, it’s clear to her that he doesn’t care about her being assaulted by Jongseong.

He’s merely a greedy, bitter boy whose shiny new toy was stolen.

(y/n) wishes nothing more than to sink her teeth into his flesh and tear a large enough hole just to see him bleed an excruciatingly slow death.

But she musn’t.

“Sunghoon, I’m fine…” She quietly says into his chest as she’s crushed tightly against it and Hoon looks down at her, brows knitting before he lifts his head back to the older. Wrath flashes across his face.

“I would have you reported to Sunoo if it isn’t for the fact that I’m already walking on eggshells in this residence,” he hisses with pure disdain before letting his gaze fall onto the girl once more. The second time, he notices the swell and small cut on her lip—a sight much too familiar for him who’s spent many passionate nights with women.

“You…you slept with her? Is that why you’ve got your nose to the skies?”

Jongeong snickers, a sneaky, smug sound as he nods with droopy eyes. “And she’s absolutely amazing. Such a wonderful performer, it made me think she’s a sinful little devil-” He pauses to set his intoxicated gaze onto the furiously flushed girl—reaching out but Sunghoon takes a step back with her. “Behind an angel face.”

Hearing his words, to listen and have his suspicions confirmed verbally, Heeseung feels an indescribable…rage bubble within him. It starts from his chest—boiling and steaming and reaching his head, inevitably causing him to burst.

“Hyung!” Jaeyun shouts in alarm when their oldest brother pounces on Jongseong, instantly straddling him onto the tiles before throwing fist after fist onto the younger’s sharp visages.

The drunken Jongseong is too blotto to properly defend himself and ends up bleeding from the nose and mouth—Heeseung’s ruthless blows proving to be not only quick but fatal too.

Sunghoon quickly spins on his heels, shielding (y/n) from witnessing the gruesome scene yet makes no attempt to calm the fight—neither does Jaeyun.

Because despite not taking an active part in turning Seong into a pulp, they both feel indiff—no, delighted and relieved to see him being bruised and battered.

After all, how dare he? To touch (y/n) when they themselves haven’t? How dare he attempt to covet her on his own?

How dare he let himself be greedy, even when all of them are too?

Unfortunately for them, their entertainment is cut short by the entrance of another noble, one whom (y/n) have been awfully keen on meeting.

“What is the meaning of this?” Jungwon asks with a stiffness and volume that suggest composed authority.

He needs not to shout. The power he holds is enough to subjugate the nobles, to mute their voices and bind their movements.

The abrupt silence is deafening and (y/n) listens to the only sound heard—Sunghoon's rapidly beating heartbeat. He's nervous, scared of Yang Jungwon. They all are.

And the knowledge of that makes the corners of her mouth lift and body shiver with thrill. He's here, the master puppeteer she needs.

Sunghoon feels her tremble, misunderstanding it as a sign of fear and his arms encase her further—hoping to comfort her whilst also quelling his own anxiety.

Jungwon arches a brow, a look of displeasure formed as his tongue runs across his right molars. "Why the abrupt quietness? Where did all that vigor go, hyungs?"

Heeseung clears his throat as he reluctantly frees Jongseong's collar from his forceful grip, leaving him sprawled and wounded on the floor. "It is nothing. Just...a small disagreement."

Won runs a scrutinizing gaze up and down his figure before at the others who divert their eyes away from the noble of higher ranking and finally, his stare fixes onto the girl securely held in Hoon's toned, muscular arms. "Why is she here?"

"She just stopped by to deliver us refreshments," Jaeyun chimes and gestures to the tray of biscuits. "She has nothing to do with the argument."

"You do know that if Sunoo hyung were to discover of this, you and Sunghoon hyung would be in a position much precarious than you already are, don't you?" Won asks and the older nods meekly. "Then why do I see neither of you attempting to cease the fight?"

The mentioned two grow stiff at this, both their mind and body as they're unable to muster up a logical and excusable reason.

How can they say that the reason they did nothing is because they were jealous of Jongseong? That they wanted him to be maimed to the point of no return for touching what is theirs? Of course, they each have a twisted and different belief regarding their ownership of (y/n)—each thinking that they are more deserving of (y/n) than the other.

It's laughable.

"She should not be here. Sunoo hyung will only grow more agitated than he already is if he were to find out," Jungwon sighs out exasperatedly and turns to the girl, a hand reaching out to her. "Come with me. I'm sure the maids have gone to inform the host of this...shameful and disappointing occurrence. It's best that you are absent when he comes to check."

(y/n) stares at his palm, wordless and expression ambiguous. To get a man with a character like Jungwon, what is the best approach?

Should she be unconditionally obedient and bend to his every whim? Or should she be rebellious—denying and challenging his overwhelming authority that he so very much holds pride in?

Then again, why not both?

She accepts his hand, sliding hers onto it with the softest of touches and just when Jungwon's victorious grin begins to form and fingers start to curl around hers, she pulls away.

His face falls instantly as he brings his rounded, confused eyes to the girl who's now clutching onto Sunghoon's arm like a fearful feline—much to Sunghoon's pleasure, if he is to be honest.

"How am I meant to trust and follow you? I don't know who you are," (y/n) says with deep skepticism as well as a light furrow, a striking difference to the others who wear miens of shock and fright.

Did she just say she does not recognise Yang Jungwon? The son to the prestigious, mighty noble family only second in line of power aside from royalty? If it was any other person, their head would be flying with a swing of a sword and body burnt at stake for all to see as a fair warning.

Sunghoon quickly grapples her shoulders as he looks down to her with widened, frantic eyes before back at the younger yet more prominent figure in high society. "It seems she has not been thoroughly educated seeing as how she is still ignorant to the knowledge regarding the aristocracy. It seems Sunoo has been too occupied with his household responsibilities to acquire her a tutor."

Jaeyun and Heeseung both nod their heads in agreement while Jongseong remains sprawled and inert on the floor, unconscious from their oldest's aggression.

Jungwon shifts his sharpened gaze from Hoon to the others, seeing the panic and plead for his mercy—a shocking display as their desperation is not for themselves—but for the girl who, unlike the others, remain composed and still as she stares right at him. So bold and reckless. His brows knit but he quickly clears his throat before straightening his posture with a deep breath.

"Of course, she is not to blame," he says with strained politeness. "My name is Yang Jungwon, second son of the renowned Yang Ducal Family. I am also a childhood friend of the host, your saviour, Kim Sunoo. Will this be ample enough of information for you to deem me trustworthy for now?"

All eyes dart to the lone maiden who continues her silence for a good few seconds before finally, slipping away from Sunghoon's reluctant grip to approach Jungwon.

No other words are exchanged with the others as the two stride out the room, arm in arm, with the noble guiding her away.

"Tell me, (y/n)," Jungwon starts without so much as a glance to the addressed. "What prompted for such an argument to transpire?"

His beautiful dark eyes trail towards the girl and he sees her reticence from her nervous blinks and bite onto her bottom lip. A smug grin stretches to reveal his dimple as he now triumphs in his success of unnerving her who was previously so brazen.

"It is merely a drunken fight. Jongseong have had a little too much to drink and Heeseung sought to quell his outbursts. The others were afraid that their intervention would lead to more troubles thus why they remained at the sides," (y/n) answers while deliberately avoiding the main reason for the fight: her. "It is just that."

Undoubtedly, Jungwon is not fooled. He has been friends with those rotten nobles for as long as he can remember to know that Jongseong is not one to have violent drunk habits. Something, or someone, must have caused such a chaos. "Is that so? I take it that there is no reason for you to lie to me but I can't help from wondering if it truly is as simple as you say."

"As you have said, there is no reason for me to be untruthful," (y/n) concurs.

"Agreed. So why do I feel as though you are hiding something from me?" He accuses. The teasing yet, predatory cadence of his tone acting as a warning—an indirect but clear message for her to tell him the full story or there will be consequences.

And yet, she manages to shock him once more with her response. Turning her head to him, her brows knit and stare hardens enough to reveal a sliver of her displeasure. "Why are you so eager to know? What benefit will it bring for you? It has passed and you will not be able to change anything even if you were to discover what caused it."

Jungwon grins upon noticing the falter of facade. The past few days he has seen her, she was always so gentle, sweet—a truly angelic soul but he knows better. To be able to effectively have his brothers wrapped around her dainty fingers—to have them begging for her, to have them pursue and continue to with unwavering interest—she needs to be more than just a naive, kind soul. She needs to be smart. Manipulative. And maybe even...twisted as they are, in a way, if not more.

"I merely am curious. There is no sin in that, is there?" He sings after, almost in a purr as delight fills him at her new character.

Their gazes are fixed, boring into one another and her rosy lips part to speak.

"Curiousity kills the cat."

"But, I am not a cat."

"True, however-" she starts and her scrutinizing gaze wanders his face, tracing his features with silent judgement before her lips pull to a small smile—surprising him. "You look like one. A cat."

His smug, confident thoughts turn silent at this, upturned eyes falling back to their original shape and jaw tightens.

What does she mean by that? Was that...a threat? Was she, in a way, warning him not to pry further or an impending doom will follow? She?

Insignificant she?

Worthless, untitled and nameless she?

How mindless. Brazen. Irritatingly... amusing. So very entertaining, it leaves him wanting to see more.

