#honed porcelain

[ceramictec]

before and after lutz land o lakes master bathroom tile renovation 18x36 "Bianco" Honed porcelain

https://ceramictec.com/contact-us/

[yoncchi]

Tile Philadelphia Ideas for a sizable modern backyard kitchen remodel with a tile patio and an awning

[themidnightcrimson]

all hallow's eve ࿏ wm

summary: in which a bleeding woman shows up to your house asking for more than just help.

words: 8.0k

warnings: blood, dubcon/noncon, fingering, knifeplay, knifefucking, murder, death, horror, gore, top!wanda, fem!reader

this is a dark!fic for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.

There were already chips in the paint of her fingernails which she had painted a thick coat of black only the night before. Wanda liked using her hands—it was a cathartic thing. It only meant she couldn’t keep nail polish on for very long.

In her quiet kitchen, the gentle tink of a spoon again her black porcelain mug could be heard as she gingerly stirred her coffee, watching the cloudy white swirls of creamer fade into the black of her dark roast and turn walnut. She only liked a little bit of creamer. She enjoyed coffee for its depth and dark. Bits of brown splashed around the inner rim of the black mug as she tapped the spoon clean of remnants before gently setting it down in the sink.

Wanda kept a clean house, but her kitchen she kept clean most of all. She was not trained, but she considered herself something of a chef. She enjoyed carnivorous recipes most of all, beefy red ribeyes and delicately roasted chickens. Her kitchen was her wizard lair where she worked to perfect the most complex of dishes, so she kept it meticulously tidy. The clean black marble counters covered lower cabinets filled with pots and pans stacked neatly and drawers shockingly organized with tools and utensils no matter their irregular shape. She made everything fit perfectly because she was a little neurotic about her tools.

Now the kitchen filled with the lusty dark scent of coffee that she sensually inhaled through her nostrils as her ringed fingers clinked against her porcelain mug. The expensive, shiny coffee machine still clicked and steamed from the fresh batch, and it glimmered almost as much as the array of large knives that were set out neatly on the counter beside it. Wanda had also invested in nice lights for her kitchen, because she liked to take pictures of her dishes when she made them. The studioesque lights glared off the silver blades, some freshly sharpened, some awaiting the fate of the honing rod laying discarded next to the line of knives. Sharp knives were also one of the most important tools of a chef.

Wanda maintained the dark minimalist aesthetic of black and white throughout her upscale apartment. Her annual endeavors usually left her with enough cash to get through the year with lavish, hence the nice apartment. Draining a few bank accounts always amounted to more than expected. If she was saving up for something big she would target a nicer area of town.

Through her French windows was the view of the city framed by the bright orange leaves of the autumn tree outside. She had bought a few small baby pumpkins of different colors and shapes and set them along the windowsill. This time of year was always bittersweet. There was always that simmering sensation rising within her that starts near the end of July, when the dead summer heat goes quiet and still with the promise of no new births of nature, only the aging and deadening that future autumn will bring.

Maybe it was the quiet, or maybe it was just her pituitary gland recognizing when it was time for her to awaken, but it always starts at the same time of each year. It was even earlier this year, though. She could feel the first little scritch when the fireworks went off above all the skyscrapers outside her window. It was like the giant booms and bangs shook the thing inside her awake. Now at this point, late in October, it had turned into a ravenous clawing inside her head. She imagined the innards of her skull like a wooden wall caging a wild animal—scarred with desperate scratches to be released. The clawing reminded her of a beast begging to be slaughtered as it is once a year, so that it may enjoy peace and quiet until it starts to conceive itself again like a rebirthing flower.

It gets so hard to manage this late in the season. Usually, she is the most calm and collected person she knows. People compliment her on her otherworldly levelheadedness which they don’t realize is just a lack of emotion. But in September she gets antsy, and in October she is wholly consumed with restlessness and need, constantly zoned out like a lion on the hunt, eyes laser focused for the bright stripes of a zebra amidst the tall African flora, jaw hung wide open, teeth buzzing with anticipation for the first tear of live flesh, ears constantly rounding its skull in search for the sound of food.

Even now, thinking about it as she stared out the window, she let her coffee go cold in her hand. Coming to, she cursed herself and put the mug in the microwave and turned it on. When warmed, she took the mug through her apartment and to her office, settling down in her chair. Her desk was probably the only thing about her apartment that could be considered messy, only because her planning was extensive and elaborate. It had to be for her to have gotten away with it for this many years. Her Octobers were spent stuck at her messy desk which, by the afternoon sun, becomes littered with empty coffee cups.

There were many papers scattered on her desks about many different things. Locations, demographics, news reports, police stations, everything there could be to know about a city. Underneath a stack of papers was another small stack stapled together. “Diagnosis Report.” She had thrown it on her desk carelessly when she took it home from the doctor, miffed that he was only telling her what she’d already known for a long time. “Controlled psychopathy.”

On the other corner of her desk was the most recent news report. “HALLOWEEN KILLER SET TO STRIKE AGAIN.” She’d been waiting for this for years now. She was surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

That was why her planning was deeper this year. Too many patterns in the same city. She needed to branch out, to change it up. She couldn’t complete her mission with cops stationed at every block. They’d even started tracking reports in the outer suburbs. She had to go farther this year.

She rolled out a wide roll of paper over the entire desk: a map of the entire city and its outer areas. Usually, the red circles were drawn on the yellowish vague blocks printed on the map to convey where urban areas were, more concrete and road. This year, her red marker circled farther to the side, almost to the very edge of the paper, where the paper turned green with curly printed lines to signify forested areas.

Wanda ran a shaky hand through her red hair, tugging harshly on the locks. She felt like a mad poet, a tortured artist. It was riskier this year. She wasn’t as familiar with woods as she was with the city.

Letting out a deep sigh, Wanda rolled out of the desk and went over to the little couch against the wall of her office, plopping down with another huff, chewing on all the thoughts in her head that were becoming harder to manage with all the fucking clawing. Lower population out in the woods could mean fewer fish brought home. But it also meant lower income levels than that in the richest parts of the city. Then again, she did pretty good last year and didn’t really need to worry about money this year. If money wasn’t a bias, then it usually would be beauty and females. That was why all the reports were either rich old men or beautiful young women, which made it hard for them to find a pattern. Of course, with women it would take more tactic to get everything she would want out of them besides the main point. The main point would be easy, but the seduction would take more artiste.

Turning her head over her shoulder, she eyed the brand new pair of expensive hiking boots that sat in the corner of the office, the laces recently untightened to let the new leather relax. They were industrial, tactical, ready to climb a mountain. It was the pair of shoes that even the most experienced hikers longed for.

She’d never been hiking a day in her life.

࿏

You’re alone this year.

Sticky green icing melted on your fingers as you picked up the bag of black icing again, piping out little pupils on the Frankenstein cookie you were decorating. Your Halloween playlist played at medium volume through your tiny kitchen as you piped Frankenstein’s black hair on top of his head. Once you had perfected him, even with his messy bangs and uneven mouth, you picked up the sugar cookie and placed it next to other decorated ones which included pumpkins, ghosts, bats, and even graphically disfigured vampires. A delicious aroma in the air emanated from the dish of tomatoes, garlic, onion, and spices roasting in the oven, and on the rack below that, a loaf of bread baking to completion.

“Jeez,” you murmured as you looked at the cookie in front of you that was supposed to be a black cat. One eye was twice the size of the other and its ears were more like Panda ears. You were going for cute, but horrific matched the theme anyways.

It was a cozy Halloween night in your little cabin. Orange pumpkin string lights were hanging from the ceiling, your little space cluttered with your accumulation of Halloween decorations that you just couldn’t stop buying each year. This was another great thing about living so far out in the woods—you could enjoy holidays by yourself without having to worry about catering to bratty little kids asking for candy, or your house getting egged for deciding not to. You had nothing against enjoying the festivities of your favorite holiday, but you were happy you could do it alone without interruption.

Wiping your stained hands free of icing because you had licked so much that you couldn’t take anymore, you slipped on your pumpkin-shaped oven mitts and took the dish out of the oven, feeling warmth on your face as the oil and tomato sizzled in the hot dish. Your kitchen was tiny, but it was cozy, and you could make all your favorite foods in it, so it was perfectly fine to you. And your cabin was small—so small that the kitchen and the living room were basically one room, and you could see the TV in front of the couch from where you stood at the oven. As you very carefully spooned all the tomatoes and garlic and onion out of the dish and into a large red pot that was older than you, you could hear the TV clearly.

Out in the woods, you did not have very good service. The satellite sitting on your roof let you have very few channels, one of them being the local news channel. It was time for the evening news as you heard the familiar theme sound, trying to not let tomato splatter on your Halloween apron that was white donned with black spiderwebbing.

The news channel picked up news from the city, which was a good 30 miles away but the nearest civilization. You halfway listened as they spoke about local events like the highway construction that was branching the city out even farther into the woods, a special on the best places to go trick or treating which was just all the rich neighborhoods, and then they came to the recent crime segment, starting off with one that was the city’s primary worry that night.

“Year after year, our city is faced with crime on this Halloween night that makes celebrating harder each year. For nearly a decade now, the city has experienced killing sprees that happen every October 31st from what locals call the Halloween Killer.”

You opened up your cabinets and waded through the messy piles of pots and pans and tools until you found your old beat-up food processor. The loud clanging muffled the news report that you were listening to with distracted but piqued interest until you found the processor.

“…Police have been unable to find patterns in the killer’s targeted victims or locations, but this famed killer does strike seemingly randomized neighborhoods each year, though they have mostly only targeted areas with higher income levels. Thanks to local funding, police have been able to set up neighborhood watches all throughout the city, even setting up a police line around the border to keep watch of any suspicious activity. Any sightings of criminal or suspicious activity should be reported to your nearest station immediately. For those living outside city limits, please be on high alert, as police think that the killer may start seeking out further areas to evade the local watches. Your local news station sends a huge thanks to our police as they fight to keep our city safe and to track down this Halloween Killer. Please, everyone be safe out there tonight as you enjoy All Hallow’s Eve.” You glanced momentarily to the TV and saw the wide shiny grin of the blonde newscaster that did not match her grim tone as she swiftly moved on to a segment about Halloween party decorations.

At first, the segment about the Halloween Killer started to pass right through your brain, until your brain caught it, and a small seed of paranoia plummeted into the pit of your stomach. You fiddled with your food processor as you thought about the segment.

When you lived in the city, people always talked about the Halloween Killer. At some point, people started to make up their own ideas of what the killer looked like, creating different masks that seemed to change each year. Most of them just settled on a rip-off of Michael Meyers. You always ignored it, until one year the killer struck right near where you lived. That was only a small impetus of why you fled the city searching for a more peaceful life out in nature, but it certainly was a reason thrown in with all the other rising crime rates in the city. It was becoming like Gotham out there, and you wanted no part of it. Hence your cozy cabin life out in the forest.

Still, it made you nervous. You were a young girl all alone. You didn’t have neighbors. If you screamed, it would be to the mercy of squirrels and foxes. And to be fair, though you lived in a forested area and got lucky to live on a plot of land with no other houses, you didn’t live that far from the city. If you climbed the nearby hill all the way to the top, you could see the skyline good enough to track the movement of cars on the city highway. If the killer was trying to escape city limits, all they would have to do was choose East, and they’d be right in your lap.

A shiver ran through you, and you gave a breathy laugh. You’d been watching too many scary movies that Halloween season. It was making you paranoid. This was why each year you chose ParaNorman over Pet Sematary. You were too paranoid of a person.

Though you took your fretfulness with humor, it gnawed away at you. Wiping your hands on the towel on the oven door, you went over to your front door and opened it.

The air was cold that night. Fall had been teasing and tantalizing all month, but it seemed to rush in all at once that Halloween night. That was another thing you liked about living out here—it wasn’t a concrete jungle that trapped in all the heat like the city did. It was cooler out here and less humid. It was just easier to breathe.

You looked up at the dark, shadowy pines that rose so much higher than your squat little house. Their needles rustled in the gentle breeze. It was so dark, nothing like the ever-present source of light in the city. Beyond where your measly front porch light and the flickering glow of jack-o-lanterns on your porch steps touched, it was pitch black. You could hear the whistle of crickets, the belches of frogs all around.

Twigs snapping.

Fear roared up in you at once, but you quickly settled yourself. Twigs snap all the time out here in the forest given that there are twigs littering the whole ground. A pinecone falling, or a bird landing, or a squirrel sitting—it all could snap a twig. You were scaring yourself.

Nonetheless, you pulled yourself inside, closed the door, lock it, turned off the porch light, and closed all your blinds and curtains. Even though you didn’t believe yourself to be at risk, it would be silly to ruin your own night by making yourself scared at the possibility of seeing a face at the window.

You slapped a piece of the bread on the buttered hot pan, deeply enjoying the loud immediate sizzle it made. You followed up with a slice of cheese and another piece of bread, and then flipped the grilled cheese, salivating at the perfect shade of brown the bread turned into.

You ladeled your tomato bisque into a bowl and topped it with some shreds of cheese and one singular basil leaf just to be extra. Bringing your soup and grilled cheese into the living room, you finally settled down on the couch with a sigh, setting your food down on the coffee table before searching for the perfect cutesy Halloween movie to watch. You settled on ParaNorman since you’d been thinking about it.

All traces of the news report had left your mind as you burned your mouth on the soup and did the most immaculate cheese pull with your grilled cheese. You didn’t even think twice when you heard a creaking noise on the front porch.

When you heard it again, you surprised yourself by remaining calm. It was a breezy night. This was an old cabin, and that wooden porch was squeaky. A gush of wind is bound to move the wooden panels enough for it to squeak.

Squeak. It seemed closer now.

You still weren’t worried, but just out of habit, you turned your head and looked back at the front door in the kitchen.

You didn’t really see it at first. Or didn’t recognize what it looked like, at least.

A dark shadow through the sheer curtains over the window of the front door. The perfect shadow for a head and shoulders.

Fear broiled deep in your gut, but you warred with yourself yet again. It was definitely just the way that the moon filtered through all the shapes of the forest trees and landed across the window of your door. That was all it was. You were just being paranoid—the shadow wasn’t even moving.

You’d managed to fully convince yourself and was just about to turn your head back around when there was a knock at the door.

Adrenaline shot through your body so hard that your bowl of tomato soup slipped right out of your immediately sweaty palms, landing with a heartbreaking splash across your shirt.

“Fuck!” you yelled as the hot soup instantly soaked through your shirt and gently burned the skin of your stomach. What was worse about how hot it was, was how sad you were at losing your tomato soup.

The knock came again, much more hurried this time.

“Hello!?” a woman’s voice came from the other side of the door, and the sound of a person’s voice deepened your panic even more. No one had ever been out here except the few friends and family you had invited over a handful of times. No one lived near here. Your dirt road stretched on for three miles before it touched the highway. The dirt road only led to your house, nothing else. It was your own personal driveway. There was no reason for someone to be out here unless beckoned.

And you were all alone. There was no one to glance at with panicked eyes and telepathically ask who the fuck is at the front door. It was just you and your tomato soup-soaked shirt.

“Help!” the voice cried, pounding on the door harder this time, so hard that your windows shook in their panes. “Help me! Please!”

“What the fuck?” you whispered, your breathing picking up as you started to really freak out. Not only was there someone randomly at your door this late at night, but they were apparently in distress? Or at least pretending to be.

“Please! Somebody help me! Please!” the woman screamed outside, and she slammed so hard on the door that it sounded like she was throwing her whole body against it. You could even see the door bulge from the wall, almost like she was trying to break it down.

Rule number one of living out alone in a cabin deep in the forest was to never, ever open your door to strangers. You were way too vulnerable for that. You knew that, and so your instinct was to hide and possibly call the police if she didn’t give up. It could easily be a trick.

Then again, she was screaming for help. She herself was out here potentially alone in the woods, if this was real. What if you later learned that this girl needed help and couldn’t find it from the single house she managed to stumble across?

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you whispered, tugging at your hair as you ducked across the room, hiding behind your little kitchen island. If you made yourself seen, there was no way you could get out of it or even pretend to not be home. “Please open the door!” she screamed with such desperation that her voice croaked, and you heard little sobs follow. “Please just open it! I need help! Please!”

Something about the desperation in her voice panged you deeply in the gut, and for some reason you felt like it wasn’t a trick. Nonetheless, you knew it was bad, whatever it was. She could be running from someone or something and leading them right into your house. The best outcome of this whole thing would be a cruel Halloween prank.

“Please!” she screamed, slamming herself against your front door. You heard a horrible clicking noise that sounded an awful lot like your door coming undone from the hinges.

Internally groaning, you grabbed a knife from your knife drawer and held it as realistically as you could in your hand, slowly going towards the shadow at the front door window.

“Please!” she screamed again.

Gritting your teeth, you gathered all your bravery, expecting anything to happen as you touched the doorknob. With a big breath in, you unlocked it and swung it open.

A scream involuntarily escaped your throat at what stood on the other side of that door.

Seeing a person’s face at your door for the first time in basically months was already a shocking thing, but seeing it covered in blood was even more shocking. The woman stood only an inch or two taller than you, her dark red hair stretching down past her shoulders. She wore a long sleeve white shirt, which you could only tell it was white from the sleeves because the entire front of it was soaked with dark red blood. The blood even caked the thighs of her jeans, and it dripped in long, thick lines down her face, with splatters over her cheeks. The worst part was that the blood glistened against the light that came from inside your home. In fact, it dripped—in horrible black splatters on the old wood of your porch. You could see bloody footprints going up the steps.

For a moment, she looked shocked to see you standing there. Had she started to think no one really was home? The shocked look faded as she glanced over you, her lips seeming to struggle to form words.

“Hi—I need h-help,” she said quieter now, very breathlessly. She was trembling—her eyes looked at you with a crazed, weakened look, like she was about to fall on you at any moment. That was when you realized that she must be bleeding—bleeding a fatal amount.

“Oh my God,” you croaked, not knowing what to do. “What—I—Come in,” you hesitated, and then remembered that whatever cut her up this badly could be following her, so you goaded her. “Come on, come in!”

Quickly, she came inside, leading a trail of bloody prints on your precious wooden flooring as you closed the door and locked it shut. You turned around, pressing your back to the door and staring at her as your heart pounded hard in your chest. You noticed that her eyes were focused on your hand at your side—you looked down and remembered that you were holding a large knife in your hand. “Sorry—” you apologized at first, thinking that she was probably just harmed with the same thing you were holding and wasn’t too happy to see another person wielding it, but remembered to keep your guard up. She could be anyone, and anything could have happened to her. Anything could happen next.

“I need to sit down…” she said, clutching her stomach and bending over. Her eyes, you noticed, were a vivid green against the darkness of the drying blood on her face. “I…” The vivid green disappeared, and you realized she had closed her eyes and was starting to sway.

“Oh God, yes, sit down,” you rushed, absentmindedly dropping your knife on the kitchen counter so that you could help her. Trying your best to avoid touching any blood, you barely held her arm and led her to the couch. She sat down heavily, flickering her eyes to look at you, those green orbs landing at your waist.

“Your shirt…” she whispered croakily.

“Oh,” you blurted as you looked at your own shirt that had an orangeish red splash over the front. “Tomato soup,” you blushed, growing sick at the fact that the red splash on her shirt was, in fact, not tomato soup.

You looked around as this strange woman sat bleeding on your couch, her eyes opening and closing. She was probably losing a lot of blood. What were you supposed to do?

“The police,” you blurted, and her eyes opened wider with a flash. “I’ll call the police!”

You went to your landline phone—there was no cell service up here, so you depended on the weak telephone lines for any kind of communication. You typed in 9-1-1 and pressed the phone to your ear—silence. Confused, you dialed again, only to hear more silence. “What the hell?”

“Water.”

“Huh?” you asked, glancing at the woman on your couch.

“Can I please… have water?”

