#but they only seem that way on the surface?

[foone]

Some technical details under the cut if anyone is interested:

As someone who makes Stupid Keyboards (near to Stupid Mice, and don't think I don't have Stupid Mice ideas): I think this is fake, as in they didn't actually make a Toy Horse That Is A Mouse.

So, first of all, out of context reasons: It was made by Pablo Rochat for Yahoo. He's a director of a group of artists who do marketing stuff for companies. He doesn't have this one on his page yet but based on their other stuff, it seems to be mostly photoshop/video editing based.

And here's the thing: Faking a mouse is frighteningly easy.

Record your screen as you move a real mouse

Play back that video while you move something that's not a real mouse

Done. It looks like it works.

The final reason is that I don't think their lens would work. See, modern optical mice are based on a light + lens + tiny camera. The light shines on the surface so the camera can see the surface move.

The problem is that it's focused right at a set distance, which is supposed to be set to how far the sensor is from the mousepad. Try picking up your optical mouse now (assuming you're not on a phone or laptop): You'll find that it works while not touching the mousepad, but only for a couple millimeters. Once you get farther, it stops.

The reason is the lens: It's trying to get the most contrast possible at a very specific distance, and once you pick it up by more than a few millimeters, it gets too blurry to work.

So lets think about how you'd put a sensor in the horse toy.

The obvious place is in the horse's belly: but then your lens wouldn't work. You'd need a custom lens to make it work. That sounds like a lot of work, and it might not even work with the standard optical chip they use.

The second option would be the hooves. This would work! you're at the right distance, you just need to run the cable down the leg, and you're golden.

Except those hooves are too small. Optical mice are built on standard chips these days:

The chip is a specific size because it is floating over a hole in the PCB. The bottom of the chip is a camera. The lens is a piece of plastic that fits in there. It's hard to tell the scale from this picture I stole, but the problem is the chip is too big to fit down the hoof of that toy horse. Maybe you could do it if you had a horse with some Big Hooves? but there's no way to fit one of these in there. Sorry.

So yeah. They faked it.

Unless they got clever and faked it in another way: That "grass" mousepad could be a tablet. It could be multi-touching the hooves, and then transmitting their location to the PC.

You'd need to wire up the horse so the capacitive touch works, or use a resistive touch screen, but you're still cheating a little.

But all that is hard: faking it completely is easy. So I'm very sure that's what they did. I'd do the same if I was doing art as a client of a company and I had a deadline. It doesn't affect the video if this is "real" or "fake".

btw: I don't say this to lessen anyone's enjoyment of it or as a "callout", I'm just interested in "how real is this" as someone who makes Weird Tech Art too.

Bruh

[yanderedrabbles]

What would Yandere be like! Boyfriend with a girlfriend who is distant from him, but he finds out it's because she's planning a surprise party for him?

Oh this is such a great prompt!!

Yandere Boyfriend Surprise Party

Yandere! Boyfriend immediately notices something is off. You tilt your phone screen away from him whenever you get a message. You go out shopping when he's away at the gym and when he gets back you've already hidden your parcels away. You whisper with your friends and grow quiet or change the subject when he gets close.

Yandere! Boyfriend hates it. But he tries very hard to be rational about it.

Yandere! Boyfriend who tries to get you to spill your secret. He'll pin you under him and pepper your neck with ticklish kisses, keeping you in place even as you squirm. His words are muffled by your skin but you can still hear the whine in his voice when he says, "Come on baby, you can tell me."

Yandere! Boyfriend who gets more and more pushy when you won't give in. His kisses turn to sharp little nips, his hands roam under your skirt and drag up your thighs. His voice drops dangerously low when he asks, "Why are you keeping secrets from me?"

Yandere! Boyfriend who has to fight himself to even let you up when you tell him to stop, that you're not hiding anything.

Yandere! Boyfriend who goes through your phone the second you're asleep. But you know what your boyfriend is like and you've covered your tracks well. He stares at the screen, his hand clenched so tightly around the device the frame almost bends. He has take several deep, slow breaths before he can make his fingers unclench.

Yandere! Boyfriend who starts following you. The errands you're on seem harmless on the surface. Buying a cake, ribbon, balloons... But his mind is an awfully paranoid place and all he can think about is some guy spreading chocolate frosting on your thighs and licking it off. Tying your legs together with ribbons and pulling them apart with his teeth. All he can think about is some bastard enjoying a gift that isn't his.

He goes to the gym after that and pounds at the punching bag until his knuckles are raw and bleeding inside his gloves.

Yandere! Boyfriend who tracks down every single one of your friends. Sometimes banging at their doors long after sundown. There's only one thing he wants to know from them.

Why is she keeping secrets from me?

Yandere! Boyfriend who hates the vague answers they give him - just wait and see, I can't tell you, it's a surprise. He has to bite his tongue to keep himself grounded or else he might start shaking them until the truth rattles out of their scrambled skulls.

Yandere! Boyfriend who honestly terrifies your friends with his intensity. They desperately want to tell you about it, the way his eyes go dull and dangerous, the way his massive fists stay clenched at his side like he's always on the verge of swinging, the blood that coats his teeth like he's been biting himself to ribbons. But they see the way you look at him, so hopelessly in love, and can't find the words to tell you.

Yandere! Boyfriend who won't let you out of your apartment. He'll cuddle you and pretend to be asleep so you can't even untangle yourself from his massive bulk. He'll "lose" the keys and help you turn the whole place upside down looking for it, teasing you for being so absent minded. He'll turn back all the clocks and hide your phone, just so he can steal a few more hours. Who only relents when you start considering the dangerously rusty fire escape.

Yandere! Boyfriend who is on the verge of tying you up in his basement. Who unlocks his door with the intention of taking a look down there and maybe making it comfortable.

"Surprise!"

Yandere! Boyfriend who stands frozen, taking in the ribbons, the balloons, the cake, the crowd of people. And at the forefront, you. In a pretty, new dress wearing those heels that make your legs look a mile long.

Yandere! Boyfriend who scoops you up in a hug and won't let you go. Who keeps a hand on you all night - around your waist, on your thigh, intertwined with yours.

Yandere! Boyfriend who practically kicks the stragglers out the door at the end of the night. He turn around to an empty house with you out of sight and his mind starts to doubt itself again.

Yandere! Boyfriend who finally finds you in the bedroom, ribbons tied all around you and a pretty red bow holding your legs together.

"Surprise."

Yandere! Boyfriend who thinks that might be his new favourite word. Who feels his throat go dry and for a second all he can do is drink you in. His pretty little girlfriend who played with fire planning this.

Yandere! Boyfriend who carefully unties each and every ribbon, planting soft kisses on your skin all the while. For now, the doubts have dissappeared and all that matters is you and him. Skin to skin and the only thought in his head is how he adores you.

[thesecondhandwoman]

(ACT THREE SPOILERS)

JINX’S DEATH

Sevika x f!reader

Summary: Only days after Isha’s death, Sevika learned that Jinx’s followed, leaving her without any found family left. She hasn’t been dealing with any of it in a healthy manner, especially with everything changing. It came to the extent where you, her girlfriend, and new second-in-command, to step in and comfort her.

The dim light of Zaun’s flickering neon signs seeped through the cracks in the dilapidated windows of Sevika’s apartment. The once-vibrant buzz of the Undercity felt muted now, like the soul had been stripped from it. Zaun had always been chaotic, a blend of raw, unfiltered energy. But without her—without Jinx—it felt deader than dead, even before Silco’s death.

Sevika sat at her cluttered workbench, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a delicate, half-finished gadget in the other. The gadget was unmistakably Jinx’s handiwork—chaotic, colorful, and covered in erratic doodles. Sevika stared at the swirling patterns painted on the surface, her thumb brushing over the smudged ink, as if she could bring back the touch of the one who made it.

Jinx was gone.

Her sacrifice haunted Sevika more than she cared to admit. The girl had been a thorn in her side for years—a chaotic storm that tore through Zaun, Silco’s operations, and Sevika’s patience with equal fervor. But Jinx was also a constant. A force of nature who had wormed her way into Sevika’s hardened heart.

When Silco had first brought Powder, soon-to-be Jinx, into their world, Sevika had scoffed at the pathetic child. “Another stray,” she had muttered under her breath. But even back then, she’d felt a begrudging sense of responsibility.

Someone had to keep the kid from blowing herself up—or taking half of Zaun with her.

Over the years, Sevika had watched Jinx grow. From a scared, fragile girl clinging to her trauma to the unpredictable force of chaos she became. She had rolled her eyes at the paint splattered across the walls, grumbled about the smoke from her makeshift workshop, and cursed the noise of Jinx’s endless tinkering. Yet, she never turned her away.

Sevika had acted indifferent, cold even, but deep down, she had cared. She’d cared enough to shield Jinx from Silco’s wrath when her impulsive actions jeopardized a mission. She’d cared enough to sit in the corner of Jinx’s workshop, silently smoking, while the girl rambled on about her newest “masterpiece.” And in the end, she’d cared enough to mourn.

Jinx had died saving her sister, Vi, and taking out Warwick—the monstrous creation of Viktor’s twisted experiments with Arcane energy. It was a choice that had shocked Sevika to her core. Jinx, the girl who had burned bridges and built bombs, had chosen to sacrifice herself for the sister who had left her behind.

The irony wasn’t lost on Sevika. She had spent years trying to shield Jinx from pain, from betrayal, and from herself. And now, there was nothing left to protect.

Sevika didn’t hear you come in. She never did these days. She was too lost in her grief to notice much of anything. You paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of her slumped over the workbench. The lines on her face seemed deeper now, her strong frame weighed down by an invisible burden.

“Sevika,” you said softly.

She didn’t turn, but her shoulders tensed at the sound of your voice.

You crossed the room and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” Her voice was rough, edged with irritation, but it lacked the bite it once held.

“Punishing yourself.” You gently pried the gadget from her hand and set it aside. “She wouldn’t want this.”

Sevika barked a bitter laugh. “What the hell do you know about what she’d want?”

You flinched at her harshness, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you knelt beside her, forcing her to look at you. Her dark eyes were rimmed with red, tears threatening to spill over. It was a rare sight—Sevika, the unshakable enforcer, brought to her knees by grief.

“She wouldn’t want you to drown in this,” you said softly, but it held some firmness. “She’d want you to keep living, if not for yourself, then for her...”

Sevika shook her head, the tears finally breaking free. She groaned at the way they trailed down her cheeks, creating streaks along her brown skin.

“She was just a kid, just like Isha. She deserved better.”

You reached up, cupping her face in your hands. “She had you,” you whispered. “You gave her better.”

Sevika’s resolve crumbled at your words. She pulled you into her arms, clutching you like a lifeline. You held her as she broke, her sobs echoing through the small apartment. It was a raw, unguarded moment, and you knew how much it had cost her to let you see it.

“She drove me insane,” Sevika choked out between sobs. “But… she was my family.”

You ran your fingers through her hair, grounding her. “And you were hers.”

“Please don’t leave me like they did..” She whispered, nearly begging. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

You held her closer and gently kissed her temple before whispering: “I won’t.”

[faebled-stories]

A Journey to Belong

Kinkvember Day 26: Collaring

LOONA/Lossemble Kim Hyunjin x Male reader

AN: Woke up this morning to see an anon sharing a picture that was absolutely perfect. I'm a little gutted I didn't think to use it first, but I'm swapping out the original because it fits so well. Shoutout to that anon!

Hyunjin used to wear her collar with pride. To her, it was more than just an accessory; it was a quiet proclamation of something deeper, something grounding. The soft leather always warmed against her skin, like a second pulse in tune with her own. She would touch it absentmindedly, her fingers brushing its edge when she was lost in thought or overwhelmed by emotion. It wasn’t just a tether—it was comfort, a mark of belonging, a secret she carried that only the two of you truly understood.

Sometimes, you’d catch her tracing its curve, her lips curling into a playful, knowing smile. She seemed to radiate joy in those moments, a quiet confidence that reflected her connection to you. When she laughed, her head tilted just enough for the light to catch its polished surface, creating a subtle gleam that felt like it winked just for you. That collar wasn’t just part of her identity—it was part of yours. A symbol that carried the weight of something words couldn’t touch, a connection that went deeper than mere appearance.

In the past, she treated it with reverence. Her hands would move with care as she adjusted it in the morning, her fingers slow and deliberate, as if the act were a ritual. When you fastened it around her neck, her posture straightened, her shoulders set, as though she were bearing the weight of something noble, something cherished. But lately, that reverence had begun to fade.

The world had grown heavier on her shoulders, its quiet burdens pressing into her with relentless persistence. It dulled the gleam in her eyes, dimming the light that once made them shine like distant stars. She moved slower now, less deliberate, her rhythm disrupted by the constant push and pull of responsibilities she could never quite shake. You saw it in the way her hand brushed the collar less often, in the way it hung around her neck without the same meaning. It had begun to feel like an afterthought—a once-sacred symbol reduced to just another thing she wore.

The rituals that once anchored her, those small acts that reminded her of who she was and what she meant to you, had grown scarce. The quiet moments where meaning was woven, thread by thread, had been replaced by silence. It wasn’t just the collar losing its weight—it was the spaces between you that felt heavier now, filled with an unspoken distance that you couldn’t quite bridge.

That evening, the house was quiet. The golden hues of sunset filtered through the curtains, pooling in soft puddles of light on the wooden floor. You stood in the bedroom doorway, your shadow stretching long across the room as you watched her. She was tucking her legs beneath the blanket, her movements slow, tired. Normally, this hour was sacred. She would kneel beside the bed, her posture straight, her head bowed, her breaths even as she let the weight of the day melt away. It was a small ritual that belonged to the two of you, a moment of balance in a chaotic world.

But tonight, she simply climbed into bed. Brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face, her expression was one of quiet resignation, as though that ritual were nothing more than a faint memory.

“Hyunjin,” you said softly, your voice steady but questioning.

She glanced up at you, her eyes heavy with exhaustion, faint shadows beneath them betraying just how long the day had been. “Hmm?”

“Your ritual,” you reminded her gently, careful to keep your tone light.

“Oh,” she murmured, shifting slightly as she pulled the blanket higher over her shoulders. “I’ll skip it tonight. I’m tired.”

The word hung in the air between you, cold and unyielding. It felt like the first crack in something you’d thought was unshakable. You wanted to press her, to remind her that it wasn’t just a routine but a connection—a space for her, for you, for what you’d built together. But something fragile lingered in her gaze, a weariness that ran deeper than physical fatigue. She looked like a bird perched precariously on a wire, ready to take flight at the slightest movement.

So instead, you nodded and stepped away, the sound of your footsteps fading into the quiet of the house. Still, the tightness in your chest lingered, an ache settling deep as you heard the soft creak of the bed springs signaling her restless sleep.

-----

A couple of mornings later, sunlight poured through the kitchen window, a golden warmth spilling across the tiled floor. Faint motes of dust swirled lazily in the still air, catching the light. The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound breaking the silence. You stood at the counter, the warmth of your coffee mug grounding you, your gaze fixed on the corner of the room.

It was the spot you’d asked her to clear days ago. Yet, it remained untouched, the clutter seeming to expand every time you looked at it. Books with dog-eared pages teetered in uneven stacks, half-empty mugs marked with faint coffee rings sat beside plates with crumbs still clinging to them. Papers—some folded, some crumpled—spilled across the surface, as though she’d abandoned them mid-thought. It wasn’t just a mess; it was her mess. Her habits left to fester, her tasks left undone, her things bleeding into the shared space as if their importance extended only as far as her immediate need for them.

You took a slow sip of your coffee, the bitter warmth grounding you as irritation flickered faintly in your chest. Turning toward the sound of soft footsteps, you saw Hyunjin shuffle into the room. Her hair was loosely gathered in a bun, messy strands framing her face, and her phone cast a pale glow across her features. Her thumb moved idly, scrolling with an almost hypnotic focus that made the rest of the world feel distant.

Without looking up, she moved toward the counter, her movements slow and distracted. You waited, letting the silence stretch for a moment, then finally spoke. “Hyunjin, why haven’t you cleaned the corner yet?”

She paused mid-step, her thumb hovering over her phone. For a fleeting second, she looked genuinely confused, like she wasn’t sure what you were talking about. Her eyes followed yours to the mess, and recognition flickered faintly across her face.

“Oh,” she said lightly, her tone casual, as if the neglected corner was an afterthought. “I haven't gotten to it yet.”

You set your coffee mug down carefully, keeping your voice calm but deliberate. “You didn’t get to it?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her tone dismissive, already brushing off the moment. “I’ll do it later. It’s not a big deal.”

Her hand waved vaguely toward the clutter, and she didn’t even glance up from her phone. Her thumb resumed its slow scrolling, her focus absorbed once again by the screen in her hand. The dismissiveness in her words stung more than you expected. It wasn’t the mess itself—it was the meaning behind it, the erosion of care, the growing distance her casual attitude revealed.

“Hyunjin,” you said, your voice tightening slightly. “When I ask you to do something, I expect it to be done.”

She didn’t even glance up, her gaze fixed firmly on her phone. “Okay, okay,” she mumbled, the words quick, automatic, more reflex than acknowledgment. As she turned slightly, she muttered under her breath, “Jeez.”

The word was quiet but sharp enough to cut. It hung in the air, a small jab that carried a weight far heavier than the sound should have. Your jaw tightened, the flicker of irritation blooming into something harder to ignore.

The warmth of the sunlight streaming through the window felt out of place now, incongruous against the tension crackling in the air. The room, once a peaceful haven, suddenly felt heavier. The silence was no longer soothing but charged with something unspoken. You turned back to the window, gripping your coffee mug a little tighter as you stared out at the trees swaying gently in the breeze.

It wasn’t about the mess, not really. It was about what it represented—the slow, creeping disconnection that seemed to settle in the spaces between these moments. You wondered how something so small, so seemingly insignificant, could feel so monumental. But the distance was there, undeniable, growing wider with every careless dismissal, every idle word. You stared out at the golden light playing across the trees and wondered when things had started to slip away.

-----

That evening, the restaurant was softly lit, the golden glow of candles casting flickering shadows across the table. The low hum of conversation mixed with the gentle clinking of silverware, creating an atmosphere that felt both intimate and alive. You and Hyunjin sat among her friends—Go Won, Yeojin, Hyeju, and Vivi—whose chatter flowed easily, punctuated by bursts of laughter that seemed to brighten the room. The five of them shared an easy rhythm, their teasing and playful banter weaving a language they all seemed to instinctively understand.

Hyunjin looked radiant tonight, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the room and the laughter bubbling from her lips. She leaned forward as Yeojin said something outrageous, her eyes crinkling with genuine amusement, her smile wide and uninhibited. It was the kind of joy that drew you in, making the rest of the room blur around her. For a moment, you let yourself get lost in it, in the way her laughter lit up the space between you, in the quiet pride of seeing her so at ease.