"I believe this is far enough. Thank you for your company and care, your grace," (y/n) suddenly says and he takes note of the lack of frigidity and impishness that she portrayed before—now returned to carry that air of naivety and sweet innocence as she bows politely. "Until we see each other again."

And with that she departs without a single glance back or hesitation and Jungwon finds himself transfixed until her figure disappears around a corner.

He gasps quietly, unaware of his own behaviour and clears his throat before hasting away to the other direction.

Meanwhile, (y/n) grins to herself as she recalls his diverse expressions in her head. Jungwon's so easily taken aback and rattled for such a renowned aristocrat. That's the thing with powerful people—so accustomed to others giving them their unconditional respect and bending to their every will that they sometimes forget that there are those who will not be subservient as how they expect them to be.

That there are others who can choose to challenge their authority and it riddles the nobles sometimes, unable to properly react and believe such truth.

Truly, the only naive and ignorant here is Yang Jungwon himself.

—

Riki stands outside the ballroom with his hand holding the handle in contemplation.

Is this the right choice? Or is it just a waste of time? It brings him no advantage whatsoever to find out more about her. After all, even if he were to discover that (y/n) is not as pristine as she is and instead, a vile, wicked with Riki believes her to be, none of his brothers will trust him.

With them being so enraptured by the girl, they'll simply think he is telling fibs, giving no weight whatsoever to his words.

Still, Riki finds himself pulling the door open since he is in fact, already at the agreed venue. But he doesn't expect to be so quickly paralyzed—not of fear, no, but more of...mesmerized by her beauty—within one foot in.

There, within the massive, empty ballroom is the dancing maiden who is adorned in soft fabric of silky white and a sheer white scarf that she uses as a prop.

Holding it in her hands, she performs immaculately as she hums an eerie yet, mystical tune that echoes within the four tall walls of the chamber—resounding and hypnotising like a siren's song.

Every single sway, bend and twirl are executed with perfection, with elegance and precision that rivals those that are already masters at choreography. Her hair flows and drapes beautifully alongside the thin fabric that she grasps in her hands—as if able to control their movements and they wave and float so gracefully that Riki's certain she must have used a kind of sorcery.

Her movements are akin to the flow of water. Sometimes slow and calm and yet so sharp and fierce at others however, they all blend so seamlessly. She not only is a virtuoso in the arts of dance, but she herself, is the masterpiece.

Riki's plush lips part as he breathes deep and slow. His sharp eyes widened slightly as she stares at her with pure awe. She glows. She undeniably is otherworldly.

"Riki?" Her soft voice echoes when she speaks and even the sound itself is spellbinding to him. He remains still as she approaches him who's still standing at the door and (y/n) tilts her head with subtle bemusement. "Why have you not entered yet? Come."

Unalike his previous hostility to the girl, he continues to be silent and relenting when she gently holds his hand to bring him further into the room.

She uses no force whatsoever as his feet seem to move on their own.

"Will you guide me?" (y/n) asks and looks up at him whose gaze has never once left her from the very moment he stepped into the ballroom. "Sunoo says that to learn ballroom choreography and etiquette is of most importance. Unfortunately, with him so busy with his responsibilities, I have not been able to sharpen my dance."

Riki says nothing at first and his hand naturally finds its way to her waist, momentarily surprising her before his other hand leads one of hers to rest on his shoulder. "I shall help you."

And that he does.

His change in character takes (y/n) aback. She did not expect him to be so easy to tame when he was so adamant against her before. But it seems to her know that he's merely a young lord desperate for the love and attention he is so deeply deprived of.

And there's nothing more fun to (y/n) than to indulge in his simple little wishes to gain his trust and affections, to make him lean on her and to be the first he searches for in times of need—just to completely vanish. Oh, how delicious his agony will be for her.

"Thank you for teaching me," (y/n) says after they've finished their lesson and Riki, like for the most of their time together in the ballroom, remains silent and only nods. "You do have commendable skills in choreography.”

Riki’s heart skips a beat at her compliment paired with that little cheeky smile that she wears and he has to momentarily move his eyes away, hiding his shyness.

(y/n)’s smile widens at this, finding delight at his crumbling walls but then a knock at the door steals their attention.

A maid bows to a perfect angle, hands on her centre abdomen before she stands back up straight. “Madam (y/n), Lord Sunoo have asked for your presence in his study.”

Riki furrows at this as mild jealousy imbues. It’s unfair how Sunoo is the only one allowed to summon (y/n) whenever and wherever he wants. But the younger quickly pushes the thought away at the realization that he’s beginning yo hold affection for the girl.

“Thank you for telling me. I shall make my way soon,” (y/n) replies and the servant bows again before departing, leaving (y/n) and the noble alone once more. “Thank you once more for being such a patient tutor. I will show you my gratitude some other day soon.“

‘Patient?’ The word echoes in the noble’s mind. Such a rare praise for him to be graced upon.

He focuses back to the girl when she offers a small curtsy before rushing the door with nimble, soundless steps. It still amazes him how she can seem to levitate.

The door swings open in her hold but she stops just as it widens to a gap wide enough—turning around to smile at him and eyes scintillate.

“You have very warm and gentle hands, Lord Riki. It seems I was wrong to believe you were a completely stoic and cold figure,” she comments lastly and throws in a small, soft chuckle before finally slipping through the space.

Riki stands still, dumbfounded and heart races fervently in his chest. He looks down at his shoes as his adam apple bobs in his throat, nervously swallowing at the realization of what’s becoming of him.

What’s blooming within him for (y/n).

And so he wears a mien of displeasure, rejecting the idea as he approaches the doors. ‘Preposterous.’

But the blush that dusts his cheeks tell no lie.

It doesn’t take long for (y/n) to arrive at Sunoo’s study and the moment she entered, she’s instantly wrapped within the warm embrace of his arms.

“I missed you. I missed you so dearly, so much,” he whispers earnestly against her head before pressing a long, affectionate kiss on her temple. “The days without your presence felt so long and torturous. I felt my sanity fleeting.”

(y/n) can’t help the giggle that emits and she reciprocates his touch with one of her own—caressing the back of his head as her fingers play with the hair tickling his nape.

Her voice is pure music to his ears, the most melodic of tunes and he purrs—nuzzling deeper into her hair and pressing her tight against his bod. The warmth from her figure makes him melt and he brings them to the couch whilst still intertwined.

Sitting her on his lap, Sunoo rests his hand on her thigh while the other gently combs through her hair that drapes down her back.

“Is your work finished?” (y/n) asks, looking at him who gazes at her with oozing endearment.

He nods, meeting her eyes and pupils dilate as his heart swells with overflowing adoration for the girl. “Finally. Now, I can spend my days with you without interruption.”

The air in the room feels light and almost infused with a sort of aromatherapy the moment she entered, untangling every knot in his exhausted muscles and fogging his brain to the point of blissful dumbness.

His eyes see nothing but her, ears hear nothing but her and mind thinking of her and only her. He’s consumed by her in every possible manner and he will not have it any other way.

“Why do you look at me like so?” (y/n) asks and lifts her hand to cup his cheek which he leans himself further into.

“Like what?”

The girl begins to stroke his cheek and he shudders at the feeling, a shaky sigh leaving past his rosy lips at the delightful sensation he has craved for so long.

“As if… you would lay down your life for me,” she finishes and he almost snorts at her words—not of ridicule, but of amusement that she only thinks it. At this point, he thought he has made it clear enough for her to know that he will.

That he will lay down his life, his everything, if it meant that it is for her.

“(y/n), I have surrendered to you, body and soul,” Sunoo declares without a single pinch of hesitation and he wraps his fingers around her arm softly before pressing his lips onto the inner wrist.

The sensation is warm and an unfamiliar fuzziness erupts from the girl’s chest and travels to every end of her limbs. Especially so when Sunoo’s other hand cups her chin and their eyes meet. “I’ve grown to love you, (y/n). So deeply and so intently, that I now see no future without you in it. If you were to disappear, I will, with no doubt perish.”

His words ignite something within the siren and her deep, searching eyes spark with an enigmatic quality.

The silence in the room is deafening aside from their soft exhales and inhales. The atmosphere begins to shift from wholesome lightheartedness to a tantalizing provocativeness.

Sunoo’s breaths hitch when (y/n)’s gaze flickers to his lips and he stills—hands resting on his sides now curling into the cushions they sit on and heart beating rapidly in its cage, almost as if it aims to break from its confines.

“(y/n),” he mewls after a while of inertia from the other, the suspense beginning to kill him as his throat dries and body trembles with need. “(y/n)…”

The girl titters warmly at his desperation, finding him absolutely lovely as he quivers ever so slightly under her and knuckles turned white from his fierce clutch on the couch.

She can’t deny him any longer—leaning forward to his lips and he meets her halfway eagerly.

A choked moan escapes him at the contact and his arms tremble as they lift to wrap around her waist. Pretty long lashes flutter as his eyelids close to relish in the moment, in her.

He gasps into the kiss when her tongue darts between his lips to explore his mouth and his brain nearly goes into short circuit, almost shutting down from the amount of pleasure and bliss he’s being filled with.

(y/n) smiles against him—hand trailing from around his neck down to his chest which causes his bod to flex and tighten in response and he whimpers when feeling her fingers trace the waistband of his trousers.

Despite being so out of breath, he refuses to pull away and (y/n) has to lean herself back just so they’d separate—immediately gaining a whine of disappointment from the noble.