“Oh, yes,” you said, feeling stupid and rude that you hadn’t even tried to physically help the woman bleeding out on your couch. “I’m sorry—Are-are you okay?” you asked as you went to get a glass of water. It felt like an obviously stupid question to ask, but to be fair, you weren’t entirely sure of her injuries nor her situation except that she was bleeding what appeared to be a lot of blood to you.

“I think so,” she said, coughing to clear her throat as you handed her the glass of water.

You ignored the stains of tomato soup on the other seat of your couch as she sipped the water with a shaky, bloody hand.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a phone on you, do you?” you questioned. It was obvious there was something wrong with your phone, which wasn’t that unusual, and even though there was no cell service the last time you checked, you thought any effort might be worth it to get this girl some help.

She shook her head as she gulped the water down.

Sighing, you glanced toward the curtained window and thought of your car out front. You would need to drive her to help, you realized. You figured you could at least find out what the hell was going on first before you loaded her up in the car.

“What happened to you?”

She finished the glass of water and weakly handed it to you, her eyes flashing up at you. Something about it startled you. Maybe it was the visual connection that jarred you into realization of the situation, or maybe it was because you weren’t used to being around people anymore. Either way, you suddenly felt scared with her eyes on you.

“Someone attacked me,” she hoarsely spoke, wiping her mouth of water only to smear blood around her lips. She gritted her teeth, looking around your house for the first time. You suddenly thought of your knife on the counter.

“Attacked you?” you asked, trying to imagine the situation in your mind. “Do you know who?”

“No, just some guy in a mask,” she exclaimed, sounding like she was starting to calm down and gather her wits. You noticed she wasn’t breathless anymore—in fact her chest rose and fell very slowly and calmly. Maybe she was a good self-soother.

“Where?” you questioned.

“What?” she said, looking up at you with sewn brows.

You hesitated. “I mean, where were you attacked?” You looked towards the window again when she hesitated to answer. “It’s just… you must’ve ran at least like, three miles.”

The redheaded woman only stared at you with her vivid green eyes that you now noticed, with a slight chill in your spine, were oddly empty. Like doll eyes. Like a doll skeleton with human skin stretched over it.

You were starting to feel weird as you tried to explain. “The main road is three miles down that driveway out there.” You vaguely pointed. “Unless you came through the woods. So I was just asking where were you attacked?”

Finally, she blinked. “On the road,” she blurted out. “I was… walking to my friend’s house on the road when this car stopped. And he got out and just… attacked me.” She started to shake again as she looked down at the blood all over her.

But you were still and silent. “Your friend’s house?”

Her eyes met yours, and you could see that chilling emptiness again.

You swayed your weight from one foot to another, trying to think out the entire situation before you spoke. “The nearest house in ten miles is abandoned.”

Her red brows sewed together in confusion, and for a moment you saw, through the blood on her face, that she was pretty. You wouldn’t find it strange for someone to target her.

“I’m confused,” she suddenly sobbed, an illegible cry escaping her throat as she covered her face. “I don’t know what happened.”

A flash of guilt shot through you. This girl is here bleeding out, obviously having just been attacked, and you’re questioning her. Sure, her story didn’t make sense, but you knew if you’d been randomly stabbed in the middle of nowhere, you wouldn’t be making much sense either. It’s possible that she was drugged or kidnapped or all of the above. She certainly didn’t look like she was from around here.

“Hey, hey,” you gently said, starting to reach out a hand to touch her shoulder but deciding against it. She was fully crying now. “It’s gonna be okay. I…” You took a deep breath and tried to be a better savior for this poor woman. “Look, I’ll get you some help, okay? We can take my car and take you to the nearest—”

“He’s following me!”

You stopped in the middle of your sentence. “What?”

“We can’t leave. He was following me as I got away from him…” She slowly turned her face to the window. “He could be out there right now…”

That paranoia boiled within you again. On one hand, you thought it would be better to just risk it to get her the help she needs, but you knew that if someone were lurking out there, it would be just you versus him since this woman was in no condition to defend you.

“The Halloween Killer,” she murmured. “I think it was him.”

Dizziness swirled in your head as your brain shot back to the news report. The Halloween Killer… the police guessed that he would be going out of city limits this year… You imagined the killer taking the nearest highway out of town which happened to be the one you lived by… Seeing a girl on the road… Maknig his first victim of the night… Except that he didn’t kill her. There was no way he would let a witness get away. Especially since she probably saw his face and his vehicle.

“Okay,” you breathed, rushing to the nearest lamp and turning it off. “We’ll wait for a while.” You turned off the kitchen light, the string lights, the range light. “We need to be quiet. If we don’t hear anything in… an hour… we can go.”

You walked back over to her, noticing that she was looking at her stomach.

“Can you wait that long?” you gently asked. “It looks like you bled a lot. Are you still bleeding?”

“I don’t know,” she weakly said. “I can’t tell.”

Biting your tongue, you thought for a moment. If you were going to make her wait an hour, the least you could do was clean her up a little. It was important to clean the wound, and if she was still bleeding, it looked like you needed to put pressure on it as soon as possible before she lost too much blood. You were already surprised she was still conscious with all that blood on her.

“I’ll be right back. Stay right here.”

You left for a moment to get the first aid kit, a rag, and a cup of water, and came back to find her in the same spot, her head leaned back on the couch cushion. Carefully, you sat down next to her with the rag in your hand, dipping it into the water. “We’ll clean you up a little so we know the damage,” you said, laughing at your attempt to sound professional and steady-headed.

“Thank you,” she croaked, turning to face you slowly on the couch. It was completely dark in your cabin now except for the little glare of moonlight that came through the curtains. It felt a little too close, sitting in the dark with her on your tiny couch, and it felt even more close when you started to wipe away the blood on her face with your rag.

“You’re welcome,” you said. “I’m sorry I’m not the best person to come running to for help,” you said with a little laugh.

Her lips curled into a smile, and you felt your heart murmur at how pretty she was. As you wiped away the blood on her face, wondering if she had a head injury to account for her confusion and the blood on her face, you saw that she was actually strikingly beautiful. It made you a little hot, sitting there so close to someone who looked like that.

“Okay…” you said when her face was all clean, now looking at the front of her blood-soaked shirt, hesitating. “Um—”

Without speaking, she rolled up the hem of her shirt to show the flat expanse of her abdomen that was blotted with dark blood. Worried that you would freak out at the sight of stab wound, you very carefully and tensely cleaned away the blood on her stomach, rewetting the rag in the bowl of water which was now murky red.

You always hated how ignorant you could be sometimes.

It wasn’t until you had wiped her entire abdomen clean that it dawned on you.

There were no stab wounds. Not a cut or a scratch.

Nothing felt real suddenly. Confused, you looked up at her.

The deeply malicious look on her face jarred you so suddenly you almost slipped off the couch, stumbling to your feet. Your ankle slammed against the coffee table as you backed away.

Her eyes were staring at you evilly, her lip set in a smirk. You suddenly felt small, tiny, helpless, stupid. So stupid!

“Is this the part where they say trick or treat?” the woman asked now in a gruff voice as she slowly stood up, looking suddenly a lot taller than she did at the door. You also noticed now a bulge in the sleeve of her shirt.

Wanda straightened her arm down at her side, letting the long, bloodied knife slide out of her sleeve, catching the long handle when it touched her palm. She held the knife up expertly, the moonlight glinting off of it.

This was one of her best tricks yet. There’d been times where she had to hide in the closet of the home of a victim, or in the backseat of their car, or she’d even had to follow them several blocks down before striking, but she’d never made herself so intimate with someone she was going to kill before, besides the ones that sparked out of intentional sexual encounters. Wanda had always been more of a grab and slash kind of serial killer, looting their belongings afterwards and moving right on to the next one. But this time, this girl… she was lingering.

You were just so pretty. Pretty girls were Wanda’s weakness, especially when they were vulnerable. And my, how you were vulnerable.

“All alone out in these woods,” Wanda whispered as you both just stood staring at each other, her at your face, you at her knife. “You never thought that one day the big bad wolf would come knocking?”

The fear in your eyes was delectable to her. You’d been so easy to trick. You almost caught her about the friend’s house—she’d been so distracted thinking of all the things she was going to do to you that she slipped up. She blanked.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whispered, raising your hands up like someone who was just caught by the police for vandalism. “I won’t do anything—I—I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’d hope not,” Wanda interrupted you. “If my plans go accordingly, which they will, which they always do, you will be in no state to do anything or speak to anyone. Ever.” Wanda grinned, chuckling at the way your fingers shook in the moonlight.

The Halloween Killer. You cursed yourself. You also cursed your luck. What were the chances the killer would decide to find you that night?

You realized then that the blood on her shirt was not hers. It was whoever else she had just murdered before coming to you. You were just another life to tick off her quota.

You thought of your knife on the counter. The woman stared at you with a cold, dead look, coupled with the look of enjoyment. She was enjoying this.

You hesitated for a moment before deciding that taking your chances was better than having no chance at all. You jumped over to the kitchen, reached over the counter, and had your fingers on the handle when you felt her warm body slam you against the counter, her hand reaching easily over you and slapping the knife away.

“No!” you involuntarily cried out as you watched the knife slide off the counter and drop to the other side of the floor.

“Bad girl,” Wanda grunted, and you felt the woman’s hands grab your hips. She pressed you harder into the counter, her hips flush against your bottom, grabbing a fistful of your hair and slamming your face down on the hard, cold counter.

“Ah!” you cried as your head slammed into the rock-hard surface, dizzying you. She had you completely bent over the counter, pressing herself into you and holding your head down on the counter with blinding pressure.

“I won’t lie that I like the challenge of putting up a fight,” she whispered, resting her fist that held the knife against the small of your back. “But I’d rather you make it easy for both of us.”

“Get away from me!” you screamed, feeling your cheeks go red hot as your animalistic instincts to survive kicked in.

“Shhhh sh sh,” the woman shushed right into your ear, making you jump at how close she was now, her body laid over on top of yours, her lips pressing right into the soft skin of your ear. “Hush, baby,” she cooed, and the sound made the entire side of your face burn hot. “I’m not going to really hurt you. I’m not that much of a sadist.”

Suddenly, you could feel something really cold on the back of your thigh. The tip of her knife pressed softly into the tender flesh of the back of your thigh, dragging slowly upwards. It caught the hem of your skirt, dragging it upwards and exposing you.

You whined and squirmed, to which she pressed herself harder down on you. The edge of the counter was pressing into your tummy so hard you could barely breathe.

“Now, stop moving, you’ll hurt yourself,” she husked against the space behind your ear, and you shivered at the way your body reacted. You were trembling under her, helpless and confused as the tip of her knife pressed harder into your thigh.

You let out a long cry when she let the knife slice your soft skin, engraving a slash right below your butt cheek.

“Oopsie,” she murmured as she breathed heavily into your ear, her fingers dragging your blood around the back of your thigh. “Sorry about that, you’re just the prettiest one I’ve ever had.” You could feel her smirk against your ear. “I hated how I had to branch out this Halloween, but if I get you, it’s all worth it. I can go right on home—stop moving!”

She grabbed your hip tightly, and your body reacted in the worst way possible. You arched for her, exposing your rear end to her hips even more.

“That’s it,” she said with an air of shock that made you hate yourself. “See? I don’t mind you enjoying it—in fact I want you to.”

Her hand suddenly came down hard on your ass, making you squeak and jump. Your body was hot all over, throbbing against the coolness of the counter, your mind a complete mess.

“Let’s see you,” Wanda said, lifting your skirt fully over your ass to expose it in the moonlight. You felt her finger grab the back strap of your panties and tug them down. Your face grew hot in embarrassment as even you could feel how wet you were. This strange murderer had untapped something inside you that was making you spiral against that counter.

“I knew you were perfect,” she whispered as her fingers touched you, making you jump and whine, swimming in your soaking folds. She laughed against your upper back, her hand roaming over your ass and squeezing it before going back to your pussy, slowly pressing a finger in. You could feel both the blood from the cut and the wetness from your core dripping down your thighs.

Wanda grunted, feeling lost in you. In your fear, your body under hers, the control. This was the best kill she had, and she hadn’t even killed you yet.

“Such a tight little thing, I almost want to keep you.” She pulled out her finger, and you hated yourself for feeling empty because of it. Then you felt something foreign and hard against your entrance, panicking as it pushed into you. She harshly grabbed your hair and slammed your head down again, and that was enough to weaken you.

Your insides throbbed and tingled as she pushed the handle of her knife slowly inside you, grunting at the way you stretched around it. It was a nice knife, thick blade. “You’re taking it so well.”

You squirmed helplessly on the counter, starting to sweat as the woman pushed the knife handle deeper inside you. You could feel it pushing against your cervix, and your legs trembled.

“It’s okay to feel good, you dirty little thing,” Wanda whispered, both a praise and a degradation that made you whimper. You were wordless, mindless, under this killer’s hands and body, and the last part of you that remained subconscious wondered what would’ve happened if you never opened the door.

She pulled the handle almost all the way out before slamming it inside you again. You feared feeling the blade, but you didn’t. She pumped the handle inside you over and over again, soft at first before that clawing inside of her head got the better of her.

“Good girl,” she breathed against the back of your neck, biting into it as she slammed her knife inside you. “That’s it. Stay still.”

You heard a zipper unzip, and the sound of denim shifting, before you felt the warmth of her core pressing into your left cheek. Grabbing the back of your neck with one hand, the other ramming the handle of her knife into your pussy repeatedly, Wanda grinded her clit against your ass, shoving you against the counter over and over again. She was so helpless, so overwhelmed with both intensifying hunger and relief that she just needed to get off. Her cum smeared over the hill of your ass as she rutted herself against it, listening to the wonderful squeaks and whines you made.

“Fuck,” Wanda whispered as she got close, watching the cum-soaked handle of her knife fuck harder into you as she got closer. “Mmmm,” she grunted animalistically as she felt the edge near her.

You clawed helplessly at the counter, your walls spasming around the ribbed handle until finally you couldn’t take it anymore, your hot face pressing hard into the cold, sweaty counter as you came around the handle of her knife. She rutted harder into you as you heard her vague sounds of orgasm, the tip of her knife accidentally making shallow stabs in your inner thighs as she lost control of how she angled the knife.

“Oh fuck,” Wanda breathed as she slowed down, and you were lost under her, your brain far gone and body farther, trembling, thighs bloodied. Wanda hadn’t even noticed that she ripped so hard into the back of your neck that it was bleeding.

Controlled psychopathy. Load of shit.

Pulling out of you, Wanda pulled away and turned your limp body over, looking at your reddened, tear-streaked face. You were such a pretty little thing. A diamond hidden out in the forest. It was a shame she’d stumbled across you that night. If it had been any other night, she would’ve kept you—courted you, even. She could tell you’d make such a good girlfriend to her.

“Well,” Wanda whispered, gently stroking your sweat-soaked hair out of your face. “That was great. I really enjoyed that,” she said softly, almost like a person with real emotions, and for a moment she had almost felt like one.

Controlled psychopathy.

“But I’m afraid I’m going to enjoy this even more.”

The last thing you saw was the flash of her blade as it came down on you.

[nanivinsmoke]

❥ fantasize

 logan ‘wolverine’ howlett x fem!reader

♪ i fantasize about it all the time, if you were mine ♪

tags: wet dreams, logan’s with someone else, love at first sight, drinking, explicit language, daddy kink, age gap ( the man’s over 200) betrayal fingering, raw sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, squirting, creaming, etc.

note: heavily obsessed with this song and hugh/logan just bombards my mind. reader has the power to enchant/control anything with her voice. up next: PYSKINKTOBER

“you’re staring again, sugar!”

“you should just tell him how you feel.”

“is this what they call eye fucking?” kurt asked, shocking you and causing a giggle from rogue. you elbowed the blue mutant—face flushed with embarrassment once you finally cut your eyes away from logan.

“i was not eye fucking him! and I can’t tell him how i feel, ororo. he’s with her…” you glanced at kayla as she passed by, before looking back at your friends.

you had been in love with the wolverine for months now. it started off as a friendship, the two of you becoming best friends as time moved by—but then you started to catch feelings. and you wanted to tell him, you really did, however you couldn’t because she came about.

kayla was his ex girlfriend and when she appeared at the academy, they reconciled. preventing you from admitting your feelings. ever since she came, you decided to keep your distance from him; because you wouldn’t be able to face him without telling him about your feelings.

“but you can’t keep this bottled up, sugar. if remy and i were in your shoes, i would tell him how i felt. i don’t think i can handle him not knowing.” rogue advised, earning a head nod from kurt and ororo. you sighed in response and sipped on your tea.

“i will when the time is right. but that time is not now.”

—

“come on! don’t hold back on me!” logan shouted as he dodged your attacks. the two of you were in the danger room, training and honing your skills. you tried your best to get someone else to spar with you, but everyone else was busy. or so they say.

you huffed and gripped your sword, whispering more words to enchant it before swinging at him again—which he easily dodged. he smirked and charged at you, tackling you, sending you both down to the mat hard—your sword flying across the room.

he had you pinned to the ground, his hand gripping your small wrist while his other held your chin; forcing you to look at him. “the hell was that? you’re usually on par with me. something you got on your mind, princess?”

you pressed your thighs together, trying to ignore the throbbing sensation you felt when he called you princess. it always did something to you, everytime—you craved to hear it. “nothings wrong….just tired.” you lied, avoiding his eyes and looking at the wall beside him. he knew you were lying. he knew you like the back of his hand.

you could feel his hazel eyes boring holes into your face, making you shiver. you turned your head slowly and scanned his face, eyes dropping down to those lips you wanted to kiss so much—before back up to his own. logan moved his knee upwards, pressing it right into your core; making you moan softly—but you quickly pressed yours lips together.

you knew he heard it, but you didn’t want to acknowledge it. he had a girl after all.

“let me go,” obeying the command of your powers, logan let your wrist go and you immediately got up and grabbed your things—leaving him in the danger room to process what the fuck just happened.

when you made it to your room you immediately stripped out of your clothes, ignoring the cool stickiness that sat on the bed of your panties, and walked into your adjoining bathroom; running a hot bubble bath for you to relax in. once the water was at a comfortable temperature and height, you pinned your hair up and stepped in, sighing from the steaming waters hitting your skin.

you leaned against the cool porcelain, eyes closed, while the bubbles danced on your skin. everything about this bath was exactly what you needed. you needed to relax. to forget about logan. forget about reality….

that is until you felt a dip in the water. your eyes shoot open and you saw logan sitting on the other end of the tub, his brown trail of hair that sat on his chest now covered in suds. “logan? what the fuc—what are you doing here?”

you were glad that the water covered your chest, so you didn’t have to cover them—but you couldn’t help yourself from looking at his. he smirked and inched closer, spreading your legs apart and immediately submerging his fingers through the water and down to your needy cunt. you melted into his touch, gripping the edges of the tub—rolling your hips into his palm.

“doing what needed to be done, princess.” was this really happening? were you about to get finger fucked by your best friend? whatever the outcome was, you were going to enjoy it.

you whimpered and spread your legs wider, feeling him insert another finger into your sopping wet hole—the water sloshing around with each flick of his wrists. you loved the feeling, but you wanted more—no, you needed more. you pulled him out of you and pushed him back, making his toned back hit the other end of the tub. you stood up, the clear water dripping down your beautiful nude body, before you squatted over him—reaching down to feel his hard cock.

you glanced down and your eyes widened, “knew you were huge.” he watched as you angled his tip at your entrance, causing you to suck in a breath once he pushed your walls past its normal position—until he grabbed your wrist stopping you. you rose and eyebrow and held the edge of the tub for balance.

“need you to wake up, doll.”

and that’s all it took for you to shoot up out of the tub, eyes strained and red with sleepiness, while you shivered from the cold waters below you. you had fallen asleep, which made your mind play tricks on you.

you had it bad for your best friend.