Then, Go Won leaned forward, her grin mischievous, her tone teasing. “So,�� she said, drawing out the word, her eyes glinting with barely contained glee, “is it true that Hyunjin’s partner is, like, totally in charge?”

Yeojin giggled, her eyes darting between you and Hyunjin, while Hyeju smirked knowingly. Vivi, who had been sipping her wine, set her glass down delicately and raised a curious eyebrow, her lips curving into a subtle smile. Their teasing filled the air with an electric anticipation, the kind that came before someone said something bold. All eyes turned to Hyunjin, waiting for her response.

Hyunjin laughed, but it wasn’t the soft, genuine sound you’d heard moments before. This laugh was sharp, cutting, her tone tinged with something defensive. “Yeah, right,” she said, flipping her hair with an exaggerated flourish. “He thinks he’s in charge? Oh please.”

The table erupted in laughter. Go Won clapped her hands while Yeojin practically doubled over, her giggles carrying across the room. Even Hyeju, who often played it cool, cracked a grin. Vivi, ever poised, hid her smirk behind her hand, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. You smiled along, but it felt stiff, a hollow gesture as her words sank in.

Beneath the table, you reached for her hand, a subtle gesture meant to ground the moment, to remind her of the connection that should have been there. But her hand shifted slightly, pulling away as if she hadn’t noticed—or perhaps as if she had and didn’t care.

“Hyunjin,” you said softly, leaning toward her so your words wouldn’t carry to the others. Your tone wasn’t angry, but there was a question in it—a quiet nudge toward something unspoken.

For a fleeting moment, her smile faltered. She glanced at you, her eyes flickering with something—hesitation, regret, a sliver of guilt—but it disappeared as quickly as it came. “What?” she said, her voice light, brushing off the moment. “It’s just a joke.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, their casual dismissal cutting deeper than they should have. The conversation rolled forward without missing a beat, the others picking up where they’d left off. Vivi leaned toward Go Won, quietly asking a question that made her laugh, her soft voice adding to the warm hum of the room. Hyunjin, meanwhile, turned back to Hyeju, her smile slipping back into place. On the surface, everything seemed normal, her laughter blending seamlessly into the rhythm of her friends’ banter.

But beneath that surface, her thoughts tumbled. She told herself it wasn’t a big deal—that it was better this way, keeping things light, keeping her independence in view for others to see. They didn’t need to understand everything. They didn’t need to see what happened between the two of you, the private bond that defined her. That was hers to guard. And yet, as she laughed, the thought settled heavily in her chest, an unease she couldn’t quite push away.

You leaned back slightly, withdrawing into the golden light of the restaurant. The room around you was alive with warmth and conversation, but it felt distant, as though it belonged to another world entirely. You watched her across the table, the way she tilted her head toward Hyeju, sharing a private joke, the corners of her lips lifting just enough. It should have been enough to warm you, but instead, a quiet ache gnawed at the space between you.

There was a disconnect now, sharp and unyielding, like an invisible chasm that had opened in the space of a few words. It wasn’t the laughter or even the teasing that stung. It was the way she pulled away—the way her words had drawn a line that neither the candlelight nor the soft hum of the restaurant could cross. The warmth of the evening felt muted, its glow unable to soften the weight of the unspoken distance. You sat back in silence, watching her laugh and smile, and wondered when the connection you shared had started to feel like a memory rather than something real.

The days had begun to blur together, the weight of unspoken tension threading through the quiet of the house. Little moments that once felt warm now felt distant, replaced by a growing disconnect that neither of you had yet acknowledged aloud. You found yourself noticing the small things more—the sound of her keys dropping onto the counter, the way her shoes landed haphazardly by the door, as if she no longer cared where they fell. It was as if the rhythm you once shared had gone slightly out of sync, a subtle discord that lingered in every interaction.

This evening was no different. The house was still, the muted hum of life outside barely audible through the windows. You sat on the couch, a reading lamp casting a soft glow over the book in your hands, the quiet, a fragile balm you hadn’t realized you needed. The words on the page barely registered, your mind wandering to the space between you and Hyunjin, to the way things had begun to fray. You turned the page absently, your focus more on the soft creak of the house settling than on the story in front of you.

The sudden slam of the front door shattered the stillness, the sharp crack slicing through the quiet like a thunderclap. Hyunjin stormed in, her movements hurried and agitated. Her bag slipped off her shoulder and hit the floor with a heavy thud, the sound reverberating in the space like a dropped weight. It landed crumpled and forgotten, a statement as loud as the door she had slammed behind her.

Tension radiated off her in waves, her presence electric, charged with barely contained frustration. She moved with a restlessness that seemed to fill the room, suffocating in its intensity. Her breathing was uneven, her fingers twitching as they reached up to push her hair back from her face, her movements sharp and unrelenting.

From your spot on the couch, you looked up, your grip tightening slightly on the book as the soft light from the lamp illuminated your face. You studied her, taking in the way she paced slightly, her gaze flickering over the space like she was searching for something to anchor her. The energy she brought into the room was undeniable, sharp and restless like the air before a downpour.

“Rough day?” you asked, your voice neutral, carefully measured as you closed the book and set it aside on the small table next to you.

“Don’t start,” she snapped, her voice taut and edged with irritation, each syllable cutting through the stillness like a blade. She kicked her shoes off with thoughtless movements, one landing askew near the door while the other slid across the hardwood with a soft scrape. Without so much as a glance in your direction, she headed toward the kitchen, her movements brisk and full of a frustration she seemed unable to contain.

You rose from the couch, moving calmly in her wake, each step deliberate and unhurried. The tension radiating from her seemed to fill the air, but you kept your own energy steady, refusing to be drawn into the storm she was carrying. “I’m not starting anything,” you said, your voice low and even. “I’m asking.”

“Then don’t!” she said, whirling around to face you, the sharpness in her tone reverberating between you. Her eyes burned with an emotion that went beyond anger—it was raw, layered with exhaustion and something deeper, something tangled and unspoken that caught you off guard. “God, you’re always hovering. Can’t you just give me some space?”

Her words lingered in the air like smoke, acrid and stinging. They cut through the fragile quiet that had filled the house before she arrived, leaving it broken and jagged in her wake. Her shoulders rose and fell with shallow breaths, her chest heaving slightly as though even the act of speaking had pulled something out of her. You took a small step closer, your movements measured, keeping your gaze steady as you tried to read the tension in her stance. Her posture was tight, defensive, her arms twitching slightly as though she wanted to cross them but couldn’t quite commit to the action.

“Hyunjin, come here,” you said softly. Your voice was calm but firm, a quiet invitation edged with a gravity that couldn’t be ignored. It wasn’t loud, but it carried weight, a steady anchor in the turbulence that crackled in the space between you.

Her jaw tightened, her teeth pressing together as she hesitated. For a moment, her arms wrapped around her chest defensively, her body closing off. Her eyes flickered with something between defiance and vulnerability—an emotion she seemed desperate to mask. “What now?” she muttered, her tone laced with sarcasm and exhaustion. “Another lecture? Another rule I’ve broken?”

You let the words hang in the air for a moment, refusing to take the bait. “Come here. Now,” you said again, sharper this time. The calm authority in your voice sliced cleanly through her deflection, leaving no room for argument.

Her body stiffened, her lips parting as if to fire back a retort, but the words caught in her throat. She froze, her arms tightening against her chest as she stared at you, her expression caught somewhere between rebellion and hesitation. The air between you felt impossibly heavy, thick with the weight of all the things left unsaid. Her defiance was still there, simmering just below the surface, but quieter now, edged with uncertainty.

Slowly, deliberately, you reached for the collar around her neck. The movement was calm, but its intent was unmistakable. Her breath hitched audibly, her eyes widening as your fingers brushed the soft leather, warm from her skin. The cool buckle under your touch seemed to amplify the tension, vibrating in the charged silence.

Her reaction was immediate. Her hands shot up, grasping yours with sudden urgency. Her palms pressed against the backs of your hands, trembling slightly as though to stop you—or at least to understand. The contact struck you both, heavier than the action itself, more intimate than any argument could ever be.

Her fingers curled lightly against yours, delicate but insistent, as if trying to cling to something intangible. She didn’t speak, but her eyes searched yours, wide and pleading. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, but the emotion in her gaze spoke louder than any words she could muster.

The buckle clicked open, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet. Her hands lingered on yours for a moment, trembling as though reluctant to let go. When the leather slipped free from her neck, her hands fell away slowly, brushing over her collarbone as if trying to feel the weight that was no longer there.

Her gaze darted downward, her expression shifting between shock and raw vulnerability. “What—what are you doing?” she stammered, her voice faltering, unsteady. Her fingers rose instinctively to the bare skin of her neck, searching for the familiar presence of the collar, now conspicuously absent.

You held the collar in your hands for a moment, its weight feeling heavier than it had ever been. The leather seemed darker under the dim light, more imposing in its absence from her neck. Without a word, you turned and walked toward the mantle, your footsteps deliberate, every step sinking into the silence like a nail into wood.

Carefully, almost ceremoniously, you placed the collar on the mantle. Its dark band stood out starkly against the pale wood, a silent reminder of what it represented. You let your hand linger for a moment before stepping back and turning to face her again.

“If you can’t respect what this collar means,” you said, your voice steady and measured, “then you don’t deserve to wear it.”

Her breath hitched audibly, sharp and hollow in the heavy silence. For a moment, she stared at you, her lips parting as if to argue, but no words came. Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she looked away, her hands twitching at her sides. Then, her gaze snapped back, flickering with faint resistance, though it was muted—more defense than defiance.

“That’s not—” she began, but her voice faltered, the words tapering off. She looked down, her fingers brushing her neck as though searching for the familiar weight that was no longer there. Her jaw tightened, and her voice came softer, almost subdued. “You’re… overthinking this,” she muttered. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

You stayed silent, your gaze steady, letting her words linger in the charged air. She shifted uncomfortably under your scrutiny, her hands falling away from her neck as she glanced toward the collar resting on the mantle. The sight of it made her flinch, her shoulders drawing inward, but she refused to let herself stay vulnerable for long.

“Whatever…It’s just a stupid collar,” she said finally, the words tumbling out too quickly, too defensively, as though trying to shield herself from the enormity of the moment.

Your expression didn’t waver, your silence speaking louder than any response could. Her dismissive tone lingered in the air, but it felt brittle, as though it could shatter under the weight of her unspoken emotions. The room settled into an oppressive stillness, the warmth of the house replaced by a cold tension that neither of you could escape.

Her gaze flicked back to you for a fleeting moment before dropping to the floor. She stood frozen, her fingers twitching at her sides, her vulnerability laid bare despite her words. And as the silence deepened, you wondered if she truly believed what she had just said—or if it was simply easier to say than to confront what the collar, and everything it represented, meant to her.

-----

The absence of the collar should have been no big deal. That’s what Hyunjin told herself that first night, staring at the faint shadows cast by the moonlight on the ceiling. The glow of the streetlights outside spilled through the curtains, painting shifting shapes that danced with the breeze. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the cool air brushing against her bare neck—a subtle but insistent reminder of what wasn’t there. She pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders, seeking warmth, but it didn’t help. No matter how tightly she cocooned herself, the emptiness followed her, clinging like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

Her fingers fidgeted at her sides, brushing against her throat as though searching for something that wasn’t there. Each time they met bare skin, a pang of frustration mingled with something deeper—something she refused to name—flared in her chest. She shifted onto her side, then her back again, the rustle of the sheets doing little to calm the restless energy coiling within her. The room felt colder, quieter than it should have been, the stillness pressing down on her like a weight.

“It’s just a strip of leather,” she whispered into the dark, her voice barely audible. The words felt hollow even as they left her lips, a weak attempt to convince herself of something she didn’t truly believe. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Saying it aloud should have helped. It should have silenced the thoughts, dulled the ache in her chest. But the words dissolved into the silence, weightless and meaningless, leaving behind only a sharper awareness of the void they couldn’t fill. She turned her face into the pillow, her fingers clutching the blanket as though holding onto something tangible could ground her. But even that felt futile, like trying to grasp smoke.

Sleep, when it finally came, was fractured and uneasy. Flickering images and sensations haunted her dreams, vague and ungraspable. The sound of your voice lingered in her subconscious—steady, grounding, sure. The firm yet comforting pressure of your hands left an imprint that refused to fade. And the collar—it haunted her, its weight vivid in her dreams, so real she could almost feel it pressing against her skin.

She woke several times throughout the night, her body restless, the blanket tangled around her legs. Each time, her hand instinctively reached for her neck, her fingers brushing the bare skin as though to confirm what her mind already knew. The absence felt like an accusation, a silent reminder of what she had dismissed too easily. By the time the faint light of dawn seeped through the curtains, her body was drained, but her thoughts were relentless, circling the same question: Why did it feel like so much more than just a collar?

-----

By the third day, the weight of the collar’s absence had become unbearable. The void it left consumed her thoughts, gnawing at her relentlessly, each quiet moment amplifying the ache. The collar sat on the mantle in the bedroom, unmoving yet commanding, its polished leather gleaming faintly in the soft light of flickering candles. It seemed so small, so unassuming, yet its presence loomed large, dominating not just the room but her every thought.

At first, she avoided looking at it directly, telling herself it didn’t matter, that it was better to stay busy and keep her focus elsewhere. But the effort was futile. Her eyes betrayed her, flickering back to it again and again, her chest tightening with each glance. The ache inside her grew sharper, more insistent. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers twitching at her sides as though resisting the urge to reach out. It wasn’t just the object that unsettled her—it was the creeping realization of what it symbolized: trust, connection, submission, and the bond she had taken for granted.

She tried to leave the room, to find distraction in other parts of the house, but the bedroom pulled at her like a tide. Each step away felt heavier, harder, until she couldn’t bring herself to leave at all. By midmorning, she was back, sitting on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on the mantle. Hours stretched long and quiet around her as she lingered, her presence a silent acknowledgment of the tension she couldn’t escape.

By evening, Hyunjin’s resolve had crumbled entirely. She remained in the bedroom, the air thick with the faint scent of mint and the lingering trace of your cologne. The room seemed heavier than usual, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for her to face what she had been avoiding all day.

Her gaze locked on the mantle once again, drawn to the collar as if by an invisible force. Its polished leather caught the flickering candlelight, the buckle gleaming faintly like a distant beacon. Her chest tightened with every passing second as she stared, her reflection faintly visible in the metal, distorted and fragile. Her breath grew shallow, her thoughts swirling into a chaotic storm of guilt, longing, and determination.

Unable to stand the weight of it any longer, she slowly sank to her knees. The wooden floor felt cold against her skin, grounding her trembling body as she settled into position. Her hands rested lightly on her thighs, but her fingers quivered, unable to stay still. She bowed her head, her breath uneven, as though the very act of submission was drawing the truth out of her.

The room pressed down on her in its quiet stillness. Each flicker of candlelight seemed to illuminate the depths of her turmoil, the flames dancing in time with the raw emotion that churned within her.

Her heart pounded steadily in her chest, her body aching from the strain of holding the position, but she refused to move. The act of kneeling felt like the only thing tethering her, a physical manifestation of the submission she had neglected.

She whispered to herself, soft and uncertain, the words carried by the silence. “It wasn’t just a stupid collar. It never was.”

The admission felt raw, vulnerable, but the weight of it didn’t lift. Her breaths came shallow and uneven as the minutes ticked by. Her muscles burned, her knees aching against the hard floor, but she stayed resolute, unwilling to let the discomfort deter her. This was where she belonged—waiting, asking without words for the chance to prove herself.

When the sound of the front door opening echoed through the quiet house, her heart leapt in her chest. Her body stiffened, the faint creak of your footsteps growing louder as you moved closer. She didn’t dare lift her head, the air around her thickening with anticipation. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her thighs, her breath catching as your familiar presence filled the doorway.

You stopped, your shadow falling over her as you took in the scene: Hyunjin kneeling at the foot of the mantle, her head bowed, her form trembling slightly with emotion. The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across her figure, accentuating the strain in her shoulders, the tension in her hands. She didn’t look up, but the weight of your gaze pressed into her like a tangible force.

“Hyunjin,” you said, your voice low and steady, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Her head lifted slightly at the sound of your voice, her eyes wide and glistening as they met yours. “Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I… I know I wasn’t called here. But I needed to be here.”

You studied her, your expression unreadable, and she hurried to continue, her words spilling out in a rush. “I’ve been so foolish,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly. “I thought I could brush it off, that it didn’t matter. But I was wrong. So wrong.”

Her fingers twitched against her thighs, her entire body trembling as she spoke. “I’ve learned… that submission isn’t automatic. It’s not something I can take for granted or expect without effort. It’s something I have to give—fully, every day. And I failed to do that, Sir. I failed to value you, to trust you, and to honor what this collar represents.”

Her voice broke, a sob catching in her throat. “I thought I could handle its absence. That it wouldn’t affect me. But it does, Sir. It does more than I ever imagined. Without it… without you, I feel so lost.”

Her head dipped lower, tears spilling over as her breath hitched audibly. “Please, Sir,” she whispered, desperation threading through every syllable. “I don’t deserve it yet, but I want to. I want to earn it back. I’ll do anything. Just… just let me prove myself.”

“Words are easy, Hyunjin,” you said, your tone calm but unyielding. “They don’t mean as much as action.”

Her breath hitched, and she quickly looked up, her wide eyes searching your face for any hint of mercy. “Please, Sir,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’ll show you. I’ll prove it. Just… please, let me earn it back.”

“You’ve been working hard,” you acknowledged, stepping closer, the collar still in your hands. “But hard work isn’t enough. What makes you think you deserve this again?”

Her lips parted, trembling as she struggled to find the words. “Because I—I know what I lost,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “I know what it means now, Sir. I’ll do anything to earn it back. Please, don’t keep it from me.”

You took another step forward, looming over her. The weight of your presence made her lower her head again, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. “Anything?” you asked, your tone steady but sharp. “Because this collar isn’t just about obedience. It’s about trust. Commitment. Do you even understand what those mean?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said quickly, her voice rising in desperation. “I understand now, I swear. I didn’t before, but I do now. Please… let me prove it to you.”

Her hands twitched against her thighs, instinctively wanting to reach for you but staying frozen in place. The room fell silent again, the tension thick as her pleas hung in the air. You stayed quiet, letting her squirm under the weight of your gaze. Her breathing grew more frantic, her fingers curling into fists as her composure began to crack.

“Sir,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m begging you. Please… I need it.”

You crouched in front of her, the collar dangling from your fingers. Her eyes locked onto it instantly, her breath catching as if the air had been knocked from her lungs. But you didn’t move to put it on her. Instead, you leaned closer, your voice a low murmur. “Needing it isn’t enough. You’ll have to earn it, Hyunjin. Through action, not words. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. “I’ll do anything. I’ll prove myself.”