“You’re so beautiful…” (y/n) praises, voice wispy and Sunoo groans with contentment at that. His pupils are blown out and they’re especially visible due to the honey tone of his foxy eyes and it fills the siren with satisfaction. “My beautiful, sweet boy…”

Her words only feed to his hunger and he’s back to chasing after her lips—prodding his nose against her cheek as he pants, craving for her taste once more yet fearful to do so without her permission.

“I’m yours, all yours,” he breathes out in feeble yet heavy mewls as his lips latch onto her shoulder, kissing every exposed surface to satiate his fervent hunger for her.

(y/n) hums and she pulls him closer, eliciting an excited moan from the lad who instantly begins to savor everything of her. Burying his nose in the crook of her neck and licking stripes of her skin—he’s addicted to her.

He lowers her onto the couch with slow, gentle motions, letting her head rest on the pillowy armchair as he sandwiches her into the couch. A soft grunt escapes him at the pressure against his hardened core and (y/n) notices instantly—feeling the stiffness as he instinctively bucks his hips forward.

Sunoo bites his lip in panic and face mantles with shame. "I-I'm sorry. I just..."

He quietens at (y/n)'s soothing shushes as her hand gently strokes his back, causing him to quiver more violently than before.

"It's alright, Sunoo. You’re alright," she assures and she lifts her head slightly, letting her lips graze the shell of his ear to which he mewls at. "Use me."

At her permit, his eyes widen briefly but soon after, he finds himself moving—frantic and desperate—and rutting against her like a poor dog.

(y/n) grins at this, whispering sweet nothings into his ear which easily drives him over the edge and eyes roll to the back of his skull as his jaw falls slack—letting out pretty little sounds and chanting her name like a mantra.

So utterly pathetically lovely.

—

That night.

Heeseung sits on the couch in his room. His bottom lip is captured between his teeth as he chews on it contemplatively, eyes drift left to right between rapid blinks and he lets out deep exhale.

Should he tell Sunoo about Jongseong sleeping with (y/n)? If he does so, then Jongseong will obviously face punishment—which Heeseung hopes to be dire enough so he can never meet with the girl ever again—and that will obviously benefit him in pursuing (y/n). One less rival to worry about.

However, it is also a risk. Sunoo has been noticeably volatile as of late, and (y/n) seems to be a constant catalyst for it. His attention and senses are piqued whenever it concerns her and even just letting her name roll off his tongue might bring unfavourable consequences.

A groan leaves his throat and his head falls against the couch, weighty from the stress.

But he wants to rid off Jongseong. The fact that the latter's already spent a passionate evening with (y/n) when she's still guarded around him shows how greatly disadvantaged he is. And even more so with (y/n) seeming to have a personal level of dislike with him.

Knock, knock.

A frustrated sigh escapes as he drags himself to the door and opens it with a harsh swing.

"You seem distressed. Would it be presumptuous of me to think it involves me?" (y/n) asks with a brow raised and tone mocking.

Heeseung stands stiff with doe eyes widened in surprise at her unexpected visit, especially at such a scandalous hour. "No... I-I was thinking of you."

"Your honesty is endearing," she coos and strides into the room without bothering to ask for his permission. She sits herself onto the edge of his bed and crosses her legs and arms—eyes darting to him a and she furrows. "Would you rather have a servant see me in your chambers at this unholy hour? Close the door."

The owner of the room does as ordered, careful to ensure that it's securely locked before approaching the girl who's so casually waiting for him.

It unnerves him somehow—how he's the one anxious and jittery at being in one same room with the maiden despite it being his own. Not to mention the clear power dynamic between them, her being supposedly more subservient and meek.

The realisation of that irks him now and his fingers curl to form fists at his sides.

"What brings you here?" He asks directly, stoic and stern to feign control.

"To ease your worries," (y/n) replies sweetly and Heeseung's hair rises at it—both aroused and yet fearful of how angelic she can sound despite the wicked slyness that lies within.

He gulps. “Wha…What do you mean?”

“I’ll give you the answer to your questions: don’t.”

The noble furrows with confusion at this before finally understanding what she means, plush lips parting in awe before it tilts to a condescending smirk—brow arching as a scoff escapes. “And why should I heed your words?”

(y/n) stares and shakes her head softly. “It is simple a suggestion. If you wish to go against it then do so. However, I cannot assure you that you would remain untouched.”

Her ambiguous statement makes him tilt his head and she continues. Leaning back with her arms by her sides to prop her figure, she too drops her head slightly backwards to look up at him.

“Do you know why Sunghoon was almost removed from the property?” She starts and Heeseung shakes his head, belatedly realizing that they’ve only truly heard the full story of Jaeyun but not the younger lad. “It is because he offered a proposition to Sunoo—to transfer me to a corrective facility to fix my ‘insanity.’ As solicitous and gracious as it is, why do you think Sunoo was so negative towards it?”

Hee frowns, growing more puzzled at her riddle and what she is leading to, only able to shake his head side to side.

“Simply, it is because he interpreted it as Sunghoon trying to steal me away. It is the same with Jaeyun where he understands his little act of defiance as him coveting me, to attempt to win my affections. So you see, dear Sunoo perceives all of you as his enemies. You are no exception,” (y/n) finishes and Heeseung stumbles backwards at her abrupt rise.

Taking small steps forward which leads to his retreat, the back of his knees eventually touch the cushions of his couch before ultimately stumbling onto it. He gasps when (y/n) climbs atop him—legs straddling his lap as she cages his head between her hands that rest on the seat’s header.

“You’re a smart boy, are you not?” She taunts and despite it meaning to be of insult to him, he finds himself perking—heart racing and breaths hitching in anticipation and want. “Then, I believe you will make the right choice, Heeseung.”

The mention of his name with her tongue makes him eager, wishing to hear it more and more and his hand travels upwards to gently hold her arm. “At least, tell me why. Why are you so against me telling Sunoo? Will it not be more favourable for you to have me removed—seeing as how you don’t seem to very wlecoming of me? Or do you hold so much affection for Jongseong that you fear having him separated?”

Saying it aloud pierces a shard into his chest.

'She does not hold any affection for me. She does not... want me.'

The reminder of that pains him so even when he tries his hardest to reject it. He refuses to succumb, to be defeated and crushed by the weight of this disappointment and grave hurt but with every passing second, it only grows.

He thought his feelings for (y/n) was mere infatuation—short-lived and cheap obsession, something that will dissipate within a few days—but it's clear now that what he feels is much more real and complex than he ever expected.

Heeseung truly likes her. He's besotted, enamoured and it's excruciating to know that his feelings will never be reciprocated.

"What are you saying?" (y/n)'s airy, enchanting voice distracts his from his thoughts and he's made to meet her eyes by her hands that cup his jaw to lift it. Seeing her however, only fuels the flames of anguish in his heart and his cheeks flush as eyes water.

"Am I not correct? Is what I say not true?" He manages to ask through his cracking voice and he purses his lips after to quieten the sobs that threaten to escape.

"Yes...but also no," (y/n) replies and Heeseung frowns, confused and even more so when she lowers slightly to plant a fond, lingering kiss on his forehead. When she pulls away, he's staring up at her with eyes glossed over and lips parted with surprise. "It is true that I hold affection for Jongseong but, it is untrue that I am unwelcoming of you. If anything, I am most inclined towards you."

"You jest," Heeseung denies, brows knitting but the stardust in his eyes belie his actions—secretly hoping she will refute him. “If you mean what you say, then you would not have been so cold to me while you are so sweet and loving to the others.”

His near-sulky response through his pouty lips make her giggle and seeing it ignites the hope Hee holds.

“Silly, aren’t you? Have you not yet understood? The reason why I am so cold to you, and only you is because you are the only one I truly am comfortable with. You are the only one whom I trust enough to reveal my true self—you, Heeseung, are special.”

The sparks in his eyes multiply like stars in the black night sky, twinkling brighter and bigger, after hearing her explanation.

Can it be…can she really be telling the truth?

Before he can ponder on the thought, he’s rendered speechless, brainless by the chaste kiss that (y/n) graces him and he gasps into it.

“Again,” he breathes out after she pulls away but shr presses her finger against his mouth when he attempts to push forward. “Please. I’ve been dreaming for this day for so long. Can I not have just one more?”

“The type of man you are, you will not be satisfied with a kiss,” (y/n) slurs provocatively and Heeseung’s adam apple bobs anxiously and excitedly.

She stands, hands now behind her back as she looks down tenderly at the panting man who’s clearly struggling in his seat—and trousers. “As much as I am fond of you, I only grant rewards to those who deserve it. Do you think you are deserving?”

His lips part and quiver, wanting to answer and yet unsure of what to say.

(y/n) smirks before turning away from the young lord whose anxiety only grows at seeing her departure.

It is no wonder that she can only take one full step before suddenly being halted by a pair of hands gripping the back of her long skirt with vehement determination.

“I deserve it! I do! I shall do as you say and bring the knowledge of your affairs with Jongseong to my grave! I w-will not say a word so please, please,” Heeseung begs for her approbation with chest heaving violently from heavy breaths. “Reward me with your affections. D-did you not say that to you, I…I am special?”

(y/n)’s spine tingles with anticipation and delight at the vulnerability his portrays—turning around to set her eyes on the other who's settled on his knees, dead set on having her even at the cost of his own pride.

