#mature content is suggestive fantasizing

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Star Wars: The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x fReader

Fic Rating: E

Chapter Rating: M

AO3

ONE TWO THREE FOUR

FIVE

Today—is exceptional.

Just like every day has been since you tossed your old job aside and traded it in, becoming an apothecary’s assistant. You don’t glance at the window as your feet pad against the floor. Clothes hastily thrown on, you step out of your hovel and relish in the drizzle that showers your skin. The air is cooler now, a season’s shifted, and even though there’s an argument in the street and someone bumps into you, nearly knocking you into a puddle without so much as a glance (let alone an apology), you practically skip to the apothecary. To Qimir.

You’re not what you’d consider completely free, but you’re certain this is as close as you’re going to get.

Running errands isn’t glorious but it’s far more rewarding than your last job. The clients are often pleased, though you wonder on occasion, exactly what you’ve handed off to them. Sure, this job is by no means a glamorous one but at least you’re helping people, right? If not, well that’s a potential moral dilemma you can ruminate on another day. After all, Qimir praises you for meeting his expectations and that’s enough. You’re not willing to give up what you have with Qimir. The tasks are simple enough and enjoyable even, often accompanied by his skillful cooking that he always shares, as well as his sense of humor. He’s eccentric and maybe even a little unhinged but who isn’t? Besides, he’s the first person who’s made you feel anything in years.

And you are grateful.

You are thankful.

You are.

Now, as you sweep the floors, the occasional rustling of the bristles interrupting your thoughts, you steal a glance at him. There’s a cloaked customer speaking with him but his eyes flick to you, holding your gaze for a few unnecessary beats, brows lifting and eyes wide. You’re used to this shared communication and try not to laugh at his silent longing for the interaction to be over. You mouth an encouragement before he’s back to his effortless and awkward charming behind the counter.

At some point, you realize, months into your arrangement and long after your self-exacted debt is paid, your affection’s warped into something more than thankful gratitude. Loyalty? Maybe. Or—dare you say it—trust? Somehow he’s smoothed out some of your rougher edges and you’ve grown fond of wrapping yourself up in his reminiscent laugh as you lie down at night, succumbing to sleep with a smile on your face. Somehow, you’ve grown to consider him a friend through many conversations, critiques and shared philosophies. But beyond that, simmering beneath the surface of friendship, is desire.

He’s not just boss or friend.

No. No

You want him. All of him.

Yes.

Simply put—you want to fuck him.

Here in the apothecary and outside of it.

But you also want all the little intimacies that come with it too. Holding his hand for extended lengths of time while shopping in the market or anywhere really. Combing your fingers through his hair when that dappled light of morning graces your eyelids. To be the one prompting the first smile of his day; the kind that crinkles around his eyes. Share a shower and watch the suds slink off his wet skin. Embrace him. Hold him. Be intertwined in his inner life that you don’t yet fully know.

All. Of. Him.

A smile and his hand squeezes the departing customer’s shoulder in a good-bye and the cloaked figure doesn’t even notice you as they pass, slipping through the door.

His eyes drift to you again. Lingering just the way yours does on him. Or maybe you just imagine it that way. He throws you a smirk—is it knowing? There’s no telling. As he returns to his work and you to yours, you can’t help but steal more glances here and there. He bites his bottom lip when he concentrates and no matter how many times he pushes his hair back, it always comes undone. It’s more endearing now than the first time you saw it happen. The cut of his jawline juts out with the tilt of his head and your mind wanders off into inappropriate territory.

You wonder if his stray locks would stay tucked behind his ears if he were lying flat on his back, your palm pressed against his chest.

Your hand grips the broom handle tighter.

Envisioning what that half smile he gives would look like beneath you spread out on that counter, his hand curling around the cusp of your shoulder, you forget that you should be working. Sweeping. Instead you imagine. Imagine what his moan would sound like in your ear as you demand that he wait for your commanded release, while you sink down on him. Imagine the expression he’d wear when he obeyed and you praised him for once, for being so utterly good for you. What it would be like to strip away that kindly apothecary persona and see what kind of man you could coax out of him with the stroke of your hands. The bite of your teeth. Clawing of your nails. The touch of your lips and toying of your tongue. Would he become a beggar? A worshiper? An undone, complete, mess of a man? Or would you finally bring out a different side of him? Less soft, silly, gentle, tender, sweet, but more—

“Uh, are you okay?”

His voice pulls you from your fantasies with a flurry of blinks and you flush, embarrassed to be thinking of him like that and so blatantly too. Especially as he stands in front of you, mixing another concoction so innocently. If you keep up the daydreaming, he’s certain to appear in your nightly ones again. Which would be inconvenient when you’ve been purposely avoiding dreams with an effective sleeping draught. Avoiding them ever since you let your desires get the best of you. It can’t happen like before, even if that helmeted figure is an unforgettable visage inked into your memory.

“Yeah, yeah.” You wave a hand, attempting to dissipate the cloying tension. “Just daydreaming.”

“Oh?” His lips pull into a smirk. “About me I hope?” A brow quirks and he’s teasing.

If he only knew.

You offer a half-hearted chuckle and turn away, your cheeks on fire. “You wish,” you reply, as flippant and casual as you can manage.

He chuckles as you sweep the same spot on the floor for the fourth time in a row. Stepping past you, he flips the shop sign closed as the sky grows darker. It’s that time to head home but you wouldn’t mind sweeping the same spot one hundred more times if it meant you had the whole evening with him. Brushing against your hip on his way back, he rounds the counter.

“Mm,” he hums. “I need a drink.” Your fingers still, curling around the thick broom handle as you glance at him. He’s disappeared below the counter, rattling glasses together as he pulls two out from the lower cabinet and sets them on a tray. “Join me?”

“I never say no to a drink.”

“Good. Drinks always taste better when shared with another. Wouldn’t you agree?”

No. You don’t agree. Others tend to complicate things. Even things as simple as drinks. But a drink shared with Qimir specifically, is an opportunity you’re not willing to turn down.

“Yes,” you say, and return the broom to its dusty corner of the room.

—

More than one drink in and Qimir’s fiddling with the radio. First there’s static and then a steady beat pulses out of the speaker and he’s bobbing his head while his third drink sloshes over the side of his glass.

“Oops,” he says with a grin he throws your way. “Come here.” A crook of his finger beckons you.

Peeling yourself off the wall, his summon and smile is irresistible so you take a few steps over to him and throw back the smidge of amber liquid at the bottom of your glass and set it on the counter. “Now what.”

“Now—” He combs a hand through his sweaty locks then takes your hand. “We dance.”

“I haven’t had enough drinks for that.”

Hand clasping around your wrist tenderly, he tugs you toward himself, bangs instantly swooping right back down in front of his eyes as his fingers skim along your forearm. Your eyes fall where his fingers linger, dusting along your skin before he lifts them and snakes them around your waist. They press firmly into your back and you’re not sober enough to handle the touch casually. You’re positive you’re flushed but maybe it can be blamed on the liquor.

With his other hand, he raises his glass to your lips. “I’ll share.” He tips the rim, glass brushing against your bottom lip and liquid dribbles into your mouth. There’s a hint of cinnamon and a slight burn as you swallow the liquor and he watches you, with raised brow. “Better?”

“You tell me,” you reply with a grin as your hip bumps into his, throwing you both off beat. You also step on his feet.

“I can’t tell if the drink is hurting or helping.”

“What do you mean? Clearly my dancing is now exceptional.”

“Oh that’s what it’s called when you crush my toes? Exceptional?”

“Except-toe-nal.”

“Time to cut you off. The bad jokes are coming out.”

You snort. “So that’s where you draw the line? You can’t handle a few bad jokes?”

“Everybody has a weakness.”

You shake your head with a laugh as his hips sway back and forth, thighs brushing against yours.

“Noted.”

Between the jokes and jibes, and all around silly dance moves, laughter pours out of you freely as he spins you in his arms, twirling you all around the small space of the apothecary. You’re dizzy and you’ve been dizzy a thousand times before. But it’s been so long since you’ve allowed yourself to feel this way. Allowed yourself to have fun.

At some point he drops his glass off at the counter and entangles his hand with yours as you continue to dance through two more songs. And between the buzz of your liquor laden veins and the awful lip-syncing you both partake in, your mind drifts, relishing in the way his hand fits perfectly with yours. There’s something about the way he holds you. Close but not too close. Intimate yet slightly aloft. You can’t trust your reactions to him, unable to differentiate what’s real and what’s your own projection.

Midway through the third song, he stumbles and you go with him, landing in a heap on the floor. Pulling yourself up onto your elbows, heart thudding from dancing, or your wayward thoughts (you can’t tell which—maybe both?), the laughter dies down. You’re enraptured by him. He’s beneath you, bottom lip tucked behind his top teeth and he reaches up, fingers hesitating just before they brush your cheek. Tentatively, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Pulse beating through every part of your being, you slant your head, lips parting instinctively as he thumbs your temple. His eyes are searching yours and you inch closer to his lips, gaze flicking to that bottom one, aching to release it from behind his teeth with your tongue. Breath matching his, you're seized in stilled time and you want him. Need him. A hum whispers in the back of your throat as your eyes close with the thought.

That need tugs at you, fraying your resolve at the seams—

“I should go,” you say, eyes wide and yanking yourself off him, scrambling away and back to your feet.

You offer your hand to help him up too. His thumb circles your skin as he accepts your assistance and he holds your hand longer than he needs to.

“Uh, yeah. Okay.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he slowly releases your hand, wiping at something invisible on his cloak.

You gather up your belongings and make your way to the door. Turning back you say, “thank you. For the drinks. And the dance.”

“Of course. We should do this again sometime.”

You give a small nod before slipping outside, into the night. Briefly you back up against the side of the apothecary, catching your breath and attempting to cool off. The drizzle doesn’t dissipate the desire devouring you from the inside though. You were successful at avoiding blurred lines with Qimir, but you know when you return home, you’ll be foregoing your sleeping draught. And you’ll be dreaming of him.

[hanasnx]

“ I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN’ YOU ” — logan howlett.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader ノ age gap ノ established relationship ノ size difference ノ suggestive content ノ sexual content: naughty daydreams about pussy eating, nipple play, and groping; masturbation; voyeurism.

“I’m gonna take care of you.” Those six words—six—have defined your relationship with your husband, LOGAN HOWLETT. There’s a great protector in him, this compulsion to mentor and house within him that stretches far beyond his own needs. You fall within that range, and as soon as you met him you latched onto him. It didn’t take long at all before your imprint was reciprocated. Now he thinks of you first in everything he does.

He may not always look it, but you’re a factor in all his decisions. Settling down, nabbing a good job—one that didn’t ask for his background—was all to put you up in a house in the mountains. Far away from civilization, an ivory tower made up of wood he cut himself, surrounded by acres of nature. He’s always thought of himself a hair on the wild side, somehow you tame that down. It’s good, he tells himself, you and him.

It’s a partnership, and all he wants out of you is your safety. He likes you where he can keep an eye on you, make sure you stay out of trouble, make sure you’re comfortable.

You wish you could explain just why he thinks he has to protect you, why he married you, why he pays all the bills and expects nothing in return. You wish you could explain just why this relationship comprises all facets of a real marriage except for intimacy.

Logan won’t touch you. You’ll eat off each other’s utensils, fall asleep on his chest on the couch watching a movie—hell, he’ll reluctantly incline in your direction with a roll of his eyes to let you peck his cheek good-bye when he leaves for work. Yet, he won’t even kiss you. Even before he married you, there wasn’t so much as a grope or a stray look.

There’s home in Logan. You live to please him. You’ll cook him whatever he wants, keep the house he built for you clean as a whistle, you’ll spend all your free time with him, grab him his nightly beer and light his cigar so he stays content—but you’ve never even seen him naked. You doubt you ever will. Regardless, you stay, you can’t imagine leaving this life, leaving him.

It’s defied your expectations the fairy-tales of your childhood gave you. Your knight in shining armor rescued you, yet refuses to plant even true love’s kiss. When you’d matured, you’d fantasized about an insatiable husband that found you so irresistible he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Logan’s never looked at you that way, even though he calls you his wife without hesitation, married you without a second thought.