“Then keep proving it,” you replied, your tone firm as you straightened again. Her body tensed, and for a moment, she thought you were going to walk away. The thought must have terrified her, because she moved without thinking, her hands clasping around your ankle.

“Please, Sir,” she begged again, her voice raw with emotion. “Please… I’m sorry for taking it for granted. I’ll never do it again, I swear. Just give me a chance.”

You watched her for another long moment, letting her desperation sink in. Finally, you knelt again, holding the collar at eye level. Her eyes widened, hope flickering across her face, but she stayed still, trembling as you leaned in.

“This collar is not just a decoration,” you said, your voice low but deliberate. “It is a gift. A privilege. And for it to stay on, you’ll need to show me that you understand that.”

Her breath hitched as you moved closer, the collar brushing against her neck. Slowly, with deliberate care, you fastened it around her throat. The soft click of the buckle echoed in the room, final and absolute, like a vow being made. Her chest rose sharply as the familiar weight settled back into place, grounding her once again.

Her fingers twitched again, instinctively wanting to reach for it, but she stopped herself. You tilted her chin up with a single finger, your gaze locking onto hers.

“To keep this collar,” you said, your tone soft but firm, “you will face tests. Challenges that show me you’re worthy of wearing it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly parted, and her wide eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Thank you, Sir. I won’t let you down. I promise.”

You let your hand linger on her chin for a moment longer before releasing her, your gaze steady as you straightened to your full height. Towering over her, your presence filled the space, commanding without a single word. She remained kneeling, her hands resting on her thighs, her posture perfect but trembling slightly as the weight of the moment settled over her.

“Good,” you said, your voice steady, firm. “Because this is your second chance. Don’t waste it.”

She swallowed hard, her breath shallow, her gaze flickering between your face and the collar now secure around her neck. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension shifting into something heavier, warmer, charged with the quiet promise of something restored.

Slowly, you leaned down, your hand brushing her cheek as your lips met hers. The kiss began tentative, a gentle press of lips, testing the waters of the bond you were rebuilding. But it deepened quickly, fueled by the unspoken emotions of the past week. Her hands, still trembling, reached for your shoulders, clutching at you as though afraid you might pull away.

Your hand found the collar, your fingers curling around the leather as you tugged gently, pulling her closer. The sensation sent a visible shiver down her spine, her breath catching in her throat.

“You’ve missed this, haven’t you?” you murmured against her lips, your voice low and knowing.

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “So much, Sir.”

A faint smile played across your lips as your grip on the collar tightened slightly, guiding her as the kiss deepened. The heat between you grew steadily, the air thick with the mingling scents of mint and her rising need. She pressed closer to you, her hands sliding down your chest, fingers clutching at your shirt as if anchoring herself in your presence. Each touch, each movement was an affirmation of the connection you had rebuilt, the trust slowly returning.

Her body leaned into yours instinctively, the energy between you palpable. You pulled back just enough to let her feel the tension lingering in the space between your bodies. Your hand, still curled around the collar, applied the slightest pressure, keeping her gaze locked on yours.

“Then show me ,” you said softly, your voice steady, deliberate.

Her breath hitched, her hands falling back to her thighs as she lowered her gaze slightly, the flush on her cheeks deepening. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice filled with reverence. The atmosphere between you was electric, charged with anticipation as she prepared to prove herself once more, piece by piece, rebuilding what had been fractured.

Hyunjin nodded, her body visibly tense with anticipation. Her fingers moved with care, unfastening the button on your pants and sliding the zipper down. The soft sound of fabric shifting against the leather chair seemed deafening in the silence. Her breath hitched as she tugged your pants and boxers down, her cheeks flushed as you were exposed to her fully.

Her wide eyes flickered upward, a mix of nervousness and need shining in them as she hesitated for a moment. You didn’t speak, letting her feel the weight of the moment, your hand moving to rest lightly on her head. That gentle guidance was all she needed to lean forward, her lips parting as she placed a soft, tentative kiss at the base of your length. Her warm breath brushed against you as she began, her tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path upward.

Her movements grew more confident as she worked, her lips wrapping around you, taking you deeper with each pass. The soft moans that escaped her vibrated against your skin, the sound sending a jolt of heat through your body. You threaded your fingers into her hair, your grip firm but not harsh, guiding her pace as she moved with increasing fervor.

“Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and approving. She responded immediately, her pace quickening, her tongue and lips working in perfect harmony. But just as the tension in the room began to build, you tightened your grip in her hair, pulling her back sharply.

“Stop,” you said firmly.

Her lips slipped off you with an audible pop, her eyes snapping up to meet yours, wide and questioning. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, her hands still resting lightly on your thighs as she froze in place. The sight of her—lips glistening, cheeks flushed, her pupils blown wide with desire—sent a wave of satisfaction through you, but you held your expression steady.

“Look at it,” you commanded, your voice calm but unyielding. “Just look.”

She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to your length. Her hands twitched against your thighs, her lips parting slightly as she stared, her breathing ragged. The heat between you was palpable, thick in the air as the seconds stretched on.

“Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Not yet,” you replied, your tone firm. “You’ll wait until I say.”

Her fingers dug slightly into your thighs, her need evident in the way her body shifted, her legs pressing together subtly. The denial was working—her arousal was unmistakable, her lips trembling as she obeyed, her gaze fixed on you.

“Resume,” you said after a long moment, your hand loosening its grip on her hair.

She dove back eagerly, her mouth enveloping you with renewed fervor. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her movements quicker, more precise. The warmth of her mouth, the slickness of her tongue, and the soft, muffled sounds she made sent sparks of pleasure through you.

Just as her pace became frantic, you tugged on her hair again, pulling her back abruptly. Her head tilted up, her lips red and swollen, her eyes glassy with desperation. A soft whimper escaped her as she looked at you, her need etched into every line of her face.

“Stop,” you said again, your voice sharp.

“Sir,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “Please.”

You tilted your head slightly, observing her with quiet intensity. “Please, what?”

“Let me continue,” she begged, her voice trembling. “I need to, Sir. I need to.”

Your lips curled into a faint smile as you leaned forward slightly, your thumb brushing over her swollen lower lip. “You’ll wait,” you said, your tone commanding. “Until I’m ready.”

Her body visibly trembled, her arousal spilling over into every movement. Her thighs pressed together tighter, her hands clutching at the fabric of your pants as if anchoring herself. She was desperate, her need growing with every second you held her back.

Finally, you tugged her closer pulling her head down slightly. “Resume,” you said, your voice low and rough.

She whimpered softly, the sound drenched in need, her lips parting as she immediately obeyed. Her mouth found you again, her movements feverish, as if every second away had only amplified her desperation. Her tongue glided along your length with reverence, each flick and swirl precise, her lips sealing around you as her moans vibrated against your skin. Her soft, muffled sounds filled the room, fueling the intensity of the moment. Her submission was complete, every movement a display of her devotion and longing to please.

The tension inside you built higher with every stroke, every delicate movement of her lips, her frantic need feeding your own growing pleasure. Her breath came in quick huffs through her nose as she worked, her hands lightly gripping your thighs for stability. She was utterly lost in the moment, her entire focus on serving you, and it was intoxicating.

With a firm tug on the collar, you pulled her head back once more, her lips slipping off you with a soft, breathy whine of frustration. Her wide, pleading eyes locked onto yours, her need written plainly on her flushed face. Her breaths came in shallow, desperate gasps, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself.

"Strip," you ordered, your voice steady and commanding.

Her trembling hands immediately moved to obey, her fingers fumbling slightly in her haste as she shed her clothes. The fabric slid from her body, pooling on the floor as she stood before you, bare and vulnerable. Her skin glowed in the flickering candlelight, every curve and line of her body laid out for your gaze. She shivered, a mix of anticipation and arousal coursing through her, but she didn’t waver, her eyes cast downward in submission.

“Now, get on the bed,” you said, your tone leaving no room for hesitation. “On all fours.”

She scrambled to comply, her movements quick but deliberate, the urgency in her actions undeniable. The mattress dipped slightly beneath her as she positioned herself, her knees sinking into the plush surface. Her back arched instinctively, her head bowing submissively, her hands gripping the sheets tightly as if anchoring herself. Her breath hitched audibly as you stepped behind her, the leash in your hand taut, its tension a constant reminder of your control.

Reaching for the leash attachment on the bedside table, you let the quiet sound of metal against wood fill the room. Her body tensed at the faint clink, her breath catching as she froze in place, her anticipation palpable. The polished attachment glinted in the candlelight as you clicked it into place on her collar, the sound sharp and commanding. A tremor ran through her as the leash went taut, and you gave it a testing tug, pulling her head back slightly.

“You’ve done well,” you murmured, your free hand trailing over the curve of her spine, feeling the way her body shivered beneath your touch. “But I’m not done testing you yet.”

Her whimper was soft, her voice barely audible over the quiet tension in the room. Her hips shifted instinctively, pressing back slightly, seeking more of your touch as though her body had a will of its own. The leash in your hand grew taut as you pulled her back, her movement halted with deliberate precision. A shiver ran through her, and the small sound that escaped her lips was almost a plea, fragile and raw.

You smirked at her eagerness, letting your hand slide to her hips, gripping them firmly to keep her still. “Desperate already?” you murmured, your tone edged with amusement. The heat of your palm against her skin only heightened the tension, her trembling body betraying the effort it took to remain obedient.

Slowly, you teased her, letting the tip of you brush against her entrance, the barest touch enough to make her tense and gasp. Her thighs quivered, her breath catching audibly as her body trembled with restrained anticipation. Her need was palpable, her entire form aching for more, yet she remained frozen, holding herself steady with a visible effort that only deepened your satisfaction.

“Patience,” you said sharply, your voice slicing through her whimper. The leash tightened slightly, a reminder of your control. “You’ll take what I give you. Nothing more.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice shaky yet obedient, her words punctuated by shallow, unsteady breaths.

You pressed forward just enough to enter her, your movements slow and deliberate, the sensation electric as her body responded instantly. Her muscles clenched tightly around you, a soft, broken cry escaping her lips as her fingers curled into the sheets. Her need was overwhelming, radiating from her trembling frame, yet she didn’t move, her submission absolute even as her desire consumed her.

“Don’t move,” you commanded, your tone low but firm.

“Yes, Sir,” she gasped, her voice filled with effort as she fought to remain still. Her fingers dug deeper into the sheets, her knuckles white as her body vibrated with barely restrained longing. Every breath was a struggle, her soft whimpers growing louder as you stayed motionless, letting the weight of the stillness press down on her.

But then, instinct betrayed her. Her hips shifted ever so slightly, seeking more of you, her desperation winning out for a fleeting moment. The rustle of the leash was sharp as you pulled it taut, her head jerking back as your hand came down sharply on her ass with a loud, resounding smack. She yelped, the sound a mix of pain and pleasure, her body jolting forward even as she froze in realization.

“What did I say?” you growled, your voice low and commanding, the leash a firm tether in your hand.

“Not to move,” she whimpered, her voice trembling with both need and apology.

“Then don’t,” you snapped, your tone sharp, leaving no room for argument.

“Yes, Sir,” she replied quickly, her words laced with desperation as she braced herself, her hands gripping the sheets tighter.

Leaning forward, you pressed in further, filling her slowly, deliberately, her sharp gasp echoing in the room as her body quivered around you. Her whimpers grew louder, her breaths shallow and uneven as her restraint began to unravel. The tension between you was palpable, the air charged with her aching desire and your unyielding control.

Again, she moved—a tiny, involuntary tilt of her hips, but it was enough. Without hesitation, you tugged the leash sharply, pulling her head back as your hand came down on her other cheek with another sharp smack. Her cry was louder this time, her body jolting beneath you as the sting radiated across her skin.

“You’ll wait until I allow it,” you said, your voice a growl. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice breaking, her body trembling as she tried to steady herself.

The leash tightened in your hand as you leaned over her, your lips brushing against her ear. “Good girl,” you murmured, the words low and deliberate, sending a shiver down her spine. “Now, let’s see if you can do better.”

You stayed still inside her, savoring the way her body clenched around you, her desperation growing with each passing second. Her soft, broken whimpers filled the room, every sound a testament to her struggle and her need. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the sheets, her entire body trembling with the effort to obey.

When she moved again—a subtle, instinctive tilt of her hips—you didn’t hesitate. The leash tightened sharply, pulling her head back as your hand came down once more with a sharp smack. The sound reverberated through the room, her cry echoing louder, her body jolting before falling still.

“Again?” you growled, your tone low and dangerous. “Have you not learned?”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she whimpered, her voice cracking, her words tumbling out quickly. “I’ll be good. I’ll be still.”

“Prove it,” you said sharply, your grip on the leash firm, holding her exactly where you wanted her. “Show me you deserve this.”

She nodded frantically, her breaths coming in soft, broken gasps as she fought to hold herself steady. Her body quivered beneath you, every inch of her radiating need, but she didn’t move again. The leash in your hand was a constant reminder of her submission, the tension pulling her further into the moment as her fingers gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles white.

You pressed into her fully, slow and deliberate, filling her completely. Her sharp gasp echoed in the room, her body instinctively clenching around you as she felt the stretch of you inside her. But you didn’t move. You held her there, buried deep, the weight of the stillness pressing down on her.

“Do you want me to move?” you asked, your voice low, calm, and teasing.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Please.”

You stayed perfectly still as the tension built between you. Without warning, you twitched inside her, the subtle movement making her entire body jolt. A broken whimper spilled from her lips, her thighs trembling as she clenched around you again, her breath shaky.

“Is that what you wanted?” you asked, your tone almost mocking.

“More,” she whimpered, her voice cracking. “Please, Sir. Give me more.”

Another twitch. Her cry was louder this time, her back arching slightly as the sensation rippled through her. Her hands clutched at the sheets, her entire body quivering with desperation.

“Why should be so generous?” you murmured, your voice calm, almost curious. “Have you earned it?”

“I—I’ll earn it,” she stammered, her words tumbling out in a breathless rush. “Please, Sir, I’ll do anything. I’m sorry. Please.”

You leaned over her slightly, the leash in your hand taut as your free hand slid down her back, your touch soft, teasing. “Anything?” you asked, your lips brushing against her ear.

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Anything.”

Her body tensed as she waited, anticipation written in every trembling muscle. Then, you twitched again, the small, deliberate movement sending another jolt of sensation through her. Her cry was a mix of frustration and arousal, her thighs pressing together as she fought to stay still.

“Please,” she begged, her voice raw and desperate. “Please, Sir, I’ll be good. I won’t move. Just—please.”

Her desire was palpable, her submission complete as body trembled beneath you. You stayed still for a long moment, letting her desperation simmer, the leash pulling her head back slightly as a reminder of your control.

Finally, you pulled back all the way, the cool air brushing between you as her breath hitched, her body trembling with anticipation. Her hands gripped the sheets tighter, her entire form taut, waiting for your next move. Without warning, you thrust into her fully, your entire length filling her in one deliberate motion. A loud cry escaped her lips, raw and unrestrained, her body clenching tightly around you in response. But she stayed completely still, every muscle tense, holding herself in perfect submission despite the overwhelming sensation.

You stayed there, buried deep inside her, your hand trailing down her back in a slow, soothing motion. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, her entire body trembling with the effort to hold herself still. “Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and warm, laced with pride. “You listened this time.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling but steady, filled with quiet gratitude. Her submission radiated from every inch of her body, her fingers gripping the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Slowly, you pulled back again, her breath catching as she braced herself. Then, without warning, you thrust into her a second time, your motion smooth and deliberate, your entire length filling her completely. Her cry was louder this time, her voice breaking as her body clenched around you again. But once more, she didn’t move. She held herself perfectly still, her submission unwavering, her breath shaky as she fought the overwhelming sensations.

The leash in your hand stayed taut, keeping her aligned with your control, her body bent to your will. You leaned forward slightly, your breath warm against the back of her neck as you murmured, “That’s what I wanted to see. You’re doing so well.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with relief and pride.

This time, you began to move, your pace slow and deliberate, the shift a clear and deliberate reward for her obedience. The relief in her voice was almost tangible, her muffled cries spilling out with each thrust, each sound a testament to the weight lifted from her desperation. Her body responded instinctively, perfectly aligned with your rhythm, the curve of her back arching as though offering herself entirely to you.

The leather leash in your hand stayed taut, a constant tether to her submission, its tension drawing her further into the moment. Each measured thrust pressed her hips forward, only for her to press back with a growing urgency, her movements eager yet restrained, still seeking your permission in every motion. The slick heat of her enveloped you completely, her body clinging with a fervent need that made the air between you crackle with intensity.

Her cries grew louder, each sound a mix of pleasure and surrender, her voice rising in raw emotion with every deliberate thrust. Your grip on the leash tightened, and you pulled her head back sharply, eliciting a sharp gasp from her lips. Her neck arched beautifully, her vulnerability on full display as she submitted to the pull of the leather.

In a fluid motion, you wrapped the supple leash around her head, positioning it snugly between her lips. The soft leather pressed firmly into her mouth, transforming her cries into muffled, broken sounds of pleasure and need. The gagged whimpers and desperate breaths filled the room, blending with the rhythmic sound of your movements. Her body trembled beneath you, every shudder and quiver a display of her surrender, her raw need laid bare.

"This," you murmured, your voice low and edged with a commanding roughness as you leaned in, your lips grazing the delicate curve of her ear. "This is who you truly are," you continued, your breath warm against her skin, each word sinking into her like a brand. "Your best self," you whispered, the possessiveness in your tone undeniable, each syllable deliberate, drawing her deeper into the moment. "Completely mine."

Her muffled response was unintelligible but filled with emotion, her entire body reacting to the weight of your claim. Her hands gripped the sheets with white-knuckled intensity, her nails scraping against the fabric as her body buckled beneath the steady, purposeful rhythm you set. The leather pressed into her lips, the tension in the leash anchoring her fully in the moment, as if nothing else in the world existed except your control and her submission.

Her cries reached a fever pitch as you slowed abruptly, pressing deep inside her and holding completely still. The sudden lack of motion made her freeze, her muffled whines of frustration breaking the quiet tension in the room. She clenched around you instinctively, her body desperate for the friction and release that had been so cruelly denied. Her desperation filled the air, thick and electric, as she quivered beneath you.

“You don’t get to cum until I give you permission,” you growled, your voice low and commanding. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whimpered, her voice shaky, her words muffled by the leash pressing against her lips. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles white as she fought to obey, every fiber of her being screaming for relief. Her body trembled violently, her thighs quivering as she remained perfectly still, holding herself together only through sheer willpower.

You began to move again, deliberately slow, each thrust measured and purposeful. Her muffled cries grew louder, her hips instinctively pressing back into you, desperate to match your rhythm, to take more of you. But each time her movements matched yours, you slowed again, the leash taut in your hand a constant reminder of her place.