She tuts in pretense before hovering her hand above his head to which he lifts himself slightly to touch his crown against it, letting out a shuddered breath at her warmth. "Can I trust you?"

Heeseung nods vigorously with eyes wide and fingers taut around the fabric shielding her legs. His hair bounces and he crawls forward to nuzzle his face against them. "Yes, yes, you can! Just please, I yearn for you so gravely. My mind has been filled with nothing but thoughts of you. I've made it a habit of mine to stroll in the garden every day in hopes that I could meet you, or even catch the slightest glimpse of you and yet, I never could. It's driven me half-mad. "But after hearing that you've shared an evening with Jongseong, my rationality have been tested and the thread of sanity slipped between my fingers much easily than I ever expected. I've never felt this way to anyone ever before and I struggle—I am tortured each day without having your presence, your attention despite knowing that you've bestowed it upon Sunoo so unconditionally. I—You...you've bewitched me, (y/n). And yet, I find it so grand, so beautiful as it is excruciating."

(y/n) only stares at the poor, pitiable vile noble—watching as his glassy eyes pool the longer she remains silent. To him, her quiet is devasting. He interprets it as rejection and despite being a man who can easily obtain what he wants—with or without consent—he finds himself needing her approval. He craves to hear her validation.

And (y/n), as always, knows that. She's aware of how poor little Heeseung is actually a sheep beneath his wolf' clothing. He acts so tough and cold to remain untouchable, to remind those around him that he is a man of power—a snap of his fingers and they'll be sent behind bars or stripped off their clothes.

Unfortunately, the more he plays this daunting, dominating character, the more he forgets his true skin and how truly vulnerable he is. And once that shiny armour of bravado is torn off his figure, he is left bare, naked for all to see.

Much like he is now.

"My poor Heeseung. All this time I have been so aloof with you to conceal my admiration but it seems I have grown overboard. Look at you," she coos as she too joins him on the floor. His eyes never leave hers and his head lowers to now be face-to-face as he sniffles.

With a nose as red as Rudolph and eyes as clear and vulnerable like a prey against predator—he is truly a sight to behold.

"It is only fair that I make it up to you, hm?" She asks wispily and once again, his head bobs violently, eager to be rewarded and she grins—cupping his cheek with one hand and gently pulling his head back by the hair to expose his neck. "Of course, anything my love wants, he shall have."

'My love.'

The endearing term echoes in his head and he whimpers at how pretty it sounds. How pretty she sounds. And along with her hot, pillowy lips pressed against his throat, it doesn't take much time for him to emit a guttural, rumbling groan before he bursts right then and there—writhing and convulsing in her hold as she continues to devour him until the break of dawn.

After all, she is hungry—and vain, iniquitous men just happens to be her favourite delicacy.

𝓟𝓐𝓡𝓣 3 (the finale)

ᡣ𐭩ྀི₊ ⊹ masterlist ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙

inspired by ‘milk of the sirens’ by melanie martinez and ‘siren’ by kailee morgue

𝜗𝜚 finally the second's part here, so sorry it took so long!! (┬_┬) i'm sorry to those who i said it would come out last two weeks ago, i hope this chap's entertaining enough to make up for it!! anyways, don’t forget to leave a heart and reblog for some motivation!! but please, do not spam like!! X♡X♡, romi ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

taglist for this series is closed—thank you for supporting ♡

@angelicyouth @lilyuwon @sakanelli-afc @lakoya @clara12o @heeseung-min @inkpot-winters @lilikisuki @randomanothercreature @laylasbunbunny @hveanlyanqelic

copyright © 2024 thinemoonshine all rights reserved

[soulwrencher]

nur du und ich laufen ins nichts.

summary: you get injured while on patrol and ellie takes care of you <3

brown boots and glistening snow crunching underneath. your socks are getting wet from all the snow escaping the big white landscape into the little holes of your broken-down boots. were her feet cold too? you notice your hands clenching around the straps of your bag pack, the gloves weren't keeping you warm, nor did your socks.

but you forget about it as fast as the thought occurs to you, ellie's voice fills the air, your eardrums making ahold of it first before the snow completely absorbs her words.

and while it was only a 'look at that big ass tree!' you couldn't help but smile, maybe her silly comments were enough to keep your limbs warm.

"you want me to go hug that tree?" you ask, giggles lacing your voice as ellie simply shrugs and scoffs in response. it'd only been the third time you went on patrol with ellie, and while she didn't want to admit it, it didn't take long for her to warm up to you.

and then ellie looks your way, the soft strokes of your face never go unnoticed as you're facing away from her, looking into the distance. she couldn't make any sense of why today out of all days, all her attention was drawn to you. it could just be the sedating snow making you stand out, she thinks to herself. maybe this one time, it was okay for her to fool around on patrol, just this once. and how could she say no anyway, no to those soft eyes of yours?

"i guess you could do it," she says, chuckling as she watches you take off sprinting towards the big pine tree.

however, you screaming in agonizing pain as something pierces through your foot was not what you imagined under 'going to see the biggest tree ever up close', and neither did ellie. you watch her run up to you, concern and worry plastering her face. solicitous eyes are looking your way, and your way only, not that it mattered or numbed the pain in any way.

luck was never your best friend, so of course you had to unconsciously move your toes, making you wince in pain, tears threatening to fall.

ellie wasn't even running that fast but she almost tripped over coming to your help.

"are you okay?" she pants, both of her hands are grabbing the sides of your shoulders. her eyes were rummaging around, looking for answers, hoping for you to be okay. please be okay.

"i think something went through my foot," you answer with your voice low, the pain of your freezing toes and injured foot made it hard to focus. you are too ashamed to look her into the eyes, they are glued to the ground.

she just nods, eyebrows furrowed as she turns around to search through her bag pack.

"i'm sorry, i should've walked carefully through the snow, it's so high, i don't understand—" she stops messing with her bag and turns back to you, eyes searching for yours.

"hey," she says softly as she takes a step closer. you take a deep breath and look back up to her. she cups your face, hands trembling, which you only notice now. only now you notice that her voice is shaking, that her breath is staggering. you should've noticed earlier. but how, when her cold thumbs were wiping your tears ever so softly?

"it's okay, it's my fault anyway, can you walk?" she asks. she hasn't stopped holding you close, in fact your chest was brushing against hers and her fingers were starting to dig through the thick fabric. you nod, you've never been this close to her before.

"careful," the auburn-haired woman says while wrapping her arm around your waist, tightening her grip around your hip. you inhale sharply as you try to step forward, but ellie stops you. she gestures at you to stay where you are as she leaps over behind you, to the tree, digging in the snow.

ellie's mind is working at full speed, she can't remember a single time where she had been this worked up over something, well, over someone.

she just couldn't help beating herself up over the fact that you got hurt while being with her, and fuck she's been nervous too, is it okay for her to get this close to you? ellie couldn't even ignore the burning feeling underneath her fingertips as she was holding your face, but maybe it was just the cold burning her fingers, not her want for more, more of you.

it didn't take her long to finish and come back, but the pain was taking a toll on you, you were tired of standing too, tears were streaming down your face as you try to sob in silence.

her eyes once again wander all over you, from head to toe, from fresh to dried up teardrop. she gently places your arms around her neck, resting her hands on your waist.

"now hold on tight," she says, her hands squeezing you a little.

"i'm taller than you and heavy," you reply. ellie completely disregards that, resulting her to almost tumble over and hit her head against the tree as she lets you down on the spot she just dug. for a second you were able to forget the excruciating pain and laugh, laugh about how cute she was for turning bright red and avoiding eye contact. and it made her laugh too.

but now you were sitting on the cold ground, ellie mustering your foot, well your boot, it was bad, real bad.

"i'll just disinfect it and wrap it until we go back," you say, finally being able to sit made this all a little more bearable. she scoots closer to you, close enough to feel her breath on your skin.

"let me take care of it," she pleads, strands falling out of her half bun. you look into her eyes, you couldn't read what she was thinking but the look on her face was enough to make your heart beat faster.

"okay," you reply, brushing the lose strands of her auburn hair behind her ear. ellie reaches for the side of your face, stroking you slightly, not letting you out of sight once. she just wants to make it all better.

a/n: i'm done writing this for today lol but if this does well enough i'm actually up for making this into a mini series!!! also i've been watching arcane the past few days so... i got inspired ;)

[therealcocoshady]

Ahhhh!! I love your stuff, you're so talented !!!

Could you write a Marshall x bookworm!female!reader oneshot abt reader always just having her head in books and Marshall wanting some attention please??

Thank youuu xx

More than me ?

Eminem X Bookworm!Female!Reader

Author’s Note : Hey ❤️. Thank you so much for your request ! I had some fun writing it ☺️. I hope you enjoy it !

No one expected a bookworm like you to end up with a rapper. On paper, it didn’t make much sense and yet, everyone around you agreed that Marshall was the perfect match for you. The two of you were somewhat nerdy, introverts who’d rather spend time in your house than go to a party with tons of people. And even if he didn’t read a ton of books, he made up for it by fully supporting your passion for literature. When you moved into his house, he let you transform one of the guest rooms into a library and he often surprised you with books on your wishlist. On special occasions, he would go the extra mile and gift you beautiful editions, sometimes first ones, much to your delight. And even though he politely refused your many offers to let him borrow some books, he was always happy to let you talk his ear off about books you liked.