“Is it because I’m younger than you? I’m only in my early twenties. That’s not a big deal!” you’ve reasoned with him, but he still treats you like you’re naive. He must want passion, you’re sure of that. Why else are you young and beautiful if not to take advantage of it while you still can? Just once you’d like to see him yearn for you, to show lack of restraint, to come home one day so hungry for you that you don’t make it out of the kitchen.

Those claws… those deadly metal claws… you wish he’d use them in fantastical and deviant ways. Just one would glide through your nighty like sheet paper, bareing you to your husband—a sight for him only. You lie awake next to him at night, envisioning raunchy dreams of him proudly boasting the size difference between you two, demonstrating his sheer raw strength by overpowering you and taking what he wants from you. You’ve run your fingers delicately over his lips and the rough pad of his shaved chin, but you can’t imagine just how good it’d feel against your tit, swirling his hot tongue around your perked nipple while his callused digits pinch the other. You can pretend his head is ducking between your thighs, the sensation of his soft hair tickling your skin and tangling in your fingers as his masculine jaw scratches the fragile tissue of your pussy. As starved as you are, even discomfort like that is enough to make you moan into your palm, only to check over your shoulder to make sure you still hear your husband’s snoring.

You steel yourself at the noise, the low rumbling of his sleep cautions you to stay quiet but to proceed nonetheless. Your hand creeps down your neck, your chest, your stomach… You really should leave the room, but you’d risk waking him up for real at the sound of the door. Instead, you fuck yourself yet again, the soft rocking of the mattress as you hump your own hand filling the ears of your kindhearted husband—who’s been awake this whole time.

[areislol]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤobsession bound

pairings. m!yandere x gn! reader

warnings. yandere, mature explicit 18+ content, MDNI, suggestive content, toxic obsession, stealing clothes, stalking, the whole yandere package.

a/n. i don't condone this irl guys!! please do not fantasize about this

wc. 2.9k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤi love you like an alcoholic - the taxpayers

he knows everything about you. not just your favourite foods, hobbies, or the songs you play on repeat, but the details you wouldn’t even think to share. the way your nose scrunches when you’re deep in thought, the pattern of your breathing when you sleep, the subtle twitch in your hand when you’re anxious. he’s studied you as though you were a divine text, each quirk and habit catalogued and committed to memory.

your presence is his religion, and you, his deity. he doesn’t just love you—he worships you. to him, you’re the very essence of perfection, the axis on which his world spins. every smile you offer, every word you speak, is a blessing he clings to with an almost fanatical devotion. if he could, he’d bottle the sound of your laughter and keep it close, playing it on loop in the quiet hours when he can’t be near you.

his obsession began innocently enough—a fleeting glance in passing, a shared space for mere seconds. but those seconds were enough to ignite something dangerous within him. from that moment on, you consumed him.

your image invaded his thoughts, leaving no room for anything or anyone else. it wasn’t enough to see you from afar. he needed to know you, to possess you, to make sure you could never leave.

he follows you everywhere, his footsteps as silent as a predator stalking its prey. he’s always there, just out of sight, ensuring you’re safe—or so he tells himself.

when you stumble, he fights the urge to rush forward and catch you. when someone dares to get too close, his fists clench, his jaw tightens, and dark thoughts swirl in his mind. no one has the right to invade your space like that. no one but him.

every trace of your existence is precious to him. he’s collected everything—strands of your hair caught in your brush, the lip balm you left on your desk, even the receipt you crumpled and threw away. he keeps them in a secret box, hidden away like a dragon hoarding treasure.

he’ll run his fingers over them, murmuring your name like a mantra, his mind spinning fantasies of the life you’ll share once you finally see the truth.

he keeps a journal where he writes about you obsessively. page after page filled with your name, detailed accounts of your daily activities, and his dreams of your future together. he’s planned it all—your wedding, the house you’ll live in, the names of your children. he knows it’s premature, but in his mind, you’re already his. the only thing left is for you to realise it.

his jealousy is a violent, uncontrollable thing. anyone who gets too close to you is a threat that must be eliminated. he doesn’t care who they are—friends, coworkers, even family. they don’t deserve to share your attention.

they don’t love you like he does. he’s not above sabotage, spreading rumours, or even more drastic measures to ensure they stay away. it’s for your own good. can’t you see how much safer you are without them?

his methods of surveillance are disturbingly meticulous. cameras hidden in your home, trackers on your phone and keys, even your favourite coffee shop isn’t spared. he needs to know where you are, what you’re doing, and who you’re with at all times. if he sees something he doesn’t like, he’ll act without hesitation. a threatening text to someone he perceives as competition, a “chance” encounter to remind you he’s always there—it’s all part of his carefully crafted plan.

the nights he spends in your home without your knowledge are the most sacred to him. he’ll sit in your chair, run his fingers over your belongings, and breathe in the faint scent of you lingering in the air.

when he’s feeling especially bold, he’ll lie in your bed, his heart pounding as he imagines you beside him. the boundary between fantasy and reality blurs, and for those moments, he allows himself to believe you’re already his.

despite his madness, there’s a tenderness in his obsession that makes it all the more unnerving. he’ll leave gifts on your doorstep, thoughtful things he knows you’ll love, but always unsigned. he’ll take care of things you don’t even realise—paying overdue bills, fixing a broken lock, replacing the lightbulb you forgot about. in his mind, these are acts of love, proof of his devotion. he’s your saviour, your guardian. why can’t you see that?

his darker thoughts are carefully hidden beneath a façade of adoration. but they’re there, lurking just below the surface. he’s imagined what it would be like to keep you locked away, safe from the world that doesn’t deserve you.

a place where it’s just the two of you, where no one can hurt you or take you away. he’s convinced himself it would be for the best. you’d be scared at first, but eventually, you’d understand. you’d love him like he loves you.

he’s a master of manipulation, always a step ahead. when you start to suspect something, he’ll play the perfect confidant, the shoulder to lean on. he’ll comfort you, reassure you, and subtly guide you into his arms. every move he makes is calculated to draw you closer, to ensure you never look anywhere else but at him.

his love is suffocating, overwhelming, all-consuming. it’s not just a feeling—it’s a need, a compulsion, a fire that burns so fiercely it threatens to destroy everything in its path. he doesn’t see the danger in it. to him, it’s pure, untainted, the way love is meant to be. and if you ever tried to leave, he’d see it as a betrayal so profound it would shatter him. he’d do anything to keep you. anything.

he’s utterly captivated by every little thing about you—your smile, your voice, the way your clothes hug your figure just right. his eyes linger longer than they should, memorizing every curve, every subtle movement. he tells himself it’s just admiration, but the way his thoughts wander late at night says otherwise. the image of you is burned into his mind, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t escape it.

his fantasies are vivid, detailed, and deeply personal. he doesn’t just imagine holding you close or brushing his lips against yours; his mind ventures further, into moments that would make your cheeks burn if you knew. he’s thought about how your skin might feel against his fingertips, the warmth of your body pressed to his. he knows it’s wrong, but the idea of being the one to make you blush, to see the shy tilt of your gaze, is intoxicating.

he’s fascinated by the small, intimate details of your life—the scent of your shampoo, the way you unconsciously adjust your clothes when you’re nervous, the way your lips part when you’re lost in thought. it’s not enough to simply watch; he wants to know what it feels like, what it tastes like. the thought alone sends a shiver down his spine, a mix of guilt and desire twisting in his chest.

your photos are his most cherished possessions, though he’d never admit it aloud. he’s saved everyone he’s found, both those you’ve posted and those he’s taken without you noticing. they’re his solace on nights when his need for you becomes too overwhelming. his fingers will trace over the screen, wishing he could reach through and pull you to him, to claim you as his own in ways only he dreams of.

his touches are deliberate and lingering, though he always makes them seem innocent. a hand brushing against yours when you pass him something, a too-long hug where his hands press just a little lower than they should. he tells himself it’s harmless, that he’s just expressing his affection, but the heat that pools in his chest whenever he’s near you betrays his true intentions.

he’s memorized the way your clothes fit, the way they shift when you move, and he often imagines what lies beneath. it’s an intrusive, maddening thought that he tries to push away but can’t. he tells himself it’s only natural to wonder about someone you love this much, but the intensity of his fixation borders on obsessive.

his jealousy takes on a darker edge when he sees someone else earning your smiles or making you laugh. he imagines pulling you into his arms, pressing his lips to your ear, and whispering that you’re his, only his. the idea of someone else touching you the way he wants to sends a wave of anger through him, but it also stokes the fire of his need to claim you in every way possible.

he’ll leave little hints of his affection, gifts that seem innocent at first glance—a necklace that sits just right against your collarbone, a dress that hugs your body in a way that makes his heart race. he wants to see you wear them, to know that he had a hand in how you look, to feel like you’re his in some small way, even if you don’t realise it yet.

the nights he spends in your home without your knowledge are where his darker fantasies come to life. he’ll stand in your bedroom, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you sleep, his mind wandering to places he knows it shouldn’t. he wants to reach out, to touch, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm, but he stops himself. not yet. it’s not time yet.

he’s thought about what it would be like to have you entirely to himself, away from prying eyes and other distractions. a place where you wouldn’t need anyone else but him, where he could show you just how deeply he feels for you. his fantasies are tinged with possessiveness, imagining you looking at him with flushed cheeks and soft whispers of his name, the way only he would ever deserve.

he knows your body as well as he knows your habits, even if he’s never touched you the way he dreams of. the way you stretch when you’re tired, the curve of your lips when you smile, the smooth expanse of your neck—he notices it all, cataloguing every detail to revisit later in the privacy of his own mind. you’re a living masterpiece, and he’s the only one who truly appreciates every stroke of your beauty.

his obsession isn’t just emotional; it’s physical. he craves the warmth of your body, the softness of your skin, the way you might gasp if he were to press his lips to yours. it’s a hunger that grows stronger with every passing day, consuming him until he’s left trembling with the sheer intensity of his desire. he tells himself he’s patient, that he can wait for you to come to him, but his restraint is wearing thin.

he imagines the way your voice would sound, breathless and needy, calling his name. the thought alone makes his heart pound, his breaths shallow. it’s a dangerous game he plays, teetering on the edge of madness, but he can’t help himself. you’ve become his addiction, his obsession, and he knows there’s no turning back.

he loves jerking off to photos of you taken by him. he flips through the steamy photos on his phone, a wicked glint in his eye begins undoing his pants, freeing his rock-hard erection. a low groan escaping his lips as he wraps a hand around the thick shaft and starts stroking it slowly.

steals your clothes. he's practically grinning maniacally as he rummages through your dresser, his fingers trailing over the fabric of each garment with a possessive touch. he snatches up your most intimate items - panties, bras, and even that cute little skirt from last night - holding them to his face and inhaling deeply before tucking the stolen clothes into his bag like precious treasures.