—

ever since that day and your wet dream, you did your best to avoid logan. backed out of missions with him in it, trained by yourself or with kurt in the danger room and during your usual night time routine where you’d stay downstairs and have a glass of wine while he sipped on his beer; you avoided doing that as well. you stopped anything from happening, but what didn’t stop was your dreams.

they kept happening more frequently and you’d wake up with a wet spot either on your panties or your sheets. sometimes you couldn’t help but touch yourself at night either, mind plagued with thoughts of him pounding you into your mattress each and every night.

you would let him have your pussy every day if he’d let you, wanted to have your walls molded into the shape of his cock—a perfect match for him.

why the fuck did everything have to be so complicated?

you found yourself grading papers after the dismissal of your last class, the red ink pink tapping at your bottom lip as you went over a student’s paper—when logan came walking in. the heavy sound of his boots sent shivers up your spine.

“been avoiding me princess, don’t lie either.” you chewed on the cap, avoiding his eyes. he knew you all too well. “not avoiding you….just been busy.”

liar.

he moved closer to your desk and leaned over to cup your chin, his rough calloused hands felt amazing against your skin. you wanted him to ruin you with those same hands. have them wrapped around your throat—.

“busy with what? you don’t go on missions anymore. barely see you at night and dinner too.” you roll your eyes, pretending to be upset but you found it cute that he was worried about you.

“fuck logan! you aren’t my daddy and you’re damn sure aren’t my boss. i don’t have to tell you everything that’s happening to me,” your words coming out harsher than you intended, making him close his mouth in response. you pulled your eyes away from him and over to the door, where kayla came waltzing in; her shoes echoing on the old wooden floors.

“I’ve been looking all over for you—oh, hi!” she peered over his shoulder, waving at you a smile on her face. you waved back, however the look on her face held something different; like she was telling you to stay away.

he leaned down and kissed her, your heart sinking as you watched. turning your attention back over to your papers, you continued to scribble on it with red ink—before she pulled your attention back over to them both. “we’re hitting up a club tonight, you should join us. probably get someone’s number too.”

that’s when you finally looked at logan and smirked, a plan forming into your mind. “ill be there.”

—

your hips moved to the loud music. your hair bounced with each step you took, ass jiggling as you bounced to the beat. that shot you took earlier had mad its way into your stream, exciting you. each time you moved another pair of eyes fell onto you and that little black dress you wore didn’t make it any better.

practically almost all the guys as the club was watching you dance, including logan.

he watched from the club’s section, sipping in his whiskey, watching for anyone who decided to get frisky with you; so he could chop their fucking heads of the moment they touched you. he was supposed to be with kayla tonight, but she ditched himc making up some kind of excuse. leaving him here with to watch over you.

the other xmen were sprawled around the club, leaving you two alone with each other, even if he was inches away. as the song changed, a random guy came up to you and asked you to dance. you glanced at logan and smirked, accepting his request.

for some reason you wanted to make him jealous. wanted him to keep his eyes on you and low and behold; it was working. the guy held onto your hips while you grinded your ass against him. the beat of the song and the effects of the liquor you downed, hyping up your every move. making logan clench his teeth and grip his beer bottle.

and when he saw you bend over and let the man dry hump you, he had enough. the bottle erupted in his hand, tiny brown shards crashed to the floor along with the matching brown liquid; bruising his hand. logan ignored the blood that cascaded out of his fresh wounds, sauntering over towards you and gripped your wrist—tugging you away from your dance partner.

before the man could even protest, logan shot him a look making him back off. he ignored your protests and pulled you outside of the club; rain immediately starting to soak your dress and ruin your hair. once the two of you were a nice distance away from the club, logan gave you an earful.

“what the fuck is your problem, huh?!” his voice was stern and his eyes held so much anger, sending chills up your body and a knot to form in your stomach and throat. you had never seen him anrgy with you, until now. and it frightened you.

those tears you tried to fight back, won, and poured out of your big doe eyes—meshing with the rain and your mascara—causing big streams of black to run down your pretty face. “you wanna know what my problem is lo? my fucking problem is you!–“ you got close and pointed your manicured finger in his face.

“i can’t get you out of my fucking head. i can’t sleep, can’t eat, I can’t even breathe without thinking about you! it’s driving me insane. i love you so much, it’s hurting me.” logan opened his mouth to speak but you immediately shut him down.

“no, let me finish this. let me say this….please.” you voice cracked, never straying your eyes away from his. he nodded in response and you continued.

“before kayla came about….i wanted to tell you. i thought about how i would tell you for days, but then she came and the two of you got back together and that broke me. i couldn’t tell you, not when you’re in love with somebody else. but, then it got to the point where you were all I could think about….and i had to push you away. i love you, logan howlett.”

you gripped his jacket and stepped in his space, peering up from him down below. you searched his eyes and then his lips, hoping he would say something or kiss you—but he didn’t. he didn’t move or say anything. he was silent.

“lo….say something. please?” you begged, more tears leaving your eyes. hoping he felt the same, hoping he wouldn’t break your heart.

but, you weren’t lucky and he did just what you hoped against.

“gotta go.” he shrugged you off and walked off in the opposite direction, the rain splashing against his boots, leaving you there.

“wait! logan—“ you called out to him, trying to go after him, but it was too late. he was gone. leaving you with a broken heart.

rogue and the rest of the crew came out of the club a few minutes after and saw you standing there, crying and shivering from the night’s cool air. “sugar! what happened? where’s logan?” gambit had wrapped his jacket around you while rogue and storm pulled you close, trying to warm you up.

“just take me home….please.”

—

never in a million years did you think it would come to this. you knew you should’ve just kept your feelings to yourself, if you knew it would cost you the relationship of your best friend.

you spent more of your time in isolation. only coming out to teach a couple of classes or bringing food to your room, making sure you didn’t run into him. you rarely hung out with your friends and they understood why. you were hurting and the best thing they could do for you was give you space, while showing that they still cared.

it was a cold, rainy wednesday and the mansion was empty. the kids were on an overnight field trip with scott, ororo, kurt & jean, the professor was at a convention and rogue and gambit were out celebrating their anniversary—which meant you were home alone. you knew he wasn’t here either, so that meant you could finally leave your room without running into him.

you spent the day finishing up lesson plans before hitting the danger room; opting for a simulation to train, before heading back to your room for a nice steaming hot shower. you washed your hair, shaved what needed to be shaved and got out to rub a vanilla scented body oil all over your skin—with your radio playing sade in the background.

after taking care of yourself, you put on your long, dark blue babydoll robe— before you went down stairs, trying to figure out what you wanted to eat and poured yourself a nice glass of wine; when the doorbell rang. raising an eyebrow, you placed the glass on the counter before walking towards the front door.

everyone who lived here had a key, so who the hell was at the door?

you grabbed the fireplace’s poker nearby and got ready to enchant it, just in case they weren’t friendly, before swinging the door open—only to reveal logan standing there. his blue button up was soaked from the storm and stained with a faded crimson color, what the hell happened?

“logan….what—“

“it’s you….always been you.” he closed the door behind him and scooped you up, bringing you into a passionate kiss; which you gladly accepted. your lips moved in sync while he made his way up the stairs and into your bedroom—gently placing you on your bed; back up to take a look at you.

you were breathtaking and he wanted to have all of you. he could see one of your mounds slipping out of the robe and reached to pull it back; only for you to stop him. “logan, wait. what’s going on—why are you bloody? where’s kayla?” you sat up on your elbows and watched as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his beautifully sculpted—hairy torso, tossing the wet fabric across the room.

“she was using me. now, can i get back to kissing the woman that i love?” your heart swelled hearing those words. words that you’ve been waiting to hear for months. deciding to press him about what happened later, you pulled him down by his belt loops and let him kiss you. his big hands roaming all over your body, pulling the soft fabric of your robe back—revealing your sweet, soft breasts.

you moaned, feeling his warm mouth envelope around your nipples; sucking them with aggression—which made your head spin. “logan~” you breathed out, grinding against his knee, needing more of him.

“i know baby, could smell how bad you want it. smelled ya in the danger room a few weeks ago. god, I couldn’t stop thinking about it—fuck.” you whined, watching him kiss down from your lips all the way past your belly button—stopping once he reached where you were begging for him.

“pretty girl. all wet for me?” you gushed at his words, knowing he wasn’t talking to you, but towards your sopping wet pussy. “oh fuck! baby!” you yelled out, hands immediately sinking into his brown locks as he proceeded to eat you out; sucking on your clit and teasing your needy hole with his tongue.

the vibrations from his grunting in between your legs had your eyes rolling back, while you tried to back away from the intense pleasure—only for you to get a slap on your thigh and being pulled closer.

“stay. fucking. still.” he growled, hazel eyes dark with lust. you whimpered and he continued to lap up all your juices that dripped out of you, swirling and spitting on your cunt; making a sloppy mess out of you.

the more he ate you out, the closer you were to an orgasm. the intensity of it, tipping on the edge and when he added two thick fingers inside of you. you couldn’t stop yourself from gushing all over them. he growled and didn’t stop pumping in and out of you, lapping up your juices, sending you in cloud 9.

you were a mess when he finally pulled away. your sheets were tangled underneath your fingers and your hair was now sweated out, thanks to the amazing orgasm he just gave you. you watched with low, lidded eyes as he started to undo his belt. the platinum belt shining under the moonlight, before accompanying his shirt along with his denim jeans and underwear following suit.

couldn’t help but to follow his happy trail that led to his boner, which was angry red and leaked globs of his precum. both of your lips salivated at the site and you couldn’t wait to have him inside of you. “be a good girl for me and take it~”.

“yes—daddy!” you hiccuped, feeling him stretch you open after he aligned himself with your entrance. “shit,” he muttered, making you clench down on him—slick coating him as he eased in.

“fuck, doll. should’ve prepped you ages ago if i knew—are you fucking squirting?!” he watched with an eyebrow raise as a small stream of clear liquid sprayed out of you, once he fully pushed his fat beer can shaped cock inside of you.

you nodded and bit your lip, earning a grunt from him. you had fantasized about this moment, thinking about cumming and squirting on his cock just from him pressing into your cervix, and rubbing against your spot the moment he entered you. nobody had ever made you squirt just by sticking it in. guess that means you two were meant to be.

logan looped his arms underneath your thighs and fully thrusted into you, causing you to scream. he pulled back out and repeated the process, slamming into you every other second. you couldn’t help but to drench his cock even more, driving him insane.

“feels sooo good. please don’t stop.” you praised, never breaking eye contact with him as he fucked your pretty cunt sloppy. he pinned your legs back by your head, testing out your flexibility, while slipping his thumb into your mouth for you to suck on.

the lewd squelching noise from your cunt that echoed each time his balls met the base of your cunt, had made him fuck you even deeper and harder. his pretty eyes started to roll back in head, feeling you clench down on him—trying to milk him for all his worth. the more he pounded, the more your orgasm built up inside of you and soon you couldn’t hold it anymore.

you let go of his thumb and moaned in his ear as you came hard all over him, gushing while he continued to pump his girth inside of you. “just like that, princess. cum all over this dick.”

rolling his hips into yours, he rubbed against your spot again, making you squirt once more. “fuck, you’re like a fucking fountain. think i can push one more out of you?”

he didn’t wait for you to answer, flipping you over on your stomach and pressing your back down—deepening your arch— before he drilled inside of you.

the creaking of the bed and the loud thunder outside couldn’t compare to the monstrous noise of your ass clapping against his pelvis, each time he made you throw it back on him. you cried into your pillow beneath you and tugged on your sheets, drooling from the overwhelming sensation. you could feel him twitch inside of you, signifying that he was going to cum and you wanted inside of you so bad.

turning your head slightly, you caught his eyes and you gripped his arm—continuing to fuck him back—before you spoke, “inside. please daddy, want it inside.”

hearing you plead for him to fill you up, had him bottoming out inside of you, pouring his thick warm load inside of you—filling your tummy up with his seed.

he didn’t stop pistoning his cock either, triggering your third orgasm for the night. you clamped down on him, milking him as you creamed and squirted on his cock—messing up the sheets below you—a puddle of both of your fluids stained the soft fabric. logan pulled out of you after one more thrust of his hips, falling into the empty space next to you; the both of you trying to catch your breaths.

logan reached over and pulled a cigar out of his pants and placed it into his mouth, watching as you lit it with the use of your powers. he exhaled and you cuddled next to him, before he handed it to you. you repeated his actions and handed it back over to him, laying on his hairy chest—when you remembered the question from earlier.

“you wanna tell me what happened? don’t give me no half ass answer either, lo.” you cursed and he chuckled, removing the cigar from his lips and holding it in the air. the pungent smoke filling up your room as a result.

“she was using me. stryker sent her. never loved me a day in her life. but, you—“ he paused and turned his head to look at you, eyes softening once he met your gaze. “you’ve loved me for a long time now.”

you nodded and inched closer to his face, glancing at his lips while he spoke. “before she even came to the mansion, i knew i was in love with you. hell, it was driving me crazy not being able to kiss you everyday. and when you told me that night at the club? i couldn’t say it back to you, not with her around. not sure if I deserved your love either……”

“you do deserve it baby. you do~” you finally pressed your lips onto his, the taste of the oak flavored cigar dancing on your tongues as you made out with one another. you pulled away and climbed on top of him and sat right above where his semi-hard cock laid; grabbing his cigar and puffing on it.

“and the blood on your shirt? was that yo—”

“theirs. i had to do what I had to do. they wanted to take me and make me their weapon. im not a weapon,” he growled and you frowned, seeing how his eyes started to well up with tears; knowing he was starting to remember his past.

you leaned down and kissed the corners of his eyes, kissing away his tears that pricked it. “you’re not a weapon or a monster logan. you’re you. the man that i fell in love with. your past doesn’t make you, what you decide to do in the present makes you. i love you and i'm always going to love you for being you.”

your words did something to him. he wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you close, hugging you and kissed your cheek multiple times, earning giggles from you. he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you.

you reached behind you and pulled his cock towards your wet entrance and slid back down on it, making him squeeze your torso a little harder. you leaned back and smirked at him, slowing rolling your hips; a soft moan leaving your kids bitten lips.

“gonna drain you tonight. this is what i thought about doing every night.”

and that’s what the two of you did. fucked until the sun came up, before sleeping in each other’s arms.

[payetasoiree]

3/4 Bath Bathroom (Miami)

[bi-writes]

i have brain rot about simon riley and need to write this down somewhere -> thinking about childhood-bestfriend!roommate!ghost x fem!reader

more bestfriend!roommate!simon (part 1/?)

slight nsfw (18+) thoughts ahead...

it's your first day of work at your new job. you took up something at the diner nearby, a 24/7 little place that served greasy eggs and day-old coffee in cracked, porcelain mugs. the floors were sticky, half of the menu was crossed out in scratchy black ink, you had to wear this god-awful uniform, but the pay was decent and the cooks were kind.

the diner had a theme, and that theme meant you were buttoning up a terrible uniform. a red and white striped dress with a frilly white apron wrapped around your waist. it cinched at the waist, the skirt was too short, and the neckline showed off too much cleavage, but you needed the money, so damn the uniform.

your hair was slicked back, showing off your light makeup and red lipstick. you fit the hat over your head and slipped the white sneakers on before grabbing your bag and coming out of your room. "and where are y'going lookin' like that, luv?" you froze, closing your eyes and sighing as you gripped your purse tighter.

"im going to work. im gonna be late." "that right? let me look at ya."

you turned around, opening your eyes. simon was standing there, leaning against the kitchen doorway holding a fresh cuppa. you swallowed hard, trying to be subtle as you looked him up and down. black cargo pants, compression shirt rolled up to his elbows, hood over his dirty blonde locks, a surgical mask covering his pretty face.

he put the mug down and straightened his posture at the sight of you. his dark eyes honed in on your figure in the dress, but he tried to hide the way his pupils dilated at the sight of the low neckline. if he moved just right, he could see the white lace of your lingerie peeking out from just under the lapels.

"bloody christ..." he hissed, clicking his tongue.

"shut up, simon, okay? im gonna be late. i know i look ridiculous, i--"

you gasped a little when you felt warmth against your neck. his palm caressed your jaw, fingers tightening around one side of your face. his hand nearly took it all, your cheek smushed against him as he examined you. his eyes grazed over your long lashes to your soft blush to the red of your pouty lips.

he thought it might look nice on him everywhere else. kiss marks on his neck, his chest, his scars, the inside of his mouth--

"dont look ridiculous," he corrected you. "look like a fuckin' doll."

you sucked in your breath as he smoothed a thumb over your bottom lip, his finger coming back a little pink with your lipstick. so pink, so cute, so adorable, just like your glazed, doe eyes and the sight of your tongue sliding along your teeth. you were holding back a whine, that much was obvious.

"simon..."

his other hand moved up, tracing along the edge of the lapel and just barely skimming over the lace of your bra. you held back a shiver, and you felt a warmth bubbling inside of you when you noticed him lean a little closer, his eyes peeking cheekily down the valley of your breasts.

"you let me know when your shift is over," he murmured, letting you go slowly. he knocked his knuckles under your chin, making you look right into his eyes. "im gonna need to walk you home, luv."

"you don't need to do that--"

"wont be taking no for an answer," he narrowed his eyes. "bloody beasts will eat up a pretty thing in this fuckin' dress."

your lips part slightly, your eyes half-lidded as you wonder what it might be like to push the mask up and lick into his mouth, taste the ash on his tongue and the warmth of his breath.

"beasts like you, simon?"

"aye."

[eunseoksimp]

Siren ; Lee Anton

Pairings: Obsessive!Anton x Femme Fatale!Reader

Genre: Angst

Description: at seonghwa academy, you reign like a queen—flawless, untouchable, and cold as ice. your beauty is your weapon, used to control and manipulate those who fall under your spell. but when you catch the eye of anton, a brooding athlete with a quiet intensity, you meet your match. beneath his silence lies a dark obsession, a twisted desire that mirrors your own. as you engage in a dangerous dance of power and control, the line between.