"Patience," you said sharply, landing a firm slap on her ass. The sound echoed in the room, followed by a sharp gasp as she jolted slightly under your touch. Her body trembled, the sting blooming across her skin as a mix of pain and pleasure heightened her arousal.

You smirked at her reaction and spanked her again, your hand coming down with enough force to draw a muffled cry from her lips. Her muscles tightened around you, her body reacting instinctively as her breath hitched. “You take what I give you, nothing more, nothing less” you ordered, your voice a low growl. 

She nodded frantically, her breaths ragged as her body trembled with the effort to obey. Her submission sent a thrill through you, and you rewarded her with another deliberate spank, your palm landing squarely on her other cheek. Her cry was louder this time, her body jolting forward as the sensation spread through her.

“Good girl,” you murmured, your tone approving but firm. “I can feel how much you want it. Is this all it takes to make you fall apart?”

Her muffled cries grew more frantic as you thrust into her again, slow but deep, her body tensing with every motion. The deliberate pace was maddening, designed to keep her on edge without letting her tip over. You spanked her once more, the sound of the impact followed by a sharp whimper that was pure need.

Then, leaning over her, you tugged the leash tighter, tilting her head back. Your breath was warm against her ear as you growled, “Where do you deserve my cum?”

Her muffled response was immediate, frantic. “Inside, Sir,” she gasped, her voice trembling as her hips instinctively pressed back against you. “Please, Sir, inside. Fill me.”

You smirked, leaning closer, your voice low and teasing as you asked, “Do you think you’ve earned that?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whimpered, her voice cracking with desperation. “I’ll be good—I’ll do anything. Please, Sir, I need it.”

You spanked her again, the sharp smack drawing a broken cry from her lips. Her body jolted, her thighs trembling as she clenched tightly around you. “Then beg for it,” you commanded, your voice thick with authority.

“Please, Sir,” she sobbed, her voice trembling with emotion as she broke completely. “Please let me have it. I’ll do anything—I’m yours. Please let me feel it.”

Tightening your grip on the leash, you thrust into her slowly, deeply, savoring the way her body trembled beneath you. “Good girl,” you murmured, your voice a low rumble against her ear. “You’ve earned it.”

Your pace quickened, each thrust deliberate and deep as the tension between you reached its peak. Her muffled cries turned to sobs of relief and pleasure, her body responding instinctively as she gave herself over completely. The connection between you was electric, her submission feeding your control as the leash stayed taut in your hand, keeping her exactly where you wanted her.

Leaning closer, your voice dropping to a low growl. “Who do you belong to?” you demanded, the authority in your tone leaving no room for hesitation.

“You, Sir,” she gasped, her voice trembling but resolute, her entire body arching under your control.

You thrust harder, making her cry out as you repeated, “Say it again.”

“You, Sir! Only you!” she sobbed, her voice raw with submission as her body shuddered.

"Good," you murmured, your voice thick with satisfaction as you leaned in closer, tightening your grip on the leash-turned-gag. The leather pressed snugly between her lips, muffling her cries as her body quivered beneath you. "Never forget it."

You didn’t give her time to respond. Your hips began to move with unrelenting purpose, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. The room was filled with the rhythmic sound of your movements and her muffled cries, raw and desperate, vibrating through the leather gag. Her body arched beneath you, trembling with the effort to hold herself steady, her fingers clutching the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Her thighs quivered as she clenched around you, her body reacting instinctively to your relentless pace. Each sharp motion drew another muffled moan from her lips, her cries growing higher, more frantic, as her body teetered closer to the edge. The leash stayed taut in your hand, pulling her head back just enough to keep her perfectly aligned to your will.

Her entire form shook beneath you, her body taut with tension as the heat between you built to a fever pitch. Her muffled sounds became a pleading melody, her desperation spilling out with every motion as her submission deepened. You could feel the way she clenched tighter, her body begging for permission even without words, every inch of her crying out for release.

You pulled the leash back, the leather taut between your fingers, leaning into her ear as your voice dropped to a sharp, commanding growl. “Now. Cum for me.”

Her release was immediate, her body convulsing beneath you as a muffled scream tore from her lips, raw and unrestrained. Her walls clenched tightly around you, the intensity of her climax gripping you like a vice, pulling a guttural groan from your throat. Her limbs shook uncontrollably, her strength failing as her muscles gave out. Her body became weightless against the collar, her submission leaving her completely at your mercy.

The leash in your hand became a lifeline, pulling her back as her head tilted, her breath hitching in sobbing gasps. Each wave of her release rolled through her, leaving her trembling and arching into you, her body unable to do anything but feel. Her fingers clawed weakly at the sheets before falling away entirely, her arms limp, her legs shaking so violently they could no longer support her weight.

You didn’t let up, your thrusts deep and deliberate, each motion designed to draw every ounce of her climax from her quivering body. Her walls pulsed around you, the sensation almost too much as she squeezed tighter with every tremor, her body desperately holding onto you. The heat of her, the way her back arched instinctively, and the desperate, muffled cries that spilled from her lips pushed you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” you growled, your voice low and rough, satisfaction lacing every word as her sobs softened, her trembling body still clenched tightly around you. Leaning over her, your breath brushed her ear, sending a shiver through her overstimulated form. “Take it all.”

Her submission fueled your own release, the way she surrendered entirely to the moment, her body collapsing beneath you. You thrust into her one final time, burying yourself as deep as possible as the pleasure surged through you, your groan low and primal as your release hit. The sensation of filling her completely, the warmth of it spreading between you, sent another shockwave through her. Her body tensed again, her climax reigniting in perfect rhythm with yours, her walls tightening and pulsing as if to draw every drop from you.

Her muffled cries broke into breathless sobs, her body trembling violently as the overwhelming sensation left her utterly undone. The collar pressed firmly against her neck, grounding her even as her limbs refused to obey her, her submission total. Each pulse of your release seemed to extend her own, the shared intensity forging a connection so powerful it felt as though the air around you crackled with it.

As the last tremors of your climax subsided, you stayed buried inside her, the weight of your body pressing her into the mattress. The leash remained taut in your hand, a steady reminder of her surrender, the collar snug against her flushed skin. Her body slowly relaxed, her trembling subsiding into soft, uneven breaths, her whimpers barely audible as her submission became absolute.

You leaned down, your lips brushing softly against the back of her neck, your breath warm and soothing as it ghosted over her flushed skin. “Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and filled with satisfaction. “You took it so well.” The heat between you lingered, a tangible reminder of the bond you had just reaffirmed, the connection pulsing in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Her voice was a trembling whisper, filled with gratitude and exhaustion. “Thank you, Sir.”

You loosened your grip on the leash slightly, one hand sliding soothingly along her back as her breathing steadied. The quiet weight of the shared moment settled over both of you, a tangible understanding of control, devotion, and the bond that held you together. Her body relaxed beneath you, pliant and trusting, the tension of the night ebbing away.

As you moved to release the binding and settle beside her, she surprised you. Slowly, shakily, she pushed herself up, her limbs trembling with effort, and turned to face you. Her knees met the floor, her movements reverent despite her exhaustion. She knelt there, her gaze steady but soft, shining with unspoken emotion as she clasped her hands lightly in front of her.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said, her voice wavering but firm, her head bowing slightly in deference. “Thank you for giving me another chance. I promise I’ll never take it for granted again.”

The sincerity in her tone struck something deep within you, her submission layered with gratitude and determination. You reached out, cupping her face gently in your hand, tilting her chin so her eyes met yours. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you, the depth of her devotion reflected back in her gaze.

“I believe you,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over her cheek as her eyes glistened with unspoken emotion. “And I’ll hold you to that promise.”

The connection between you was palpable, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling like a balm over the intensity of everything that had come before. As she knelt there, a renewed sense of trust and devotion radiating from her, you felt the unbreakable bond between you solidify once more.

You reached down, your fingers brushing lightly against her chin as you guided her off her knees. Her body moved with a hesitant grace, her legs trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment. She followed your lead without question, her wide eyes flicking up to meet yours, silently searching for reassurance as you helped her onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath her weight as she settled, her hands clutching the sheets tightly, knuckles whitening as though anchoring herself.

When you reached toward the collar around her neck, her breath hitched audibly, her entire body going rigid beneath your touch. “Sir…” she whispered, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “Please… don’t take it off. I’ll do better, I promise.”

Her plea was laced with desperation, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as her gaze darted between your hands and your face, searching for any hint of mercy. A small, involuntary shiver ran through her, and her fingers twitched against the sheets, her need to hold onto the collar palpable.

You paused deliberately, your hand still resting against the cool leather. Leaning closer, you met her panicked gaze, your voice calm but firm, the tone leaving no room for argument. “This isn’t punishment,” you said, your breath warm as it ghosted over her cheek. “You’ve earned it back, but I need to take care of you first.”

The words hung in the air, steady and unyielding, and her resolve cracked just slightly. She nodded, swallowing hard, the submission in her posture softening into trust as she tilted her head, baring her neck for you. Even as she complied, her lips parted as though she wanted to speak again, but no words came. Her breathing quickened as the soft click of the buckle echoed in the room, impossibly loud against the quiet backdrop. You slipped the collar off carefully, her skin faintly red where the leather had rested. The collar felt heavier in your hand than usual as you set it on the bedside table, its presence a silent promise.

Her gaze followed the collar until it was out of sight, her trembling form still taut with unspoken emotion. Before she could voice any of it, you leaned in, your lips brushing against the now-bare skin of her neck. The first kiss was featherlight, your breath warm and soothing against her flushed skin, a deliberate reassurance. Her body shivered beneath you, a soft, involuntary sound escaping her lips as you began to trail kisses along the delicate curve of her neck.

Each kiss was purposeful, slow and deliberate, leaving a path of heat in their wake. You felt her breath catch, the tension in her shoulders melting under the tender press of your lips. When you reached the sensitive spot beneath her ear, you lingered, your teeth grazing her skin gently before sucking just enough to leave a faint mark. Her gasp was sharp, her hands tightening their grip on the sheets as a visible shudder ran through her.

“These,” you murmured against her skin, your voice low and possessive, “will be your substitute until tomorrow. A reminder of who you belong to.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling with emotion. Her body sank deeper into the bed as you continued, your mouth leaving faint marks that dotted her neck like a constellation of your claim. Each kiss was deliberate, your teeth grazing her skin just enough to send another wave of sensation coursing through her. By the time you finished, her breaths were shallow, her body completely relaxed, her submission absolute.

Satisfied, you reached for the lotion on the bedside table, the faint scent of vanilla filling the air as you warmed it between your palms. “Lift your chin,” you instructed gently, your tone soft but commanding. She obeyed instantly, her head tilting back to expose the expanse of her neck, her trust in you evident in the way she remained perfectly still.

The cool lotion met her heated skin, and she shivered under your touch, the contrast heightening her awareness of the care you were giving her. Your fingers moved slowly, deliberately, smoothing the lotion over the faint redness left by the collar. Each stroke was tender, soothing, a tactile affirmation of her worth and your devotion.

When you finished, you leaned in one last time, pressing a soft kiss to the base of her neck. “Tomorrow,” you promised, your voice steady, carrying the weight of your conviction. “You’ll wear it again.”

Her voice broke slightly as she whispered, “Thank you, Sir.”

You stayed close, your hands resting lightly on her shoulders as her breathing steadied. The room settled into a quiet hum of intimacy, the bond between you unspoken but profound. The collar rested nearby, waiting for its return, but the marks you left on her skin and the care you had shown were enough to remind her of everything she had earned.

[tsukius]

Fiancé!kaiser drabble

featuring: michael kaiser

synopsis: he just loves to spoil you

author’s note: for the requests that i got, i promise I’ll post them soon😓 i have like ten drafts that i need to finish, but college said no😔

_________________________________

michael kaiser had always been a man of grand gestures and extravagant displays of affection. as your fiancé, he made it his personal mission to shower you with the finest things life had to offer- designer dresses, glittering jewelry, exclusive dinner reservations at the most sought-after restaurants. to anyone else, it might have seemed over-the-top or excessive, but to you, it was simply michael's way of showing how much you meant to him.

"it's my duty as your future husband to ensure you're treated like the empress you are," he'd say, that signature smirk of his firmly in place as he presented you with yet another elaborate gift. and though you'd playfully roll your eyes and insist he didn't have to go to such lengths, deep down you couldn't help but feel utterly adored.

because you knew, despite michael's penchant for the finer things, that his motivations ran far deeper than mere material indulgence. the way his eyes would light up when you'd wear the necklace he'd gifted you, or the tender way he'd hold your hand as you strolled through the park on one of your fancy dinner dates- those were the moments that truly revealed the depth of his affection.

michael was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve, preferring to express his emotions through grand, romantic gestures rather than words. but you'd learned to read between the lines, to see the love and devotion that simmered beneath the surface. the way he'd hold you close, his strong arms enveloping you in a warm embrace, conveyed volumes more than any three simple words ever could.

and so, you'd let him indulge his penchant for lavish displays, knowing that each extravagant surprise was his way of saying "i love you" without actually uttering the phrase. whether it was the sparkling diamond bracelet he'd surprised you with on your anniversary or the private jet he'd chartered to take you on a weekend getaway, you accepted it all with a grateful heart, reveling in the knowledge that you were the sole recipient of his unwavering adoration.

because truthfully, you didn't need expensive gifts or VIP treatment to feel loved by michael. the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world that mattered, was more than enough. the gentle way he'd caress your cheek, the reverent kisses he'd press against your skin- those were the moments that truly made your heart swell with affection.

still, you had to admit, there was a certain thrill in being spoiled so thoroughly by the man you loved. it was a testament to just how deeply he cared, how fiercely he wanted to provide for you and ensure your happiness. and as you stood beside him, hand-in-hand, gazing up at the twinkling cityscape from the balcony of your penthouse suite, you couldn't help but feel utterly, completely cherished.

because when it came to kaiser, grand gestures and lavish gifts were simply his way of saying "i love you" without ever needing to utter the words.

and for you, that was more than enough.

[tswkento]

there are 3 stages of your drunkenness and nanami happens to love you in every one of them;

i. the first is when you want to jump him as soon as you see him.

your nimble hands are all over him; tugging on his hair, dragging over the expanse of his back, diving under his shirt, grabbing at his buttocks — all the while your lips are hungrily lapping at the skin of his neck, leaving sloppy trails of drool behind and barely there hickeys that disappear the next morning.

and when your puffy lips finally attach to his nanami doesn’t keep any distance, he only pulls you closer, keeping a soft palm on the back of your head while his mouth swallows all of the wanton moans you let out, enjoying the way the sounds you make become stuttery and breathy as he touches you more, something as simple as his hand on your waist sending you into a frenzy.

the same hand slides down to your hips, a feeble attempt at holding them down while you’re so adamantly grinding into him, hungry for any kind of friction and eager to set him on fire too, to feel him harden under the cotton fabric of his pants. nanami prides himself on his willpower so it’d be a shame for him to fall under your not so subtle charms and seduction.

and as hard as it is to pull away from your lips that still have the taste of the cocktails you drank, to stop you from eagerly sucking on his tongue, riling him up for something more — nanami knows he has to, there is no way he is doing anything while you’re barely present.

fortunately, it’s fairly easy to control you in situations like these; all he has to do is tug you down onto the soft surface of the couch, hovering over you while he still kisses you, showing you that you can give in to him and trust him to take care of you. the soothing gliding of his hand over your hair and his strong arm around you is enough for you to submit, your harsh panting coming down to a halt and your eyes barely opening to meet his soft gaze.

“come on, sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up.” he murmurs softly into your ear and all you do is nod obediently, voice a little hoarse as you hum, “okay, kento~”

ii. after that, you need a little bit of babying to get through it.

it’s when you are literally gripping onto him like a koala bear, demanding you guys sleep on the nearest surface available because you’re too drunk to do anything else, but nanami knows better than to relent to your awfully cute begging and pouty lips brushing against the slope his ear.

“namii~” you muse his name, face pleasantly beaming, whilst he sits you down on the closed toilet lid, leaving for a second to get your makeup remover. “nanami?”

“yes, my darling.” he hums lightly as he takes his spot between your legs, hand gently tilting your head up so he can remove your makeup.

instead of talking you let your hands glide up his thighs, resting on his hips as you lean onto him for support, making it a little more complicated for him to clean you up properly. you seemed to be lost in thought, processing your surroundings as you clung onto him for support.

nonetheless, nanami is able to rid your beautiful face of everything you put on before you went out, enjoying the way your pliant body obliged to every soft request he let out, whether it was to look up so he could remove your mascara or turn your face to the side.

he couldn’t stop himself from praising you for being so cooperative tonight, since you like to become rowdy when drunk, which is an amusing sight to say the least.

“all done,” he mutters lowly into your ear as he puts away the hairbrush in his hands and allows you to bury your face in his stomach while you giggle and blow raspberries into his clothed skin, which is childish but still cute.

“let’s get you to bed, mm?”

like a true gentleman, nanami picks you up in his arms and does his best to make something out of your incoherent mumbling before singling out a weak little,

“yes please.”

iii. and when you get in the bed, what finally presents itself as a pretty good opportunity to get some quality sleep turns into a therapy session because you tend to get a little emotional after the previous events.

you wail into his chest, “you’re so good to me, kento~” while your fingers dig into the muscles of his back, and nanami tries his best to reassure you that there is no one more deserving of everything he does than you and no one else he’d rather take care of than you.

whispering sweet words into your ear, rubbing his warm palm over your back to soothe your suddenly tense body, make you feel better after a long day filled with draining activities. you hiccup into his neck, a feeble attempt at stifling your sobs and whines, and wrap yourself around him once more, seeking comfort in the sturdiness and heat of his body.

and when you’re finally done for the night, dozing off while cradled in his arms, nanami lets you know that he does in fact love you very much and the rare smile that stretches on his lips when you mouth the words into the column of his neck is the proof of that.

[sweetlady555]

Unlocking the hidden power of Mars 12H:

Hi everyone! I apologize for not having been uploading as much but I’m back and writing about Mars 12H because it's so powerful and I rarely EVER see anyone talking about it. As I’ve decided to step fully into my power starting November 2024, I’ve recently realized something powerful about my energy that completely changed my perspective, I will be using Kim Kardashian as my example as she is a Mars 12H native :$

What Is Mars in the 12H? 🤔

Mars represents drive, action and motivation. The 12H is the house of the subconscious, hidden things, spirituality, behind the scenes, hidden strengths, the spiritual realm. When these two energies combine, they create an energy that works below the surface often in ways we aren't fully conscious of. 👁️

One thing you should know is Mars 12H natives makes moves in silence they don't need outside noise or your projections! You'll see how it's done just watch, you don't know need to know how, why or when they're going to do it, but just know they've been multiple steps ahead of you. Its like this divine calling thats always in your ear telling you which move shall be next and its such a strong force that its like if you don’t take action itll make you feel so……… wrong its like a itch. Usually Mars 12H natives do take the action and it leads to blessings I like to call them. Mars 12H natives do not feel the need to force anything, when the thought and feeling comes you do that shit! Mars 12H natives are always mysteriously led to exactly where they need to be.. this is likely why they get their rep for being so mysterious & secretive! Its imporant as a Mars 12H native to listen to your gut and trust that everything will work out as planned, and this doesn’t go for just Mars 12H natives it goes for everyone!