—

the sound of footsteps trailing behind you wasn’t unusual. you had grown accustomed to the presence of people bustling through the streets or even just the echo of your own shoes against the pavement.

tonight, though, something felt...off. the streetlights flickered overhead, casting long, thin shadows that seemed to stretch and waver unnaturally. you clutched your bag tighter as a cold breeze cut through the air, the faint rustle of leaves amplifying the eerie silence.

unbeknownst to you, a figure lingered a safe distance behind, his breathing steady, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that bordered on fanaticism. he had followed you every night for weeks now, taking meticulous care to remain unseen.

you never noticed the subtle changes in your routine—the slight chill in your room despite closed windows, the faint smell of cologne that wasn’t yours, or the way your things never quite seemed to be where you left them. he made sure of that.

when you finally reached the safety of your apartment, fumbling with your keys, a wave of relief washed over you. the feeling of being watched dissipated the moment the door clicked shut behind you. you didn’t know he was already inside.

hidden in the shadows of your closet, he crouched silently, listening to your every move. your obliviousness only deepened his obsession.

he had memorized your schedule down to the minute. he knew the way you stirred your coffee in the mornings, the playlists you hummed along to while cleaning, and the books you kept on your bedside table. each detail was etched into his mind as sacred knowledge, proof that you were meant to belong to him and only him.

his fingers itched to touch the belongings he had stolen—your hairbrush, the shirt you thought you lost, even the empty chapstick tube you tossed away without a second thought. they were treasures to him, pieces of you he could keep close when he couldn’t have you entirely. not yet.

you were so kind, so trusting. it amazed him how naive you could be. When he brushed past you in a crowd, intentionally grazing your shoulder, you had offered an apologetic smile as though it were your fault. when he sent anonymous gifts to your doorstep, you accepted them with gratitude, never questioning their origin.

you had no idea who he was, but he knew you. he knew everything. He watched as you unknowingly consumed his devotion and smiled sweetly, blissfully ignorant of the storm brewing just beneath the surface of his calculated calm.

the days passed in a blur. you noticed small things—a lingering glance from a stranger at the café, a text from an unknown number asking if you’d gotten home safely.

you chalked it up to coincidence, even as unease began to settle in your chest. little did you know, he had orchestrated it all. the stranger wasn’t a stranger at all. The text wasn’t random. everything was deliberate. everything was for you.

one night, you woke to the sound of something clattering in the kitchen. heart racing, you crept out of bed, clutching your phone tightly. the light from the hallway illuminated the edge of a shadow—a tall figure, unnervingly still. your breath hitched.

before you could scream, a hand clamped over your mouth, and you were pulled into an unrelenting grip. his voice, low and desperate, whispered your name like a prayer.

"shh, it’s me," he said, as though that explanation should bring you comfort. "i couldn’t stay away anymore."

you thrashed against him, but his hold was iron. His tone turned sharp, frantic. "stop. please don’t fight me. i've done everything for you. don’t you see that?"

your heart pounded in your chest as his words spilled out in a torrent of obsession. he spoke of how he had protected you, how he had eliminated those who dared to insult you, how he had waited so patiently for this moment.

it didn’t make sense—none of it did—but the sincerity in his voice was chilling. He believed every word.

when he finally loosened his grip, you stumbled away, trying to catch your breath. his golden eyes shimmered with something between adoration and madness. he took a step closer, and you backed away instinctively. "don’t look at me like that," he pleaded. "i’m not a monster. i love you. i've always loved you."

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. fear constricted your throat, making it impossible to form words. he noticed your hesitation, and his expression darkened.

"you don’t understand now," he said softly, almost to himself. "but you will. i'll make you see. you don’t have to be afraid of me—i’d never hurt you. i'd only hurt anyone who tries to take you from me."

your legs trembled as you pressed yourself against the wall, desperate to find an escape. he tilted his head, watching you with an unnerving calm. "you’re so beautiful when you’re scared," he mused. "but i don’t want you to be scared of me. i want you to love me back."

the realization of how deeply unhinged he was hit you like a wave. this wasn’t just a stranger breaking into your home. this was someone who had been in your life—lurking in the periphery, shaping your reality without your consent.

you had no idea how much he had already taken from you, how much he was willing to take to keep you his.

and he wouldn’t stop. no matter how much you begged or how far you tried to run, he would always find you. because in his eyes, you were already his.

you are his world, his everything. and in his mind, that’s not obsession—it’s love.

note: if you would like to be added to the yandere oc taglist pls just ask me!! dont be shy

taglist 🏷️: none so far

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!

[poweringthroughthis]

dominated by my boss | matthew kim

nsfw, mature content, mdni

ship: big matthew(BM) x male reader

desc: m/n has spent way too long fantasizing about his hot boss, Matthew Kim. Despite being on friendly terms with the muscle hunk, he can't help but dream about being ravished by the giant god.

m/n knows it's completely unethical of him, but maybe he's luckier than he thought.

warnings: dirty talk, strength kink, body worship, anal fingering, anal s*x, hair pulling, consensual hitting, manhandling

˜”*°•.˜”*°

The office was alive with activity, the sounds of keyboard strokes and phone conversations filling the air. In his cubicle, m/n sat staring blankly at his computer screen, his mind elsewhere. His heart raced as he imagined BM walking past his desk once again. He couldn't help but steal glances at his attractive boss whenever he got the chance. Each time their eyes met, m/n felt a jolt of excitement shoot through him. It was evident that BM noticed him too, despite his attempts to remain discreet.

As they shared a quick glance, their eyes locked, and m/n felt heat spread throughout his entire body. He could feel his cheeks flush red as he tried to focus on his work. But no matter how much he told himself to stay professional, images of BM dominating him kept flashing before his eyes. It wasn't just lust that filled him; there was also fear mixed in there - fear of rejection perhaps? Despite these conflicting feelings, he knew he had to try somehow.

"Hey," he said nervously, catching his attention. BM turned slowly towards him, raising an eyebrow quizzically. "Um...well you know...we should probably discuss something." m/n's voice faltered slightly, causing him to blush even more deeply. He couldn't believe he was trying to get his boss to sleep with him. His boss with huge biceps, that seemed to rip through the fabric of his dress shirt every time he folded his arms, his boss with thighs so thick they left no room for air in BM's grey linen pants, his boss with a height of over 6 ft that made m/n imagine how it would make him feel as he towered over the younger male, most importantly; his boss with a chest so big, m/n wanted nothing but to squeeze and suck on it for hours.

Matthew smirked slightly, clearly amused by m/n's awkwardness. Yet there was something in his gaze that made m/n hopeful – a glimmer of interest perhaps? Determined to find out if there was any possibility of them becoming more than just boss and employee, m/n gathered his courage and continued speaking. "I think we might have some things to talk about outside of work..." BM raised an eyebrow in surprise at this suggestion. It seemed like he hadn't expected such forwardness from him, despite the both of them having numerous subtle touches for the past few weeks.

However, instead of dismissing him outright, BM listened intently as the seemingly shy male revealed his deepest desires. He admitted how he longed for someone strong and confident enough to take charge completely. Someone like BM, who could make him submit entirely without ever hesitating or showing mercy. At first, BM looked surprised by this admission, but gradually, a smile started forming on his lips. He found himself intrigued by the thought of taming this meek young man who turned out to be extremely freaky underneath. Finally, he replied with determination written all over his face, "Alright then.

I accept your offer." The words fell like sweet music to m/n's ears, as he allowed himself to imagine what exactly BM meant by accepting his proposal. As they walked away from the office together, both men couldn't help but exchange glances that spoke volumes about the intensity of emotions running through them. It was clear that both parties were eager to explore the boundaries of their newfound connection beyond the confines of their workplace. Inside BM's car, the silence hung heavy between them for several moments. Both men were lost in their own thoughts while anticipation built up inside them.

Suddenly, BM broke the silence by asking softly, "So where do you want to go?" m/n swallowed nervously before replying, "I don't really care. Wherever you want to take me will be fine." This statement only served to fuel BM's desire further. With determination etched across his features, he drove swiftly towards his destination. All along the journey, neither of them uttered another word, allowing tension to simmer beneath the surface.

As soon as they arrived at their destination, BM took charge without hesitation. He yanked m/n forward roughly, pressing their crotches together, successfully arching m/n's back and proceeded to tear m/n's top into pieces.

He moaned shamelessly at BM's manly display of strength. His boss could easily throw him around like a rag doll and it turned m/n on to no end.

BM grabbed m/n by his wrist and dragged him towards the bedroom. Without breaking stride, he slapped m/n's face, making him stumble. The words coming out of BM's mouth about what he was going to do to his innocent employee almost made the younger cum already.

BM made sure to cover every inch of m/n's face and chest with spanks, leaving him bruised and red. m/n could hardly believe what was happening. BM was mercilessly beating him up, without even trying to hide it. And yet, he couldn't stop himself from wanting more. Noticing the change in the smaller's expression, BM grabbed his hair forcefully and pulled his head backwards, forcing him to look him straight in the eye. There was no doubt in BM's mind now. He was not letting m/n escape this time.

m/n pressed his hands against the older's chest, realizing why exactly he was called 'Big Matthew'. He began fondling it and latching his mouth on his nipples, sucking aggressively. BM threw his head back in pleasure as the younger continued to worship him.

This lasted for about 20 minutes, during which m/n made sure to cover every inch of Matthew's Adonis-like body with his tongue.

Stimulated enough, BM wrapped his thick hand around m/n's throat, the other hand going around his waist. He had the younger's back pressed into his hard chest as he growled out in his ear. 

"You'll get fucked so hard and so good that you won't even remember your name after this. You'll beg me to fuck you harder, even though you can barely breathe! You'll say that I'm the only one who understands you!" My dick will create a bulge in your stomach as you'll feel like I'm breaking you into two. Then I'll slam my cock down your throat, even though you haven't finished breathing properly! Then I'll turn you over, put my weight on you, and force myself deep inside your asshole until you're literally bursting.

And I'll never let you cum until I decide it's time." BM released m/n's throat, grabbing him by his hair again and smacking his face. "Then I'll grab onto your ass and spread your cheeks wide open, fucking you in that tight little hole until you beg me to stop. But I won't stop. Instead, I'll pull your ass apart even more and shove my finger into your tight little anus while my cock is still buried inside you!

I'll fuck you until your muscles start shaking uncontrollably. I'll keep pounding away until your body starts to tremble and you can feel my cock all the way up in your throat. Just wait until I rip your hole apart, leave you sore." The hunk seethed, all while m/n's cock twitched uncontrollably at the giant's lewd words.

BM gropes m/n's ass, squeezing it harshly in his large hands. "I'm going to destroy this ass, so much that you'll beg me to carry you since you wouldn't be able to walk." BM lifted him by his ass, as the smaller remained in a standing position, feet now dangling in the air. m/n was so turned on by BM's strength that he spurted a few shots of precum untouched.

He all but dragged m/n to the bed and flipped him over so that his subordinate was lying face down on the mattress. He lifted m/n's abdomen and buried his face into his little, round ass, eating him out like a madman, making m/n's breath hitch in his throat.

He thrust his large fingers in and out, stretching him, preparing him for what was to come. m/n squirmed and whimpered, rocking back and forth, grinding his hips against the mattress. BM hooked his forearms under his knees, his biceps flexing as he lifted m/n in the air and stood up. He knew that the skinny male loved to see how easy it is for BM to hold him up and fuck him senseless. "you like that, you little whore? you like being handled like a doll?"

m/n moaned a "fuck yes daddy, give it to me" breathlessly. BM growled and spat on his face, continuing to devour him.

He pulled his fingers out and tossed m/n back onto the bed. He crawled onto the mattress, straddling him, holding him down. He grabbed a fistful of hair and forced his head up, exposing his throat, making him look at him. "Now beg for my cock," BM commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

m/n's eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat. "Please fuck me, Matthew. Please. I want you inside me. I need it. I need to feel your cock in my ass. I'm yours. Take me. Fuck me. Do whatever you want with me." He pleaded desperately, tears forming in his eyes.BM smiled wickedly, releasing his grip, allowing his head to fall back onto the pillows. "Good boy."

He reached between them, lining himself up, pressing the tip against m/n's entrance. "Relax," he whispered, pushing forward, entering him slowly, inch by inch.

The h/c-colored male whimpered, arching his back, trying to take him deeper. BM's cock was huge, filling him completely. It stretched him wider than anything he'd ever felt before. It burned a little, but he welcomed the pain, knowing it would soon give way to pleasure. He gasped, clinging tightly to BM's shoulders, digging his nails into the thick muscle. BM kept filling, un-filling and refilling the horny male's hole for hours on end.

After what seemed like days, BM roared, slamming into him one final time, emptying his load deep inside of him. He collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily, kissing his forehead softly.

"That's right," he whispered, stroking his hair, soothing him. "You're mine. You're so perfect for me baby. I fucking love you."

"and i'm sorry if i went too overboard. next time, we'll set safe words and talk limits" he assured the smaller male underneath him, who seemed to enjoy the larger man's weight on top of him.

"don't sweat it. i loved it so much. all of it."