- You should really read it, you said excitedly.

- Yeah but if I read it, there would be no point in you telling me about it, he said with a grin. I’d miss the best part.

- Sorry, you giggled. Is that too much ?

- Never, he said before pressing a kiss to your temple. I love that you’re passionate. I like listening to you. It’s like a podcast.

- You know, Shelly at the library keeps telling me to start one, you chuckled.

- Maybe you should give it a try, he replied. No one talks about books like you.

- Maybe I’ll ask Hailie for pointers, you shrugged.

This was the start of a crazy adventure for you. A year later, you were able to quit your job, relying on your podcast and advertisement to make a comfortable living. Advertisers were constantly soliciting you, willing to take advantage of your massive following. You had managed to gather a big community of bookworms such as yourself, who enjoyed hearing about your latest reads. It was your safe space and you simply loved it. Another perk was that publishing houses sent you tons of books for free, hoping you’d talk about them in an episode. Marshall’s house was big but you now had books in every room and always more books you needed to read. Your boyfriend was already used to always seeing you with a book but now, you had more time to read and were doing this full time. It wasn’t always sunshine and candy, though and, sometimes, you were on a schedule to finish reviewing a book before recording your next episode. At some point, you had decided to review a whole series that had been sent to you a week ago, and reading those eight books definitely took most of your time.

- Are you coming to bed ? Marshall asked.

- I have to read a couple more chapters, you said apologetically. Sorry, my love.

- You’ve spent the whole day reading, babe, he pointed out. How about you rest your eyes a little ? I could make them roll back into your skull…

- Are you propositioning me ? You asked with a grin.

- Absolutely, he replied with a smile. What do you think ?

- That’s tempting, you admitted.

Before you had even finished your sentence, he was grabbing your book, placing your bookmark, closing it and taking you to the bedroom. As soon as you reached the bed, he pinned you to the mattress and whispered in your ear.

- Been waiting for this all day, he said.

- All day ? You giggled. You were at work…

- And yet, you were the only thing on my mind, he grinned. Couldn’t think of anything else.

He made sure to show you exactly what had been on his mind, ravishing you in all sorts of positions, making you cry from pleasure, until you were both panting and exhausted.

- I love you, he said as he caught his breath. God, I missed you this week.

- I missed you too, you cooed. You’ve been working so hard, lately.

- So have you, he pointed out.

- I have to keep busy while you’re finishing your album, don’t I ? You giggled.

- Well, you have me to yourself for the next two days, he said. Told the team not to bother me unless someone dies. I’m all yours. And we’re not leaving this room.

- Interesting, you giggled. I have some work, though.

- You can read chapters in between rounds, he shrugged before burying his head in your neck.

You smiled and enjoyed his touch, the warmth of his breath on your skin. You ran your hands in his back and stroked his head. Moments later, he was asleep. His soft snores brought a smile to your face and you figured he needed the rest. Lately, he had been waking up extra early and coming home later than usual, occasionally going to California to work with Dre. You gently made him roll to his side of the bed and wrapped yourself in your silk robe before going back to your reading room and resuming your reading. Hours later, a grumpy boyfriend came to get you.

- You left, he groaned sleepily.

- You were sleeping, you said with a smile.

- Well, not anymore, he said. Come back ?

- I just have to finish this-

- Later, woman, he groaned.

- Ten minutes, you pleaded.

- Babe, he sighed. It’s 11PM.

- Yeah but-

- I need you, he said with puppy eyes. You don’t want me to get all lonely in bed, now, do you ?

You smiled at him, yet made a point of shaking your head in disapproval. He knew full well his lost puppy act would get him anywhere with you. You closed your book and went back to the bedroom. As soon as you got back in bed, he wrapped you in his arms, in a possessive stance. You chuckled and whispered sweet nothings before drifting off to sleep.

You woke up the next day to the sound of Marshall entering the room with a breakfast tray in his hands.

- Breakfast in bed ? You yawned with a smile. What’s the occasion.

- I thought we might enjoy a lazy day in bed, he said with a smile. You, me, food and movies ?

- Sounds good, you nodded.

He settled in bed next to you and you ate the copious amount of food he had prepared. You spent a few hours in each other’s arms, watching movies and cuddling. Marshall seemed exceptionally clingy, which made you smile. Physical touch had always been one of his love languages, but it was rare for him to spend hours on end cuddling. After a while, though, you decided to get back to reading. However, you didn’t find your book where you had left it.

- Babe, have you seen the book I had yesterday ? You asked. It’s blue, with flowers on the cover.

- I haven’t, he shrugged. Come here, you’ll find it later.

- I really have to finish, you said. I’ll go and search…

- Babe, he groaned, can’t we just have a few hours together ? I’ll help you search for it. Later.

- Ok, you shrugged. But it’s important.

He sighed and gestured for you to come back in his arms. He didn’t pay a lot of attention to the movie, though, and just enjoyed your presence until he fell asleep. Or so you thought. Because as soon as you moved, he let out a grunt.

- What ? He asked.

- Just going to search for my-, you began.

- Screw it, he groaned. Here’s your damn book.

He reached for his nightstand and handed it to you. You looked at him in disbelief.

- You realized I’ve searched for it for half an hour ? You asked.

- Yeah well here it it, he groaned.

- Why did you take it ?

- Because I want you to be with me, he sighed. It’s all about your books, these days.

- I’m working, you said defensively. It’s my passion !

- Yeah well why don’t you move into your reading room then ? He suggested. You like these books more than me anyway.

You sighed and then put the book down before taking his hand.

- What’s with you today ? You asked.

- Nothing, he shrugged with a frown.

- Marsh, you said tentatively. You’re short-tempered and clingy. Clearly, something’s wrong.

- I miss you, he sighed. That’s all.

- I’m right here, you pointed out. I even work from home. I’m literally always here.

- I like that you’re having fun but… you work too much, he said.

- I do work a lot, but it’s because I want to be successful, you said. And you’re one to talk. You’re a literal workaholic.

- Yeah well I’m tired of all this work and I want to hug my girl, he said. I’m stressed out and I need you.

You smiled and kissed his cheek before putting your book away.

- You know you could just have told me you needed me, right ?

- I guess, he said grumpily. I guess I didn’t want to sound like a total simp.

- I like it, you said. It’s cute.

- So you’re staying, this time ? He asked.

- Of course, babe, you replied. If you need me, that’s my priority. But… is there something wrong ?

- Nothing, he said. I guess I’m just under pressure. I just need you. You’re my safe space. I miss you, lately. And now that you have this shit ton of followers, you don’t even tell me about your books. I miss that too.

You nodded and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

- I’m sorry, my love, you said. I just got really into all of it. But you’re my priority, you know ?

- Am I ? He asked.

- Of course, you replied.

- I love you, he said. Sorry I stole your book.

- Next time you try that, I’m messing up with your cassette wall, you threatened.

- You wouldn’t ! He gasped.

- Try me, you said with a raised eyebrow. Who knows ? Maybe all of them are in the wrong case. Maybe I’ve already done it.

He looked at you nervously and you gave him a threatening smirk. Knowing how much he cherished that cassette collection it was enough of a threat and a sure fire way to mess with his head. He groaned and got up.

- Where are you going ? You asked.

- To check my cassettes, he said.

- What ? You asked in a falsely offended voice. If you go, it means you love them more than me !

- Babe… of course I love them more, he said with a grin. Know your place, woman !

Note : I hope you enjoyed this one shot ❤️. If you did, you can support my writing via Ko-Fi ! I will also be giving previews of upcoming parts of Recovery and Love Game over there 😏.

[eenslaved]

The Kendalls' Girl

BDSM erotica. Fictional characters over 18. Ageplay kink. MF/f. This is Part 2/4.

"Ow, ow, OW!" Hannah yelped, squealing and squirming. "Owww, Daddy! Daddy, no! Nooo!" 

"Stop fighting us, Hannah," Grace Kendall snapped. "This is for your own good." 

She was gripping Hannah's wrists tightly, holding them flat on the bed. Hannah was lying on her front, and Grace's husband Greer was working a butt plug into her ass.

"Nooo," Hannah moaned, but it was too late. Her sphincter was no match for the steady pressure Greer exerted. The plug was in her rectum, violating her with its foreign, unavoidable presence. 

Grace released her, and she immediately reached back, sobbing, to touch the end of the plug. Greer slapped her hand away and smacked her ass.

"Don't you fucking dare take it out, Hannah," he said sternly. "You know you're supposed to hold in whatever we put inside you."

"We're doing this for you," his wife said impatiently. "Imagine if Greer just put his big dick inside you without the plug stretching you out first. You should be grateful, silly girl."

There was an expectant, loaded silence.

Hannah's face was flaming. Humiliation curdled in her belly but she choked out, "Thank you..."

"Thank us properly, Hannah. If you can't your words, then I assume you don't need words and I can get your paci-gag."

She couldn't look them in the face anymore. "Thank you for plugging my ass, Mommy and Daddy," she whispered. She hated the rubber nipple of the silencing pacifier-gag.

Grace and Greer beamed at their chosen little girl. They'd already deferred the start of her college admission on her behalf. Hannah was going to take a gap year and spend it with them. They felt confident that she would change her mind about going to college after a year of being regressed and infantilized, severely controlled and thoroughly dominated. She wouldn't even dream of leaving their household. All she would aspire to be was being the very best special little girl for Grace and Greer Kendall.