Let's use Kim Kardashian as a famous example on how Mars 12H manifests for the natives, as a Mars in 12H native I feel like I can relate to her ambition and I can understand her doings.

Kim Kardashain always knew she was going to be a star, if you have seen her videos of her younger self she states, "and you're all going to remember me as this beautiful little girl" For both Kim and people with Mars 12th house, the confidence and determination to become a star or successful often comes from a deep subconscious belief in their destiny. Even if they don't know the "how" or the "when," they just FEEL compelled to take action towards their dreams, sometimes in ways that seem hidden or almost effortless to others. In Kim's case, she didn't just fall into success, she actively pursued it through her work, image crafting, and seizing opportunities. Even before she became widely known, she had an innate sense of how to position herself and build her brand. This is the Mars 12H signature, an internal drive that doesn't always need external validation or explanations to succeed. Many people accuse Kim of "destiny swapping" with Paris Hilton but let's be so fo real right now.. Destiny swapping doesn't exist, and I feel like people just can't believe Kim rose above Paris Hilton which seemed so effortlessly, but not enough people credit her for her hard work and perseverance. People have accused her for being a reptellian too 😭 ? because I guess its that hard to understand hard work, dedication and logic actually does pay off! Kim has a vision and she's still actively working hard for her vision behind the scenes, and if its one thing we all know its that Kim will chase her bag regardless!

My experience with Mars in the 12H :

Growing up, I always knew I was going to be something special, I knew I was gonna be influential (I have 10H placements so this might manifest differently) Last year, I had rose to fame very quickly online through my image and the amount of people who were confused af how I did it was flattering not gonna lie! I would hear people tell me things like “did you sell your soul?” or “whats the method?” or “you only got it because you had this and this” . I was always in my own bubble online posting what I feel destined to do no matter what my ego said. I thought with my soul a lot of times even if it was shocking, so honestly I could see how people would accuse me of “selling my soul” or having a certain method to my influential social media fame. There is a lot of pain & passion behind my doings and I logically plan everything out so it kind of flatters me honestly! To me this just shows how Mars 12H natives are skilled in making something out of themselves coming from being a underdog to becoming someone highly admired.

The Energy Of A 12H Mars Native :

Mars in the 12H natives can have this strong powerful magnetic effect on others without them even realizing it but others will feel this on a subconcious level. They truly have a lot of appeal! Its almost like this hidden power or secret magentism that draws people in which could attract a lot of admirers, monitoring spirits, actual spirits even! 😭 The truth is though, Mars 12H natives do really have this strong inner power within them, they tend to be very confident in themselves and this energy reflects on the outside even through the screen. They have this aura around them that can’t be ignored. Mars 12H natives will often be seen as untouchable or enigmatic, just like Kim she knew how to use this energy to use this subtle allure to captivate her audience.

People with Mars 12H have this sexual energy that is more felt, not seen! This can make their presence intoxicating as others may sense their sexual energy without knowing where it’s coming from. Its almost hypnotic! Its a deeply rooted emotional and spiritual sexual energy often rooted in the subconcious. With Kim, she knew how to use this energy in her brand being percieved as seductive, powerful and confident, but it wasnt just about her body — it was about the way she carried herself and commanded attention without saying much.

Despite being more subtle, Mars in the 12H gives the individual an almost unconcious control over their sexual energy. Theres an innate understanding of how to play on emotions and create attraction often with very little effort. This creates an energy that is simultaneously passive and powerful and you can’t deny or ignore it either. Almost like being in the background but still being the force everyone notices.

There is a lot of fantasy and imagination that takes place with Mars 12H natives and how theyre percieved, natives with this placement tend to make others fantasize about them not just by how they look but how they make people feel! Their energy creates a sense of longing, almost like a dream or a fantasy that others want to live in. Kim Kardashian has been able to tap into this fantasy energy by cultivating an image of perfect beauty and luxury, which keeps her in a fantasy world that fans want to be apart of. This fantasy element is key to her sexual appeal, as it makes her seem unreachable and unattainable.

Mars 12H natives, if they aren’t aware of their power makes them a target for insecure people and spirits in the physical and spiritual realm. People will often notice this energy before you even do and project the most they can and throw as much dirt as they can on you because they’re afraid of your power! Its highly advised you take the precautions and make sure you are being careful in who you’re telling your business to, what things you might be opening in the physical and spiritual realm, who you let into your space, who you’re doing business with all of it! Dont let them take advantage of you!

I also had read that Mars 12H often repress their emotions or their anger and although it is that in some cases, Mars 12H natives just tend to strategically move instead of acting out on anger or resentment in the moment to avoid unnecessary conflict and to stay in power and their own peace. Its a silent strength many Mars 12H natives have where you don’t have to scream or shout to prove yourself, you can strategically wait for the right moment, then act with precision. This ability to stay focused and composed on long term goals is what makes Mars 12H natives have this quiet power behind them. People might not realize that this anger comes from a calculated, startegic place, its not random but it could be percieved as out of nowhere. The 12H is often linked to subconcious energies, hidden feelings and things that are not visible to others, so when Mars 12H natives express their anger it can come off as intense, mysterious or even uncontrollable to those around you. People may not fully understand why you do the things you do or whats going on beneath the surface so this often leads to people labeling your anger more extreme.

The Spirtual Realm

Mars in the 12H natives are often deeply connected to the spiritual realm, but they experience it in a unique way. This placement can give them a natural sensitivity to invisible forces or energies like I mentioned earlier a divine force! Whether that may be intuition, sprits or subconcious currents that influence their actions. Mars in the 12H is often described as “Behind the scenes” or operating in the background, which makes these individuals especially attuned to the unseen world—the spiritual, emotional and psychological realm.

Mars, the planet of action, aggression and energy, in the 12h amplifies the natives ability to tap into intuitive and spiritual currents. This placement suggests that instead of being overly action-oriented in a physical way, Mars energy often works in more subtle and intuitive forms. For these individuals, the battle often happens internally-in the subconscious, in dreams, or in their connection to the spirit world.

Mars in the 12th house people often experience a sense of being guided by invisible forces, and they can be highly receptive to messages or signs from the spirit realm. This doesn't always mean they consciously hear or see spirits, but rather that they might feel guided by an internal voice or experience moments of divine timing that feel too precise to be mere coincidence. They may also experience heightened sensitivity to energy, such as a feeling of being watched, sudden shifts in mood or vivid dreams. Its not a common occurrence to hear ringing in your ears when you’re picking and feeling up on certain energies with these natives!

Since Mars 12H is a powerful subtle energy this makes spirits from the spiritual realm more attracted to them, Mars 12H natives are very assertive and felt by these spirits hence why certain spirits like to latch onto them. Its not common either to see spirits, see things move suddenly and even a spirit taking control over your body when you’re asleep. It sounds scary but don’t let this make you afraid, I once fell into this when I was around 8 or 9 when I was sleeping and a spirit had woken me up in the middle of the night and made me literally slam my face into my headboard that made the principal think I was getting hurt at home, i was always targeted by this spirit. I was the only one who could speak to it and make them do certain things like move toys and such. I didnt realize at the time I was connecting with aggresive spirits 😅 and not God. Its highly important for Mars 12H natives to strongly protect themselves when they are asleep because when you are asleep the veil between the spiritual realm and physical realm is very thin!

Mars 12H natives embody this spirtual warrior archetype, they can feel a calling to fight or stand up for spiritual causes or to protect others, but they do this in a way that is not outwardly visible to others. Mars 12H natives might actively avoid conflict when it comes to spiritual warfare or protecting their energy and their peace. They may also engage in energy work, spiritual practices, or rituals in private to protect themselves from unwanted spiritual influence. This is often done subtly or privately, as they don't always like to broadcast their spiritual strength. Their Mars energy in the 12th house can make them exceptionally good at clearing negative energy, transmuting it, and defending themselves from energetic or spiritual attacks, but they may prefer to do so behind the scenes, where others don't see it.

Mars in the 12th house natives may also experience periods of isolation or retreat, where they feel the need to withdraw from the physical world to connect with the unseen world. These moments of solitude allow them to recharge spiritually, process subconscious material, and connect with higher realms of consciousness. During these times, they may feel a deep connection with their higher self or with the spiritual beings guiding them.

When it comes to spiritual practices, these individuals are likely to have a natural talent for healing or working with energy, whether it's through prayer, meditation, crystals, or other metaphysical practices. Mars in the 12th house helps them channel life force energy in a quiet, powerful way, almost like a spiritual warrior operating in the background, quietly shifting energy around them.

Its important to watch out as a Mars 12H native what you are putting your energy into as these things will manifest almost immediately. When you decide to shift your attention to other IMPORTANT things you will often notice your energy was literally the foundation for whatever negative thing that was happening. So be Aware! You know how powerful your energy is.

This was a long post but as a Mars 12H native, I rarely see any accurate or in depth posts of Mars 12H individuals, I had to really dig into my experiences to understand this was Mars 12H influence all along.. In my opinion, Mars 12H natives deserve so much more respect for what they do because a lot of it goes unseen and for multiple reasons lol. I havent wrote in a while but I was getting a huge urge calling to post about this. If any mars 12h individuals relate to any of these experiences please let me know because I’d love to hear from you! and please be careful 💟 may god protect your divine energy, space and you ☮️

[salty-autistic-writer]

Buck sits on a hospital bed and looks down at his bandaged hands. Mild burns. They add to the considerable amount of smoke inhalation that makes his throat feel as dry as sandpaper. At least his coughing already got better. Buck's doctor assured him he would be able to leave soon. Too bad there's no home he can return to. 

He stares at his hands and feels … numb. It happened so fast. So fast, it almost seems like a dream. But it’s real. And everything still smells like smoke.

His loft. It’s gone.

In the middle of the night, flames consumed the walls in that scary astonishing speed he’s so well familiar with. And he couldn't stop it.

So many memories. Burnt down to ash. Buried underneath rubble. Gone.

A light knock at the doorframe makes him perk up. Buck expects to see Maddie who left to get some water and a snack. Or Chimney. Or Hen. Or Bobby. But it’s neither one of them.

“Tommy?” Buck looks up, too surprised to prepare himself for the pain he feels when he actually sees Tommy. For the first time in weeks. “What … what are you doing here?”

“I … Howie called me,” Tommy says, avoiding direct eye contact.

“Of course he did,” Buck mutters, looking back down at his hands, picking at a loose thread. Chimney. The ever-hopeful matchmaker.

Tommy clears his throat. “Are you okay?”

Buck flinches. The soft tone with which those words are spoken feels like a punch to his gut.

Are you okay? 

Okay. 

Anger wells up inside Buck’s tight chest like dark ice water, rising to the surface of his mind and fading out all the sadness. Buck glares up at Tommy. “Seriously? That’s what you’re asking about? After weeks of silence. Of nothing. You dare to show up here just like that and ask if I’m okay?!”

It’s Tommy’s turn to wince, his eyes widening slightly. “I’m sorry.”

Somehow, that only makes Buck even angrier. He knows it’s true. Honest. He knows that Tommy cares. And he kind of wishes Tommy wouldn’t. But here they are. Still care about each other way too much.

Tiredness creeps into the murky combination of anger and sadness.

“It burnt,” Buck says quietly.

“What?” Tommy asks.

“My scrapbook. It burnt. All the pictures too. The pictures I put on the fridge. And now I have nothing left.” Buck can feel the tears coming. He doesn’t want them. Doesn’t want to cry in front of Tommy. “All the memories I started to collect. They’re gone.”

I used to look at them. I used to remember the time when I thought I was finally on my way to happiness.  

“It’s all gone,” Buck breathes. And then he really cries.

An ugly sob that escapes his lips. And he hates it. Hates it so much. But he has no energy left to hide.

“Evan,” Tommy says, barely audible. And even though the sadness is suffocating him, Buck has the space for a relieved sigh. Not Buck. Still Even. And it still sounds so right … How does it sound so right after all the wrong directions their path took?

The bed dips as Tommy sits down beside Buck, hesitantly putting a hand on his heaving back. “It’s not all gone,” Tommy says.

Buck wipes at his burning eyes. “It’s not?” He asks, doubtfully.

“No. I … I’ve been collecting memories too. I can share them with you. If you want them,” Tommy says.

“That would be great,” Buck admits, trying to take a deep breath through his stuffed nose with a grimace. “Because … Because they really make me happy. The memories.”

“They do?” Tommy asks, his hand still on Buck’s back, but apparently not daring to move. “Don’t they make you … angry?”

“Not really. Sometimes they make me a little sad. Because I start to think of what could have been,” Buck says. “I start to picture all the happy memories the future might have given me.”

“But you don’t know if those memories would have been happy. What if … What if that future turns out to be so painful that you end up wishing you wouldn’t have lived through it in the first place?” Tommy asks, his voice strained. “Aren’t you scared of what you can’t know?”

Buck shakes his head. “No. I can’t live like that. The future isn’t set in stone. And as long as I think the memories I want to make are worth fighting for … Things will be alright.”

We would have been alright.  

Tommy’s hand is burning him. But when it retreats, Buck almost tells him to put it back. Maybe that’s pathetic. But he can’t find the energy to care.

Tommy is silent for a long moment. He seems lost in his own thoughts, his fingers rubbing over his jean-cladded knees in rhythmic movements.

Buck glances at him. Through a blur of his lingering tears, he suddenly realizes that Tommy looks … rough. 

His edges are sharper. The lines on his face seem deeper. There are shadows under his eyes and he’s close to growing a beard. 

And maybe that’s pathetic too, but Buck suddenly wants to hope that Tommy is feeling that same ache Buck has been feeling for such a long time now. The ache that forces him to bake. To keep his hands busy and his mind empty.

He wonders. What is Tommy doing to soothe his ache?

Buck almost asks.

But before he can, Tommy gets up. He clears his throat. “Are you staying with Maddie and Howie?”

“Yeah,” Buck says quietly. “For now. I guess.”

Tommy nods. He’s chewing on his lower lip. Lingers. Seems like there’s something else he wants to say.

And the silence stretches like a rubber band. The tension is almost palpable in the room.

Finally, Tommy says, “If I would text you in a few days. Would you read it? Would you read it all?”

“I would,” Buck says, remembering the bubbles. “I promise,” he adds.

Tommy exhales shakily. “Okay. Alright. I’m truly sorry, Evan. For the loft. And for what you lost. I can't change what happened. I can’t give the past back to you. But whatever happens, whatever you do after you read what I am going to write, I will give you everything I have. So that you can start a new collection.”

“Thank you,” Buck says, his throat tightening.

Tommy nods. He starts to walk out of the room with slow heavy steps.

Before he can disappear, Buck works up the courage to say, “Tommy. Wait.”

Tommy stops, glancing back at Buck.

“Are … are you okay?” Buck asks.

Tommy’s brows furrow with surprise, but then his eyes soften. “Honestly? No. And I haven’t been in a long time. But I am finding ways to keep the hope alive,” he says. “Goodbye, Evan. Rest well.”

And then he really leaves.

Buck stares into the void and the ache is back. But the pain has a note of hope in its bite. Maybe it’s the same kind of hope Tommy was talking about. And maybe he shouldn’t allow himself to feel it. But he can’t help it.

Apparently, his heart, even though covered in the ash the night left behind, is still convinced that the future he pictured is worth fighting for.

(AO3 Link)

[irrelevantwriter]

His Wife, Her Power

Pairing: Emperor Geta (Gladiator 2) x Female Reader/You

Warnings: NSFW, Ancient Rome type shit, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluids, power couple tings

Word Count: 3242

Summary: Part 2. The Emperor of Rome learns just who he chose to be his queen.

A/N: Part two is upon us. And its gonna get nasty. Again, I took major liberties with Ancient Rome. Let’s pretend okay. There also might be a part three 👀 Feedback is that good shit.💗

*Read Part One here

*Masterlist

***********************

You released a breath, feeling the last of your hair being freed from the confines of their pins. Your maiden brushed through your hair gently, nearly lulling you to sleep. Lavender emanated from your skin, making the temptation of slumber all the more intense.

“Your highness, the Emperor has called for you,” she whispered, setting the ivory comb aside. 

You nodded, a kind smile aimed her way. “Thank you. I’ll be along shortly,” you gently dismissed, not wanting to be followed. 

She understood. 

You took a moment to gather yourself in the solitude of your own chambers. You thought back on the day and the events that led you here. It’d started as any other and now you were possibly facing a fate much worse than death. 

Geta had been infuriated at you. He did not wish to eat dinner with you nor bathe with you. You hadn’t seen him since he’d threatened a night of merciless tyranny. 

Your husband, while sadistic at times, was simply a man. He did not want for much when it came to a wife. But you…you yearned for so much more. More than him crawling atop you. More than the uncoordinated coitus you’d grown accustomed to. And despite your husband’s misgivings, you did love him. You did lust for him. 

But he had barely scratched the surface of just what kind of woman he’d married. 

A knock from outside your door let you know a guard was waiting to escort you. You glanced down at your attire, pleased with the color choice. A robe of red and gold, similar to that of your husband’s, adorned your frame. It concealed what lay underneath. A sheer stola, the shade similar to the deepest scarlet rose you’d ever seen. One that lay in the gardens just beyond your chambers. 

Your sandals padded softly along the marble floors, soft echoes following you. A guard was placed at your front and back. At first glance, it looked to be for your protection. But something told you otherwise.

The journey to your husband’s quarters was long. Unnecessarily so. Once you’d made it to the entrance of his chambers, the guard at your front knocked on the door. It opened, revealing the Emperor’s own maiden. She smiled, eyes downcast and not meeting your own as she greeted you.

“Your highness, the Emperor is waiting.” 

She stepped aside, letting you through. You thanked her, holding your robe together as she left, the door closing in a muted thud. 

Soft light glowed throughout the room from several candles. A tray of fruits and meats sat near goblets of wine. By the looks of it, your husband had already helped himself. 

“You seem nervous.”

His voice startled you. He made himself known when he stepped out of the darkness of the night, sheer curtains blowing in the gentle breeze of his balcony. 

He wore a robe that nearly matched yours though his was much more intricate and regal. 

“If I appear nervous it is only because I wish to please my emperor,” you said with a bow of your head. 

Geta scoffed. 