Warnings: manipulation, obsessive behaviour, anton is low-key unhinged, death

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

in the heart of seoul, hidden away from the prying eyes of the common folk, lay seonghwa academy—a sanctuary for the elite. the school was a sprawling estate, its towering gates adorned with intricate gold designs, a symbol of the wealth and privilege that lay within. beyond the gates, the grounds stretched out in a lavish display of manicured gardens, where ancient cherry blossom trees stood sentinel, their delicate pink petals drifting like snowflakes in the gentle breeze.

the main building of the academy was a marvel of architecture, a blend of traditional korean aesthetics and modern grandeur. its walls were of pristine white stone, polished to a shine, with high windows that allowed sunlight to pour in, casting long, golden rays across the polished marble floors.

inside, the halls were wide and lined with portraits of illustrious alumni, men and women who had gone on to shape the world, all of them linked by the common thread of privilege and power. the ceiling soared above, adorned with chandeliers that glittered like a constellation of stars, their crystal drops refracting light into a thousand tiny rainbows that danced across the room.

it was within these halls that you held court, like a queen surveying her kingdom. your presence was a force unto itself, commanding attention without a word, demanding devotion without a single gesture. you moved through the school like a wisp of smoke, impossible to grasp but impossible to ignore. wherever you went, a hush fell over those around you, as if the mere sight of you demanded reverence.

you were beautiful, but not in the way most people imagined when they thought of beauty. it wasn’t just your face, though that was a masterpiece in itself—high cheekbones, a delicate nose, lips that curled into a perfect bow. your skin was like porcelain, flawless and smooth, with a soft, ethereal glow that seemed to emanate from within, your hair, a cascade of black silk, framed a face so perfect it seemed almost unreal, like something crafted by the hands of a deity in a moment of unparalleled inspiration. your eyes, dark and mysterious, held a depth that could drown anyone who dared look too long into them, a dangerous promise hidden behind a veil of innocence.

but it was more than just your physical appearance. your beauty was a weapon, and you wielded it with precision. you were calculating, always two steps ahead, your mind a cold, sharp instrument honed to perfection. everything you did was for your own gain, every smile, every glance, every word spoken was a move in the intricate game you played. you took pleasure in your power, in the way others bent to your will without even realizing they were doing so.

and then there was your voice, soft and low, like velvet brushing against bare skin. when you spoke, people listened. they hung onto your every word, eager to please, desperate to be noticed by you.

boys fell over themselves trying to catch your attention, offering gifts, writing love letters, all in the vain hope that you might spare them a glance. you accepted their offerings with a smile that never reached your eyes, always taking, never giving. you played them like instruments, each one serving a purpose, whether it was to boost your social standing, to gain favors, or simply to amuse yourself. all blinded by the allure of being noticed by someone as unattainable as you were.

girls envied and admired you in equal measure, some even attempting to emulate your style, though none could quite capture the effortless elegance that came so naturally to you. they didn’t realize that what they saw was a facade, a carefully constructed image designed to elicit the desired response from those around you. you knew exactly how to dress, how to speak, how to act to keep them all under your thumb, to keep them guessing, to keep them wanting more.

among the crowd of admirers, anton was different.

anton was handsome, that much was undeniable. he had a certain ruggedness to him, a sharpness to his features that contrasted with the softness of yours. his hair, dark and thick, often fell across his forehead in a tousled mess that only seemed to enhance his brooding appeal. his eyes, a piercing shade of blue, stood out against his tanned skin, giving him an intensity that could be felt even from a distance. he was tall and lean, his athletic build a testament to the hours he spent training on the field, every muscle in his body honed to perfection.

but where you were a beacon of light, drawing everyone towards you, anton was a shadow, always lurking at the edges, observing from afar. he was quiet, almost painfully so, his presence more of a whisper than a shout. while others jostled for your attention, anton remained on the periphery, content—or so it seemed—to watch you from a distance. his eyes followed you wherever you went, though he rarely spoke more than a few words to anyone.

his silence made him a mystery, one that no one seemed able to solve. he was a puzzle, each piece carefully guarded, revealing nothing of the whole. few knew anything about him beyond the superficial; he was good at sports, he was handsome, and he kept to himself. only a handful of people could claim to be his friends, and even they struggled to understand the depths of his thoughts.

where others saw an angel, he saw something more—a force of nature, a tempest that he wanted to be caught in, even if it meant his own destruction. his heart beat faster when you were near, the blood in his veins turning to fire as your scent—jasmine and something darker, something that whispered of forbidden things—wafted through the air.

his shyness was a curse in your presence. while others boldly approached you, offering gifts and compliments, anton remained in the background, his love for you a silent, burning thing that threatened to consume him. he longed to speak to you, to make you see him, truly see him, but the fear of rejection, of shattering the perfect image he had of her in his mind, kept him silent.

but you noticed him, of course. how could you not? unlike the others who fell over themselves to win your favor, anton presented a challenge. he was a puzzle you wanted to solve, not out of any genuine interest, but because you hated the idea that someone in your domain could remain untouched by your influence. there was something in the way he looked at you—intense, almost possessive—that sparked a flicker of interest, but more than that, it was the challenge that intrigued you. here was someone who didn’t play by your rules, and that was unacceptable.

one crisp autumn afternoon, as the sun bathed the campus in a warm, golden light, you were making your way across the courtyard. the air was filled with the soft rustle of leaves as they fell from the trees, carpeting the ground in shades of red and gold. your footsteps were almost silent against the cobblestones, the sound barely audible over the murmurs of students passing by.

ahead, you noticed anton standing with a small group of his friends. they were near the edge of the courtyard, leaning casually against the stone balustrade that overlooked the garden below. though his friends were engaged in light conversation, anton seemed distant, his gaze unfocused as if lost in thought. it wasn’t until you were closer that his eyes snapped to you, a flash of something dark and unreadable crossing his features.

“here she comes,” one of anton’s friends, a tall boy with an easy smile, murmured under his breath, though not quietly enough to escape your notice. “the ice queen herself.”

“more like a goddess,” another boy replied, his tone tinged with admiration. “she doesn’t even have to try, does she? it’s like she was born to make us all look bad.”

there was a low chuckle from the group, but anton remained silent, his eyes still fixed on you. you allowed a small, knowing smile to curve your lips, a smile that only deepened the allure you held over them. you knew the effect you had, and you reveled in it. but this smile wasn’t just for them—it was a calculated move, a test to see how anton would react.

as you walked past, you let your gaze flicker towards anton for just a moment, long enough to meet his eyes and see the way they darkened, the intensity of his stare like a physical touch. it was a brief exchange, but it was enough to tell you what you needed to know. he wasn’t immune to you. far from it. he was just better at hiding it.

“careful, anton,” one of his friends teased, noticing the exchange. “she’s not the kind of girl you want to mess with.”

anton finally tore his gaze away from you, a faint smile ghosting across his lips as he replied, his voice low and measured, “i’m not messing with her.”

his friend raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “so what’s the plan, then? you just going to keep watching her from afar? because if you ask me, she’s out of everyone’s league here. untouchable.”

anton didn’t respond immediately, his eyes flickering back to where you had just disappeared around the corner. when he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet that his friends had to lean in to catch the words.

“some things are worth waiting for,” he said, his tone laced with a quiet conviction that sent a ripple of unease through the group.

“yeah, well, just be careful you don’t get burned,” the tall boy replied, though there was no real concern in his voice, only the easy camaraderie of someone who didn’t quite understand the depths of his friend’s obsession.

anton offered no reply, his thoughts already drifting back to you. his friends resumed their conversation, but he remained silent, his mind occupied with the image of your smile, the way it had seemed to linger on your lips just a moment too long, as if it had been meant for him alone.

later that afternoon, as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the school grounds, you found yourself in the library. it was a vast room, lined with shelves that reached up to the ceiling, filled with books that spanned every subject imaginable. the scent of aged paper hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of polished wood and the crispness of the autumn air that drifted in through the open windows.

you chose this place deliberately—your sanctuary, your throne room, where you could reign undisturbed. the library was usually deserted at this hour, a perfect place to think, to plot your next move. you moved gracefully through the aisles, your fingers trailing lightly over the spines of the books as you walked, until you reached your usual spot, a secluded table tucked away in a corner, hidden from view but with a clear line of sight to the entrance.

you settled into your seat, your back straight, your posture impeccable, as you opened a book—a volume on ancient strategies of war, a fitting choice given the games you played with those around you. but as you began to read, your thoughts kept drifting back to anton, to the way he had looked at you in the courtyard. there was something about him that you couldn’t quite place, something that made him stand out from the others. he was different, and that intrigued you.

you heard the door to the library creak open, the sound barely perceptible, but you were attuned to the slightest disturbance in your surroundings. you didn’t look up, though you knew who it was even before you heard the familiar sound of his footsteps approaching. you continued reading, allowing him to come to you, your expression calm and unreadable.

“strange seeing you here twice in one day,” anton’s voice broke the silence, soft yet edged with something dark, something that hinted at the depths beneath his calm exterior.

you slowly raised your eyes from the book, fixing him with a cool, appraising gaze. “is it?”

he stood at the edge of your table, his posture relaxed but his eyes focused, as if he were trying to decipher the meaning behind your calm demeanor. he didn’t sit down, didn’t make any move to bridge the gap between you, and you respected that. it showed that he wasn’t like the others who would have rushed to fill the silence, eager to be close to you, to bask in your presence.

“you usually avoid places like this,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur, as though the library’s quiet demanded a softer tone.

you tilted your head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. “and yet, here you are.”

anton didn’t respond immediately. his eyes flickered to the book in your hands, his expression thoughtful. “war strategies?” he observed, raising an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “fitting.”

“for what?” you asked, your voice smooth, almost teasing, though there was a hint of steel beneath your words.

“for someone like you,” he replied, his tone flat, betraying nothing of what he might be thinking. “someone who always seems to be a step ahead.”

you allowed a soft laugh to escape your lips, though it was devoid of any real warmth. “i find it useful to stay informed,” you said, closing the book with a decisive snap. “knowledge is power, after all.”

anton’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “and you enjoy having power, don’t you?”

you met his gaze, unflinching, your expression unreadable. “wouldn’t you?”

he didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes was enough. he understood, perhaps more than anyone else. in that moment, you saw a reflection of yourself in him—a hunger, a need to control, to dominate. it was rare to find someone who could match you in this way, and it made you wonder just how far you could push him before he would break.

“why are you here, anton?” you asked, your tone light but with an underlying sharpness. “surely you didn’t come all this way just to exchange pleasantries?”

anton took a step closer, leaning slightly over the table, his eyes locked onto yours. “i came to see you.”

“did you?” you replied, feigning surprise, though you were anything but. “and what is it that you want from me?”

he took another step closer, his gaze intense, as if he were trying to penetrate your carefully constructed facade. “you already know the answer to that.”

you leaned back in your chair, creating more distance between you, as if to remind him who was in control. “perhaps,” you said slowly, your voice laced with an almost cruel amusement. “but i want to hear you say it.”

anton’s jaw tightened, the only outward sign of his frustration. he wasn’t used to being played with, and it was clear that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the power dynamic between you. but he held his ground, refusing to be the first to break.

“i want to understand you,” he said finally, the words heavy with meaning.

you raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued now. “understand me?” you echoed, your tone mocking. “how quaint. and why would you want that?”

his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to see through your facade, to find the real person beneath the mask. “because you’re different from the others,” he said, his voice firm. “you don’t care about the things they care about. you’re not like them.”

you felt a flicker of satisfaction at his words, though you kept your expression neutral. “you think you’re different too, don’t you?” you asked, your voice soft, almost a whisper. “that’s why you’re drawn to me. you see something of yourself in me.”

anton didn’t deny it. instead, he straightened, putting more distance between you. “maybe,” he admitted, though there was a hint of reluctance in his voice, as if he didn’t want to admit just how much you fascinated him.

you leaned forward, your eyes glinting with something dark, something that spoke of the game you were playing. “but here’s the thing, anton,” you said, your voice low and almost seductive. “just because we’re alike doesn’t mean we’re on the same side.”

anton’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them. “are you trying to warn me?”

you smiled then, a smile that held no warmth, no kindness. “no,” you said simply. “i’m just letting you know that you should be careful. you might think you understand me, but you don’t. and trying to get close to me, trying to figure me out, might not end the way you hope.”

there was a moment of silence, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating. anton’s expression remained unreadable, but you could see the wheels turning in his mind, could almost hear the thoughts racing through his head as he tried to decide his next move.

finally, he nodded, as if coming to some kind of internal decision. “i’ll take my chances,” he said, his voice calm, but with a resolve that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

you studied him for a long moment, weighing his words, considering your next move. and then, you smiled again, this time a real smile, one that hinted at something more, something dangerous. “good,” you said softly, leaning back in your chair. “i was hoping you would say that.”

anton didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. he wasn’t afraid of you, and that made him even more interesting. this was going to be fun.

without another word, you stood up, the movement smooth and controlled. you gathered your things, the book you hadn’t read and the bag you carried with you everywhere. you leaned slightly over the table, bringing your face closer to his, your lips curling into a slow, deliberate smile.

"good luck, anton," you whispered, your voice low and intimate. "you’re going to need it."

and with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him sitting there, the echo of your parting words lingering in the air. as you left the library, you didn’t look back. you knew he was watching you, just as you knew he would continue to chase the idea of you, to try and uncover the truth you kept hidden behind layers of ice.

but in the end, it didn’t matter. you were always in control. anton might think he was playing the same game as you, but the truth was, he was just another piece on your board. and you? you were always several moves ahead.

the sun had set by the time you stepped outside, the evening air cool against your skin. the sky was a deep, inky blue, dotted with the first stars of the night. as you walked back to your dorm, your thoughts were already shifting to the next day, the next opportunity, the next move. anton was a distraction, an interesting one, but a distraction nonetheless. you had bigger plans, bigger goals, and you wouldn’t let anything—or anyone—stand in your way.

as the door to your dormitory closed behind you, you allowed yourself one last, fleeting thought of anton, of the way his eyes had burned with that cold fire, the way he had tried to match your coldness with his own. it was a futile effort, but it had been amusing, if only for a moment.

and then, with the finality of a chess player making the winning move, you pushed the thought from your mind, focusing instead on the game that truly mattered—the one where you were always the queen, and everyone else was just another pawn.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the days began to blur into one another, the once vibrant tapestry of autumn fading into the cold, muted tones of winter. seonghwa academy, with all its grandeur and decadence, seemed almost timeless in its beauty, untouched by the passage of the seasons. the cherry blossoms had long since fallen, leaving the trees bare, their skeletal branches scratching at the sky like bony fingers. the manicured gardens were now coated in a thin layer of frost, a glittering veil that shimmered in the pale morning light.

you moved through the academy like a specter, your presence felt more than seen. the halls were your domain, each corridor a labyrinth where you pulled the strings, where every whisper, every glance was carefully orchestrated. the students, your pawns, fell in line, their lives intertwined with yours in ways they could never fully understand. you held court in the shadows, your influence seeping into every corner, every conversation.

anton was no exception. from the moment he had sought you out in the library, you had known he would be different, a challenge unlike the others. and challenges, you had learned, were meant to be conquered.

he was drawn to you like a moth to a flame, his obsession growing with each passing day. it was subtle at first—an extra glance in your direction, a lingering look that held just a bit too long. but soon, it became something more, something palpable. you could feel his eyes on you even when you weren’t looking, could sense his presence lurking at the edge of your awareness like a shadow that refused to be shaken.

you began to toy with him, your moves calculated and deliberate, each interaction becoming a carefully orchestrated dance. the academy, a place of prestige and ambition, provided the perfect backdrop for your machinations. its grand halls and meticulously maintained gardens were a testament to the wealth and power of its patrons, and you knew how to navigate this world with ease.

your interactions with anton began innocently enough. it started with small things—catching his eye in the hallway and holding his gaze just a moment longer than necessary, brushing past him in the crowded corridors, your touch fleeting but deliberate. you could see the effect it had on him, the way his breath hitched, the way his composure faltered ever so slightly. it was intoxicating, the power you held over him, the way you could bend him to your will with nothing more than a look.

one evening, as the first snow of the season began to fall, you found yourself in the school’s music room, a place rarely visited by anyone outside of classes. the room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of the sconces on the walls, casting long shadows that danced across the polished wood floors. the air was filled with the faint scent of old sheet music and the lingering notes of a piano that hadn’t been played in years.

you had come here to think, to plot your next move, but the silence was soon broken by the sound of the door creaking open. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. you could feel anton’s presence, the way the air seemed to thicken with his arrival.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you said, your voice a soft whisper that barely disturbed the quiet.

“neither should you,” he replied, his tone calm but with an undercurrent of something darker, something that hinted at the storm brewing beneath his surface.

you turned slowly to face him, your eyes meeting his with a cool, detached gaze. “i go where i please,” you said simply, as if that explained everything.

anton stepped further into the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click. he was dressed in the school’s uniform, but it seemed somehow more disheveled, the tie loosened, the shirt untucked at the edges, as if he had grown careless with his appearance. his hair was tousled, the dark strands falling into his eyes, but it did nothing to diminish the intensity of his gaze.

“why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice steady but with a hint of desperation, as if he were struggling to keep his emotions in check.

you tilted your head slightly, feigning ignorance. “doing what?”

anton’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he took a step closer. “you know what,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “why are you playing with me?”

a smile ghosted across your lips, a smile devoid of any warmth, any humanity. “because i can,” you replied, your tone light, almost mocking. “because it amuses me.”

anton’s eyes darkened, the shadows in the room seeming to grow longer, deeper. “you think this is a game?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly with barely restrained anger.

“everything is a game,” you said, your voice as cold and unfeeling as the snow falling outside. “and you’re just another piece on the board.”

he stared at you, his expression a mixture of anger and something else, something you couldn’t quite place. there was a darkness in him, a darkness that mirrored your own, and for a moment, you almost felt something—a flicker of recognition, of understanding. but you quickly pushed it aside, reminding yourself of who you were, of what you were.

“i don’t want to be your pawn,” anton said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“then don’t be,” you replied, your tone dismissive. “no one’s forcing you to play.”

but you both knew that wasn’t true. he was trapped, ensnared in a web of his own making, and there was no escape. not now. not ever.

anton took another step closer, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that was almost suffocating. “what do you want from me?” he asked, his voice hoarse, as if the words had been dragged from the depths of his soul.

you looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment, you felt something stir within you, something you couldn’t quite identify. but then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the cold, calculating detachment that had always served you so well.

“i want to see how far you’ll go,” you said, your voice soft, almost seductive. “how much you’re willing to sacrifice for me.”

anton’s eyes narrowed, suspicion and anger flaring in equal measure. “and what if i’m not willing to give you what you want?” he asked, his voice challenging, daring you to push him further.

you smiled then, a smile that was all sharp edges and hidden dangers. “oh, anton,” you said, your tone dripping with condescension. “you will. you won’t be able to help yourself.”

there was a moment of silence, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating. and then, without warning, anton reached out, his hand gripping your wrist with a force that sent a shock of pain up your arm. his touch was cold, his fingers like iron bands that held you in place, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of fear, a fear that you hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“don’t underestimate me,” anton said, his voice low, dangerous. “i’m not like the others. i won’t break for you.”

you met his gaze, your eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, you saw the truth in his words. anton wasn’t like the others. he was stronger, more resilient, and that made him dangerous. but it also made the game more interesting, more challenging. and you had never been one to back down from a challenge.

“we’ll see,” you said, your voice steady, unyielding.

anton held your gaze for a moment longer, his grip on your wrist tightening before he finally let go. you watched him as he stepped back, his expression unreadable, the storm in his eyes raging just beneath the surface.

“this isn’t over,” he said, his voice low, filled with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“no,” you replied, your tone calm, composed. “it’s just beginning.”

with that, anton turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room, the silence pressing down on you like a weight. you watched him go, a small smile playing on your lips, your mind already working, already planning your next move.

the game was far from over, and you had no intention of losing. anton was a challenge, a puzzle that you were determined to solve, no matter what it took. and if you had to break him in the process, then so be it.

after all, in the end, there could only be one winner.

as the days passed, you continued to play your game, each move calculated, each interaction designed to push anton further, to test the limits of his obsession. you gave him tasks, small at first—bring you a book from the library, fetch you a drink from the cafeteria—but each one was a test, a way to gauge just how far he was willing to go for you.

and he did them all, without question, without hesitation. it was almost too easy, the way he bent to your will, the way he followed your every command. but there was something about the way he did it, the way he looked at you with those dark, intense eyes, that told you he wasn’t doing it out of fear, or even out of a desire to please you. no, there was something else driving him, something deeper, something darker.

you began to push him harder, your requests growing more demanding, more invasive. you asked him to skip classes for you, to lie to his friends, to steal things from the other students. and still, he did it all, without a word of protest, without a single sign of reluctance.

it was thrilling, the power you held over him, the way you could make him do anything with nothing more than a smile, a glance, a whispered word. but there was also a danger in it, a danger that you were acutely aware of, but chose to ignore. because the truth was, you weren’t sure how far anton would go, and that uncertainty, that unpredictability, was what made the game so intoxicating.

one night, as the winter winds howled outside, you found yourself alone in your room, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. you were seated at your desk, a glass of wine in hand, when there was a knock at the door. you knew who it was before you even opened it.

anton stood in the doorway, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something different about him, something you couldn’t quite place. his clothes were disheveled, his hair even more tousled than usual, and there was a wildness in his eyes that sent a thrill of fear, and excitement, coursing through you.

“come in,” you said, your voice steady, betraying none of the emotions swirling within you.

he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, staring at each other, the tension in the room thick and suffocating.

“what do you want?” you asked, your tone cool, detached.

anton didn’t answer immediately. instead, he took a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours, his expression intense, almost desperate.

“i want you,” he said finally, his voice low, hoarse.

you felt your heart skip a beat, the admission catching you off guard. but you quickly recovered, your composure slipping back into place like a well-worn mask.

“you can’t have me,” you replied, your tone cold, unfeeling.