"Now, get back here, and back into position, Hannah. I'm going to fuck your pussy now, while you wear your plug. You're going to feel extra tight and snug."

Hannah crouched again, putting her face down. Grace smiled and combed the girl's hair with her fingers, before taking the blindfold and securing it over Hannah's eyes.

"This will help you focus," she whispered in Hannah's ear. "Just focus on the feeling of Daddy's cock taking you...fucking you...how good it feels to have him inside you. Don't you just want to keep him inside you all the time? Squeeze him with your pussy, Hannah. Show him how much you like having him inside you."

The blindfold did help Hannah focus on Grace's words, and the glide of Mr. Kendall's penis inside her channel. She felt overly full, stuffed, because of the plug. She could feel how dripping wet she was, but it still felt hard to take his cock.

"That's it, Hannah," Greer encouraged, squeezing her ass. "It's not so scary after all, right? You're going to get used to having something in your bottom. You're going to hate how empty you feel after..."

Hannah gasped and grunted; he had taken the end of the plug that protruded from between her cheeks and was twisting it...screwing her with the plug, pushing it in deeper, then tugging it out just a little so it breached her anus.

"Ohhhhhhhhhgod," Hannah uttered, blind, overcome. "Daddy...M-mommy..." 

"Here, dear," Grace said solicitously, gripping Hannah's head and settling her face right between her thighs. Hannah's nose brushed her pubis and then her mouth was breathing, touching, covering Grace's cunt. Her cries were lost, smothered, against Grace's folds. She drew her knees up and squeezed her thighs around Hannah's blindfolded head, while her husband continued drilling their special fuck toy. 

Continued here

[charliemwrites]

Hello, hello! Per ceilidh's request - a Soap x Reader ficlet from the prompt thingy.

#11 "You tricked me."

I was heavily inspired by that tiktok sound (iykyk)

Rating: M CW/TW: brief/vague torture, threat of SA (doesn't happen), manipulation, dark!Soap

Being a medium in the military isn’t that much different from being a medium anywhere else.

The rules are roughly the same. Don’t talk to ghosts in living company. Don’t join idiotic 2am summoning circles. Try to help the ones you can; try not to lose sleep over the ones you can’t.

Oddly, there aren’t as many ghosts on a base as any given suburban house. Depends on the base, of course, but a reassuring number of former-military souls continue to their final rest. Even if their bodies (or parts of it) don’t make it back, tags and a symbolic burial usually suffice.

The 141’s main base only has a handful. A few you’ve already gotten closure for, sent off into the beyond. The others you’re working on, or already know they’re a lost cause. Most of them are even friendly!

There’s a corporal that haunts the mess and laments mashed potatoes. A captain appears in Price’s office occasionally, his residual energy glaring down at reports and rustling at phantom papers. On the range, you sometimes speak to the ghost of a prostitute murdered by some piece of shite back in ye olde times. She doesn’t talk back – can’t with a crushed windpipe – but she smiles when you have the privacy to acknowledge her.

Your favorite, though, is Johnny. He’s a comparatively new spirit, by your estimate. Lots of energy, still coherent. You can’t tell how he died by looking at him, but that’s not unusual. It could have been internal bleeding, or a stroke despite his youth. He won’t tell you his last name despite all your asking, always just laughs.

“Yer no’ gettin’ rid o’ me tha easily!”

He always lays the Scottish accent on in a thick velvet blanket. You want to wrap yourself up in it.

Yes, the rules for being a medium are the same, even on a military base. The main one: don’t get haunted by feelings.

That was never a concern, never even a thought, until Johnny. Until you caught his eye around Price’s shoulder during your introductory tour. He followed you for hours, interjecting little asides that put your selective hearing to the test. Always orbited just close enough to send chills down your spine and goosebumps up your arm.

You confronted him when you’d finally been dismissed back to your barrack, whirling around as he popped his mohawked head through the door. Despite yourself, you made quick friends with him.

He’s an unusual ghost. Doesn’t seem tied to a particular place or thing on base. Isn’t trapped along the same paths he walked in life. He’s always solid or near solid, doesn’t waver at certain times of day. You’re utterly charmed by his unorthodoxy, by his miraculous non-existence. And by the fact that, while he knows your secret – as all spirits do – he seems more intrigued than solicitous.

It's not that you blame other ghosts – the coherent ones – for wanting help. It’s torturous to toe that line, not alive but not at peace. Stuck and dwindling little by little. You can’t imagine what it feels like, but you can sense from some that it’s frightening, and cold. No, you’re not bothered that they ask for help. Or with the ones that are just angry; they have every reason to be.

Johnny, though… he’s special. You don’t feel so alone with him, even if the room looks like it to an outsider.

“Oh, aye, that’s pure dead brilliant. You know they’re sending you to Russia?”

You flick Johnny a glance. He’s leaning over Price’s shoulder, peering at the briefing docket that’s actively being explained. You don’t mind the extra or early info. Saved your ass a couple times before.

Your lack of response ruffles his feathers though. He stalks through the table to Gaz, flicks his pen right off the surface. You snort softly as he curses under his breath and ducks to retrieve it, trying not to interrupt Price. You make eye contact with Johnny, blink and minutely shake your head. He can see the twitching at the corners of your mouth anyway.

He smirks and wades through solid objects back to you. His presence looms behind your shoulder, an uneasy flicker at the edge of your consciousness. Like this he seems bigger, inhuman beyond ghostliness. Rougher and darker in the corner of your vision. You’ve done a double-take and gotten teased for skittishness enough times by now to quell the urge to check. It’s always just Johnny.

You’re paired with your lieutenant, Ghost. He’ll be watching with his sniper while you’re on infil. Usually, you’re paired with Gaz, but he and Roach will be at the other end of the compound taking out a target.

When the team is dismissed, Ghost only pauses long enough to give you a nod before skulking off. Not unusual for him; you take no offense. Johnny, however, is scowling something fierce after him.

For whatever reason, he’s never been a fan of your LT. The one time you asked, the lights started flickering and Johnny dismissed the question with a sharp “just don’t like him.”

You suspect that it’s because Ghost was your mentor when you joined the 141. The two of you spent the majority of your time together, training you up to run with the rest of the squad. Due to his constant proximity, your ability to respond to Johnny was greatly hindered.

Still is with how observant Ghost is. Have almost blown your cover several times and had to really watch yourself, and your reactions. You think Johnny might resent him for that.

Back in your barrack, though, Johnny happily chatters while you gear up for the mission. Base gossip and bits of intel he shouldn’t know and shouldn’t tell you. It’s standard ritual for you two; he likes to talk, and you’re accustomed to listening. You hum in the right places, storing tidbits away for your own amusement later.

A playful tug to your bitch-strap makes you yelp, then laugh when you catch Johnny’s grin. He does it again, loosening one of the buckles on your thigh. You swat him uselessly, retightening it only for him to pluck at your bootlaces while you’re occupied. He’s got so much energy, for a ghost. So adept at interacting with the physical world.

“Quit it!” you giggle, trying to dodge his darting hands.

“Why should I?” he chuckles. You curse as he gets a finger in your harness and jerks, misaligning it with the rest of your gear.

“I’ll banish you,” you lie, wriggling various straps back into place.

“Oh, sweet girl, it would take a lot more than you’ve got to get rid of me now.”

It’s an odd turn of phrase for him, but it’s the tone that draws your gaze. There’s an unfamiliar, inky darkness in his voice that pools in the pit of your stomach. You frown, open your mouth to ask what he means. But just like that, his electric smile is back, eyebrows arching as he nods to your bedside clock.

“You’re gonna be late.”

“Shit!” You snatch up your backpack and fling it across your shoulders. “I’m gonna kill you, Johnny!”

“Can’t kill something that isn’t alive,” he cackles as you sweep out the door.

You make it the transport just short of reprimand, though that doesn’t stop Ghost from narrowing his eyes as you duck into your seat. Gaz has already started a lively conversation with Roach, and Price is staying back this time.

You miss Johnny already. He may not be trapped in any particular part of the base, but he can’t come with you on missions or leave. The spaces where he’s absent feel colder and quieter. Everything seems just a bit… off. A song missing an instrument, a rainbow lacking one color.

You’re not sure when that started happening, when Johnny became such a vital part of how you perceive the rest of the world. When did longing for him become a chronic illness?

“Focus up!” Ghost barks in your ear.

You blink, shake your head, and take stock bewildered. Gone is the transport and the rest of your team. It’s just you now, hidden behind a generator, presumably about to infiltrate the target.

How?

When you try to recall, you have vague recollections of exiting the transport. Hiking to the compound. Splitting off with a few parting words amongst the lot of you. It feels watery at the edges, more of a vivid dream than a waking memory.

“Yessir.” It jumps instinctively from your tongue while you flex your cold fingers, trying to coax the nerves back to life.

You take a deep breath – lungs aching like you’ve held your breath too long – and continue with the mission. There’s no room for error now, or idle daydreams of noncorporeal men with wicked smiles.

The building is only three stories and you’re not meant to clear it. Just get to the server room, collect the information, and slip away with minimal enemy contact.

Maybe that’s why you don’t realize that something is wrong at first. You’re supposed to be avoiding guards, so you don’t notice the lack of them. Things do go right, sometimes, the intel can be good.