˜”*°•.˜”*°

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Hi! do you have any errorfresh recommendations? preferably multichapter fics but i am 100% okay with oneshots too!! thank you sm!

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

Lagging Behind by MrManBat (Teen And Up, Complete)

A full story of Error's life featuring trauma, murder, and ~Insanity~. All in all, it's a rad-tastic time. The ship is Errorfresh. It will be my own take on the concept of Error being a forced God (idea created by Harrish6, but this book is going to be very different so I suggest you read their content too, cuz it's awesome!) This book follows the idea that Error used to be Geno. Is currently being edited and rewritten (so far first 11 chapters rewritten)(Whattt, OVER a quarter way done editing woohoo!) Comments always appreciated and I will try to respond!

The darkest nights could be brighter with you. by HazyErrors (Mature, Incomplete)

The Multiverse is a wonderful place, or so everyone says. Error and Fresh just don't see it.

Confusion creates war by ComMyszs (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

Fresh is of course, a parasite. and while he may not feel anything, he continues to want things, just for the fun of it. Fresh likes his body! the best one he's had but, he desires the control of something else. someone else. he finds it easy to be someone, to become someone, however he wants to OWN someone, manipulate them without them even realsiing it. and he has set his goals high for this victim. what can he say? he likes to be challenged. and with how much this person has it out for him, he has his work cutout. (and maybe falling himself without even realising) While Fresh loves to be the real manipulator behind everything he quite likes when people think it's ink. he knows ink knows he's powerful but he has no idea whats commin. And no idea he's not the one writing the script anymore.

What do i do with a love that won't sit still? by InkyOverlord (Mature, Incomplete)

Error has been put through the ringer time and time again, he's always fantasized about a life that he knew he couldn't have, after all it was too good to be true for him. but what if he could get it….but with a strange 90's parasite?

Homocide and a Happy meal by InkyOverlord (Teen And Up, Complete)

Error finds a beaten stray Fresh sans and against his better judgement takes them in, surely this will go wrong… but that if it goes right?

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Dark Things are to be Loved - Part 3

A/N: This chapter was truly a collaborative effort. Thank you so much to @wings-and-beskar @wizardofrozz and @clonethirstingisreal for your feedback and help working through my writer’s block. This is very dirty.

Pairing: Bodyguard!Savage Opress x Reader (Fem)

Rating: M (mature content intended for readers 18+; minors DNI)

Wordcount: 2.4k

Fic Warnings and Tags: angst; language; toxic, controlling, and possessive behavior; discussions of violence and violent ideation; Reader is in a deeply unhealthy relationship with Maul; allusions to abuse; infidelity but it’s complicated; Savage is down bad, but he’s still a Sith and acts like one.

Chapter Warnings and Tags: SMUT; semi-public sex; bit of a weapon kink; voyeurism; exhibitionism; masturbation; PIV; size kink; biting; masochism; Reader discovers a slight dominant/sadistic streak

Summary: He knew you’d be perfect.

Suggested Listening: 

This fic smells like: Jasmin Rouge by Tom Ford (heady, rich floral jasmine)

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I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

-Pablo Neruda, “Love Sonnet XVII”

Savage’s heart hammered so hard it felt like it was going to explode from his chest. The moment felt unreal. All of the times he’d fantasized about you as he fucked his own fist—all the times he’d buried his frustrations deep in the willing bodies of countless meaningless, nameless hookups, all the while imagining you in their place—none of it came close to the reality of your hand closing around his cock as you freed him from his trousers. 

He could still taste you on his tongue, sweet and tangy and unbearably perfect. There had been a moment as he knelt in front of you, worshiping your body with his mouth, that a deadly and treacherous thought had flashed in his mind: If Maul takes my head for touching you, it would have been worth it. 

Your taste, your scent, your warmth, your quiet sighs of pleasure: they washed over him, flooding his consciousness until it seemed that the very blood pumping through his veins was saturated with the essence of you. A quiet, insistent voice in his head whispered this was foolish and reckless and forbidden, a betrayal of his duties and of his own brother, but it was drowned out by the implacable roar of desire. 

His lips and fingertips traced over your skin, following the curves and dips that gleamed with the subtle reflection of the moonlight. You were so beautiful. So fucking beautiful. The sight of you—heavy-lidded with arousal, covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, with your lips parted as your chest rose and fell rapidly—so far surpassed his imagination that he could scarcely comprehend it. You looked utterly debauched, and it made him want to do rash, dangerous things.

You deserved better than this. He knew you did. You deserved to be pleasured slowly, to be adored and pampered and taken care of. You deserved a soft bed, and warm blankets, and luxurious surroundings—not a quick and desperate fuck against a cold stone wall. If he could have, he would have set you upon the throne itself and knelt between your thighs to pay obeisance to you. He would have buried his face in your cunt and let you ride his tongue until you screamed his name in front of the entire Shadow Collective.

It was a filthy thought. A good man would never have thought such a thing. A good man would have given you all those soft luxuries you deserved. But he was not a good man. He couldn’t give you those things, no matter how badly he wanted to, and he had ached for you too long to stop now. If that made him a villain, so be it. His soul was already damned. This was just one more sin to chalk up to his tally. 

One of your hands glided down and back up the length of his aching, rigid cock, while the other still gripped his lightsaber hilt, and he tried not to examine too closely why the sight of his weapon in your hand turned him on so kriffing much. The unspoken truth between you was that he could have ripped the lightsaber from your grip at any time, just as you could have plunged it into his chest whenever you pleased. But he refused to brutalize you, and he knew now that you had no intention of turning the weapon against him, and so he left it in your care, fully accepting that you could end his life the instant he made a move against you.

Your touch was agonizing, unbearable. His mind felt like it was unraveling with every languid stroke of your hand on his cock, every brush of your heated, slippery cunt against him as you straddled his thighs. His hands flattened against the small of your back and glided up, following the curve of your spine as he kissed you again and again, losing himself in the taste of your lips and tongue.

He needed more. He needed you.

Slowly, he moved to kiss down your throat and across the top of your shoulder. His hand mapped the contours of your back, tracing his fingertips over your shoulder blade until at last he reached your arm and trailed down to the wrist of the hand you had wrapped around him, taking care not to scrape your skin with his deadly claws. You stilled and released his cock, and he lifted your arm to his lips, kissing down your inner forearm and across your palm. As he reached your fingers, he drew two of them into his mouth and glided his tongue over them to coat them. 

You inhaled sharply, and his eyes flicked to your face, taking in the heat in your eyes, the glow of your skin, the look of desire in your expression. He knew then that you wanted this as badly as he did. Withdrawing your fingers from his mouth, he guided your hand down to your pussy.

“Touch yourself for me,” he whispered. “Let me watch you.”

You shuddered and nodded. He returned his hand to your back so he could support you as you leaned back and pulled your skirt higher to give him a better view. He gazed down as you began to draw tiny, slow circles over your clit. Your fingers were slick and shiny with his saliva, and they slipped effortlessly across your skin. You teased and played with yourself, tracing over your pussy before sinking delicately into your flesh.

His breath sounded loud in his own ears, no matter how hard he tried to keep it under control. His eyes were riveted to your fingers as they slid deeper into your cunt, spreading yourself open for him. His cock was so hard it ached. The urge to touch you was almost overwhelming, but he forced himself to abstain. Not for the first time, he bitterly cursed his damned, lethal claws.

Your fingers withdrew from your body, and he glanced up to meet your eyes. A thrill of lust shot through him as he saw the intensity with which you observed him as he watched you. Your eyes locked with his for a moment before raking deliberately down his body, settling on his groin. He followed your gaze down to see his cock, obscenely hard and dripping with his own arousal. You reached for him, and his breath stuttered to a halt as you swirled your fingers in his precum, covering your skin in it before returning to slip back into your pussy.

 He couldn’t resist any longer. He shifted one hand to the center of your back, supporting the full weight of your torso, while the other slid around your body to rest on your belly. As you continued to fuck yourself with your fingers, he pressed the pad of his thumb on your clit, caressing you while taking extreme care not to let his claws touch your skin.

“You don’t have to be so careful,” you murmured softly.

He shook his head adamantly, knowing you didn’t fully grasp how sharp those claws were. The slightest pressure would draw blood. He was taking a risk just to touch you; he refused to injure you through carelessness.

He traced his thumb over your clit and lower, gliding effortlessly across your skin and brushing against your own fingers as you touched yourself.

“Savage,” you whispered. “I want you.”

Dark hunger swept through him like a flood, eroding the last vestiges of his control. For months, he had ached for you, and now you were in his arms, telling him that you wanted him, Force damn him, and he wanted you, desperately enough to take the insane risk of having you on the terrace where the two of you could be discovered at any moment.

And if you were discovered, the punishment would be immediate and severe, but gods, it would be worth it—at least, it would be for him. But for you? He couldn’t take that risk. He wouldn’t. He’d rather eat his own lightsaber than consciously endanger you.

His jaw clenched and his eyes closed as his breath became shallow and quick. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

You were silent for a moment, and then he felt you shift. He opened his eyes as you sat up and brought your face close to his. Your fingers, slick with his spit and precum and your own arousal, wrapped around his cock, and he nearly came undone from the sensation alone.

“I know. I want you,” you repeated, your breath warm against his lips.

Gods help him, he couldn’t tell you no—not when his entire body was wracked with lust and adrenaline, shaking and tense and desperate to feel you. He allowed you to guide him to your entrance, just pressing against you at first. You were so warm, so soft and wet, and he could feel the last shreds of his sanity burning to ash in the fire of his need for you. 

You used his cock shamelessly, wantonly. You teased his tip through your slick, maddening heat. You rolled against him to rub your clit along the length of his shaft. The sound of your soft moans as his ridges glided over you made him want to tackle you into the grass and ravage you, but he held back and let you use him however you wanted.

His hands slid up your back and down your sides to grip your hips and hold you firmly against him as he began to thrust against you, no longer able to keep still. Your body was hot against him, and you were so wet that he could feel your arousal dripping down his cock and glazing his balls. He could tell from your ragged breath and the look of intense concentration in your eyes that you were close to another orgasm, and he shifted just enough to slip the tip of his cock into you.

You gasped, and he crushed you to his mouth, kissing you deeply, almost frantically as he swallowed your cry of ecstasy. You came hard, writhing and trembling in his arms, and he felt himself slide deeper into you, even as your cunt spasmed and clenched around him in a dizzying, agonizing rhythm. His hands roamed over your body as he pulled you closer and held you to himself, touching and exploring with a sense of awe that bordered on obsession.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to have you.

Holy Force.

You’d been well on your way to a second orgasm just from grinding on Savage’s cock when he finally nudged into you. He went slowly, barely pressing into your body, but it was still more than you had ever imagined, and far more than anyone or anything you’d ever taken before. And then he moved, and your mind shattered.

The gradual build of pleasure was forcefully accelerated, and your orgasm slammed into you before you could prepare yourself for it. Thank kriff Savage was ready, because the guttural scream you let out certainly would have alerted the partygoers to what the two of you were doing if he hadn’t taken your mouth in a searing kiss that muffled the sound even as it sent your mind spiraling into an abyss of pleasure.

Your cunt tightened almost painfully around him, but he pressed deeper and deeper, moving slowly but inexorably. Despite having just come a second time, you couldn’t suppress the choked whimper you let out as he moved your body down onto his cock. Holy kriff, nothing could have fully prepared you for him.

You’d known he was big; you’d seen him, felt him. But the reality of actually having him inside you—or at least, attempting to do so—was far beyond what you’d expected. He took his time, but you still felt like all the air in your lungs was being displaced as he sank deeper and deeper, stretching you wide over his cock. His lips and tongue moved against your mouth, muffling your whimpers and moans as you struggled to fully take him.

“Breathe,” he murmured as he finally sank into you as far as he could go. “Relax for me. You’re doing so well. My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

He simply held you like that for a moment as you began to relax and adjust to his size, and then he began to rock against you with tiny, subtle movements. You forced yourself to breathe slowly, and gradually, the painful edge of pleasure began to ease into pure bliss.

“I need to move,” he whispered. “Hold onto me, little one.”