“i know,” anton said, his voice barely above a whisper. “but that doesn’t change anything.”

there was a moment of silence, the two of you standing so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to control his breathing.

“why?” you asked, your voice soft, almost curious.

anton’s eyes darkened, the storm in them raging just beneath the surface. “because you make me feel alive,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “because i can’t stop thinking about you, even when i know i should.”

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling within you. you had always known that anton was different, that he would be a challenge, but you hadn’t anticipated this, hadn’t expected to be confronted with his raw, unfiltered need for you.

“you’re a fool,” you said finally, your voice sharp, cutting.

anton flinched at your words, but he didn’t back down. instead, he took another step closer, closing the distance between you until there was barely a breath of space between you.

“maybe,” he said, his voice steady, determined. “but i’m your fool.”

you felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, the sheer intensity of his devotion both exhilarating and terrifying. you had played this game a thousand times before, had manipulated countless others, but this—this was different. anton was different.

“you’re playing a dangerous game,” you said, your voice low, warning.

anton’s lips curved into a small, bitter smile. “i know,” he said, his voice soft, resigned. “but i’m already too far gone to stop.”

and in that moment, you knew it was true. anton wasn’t like the others. he wasn’t just another pawn on your board, another plaything to be discarded when you grew bored. he was something else, something more. and that realization sent a thrill of fear, and excitement, coursing through you.

he hesitated, his jaw tightening as if he was struggling to find the right words. “i can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted finally, his voice raw with emotion. “you’re all i think about.”

you reached out, placing a hand on his cheek, your touch gentle but possessive. “and what do you think about, anton?”

his breath hitched at your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. “everything. your smile, your voice, the way you move. it’s driving me crazy.”

you leaned in closer, your lips just inches from his. “is that so?” you whispered, your breath warm against his skin.

he nodded, his eyes opening to meet yours. “yes. i can’t sleep, i can’t focus. all i want is to be near you, to make you happy.”

“then we’ll see how far you’re willing to go,” you said, your voice filled with a dangerous promise.

anton’s eyes locked onto yours, his gaze unwavering, and in that moment, you knew that whatever happened next, there was no going back.

the game was no longer just a game. it was something more, something darker, something that could destroy you both. and for the first time in a long time, you felt truly alive.

as the snow continued to fall outside, the two of you stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills, the fire in the hearth casting long shadows on the walls, the only sound the crackling of the flames and the faint whisper of the wind.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

in the weeks that followed, your manipulation of anton became a carefully orchestrated dance, a twisted ballet where you led with a graceful, calculated precision, and anton followed, oblivious to the strings you pulled. each interaction was a deliberate step in this dark routine, with you guiding him ever deeper into the labyrinth of your control.

your tasks soon grew more intricate, more demanding. you asked him to dig up obscure references for your essays, to track down rare books that could only be found in forgotten corners of the city, to bring you your favorite coffee from a shop miles away from campus. each request was a thread in the web you wove around him, tightening your hold with every act of service.

anton never hesitated. his devotion to you was absolute, a blind, consuming need that drove him to fulfill your every whim without question. it was as if your presence had become a drug, one he couldn’t live without, and the more he did for you, the deeper his addiction grew. you could see it in his eyes, in the way he looked at you, as if you were the center of his universe, the very air he breathed.

as the days passed, you began to notice the subtle changes in him, changes that you observed with a detached amusement. anton’s once healthy frame grew gaunt, his cheeks hollowing out as he lost weight, the sharp angles of his bones more pronounced beneath his pale skin. dark circles formed under his eyes, a testament to the nights spent sleepless, his mind too consumed by thoughts of you to find rest.

his friends grew concerned, their worried glances and whispered questions following him wherever he went. “are you okay, anton?” they would ask, but he brushed them off with a forced smile, his thoughts always returning to you.

the sharp mind that had once been the pride of his teachers, the envy of his peers, now seemed solely focused on you, on the endless tasks and challenges you set before him. his world had shrunk, until it revolved around you alone.

one crisp afternoon, as the late sun cast a warm, golden hue over the campus, you decided it was time to push anton further. the chill in the air was sharp, a reminder of the winter, but inside the academy’s library, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of old books and the quiet hum of whispered conversations.

you found anton where you expected him, hunched over a thick volume of korean history, his eyes scanning the pages with a fervor that betrayed his exhaustion.

as you approached, he looked up, his gaze lighting up with that familiar, fervent intensity that had become so familiar to you. it was a look that both thrilled and repelled you, a reflection of the power you wielded over him.

“anton,” you said, your voice soft and sweet, a siren’s call that masked the sharpness of your intentions. “i need your help with something.”

he stood immediately, closing the book with a soft thud and giving you his full, undivided attention. “anything,” he said, his voice thick with longing, his eyes searching yours for any sign of approval.

you smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “there’s a fundraiser next week, and i need a partner for the opening dance. will you be my partner?”

his eyes widened in shock and elation, the emotions playing across his features like a silent movie. “of course,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. “i’d be honored.”

“good,” you replied, your smile widening just a fraction, enough to make his heart race. “meet me in the ballroom tonight at eight. we need to practice.”

that evening, the academy’s ballroom was a cathedral of opulence and grandeur. chandeliers hung from the high ceiling like glittering constellations, their crystal drops refracting light into a thousand tiny rainbows that danced across the polished marble floor. the scent of fresh flowers filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of waxed wood, a testament to the academy’s commitment to luxury and tradition.

you arrived at eight sharp, your entrance a vision of calculated perfection. anton was already there, of course, nervously adjusting his tie as he waited for you. his breath caught as you stepped into the room, the soft rustle of your gown the only sound in the vast, echoing space.

you had chosen a gown of deep crimson, a shade that matched the dark currents of the game you played, the color of blood and desire. it flowed around you like liquid silk, the fabric clinging to your form before cascading to the floor in a pool of rich, dark red. your hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, a few loose tendrils framing your face, and a simple diamond necklace adorned your neck, glittering against your porcelain skin like a single drop of ice.

“you’re early,” you said, your tone light and teasing, as if you hadn’t planned every detail of this encounter down to the second.

“i didn’t want to keep you waiting,” anton replied, his voice filled with a mix of awe and devotion that made your smile widen.

you crossed the room with a deliberate grace, each step measured, each movement designed to captivate. “shall we begin?” you asked, extending your hand to him, your fingers pale against the deep crimson of your gown.

he took your hand, his grip firm yet trembling slightly, the subtle tremor sending a shiver of satisfaction through you. you led him into the dance, your bodies moving in perfect harmony, a testament to the control you exerted over him. anton followed your lead with an intensity that bordered on reverence, his eyes never leaving yours, his focus entirely on you, as if the world beyond your shared steps had ceased to exist.

as the music swelled, you leaned in closer, your breath brushing against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “you’re doing well, anton,” you murmured, your voice a soft, seductive purr. “but you need to loosen up. let go of your fears.”

he nodded, his jaw clenching with determination, the tension in his body palpable beneath your touch. you could feel the rigid control he tried to maintain, the desperate need to please you, to be perfect for you. but you wanted more. you wanted to push him further, to see just how far he would go to prove his devotion.

“anton,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper, a breath of wind in the stillness of the ballroom. “do you trust me?”

his eyes widened, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of uncertainty, a tiny crack in the facade of his devotion. but then he nodded, his expression resolute, his voice unwavering. “yes,” he said, the word carrying the weight of a promise, a vow.

“good,” you replied, your lips curving into a smile, a smile that was both a reward and a warning. “then close your eyes and follow my lead.”

he hesitated for the briefest of moments before obeying, his eyes fluttering shut, his trust in you absolute. with his eyes closed, anton’s other senses seemed to heighten, his body attuning to yours with an intensity that bordered on desperation. you could feel his breath quicken, the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand, his heartbeat pounding in his chest like the rhythm of the music, a rhythm that echoed the pulse of your own power over him.

you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a soft caress, a velvet glove over a steel blade. “you’re mine, anton,” you whispered, the words wrapping around him like a chain. “you’ll do anything for me, won’t you?”

his breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that spoke of both fear and longing, and he nodded, his voice a ragged whisper, his will crumbling under the weight of your command. “yes.”

“good,” you murmured, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through you, a dark current that matched the crimson of your gown. “because i have another task for you.”

he opened his eyes then, his gaze locking onto yours with a desperation that was almost tangible, a need that radiated from him like heat. “anything,” he said, his voice filled with a desperate longing, a need to prove himself worthy of your attention.

you smiled, a slow, predatory smile, the smile of a hunter who knows the prey is already ensnared. “i need you to find out everything you can about professor kim. i have reason to believe he’s hiding something, and i need to know what it is.”

anton’s eyes darkened at your words, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them, a shadow of the man he was becoming under your influence. “i’ll find out,” he said, his voice firm, the resolve in his tone a reflection of the control you had over him.

you leaned back slightly, your smile widening, your satisfaction evident in the way your eyes glinted in the soft light of the chandeliers. “i knew i could count on you, anton,” you said, your voice a soft purr, a reward for his obedience.

as the music came to an end, you stepped back, breaking the connection between you, your movements fluid, graceful, a dancer stepping away from a completed performance. anton stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and devotion, his mind consumed with thoughts of you.

“same time tomorrow?” you asked, your tone casual, as if you hadn’t just tightened the chains of his obsession, as if this were just another dance, another game.

he nodded, his gaze never leaving yours, his heart still racing from the intensity of the moment. “yes,” he replied, his voice steady, but you could hear the undercurrent of desperation, the need to please you, to be everything you wanted him to be.

you turned and walked away, your steps light and graceful, each movement a calculated display of control and power. behind you, anton remained standing in the middle of the ballroom, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind consumed with thoughts of you, with the task you had given him. 

the game was progressing perfectly, each move bringing you closer to your goal, and you reveled in the power you held over him, in the knowledge that anton was yours, body and soul, and that you had no intention of letting him go.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the power dynamics between you and anton had shifted to an almost surreal degree. what began as a subtle manipulation had evolved into a full-blown psychological entanglement, a dangerous dance where you were the undisputed maestro, and anton, the eager but unwitting puppet. 

each interaction was a calculated move, each touch a deliberate action to tighten the threads of control around him. you reveled in the power you held, the way you could bend him to your will with nothing more than a smile or a whispered command.

the academy’s sprawling grounds, with its grandiose architecture and serene gardens, became the stage for your most intricate schemes. the cherry blossoms in the garden, once a symbol of delicate beauty, now seemed to echo the treacherous nature of your relationship with anton. their petals floated down like fragments of innocence lost, each one a testament to the corruption blossoming between you.

one afternoon, you sat on a stone bench beneath a weeping willow. its branches hung low, creating a curtain of green that shielded you from the prying eyes of others. anton approached with the usual mix of eagerness and trepidation, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that bordered on worshipful.

“anton,” you called softly, your voice a caress against the backdrop of the rustling leaves. “i need you to handle something for me.”

“of course,” he replied, his voice a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. he was so eager to please, so desperate for your approval, that it was almost painful to watch.

you leaned in slightly, letting the air between you become charged with unspoken expectations. “there’s a student, su-jin. she’s been trying to undermine me in class, and i need you to… persuade her to stop.”

anton’s face darkened at the mention of su-jin. you could see the conflict within him, but it was quickly overshadowed by his desire to comply with your wishes. “what should I do?”

you allowed a slow, satisfied smile to creep across your lips. “find out what she’s planning, and if necessary, convince her to leave me alone. use whatever means you deem necessary.”

his eyes widened with a mixture of shock and determination. “you can count on me.”

as anton walked away, you could see the way his shoulders stiffened with resolve. it was a dangerous game you were playing, but the thrill of exerting such power over him, of watching him bend to your will, was intoxicating. you knew that anton’s obsession with you would lead him down a darker path, but you were content to watch the descent with a detached fascination.

anton’s mental state began to deteriorate as his obsession grew. he became increasingly paranoid, his thoughts consumed by the idea that no one else deserved your attention. his once bright eyes took on a haunted look, and his usually calm demeanor was replaced by a nervous restlessness. he started to isolate himself from friends, pushing them away with brusque words and averted gazes. his world had narrowed to a singular focus— you.

one evening, as the sky turned a deep shade of indigo and the stars began to prick the velvet darkness, you were walking through the gardens again. anton followed a few paces behind, his gaze fixed on you like a shadow that never wavered. he had been quiet for days, his once vibrant conversations now reduced to terse, monosyllabic responses.

“anton,” you said, turning to face him as you paused near a fountain where the water gurgled softly, creating a soothing, rhythmic sound. “you’ve been so quiet lately. is everything alright?”

he looked up, his eyes flickering with a mixture of anxiety and something darker— a possessive intensity that you noted with a hint of amusement. “everything’s fine,” he said, though his voice trembled slightly. “i’ve just been… focused.”

you could feel the shift in his demeanor, a subtle but unmistakable tension in the air. “focused on what?”

he hesitated, his gaze drifting to the ground before meeting your eyes again. “on making sure that no one else gets in the way of what we have.”

you raised an eyebrow, feigning curiosity. “and what is it that we have, anton?”

he swallowed hard, his throat working as if the words were difficult to form. “i… i want to make sure you’re safe. that no one can harm you or distract you from… us.”

a shiver ran down your spine at the way he said “us,” the possessive undertone clear. you took a step closer, your eyes narrowing as you assessed his state of mind.

 “anton, you know i appreciate your loyalty. but remember, you’re here to support me, not to control the people around me.”

he nodded, but the look in his eyes betrayed a different reality. the shadow of his darker side was beginning to surface more frequently. it was in the way he would flinch if he saw you talking to another student, the way his hands would clench into fists when you mentioned someone else’s name.

like when you conversed with a fellow student, your laughter ringing out in the courtyard, you caught anton’s gaze from across the lawn. his face was a mask of barely restrained fury, his eyes dark and stormy. the sight sent a thrill of dark satisfaction through you. you knew that you were pushing him to the brink, but the control you had over him was intoxicating.

afterward, as you walked through the campus, you found anton waiting for you by a secluded alcove. his expression was a volatile mix of anger and desperation. 

“why were you talking to him?” he demanded, his voice low and harsh.

you stopped, turning to face him with a calm composure. “anton, it’s just a conversation. you have nothing to worry about.”

“nothing to worry about?” he spat, his eyes blazing. “i saw the way he looked at you. you were laughing with him, enjoying his attention. what about me?”

you took a deep breath, the thrill of his jealousy and anger washing over you like a wave. “anton, you need to calm down. you’re becoming irrational.”

“irrational?” he echoed, his voice trembling with a barely contained fury. “i’m trying to protect you! you don’t understand—”

“understand what?” you interrupted, stepping closer and placing a hand on his cheek. the touch was intended to soothe, but you could feel the tension beneath his skin. “anton, you’re losing control. you need to trust me.”

he flinched at your touch, a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over him. his eyes were wild, and for a moment, you could see the extent of his obsession, the way it had twisted into something darker. 

“i don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i can’t lose you.”

you drew back slightly, the thrill of his turmoil invigorating you. “anton, you’re not losing me. but you need to focus on what’s important.”

his eyes searched yours, desperation evident in every line of his face. “i’ll do anything,” he said, his voice cracking. “just tell me what to do.”

you smiled, a smile that was both reassuring and chilling. “just remember, anton, your loyalty is what matters most. don’t let your feelings get in the way.”

this only spurred anton’s behavior to become increasingly erratic. he would often have vivid fantasies about you, his mind concocting elaborate scenarios where you were entirely his and no one else could share in your attention. these fantasies grew darker and more obsessive, painting a picture of a world where you were trapped in his own twisted vision of devotion.

one night, as the moon cast a silver sheen across the academy grounds, anton sat alone in his dorm room, his thoughts racing. the walls seemed to close in around him, and the quiet of the night was punctuated only by the sound of his own uneven breathing. he had been unable to sleep, his mind a chaotic swirl of images and emotions.

he imagined you, alone and vulnerable, with him as your sole protector. in his fantasies, you were completely dependent on him, your every move dictated by his will. the images were vivid, almost tangible— you sitting by his side, your hand in his, your eyes locked with his as he whispered promises of eternal devotion. 

but these fantasies quickly twisted into darker visions, where he had to fight off other suitors with a ferocity that bordered on violence. in these dreams, he was ruthless, striking out with an intensity that mirrored the storm within him.

when he awoke, drenched in sweat, he could still feel the echoes of his dark fantasies, the haunting intensity of his own thoughts. he stared at the ceiling, his mind struggling to separate fantasy from reality. his heart pounded, the line between his desire and his actions becoming increasingly blurred.

the next day, when you encountered anton, his demeanor was a mask of calmness, but the turmoil beneath was palpable. he tried to hide his paranoia, but the tension in his posture and the shadow in his eyes spoke volumes. he watched you with a possessive gaze, his actions more calculated, his interactions with others strained.

“anton,” you said one afternoon as you found him standing near the fountain, his gaze following you intently. “is everything alright?”

he forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “everything’s fine,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “just… making sure everything is as it should be.”

you studied him, noting the way his eyes darted toward other students, the way his hands clenched into fists. you could feel the control you wielded over him, the way his obsession had morphed into something more dangerous. the thrill of manipulating him, of pushing him to the edge, was a dark pleasure you savored.

“anton,” you said, stepping closer and lowering your voice. “i need you to trust me. I don’t want to see you like this. It’s not healthy.”

his eyes met yours, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his facade. “i just… want to protect you,” he said, his voice a mixture of anguish and resolve.

you reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “i know, and I appreciate it. but it’s creeping me out so i need you to stop, okay?”

he nodded, but the shadows in his eyes betrayed the internal struggle he faced. you knew that his descent into obsession was far from over, and as you watched him walk away, you could almost feel the weight of his darkness pressing down on him.

the games you played were dangerous and morally ambiguous, but they had become a twisted form of entertainment for you. you had pushed anton to the brink, watching with a mix of thrill and detachment as he spiraled into obsession. the power you held over him was intoxicating, and though you knew the consequences of your actions, the pleasure of manipulation was too alluring to resist.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the days continued to grow colder, the winter tightening its grip on seonghwa academy, transforming the once-golden landscape into a monochrome world of gray skies and snow-blanketed grounds. the chill seeped into the very bones of the school, into the ancient stone walls and the hearts of those within them, as if the academy itself were a living, breathing entity, feeding off the darkness that now hung heavy in the air.

you had been watching anton closely, more closely than ever, though you would never let him know it. there was a darkness in him that intrigued you, a shadow that had grown deeper, more pronounced since that night in your room. it was as if something had awakened in him, something raw and primal, and you could feel its presence lurking just beneath the surface of his carefully composed facade.

it had been a twisted tapestry of obsession, each thread woven with a careful hand, yet fraying at the edges with the weight of something darker. anton’s once-gentle demeanor, that quiet reserve you had once found so easy to manipulate, had slowly unraveled, revealing a shadowy core of obsession and fixation. what began as harmless devotion had curdled into something far more dangerous, an all-consuming fervor that twisted his thoughts and actions until they no longer resembled the man you had first ensnared.

the signs had always been there, lurking beneath the surface like cracks in a fragile facade. at first, they were subtle—a lingering gaze that held too much intensity, an eagerness to please that bordered on desperation. his words, once soft and measured, began to carry an undercurrent of something sharper, a hint of possessiveness that set your instincts on edge. but these were easy to dismiss, easy to overlook in the grander scheme of your game.

yet, as the days turned into weeks, those cracks deepened, splitting wide to reveal the depths of his obsession. his once kind eyes now burned with a fervor that was both unsettling and relentless, like a predator stalking its prey. the change in him was gradual, a slow, insidious transformation that you hadn’t anticipated, until one day you realized that the man before you was no longer the same anton you had once so effortlessly controlled.

what had begun as a game of manipulation had now spiraled into something far more dangerous. you had been playing with fire, testing the limits of his devotion, pushing him further and further, and now, those flames were ready to consume everything in their path. the air around him seemed charged, like the tense silence before a storm, the kind that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. you could sense the shift in him, the way his presence felt heavier, more oppressive, as if the weight of his obsession had grown too large to contain.

but you didn’t question it. you didn’t need to. after all, whatever was driving anton, whatever darkness had taken root in his soul, it only served to deepen your control over him. and that was all that mattered.

it was a chilly evening, and the academy’s grand library, usually a sanctuary of quiet knowledge, felt different tonight. the air was thick with an unsettling tension. the shadows cast by the flickering lights danced ominously on the rows of ancient, leather-bound books. you had been here often, as much to avoid the prying eyes of others as to indulge in the hidden recesses of knowledge. tonight, however, your curiosity had led you down a path of discovery you hadn’t anticipated.

you were seated in a leather armchair near the back of the library, a book in hand, though your mind was far from the words on the page. instead, your thoughts were occupied by anton, by the strange, twisted game you had been playing with him, and by the gnawing curiosity that had begun to take hold of you.

it was then that you heard the door to the library creak open, the sound pulling you from your thoughts. you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. you could feel his presence, as you always could, a dark cloud that seemed to hang over him, shadowing his every step.

anton moved through the library with the same quiet grace that had always characterized him, but there was something different about him now, something that set your nerves on edge. you watched from the corner of your eye as he made his way toward the back of the library, his gaze fixed on something you couldn’t see.

as he drew closer, you noticed that his clothes were disheveled, more so than usual, his hair unkempt, the dark strands falling into his eyes in a way that only added to the air of disarray that clung to him. there was something in his eyes, too, something wild and untamed, a flicker of madness that sent a chill down your spine.

he stopped a few feet away from you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that was almost suffocating. you met his stare, your expression carefully composed, though you could feel the unease building in the pit of your stomach.