But it’s the quiet the finally prickles at your awareness. You may be more attuned to the dead, but you have a sense for the living as well. Always made you the worst to play hide and seek with. Now, you can feel that this building is vacant, deprived of any souls.

“LT, something is wrong,” you whisper, frozen mid-step.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s too quiet.”

To his credit, he doesn’t dismiss you immediately. “How?”

“I think the building is empty. Have you seen anyone?”

“Negative.” A pause as he considers, maybe scans the other windows for signs of occupation. “Sit tight, I’ll update Price.”

There’s barely a heartbeat before you hear distant gunfire. Too much and too soon for the plan. Roach and Gaz weren’t supposed to neutralize the target until you were collecting intel.

“Fuck,” Ghost snarls. “Get out of there!”

You’re already sprinting for the stairwell. Nearly pop your ankles leaping down, boot treads catching on the edge of steps. No one is chasing you, but your team needs help. Gaz is shouting in your ear, the channels reconnected for ease of communication. The situation is devolving quickly and violently.

“Almost there,” you report.

Your foot hits the last landing before the ground floor when the building explodes.

---

It takes three tries to get your vision focused. There’s not much to see once you do. A concrete room tinted by bare yellow halogen. There’s a drain in the floor just in front of you and old blood dried in the corners. It smells like rust, infection, and despair. Your head pounds; your entire body aches. Being tied to a metal chair doesn’t help the post-explosion soreness.

You’ve been stripped down to your fatigues, no boots. There isn’t a door in any of the three walls you can see, so it must be positioned behind you.

Confirmation comes about a minute later. Three sets of boots entering your little box. Only one of them walks into your line of sight; a mean-looking man with face tattoos and a gold tooth. He asks if you speak Russian, and though you do, you spew a string of English profanities and threats at him. The backhand you get in return says he understood you.

The questions start as soon as he switches to English. They want information; they always do. What you had been sent to collect and why. Who Roach and Gaz were sent for and why. You don’t speak a word. Even when the pain starts, and then doesn’t stop. You lose track of time, the head injury floating you on the edge of consciousness within the first thirty minutes.

Hours – days? – later, the man takes a step back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“It’s alright,” he tells you, “I like taking my time, and we have plenty. Your friends think you are dead.”

That, you think through the haze, is probably true. You thought you were dead too.

“Perhaps next time we try something… else,” he muses, running a finger down your neck. “You are not as pretty now, but… prettier than you will be later, da?”

Ice forms in the pit of your stomach and climbs up your spine. It was always on the table, you know that, but facing it is something else.

Whatever expression you’re making seems to satisfy him, because he laughs heartily and finally leaves you alone.

Alone, with the promise of his next visit looming.

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a dripping sound nearby that you realize, vaguely, is your own blood. Maybe you’ll bleed out before he comes back. You time your breaths with it, using it as a count to get your wild and unsteady heart under control.

Reality washes over you in waves. There is no escape. Your team thinks you’re dead. Eventually, you will break and/or die. You might even become a ghost, join the collective that darkens the edges of this very room, a thing of pain and fear and rage without any coherency or singular will.

You didn’t even give Johnny a proper goodbye.

That somehow hurts the worst. Johnny, hearing second-hand that you’ll never make it back. No one to mourn with him, to offer any comfort. He’ll be alone with grief and then beyond, no one to tell his jokes or stories to.

You miss him more fiercely than you ever have. Part of you is glad he isn’t here. You know him, know he’d be too stubborn to leave you. He’d stay and watch, helpless, as you were tortured and killed. It would tear you apart to do that to him even though it wouldn’t be your own choice.

But… an awful, selfish part of you longs for him. Even just being able to see or hear him would soften the pain and fear. Would make this hell on earth almost bearable. You want to leave this world with Johnny whispering in your ear, maybe even join him when your body finally goes cold.

Given the choice, you would want him here.

You want Johnny. No, you need him. Regret ever leaving him behind, even though he couldn’t come with you. You’d do anything to change that now; anything to be with him again.

Anything?

It’s an unbidden thought, almost intrusive. Doesn’t even feel like yourself asking.

“Anything,” you whisper aloud, just to hear something other than your own despair. “Johnny…”

“You called?”

You jolt, head snapping up so fast it makes you dizzy. The world spins but he’s there, right there, crouching in front of you, arms balanced on his knees.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

Were you closer to the brink than you thought? Is this some sort of final hallucination as you slip into death?

“In the flesh.” He tilts his head, snorts. “Well, in a manner.”

“How…?” you ask, eyes already stinging.

“Told ya, you called. I’d never – hey, now, hey. No need for all that,” he soothes. He wipes the tears from your face. You can feel the warmth in his fingers. “This is a happy occasion.”

You huff in watery amusement, shaking your head. “Did you lose your glasses when you died? I wouldn’t call this celebration-worthy.”

His eyes scan over you, flicker dark. “It will be, don’t you worry.”

You blink, try to focus. Exhaustion and injury and chemical rush are making it difficult, but you know things are off. He shouldn’t be here, least of all because you called. And… something else too. Something in the way he’s holding his shoulders and the twitching around his expression. 

“Johnny, really,” you say, “why are you here?”

“You offered me anything, and I’m here to collect.”

Between one blink and the next, his eyes are black. Pitch black, from corner to corner. You suck in a breath, try to jerk back but there’s nowhere to go.

His grin is sharp enough to cut yourself on.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” he sighs.

He leans in, lips parting. His tongue rolls out, long and split at the tip. Licks a luxurious, burning trail from your chin to your temple. You make a sound borne of confused pleasure and fear, high in the back of your throat.

He shushes you, plants a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth. “My brave little lass, finally offering herself to the demon she’s been courting.”

The word bounces against the walls of your cell and burrows into your brain. Demon, demon, demon.

Johnny is…

“You tricked me,” you sob.

He cocks his head, onyx eyes soft with avarice. “Tricked you? No, angel, I’m saving you.”

His hands pet over the cruel ties around your ankles. The itch of them digging into your skin falls away. Gentle thumbs rub circles over the imprints the left behind. Hope and relief pounds hard in your chest.

“I’m only taking what you so willingly and enthusiastically offered,” he explains in hushed awe. Like you’ve given him such a wonderful gift, the greatest gift. Suppose you have.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he croons. His arms wrap around you, almost like a hug. His fingertips trace down your bruised arms to the cuffs biting your wrists. Those too fall away, and you find yourself reaching for him so quickly, folding into his chest, free of that wretched chair.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, a hand curling into blood and sweat soaked tangles.

“It… it is you, right?” you ask. “You’re my Johnny?”

“Always, angel,” he replies, “it’s always been me. I will always be yours. All you have to do is say yes.”

You tilt your head back, catch the wicked curve of fangs as he speaks. He smells like heat and woodsmoke.

“Yes to what?” you ask.

“To everything,” he answers, deep and rough. “You offered anything, and I want all of you.”

You should say no, you should throw yourself away from him.

There is not an inch of your mind or body that wants to leave the safety of his arms. This is Johnny, your Johnny, hellfire and all.

“And… in return,” you venture, “I get… you?”

“Eternally.”

Then it really doesn’t need much more thought.

“Yes. Please.”

“Good girl.”

[burningcheese-merchant]

Yes,more please!

More Yandere Beast stuff? At your service, three short headcanons for each one

SHADOW MILK

Has one specific Pure Vanilla puppet that he treasures and never brings any harm to. It's the most well-crafted and detailed one of all. He calls it his Mini Silly-Vanilly and he makes it and the puppet he also made of himself kiss and do NSFW things

Tries to be A Bro™️ and help his fellow yanderes win over their respective loves. He eggs them on when they feel like ranting and raving about their love lives (or maybe he just likes gossip and drama idk), helps mastermind courting plans, gives romantic advice of dubious quality, solicited and not (mostly not). His help gets mixed reactions. Tough crowd :/

Already planned their wedding way in advance, but keeps making changes because he's always hit with new inspiration (making them playfully chase each other all the way up the stairs of the Spire of Truth and Deceit, and publicly executing their enemies in increasingly ridiculous ways are staying put, though)

ETERNAL SUGAR

Got Shadow Milk to make her a Hollyberry body pillow. It's nice, but she ended up tired of it really quickly. She wants the real Hollyberry to snuggle and squeeze and use as a pillow. (She still uses the body pillow though)

Would very much like to steal Holly's dresses and wear them herself, even if they might not fit. Would also like a lock or two of her hair to put in a necklace, or make into a bracelet, or weave into the strings of her harp (wtf lol)

Has mastered dozens of love songs on her harp, both written and composed by others and by she herself, all to be played and sung to Holly. A significant portion of them are very dark and unsettling, but she either doesn't notice or doesn't care

MYSTIC FLOUR

Once thought of the concept of playing "strip Go" (like strip poker, just with Go) with Dark Cacao. No one has ever seen her turn so red before. She immediately barricaded herself in her room and did not come out for almost a whole week

Keeps replaying that moment where he was beaten and on his knees and she was caressing his cheek, tempting him to look up and into her eyes, in her mind over and over and over and over and over and over again. It has practically tattooed itself to the insides of her eyelids. She can't make it stop nor does she want to

Ends up wandering along the exact same path through the mountains that Cacao took while he was lost and alone whenever she leaves the Ivory Pagoda. Some deranged part of her insists that she might find him again if she keeps looking, and the other, equally deranged parts of her seem to agree...