You nodded, unable to speak. You clung to his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his waist as he shifted and then stood, pressing you against the villa wall. The sudden movement thrust him deeper into you, and you buried your face against his shoulder to hold back a scream.

“You feel incredible,” he said in a low voice. “So warm, so fucking tight. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” you replied. “I—I think so. You can move, if you want.”

“Kriff, you’re taking me so well,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “I knew you’d be perfect for me.”

With his hands supporting your ass, he withdrew slightly and then thrust back into you. He went slowly, but it was still enough to make your eyes go unfocused, and you reflexively bit him, sinking your teeth deep into his shoulder. 

His hips bucked against you as he hissed in a sharp breath and grunted, “Harder.”

Startled, you released him, seeking out his eyes. “What?”

“Hurt me.”

Father, Son, and Daughter. Why is that so hot? What is wrong with me? “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He nuzzled his face against your temple and whispered, “Please.”

A rush of unexpected heat washed through you at the sound of his plea. It was almost disconcerting to hear a man as strong as Savage reduced to begging. It made you want to give him anything he asked. You pressed your lips against his neck and kissed down his throat before closing your teeth softly over his skin. You were tentative at first, but when you bit him a little harder, you heard his breath hitch as a shiver ran through his body. 

OH.

Fuck.

Next Chapter

[r18rp]

🎀🎀hello! i’m a twenty-nine year old writer. i’ve been writing for 10+ years and currently looking for someone 21+ to write with for a femdom-centric plot. ideally, this would feature dark/mature subject matter along with smut, however it will also feature a lot of plot/story/ideally romance too.

overall, looking for someone who loves to plot/headcanon/friendly banter/and ideally, do this long-term. i would describe my writing style as casually lit to novella and enjoy writing something that might be 2-5 paragraphs long or longer. i’m here for all your nitty gritty details and also love good prose. also happy to match but not really into anything too short. i can share writing samples and hope you can too. i can post anything from 1-3 times a week.

i would like an m x f pairing, with myself playing the dominant female character. i have an oc who is malleable but i also enjoy making oc’s on the spot. we can also both play switches if that’s more comfortable for you.

here are some plots i was thinking about (hope you find these fun and feel free to change/elaborate. they’re just fun tropes to use as a jump-off point):

1. mob daughter x bodyguard - he’s looking to move up in the family and is assigned to watch over her. however, it’s more than he’s bargained for. or perhaps, it’s unlocked things he wasn’t sure he ever liked.

2. victorian governess or ward or maid x master of the house - something vibey in the foggy english moors, where someone can get spanked with a riding crop in a hedge maze. here for stilted conversations, trying to be polite/keep up decorum, but overall messy sex in a huge manor akin to saltburn

3. popular gregarious type guy x cold icy girl - all over my tiktok is the golden retriever boyfriend who’s happy, excitable, and fun. what if behind closed doors, despite being “the man,” he’s really just her bitch

4. coworkers - he could be the boss at the day job, but by night…

5. local cop x stripper / prostitute / teacher etc. - he could be a bad cop, he could be a good cop, either way, he’s being cuffed to the bed

6. virgin male x dominatrix - ideally, the male character has fantasized about this for a long time and has hired someone to do the job

7. teen idol (female) x serious hollywood actor - he’s an action star, no one should know he’s nothing like the characters he plays on tv

8. vampire hunter x vampire / werewolf hunter etc.

9. student x teacher

10. prisoner x prison guard

11. kidnapper / stalker x victim - essentially where an uno reverse happens

honestly, very open minded. things i would be open to incorporate: body worship, cock rings, pegging, fucking machines, toys, romance, shame, societal expectations, subversions to gender norms / roles, messy feelings and emotions, hurt/comfort, secret relationships, cheating infidelity, age gaps, dead dove content, a/b/o tropes, and feel free to suggest.

please leave a like and i’ll reach out with my discord info.

★ like the ad if you're interested !

[10piecechickennuggy]

Magic and Secrets, Chapter 3 - Sanji x Witch!OC

WARNING: Mature content ahead!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own One Piece or the art featured above. This is a fan-created work featuring an original character.

Read Chapter 2 Here

Read Chapter 1 Here

The patter of footsteps echoed throughout the mansion, a young girl giggling as she ran through her home. She was supposed to be in her room. She’d been told that there would be punishment if she disobeyed. But curiosity had wormed its way into Vera’s naive mind.

It had been easy to escape. Her mother hadn’t even bothered to lock the door, knowing Vera could easily open it with magic. Praesentia’s voice had been stern as she threatened her daughter, and for a moment Vera did feel true fear. But the allure of secret agendas and forbidden knowledge proved too strong.

“The brat has to go!” Her footsteps halted just short of her stepfather’s study. Careful to not make a sound, she pressed herself flat to the wall and focused her hearing. 

“Darling, I know you don’t want her. And neither do I. But what do you suggest we do?” Her mother’s voice was laden with frustration.

“I’d love nothing more than to wring her neck myself.” Misericors seethed with rage, no doubt fantasizing about murdering the girl.

“And what would the other Celestial Dragons say if you did?” Praesentia’s voice rose in volume, an accusatory inflection to it. “She’s a God, just as we are. If you kill her and they find out, we’ll be cast out of Mariejois! Our fate would be worse than the Donquixotes!”

“The Donquixotes?!” A piece of furniture fell, the resulting thud startling Vera. But still she did not move. “If anyone deserves their fate it’s that whelp! She and Doflamingo are the only two left carrying that disgraceful family’s blood!”

Praesentia sighed, no doubt exasperated by the conversation that had been ongoing since her daughter’s birth. “You know we can’t do that without risking our own lives. Product of an affair or not, she’s still a Celestial Dragon. And a purebred one at that, …” her words trailed off at the end of her statement, seeming to lose herself in thought.

“I don’t want to hear about your infidelity! I want that girl out of my home!” Misericors was almost screaming now, no doubt red in the face.

“There is a way we could get rid of her.” Praesentia began hesitantly. “But it would take time.”

“Out with it!”

“We could sell her into an arranged marriage.”

Misericors was quiet as he mulled over the proposal. When he spoke again, his voice had calmed. “That would make her somewhat useful. And in the meantime, she could work with the slaves. Say that she’s being taught homemaking for the sake of her future husband.”

“Yes!” Praesentia clapped in delight at her husband’s words. “I have no doubt a royal family would pay greatly to be married into the Domain of the Gods. And if we train her as a slave, she’ll be so obedient !”

A hand clasped over Vera’s mouth, maintaining her silence as tears welled in her eyes. She willed the sobs to stay down, her body shaking in fear at what she’d heard. She turned to run back to her room, ready to dive under the covers of her bed and pretend she hadn’t just eavesdropped on a conversation which sealed her fate to a life of misery. 

“You impudent little pest!” She’d been caught. Vera halted her movements, freezing mid-step as she turned to face her mother. The older woman marched forward, gripping Vera’s arm painfully tight. 

“I told you to stay put!” Her hand rose, palm open before coming down fast. The harsh slap reverberated off the ornately decorated walls, paintings of smiling faces inside gilded frames mocked the young girl. “But I suppose you did save me the trouble of explaining things.” Praesentia released her daughter’s arm, leaving Vera to fall backwards.

“I’ll have the slaves move her things.” Misericors scowled down at his stepdaughter like one would an insect. “Tomorrow, you’ll start working.” 

Vera gulped at the statement. She was only five years old, and yet she knew her very existence was a mistake. A mistake for which she would be punished relentlessly.

***

Dark eyes gazed through glass towards the horizon. Endless blue in all directions, calm waves and sparsely clouded skies met Vera’s vision. How many days had they been at sea? Time seemed to blur when the scenery and weather were unchanging. A small part of her wondered if Nami had gotten them lost. She sighed and resumed reading the book cradled in her lap.

The library door swung open to reveal an exuberant Sanji, a tray of beverages in one hand. He twirled to Robin first, offering her an ornate teacup upon its matching saucer. Steam wafted into the air. 

“Herbal Rose tea with honey.” The historian took the delicate porcelain into her hand. Sanji stood upright, smiling wide. “A delicate and sweet blend for an equally graceful beauty.”

Robin thanked the cook with a smile, her voice soft and eyes kind. Sanji took this as his opportunity to spin towards the window seat where Vera lounged. Upon reaching his destination, he knelt at her side and offered a glass. “And a mango smoothie for the alluring enchantress.” 

Vera blushed and took the beverage from the blonde. She immediately took a sip, her face lighting up. “Wow, Sanji! This is even better than yesterday’s acai bowl!” 

The chef beamed. “You’re too kind.” He tucked the tray neatly under his arm and turned to exit. Just before leaving, he announced, “Lunch will be ready in a few hours. I’ll come retrieve you when it’s time.”

Once the library door had closed, Robin addressed her companion with amusement evident in her voice. “He seems fond of you.”

Vera turned away, hiding her darkening cheeks. She glanced down just in time to see a head of blonde hair entering the ship’s kitchen, a trail of smoke cut off by the closing door. “He’s fond of anything in a dress.”

Robin chuckled, a loose fist covering her mouth as she did. “Whatever you say.” She took a long sip of her tea, punctuating her suspicions. 

Laughter caught the witch’s attention, drifting to the ship’s bow where three distinct figures sat on a wooden banister. Fishing poles were clenched firmly in Usopp and Luffy’s hands, long lines cast into the sea below. Chopper sat beside them, his hooved feet dangling over the ledge. The group appeared incredibly carefree despite two thirds of them being unable to swim.

Across the deck, Franky sat working on an indistinguishable project. Tools were strewn around him and he was clearly working on something. But what that something was, Vera couldn’t tell. The cyborg sat back, admiring his work before looking upward. His eyes met Vera’s and he smiled, waving up to his new crewmate. Vera waves back weakly, placating the man who quickly returned to his task.

Nami stood at the helm, her gaze shifting between the log pose on her wrist and the map held in her other hand. As abruptly as he had entered the library, a beverage wielding Sanji nearly pirouetted across the deck. He landed on one knee, appearing to propose with the colorful drink he offered the ginger navigator. Once the drink had been taken, the cook stood and began visibly gushing over the woman. Though she couldn’t hear what was being said, Vera could tell that verbal honey poured from his mouth in proclamations of his adoration.

The witch’s eyebrows furrowed. Why did the scene before her cause such discomfort? She stood, sending the book she held away with a soft muttering before exiting the room. 

Now in a proper foul mood, Vera searched for something to occupy her attention. But being confined to a single ship - no matter how large Sunny was - her options proved limited. Weighing her options, she eventually decided the greatest potential lay with the crow’s nest and a particular swordsman.

Upon lifting the heavy wood of the trap door, sounds of clanking metal and grunts invaded the air. Vera lifted herself into the room, greeted with the sight of a shirtless, sweaty Zoro on his back, a bar with several large weights attached to either side held firmly in his grip. A large scar spanning the man’s broad chest caught her gaze, noting its jagged contrast to the straight line over Zoro’s missing eye.

“What?” The word came out sounding more like a growl. At first, Vera wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. But as he continued lifting the metal bar, the swordsman’s single eye came to meet with hers - a look of expectation on his face.

“Sorry.” The girl’s fingers toyed with the hem of her skirt, eyes studying the grain lines in the wooden floor.

Metal clanked loudly as the bar was returned to its rack, causing Vera’s attention to return to the green-haired man. Zoro now sat upright, a rag being pressed to his dripping forehead. “What do you want?” This time the question came clear, laced with annoyance.

“I-”

“Out with it.” His arms were crossed over his chest, creating an intimidating pose.

“Is it alright if I stay here for a bit?” Her words were quiet and fast. She wondered for a moment if they’d even reached the swordsman, but he replied with a simple nod before bringing a bottle to his lips.

Vera sighed, taking a moment to look out the windows which encircled the room. A 360 degree view of nothing but clear blue, the only difference being that she could now see more of the seemingly unending ocean than the library could offer. 

Vera sat on one of the many benches lining the walls, her gaze returning to Zoro as he reached for a dumbbell. “Is it really okay for me to be here?” She asked, not expecting an answer from the man.