“anton,” you said, your voice calm, measured. “what are you doing here?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he stood there, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths, as if he were trying to keep himself under control. when he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was an edge to it that made your skin prickle.

“i did something for you,” he said, his words clipped, precise.

you raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued despite the unease that was now thrumming through your veins. “oh?” you said, your tone light, almost teasing. “and what might that be?”

anton’s eyes darkened, the storm in them growing more intense, more dangerous. he took a step closer, his hand reaching into his coat pocket, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of fear, a fear that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

but then he pulled out a small, silver object, holding it out to you with a trembling hand. you looked at it, your heart skipping a beat as you realized what it was.

a locket. a delicate, ornate locket that you recognized immediately, because you had seen it around the neck of one of the students, a girl who had been the object of anton’s silent, simmering jealousy for weeks. she had been one of your pawns, someone you had used to stoke the fires of anton’s obsession, to push him further, to test the limits of his devotion to you.

and now, here it was, in his hand, the chain broken, the locket itself smeared with something dark, something that made your breath catch in your throat.

“anton,” you said slowly, carefully, as if speaking to a wild animal. “what did you do?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he looked down at the locket, his expression unreadable, before finally lifting his gaze to meet yours.

“i did it for you,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “she was in the way. she was trying to take you from me.”

your heart began to pound in your chest, a cold, creeping dread settling over you. “what did you do, anton?” you repeated, your voice sharper now, more insistent.

anton’s eyes flashed with something dark, something twisted, and he took another step closer, the locket still dangling from his fingers like a macabre trophy.

“i made sure she couldn’t take you from me,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “i made sure she would never come between us again.”

the realization hit you like a physical blow, the air leaving your lungs in a rush as the full extent of what anton had done sank in. the locket, the dark smears—blood, it was blood. he had killed her, that girl, that innocent pawn in your game, all because of his twisted, obsessive love for you.

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to process the enormity of what had just happened. and yet, even as the horror of it all settled over you, you couldn’t help but feel a strange, twisted thrill of excitement, of power.

anton had killed for you. he had crossed a line, had stepped into the darkness, all in your name. and in that moment, you realized just how deeply you had ensnared him, how completely he had fallen under your spell.

but there was also a danger in it, a danger that you couldn’t ignore. anton was no longer just a pawn in your game. he was something else, something more dangerous, more unpredictable. and you knew that you would have to tread carefully if you were to maintain your control over him.

“anton,” you said, your voice low, soothing, as if you were trying to calm a wild animal. “you shouldn’t have done that.”

he blinked, his expression faltering for a moment, as if he were struggling to understand your words. “but i did it for you,” he repeated, his voice desperate, pleading. “i did it because i love you.”

you felt a cold, bitter laugh bubble up in your throat, but you forced it down, knowing that now was not the time for mockery. anton was on the edge, teetering on the brink of something dark and terrible, and you needed to pull him back, to regain control before it was too late.

“love?” you said, your voice soft, almost mocking. “you think this is love, anton? what you’ve done, what you’ve become—this isn’t love. it’s madness.”

his eyes widened, a flicker of pain flashing across his face, but it was quickly replaced by something darker, something more dangerous.

“no,” he said, his voice low, trembling with emotion. “no, you’re wrong. you don’t understand. everything i’ve done, i’ve done for you. because i can’t live without you. because i need you.”

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to find the right words, the right approach to keep him from slipping further into the darkness. but even as you searched for a way to regain control, you could feel the situation spiraling out of your grasp, slipping through your fingers like sand.

“anton,” you said, your voice sharp, cutting through the thick tension in the air. “listen to me. you’ve gone too far. you’ve crossed a line, and there’s no going back. what you’ve done… it’s unforgivable.”

for a moment, he simply stared at you, his expression blank, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what you were saying. but then, slowly, something shifted in his eyes, something dark and twisted, something that made your blood run cold.

“unforgivable?” he echoed, his voice low, almost a whisper. “but i did it for you. i did it because i love you. how can that be unforgivable?”

you shook your head, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to maintain your composure. “love isn’t supposed to be like this, anton. it’s not supposed to be… destructive.”

his expression twisted into something ugly, something full of pain and anger. “you’re wrong,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “you’re wrong. love is everything. it’s all that matters. and i would do anything—anything—to keep you. to make you mine.”

there was a desperation in his voice, a wildness that sent a shiver down your spine. you had pushed him too far, had played your game too well, and now you were faced with the consequences of your own actions.

but even as the fear gripped you, there was a part of you, a dark, twisted part, that couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement, a perverse satisfaction in knowing just how deeply you had ensnared him, how completely you had broken him.

“anton,” you said, your voice low, almost a whisper. “this has to stop. you have to let me go.”

his eyes flashed with something dark, something dangerous, and he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to grasp your arm with a grip that was almost painful.

“no,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “i can’t. i won’t. you’re mine. you belong to me.”

you felt a cold, creeping dread settle over you, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. anton wasn’t going to let you go. he was too far gone, too consumed by his obsession to see reason. and there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

“anton,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts to remain calm. “you need to let me go. this isn’t healthy. it’s not right.”

his grip on your arm tightened, his eyes blazing with a wild, desperate intensity. “i don’t care,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “i don’t care if it’s not right. i don’t care if it’s not healthy. i need you. and i won’t let you go. not ever.”

the words hung in the air like a dark, ominous cloud, the finality of them sending a shiver down your spine. you had always known that anton was different, that he was dangerous, but now, faced with the full extent of his madness, you realized just how precarious your situation had become.

you were trapped, ensnared in the very web you had so carefully woven, and there was no way out. anton’s obsession had consumed him, had driven him to the edge of sanity, and now, there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

“anton,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “please. let me go.”

but he only shook his head, his grip on your arm tightening, his eyes wild and desperate. “no,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “i can’t. i won’t. you’re mine. and i’ll do whatever it takes to keep you. whatever it takes.”

the words sent a chill down your spine, the cold, creeping dread settling over you like a heavy blanket. anton had crossed a line, had stepped into the darkness, and there was no going back. the game was over, and you had lost.

and in that moment, you realized just how dangerous obsession could be, just how easily it could consume and destroy. anton had been your pawn, your plaything, but now, he was something else, something darker, something that could destroy you both.

and there was no escape.

“anton,” you said, your voice trembling, your heart pounding in your chest. “this isn’t love. it’s madness.”

but he only smiled, a twisted, broken smile that sent a shiver down your spine, his grip on your arm like a vice, unrelenting and unforgiving.

“maybe,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “but it’s our madness.”

and in that moment, you knew that there was no going back, no escape from the darkness that had consumed you both. anton had become something else, something more dangerous, more terrifying, and there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

the snow continued to fall outside, the world outside the library quiet and still, as if holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break. and in the silence, you could hear the faint whisper of the wind, the crackling of the fire, and the pounding of your own heart, as you stood there, trapped in the darkness, with no way out.

and as the night closed in around you, you knew that this was only the beginning, the first step into a world of darkness and madness from which there would be no return. anton’s obsession had consumed him, and now, it would consume you both, dragging you down into the depths of despair, with no hope of escape.

and as you looked into anton’s eyes, those wild, desperate eyes that had once been so full of life, so full of promise, you knew that you had lost, that you had played your game too well, and now, you were paying the price.

the darkness had won.

[honeycollectswhump]

Porcelain Cracks

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, physical harm

Something is off today. Ashtray can feel it in his bones —not that it’s his purpose to make a judgement about the situation. He is only supposed to please his Mistress. 

Kneeling next to her, his golden collar connected to a leash held loosely in her hand. It’s picturesque, her beautifully manicured fingers tapping against the shining metal in something he can only hope is not annoyance.

There is no visitor today, a surprise given the collar, but he is still on his best behaviour. Mistress is only watching the TV, decorated in a golden antique frame to be hidden at will. Only his beloved Mistress could come up with such a perfect concept, combining her intricate style with the comfort of modern invention. He hopes her servants appreciate the design when they clean it. 

Mistress doesn’t seem to care much for it today though, just instead making a sound he’d never dare compare to a growl. Nevertheless, it makes him shiver. He can’t seem to stop, ever since she marked her own artwork —rightfully so!—, but he does his best to keep them under control. Barely visible to the eye, only noticeable when he is touched. 

And nowadays he rarely is.

Suddenly, she tucks at the chain, beckoning him closer. She blows her smoke into his face, drowning him out in the cloud, his eyes stinging. Finally, something familiar.

Instead of extinguishing her still-lit cigarette, she pushes his chin with a single, slender finger until he leans back, the posture tugging at his many scars.

As gracefully as possible, almost sensually, Ashtray lets his head fall back too, light blond hair spilling over his face, getting caught in his long eyelashes, his eyes closed. 

Suddenly, her nails trace the letters over his heart and they are sharp almost like—

like knives. 

Sharp, honed, new blades, with the single purpose of splitting Ashtray’s flesh with ease. 

Prolonged cutting he doesn’t dare call cruel, white lighting and red rivers. 

He is right there. All over again. 

It’s like his body reacts before he can, caught in a memory he should be grateful for if he wasn’t somehow broken.

The body flinches back, from his Mistress's holy touch.

For a moment, everything is silent. 

Ashtray stares at the ceiling, a horrible feeling of knowing washing over him. Whatever his Mistress did, rightfully, he never flinched. 

In the next second, his head snaps to the side, the loud bang of his Mistress slapping him echoing through the room.

Mistress is screaming at him, for the first time. He has never failed her before, not like this. And he can’t even comprehend her words. 

Whatever she is telling him is lost to his mind that he never quite understood. He only knows he is inferior in a way even an ashtray shouldn’t be, and he can do nothing to remedy that.

Tears pool in his eyes, as the servants drag him away from his still-shouting Mistress. When did he get so useless? 

When did his beautiful porcelain conditioning crack?

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox,

@sowhumpshaped, @clickerflight, @itsawhumpsideblog, @piniatafullofblood, @katwriteswhump

@opaldream16, @whumped-by-glitter, @whump-queen, @electrons2006, @vampirewhump

@saffitaffi let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

[sailorgoon13]

Mattheo Riddle

Basics:

Full Name: Mattheo Riddle

Nickname: Matt, Matty

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: 31 December, 1979

Heritage: English

Blood Status: Half- Blood

Wand: Yew, Dragon Heartstring, 13", Flexible

Appearance:

Hair Color: Black

Eye Color: Dark brown, almost black in some lighting

Skin Tone: Fair. Porcelain like

Height: 6'2"

Body Type: Lean, Athletic

Style: Mix of sophisticated and modern comfort. Tailored joggers, designer hoodies, and sleek leather jackets for a look that's both stylish and comfortable. His wardrobe is filled with premium basics like fitted T-shirts, cashmere sweaters, and designer sneakers.

Features: Intense gaze, Chiseled Jawline, Athletic build, Confident demeanor, Dark Aura, Magnetic Charm, Style, Always smoking a cigarette

Personality:

Traits: Ambitious, Intelligence, Charisma, Protective, Independant

Likes: Reading, Hanging out with friends, Causing Mischief,

Dislikes: Incompetence, Weakness, Conformity, Modesty

Hobbies: Quidditch, Dueling, Learning thing outside of the school curriculum, drawing

Fears: His father, Failure, Loss of control, Betrayal

Family and Friends:

Father: Tom Riddle Jr.

Known as Voldemort/ Dark Lord

Imprisoned on maximum security in Azkaban

Mother: Unknown

Was a follower of the Dark Lords

Died in childbirth

Friends: Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Enzo Berkshire

Magic:

Special Abilities: Natural aptitude to the Dark Arts, Parseltongue

Boggart: A dark version of himself

Patronus: Raven

Polyjuice: It might appear as a deep shade of burgundy or midnight blue. It would have a complex taste of rich spices like cinnamon and clove with a bitterness of black coffee

Amortentia: Old books, fresh pine and smoke

Backstory:

Mattheo Riddle was born on a cold winter's night in December 1979, the only child of Tom Riddle Jr., better known as the infamous Dark Lord Voldemort, and an unnamed witch who was a devoted follower of the Dark Arts. Mattheo's mother died in childbirth, leaving him orphaned from the moment he drew his first breath. Raised by other followers of his father, Mattheo grew up surrounded by darkness and secrecy, his childhood steeped in the shadows of his family's dark legacy.

From a young age, Mattheo exhibited a keen intellect and a thirst for knowledge that surpassed his years. Despite his upbringing among dark wizards and witches, he was drawn to the complexities of magic and the mysteries of the wizarding world. He devoured books on ancient spells, studied the intricacies of potion-making, and honed his magical skills with a diligence and determination that belied his tender age.

As Mattheo grew older, he began to chafe against the constraints of his family's legacy, yearning to carve out his own path in the world beyond the shadows of his father's name. When he received his letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the age of eleven, it was both a moment of triumph and trepidation. He knew that Hogwarts would be his chance to escape the dark influences that had surrounded him since birth, but he also feared the expectations that would follow him wherever he went.

At Hogwarts, Mattheo quickly distinguished himself as a student of exceptional talent and ambition. He excelled in his studies, earning top marks in every subject and mastering spells that left even his professors in awe. He became known for his sharp wit, his confident demeanor, and his ability to effortlessly navigate the complexities of wizarding society. Despite his aloof exterior, he formed close bonds with a select group of friends, including Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Enzo Berkshire, forming a tight-knit circle that would become the envy of the school.

Outside of the classroom, Mattheo's reputation as a Quidditch prodigy preceded him. He was a natural on the broomstick, with a skill and agility that made him a formidable opponent on the Quidditch pitch. He led the Slytherin Quidditch team to victory after victory, earning accolades and admiration from his peers and cementing his status as one of Hogwarts' most celebrated athletes.

Despite his success and popularity, Mattheo struggled with the weight of his family's legacy and the expectations that came with bearing the name of Voldemort. He grappled with questions of identity and morality, torn between the darkness of his heritage and the light that flickered within him. He yearned to break free from the shadows that had haunted him since birth, but he knew that the legacy of his father would always loom large over his life.

As he approached his final year at Hogwarts, Mattheo stood at a crossroads, torn between the past that defined him and the future that beckoned with promise. With graduation looming on the horizon, he knew that he would soon have to make a choice that would shape the course of his destiny. But for now, he would continue to walk the fine line between light and darkness, navigating the complexities of his heritage with courage and conviction, determined to forge his own path in a world that sought to define him by the sins of his father.

Academics:

Best Subject: DADA

Favorite Subject: Potions

Favorite Professor: Snape

Worst Subject: Muggle Studies

Least Favorite Subject: History of Magic

Least Favorite Professor: Binns

Student Life:

A mix of academic excellence, social prominence, and a constant struggle to define his own identity in the shadow of his father

Stood out as one of the brightest students, excelling and mastering more than just the curriculum

Popular, despite his challenges.

Is at every Slytherin event

Slytherin beater on the Quidditch team

Walks a fine line of light and dark, wrestling with his demons from his past

Is really just a puppy-eyed boy behind his tough exterior

Template: @hazyange1s

[cera-writes]

Alright, since you wanna write about Kurt, how about this one?

Kurt Wagner x reader moving in together? I don't really care if it's in the mansion or an apartement, just domestic stuff.

If you want to, you maybe can include some of those dialogue prompts I can't stop thinking about that would fit this scenario?

"I just can't sleep and do... well other stuff, if it keeps staring at me while I'm in bed." "If you're going to drop anything today, take those boxes over there. I've never liked those plates anyway."

"By the way, I bought you your own controller. Now that we live together I need you in my team."

Like I said, you don't have to use any of them and if you use them, you can definetely change them, but I just thought that maybe they'd help if you had struggles coming up with ideas?

Love your work, you're doing amazing!!

Moving Buddies

A/N: Thank you so much!! Sorry this took a while to get written! I've had tons of requests. This was a cute prompt! Pairing: Kurt Wagner x gn!Reader Tags: fluff, domestic fluff, cohabitation

Cardboard castles and the faint scent of pizza filled the air. You and Kurt were finally tackling the monumental task of merging your belongings into a shared space of your cozy Brooklyn apartment. Boxes threatened to topple over like dominoes and you were slowly descending into madness at the thought of finally getting all your stuff sorted.

Exhaustion hung heavy in your shoulders. You plopped down on a precariously perched armchair, its floral pattern clashing hilariously with the sleek entertainment center Kurt had insisted on bringing.

"I just can't sleep and do... well other stuff," you sighed, gesturing at a particularly creepy porcelain doll staring accusingly from a half-unpacked box, "if it keeps staring at me while I'm in bed."

Kurt materialized beside you with a soft poof of brimstone, a mischievous glint in his yellow eyes. "Perhaps a strategic teleport to the deepest corner of the attic is in order, ja?"

You swatted him playfully. "Spoilsport. Fine, new home, new nightmares. But at least I get to share them with you."

A comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated by the rhythmic thump of bass from a stray box. Kurt's tail swished thoughtfully, knocking over a precariously balanced stack of plates.

"If you're going to drop anything today," you drawled, mock-serious, "take those boxes over there. I've never liked those plates anyway."

Kurt chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest. "Ah, the classic 'accidentally on purpose' discard method. Very subtle, mein liebchen." He winked, then with a flourish, the offending plates vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Speaking of accidents," you said, a devious glint in your eye, "I bought you your own controller. Now that we live together, I need you in my team for every video game showdown."

Kurt's grin widened. "Challenge accepted, liebling. But be warned, I have honed my skills on many a long night with Remy. You may find yourself facing a most formidable opponent."

The rest of the unpacking faded into the background. Boxes became fortresses, bubble wrap turned into packing peanuts for epic pillow fights, and the air crackled with playful competition and the thrill of building a new life together. Sure, there might be creepy dolls and furniture placement issues, but with Kurt by your side, even the chaos felt like the most exciting adventure.

[shakingparadigm]

I think the matchup between Till and Luka can hold a lot of meaning within it, and I'm not sure if it was intentional but the way their personalities and levels of experience contrast can bring to mind a kind of "out with the old, in with the new" concept that's so commonly seen in media.