“Placations will not get you far here, my love.”

He reached for you, beckoning your forward. You took his hand, letting him lead you. He bypassed the food and poured you a hearty glass of wine, maroon droplets sloshing over the side as he did so. 

“Here. You’ll need it.”

You took the drink, bringing it to your lips. You sipped, the pungent taste of grapes making you feel warm already. 

“My, my…someone is in a hurry,” Geta teased, his own glass poised in the air as if to make a toast. 

You belatedly realized he’d meant to toast with you. Humiliation crept its way up your spine. 

“I’m sorry, Augustus,” you softly offered, licking the excess wine off your lips. 

“It’s alright. I’d say that’s the least of your discretions, wouldn’t you?” 

He smiled and you couldn’t tell if he was speaking in jest or just waiting for the right moment to strike. 

You watched as he took a long pull from his glass, swallowing nearly all of its contents. A wayward drop made its journey down the hill of his Adam’s apple and over his exposed chest. Your stare was unabashed. He took notice. 

He looked at you for a long moment and it nearly made you uncomfortable. You took another sip from your wine, feeling that fuzzy sensation start to move through your limbs. 

“You, my wife,” he started, placing his cup on the table, “are truly a stunning sight. Do you know that?”

You smiled, eyes aimed down at the rare emotion in your husband’s voice. 

“You don’t believe me?” 

You placed your glass down, shaking your head. “Of course I do, Augustus.”

“You know all of Rome has you in their hearts. Their Emperor as well. A slave to you. And you dare to seem coy when I remark upon your beauty?”

He was teasing you. 

“A true lady of Rome knows of her beauty. But she never lets others know. That is her strength,” you replied, meeting the slow burn beginning to take shape in his eyes.

Geta smiled. A hint of pride in his face at your words. 

“Ah, there she is. What did you call yourself earlier?” He mimed as if he was thinking, a ringless hand lifted to his chin. “Oh yes! A jungle cat. My jungle cat.” 

His features shifted then. His shoulders squared. His chin up and pointed down at you. An Emperor coming to life. 

“You were quite the spectacle today, wife. A rarity even for you,” he remarked as he slowly started to circle you. 

“Forgive me, husband. I was speaking out of turn. That is my error.”

You flinched when his hand weaved itself into your loosened tresses. He played with the ends, his chest nearly touching your back. 

“While I appreciate the gesture, I much prefer your talk of freedom and sorcery.”

He moved to stand in front of you again, any traces of anger or irritation erased. 

“I thought of your words for the remainder of the day. And I have to admit,” he paused, eyes lasciviously roaming across your figure. “I am intrigued.” 

You felt your nipples pebble beneath your clothing at the way he was taking you in. He looked starved. A wild animal ready to pounce. It made the heartbeat centered in your chest travel downwards. It stopped between your legs. 

“I am not a sorceress,” you attested, squaring your own shoulders when he laughed. 

“Some say you are. Displayed by the way the people adore you. The way your Emperor does.”

He stepped closer, hands reaching for the opening of your robe that lay at your breasts. 

“I only love who I have a duty to love. There is no crime in that.”

Geta cupped your cheek, tutting down at you. “Of course not, my love. But I want to see what lies beyond that duty.” 

He pushed your robe off your shoulders, revealing your barely hidden form beneath it. The fabric fell to your feet, leaving your arms naked. A breeze kicked up, making your nipples even more prominent against the sheer fabric. 

Geta took you in slowly, the flames of his gaze heating the chill of the night. 

“I want you to give yourself to me. Freely. It is your turn to take, my love. You have my explicit permission.”

A thunderous wave accompanied the heartbeat between your thighs at your husband’s words. His hands made a home at your hips. His lips, at your allowance, pressed gently into yours. And it was you, drunk on the power wielded over to you, that opened your mouth to welcome him in. 

Your tongues danced together as one, the taste of wine evident. He grasped at the fabric concealing you and grunted against your lips. You pushed his own robe from his shoulders, baring him to your eager eyes. He was no Roman soldier, but he was built sturdy as any god carved from marble. 

“Let me touch you,” he pleaded, the words sounding like a symphony to your ears. You nodded, allowing him to undo the knot at your shoulder. 

Your own hands reached for the knot at his waist, the only piece of clothing he wore to cover his modesty. You’d never initiated such a thing. Geta buried himself into your neck at the action. 

Within seconds, you were both bare. His hands tangled in your hair while yours tugged at his. He tasted the column of your neck, moaning when he tasted something sweet. Honey. 

“I wish to show you something,” you breathed, pulling him from your chest. 

He nodded, eyes unfocused as he tried hard to listen to your words.

You led him to his own bed, releasing him so that you could lay back. You were on display for him. Curves highlighted by candlelight. Your hair was fanned around you, creating a halo. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think your husband was worshipping a goddess at her altar. He looked like a man lost in the desert, gazing upon you as if all hope was centered between your thighs. 

For him, it was.

You took him in. Unruly curls, wild eyes, and a cock as hard as the stone columns you resided in. He panted as if he’d run a mile to get to you. Sweat glistening off his pale skin. He was his own sight to behold. 

“Do you know, my Emperor, that I cast a hand upon myself at night? Without you?”

Geta’s eyes hurriedly found yours at your words, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

To demonstrate your point, you caressed yourself, soft stomach tightening as you traced delicate shapes into the flesh. He followed your movements, entranced. 

“Not possible,” he mumbled. 

“Why not?”

“It is a man’s duty for pleasure. Not a woman’s.”

You giggled at his ineptitude. 

“Oh, on the contrary…,” you cooed, your hand slowly making its way down your body. You passed over the curls nestled at the apex of your thighs and instead dipped a shallow finger beyond your folds. A soft gasp fell from your lips, your eyes closing briefly. An ocean of need sat beyond your walls. Wet and waiting. 

“You have aroused yourself?” He asked, somehow looking amazed and stupefied at the same time. 

You saw his cock twitch. 

“At times, yes,” you answered with a gasp, your finger catching the hidden source of pleasure just above your folds. 

“And you seek pleasure on your own? Without me?” 

He was not displeased as you’d anticipated. He was curious, hand reaching for himself. You watched as he squeezed the base, surely staving off the same unquenchable need you felt. 

“I do,” you admitted, finally plunging a finger into your depths. Your palm brushed the outside of your folds as you did, sending lighting bolts of ecstasy through your veins. 

“I want to see,” Geta demanded, one hand still holding himself. 

You acquiesced and spread your legs, letting his eyes feast upon you properly. One hand worked another finger in while the other cupped your breast, gently tugging at your nipple. 

You moaned at the feeling, nearly forgetting your husband was witness to such a wanton display. 

“Do you wish to touch me?” 

Geta nodded, swallowing as he joined you on the bed. You reached for his hand, putting a digit to your lips and lathering it in saliva. He watched in rapt fascination as you led him to your core. His hands were hardly calloused, but still rougher and bigger than your own. One of his fingers felt like two of yours, the stretch utterly blissful. 

“You’ve drenched your thighs,” he observed, taking a moment to see just how wet you were. You let him do as he wished, giving yourself over to his touch. 

He teased your entrance, using your arousal to coat himself. When he used his fingers to spread you, you trapped his hands between your thighs, the emptiness you felt too overpowering. 

“Please touch me, Augustus. Fill me,” you begged, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. 

He dutifully did as you requested, slipping two fingers inside. You arched your back, inching closer to his charitable touch. 

“You are mesmerizing,” he rasped, feeling your inner walls tighten around him. 

“Curl your fingers. Inside.” You gripped the bedding beneath you as he slowly pushed in and out, taking your instruction. Stars filled your vision as he did so. 

You were on the cusp of coming undone and without thinking, you joined his hand, manipulating his thumb so that he brushed against your delicate bundle of nerves. On the fourth pass, your body tightened and bursts of white light appeared behind your eyes. That feeling that you’d never found with him, but always with yourself had descended upon you. And just like every occasion before, you soared. 

Your chest heaved as you floated back down, Geta’s touch still strong against you. You whimpered and gently pushed him away, the sensitivity too much. You watched as he looked at his hand, coated in you. He rubbed two fingers together, the digits never meeting. There was too much of you for him to feel his own touch. 

“That is what a woman giving herself to you looks like, my husband,” you said with a satisfied smile, nodding to his hand. 

Geta looked down at you, searing your skin. His cock was still hard and now dripping with its own need. He used his hand, the one coated in your essence, and began soothing his own ache. His bicep tightened, his stomach taut as he peered down at you, sprawled out and lust drunk. 

“I have never met another like you,” he panted, eyes rolling when he paid special attention to the head. “You may not be a sorceress, my dear…but magic is what surely lays beyond your depths.”

You smiled up at him, seeing his chest flush red. You leaned up on your elbows, reaching a hand out to stop him. He did so reluctantly.

“Kiss me.”

He met you in the middle, arms holding himself up as his cock brushed your stomach. He kissed you hungrily and with desperation, hissing when your hand encircled him. His forehead came to rest against yours, completely overtaken by your touch.

“If you want to believe it is a spell between my thighs that has you prisoner, then so be it,” you whispered against his lips. 

He grunted when you stopped, the delay of gratification beginning to frustrate him. Before he could complain, you pushed against his chest, signaling that you wanted him beneath you. He’d never had you in this position and you could see him questioning such a request. 

“Let me show you, my love. Let me show you what having me means.”

Without another word, he did as you asked. 

He sat propped against feathered pillows as you straddled him. His eyes immediately went to your breasts. He feasted on them, pawing and nibbling every inch of honeyed skin. You held him to you, feeling his hips brushing up to meet yours. When he grazed your opening, you both moaned. 

You reached between your bodies and steadied him, forcing him to meet your gaze. You placed him at your entrance, sensuously lathering him in you. And as slowly as you could manage, you began to ease him inside. His arms instantly encircled you, fingers digging into the flesh at your hips. You did the same, hugging him to you as you became one. It was not the first time, but it would feel that way for many reasons.

“Gods, that feels…divine,” he exhaled, his lips brushing the tops of your breasts. 

“Like this…it feels like you're in the very depths of my soul,” you confessed, shifting your hips ever so slightly. The movement caused you both to draw in a breath. “Only you’ve been here, my love.”

Geta hummed in approval, thrusting his hips upwards. You gasped, your own hips beginning to find a rhythm atop him. 

“Are you certain? You speak of this pleasure as if you’ve had it with another.”

You threw your head back when a particularly sharp thrust made you see stars. Geta gripped your hair, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

“I haven’t,” you assured him, burrowing into his neck. “It’s only been you. You are the only one to see me this way. Explore me so deeply.” He made it a point to seat himself deeper at your words, making you lose your breath. You sought out his lips in return. “You are the only one to fill me with seed.”

He kissed you. It was bruising and matched the speed of his hips below you. You held on tight, feeling him draw pleasure from you unlike anything you’d ever felt before. 

His hands held your hips, keeping you in your place above him. He watched you fall apart with every rock of his hips. When he could see tears mount in your eyes, he felt for the spot you’d shown him just above where he was sheathed in you. 

His fingers fumbled, unfamiliar with how to touch you. But the moment you tightened and gasped around him, he knew he’d found it. 

Your nails dug into his back, his own hands claiming their place on your backside. Euphoria mounted at the highest hill and you could feel yourself getting ready to fall down it. Moisture collected in your eyes, the feeling of it all too much. 

“You are mine. You belong to me. To Rome. And you are mine to tame,” Geta growled, pulling your chin down so that you faced him. 

“Yes, yes…I’m yours. All yours,” you deliriously agreed. 

He nipped at your lips, hips still fucking up into you. “Such a good wife.”

Ironically, his words were your undoing. You began to fall, careening through the heavens as your entire body tensed with ecstasy. You couldn’t make out what was real and what was not as wave after wave dragged you under. The only thing you could be sure of was your husband’s voice as he fell alongside you. Together. 

A warmth spread through you as your mind returned to your body. You were utterly satiated, barely able to keep yourself upright. Geta did so, leaning into you as the last of his seed painted your walls. You welcomed it, opening your hips up further to take all that he had to give. 

Like a good wife.

When enough time passed and the breeze of the night made itself known again, you shifted your hips, meaning to retreat. Geta stopped you. 

“Stay. Like this. Just for a little bit,” he commanded. 

You did as he said, not in a rush to part from him. 

This was out of the norm for you both, but it was welcomed. You caressed the muscles in his back. He let his hands dip along your waist and hips. Sweat and your releases bound you together as the candles melted down. 

“You do not know of the power you possess, my love,” Geta softly confessed, his lips placing barely there kisses along your neck. 

You met his eyes, staring down at the cooling depths of mahogany. You cupped his cheek, feeling the beginning roughness of an unshaven face. 

“I do, my Emperor. A true lady of Rome knows she holds all the power.” 

[lovecla]

© property of lovecla, nhl masterlist, nico hischier x you:

FAKE IT ‘TILL YOU MAKE IT, game plan:

➴ chapter warnings: none <3

➴ word count: 1.5k

💌 from me to you: and here’s the first chapter of fake it ‘till you make it! posting this sooner than expected in honor of last night’s game. can you guys believe we have nico hischier as our captain? how lucky are we? anyways! i hope you all like this! (the posting schedule will be just like TYPA, every other day!) ♡

𖧷

WHEN YOU tell people that being friends with a hot, young NHL player isn’t at all that great, all they do is look at you like you’re batshit crazy, and give you one hundred and fifty four arguments trying to make you, someone who’s been friends with a guy who’s been a NHL star player for the past few years, see how wrong you are.

You love Nico Hischier. You really do. You met him when you were just eighteen, being friends with his sister, Nina, and immediately locking in with Nico. He’s the sweetest, kindest and most loving man you have ever met in your life, and now that you’re twenty-three, almost twenty-four, you can see how rare men like Nico are.

But now that he’s a famous player, captain of an entire team and known for being one of the hottest men in the NHL, you sure feel like you’re paying a high price for being in his life.

Not in a bad way, though. It just sucks to see the amount of women throwing themselves at his feet, and what sucks even more, is knowing that he won’t even blink an eye at them because he’s head over heels for Nora Ellis, a crazy girl he met two years ago at a party.

Nora is beautiful, you’ll give him that. And usually, you wouldn’t be upset with him having a crush. In fact, you and Nina are always encouraging him to engage in new relationships and meet new people, so that he isn’t only worried about his job.

Nora. She’s the most beautiful black woman you have ever seen. She’s intelligent, she’s funny and she knows things about Hockey like no one else— being the daughter of one of the most talented coaches in the NHL does that to you, you guess.

The only problem with Nora Ellis is the fact that she only cares for men who are in a relationship.

Married or dating, she doesn’t care. Her only goal is to make them give up on their partner to be with her, and once she gets tired of them, she finds another mission to busy herself with.

Nico doesn’t seem to notice that. To be fair, no one really does. She can be very subtle and discreet, and the only reason why you caught up on that in the first place is because every party you go to, you try to blend yourself with the walls, so you don’t get too much attention on yourself.

Nico always tells you to stay by his side and mingle with his friends, but by the end of the night, you’re always sitting near the bathroom door, with a drink in your hands, watching the party unfold with attentive eyes.

And turns out that a lot can happen in the bathroom of a party full of NHL players and Nora Ellis.

So you know she’s not good for him. You’ve tried to talk him out of it more times than you can actually recall, but it’s a dead end. Nico’s in love with her, and has been for two years now. He won’t give up on her unless something really drastic happens, but since Nora is really good at what she does— destroying relationships for fun—, nothing will ever rise to the surface.

“She’s so… pretty,” Nico sighs, sitting on the couch beside you, making you sigh and put your book down, not forgetting to mark the page you were in. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

You smile, touching his cheek, watching with awe as his dimples appear. “It’s fine, Dimples.”

He rolls his eyes as he always does when you call him that, and continues.

“You’re the only one who still listens to me ramble about Nora,” he pouts. “Nina said that if I talk about her one more time, she’ll fly to Newark and personally destroy my phone so I can’t call her anymore.”

You laugh loudly, perfectly picturing Nina saying that.

“And Luca?” you ask, raising your eyebrow.

“Luca just says I need to move on.”

“Well, he’s always been more patient than Nina, that’s for sure,” you nod, placing your book on Nico’s coffee table and bringing your knees close to your chest, resting your head on them. “But… he’s not wrong, y’know?”

Nico gives you the puppy eyes, as he always does whenever someone mentions that he should get over Nora, and you sigh again.

Seeing him like this sucked in every way. And you’ve tried everything— get him on dating apps, blind dates, normal dates, pointing at a pretty girl at a party, literally everything.

And still, he’s not budging.

“I wish she would just look at me. I’m handsome, right?” He looks at you, brown eyes filled with despair.

You spend some seconds analyzing him, as you often liked to do. His brown, hazelnut eyes that shined bright everyday, his hair that’s now a little bit longer than usual, his legs and arms which are absolutely huge— when did he get that big anyway?— and his perfect, charming smile and dimples.

“Emma?”

“O-oh, yeah, you’re… fine, I guess,” you shrug, trying to hide the fact that you were checking him out. Weird. “It’s not about you, Nico, I’ve said that before.”

“Okay, but why won’t she pay attention to me, then?”

Because you don’t have a girlfriend, is what you want to say.

Wait.

“Oh my God!” you jump in your seat, scaring Nico who lets out a loud scream and jumps out of the couch with you.

“What the— Emma.” He puts his hands on his hips, trying to look scary, but you brush him off.

“I know how to make her fall in love with you,” you smile, walking around in circles, trying to organize your thoughts inside your head. Nico. Nora. She thinks she’s in love. Nico’s happy. They get together. She’ll leave him after three months or so. Nico’s sad. But! Nico’s moved on. “God, how did I not think of that before?”

“What are you talking about—”

“We have to date.”

Nico stares at you like you’re crazy, his eyes big and confused. He opens his mouth a few times, probably trying to think of something to say, before closing it and inhaling the air.

You wait for him to say something, but when it’s obvious that he won’t, you continue:

“I know it sounds crazy, and I know what you must be thinking, but hear me out,” you step closer, looking up at him. “Girls sometimes don’t pay attention to guys because… well, because they can’t really see them. Like, for example: there’s this one guy in my office which I don’t care about, he’s just my coworker and nothing else.”

“What does this have to do with—” you put your index finger over his lips, shushing him.

“Wait,” you say. “So, he’s there and he isn’t anything. Until, one night, I had a dream that he’s dating me. And suddenly, I wake up and go to work, and I can’t see him the same way I did before. I start noticing how nice his hair is or how tall he is. Do you understand it now?”

Nico smiles, scratching his forehead with his finger.

“No, Emma. That doesn’t even make sense.”

You snort. “Because you’re a man. But trust me on this one, Nico. The second Nora sees you with someone else, she will notice you.”

Mostly because she’s a whore, but we’ll keep that to ourselves for a while.