“I said it was fine, didn’t I?” Zoro eyed her whilst his biceps flexed. 

The witch shook her head. “I mean on the crew.” The only response she received was a raised eyebrow, and so she continued. “You all barely know me. And sure we haven’t been at sea for long, but I haven’t done anything useful and I feel like I’m just wasting your resources by being here.”

Zoro scoffed, setting the weight down and reaching for his swords. Vera gulped, bracing herself for the attack. With three swords, surely it’d be as painless as possible. He’d behead her in one swift motion and the crew would be rid of a nuisance. 

Her eyes squeezed shut in anticipation for the impact. But all that happened was a small click of Zoro’s tongue before he rushed forward, thrusting open the window behind her. Vera opened her eyes in time to see the swordsman lean out the window and shout to the crew below. “Marines! Straight ahead!”

Vera turned, looking out past Sunny’s figurehead and to a tiny dot on the horizon. She’d originally mistaken the ship for a wave or a bird, nothing worthy of a second glance. But upon further inspection, the large white and blue sails were unmistakable. Zoro had rushed out of the crow’s nest before Vera could register his actions. Upon hearing the trap door slam, she was knocked from her thoughts and sprang to follow.

The main deck was in a state of chaos. Bodies ran about, executing orders which Nami shouted. Sails were unfurled and the ship lurched as canvas caught new wind. 

A thunderous boom suddenly overpowered all other noise. Vera turned just in time to see a cannonball flying her way. She took a defensive stance, ready to utter a spell when a blur of red ran past her. In an instant, Luffy was in the air. He’d inflated his body to an impossible size, causing the cannonball to bounce off into the water upon impact. 

More deafening noise and several balls of iron were headed their way. Zoro and Sanji were the next to jump into action. Zoro swung his swords, a wave of energy cutting a cannonball in half. Sanji leapt out, his leg darkening from the knee down with armament Haki. With a single kick, the offending mass was sent down in a splash.

These people were monsters. In the best possible way. 

Another boom and the Sunny heaved, firing a cannon of its own. Vera watched as the ammunition landed just to the left of the Marine vessel. She clutched a railing, steadying herself and fixing her resolve. She would prove useful in this battle.

The enemy ship drew nearer - when had it gotten so close? Marines could be seen, aiming rifles now. Luffy had jumped into the air, his gum gum powers hurtling the man toward yet another cannonball. With the distracting iron, he’d failed to notice the men taking aim from the deck.

Vera acted fast, rushing forward and thrusting her hand outward. With splayed fingers and fear in her eyes, she shouted a spell. “Deleo te in planum astrale, offenso glandibus!” 

The men fired their weapons, plumes of smoke rising into the air. But no bullets came. Luffy landed back on the Sunny and turned to his newest crew member with a grin. “Thanks, Vera!”

The girl gave a thumbs up and a weak smile before the world turned black.

Read Chapter 4 Here

[dasenergi-diary]

I had an odd experience during my silent meditation retreat that I'll share with you. I'm putting it behind a cut though, because it has "Mature Sexual Content".

After a couple of days in silent meditation, every time I meditated my mind would wander to sexual fantasy. I fantasized about all of you, I fantasized about people at the retreat. Sometimes I would follow these fantasizes to see where they would go. Every possible position, every scenario. Sometimes I would stop the fantasy and go back to my breath.

But this kept happening to me, every meditation.

Twice during the retreat we had "small groups" with one of the facilitators. When I met with Tuere Sala, another women in the group brought up the same thing! That her meditations were being distracted by sexual fantasy.

Tuere said this was perfectly normal and happens to everyone. That the positive energy in our bodies has nowhere to go and it's natural for it to be focused on sexual energy.

Tuere suggested that when the sexual energy arises, to spread the positive energy out using metta practice (lovingkindness).

During my next meditation I noticed the sexual energy arising again. But this time it was different.

I wasn't alone. A presence was with me. A beautiful dark-skinned black woman with a full-body tattoo was naked floating over me. The closer she got to me, the more my whole body become aroused. My body was tingling like on the verge of orgasm. I was in such a heightened state of arousal, I couldn't control my breathing. She came so close to my face without actually kissing me. She was so beautiful, that a week later, I haven't forgotten her.

And then I remembered Tuere's suggestion and I started radiating this energy out to everyone in the room and out into the world. Releasing it all. And my breathing came back to normal. And the tingling subsided. And I felt very relaxed, similar to how one feels after sex.

And I didn't have a sexual fantasy during meditaton after that. The sexual energy was gone.

The floating woman seemed to be an ancient goddess to me. I believe she was the personification of Bilquis, the ancient goddess of love from Neil Gaiman's American Gods. Or Ishtar, the goddess of love, beauty, and fertility. Or Bilqis, also knows as the Queen of Sheeba. She was dark-skinned black, beautiful, with a large tattoo on her body.

I'll never forget her.

[ask-ikevamp-faust]

Oh, a one time exception just for me? You flatter me, my soul. I’ll be sure to make the most out of this tantalizing opportunity. In fact, I think I’ll combine the idea behind Sinful Sunday with my latest response since you claim to enjoy my teasing.

In our last conversation, before I was ill, you mentioned that you hate the idea of another man fantasizing about me. However, I say let them have all the wicked fantasies they'd like because they're nothing more than delusions. After all, those men will never experience what you have full access to. They'll never feel me warming their bed at night or taste the sweetness of my lips. They’ll certainly never see me kneel before them with lust-hazed eyes or hear the sound of me crying out their name in sinful, pain-tinged ecstasy.

You compare me to a lavish gift, all yours to unwrap and savor, but I wonder…. Can I ever make you lose your composure? On a similar note, if you use the remote controlled vibrator on me, will you be able to break mine? It seems like we’ll have another delicious experiment to try out if you want to make me beg for you, my darling.

Your preference for rose gold is perfect, and it would look striking when combined with the black and deep blue of your color scheme. Diamonds are always fine with me for any stone choice, especially for an everyday necklace, but I’d also never turn down any stone that matches your beautiful eyes.

Interestingly enough, a few days ago, I came across a website called Play in Velvet with a perfect black, navy, and rose gold collection. If you find yourself on that website, you'll have to let me know what you think. I’m also interested in your preference for pet play collars. Which parts of pet play do you enjoy? You noticed my own preference for martingale collars, and I must admit that I enjoy the way they can be pulled on and tightened around the neck.

As for your honorific, what about “master” or “sir”? Both are classic options that fit you well and would look elegant when embroidered on the collar. I could even do the embroidery myself if you'd like.

My final question shall be the big one I’d been saving for Sinful Sunday: in your fantasies, what is it like when you sink your fangs into my neck for the first time? Am I sleeping peacefully, simply going about a normal day, or will you have me already waiting and wanting you?

I can already feel the way your eyes narrowed and your lips set into a wry smile as you read that last sentence. Do your fangs ache for me? Do you ache for me, my darling? At the very least, I'm sure you regret telling me you enjoy my teasing.

-L

(Thank you so much for the well wishes when I was feeling poorly, 🌙admin. With any of my responses, please feel free to respond however you feel the most comfortable with, as I’ve done a lot of rp and I’m also very comfortable with NSFW/kink topics! 💜)

(I will label things as "mature" and collapse my responses that contain NSFW content that begins to/will go further than suggestive/flirty. This falls under pre-discussed role play, both parties have consented.)

Perfect, I always look forward to your response. Yes… I suppose you’re right about that, I’m the one that gets to experience those things. The warmth radiating from your soft skin is always inviting, paired with the way your voice sings for me; I’m a very lucky man. If you’re that curious, you should try to make me lose my composure. I’m certain you can do it so I look forward to experiencing your methods. I’m not sure whether it’ll break you, but as long as you enjoy the experience that’s the important part. There will always be more opportunities to experiment.

Since I’d like for it to be for everyday wear, diamonds are okay. I’ll make the arrangements. 

I looked around the site, and they have stunning sets. What’s the name of the collection set you were looking at? I’d like to make sure we’re looking at the same thing. Personally, I’m not sure I could pick only one, several of them are appealing. They offer quite a variety of accessories, belts, harnesses, leashes, cuffs… if you don’t mind, I’d like to add all those to our inventory. I realize I said I wanted the accessories in my color palette but after exploring the site, I believe a variety in color would be nice as well.

Pet play has always intrigued me, both its sexual and non-sexual sides. I find it interesting that when the submissive goes into their “pet space”, it’s like a relief for them, a place they can let go of control and responsibilities. What intrigues me the most is that they find this relief through playing the role of an animal. The way they aim to please, crave praise and attention, treats, training, playtime, using non-verbal/animal communication, these non-sexual things; they truly enjoy being in the position of a pet. Some even like to have a cage and bowl, that’s a bit much for me but it’s interesting. The way you approach the roleplay is different depending on the animal chosen; I have a fondness for kitten and bunny play. I enjoy being the owner, taking full responsibility for the submissive and providing a space for them to indulge. As for the sexual parts, I mainly just enjoy the accessories; the ears, tail, collar, and leash. I met a few individuals who mixed their pet play with a breeding kink; I suppose they enjoyed engaging in animal mating habits. The entire branch is interesting but it’s not for everyone; many find it to be odd actually. If it doesn’t appeal to you that’s okay, there are plenty of other kinky things to try.

Those are good choices, I’m rather fond of “master” so let’s go with that. You are skilled with embroidery as well I see, that’s lovely. If you’d really like to do that I don’t mind, I’ll supply whatever you need.

Ahhh… First bite fantasies hmm… I don’t mind sharing. I apologize if it is not an accurate representation of you. I suppose you’ll have to show me the reality, I know it’ll exceed any fantasy my mind can conjure up. Let’s see, in my fantasies, your desire for me is making you a bit impatient because I’m making you wait. However, you don’t want to be too quick to beg, so you play it off and go about your day. I spend the day teasing you, stealing kisses, placing my fangs anywhere I can on you throughout the day, but never puncturing your skin. At some point before the day is over, I ask you to wait for me in my room. I find you lying on my bed hugging a pillow when I arrive. You claim to be tired when I attempt to question you. Since I don’t believe you, I trap you on the bed as you try to get up. Looming over you as you sit at the edge of the bed, I remind you that I don’t appreciate deception, I wait for your response as I run my hand from the top of your head to the base of your neck. Since the beginning of the sentence sounds like denial again, I hold your chin to steal a kiss. I continue to shower you with kisses, from your nose, forehead, cheeks, corners of the mouth, jawline, then back to your soft lips. As I deepen the kiss, you begin to take my coat off and pull me onto the bed. When I pull away and look down at you, I notice you’re a bit flushed, it’s cute; I unbutton my shirt before fully climbing onto the bed above you. Taking the opportunity, you run your hands on my chest and abdomen, your touch makes my body burn more. Burying my face in your neck I groan as you continue to run your hands on my body, it doesn’t escape me that you are telling me to bite you. As if to urge me, you begin to undo your blouse and leave yourself completely open. I can’t wait anymore so finally, I lightly sink my fangs at the base of your neck towards the back on the right side, and you moan in delight, a shiver runs through your body. Before I can pull my fangs out, you tighten your grip on my back and ask me to make the bite deeper. As I do, I can feel your nails dig deeper into my back. I make sure to lick any trickling blood, and well… the rest is up to imagination I suppose, but that's how it happens in my fantasy. I don’t believe anyone has asked me to describe a fantasy before; it seems rather long and somewhat silly now that I look back at it. Well, now I’m a bit curious, have you created a fantasy about how I bite you for the first time?

I’m not sure how to feel about you guessing my exact reaction, it’s impressive. It’s clear you’re having fun trying to get a rise out of me with all your teasing. Since I rather enjoy your game, I highly doubt I’ll regret anything. Make me ache for you more than I already do, I want every fiber of my being to burn with desire for you. The more I love you the sweeter you’ll taste, and I assume as your love for me grows, the pleasure from my bites will increase. So go ahead, keep probing, let me see what you can do.