There's something so fantastic about Alien Stage's character design and how it manages to successfully portray Till as young despite certain aspects of his design suggesting otherwise. Till's grey hair and prominent eyebags are significant examples, along with his relatively tall and gaunt figure. These features are commonly used to signal that a character is of old age, weak and jaded. Despite this, Till is the youngest of the cast and has the fighting spirit to match, debuting with the most energetic and eccentric performance in the season. His magazine nickname "black sheep" emphasizes that Till's style is unique and a standout amongst the rest of the contenders. An erratic, more modern kind of style that becomes both a point of contention and attraction to the audience. He represents the "new", messy and full of youth, sharp lines and pure energy. An eccentric avant-garde way of art that challenges the reigning status quo.

Luka's appearance does little to indicate his true age of 30 years. His looks can simply be described as angelic, almost cherubic with his light blonde curls and soft features. Even as a child who was most likely the oldest of his batch, he was short-statured and incredibly fragile. There's the factor of Luka's hair and how light blonde is a color most commonly associated with youth and childhood, eventually fading away as one gets older. Despite Luka's soft and innocent facade, he is the eldest and most experienced of the cast. Solemn, almost hollow, and with little of the vibrance and energy expected of his looks. The fact that Luka retains his almost porcelain appearance even as a full-grown adult is a testament to not only Heperu's experimentation, but also of Luka's association with constance. He almost never changes, presenting a state of purity and perfection that has been honed to its absolute peak. From the garden to the 49th stage to the present, his image has never faltered. Dressed in pure, flowing white, his style is classic and traditional, with smooth, enveloping tones and elegant movement. His performances are displays of tact and grace that are delicate in execution but immense in impact. Luka represents the "old", or rather the constant. Unchanging, a performance that extends from the previous season (which, in an extremely fast-moving and trend-obssessed society, may be considered "old") to the next, aiming to reign for many more years to come.

The conflict of the Challenger and the Champion is one that commonly involves the idea of opposites. Luka and Till seem like two completely opposing forces, one as the serendipitous symbol of perfection, and one who comes crashing in, wielding chaos. Luka is the comfortable constance, catering completely to the audience, while Till is the change, catering completely to himself.

Of course, another common theme within this type of conflict is the hidden parallel, the "we're not so different" dilemma that brings one party to a sense of unease. It's become increasingly clear that Luka and Till have very similar upbringings, the major difference being what their guardians choose to present to the public. Experimentation, biological alteration, torturous practices and performance against their will. An extensive history of abuse is what lies underneath their stage personas, and while Heperu makes sure to keep this secret under wraps, Urak allows for Till's suffering to be known. Shock value, spectacle, anything to put the eyes on an unruly pet who wants nothing more than to be left alone. Heperu's methods, while more discreet, are no less diabolical.

Much sacrifice is required in order to reach the level of talent that Luka and Till have developed, and despite the imbalance it seems as though they are the only two people who can understand each other's extent of self-sacrifice.

There's another layer of "I'm just like you" that began to surface during ROUND 6, where Till's sharp edges softened in clutches of alien control. His parted hairstyle, the chains near the shoulders of his outfit... quite the familiar ensemble indeed. Almost like a dark mirror of Luka, but not quite. Not yet.

As of now, it's unsure whether or not Till will succumb completely to this loss of control, manufactured into a copy of his greatest opponent. However, judging from the very little that has been revealed about ROUND 7 so far, it seems that the passionate and fighting Till will make a resurgence.

The final round is now underway, and no matter who the winner is (or if there will even be a winner at all), it's sure to be an absolute spectacle.

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Everywhere I go leads me back to you”

Farah Dowling x Female Specialist Reader

wc : 3000+

cw : smoking cigarettes // soulmate identifying marks // not actually unrequited love but kind of an ambiguous ending

i’m currently in my eve best brain-rot era and this is just a little something to blow off steam before i continue brainstorming for rhaenys. there is an awful lack of rhaenys x female reader stories, so if you are in need of some just like i am, you can come yell your ideas at me. farah breadcrumbs are welcomed too 🤲🏻

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

There is a terrible ache dancing along your legs, pain faintly pulsing across the plane of your back. Behind the security of your palm shielding the unruly breeze, the cigarette which hangs between your lips is ignited by a spark from the lighter, made only brighter by a breath that you subsequently inhale. It burns your throat, but in a way that you are well accustomed to unlike the vexing agony that has found home on your body as of late.

This sensation, one that breeds irritation, is nothing akin to the pleasant soreness that you are used to feeling after every training session during your time in the Solarian Army. While, in the past, you go to bed satisfied despite your aching limbs, an indication to a day purposefully spent, now you brood over the state of your body. It is, after all, one of the telltale signs that you are not in your pristine condition, which has also brought you to once again roam these grounds that you have so intimately known and walked to begin with.

Getting severely maimed during a mission has led to you getting temporarily dismissed from your duties. Rather than taking leave as is suggested to you, you have instead requested to be sent to Alfea, your former school, to both recuperate and share your combat expertise with the students as a temporary instructor, not being entirely too thrilled at the idea of wallowing in bed-rest after days of rigorous trainings to hone your skills, or perhaps if you are to be unabashedly honest, out of a profound yearning of your heart.

A chuckle bubbles in your chest, bitter, tinged with self-mockery. It is with an exhale of breath that you distract yourself, expelling the uninvited thoughts along with a cloud of smoke that escapes through your nose, through the crack of your lips, and they swirl around your head. After taking a final, languid drag of the cigarette, you toss it to the ground, effectively dousing it with the heel of your boot.

You are in desperate need of a drink, preferably alcoholic, but given that work is in progress, not to mention a class that you have to supervise alongside Headmaster Silva at hand, you opt for something less strong. About a couple of minutes later, you find yourself in the staff lounge. With professors busy at this time of day teaching their respective classes, the room is empty, and you walk to the counter to brew yourself a nice, hot cup of coffee.

The aroma of freshly ground beans is rich, but richer still is the perfumed air that pleasantly tickles your nose. It smells of books, of sunny afternoons, of jasmines in full bloom, of a love left buried.

“You reek of cigarettes.”

At the familiar voice, amused rather than displeased, that spreads over you like a warm blanket, you cannot help but let loose a little grin, recalling many a time during your school years when you have suffered an earful from the woman herself for your misbehaviours.

“If you’re going to reprimand me for it, you should have known better by now, Headmistress, that it’s no use trying.”

“Even the mountains will eventually crumble, will they not?”

Amusement tugs on one corner of Headmistress Dowling’s lips by the time you turn to face her. She gestures to you with a small tilt of her head. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

“Coffee? I just brewed some.”

“Please.”

After pouring the freshly-brewed coffee into two porcelain cups, you put sugar and a splash of milk into one cup while keeping the other black. You carry them to where the Headmistress has seated herself on a nearby couch, handing the sweetened one to her.

“Here it is, my lady.” Your playfulness earns you an eye roll. “A cube of sugar and a splash of milk if I remember correctly.”

With a delicacy that you are sure only she possesses, she cradles the cup in her hands with a whispered “Thanks.”

“You remember correctly.” A blossom of a smile grows on her lips, beautiful and dizzying, but the soft tummy-butterflies inducing moment is abruptly eclipsed by the pain that suddenly flares across you ribcage.

Try as you may, you fail to rein in your emotions it seems, for one moment, the mind fairy is sitting, and the next, she is on her feet, the cup hastily discarded on the table. Her hands are poised to steady you should you falter on your feet. You stop her with a gesture of a hand, a chuckle freed from your throat as a sorry excuse of a reassurance. Although unconvinced, she makes no further moves, says nothing, only quietly observing you with her eyes as you move to sit on the other side of the couch. She retakes her seat.

“How are you finding your new job so far?”

“It’s…different. Slower than what I’m used to in the army. But the students are eager to learn and-” You take a sip of your coffee, chance a glance at her, and see that she is taking a delicate sip from her own cup. “-it’s good to be back here.”

As much as you like to believe that the last part of your confession is the product of it, the more logical part of you argue that it is the mention of her students that has her wearing a ghost of a smile, pleased.

“They are, aren’t they? And they’re fortunate to have someone with your experience as their instructor.”

After a beat, she adds. “And…how are you faring?”

The question has you hesitating for a moment, not wanting to appear weak, but nothing will come of lying to a mind fairy, much less someone who bears your name, the mark of your soul on her body.

“Recovering. Slowly. But it’s hard to stay still after being on the front lines.”

“I understand. Sometimes the hardest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves.”

Her face is unreadable, a masterful deceit, but you suspect there are hidden depths to her words.

“Last I recall, you weren’t a fan of coffee.”

It is with her own words that you begin your response. “You recall correctly, but many a white night has left me relying on it. And I’ve grown rather fond of its company.”

She levels you with a reproachful lift of a brow.

“You consume coffee, black I might add, because you can’t sleep? Aren’t you going around in circles?”

“I need it to keep me alert. Also, in case you forgot, I’m no longer your student, Headmistress.” Your reply comes out more venomous than you have intended it to, years of bottled up emotions suddenly coming to a boil.

“That doesn’t mean I’ve cared for you any less.”

Although the confession is but a murmured breath, the force of it is colossal against you, filling your mind with what-ifs upon what-ifs. With an exhale and a squeeze of your eyes, you hurriedly stand, a string of words fleeing your lips as you leave the room in a haste.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.”

The brain may forget but the heart always remembers. She has eyes the colour of rich honey, brown at first sight but drenched in sunlight, swirls of greens and specks of oranges dance and mingle, a beautiful, enchanting lake that makes you want to drown in it. Although she carries herself with an authority as befits a Headmistress, her students matter to her above all else. She cherishes her job to a fault, so much so that once upon a time, she has simply dismissed the soul tie that you share without so much as batting an eyelid.

The class passes in a blur. You guide, you demonstrate, you regale them with tales of your battles all the while drowning in your own memories. Even as the last class of the day is dismissed and dusk sets in, you remain on the training grounds, practicing, fighting imaginary opponents, in hopes of giving your mind something else to focus on, which you find to be failing miserably.

From the very first moment you have met her all those years ago on your first day of school, there has been an inexplicable connection, a feather-light touch of magic that softly caresses your skin. “Sup.” has been your very first words to her, admittedly not the most ideal greeting of a new student to her Headmistress. A look is all she gives you, unimpressed, understandably so, and given that your class is mainly supervised by Headmaster Silva, you seldom cross paths with her after that. On rare occasions when you do cross paths however, despite your greetings, she refuses to acknowledge you as though you are invisible to her.

And finally, finally, when she decides you worthy enough to grace you with her words, it has been to scold you. On that fateful day, you have been standing on the sidelines as two of your classmates are locked in a fight on the platform. It just so happens to be one of those days where Headmistress Dowling is present on the training grounds to spectate the progress of the students.

When a dagger has flown astray from the middle of the fight, it aims at one person, who at present has her back to the imminent threat, trapped in a conversation with Headmaster Silva, you realise in trepidation. Without thinking, you leap, an arm darting out to catch the weapon in your hand. Inwardly, you marvel at your own reflexes, finding it hard to believe that you have stopped a weapon with your bare hand, albeit not without consequences. With your palm cut open, blood has oozed, and the thick liquid drips down your wrist.

The close proximity of the Headmistress to you is felt in that spine-tingling, knee-weakening way, and smelt in the fragrant wind, before her voice finally reaches your ear in the form of your name. The pleasant surprise that takes hold of you at her knowledge of your name is quickly overshadowed by annoyance at the tone of her voice, equally as annoyed, her displeasure apparent on the hardened plane of her face once you turn to greet her.

“A thank you would be nice. I just saved you after all.”

“Which was utterly unnecessary I might add. Don’t mistake recklessness for courage.”

Ouch! That hurts. Even more so than the dagger’s mark that has permanently found home on your body.

“Greenhouse, at once.”

It is amidst getting your wound treated that you notice something that has not been on your skin before. On the delicate flesh of your wrist appears a name in a beautiful cursive. Farah, it reads, but judging by the reaction of the earth fairy before you, unfazed and composed, you reckon that this must be for your eyes only.

No sooner have you had your wound properly dressed than you are seeking out Farah, determined to confront the reality of your bond. You find her in her office, standing by the window, looking out over the grounds.

“Headmistress,” you say, stepping inside. “We need to talk.”

She turns to face you, her expression a mask of cool detachment. “There's nothing to discuss.”

“How can you say that?” You have demanded, stepping closer. “We both know what those marks mean.”

Farah sighs, closing her eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze. “The revelation changes nothing. I do not own you. Don’t let mere words bind you to me. I’m only your headmistress and you are merely my student. And that is where this ends.”

Her words cut deep, but you refuse to back down. “Farah, you can't just ignore this. It's not just about words or marks. It's about what we feel.”

“What you feel,” she has corrected you, her voice firm. “I am responsible for the safety and education of all my students. I cannot afford to let personal feelings interfere.” And in that no-nonsense way, she adds, “Also, it’s Headmistress Dowling to you.”

With a shake of your head, frustration and hurt well up inside you. “It's more than that, Headmistress and you know it. We have a connection, something real and undeniable. Why are you so afraid of it?”

For a moment, you see softness in her eyes, revealing a flicker of the pain she is trying so hard to hide, but it is gone as soon as it has come. “Because if I acknowledge it, everything changes. And I cannot allow that.”

“You're wrong,” It sounds unconvincing even to your own ears, but a desperate murmur. “Ignoring it won't make it go away. It just makes us both miserable.”

She turns away, her shoulders tense. “Go back to your training. Focus on becoming the best specialist you can be. That's what matters.”

You have stood there for a long moment, dared to entertain the fool’s dream in which she turns back, says something, anything to acknowledge the truth you both feel. But she has cut that little thread of hope by remaining silent, a statue of unyielding resolve.

Finally, you turn to leave, your heart heavy but your resolve unbroken. “This isn't over, Headmistress. Not by a long shot.”

So you have declared but deep down, you have always known that you are doomed to failure from the start. And before you know it, the graduation day dawns bright and clear upon Alfea, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

Students and faculty have gathered on the grand lawn, the air filled with excitement and a tinge of sadness as friends prepare to part ways. Farah Dowling stands at the podium, her regal presence commanding attention as she addresses the graduates. You stand among your peers, listening to her speech but barely registering the words. Your heart is heavy with the decision you have made. Despite all your efforts, Farah has remained resolute in her stance, keeping the walls between you impenetrable.

As the ceremony eventually comes to an end bringing with it your inevitable departure, you have caught the Headmistress’s gaze from across the stage. Her eyes have lingered on you for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing between the two of you. Then she looks away, and the moment is no more.

In your dorm room, your belongings are packed and ready, each item a reminder of the years spent at Alfea, of the bonds formed and the love left unrequited. Your friends try to convince you to stay, to join them in their adventures, but you know that you are in desperate need of a fresh start, far from the memories that still haunt these halls.

So, with your bags slung over your shoulder, you make your way to the gates of Alfea. Behind you, the school stands in all her majestic glory, a place of learning and growth, and of heartache. You pause, taking a final glance, realising with a hint of melancholy that you are not only leaving a place that has been your home for three years but also a part of yourself behind.

You have not been expecting a farewell, one last goodbye, but there she is, standing tall and composed at the gates. A spellbinding beauty, you think stupidly.

Your name spills forth her lips, dainty and delicate in appearance, but you have not been given the chance, nor will you ever be allowed to find out how they feel against your own, a forbidden fruit. When she speaks, her voice is firm, genuine. “I wanted to wish you well in your future endeavours. You have been an exemplary student, and I have no doubt you will succeed in whatever path you choose.”

“Thank you, Headmistress. Alfea has been…” You pause, swallowing the lump in your throat. “everything to me.”

For a moment, she hesitates, then steps closer, lowering her voice to that excruciating, dizzying timbre. “I hope you find what you're looking for, wherever you go.”

You look into her eyes, searching for any sign of the connection you feel, but her walls are fiercely in place. With a heavy heart, you breathe. “Goodbye, Headmistress.”

By the time you turn to leave, once again, her voice halts you.

Your name leaves her lips in a soft murmur. You turn back, hope blossoming in your chest, only to have it crushed by her next words, both a gentle and a cruel finality to your fated encounter. “Take care of yourself.”

A sad smile spreads across your lips. “You too, Headmistress.”

With every step you take away from Alfea, and from her, a mixture of sorrow and determination burns in your chest. It is finally time to bury the past, to lock away the love you feel and move forward.

Months have passed as you travel, exploring new places and honing your skills. The pain of leaving Alfea and your beloved Headmistress, although duller than they use to, never truly vanish. You throw yourself into your new life, hell-bent on building something worthwhile.

One evening, in a small village nestled in a valley, you find yourself sitting by a tranquil river, the water reflecting the fading light of day. You trace the mark on your wrist, Farah’s name forever etched into your skin. Try as you may to lock away your feelings, the bond still remains, a silent testament to what could have been.

With a sigh, you close your eyes and let the cool breeze wash over you. The past is behind you, and while the future is uncertain, you know you have the strength to face it.

“Fuck, I should’ve never returned to these godforsaken grounds. So much for leaving the past behind!”

Presently, you curse aloud as you slash nothing but air with your twin blades, reenacting scenes from your battlefield. The efforts with which you have made to keep your feelings buried have been for naught, for in the end, in a moment of weakness, you have listened to your heart, and returned to where it longs to be the most.

By her side.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

[girlsdressingrooms]

Iris Barrel Apfel, Decorator and Fashion Stylist

(August 29, 1921 – March 1, 2024) 

Ms. Apfel was one of the most vivacious personalities in the worlds of fashion, textiles, and interior design, she has cultivated a personal style that is both witty and exuberantly idiosyncratic.

Her originality was typically revealed in her mixing of high and low fashions—Dior haute couture with flea market finds, nineteenth-century ecclesiastical vestments with Dolce & Gabbana lizard trousers.

With remarkable panache and discernment, she combines colors, textures, and patterns without regard to period, provenance, and, ultimately, aesthetic conventions. Paradoxically, her richly layered combinations—even at their most extreme and baroque—project a boldly graphic modernity.

Iris Barrel was born on Aug. 29, 1921, in Astoria, Queens, the only child of Samuel Barrel, who owned a glass and mirror business, and his Russian-born wife, Sadye, who owned a fashion boutique.

She studied art history at New York University, then qualified to teach and did so briefly in Wisconsin before fleeing back to New York to work on Women's Wear Daily, and for interior designer Elinor Johnson, decorating apartments for resale and honing her talent for sourcing rare items before opening her own design firm. She was also an assistant to illustrator Robert Goodman.

As a distinguished collector and authority on antique fabrics, Iris Apfel has consulted on numerous restoration projects that include work at the White House that spanned nine presidencies from Harry Truman to Bill Clinton.

Along with her husband, Carl, she founded Old World Weavers, an international textile manufacturing company and ran it until they retired in 1992. The Apfels specialized in the reproduction of fabrics from the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries, and traveled to Europe twice a year in search of textiles they could not source in the United States.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute assembled 82 ensembles and 300 accessories from her personal collection in 2005 in a show about her called “Rara Avis”.

Almost overnight, Ms. Apfel became an international celebrity of pop fashion.

Ms. Apfel was seen in a television commercial for the French car DS 3, became the face of the Australian fashion brand Blue Illusion, and began a collaboration with the start-up WiseWear. A year later, Mattel created a one-of-a-kind Barbie doll in her image. Last year, she appeared in a beauty campaign for makeup with Ciaté London.

Six years after the Met show she started her fashion line "Rara Avis" with the Home Shopping Network.

She was cover girl of Dazed and Confused, among many other publications, window display artist at Bergdorf Goodman, designer and design consultant, then signed to IMG in 2019 as a model at age 97.

Ms. Iris Apfel became a visiting professor at the University of Texas at Austin in its Division of Textiles and Apparel, teaching about imagination, craft and tangible pleasures in a world of images.

 In 2018, she published “Iris Apfel: Accidental Icon,” an autobiographical collection of musings, anecdotes and observations on life and style. 

Ms. Apfel’s apartments in New York and Palm Beach were full of furnishings and tchotchkes that might have come from a Luis Buñuel film: porcelain cats, plush toys, statuary, ornate vases, gilt mirrors, fake fruit, stuffed parrots, paintings by Velázquez and Jean-Baptiste Greuze, a mannequin on an ostrich.