“Do you have… like… a crush on me or something?” His face is now red and he gets closer to you, placing his hand on your shoulder while he looks like he’s trying to comfort you. “Is that why you want to do this?”

“What— No, what the hell!” you can feel your face getting warm and you step away from him. “No, I don’t have a c-crush on you. I just can’t stand you talking about her anymore. I’m your friend, so I will help you.”

Nico sighs, relieved it seems, still looking unsure.

“You don’t have to do it, if you don’t want to,” you say, closing your eyes for a few seconds. “I know it sounds crazy and I know you probably think I’m trying to get something here but in reality—”

“I’ll do it.”

“What?!” you can’t hide your surprise, almost shouting with how loud you spoke.

He smiles, sitting back on the couch, spreading his thighs and stretching his arms. “I mean, you’re never wrong about these love related things. You did get my sister an amazing boyfriend and you did manage to convince my brother to ask that girl out, and now they’re married. So it’s probably my turn to accept your love advice and shit, right?”

You’re starting to feel bad about this whole thing, because you know Nora will probably break his heart in thousands of little pieces, but what else can you do?

It’s the perfect plan, you think to yourself. It’s flawless, and it will work.

“I try my best,” you give him a half-smile, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “But you have to promise me something.”

Nico nods. “Anything.”

“If this doesn’t work out, then you'll move on.”

“Emma—”

“It’s not healthy for you to be thristing over someone for this much time,” you sit on the couch next to him and place your hand on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “We will fight, and we will fight hard, but if there’s no results in three months, and I’m being generous, we’ll move on. Okay?”

Nico stared at his hands, biting his lips before looking at you again.

“Okay.”

𖧷

<next chapter>

[official-cvntified-gay]

TEETH masterlist

pairing: rio vidal x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of murder, desperate lesbian, an attempt at writing a songfic

wc: unknown

note: been a minute since I uploaded. The song is Teeth by 5 Seconds of Summer, I wrote this because I can't get the bridge out of my mind.

The moon hung high, a red sliver in the darkened sky, casting long shadows over the ancient magical forest. You and Rio Vidal walked in tense silence along the Witches Road, a treacherous path known only to those bound by magic. The air crackled with tension, every step a reminder of the unspoken words between you.

Rio was a force of nature beside you—sharp eyes glowing with an eerie green light, her aura suffused with the earthy scent of pine and decay. She was death personified, a Green Witch who controlled the cycles of life and death, yet here she was, fighting alongside you against the coven's trials. More like enjoying everything that's happening.

As you walked, memories of your relationship flooded your mind, as if the road itself was taunting you.

Some days you're the only thing I know, the only thing that's burning when the nights grow cold...

You glanced at her, heart aching with the weight of everything unsaid. How had things gotten so complicated between you? There were days when Rio was the only solid thing in your life, the one person you could count on. Yet lately, you felt her slipping away, like sand through your fingers. Every touch, every glance, was filled with a mix of desire and doubt.

“Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive,” you heard Teen, a younger witch from Agatha's coven, mutter under his breath. The fear was evident in his voice, but you had no room for fear now—not with Rio's penetrating gaze fixed on you.

She didn't say anything, but you could feel her judgment, her disappointment, simmering just beneath the surface. It was always like this—this push and pull between you, where one wrong move could shatter whatever fragile peace existed between you.

The scene shifts, a memory dragging you back to a time when everything between you and Rio was on the brink of breaking. Blood on your shirt, a black rose clutched in your trembling hand. You had just done the unthinkable—struck down members of your found coven to prove your loyalty to her.

You're looking at me like you don't know who I am...

Rio's eyes, usually so playful and full of dark humor, were devoid of warmth as she looked at you. "Why would you do this?" she asked, her voice a whisper filled with disbelief. She has your heart in her hands, only beating for her.

“I did it for you, Rio,” you said, your voice cracking. “To show you that I’m worthy, that I can be just as ruthless.”

But instead of the approval you were expecting, all you got was her back as she turned away from you. Her silence was deafening, more cutting than any knife she so dearly loved. It broke something inside of you to see her like this, to see her reject the very darkness she had embraced her whole life.

“I never asked you to become like this,” she said softly, not even bothering to look back. “I never wanted you to lose yourself for me.”

The Witches Road stretched out like a serpentine nightmare, coiling around the dense forest with a darkness that seemed to swallow the moonlight whole. Beside you, Billy kept pace, his hands sparking with bursts of chaotic energy—a reminder of the unpredictable nature of his magic.

He shot a nervous glance your way. “I don’t know if we’re gonna make it out of here alive,” he muttered, eyes flicking to Rio, who walked ahead of you both with an air of calm that was unnerving.

You knew the danger of this known but not traverse path. The road had set this trial to test your fear, not just as a being but as someone daring to stand beside the Green Witch herself. Rio’s presence here was both a blessing and a curse. You wanted to prove yourself, to show her that you could face whatever darkness the road threw at you. But every step you took, every risk you embraced, felt like another misstep in her eyes.

“Stay focused,” you hissed under your breath. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and leaves, a testament to the presence of death lurking in every shadow. Rio thrived in this environment, her magic humming with a vibrancy that was both beautiful and terrifying.

You wanted her to see you the way she saw herself—capable, powerful, and unafraid. But no matter what you did, it was never enough.

The memories of past nights with Rio were a whirlwind in your mind.

Fight so dirty but your love's so sweet, talk so pretty but your heart got teeth...

Those nights were your sanctuary, where the walls between you both crumbled. She was everything you wanted and feared—her touch was fire, her whispers like venom laced with honey. The bed had become a battleground, a place where your love was tested with every kiss, every desperate plea for her to stay.

You could still feel the ghost of her fingertips tracing patterns on your skin, her voice low and dangerous. “You think you can win me over with this?” she had asked, her breath hot against your ear as her hands tightened around your wrists. “You think I’m yours to control?”

You were never sure if she was truly asking or if it was just another one of her twisted games. But you played along, willing to give her whatever she wanted, even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

The aftermath of those nights always left you breathless, the line between love and hate blurring into something unrecognizable. Yet, despite the uncertainty, you couldn’t let go. You were addicted to the thrill of it, the way she could break you down only to build you back up again with a single touch.

Your mind was pulled back to the blood-soaked memory of your betrayal. The coven members had stood no chance against your beyond earth-fueled magic. You did it all for her, thinking that proving your ruthlessness would finally earn you a place by her side.

But Rio had been horrified. She had walked into the clearing, the scent of iron thick in the air, and looked at you as if you were a stranger.

“Why would you do this?” she demanded, her voice breaking. The playful, sarcastic edge that usually colored her words was gone, replaced with something raw and vulnerable.

“Because I love you,” you had shouted, tears burning in your eyes. “I thought this was what you wanted. I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” Rio interrupted, her eyes flashing with anger. “I never wanted you to become a monster for me. I loved you for who you were, not for what you thought you needed to become. You are life, you give but you can never take.”

Her words cut deeper than any knife. You had done the unthinkable, crossed lines you never imagined, all in the name of love. But instead of winning her heart, you had pushed her further away.

The weight of your actions hung heavy between you, a barrier that no amount of passion could break.

The Witches Road began to twist and warp, the shadows growing longer, almost sentient in their movements. The forest around you seemed to come alive, responding to the rising tension between you and Rio. You could feel the seven's magic, testing the limits of everyone's strength and resolve. Billy kept up, his chaotic magic flaring with nervous energy, but you could tell he was close to breaking. You knew who he was.

Rio remained calm, her steps confident as if she was walking through her own garden rather than a death trap set by the rage-filled witches. Yet, you knew her better than that. You could see the way her fingers tightened around the hilt of her knife, the only sign of her unease.

Sometimes you're a stranger in my bed... don't know if you love me or you want me dead. Those thoughts echoed in your mind as you walked beside her, wondering if this journey was another test, another way for her to see if you could survive the darkness that clung to her like a second skin.

Suddenly, a swarm of cursed roots burst from the ground, aiming to ensnare you. You reacted on instinct, flames bursting from your palms, incinerating the twisted vines before they could reach you.

Rio merely watched, her eyes flicking between you and the chaos unfolding around you. Was she waiting for you to fail? Or was she simply testing you again, pushing you to prove that you were worthy of the power you claimed to have?

“Don’t just stand there, Rio!” Billy shouted, desperation tinging his voice. But Rio merely tilted her head, her eyes locking onto yours.

“Show me what you’ve got,” she whispered, a challenge in her tone. The others looked at her in confusion but kept to themselves.

You didn't hesitate. You unleashed a wave of energy that rippled through the forest, tearing through the darkness like a blade. For a moment, there was silence, a stillness that made your heart pound. Then, slowly, a smile spread across Rio's lips, one that sent a shiver down your spine.

“That’s more like it,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

The seven's ambush had only strengthened your resolve. But the real battle wasn't with the witches surrounding you—it was with Rio herself.

Push me away, push me away, then beg me to stay, beg me to stay...

It was always like this with her—a constant push and pull that left you breathless, aching for more even when you knew it could destroy you. You turned to her, your chest heaving with exertion and something else, something deeper.

“Is this what you want?” you demanded once the seven disappeared from the road, your voice raw. “To watch me fight, to see if I’m worthy of you? Or are you just waiting for me to fail so you can prove that I’m not enough?”

Rio's eyes flashed, her playful demeanor dropping. For a moment, you saw a glimpse of vulnerability, a crack in the armor she always wore so tightly. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the familiar, teasing smirk that drove you insane.

“You think that's what I want?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re the one who’s always trying to prove something.”

The accusation stung because it was true. You had spent so much time trying to show her that you could match her darkness, that you were worthy of her love, that you had lost sight of who you were in the process.

But there was no time to dwell on it. The ground beneath you rumbled, the forest coming alive with a new wave of attacks. The coven was relentless, determined to crush you both, but you were ready. You fought with everything you had, drawing strength from the anger and frustration that had been building inside you for so long.

And when the dust settled, you were left standing in the wreckage, your chest heaving, your eyes locked onto Rio's.

“Is that enough for you?” you whispered, the question hanging in the air between you like a challenge.

Rio didn't answer. Instead, she stepped forward, closing the distance between you in a single breath. Her lips were on yours before you could react, the kiss searing, filled with all the anger and passion that had been simmering between you for so long.

The scene shifts once again to a hauntingly familiar memory—a bloodied clearing, a rose wilting in your hand. You had done the unspeakable to prove your worth to her, to show that you could embrace the darkness she thrived in. But instead of admiration, all you had found was her disappointment.

Rio had stood there, her eyes like emerald fire, not with pride but with something that felt dangerously close to heartbreak.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she had said, her voice breaking through the haze of adrenaline and regret. “Hurting others just to prove something to me? That’s not who you are. That’s not who I want you to be.”

“But I did it for you,” you had pleaded, desperation coloring your voice. “I thought if I showed you how far I could go...”

Rio had shaken her head, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips, bittersweet and sad. “Oh sweetheart, I never needed you to prove anything. I loved you because you were different, because you're my opposite yet we complete each other.”

Those words had cut deeper than any wound, leaving you to question everything you had done, everything you had become. And now, as you stood on the Witches Road, facing yet another trial, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still trying to prove yourself, still trying to win her approval.

[mephisto-reporting]

I Love You: Rafayel Edition

Premise:

Trope: Pure fluff Pairing: Reader x Rafayel Note: Reader and the men are NOT in a relationship. but there is implied mutual attraction.My inbox is open for prompts and requests :)

The door to Rafayel’s art studio creaked open with a low groan, revealing the delightful chaos you’d come to expect from him. The smell of turpentine and drying paint hung in the air, mingling with the faint trace of his cologne, still clinging to the fabric of his draped coats scattered across the furniture. Brushes were strewn across the floor like forgotten soldiers, and streaks of bright reds, blues, and golds marred every surface they could reach. His easel stood near the large bay window, bathed in the warm light of the setting sun, but the canvas was blank—typical.

Your lips curved into a fond smile as you carefully balanced the takeaway bag in your hands, its fragrant contents filling the room with the rich aroma of saffron butter lobster, a delicacy Rafayel adored. You'd made the extra effort to get it from his favorite little corner bistro across town, knowing how particular he was about its preparation. You could almost taste it yourself, though you knew the real joy would come when you saw his face light up in surprise. The food was just the excuse; it was your way of showing you cared, in the only way you knew how.

Everything about this place felt so distinctly him: vibrant, alive, chaotic—and somehow, it always made your heart feel at ease. On days when the world seemed too heavy, when exhaustion clung to your bones like a second skin, or even on days when your heart was full to bursting with happiness, this was where you found yourself.

“Rafayel!” you called, your voice carrying through the disarray.

There was no response at first, just the faint rustling of papers somewhere deeper in the studio. Then, a muffled voice, drowsy and half-hearted: “Mmm… what is it? Just leave it on the counter…”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you. “You know, one of these days, I’m going to walk in and find you buried under all this paint,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, as you set the bag on the counter in the tiny kitchen space, careful not to knock over an open jar of brushes.

You made your way toward his bedroom, following the source of his sleepy mumblings. The door was slightly ajar, and when you pushed it open, your heart stuttered in your chest.

There he was, curled up under a rumpled duvet, his face half-buried in the pillow, soft wavy locks falling haphazardly across his forehead. He looked peaceful, his usual sharp edges smoothed out in the quiet vulnerability of sleep. The rise and fall of his chest was steady, rhythmic, lulling you into a moment of stillness. Your heart gave a little lurch, and your fingers twitched with the need to touch him, to just feel close to him for a second. You slowly crossed the room, the soft creak of the floorboards under your feet the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Rafayel didn’t stir, still lost in the depths of his sleep.

“Rafayel,” you whispered gently, your voice barely above a breath, not wanting to disturb the peaceful moment too harshly. He didn’t respond. Not even a slight shift in his posture. He was deep in sleep, completely oblivious to the world around him.

You crouched beside the bed, your hand hovering above his arm, hesitating for just a moment before you placed it gently on his shoulder. The warmth of his skin radiated beneath the fabric of his shirt, and your heart skipped a beat at the feel of him—so close, so tangible. Your touch was soft, just a light shake, meant to wake him without startling him too much.

But still, he didn’t wake. He just shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent, his voice thick with sleep. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you watched him, your heart swelling in your chest. This was him. Carefree, a little bratty, but so easy to fall for. Even when he was asleep, you could see that side of him that you adored so much—the part of him that no one else saw.

“Rafayel,” you repeated, a little more insistently this time, brushing a strand of his hair away from his face as you leaned down slightly. His features softened in his sleep, and for a moment, you simply watched him, breathing in the quiet, wishing you could keep him here, in this moment, forever.

He remained blissfully unaware, sinking deeper into his cocoon of blankets, a faint sigh escaping his lips. You huffed a quiet laugh, feeling the corners of your eyes prickle with emotion. The intimacy of the scene, the quiet domesticity of it, filled you with an aching sort of joy and longing.

You really were in love with him.

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. The words tangled themselves in your throat, caught between fear and hope. What if he dismissed it with one of his trademark teasing quips? Or worse, what if he didn’t feel the same way?

But as you sat there, watching him sleep so peacefully, you couldn’t help but wonder—what if he did?

Sighing lightly, you shifted closer and sat at the edge of the bed, carefully brushing your fingers along his cheek. The familiar feeling of his soft skin, the heat of his presence even in sleep, made your chest tighten. You found yourself gazing at him, heart aching with the truth you hadn’t yet dared to voice.

This was it, wasn’t it? This was the moment. The moment you had been waiting for, even though it scared you.

You hadn’t planned for it. The words hadn’t been rehearsed in your mind, but they slipped out anyway, so natural and so real, as if they had always been waiting to be said.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible, yet full of every emotion you had kept hidden for so long.

The words hung in the air, soft as the warm glow of the setting sun that filtered through the cracks in the blinds. I love you. The phrase had slipped from your lips almost without thinking, like it was always meant to be said in that moment. But as soon as they left you, your heart thudded in your chest, as if it recognized the enormity of the confession you had just made.

Your breath caught in your throat as a wave of panic washed over you. Had he heard? Had you really just said it out loud? The room suddenly felt too small, too intimate, as if the walls were pressing in, waiting for him to react.

You stood up quickly, a quiet flush creeping up your neck as you considered leaving the room before he could tease you about it—before the reality of your feelings could settle in. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but the last thing you anticipated was the sudden, sharp tug on your wrist.

With a startled yelp, you were pulled back onto the bed, landing softly on the plush duvet. A laugh—half playful, half lazy—escaped from Rafayel’s lips as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you snugly against him. His warmth enveloped you instantly, and his body pressed close behind you as he spooned you, his breath hot against your neck.

Your heart raced in your chest, pounding like a drum as your mind scrambled to catch up. He heard.

“I heard that,” he said, his voice low and controlled, a smirk lacing his words. There was no teasing, no mockery, just the barest trace of something... softer. “You… love me.”

You tried to pull away, your chest tightening, but his arm was an unyielding weight, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His fingers tightened around your wrist, holding you gently but firmly against him.

You froze, your heartbeat echoing in your ears as your skin prickled with both warmth and nervousness. You hadn’t thought he had heard it, not with how quiet it had been, how small your voice had been. You swallowed, unsure of what to say.

"Y-you were dreaming," you muttered, though it didn’t sound convincing even to your own ears.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers through you. The next words that left his mouth were not teasing, not playful, but serious—intentional. "Then why does your heart feel like a fish swimming away in a current?"

The question was simple, but it made you freeze, your breath hitching as the truth of your feelings settled like a heavy weight in your chest. You couldn’t deny it. Not to him. Not anymore.

Before you could respond, his arm wrapped around you more tightly, pulling you closer until you could feel the steady beat of his heart against your back. His face pressed into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp as he inhaled deeply, as if memorizing your scent.

He stayed there for a long moment, his body a comforting, grounding presence behind you. Then, with a soft, almost playful command, he spoke again.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice a little rough. “Say it again. I want to be sure.”

Your pulse raced. This was real now. There was no going back. His words, his presence, made the room feel smaller, but somehow safer, as if the world outside didn’t matter at this very moment.

You inhaled shakily, turning your head slightly to meet the fabric of the pillow, and in a breathless whisper, you said it again.

“I love you.”

The words felt different this time—stronger, more sure. As soon as they left your lips, you felt his arms tighten around you, pulling you into his chest as if he never wanted to let go. He buried his face in your hair once more, his lips brushing against your ear.

"It took you long enough to admit it,” he teased, his voice laced with a bratty affection. “I’ve been waiting to hear that, you know."

You laughed softly, a nervous, relieved sound that trembled at the edges, but his tone shifted, the playfulness slipping away. His voice dropped to something much softer, much deeper, as he whispered against your ear. "But I've been waiting to hear that... for so long. Waiting to hear you."