(Thank you for letting me know!! I’ll do my best to deliver good quality 😊 You’re the first person to tell me you’re comfortable with role playing this topic, so I’m sorry if I’m sort of testing waters here. Since I’d like to do my best in fulfilling your request, I would like to know what are some things you’d like to include in the role play with this character. It helps me prepare my writing and if anything pushes past my comfort zone, I can let you know in advance.)

[magnoliabutters]

• TAKE ME •

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader (they/them, 18+)

summary: there he goes again, pissing you the fuck off…

warnings: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; cod mw 2 campaign spoilers; reader referred to by rank (lieutenant, "lt") and call sign (aero); weapons, gore, violence; angst to fluff to smut/porn; enemies to lover trope, toxic love dynamic (only to be fantasized in fanfics, not encouraged irl - you deserve better hunty), possibly problematic coping skills, rough sexy time, etc.

word count: ~5.7k

support your author: reblogs for the sexy masked menace, ghostie boy ✨

• ghost stories series • previous part •

note: part two. sorry for the delay! let's live this bad boy fantasy together...

specific warnings: mature/serious topics mentioned - please read over; *trigger warning* small insinuation of sexual assault and questionable interrogation methods (to avoid, begin reading at second red line; skipping will not impact story)

Do you know how unbearably painful it is to just stop - right when it was getting good? As you walk down the hallway, Soap at arm's length away, you attempt to slow your breathing. Anything to get your blood pumping around your body again. Anything to keep your mind off the pulsating feeling in your groin.

Ghost walks ahead, fists clenched. You wonder how he must be feeling. Practically on on the verge of cumming and being made to stop. It's one thing to be edged, but its another to be forced to conceal a raging boner and not knowing the first chance you'll have to address it.

Soap continues down the hallway with heavy steps. His face solely showing determination. Further confirming your hope that he did not see, nor suspect anything. Ghost opens the door to the others' debriefing room and quickly drops it behind him. The heavy door almost slams against Soap's shoulder. "What the hell, Ghost?" he asks with his thick Scottish accent. "Aye, don't take it personal, Soap. Must just have an itchy trigger finger," you suggest as you lug the door open. The room looks exactly like the one you and Ghost explored earlier.

Ghost pounds his fist against the steel door. He waits to hear movement as the door lock pops open. "Perfect, you're going to want to hear this, hombre," Alejandro says as he widens the door. "Qué es?" Ghost asks as he walks in. You can't help the "humph" that leaves your body. He knows some Spanish? It leaves a smile on your face, whether you'd like it to or not.

Alejandro keeps the door open for both you and Soap. "Hermano," Alejandro says with a nod directed towards Soap. "Teniente," he adds as his eyes fall upon you. "Do you want to tell them what you told me or should I get that car battery I promised you?" Gaz says as he points towards the side of the room. Nadia Sidorov blubbers in the chair. Her black mascara smudged down to her chin. She must have been crying since she woke up from her unexpected slumber. You wouldn't blame her. It's not easy waking up in a US black site.

"AQ wants a stealth bomber, okay? They wanted something quick and quiet, to get the job done," Sidorov mumbles between tears. "What job?" Ghost's voice booms from the corner. God, did this man love dark corners. "They-they wanted to take out some gang. I don't know! I don't really ask questions in my line of work. I don't need to know what they're being used for," she yells, exhausted. "You mean, you don't care to know about who your weapons are being used on," you correct her. Her careless and dangerous attitude bubbling up an anger within you. It's a nice distraction.

Sidorov rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Do they have the bomber?" Soap asks as he walks under the light from the overhead lamp. Her eyes squint as she looks his way. They widen as a smile forms across her face. She begins a slow laugh as she leans her head back onto her shoulders. "Oh, Soapy-boy. What do they have you doin' now?" she says with a soothing, yet unsettling tone. Her entire demeanor has now shifted. The blubbering mess is suddenly exuding confidence and happiness.

Ghost's eyes quickly rush towards Soap. Soap returns with a confused, but suspicious look. Several brutal questions rush through your head. How the hell did Soap know the target? And why didn't he mention that before? "Why don't you go discuss in that other room there," Sidorov suggests as she nods towards the locked door. "I'm sure you have plenty to talk about." You quickly walk over to the woman and crouch before her. "Why don't you tell me what there is to talk about, Nadia?" you ask with a tilt to your head.

"Soap tells the story best," Sidorov seethes through her teeth. "Car battery, huh?" you ask as you quickly stand. You turn towards Gaz. "Who taught you that trick?" you scoff. Ghost watches your every move intensely. Almost as though he is trying to memorize your patterns. Maybe just in case you get into another physical altercation.

"Now, Nadia. You're a very smart woman. That's obvious. You're one of the most prominent arm's dealers in all of Europe," you continue as you make your way behind her chair. “I know you’ve done this before and you know what comes next.” The boys still stand barely outside of the shadows in the small sound proofed room. "Show me how smart you are and start talking," you say as you land a tight grip onto her shoulders.

Sidorov shivers at your touch and remains silent. "Alright," you shrug. You quickly pull the woman down by her shoulders. She falls onto her arms as they are tied behind the chair. She releases a heavy breath as the wind is knocked out of her. She now rests onto her back.

"We got your AQ contact in the other room. He gave us names. Las Almas Cartel and Los Vanqueros," you share as you crouch down beside her. Alejandro and Rudy quickly shift their eyes from you to Ghost. Rudy's upper lip is stiff as he continues watching over Sidorov in disgust. Alejandro's nostrils flare as he pops his knuckles.

"See, we already have all the information we need," you whisper. "I really don't care about how you know Soap here." You stand as you stretch at your arms in front of you and walk towards the front door. Her eyes watching you intently with a stern lip. "Boys, do your worst," you mumble. Sidorov quickly shouts in panic, "Wait! Wait!" You turn around slowly. "AQ showed me Soap's picture. They've been passing it around to anyone with a gun. He's got a hit on him," she stutters out. "Clear out," you instruct.

The boys look at you with either dumbfounded or confused looks. They are both in shock regarding what was implied of them, but also the results of your threat. You received vital information about Soap. Going forward, he will be unable to go into the field for a mission. If he was in the restaurant instead of Gaz, you both could have easily been made and ambushed. Now, he will remain protected and protect his squad by staying in overwatch.

"Clear out," you repeat again at a higher volume. The boys quickly walk outside. Ghost waits at the door. He watches you as you grab hold of the back of Sidorov's chair. You lean her up. Reaching back into your pocket, you reveal another knife tucked in your left sock. You quickly cut the restraints that hold Sidorov's wrists. Without looking back, you walk out. Ghost locks the door from the outside, rendering the inside lock useless.

You walk into the debriefing room with your head down. "How'd you know she'd talk?" Rudy asks. You look up and see the two sergeants, colonel, and sergeant major staring at you. Ghost leaning back against the wall. "Nothing scarier then a room full of men," you say with a deep sigh. "Ghost, you move forward with the plan of action. Brief me in the morning." You leave the room behind in a haste, hell bent in making it back to your cot.

Today was rough. It's time to go to sleep and start over.

Despite making it back to your quarters, you couldn't get yourself to sleep. Insomnia always keeps you up. Some nights your body doesn't accept the sleeping meds. You are just forced to stare at a ceiling as your mind begs for sleep and your body continues to deny the request. Counting those damn sheep as they continue to laugh at your attempts at rest.

With a sigh, you quickly sit up from your cot. Your oversized t-shirt falling to your upper thighs. You walk over to your backpack - the same designated backpack that you will be living out of for the remainder of the mission. "How many knives do you have?" you hear. Ghost. He closes the door behind him as he walks in to your private room without hesitation. Not turning around, you reach into your pack for your untraceable modded phone. "If you get to ask a personal question, I should be able to too," you say to the wall as you note the time. Fuck, 3:00am? you think to yourself as you tuck your device back into the pocket.

"I didn't know that was a personal question," Ghost asks with a low-toned voice. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. You turn around to see him in a black long-sleeved shirt. The tight sleeves emphasizing his bulging biceps. He has grey sweatpants that hang loosely at his hips. You note a small sliver of skin between articles of clothing. A thin black inked line flowing up from his hip.

A lighter skulled balaclava mask pulled over his face. Just like you, his eyes rake all over your body. They pay special attention to your bare legs. You enjoy having him watch over you with adoration and temptation. You swear you can hear deep breathing against his clothed mouth. "Do you sleep with that on?" you ask as you point towards his face. You walk over to your bed and lay onto your back in exhaustion, crossing your ankles. "Is that your question?" he mutters from across the room.

You scoff as you rub your eyes. "I don't know, Ghost. I don't know if I care enough to ask a question," you mumble as you rest your head back onto your pillow. Your mind already working as a thinly stretched elastic band ready to pop. "Fine," he says with a hint of frustration as he reaches for the door knob. "Wait," you say involuntarily. This poses as another moment to trust your body over your mind. Unfortunately, you are too tired to hold back any of your body's impulses.

"Can you just lay with me?" you ask. Part of you is deeply uncomfortable with the request. You do not enjoy being vulnerable and holy fuck, were you putting yourself in quite the tricky spot. The fact of the matter is you fall asleep best in someone’s arms. Through trial and error, that has been the best trick to aid your insomnia - if you exclude a good old fashioned orgasm. In an effort to protect yourself, you curl against the wall - putting your back towards Ghost. Maybe it would hurt less if you didn't see him walk out in response to your question? God, being pushed to the edge of exhaustion really does wonders for your decision making.

After a few seconds a silence, you hear Ghost mutter, "I don't do that." You immediately shake your head. Self-deprecating thoughts rush through your brain as you curl tighter and closer towards the wall. You feel his eyes still on you. You mutter disappointed, “Okay, you can leave now.” You are still curled together in a ball, desperate for sleep to take you away from this day. Nevertheless that you are expected to wake in a few short hours to move on your next targets.

Suddenly, you feel a light hand placed upon your upper arm. You quickly turn over, ripping your dagger from under your pillow and hold it to Ghost’s neck. His body tensed as he watches you from the side of his eye. His head tilts up, exposing freshly shaved hair underneath his jaw bone. His hand raises off your skin. “Bloody hell,” he says quietly. “How many fuckin’ knives do you have?”

You roll your eyes and tuck your knife back into its designated spot. “How many fucking masks do you have?” you whisper under you breath. Ghost slowly sits down on the cot, making the cheap mattress squeak. You turn around, feeling his weight shift the bedding. "I thought you don't do this?" you murmur. His big brown eyes turn towards you. Despite their warmth, they still appear dead, a void of human emotion.

"You look like shit. You haven't slept have you?" Ghost asks as he peers down at you. You turn onto your side as you rest your hand upon your pillow. His hand lightly placed in between your stomach and his hips as he twists his torso towards you. “Not all of us can hide behind a mask,” you mumble with your eyes tied to his.

With a huff, Ghost leans back onto the mattress and rests beside you. His face towards the ceiling. His body inches away from you. You try to hold back your expression, completely shocked. When you asked, you were confident that he would never agree. That you messed up by playing your hand too early. But here you are now, reaping the benefits. You slowly raise your hand from your pillow and lower it onto his chest. As your hand meets his warm torso, you feel a growl grumble from his sternum. A warning. You can’t help but smile.

Your hand slowly travels down towards the waistband of his sweatpants. You wanted to feel Ghost again. You wanted that thick girthy cock flooded in your mouth - maybe in other places. Him lying down with you was supposed to put you to sleep, but fuck did it just turn you on more. This small inkling of vulnerability that he’s given you, just by resting beside you. Adrenaline pushes through you, putting you further from rest.

Ghost quickly grabs hold of your wrist, so tight it hurts. You look up to him with your upper lip pulled. "We're here to sleep, Aero," he says sternly. His eyes widened with anger. You smile as this is the first time he says your name. You hate the context, but it felt beautiful heard aloud with his accent. You try to contain your grin as you pull your arm back rather harshly. "You're telling me you came into my room wanting to sleep at 3:00am?" you scoff. A small laugh bursts through his mask. It must have been unexpected for him, seeing as he immediately cleared his throat.