BURNING SPICE

Absolutely fucking loses his shit if and when any of the Wild Spices speak ill of Golden Cheese at all. He can roast her all he wants, but the second anyone else tries, he 180s to "KEEP MY WIFE'S NAME OUT YO FUCKIN MOUTH" mode

Is so out of his goddamn mind that he's already attuned himself to both Golden's aura and her scent, so he can literally track her and hunt her down like a ravenous animal no matter where she goes. He is a predator in the truest sense of the word

Also often fantasizes about marrying Golden, like how Milk wants to marry Vanilla. But what he thinks the most about is the wedding night... and the night after that, too. And the night after that. Every night is going to be their wedding night, once he gets his hands on her... Every single fucking night

SILENT SALT

Keeps trying to write White Lily letters and poems detailing his feelings. They keep coming out wrong (aka they are extremely long and rambling, not to mention fucking weird and creepy), so he keeps throwing them away and starting over repeatedly

Has considered learning magic to impress Lily, but can't get the hang of it. (Has also tried to brew a love potion for her, but can't get the hang of that, either)

He never takes that helmet off, but his stare is nevertheless so damn pointed and downright oppressive that Lily can sense whenever he's watching her, even if he's dozens of feet away and she can't even spot where he is. He comes out when she asks him to, at least...

[sugarprincessbitch]

Hi! I saw that you are open for solicitations, so…. How about yandere! Tyrion who is in love with Reader? She is just so sweet and kind, she doesn't understand much about politics, but she makes her effort. She is (unfortunately) engaged against her will to a nasty lord, what would Tyrion do? Headcannons, please

WARNING: Mentions of Yandere aspects, manipulation, death and killing

It was another boring day at court on the Red Keep, Tyrion had taken the place deceased Ned Stark had taken as the hand of the King...this king being his stupid nephew Joffrey. He was with the other advisors hearing Cersie ranting demands like always and dear Joffrey making additions to his mother's no senses.

Tyrion was like always, drowning in his cup of wine, trying to zone out his sister's annoying high pitch voice. He decided to observe the people in the room, he saw the same long and boring faces of the lords, but when he put his piercing gaze on Cersie direction...he saw a young maiden standing uncomfortable behind the Queen, he had never seen her before or never cared too much to notice. She peaked his attention...he had seen young noble maidens flocking around his sister, but the difference is how she didn't recoil while looking at his horrible face or his odd short limbs.

...

It is a matter well known that Tyrion is terrible at anything that matters the problems of the heart...we know from the books and the series, mostly the books, that he had troublesome relationships with women in his life. He tends to be naturally possessive and protective of the woman he holds affection for, so if he was a Yandere...he will be a dangerous one.

He can seem calm and collected on the exterior, but he is an animal waiting to snap, for something he is the son of Tywin Lannister. Tyrion will appeal to be passive aggressive to a possible threat for his darling affection, or even recurring to send men to kill them, but only if this person is a minor lord or a commoner.

Tyrion doesn't have to his advantage beauty or natural charm to attract his darling, but he has his cunning mind...that will help manipulating her. I think he will guilt trip her, using his disability at favour.

If his darling was not a noble lady, he will try to use his power and financial position to charm her, if the first doesn't work then he will threaten her with it. He may be a mockery in his family, but he still has the Lannister blood running from his veins and their money in his pockets.

But we will suppose that the darling is a noble lady of a not such an important house, then he will have complications at the time of having her in his grasp fully. Because there are norms on how a lady has to handle themselves and also a social expectation of courting and marriage, he will not only have to gain his darling affection but also the favour of her father.

It will be more troublesome if her darling is engaged with another Lord, this will send him to a furious pit and he will start to plan the downfall of the poor bastard that decided to get on his way.

Tyrion will probably try to coerce his darling father to change his mind and choose him as a possible bachelor, maybe he is a dwarf, but he comes from an important house and also he is currently in a very prestigious position, the hand of the king.

If this doesn't work (that I think it will probably go this way) he will convince his darling that he is better than an old hag, he will treat her kindly and with the utmost respect. Also, he will start courting his darling and showering her in costly jewelry and refined dresses.

When he finally has her on his grasp, convinced that he is the better suitor for her and not his future husband, he will fall upon his "enemy" with everything he has. Clearly, sending his men to kill silently that Old lord his darling was engaged with, claiming that it died from his frail and old age, natural causes.

The sudden death of his darling suitor and the pressure he will put not only financially but also using his position on the court so your lord father has no other option than to marry you to him.

Now, he finally has you for himself... And you know what they say, the preserverants win at the end.

[itsactuallycorrine]

inertia

buddie; 1K words; feelizings realizations; s08e06 spec

If Buck still had his math superpowers, he’s sure he could’ve told everyone how statistically unlikely it is for them to be on a second call where a kid fell down a well.

Even without the powers, he has an inkling: really, really, really fucking unlikely.

And yet here they are, staring at another kid stuck in a pipe, and icy cold dread ties Buck’s stomach into knots the minute Eddie opens his mouth.

Bobby says something about Eddie not fitting, and while Eddie, Bobby, and Chim are brainstorming solutions, Buck knows he needs to get his head back in the game, needs to be here, in the moment, doing his job.

Instead, his mind is cast over four years back, his eyes watch the sky for signs of a storm, his ears ring with the memory of a deafening crack, and his heart beats desperately against the cage of his ribs, pounding and pounding like it’s looking for an escape, any way out. 

“You good?” Hen murmurs to him, sliding him a solicitous glance and nudging her arm into his. 

Mouth dry, he nods. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he manages, and it convinces neither of them. 

Hen doesn’t call him out on it, though, just raises one brow. “He’s not going back down—he’s all right. No cut lines today.”

Buck’s still nodding, doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop. An object in motion and all that, Newton’s first law, he vaguely remembers from one of Christopher’s science assignments last year. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “I know.” Nodding, nodding. 

She frowns, brows drawn low in concern, before a small smile pulls at her lips. “That was the first time I suspected, you know,” she says, quiet and teasing, and it’s so unexpected, he’s finally able to force his head to stop, to tilt it her way instead.

“Suspected what?”

“That maybe you weren’t as straight as we all assumed.”

It’s even more unexpected. He gapes at her. “What? Why?”

That skeptical brow goes up again. “Really?” she asks, bone dry. “You can’t think of any reason why someone might have seen you that night and suspected that maybe, just maybe, you felt a little more than friendship for your coworker?” When he stares at her, lost, she softens, grasping his arm as if to steady him for the next blow. “Buck, you were wailing and clawing at the ground like you’d just lost the love of your life.” 

Her words strum at something, buried deep down inside him, and its sonorous echoes bounce within the boundaries of his skin, making his head ring. He inhales sharply through his nose, casting his gaze away, from her, from the team, from the call. It’s not like he doesn’t remember that, remember Bobby bodily hauling him up from ground, holding Buck as he sobbed. Remember them talking to him in their gentle hysterical-victim-handling voices, assuring him that no one had given up on Eddie and they were doing what they could to get him out. Remember the heady relief of Eddie showing up on his own, cracking jokes like he hadn’t almost died, radiating cold and hardly able to stand. 

It had felt like a miracle. It still did. They’d all had their share of them, before and since, but that had been the first time it’d happened for Eddie, to Eddie, since they’d met. The first time Buck had to sit with the idea of losing him, of being left behind in a very real and permanent way, one from which there was no coming back. 

Fully-realized, post-therapy, semi-mature Buck can admit now that he’d never given himself the time or space to process that. Instead, he’d just put it away, on to the next thing. There had been Red, and then Abby’s return, and, in retrospect, an obvious dotted line that connected all three of these events, drawn in tears and sweat and blood and abandonment issues. 

But that didn’t mean what Hen was insinuating. He shakes his head. “It was Eddie,” he says, helpless. “I didn’t—I’m not… I can’t. Hen, I can’t.” It’s the last thing he needs on top of everything going on between him and Tommy, and Christopher still being gone, and all the other ripples finally calming in the wake of last spring. He cannot afford an ill-timed revelation right now.

Her lips part as she stares at him. “Buck, I didn’t mean—” she starts, only to be cut off by Chim’s urgent call of, “Hen, need you over here.” But still she hesitates until Buck gives her a nod. “We’ll talk more later,” she promises, and there is nothing Buck wants less, so he ducks her the rest of shift, and doesn’t even change out of his uniform before he takes off the next morning. 

In his loft, he struggles to keep his mind blank as he showers and changes, but as soon as he lays down, sleep eludes him and the floodgates open.

He closes his eyes against it, the childish thought that if he can’t see it, it can’t hurt him. But it’s there, and real, spilling out and touching everything, an unstoppable rising tide, and Buck curls up into a ball as it picks him up and carries him along, gasping for breath as it buffets him from every side. He wants to fight, wants to push it back, but it’s too much, years and years of moments big and small, touches, looks, words, deeds. 

It’s You can have my back any day and There’s nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you and You act like you’re expendable, but you’re wrong and You don’t have to be anything for anybody.

It’s fond eye rolls and soft smiles and secrets shared and fears unburied and shoulder touches and the right kind of teasing. 

It’s fear and joy and laughter and tears and friendship and grief and comfort and…love. Always love. 

Hen was right; he had been acting like the love of his life had been buried alive, because he had. Because that’s what Eddie was—is—for Buck. 

Fuck.

ao3