Your chest tightened, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his heart steady and strong beneath you. “I love you too, so so much. You have no idea the things I would do for you... to keep you like this., in my arms.” he said, so quietly, as though he hadn’t said it out loud for fear of it being taken away, yet there was no doubt in his voice, no hesitation.

You didn’t know how long the silence stretched between you, but it felt like time itself had slowed to a crawl. The only sound in the room was the rhythm of your breathing, and the sound of your two hearts beating in perfect harmony, as if they had always been meant to beat together.

But you shifted, just a little, as if instinctively trying to move, to pull away—something in you telling you to give him space, even though you didn’t want to. He wasn’t having it.

"I’m not letting you go anywhere, cutie…" Rafayel murmured, his voice low and possessive. You were about to protest, to say something, but before you could, he tugged you even closer, trapping you against him, his arm locking around you like a vice. You felt a surge of warmth sweep through you, a sudden softness, and his voice came again, teasing, but this time with a gentle, almost adoring lilt.

"You can be my plushie for tonight," he said, a playful, lazy grin creeping into his tone, even though the words were laced with the kind of affection you rarely saw from him. "And the next night...and the night after...and forever more."

You didn’t argue. You didn’t want to. For tonight, for as long as this moment lasted, you could stay here, wrapped in his warmth, his scent, his arms.

And as you settled back against his chest, your heart still fluttering, you knew, with complete certainty, that this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[irana5711]

would u write anything for homicipher’s mc (Adami) x gn reader…IM STARVING!!! I leave it up to ur imagination

HELL YEAHHHHHHHHH would you believe me if I said I did it already :3 a bit slow burn-ish, I cannot write without a fuck ton of context but enjoy mc saving u from Mr. Stitch bwhwwhhewhheqhhehwehwhehwheb I love her sm

You didn't know how you ended up there or when it happened. It just did. It took you a while to comprehend where exactly you had been transported. Hoping to meet someone else in this worn down place, you aimlessly wandered through the empty rooms and hallways. Coincidentally, you saw another man - tall, with a red jacket and furry hood. He rounded a corner and out of your sight, which prompted you to run after him without thinking of the consequences. As he passed by a door, it slammed open, and a pale hand dragged him in, the blood of the innocent man instantly splattering all over the floor and the surrounding surfaces. You cover your mouth and let out a small squeak before seeking shelter.

Thankfully, you found a pair of scissors lying around. That should come in handy! Shivering, cold, and distraught, you went slower this time, looking for human activity and someone worthy of your trust. A loud rumble echoed throughout the entire place, making tears well up in your eyes from the powerful scare. Was this your end? The hallway you were exploring split into two, and you ran back into an adjacent room. It seemed cleaner than the others, the wallpaper still mostly intact, a bed and a dusty table. On the bed sat a girl with short, white hair and blood stains in her raincoat. Oh, God. This is it. You're gonna die just like that man. You could just hope it was painless.

The figure croaked out something that you couldn't understand. It seemed to try two languages before finally deciding on just one. It pointed at you, repeating a word multiple times before the message was received by your disheveled mind: "You." She was saying "You." Then, she pointed to herself. "Me." Back then, you didn't know that "You" and "Me" would become so important later on.

You sat down on the floor, in front of her, looking up at the stained raincoat and the dirty crowbar that lay on the bed next to her hip.

"Me? You?" you said, moving your hands to check if you understood well. Her nod confirms your suspicions. Then, she points to different objects in the room and demonstrates how the language works. It felt like a breath of fresh air, having someone talk to you like an equal, in a place where you had been so violently proven that your life meant nothing. The bond had already started forming.

It only took a few hours for you to learn that primitive way of communication, and you started teaching her bits and pieces of your human language while she did the same for you. Using this, she introduced herself: Adami. Such a beautiful name... It had an exquisite ring, compared to the rough sounds of the ghostly people.

Soon, it became all about "You" and "Me." At first, you'd brush against her for comfort when a new entity approached. Then, slowly, she'd be the one to hold your hands when you were scared or when Mr. Gap appeared out of nowhere. "You, me, go together," "you, me, stay together" or "you, me, rest together."" It was sweet, having someone protect you in such a world. You didn't have the guts to question your relationship. Perhaps you were her comfort, maybe she saw in you what she once was. You were her anchor when she lost her temper, and she was your shield when a threat was nearby.

Nothing was clear to you. Friends did all of this, too, right? You were walking hand in hand, giggling at a joke Adami made when Mr. Stitch blocked your path.

"Me bored. Want fun?"

"No." she cuts him off furiously, shoving past him.

"Want fun! Want fun together them!"

The deranged ghost grips your arm, pulling you towards him as Adami holds onto your fingers.

"Them will not! You should leave!"

However silly this game of tug-o-war looked to an outsider, you were beyond frightened. Mr. Stitch was obviously not into the fun a normal person would resort to on a bad day. He was into the kind of fun that serial killers sought when sending body parts to the police. It was clear Adami couldn't help you - she'd hurt you in the process. Mr. Stitch ripped you from her arms, throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of meat and ran off to God knows where. He hid you in the Cloth Monster's room, wrapping you in the long curtains that decorated it. Giggling, he gripped your throat and slithered the soft material around it, torturing you as he loosened and tightened it. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you gasped for air when the door slammed open.

Coughing when your lungs could finally expand again, your vision was still blurred when Mr. Stitch transformed into a jumbled up mass of meat right before you. A trembling hand ripped off the fabric and you felt the familiar presence of Adami engulfing you in a hug.

"Me scared..."

Your heart throbbed wildly as you returned the tender embrace, removing her hood to get a closer look at her features. No matter how much she transformed, her eyes were always full of warmth when she gazed at you.

"Love... You and me together... Me love you..." she whispers, her free hand tilting your face up. Adami gets closer, giving you the choice to accept or reject her. You instantly press your lips together, your bodies melting into each other as you let your feelings overflow, your only regret being that you hadn't seen it sooner.

It didn't take long for the other residents to pick up on what was going on between the two of you. Moreover, Adami didn't even look at the cold, metallic doors of the elevator with the same curiosity as she did when she first descended into the other world. To her, it now meant separation, as you two would return to your respective places on Earth. What good was the freedom of humanity, when there was nothing left of her without you? At first, you thought she might want to go back to her old life, yet she always held your hand tighter. "You, me... together here."

[stars1997]

I’m here to make a rempe request 🤠 he looked way too good during the stampede. anyway you can write something up where you go there and you bump into him and start dancing and then he goes on to try to win you a stuffed animal playing one of those little corny carnival games.

Rodeo Fun

Paring(s): Matt Rempe x reader

Warnings: Fluff!

_

“Come on!” You say grabbing your cowboy hat off the hook by the front door. Your friend comes hopping around the corner trying to put her boot on.

“Sorry. I had to make sure that my top was on right.” Her foot finally slides into her boot when she reaches the door.

You both rush out the door excitement rolling over the both of you. this is your favorite time of the year. This will be your third year going.

_

You both get out of the car. The crowd to get it is huge, and it only seems to be getting bigger.

“Come on I want to make sure that we get good seats for the show. Preferably next to the bull riders.” y/f/n said grabbing your hand and pulling you into the crowd.

Once you're finally in your in shock at what you see, you always are. People everywhere running around eating, drinking, and playing games. You turn to your friend, and both of you let out a squeal of excitement.

She grips your hand harder and pulls you again. she’s weaving through the crowd of people like a pro. But you on the other hand can’t seem to stop bumping into people.

You look down at your phone to check to time for one second when you run into something hard, stopping you and your friend in your tracks. You look up to see a very tall man standing before you. all this seemed to happen so fast. he turns to look at who ran into him. your eyes lock your mouth falls open to apologies, but no words come out. He smirks at you before you are pulled away by your friend again.

“Come on! It’s starting!” she says to you before turning to the tall mystery man.

“I apologize for her clumsiness, but we got to get going now.” he doesn’t even spare your friend a glance. His eyes focused on you, even as you were pulled away from him. You shake your head a little, almost like you’re breaking a trance.

-

The day felt like it went by so fast yet so slow. You and your friend have done so many things that didn’t even scratch the surface of things you could do here. You were having so much fun. But one thing played in the back of your mind all day, and that was the handsome, tall man that you bumped into earlier.

You and your friend stopped to get a drink before you went to the concert that was being held in a few minutes. you love country music and were so excited to go and dance. Your friend handed you your drink before pulling you along so you would be able to find a good spot at the concert.

When you go there the music has already started. it was one of your favorite songs, so you started singing along, holding your drink in the air before moving your hips to the beat. You turn around to look at your friend but are met with a torso you look up to see the man you bumped into.

“Hi, I’m Matt.” he sticks his hand out for you to shake.

“I’m y/n.” you shake his hand, your hand engulfed in his.

“Mind if I dance with you? I mean, it’s the least you could do after you ran over me earlier.” You let out a laugh. You shake your head, yes. He smiles, looking down at you before turning you around and pulling you back into him.

Your hips moved in sync with the music. his body towered over you. his hand on your hip just felt right. You spent the rest of the concerts singing and dancing with Matt. The sun is starting to go down. Matt took out his phone to text his group that he was going to be taking you to the carnival games. You texted your friend the same thing telling her that you would meet up with her at the ticket booth later. She sends a thumbs-up in response.

You put your phone in your back pocket and look over to Matt who is already looking at you. he smiles at you reaching his hand out to take yours. You make your way over to the carnival games. You pointed to one of the booths, it was the one where you had to toss the balls into the bucket and have them stay in.

“I want to try this one.” You pull him over to it and take out some of the tickets you got earlier handing them to the lady behind the counter. She hands you three baseballs and moves out of the way.

You pick one and get into the stance to throw it. You toss the ball into the bucket, but it bounced out and onto the ground. You tossed the two other balls and they both stayed in. You got to pick out a small prize. Taking the small toy from the woman’s hands you turn around to show Matt.

“Look it’s so cute.” You move the stuffed animal, so it looks like it’s doing a little dance.

“Where too next?” He asks you. look around trying to find a fun game to play next. That’s when you spot the biggest stuffed animal you have ever seen in your life. You let out a shriek and point to the big stuffed dog.

You both walk over to the stand once you are close enough to see it you notice that it is a ring toss stand. You let out a huff.

“Dude ring toss is like the worst.” You say as you turn to look at Matt.  Matt told you not to worry and that he’s got this. He hands the lady the tickets and she gives Matt two big buckets of rings. It didn’t take Matt long to go through both buckets. 

He takes out more tickets and hands them to the lady. The goal was to get one of the rings onto the center golden glass bottle. This time Matt took his time. He made sure that every ring was tossed with the right force to at least hit the center bottle.

He was down to his last few rings. It felt like you both have been standing here for so long. You have watched every move he has made. He was super determined to get you this giant stuffed animal.

You didn’t even notice that he was down to his last ring. He tossed it and it went flying through the air for what felt like so long. But when it landed it landed right around the neck of the golden bottle. You let out a loud cheer catching the attention of one of the workers.

“Congratulations! Would you like the big dog or the big cat?” the worker looked at Matt as she asked the question, but Matt was only looking at you. you respond to the worker saying that you will take the big dog. The worker nods and leaves to go and get one for you.

_

You couldn’t have had a better night. You and Matt spent the rest of the day talking and trying food. He made sure you didn’t have to lug around the big stuffed dog all day. When the sun started to go down, you got a text from your friends that said to meet her at the ticket booth. Matt walked with you to meet your friend. When you got to her, you saw that she was hanging out with Matt’s sister and friends.

When she saw the both of you, her eyes widened. Looking at the big stuffed puppy that you told Matt you could carry now. a huge smile stretches across your face, then hers. You stood and talked with everyone for a bit. Matt standing next to you with his hand resting on your lower back. your friend leans over to whisper in your ear,

“You need to tell me everything.” You nod your head. You say bye to everyone. Exchanging numbers with Matt before your friend dragged you to the car. when you go into the car, you both turn to each other and let out a loud squeal. She starts up the car backing out of the parking spot.

“You know his sister said that he wouldn’t stop talking about you all day after you bumped into him. now tell me everything.” she smirks at you as you talk about what happened between you and Matt.

[lemon-russ]

We're in too deep now. I'm dragging you all down with me.

Short today!

Mortarion x F!Reader (Pt. 4? 3rd prequel?? )

Previous

CW: Nothing sexual, but like. It's a little dehumanizing.

TAGS (you're all coming down with me, hand in unlovable hand): @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk @moodymisty

You stare down at the bowl of what is apparently food. It was unlike anything you’d eaten at home, or what you had been eating since being brought aboard the Endurance.

“Why do you hesitate?” Mortarion asks in his deep, wheezing voice. He had just come back and taken off his gas rebreather, something he only did around you so you could understand him better, you learned. After his initial coughing fit had subsided, he’d put this bowl in front of you expectantly.

You scrunch your brow and look back at the bowl. It had something fluffy and white, on top of something that looked sort of like bread. It smelled unfamiliar, yeasty but oily.

“What… is it?” You ask, touching the white fluff carefully. It seems a little sticky, and mostly made of air.

Mortarion wheezes a little cough as he goes about taking off his gas canisters and weapons. “It’s a pastry. The planet I was just on had a bakery. I assumed, seemingly correctly, you’d never tasted it.” He pulls his hood back and runs a large hand through his hair, sitting on the edge of his bed to watch you. “Go on, try it.”

You grimace, scooping up some of the fluff on your finger and hesitantly sticking it in your mouth.

The overwhelming sweetness makes you cough. It feel like it is coating every surface of your mouth and throat in cloying sugar. You try not to gag, coughing through the way it burns your throat. “Why-” you gasp, “why is it so sweet-?”

Mortarion furrows his brow, shuffling over to hand you your water. “You don’t like it?” He asks, voice tinged with dissapointment.

You take the bottle and chug, thankfully the water easing the overwhelming taste. “It’s like the root sugars we used to make holiday sweets, but tripled…”

Mortarion frowns. “Ah. It is too much then. We will build your tolerance. Baselines love sweets. Here-” he comes to kneel beside you with some effort, grunting as he eases down to his knees. “Eat just this part.”

He tears off a piece of the bread and holds it up to your face. You reach to take the bread from his fingers, but he pulls his hand back.

“No-” he says quickly, then stops himself and glances away. “Just… let me.” He grumbles.

Your brow knits. “Oh, um… okay…”

Mortarion has some weird demands from you sometimes- sleep on the floor, don’t leave his room, greet him when he comes back- but you were learning arguing got you nowhere. He always just tells you to not talk back, or not to question him, or because he says so. None have been anything worth fighting over, so you have been questioning less and less.

He holds the bread back out to you, and you open your mouth for him to feed you. Mortarion’s face twitches into an unfamiliar expression as he looks down at you, kneeling before him with mouth open expectantly, but he shakes it off and places the pastry in your mouth.

This part is much less sweet thankfully. It is actually really tasty. Rich and oily and just sweet enough, and the bread was fluffy and chewy. You smile up at him as you swallow. “Oh, I like that part!” You proclaim happily.

He blinks a few times down at you, then smiles a little, his cracked skin protesting at the rare expression. “Hmmm.” He grumbles. “I haven’t seen you smile like that before…” he says almost to himself.

You quirk your head to the side curiously. You haven’t exactly been thrilled with your new situation, you suppose. You weren’t miserable, but it was mostly just confusing and boring. Though you’ve been warming up to it. The plush toys, pillows and blankets were an improvement from your bed at home, and you got three hearty meals a day of some sort of porridge. You didn’t mind not having to work fields, and when he wasn’t being cryptic or talking about strange alien things, your new master was at least kind to you, in his own way. Asking about your comfort, offering you things to do, telling you about new things.

You smile again, making him smile back a little wider. “Can I have more?” You ask.

He chuckles, which turns into a small raspy cough. “Of course, here,” he tears off and holds more pastry up to your mouth. “Eat, pet. You’re too thin for a mortal, anyway.”

You bite another piece off from his hand, smiling back up at him. “Wha’s a ‘pet’?” You ask with your mouth full.

He chuckles again, wiping some of the white fluff off the tip of your nose. “Don’t worry about that. Eat.” He says in a tone completely new to you from his mouth- he almost sounded affectionate.

[maybe-boys-do-love]

Aof Noppharnach motifs in the Ticket to Heaven Trailer:

1996/1997 makes its return! 1997 is the year P'Med died (and is that P'Med's walkman!?) and the year Torfun was born. It's also the year the Asian financial crisis began in Thailand and it's the year HAART for HIV AIDS was introduced in Thailand. 1996 is the year the first HAART studies were published and the multi-drug therapy was introduced.

Christian topics. Christmas has appeared in several Aof works. In Last Twilight, Day gets notified and rushed to the hospital over an available eye transplant; the transplant fails. In Moonlight Chicken, it's on Christmas that Li Ming takes Heart to connect with the deaf community but it's also when Alan, Jim, and Wen get into a physical fight that leaves Wen injured. And in Bad Buddy, Pran is interrupted in the middle of the Christmas concert and forced to transfer schools because his parents have observed him getting along too well with Pat. I think it's fair to say that Aof does not think Christianity is exactly beneficial to the gay experience.

The swimming pool. Listen, water and underwater shots are used across BLs and queer teen media (Skam and Booksmart, anyone?). And Aof doesn't have this as a motif in many works. BUT! The way he uses it in Dark Blue Kiss and Moonlight Chicken is super important because it subverts the way other series use it. In other shows, the water, whether underwater at a pool or at the beach, is private and away from society. It's a place to explore without commitment. In Dark Blue Kiss, it's a public pool and serves as the culmination of Kao's coming out! He kisses Pete for the first time unafraid of if they are seen and then they submerge while they kiss beneath the surface indicating that whether people see them or not, whether Kao made his love public or not, their love is still real and there deeper than what is seen and what is stated. Moonlight Chicken has Heart and Li Ming at the water's edge while visiting Li Ming's mom where the latter repairs his relationship with her while still choosing to stay with his guncle.

Faith. At the core of almost all of Aof's series is faith beyond the tangible world. We've got a gay ghost that only Thun can see in HCTM. We've got recurring motifs of flight, ascension, and separations (by death and by distance) in ATOTS. Last Twilight is almost vulgar with its theme of faith not by sight. Bad Buddy has its fake-out break-up ending and its antecedent in the beginning where the boys pretend to not know one another despite their former close ties; in other words, love that can't be seen or shared persisting despite. I could go on. Aof himself has stated explicitly that he always aims for his series to convey hope. And as any former Bible school child, like me and apparently Aof!?, might tell you, "These three remain: faith, hope, and love. And above all these is love." Be still my romantic Christian-raised heart.

The autobiography of it all! When Aof takes screenwriting credit, he seems to signal that the series includes aspects of his own life, which is why the year is significant, or why Moonlight Chicken's age-gap romance reflects Aof's owner life-partner, etc.