The Museum of Lifestyle & Fashion History in Boynton Beach, Florida, is designing a building that will house a dedicated gallery of Ms. Apfel's clothes, accessories, and furnishings.

Ms. Apfel’s work had a universal quality, It’s was a trend.

Rest in Power !

[ninibeingdelulu]

Deep bond ✧

Plot: You’re a long friend of Gojo, and his colleague. And after years by his side, asking him to go out with you still fluster you.

A/N: Changed my post design🙈

The rhythmic thuds and clashes of rigorous hand-to-hand sparring echoed through the vast training hall, punctuated by Yuji's occasional boisterous shouts.

Beside you, Gojo remained utterly still and serene - the very pillar of composure expected from Jujutsu High's esteemed sensei.

Yet you noted the twitching curl at one corner of those soft lips, offering a glimpse of faint amusement crinkling the corners of his blindfolded eyes.

Despite his detached mystique, Gojo always seemed to derive quiet delight from observing his rambunctious students in their element.

You let your own inscrutable gaze settle on the blur of motion unfolding beyond the reinforced glass.

Megumi moved with honed precision, dodging and deflecting each vicious blow with the graceful minimalism of an adroit snake. By contrast, Yuji's strikes were thunderous, fueled by sheer dogged zeal.

A comfortable silence stretched between you and Gojo, both observers savoring the furtive window into your protégés' dedication and growth.

Wordless exchanges like these had etched themselves into a hallowed ritual over your tenures mentoring Jujutsu Tech's fledgling sorcerers side-by-side.

Though you gave no outward reaction, a contented warmth bloomed within your chest at the solid, radiating presence beside you.

It ignited embers of nostalgia that brought you reeling back to those first fateful encounters decades ago...

Flickering shadows played over the pale curves and ridges of Gojo's striking profile.

You stole furtive glances his way through lowered lashes, admiring how the muted half-light limned his sharp jawline and porcelain skin in stunning relief.

Even now, he stirred an appreciative flutter low in your belly - untamed, despite all these years.

'Get a grip,' you reprimanded yourself, chewing the soft inside of your cheek.

Such thoughts were utterly forbidden to indulge, no matter how your mind insisted on wandering down that perilous path.

Your sacrosanct bond as sorcery mentors superseded any lingering...affection.

Still, you couldn't deny that charged spark undimmed between you. That primal, cosmic tether drawing your souls into synchronous orbit despite every iron-willed effort to ignore its inexorable pull.

A sudden tremor rattled your palms as the memory of a certain movie trailer flooded back with dizzying potency.

It had been months since you allowed yourself such a banal indulgence.

But the prospect of a few hours' solace outside these hallowed halls stirred an ache for...more.

The words tumbled from your lips before reason could intervene.

"Did you see the new trailer for City of Blood?"

You felt Gojo's pale head tilt an infinitesimal fraction in your direction, though his trademark smirk remained stubbornly fixed.

"Perhaps. But with my peerless skills, every cinema is a grand immersive experience."

Rolling your eyes came as reflexively as breathing when Gojo slipped into these bursts of smug bravado.

"Never mind. Forget I asked."

One sculpted brow arched over the dark fabric concealing his eyes.

"My, my. I don't recall dismissing you yet, sensei."

Despite the bite of his teasing rasp, there was an indulgent lilt woven through the words, stained with rich memories.

You snapped your mouth shut, fighting off a petulant response. But Gojo pressed his apparent advantage, chin dipping as his features slanted into an infuriatingly attractive half-smirk.

"Actually, enlighten me - were you intending to invite your esteemed colleague to indulge in a modern-day cultural experience with you?"

A hot flush crawled from the hollow of your throat. You quickly shook your head, praying the dim lighting masked the feverish bloom of color on your cheeks.

"Don't be ridiculous. I was merely...mentioning it in passing."

"Mm, yes. In passing."

Your blood thrilled at the deep, full-bodied chuckle that rolled from the man beside you.

"Per usual, you remain an absolute vision of nonchalance, y/n."

His tone remained light, almost playful - carrying echoes of those long nights spent trading barbs and banter amidst grueling training sessions as ragtag night kids.

But beneath the casual cadence, you sensed an inquisitive probing, an unspoken dare.

Gojo always did relish pushing the boundaries of propriety between you, prodding under your skin with those perfectly-aimed taunts.

Though whether from mere mischievous delight or something...deeper, you could never tell.

Steeling yourself, you inhaled deeply before replying in a measured murmur,

"If it would prove too unorthodox for a fellow senior instructor to engage in such a frivolous activity with you, I understand completely."

The rhythmic scuffles of sparring faded into muffled white noise echoing in your ears.

Your pulse thrummed an accelerated staccato against the tightening vice around your chest.

Silence reigned between you both in the wake of your weighted statement. Then, with agonizing slowness, Gojo pivoted on the bench to face you more fully.

You could felt his heavy gaze piercing yours even trough his blindfold, lips still curved upwards with deceptive lightness.

Drinking in every facet of your expression - the furrowed brow, the anxious bob of your throat, the trembling fingers tightening in their grip on the bench - Gojo seemed to savor the tension radiating off you in palpable waves.

When he finally responded, it was in a low, exploratory murmur laced with unspoken promises and thinly-veiled wonder.

"Well now...aren't you just full of surprises today, y/n."

A thrilled shiver cascaded through you, utterly arrested by his mesmerizing stare and dulcet timbre.

In that suspended heartbeat, a thousand unvoiced sentiments hung shimmering in the aether between your twinned orbits.

Raw, heady remembrances of the bond forged in cursed fire, the gravities that drew your souls into eternal eclipse around one another - passionate defiance of the rules demanding you remain worlds apart.

Then Gojo broke the spell, head tilting back as he chuckled with genuine mirth.

You exhaled the pent breath scorching your lungs as he angled his attention skyward once more.

"Very well, love. I accept - if only to bask in the coveted privilege of your enchanting company for an eve."

The endearment word he used in that moment was echoing in your mind, your heart melting.

Rules defied yet again in the face of your inextricable, unbreakable bond with this brilliant, infuriating man. As the tide of destiny insisted.

[hairmetal666]

A continuation of the childhood sweethearts first kiss fic...

Eddie is 10 when he get his first kiss. A lot of people wouldn't consider it a real first, It's a dry press of chapped lips, chaste and sweet, but it remains the best kiss he's ever had, the one that means the most.

It's the summer before he moves to Hawkins--spending the school break with his Uncle Wayne--before he's known to the town as a loser weirdo freak, and he makes a friend. A boy golden bright as the sun, who steals Eddie's heart at first glance and keeps taking it again and again and again--not by force, but by his pure kindness, by his surprisingly wicked sense of humor, by the joyful way he experiences the world.

They run through the woods of Hawkins, ride bikes until the streetlights glow, swim until they fall asleep on a pool lounger, spend their nights in a tent in the wide Harrington backyard. He's not known around town yet, so the parents don't hate him, call him trash, fear for their child's reputation. He's just a boy still, his faded clothes and worn tennis shoes can be blamed on northing more than the consequences of a summer spent outdoors. Though, maybe it's just that Mr. and Mrs. Harrington aren't around enough to notice.

On his last night before he returns home to his parents, they make a fort in Steve's bedroom, find all the blankets and pillows in the house, create a cozy structure just big enough for two. They share all their secrets, their hopes and dreams, and as night becomes morning, Steve whispers, "Eddie...can I kiss you?"

Yes is the only possible answer he can give, and as Steve's mouth touches his, Eddie knows he will never love anyone else, not for as long as he lives, not if they never even see each other again.

He belongs to Steve Harrington, body and soul.

---

Eddie moves to Hawkins a year later. His first day of school, two months into the semester, he sees Steve in the hallway. Eddie's whole face lights up as he sees his friend, but--Steve's eyes slide right past him. He sees Eddie, no doubt about it, but there's no light of recognition, no excitement, no joyful reunion.

After a few years he accepts that Steve will never acknowledge him. He almost succeeds in not letting it bother him, and it's for that reason that it doesn't break his heart when Steve falls for Nancy Wheeler. It doesn't kill him to see Steve's beaten face after his fight with Jonathan Byers. It doesn't keep him up at night, watching Steve lose all his other friends. He doesn't hate jocks and rant on cafeteria tabletops just in the hope that Steve will look his way.

Everything changes after Nancy and Steve break-up and Hargrove beats the shit out of him. Whatever high school social cachet Steve still has disappears overnight, but dethroned King Steve still doesn't notice Eddie. He's made his peace with it. Moved on. He's an adult now, basically. He's going to graduate high school and move to the big city and he'll meet so many guys and never ever think about Steve Harrington ever again.

---

He's smoking a cigarette in the little-used bathroom up by the auditorium. His eyes are half-closed, imagining shapes in the tendrils of smoke.

The door bangs open, shocking him upright, the cigarette falling to the floor.

Steve Harrington stumbles inside, hands covering his face, blood pouring through his fingers.

"Steve!" Eddie yelps, can't help it when there's blood, when Steve is hurt.

Like always, he doesn't even bother to look at Eddie. It shouldn't shred his heart to pieces but Eddie's always been weak for Steve.

"What happened?" He asks, even though he knows he shouldn't care.

"Doesn't matter," Steve answers. He's standing at the sink, blood splattering the white porcelain red.

Acting against each one of his sharply honed instincts, Eddie rushes to the nearest paper towel dispenser, ripping half the roll off.

"Move your hands. Relax your head." He's surprised when Steve does as he says.

Eddie uses the paper towels to staunch the flow, pinches at the bridge of Steve's nose with his thumb and index finger. "How do you not know how to fix a bloody nose?" he mutters.

"I know how," Steve argues. "I just--" he pauses, swallows hard. "Why are you helping me?"

He doesn't know how to answer this question. He shouldn't be helping Steve.

"I don't know."

They don't talk again, not until the bleeding stops, and then Steve says, "It was Hagan, the motherfucker. He shoved me into a locker and I didn't have time to get my hands up."

"He's a dick," Eddie agrees. "It's not broken, though."

Steve shrugs. They fall silent again, neither moving. "Thanks," he says. He doesn't look at Eddie.

"Would have done it for anyone."

Those hazel eyes stay fixed to the linoleum as Steve nods. Eddie doesn't know what to do next. If he should leave or press for more that he shouldn't want.

But then Steve lets out a gulping kind of sob, is falling against Eddie's chest, and Eddie wraps his arms around him, holds him so tight even he can't breathe.

"Oh, Stevie," he whispers, and without really thinking, he pulls them into the nearest stall, shutting the door behind him.

Between his cries Steve repeats, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Eddie can't tell him that it's okay, so he combs his fingers through Steve's hair and holds him, fighting off his own tears.

Eventually the sobs stop and the tears dry up, but Steve doesn't break their embrace.

"I shouldn't have ignored you, Eddie," Steve says into the quiet. "You didn't deserve it."

"Why did you?" Thinks it's his right to an explanation, after everything.

"I wrote to you. After you left. Was gonna visit Wayne and get your address, but then my dad found them. He said, 'boys don't write letters,' and ripped them up. He told me if you ever showed up in Hawkins again we weren't allowed to be friends. The next week he'd signed me up for every available sports league in town.

"I was so excited when I saw you at school, Eds. I couldn't believe you were here. I panicked, though, and decided to pretend like I didn't recognize you. It was easy, not having to decide what to do, so I just...kept doing it. I wanted my dad to be proud of me."

"I'm sorry he did that to you, Stevie. For what it's worth, I would've loved to get those letters. I would've written back."

Steve laughs a little. "I know. I'm so sorry I hurt you. I've regretted it every day, but I had no idea how to make it right."

Eddie shouldn't want more. He knows that he's lucky they've even had this moment, but he always needs to push.

"You could try now," he says.

"Hmm?"

"To make it right. You could try now."

A smile illuminates Steve's perfect face. "You mean it?"

Steve's hand slips against Eddie's cheek, moving up to card through his hair. His thoughts scatter like fractures of light, as Steve touches him in a way he only imagined in the midnight depths of his wildest fantasies.

Their second kiss is just as soft and sweet as the first, their lips coming together in a gentle press.

They separate, and his fingers immediately go to his mouth. "You--did you--" He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a few deep breaths. "You can't kiss me like that unless you mean it, Steve. You can't just--"

"I meant it. I meant every second. I never stopped missing you. I hated that I made it impossible to be your friend. It's been eating me up for years. I want to make it right."

"I need time," he says. His voice trembles. " I want that too, Steve, but after everything, I need to know I can trust you."

Steve nods and gives him a small smile. "I'll do anything, Eds."

---

They hangout almost everyday, and Eddie finds that, underneath all that King Steve bullshit, he's still the boy Eddie fell head over heels for at 10, golden and bright and so lovely. Still mean, still funny, still owns Eddie's heart.

Steve doesn't kiss him again, and that's for the best no matter how much Eddie longs for it.

A little over a month later, Steve invites Eddie to his house again.

He follows Steve up to his bedroom--just as terribly plaid, just as empty of things that made it Steve's--except there's a pillow fort built against the bed.

"What's this?" Eddie raises an eyebrow and stifles a smile.

Steve rolls his eyes. "You know what. C'mon, get in."

They're a little too big for a fort now, but they squish inside, limbs tangling until they end up in a giggling heap.

"A fort, Stevie?" Eddie asks once he can talk again.

Steve's smile is soft. "These last few weeks have been the best of my life. You're my best friend. And I was just wondering--" he falters here for the first time, breath stuttering. "Can I kiss you?"

Sparks erupt in Eddie's chest, his smile so big that it hurts. What a fool he was, to think he would ever stop loving Steve Harrington.

"Please," he answers.

[akkaweo-akkaweo]

Treatment

Jeong Jinsol/Jinsoul x M!reader

Tags: light edging, sorta JOI?, facial

WC: 1.3k

A/N: this photoset legitimately made me feel things so allow me to take you on that same journey. enjoy the different structure of this work.

—————

After a tiring day of work — presentations, meetings, the usual — you plop yourself on the bed, with barely enough energy to take your clothes off. You're staring at the ceiling for maybe two, three minutes before you hear the front door beep open and the unmistakable clacking of heels on tile rings around the dead silent studio.

"Hey baby," Jinsol said softly. "Busy day?"

You grunt in acknowledgement. Jinsol may have looked stunning today, as she always did, but you were way too spent to show it more meaningfully. She'd understand.

"Are you feeling alright? You look sick," she said, worry in her voice.

"I'm fine, babe. You should rest too. I'll make space on the bed for–"

"Hmm, this won't do. I've seen this before. You seem to have a buildup of sorts," she cut you off.

"What are you talking about, Jinsol?"

The whole while you've been staring up at the ceiling, you fail to notice Jinsol kneeling in front of your legs dangling by the edge of the bed. The only way you noticed was because of the confusion from her last statement.

"See? So much negative energy stuck in your head, you can't even see or hear properly. Luckily," she says as she starts unbuckling your belt, "I think I know just the solution."

You don't exactly have an explanation for it, but the more and more Jinsol undid your pants, you could feel yourself getting hard already. A quick draw of your boxers revealed your member, sprung up and hard.

"Ah, just as I thought. It's all stuck in here," she said, with a light tap to your shaft.

"Aigo, Jinsol, I said I'm too tired for this...," you say, trying to hide your shame of getting aroused so quickly.

Jinsol raises an eyebrow at you, then shrugs. "Okay. If you say so." She gets up and starts walking away from the bed, except you notice the way she's walking: an extra swing of her wide hips, slow enough to make you do nothing but stare, still fully erect.

She turns back, looking at you with a tempting gaze.

"You sure you're so tired? Doesn't seem like it to me," she teased

"Okay, fine, Jinsol. I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm so–"

"No, it's okay. I understand," she replied, a tinge of singsong-y taunting audible in her tone. "You're not asking for it, so perhaps I'll leave you to it."

Again, unprompted, the taunting made you twitch in arousal.

Your vision tunnels, honing in on Jinsol's face: her porcelain skin, the shape of her eyes, her luscious lips — all the perfect seductive mix. You're pretty sure you've been staring at her way too long to be subtle, because Jinsol doubles down on her charade, tilting more of her shoulder away from you, hiding her body's curves around her tight dress, yet also showing the almost bare skin on her back.

"You sure you don't want this?," she teased, no subtlety on her end either.

That was enough to set you off. With a newfound energy, you jump off the bed, walking briskly to her, your surprisingly still hard dick swinging around — at this point, you didn't care. You just wanted Jinsol, and to humor her so-called treatment for your situation.

"You're such a goddamn tease, Jinsol," you growl under your breath as you wrap your arms around her waist. You pelt her neck and shoulders with deep, sensual kisses, made much easier with how little cloth obstructs your mouth. She lets out a soft hum as you continue, and as both your hands stray to her core and her chest respectively, you can feel — or rather, don't feel — any undergarments under her dress, evidenced by the tiny bumps forming on her chest and the warmth between her legs.

"Are you sure it's me who needs this treatment?," you taunt.

"Oh, yes, it's all for you, baby," she growls. "This is part of it."

She turns around and kneels once again before you, her face right in front of your dick, her breath close enough to send shivers down your spine.

"How are you so good at–"

"Tsk, just shut up and let me work," she barked. "You talk too much. All the cum built up in here," she continued, grabbing your balls, "is making you a lot dumber than usual."

You're ready to open your mouth in protest, but you stop yourself. She's right — the last time you actually had time to fuck your girlfriend was probably a month ago, on your monthsary. She definitely had a point, because she probably wanted this just as much as you needed it. Besides, how could you say anything when Jinsol's sucking was enough to make you speechless?

She knew exactly how to work you: she would take in all of your head, then midway to your girth, then all the way to the base, several times until your moans of ecstasy got loud enough. Then she'd take you out of her mouth and keep you aroused, kissing your length and licking your slit. Her hands weren't idle either: they moved between massaging your balls and stroking just the base of your cock. And in just a few minutes, you could feel the cum build up at your base.

"Fuck, Jinsol, you're gonna make me–"

She leaves you hanging completely, causing a sharp pain as you feel your orgasm denied.

"Sorry baby, for this to work, you gotta do it yourself," she pouted. "So will you do it for me? Please, baby?," she added, with a little whine in her voice. Fuck, she's irresistible.

You start to stroke yourself, and you see Jinsol adjust herself to rub her clit and squeeze her tits. "Yes baby," she moaned, "I love watching you stroke your cock for me. I love seeing it twitch and squirm for me. Is it all mine, baby?"

"Fuck... yes it is Jinsol... Tell me how much you want it," you beg, yearning to get off from her sensual squeals.

"I want it inside me baby... I want you to ram it inside me, all the way in. And I want your cum, all over my face," she begs. She tilts her head up, to show all of her face before your eyes.

Jinsol stared at you with hungry eyes, screaming for your release just as much as her own. Her mouth was slightly agape, ready to open it wide for your seed. And just the way she presented herself to you — should you miss her mouth, you'd still paint her face, and she'd enjoy it all the same.

"I want your cum, baby. I want it all over me. Please give it to me," she begged on.

You felt the cum welling inside your shaft start to rush forward; you were ready for release.

"I'm gonna cum, Jinsol!"

She opened her mouth wide and stuck out her tongue; just the view of her being in full display, ready for you, was enough to send you over. You spurt all over her face, a lot more than you anticipated, and aimed the last few strings directly onto her tongue. She closed her mouth and gave a deep gulp; as she did, she closed her eyes, satisfied and satiated. Whatever strings she could scoop up with her fingers, she did and licked it all up.

"Told you you had a backup," she said, still licking clean the tips of her fingers.

Honestly, you thought you'd be tired by then. But watching the hottest woman alive love the taste of you was a turn-on even you couldn't switch off.

"Oh, you're still hard?," she cooed. "Guess there's still a lot more in there."

"Ready for round two?"

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