"No, but it's definitely what you need," Ghost says with a low tone. His eyes not daring to move away from the ceiling. "Well, if that's what I need, I sleep best when I cuddle," you murmur as you inch closer towards him. Your hand slowly makes contact with his shoulder. You feel the muscles tighten under your finger tips. Ultimately, you know he would stop you if you did anything that made him uncomfortable. Your fingers continue to travel down to his right peck as you pull yourself closer towards him.

You cannot help but smirk as you are curious how far he will let you go. The man who said "he doesn't do this," but now, you rest your head upon his firm peck. Your arm wrapped towards his hip as you pull him closer into your chest. Your leg over his and tucked between his two. And to perfectly end the night, Ghost tilts his chin down towards you and rests it upon your forehead. As your mind drifts to sleep, you feel his hand gently placed at the base of your spine. You fall asleep, against his warmth, without further trouble.

Your eyes begin to flutter as you are pulled from a restful slumber. You immediately notice the emptied space beside you. However, it does not surprise you. What surprises you is that you aren't hearing your annoying cranked alarm. You quickly shoot out of bed and rush over to your pack. Pulling out your phone, you note the time - 10:06am. Fuck!

Confusion rushes over you as you quickly look for your alarms. You know you put a specific alarm on for 5:00a, for today's mission. You are absolutely confident. Yet, there it rests on your screen toggled off. Quickly, you look around the room - angry as you reach for your clothes. That's when you notice the note resting on your bedside table. A harsh breath pushes from your nostrils as you reach for the paper.

Aero, Thought you needed more rest. Ghost.

Upon reading, you abruptly crumple the paper within your hands. Ghost made sure to go on the mission without you. Your fucking mission! What even made you angrier was that he didn't own up to it in his stupid note. He wants to still pretend the he actually cares about your sleep. You rush to quickly put on your clothes and run out into the hall. You find that your entire squad has gone out on a mission and will be back later in the day.

Fire flushes through your body. All you can see is red. You bite your lip so hard it bleeds. Ghost hijacked your mission and let you behind. He jeopardized your authority as team lead, as lieutenant of the 141. You are fuming. Returning into your room, you slam the door behind you. You grab hold of your phone and rapidly call your mercenary contact. You need to hurt something or someone - bad.

"Johnson, I need a contract," you grumble into the phone. "I'm in France." The man laughs on the other end of the line. "Lucky you, I need some supplies destroyed in Marseille," he shares. "I'll be there in less than two hours," you sternly reply. "I'll text you the details," Johnson says before hanging up the phone. You reach for your pack and grab hold of you rolled up grey mat. Unraveling it upon the mattress you slept on with Ghost, you admire the twinkling dark knives in front of you.

The next time you find yourself at the home base, you are splattered with blood and filled with bumps and bruises. You wanted to take your anger out with that contract, and, holy fuck, did you do just that. You walk past the briefing room as the squad of men sit and stand round a table. Ghost at its head. You continue to walk by, not giving a single glance in their direct. Yet, you feel all their eyes stuck on you.

You hear chairs screech against the floor and a fumbling of two pairs of footsteps. “You okay, LT?” you hear that deep Scottish accent ringing through the hallways. His tone hesitant and concerned. You hear Gaz’s melodic British as he asks, “Should we call medical?” You push down the feeling of disappointment, knowing that Ghost wasn’t the one to rush after you. “I’m good, boys. Thank you,” you say as you raise your hand and continue walking forward.

“We missed you,” Gaz says as he reaches for your elbow. You turn back to see Soap making a “oh shit I shouldn’t be here” face before jogging back to his other Lieutenant. “Yeah, wish I could’ve been there,” you mumble. “He told us you were off doing something for Price,” he shares inquisitively. “I feel like you would’ve told me.” You laugh as you naturally pull done Gaz’s soft hand. “Trust that gut of yours,” you say as you walk towards the showers. Gaz backs off and walks back.

You slowly undress, careful to peel away the dried blood drenched clothes from your skin. You look up in the bathroom’s mirror to see a fresh cut across your eyebrow. A bruise forming across your cheek bone. Your bottom lip busted. All you could do was smile at the sight of yourself. You wanted to cause pain, bring down hell and havoc. You did. You were undeniably successful in your mission.

Pulling down your pants, you see a bruise on your hip. That one is not from your mission, but from last night’s foolish impulse. When Ghost pushed you down onto that desk. When he had your legs spread. When he had you begging for his cock to be inside you. Back when he barely spoke, and didn’t have access to your phone to fuck up your mission. Fuck. You are angry again.

Your shirt comes off in one swift movement. Your shoulders scream at you as you raise your hands above your head. As the pain pounds through your head, you land your hands against the sink’s counter. Another look at yourself. You understood why some wear masks.

Walking away from the stalls, you choose a designated nozzle for your shower - tucked away in the back corner. Of course, home base doesn’t have individualized rooms. You find yourself stuck in a steamy space meant for communal showers. Luckily the water is hot. The warmth truly soothes your sore muscles. You find your first bit of comfort after this morning’s atrocities.

As you rub your soap bar across your skin, you begin to hear movement in that initial stall area. Your eyes open, pulled from their comforting relaxation. The last thing you want is one of your men to see you, and for you to see one of your men. You quicken your lathering so that you may end your shower early if needed.

“Why're you in such a hurry?” Ghost asks. You shudder at his voice. Another shudder once you see his darkened torso behind you. A bright light shining behind him makes his facial features indistinguishable. “Fuck off,” you say as you turn around. He quickly slaps a hand against your ass and takes his other to grab hard against your muscle. You head butt your skull back into his nose. He stumbles back as you turn to face him. The hot water still falling upon your chest.

You watch as his fingers lift his skin-tight mask and reach for his nose. He quickly flings off the blood to the tiled floor. “You’re still upset about this morning?” he asks with a bit of amusement. Your teeth grind together. “How fucking dare you?” you seethe. “You were supposed to brief me in the morning. I’m the fucking Lieutenant!” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Not the only Lieutenant,” he replies softly.

“Riley, get the fuck out of my face,” you shout as you point towards the exit. “What? No more call signs?” he asks with a laugh. “Okay, Lieutenant y/l/n.” In this moment, it doesn’t matter how naked you are. You are pissed. You swear you must have steam rising from your skin.

“You’ve got those eyes again,” Ghost says as he points his gloved finger towards you. “And what fucking eyes are those?” you ask as you drastically turn off the shower head. The warm water quickly pulling away from your body. The cold air hitting you like a truck. “Those ‘I’m going to kill you’ eyes,” he mutters. “I haven’t decided on that just yet. Figured I’d wait ‘till the mission was over as a courtesy to Price,” you say as you move through the man to grab your towel.

Wrapping it around your waist, you continue to walk towards the bathroom exit. You hear Ghost’s wet boot steps behind you. You turn before he makes the horrible mistake of placing his hand atop your shoulder. “I don’t do well with competition,” he quickly mutters as your eyes meet his. His white spray painted skull balaclava staring back at you. “Well, I do especially well with competition but I don’t know how to do things nicely.”

Ghost walks up to you slowly. “You’re competition. Difficult, precise, exceptional,” he says softly. “The kind of competition you sabotage with minimal guilt.” You laugh as you cross your arms around your chest. “Minimal guilt, huh?” you ask. ��It might have been a moderate amount,” he says as he inches closer.

“If you jeopardize my position or the mission again, I will have your head,” you say as you welcome his hand on yours. “And my knife will have something else of yours,” you murmur as your fingers tuck under his waistband. He nods as his eyes look down onto you. Those eyes serious and unforgiving.

"Understood," Ghost says without hesitation. "On your knees, soldier," you demand as you tilt your chin high. You peer down at him. His darkened brown eyes stare back at you as he slowly kneels onto the cool tiled floor.

You softly lay your hand upon his cheek, rubbing the fabric of his mask against your thumb. Slowly, your fingers reach the edge of his mask. Your fingers hooked within are met with a stiff grasp around your wrist. “No,” Ghost sternly says. You shoot him a look of dismay. “What you’re about to do cannot be done with your mask on,” you say as you feel his grip loosen.

Finally, his hand drops. You take it as a sign to continue. Lifting his mask, you reveal brown and red stubble to his chin. His lips flushed with pink. The bottom lip slightly larger than the top. You felt your body drawn into him, wanting to feel those perfect lips on yours.

As you pondered how soft his lips must be, you watch as a smile forms at the edges of his mouth. “What I’m about to do cannot be done with your towel on,” Ghost mutters as he softly places a hand at your waist. He untucks the edge of your towel, allowing it to fall at your feet and his knees. His eyes fall upon your naked body. You watch as he licks his lips.

Ghost’s hands immediately press against the tops of your thighs, pushing you back onto the sink counter. A sharp breath escapes your lips as you feel the surface’s chill. He gradually leans in and presses his mouth against your skin. His lips softer than you predicted. You feel your lower back arch as you lean your head back. His lips felt like butterflies, leaving flutters and ripples with every touch. You could feel your skin on fire anytime he pulled away for another kiss.

Your hand involuntarily explores the top of his head. The grooved cloth beneath your fingertips adds to the satisfaction. Ghost's thumbs begin to circle your hip bones. A moan is let out as his tongue trails from your knee to inner thigh. You cannot deny all your blood rushing between your legs. You feel that familiar throbbing as you crave for his touch.

Suddenly, Ghost pulls his mouth from your sensitive skin. You look down in dismay, only to be gifted with those brown eyes staring back at you. You watch as a smile forms on those perfect lips. He slightly opens his mouth as his lashes close upon his eyes. Following his lead, your eyes close as well.

You feel his warm, wet mouth against your skin. Electricity shoots straight through your body, just as intense as any taser. You gasp as you hang your head back off of your shoulders. Your hand travels from his head onto his cheek. Underneath your palm, you can feel his mouth opening and closing as he places sweet kisses upon your nasty bits. His hot breath flushes against your skin, leaving you comforted.

Ghost's tongue presses hard against the most sensitive of your skin. In between moans, you whisper, "Yes, just like that." You hear a chuckle as his hands grip tighter onto your thighs. "Oh, you like that, love? What about this?" Ghost murmurs amusingly. His tongue curls and twists against you. You catch yourself gripping against the tuff of hair of you found on the side of his neck. A moan rips through your body as your hips thrust against his mouth.

"Mmmm, that's good," Ghost whispers. Even his words have direct lines to your pleasure sensors. "I want more," he growls. His tongue pushes firmly against you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. The pleasure is enough to pull you right out of the environment. Do you even know who you are? Who is he? What are you doing here? All these facts that mean nothing - details that mean nothing when his tongue flutters against you like that.

Abruptly, the details return. With a strong force, you push Ghost backwards. He stumbles upon his knees, but quickly readies himself for your next move. You grab hold of his neck and pull him up and onto you. One of his hands now against the back of your neck. The other tightly pressed against your chest. "I want you, Ghost," you murmur against his lips. His waist now between your legs. Your ankles tighten into a lock against his back. His eyes pull from your mouth and finally fall on yours. "Take me," he states.

Without pause, you quickly reach for his belt buckle. You feel the smoothed bumps of his abs as you pull up a bit of his shirt. Ghost's mouth places gentle kisses against your collarbone. They travel down to your chest and sternum. Your hands shake, something that frankly never happens, as you pull against his belt. A smile forms across his face once again as you grip onto his pants' buttons. You cannot help but match his smile.

As you reach for the zipper, you could feel the growing bulge against your hand. You feel the thumping of your blood as it travels to your lower extremities. "Look how hard you are for me, Lieutenant," you taunt as you pull down his heavy pants. "Only for you, Aero," Ghost's voice flutters against your chest. "Good," you state as your finger pulls his chin up to your mouth.

With a bite, your lips meet in an incredulous manner. You have never felt so aggressive in this setting. You push roughly against him, forcing him to stumble once again - this time with his pants gathered at his ankles. One hand holds tightly against his shirt as you push him against the bathroom wall. Your other hand is on the base of his thick cock. You swear you can feel it pulsate in your hand. The bit of precum helps as a lubricant against your palm. You know this part of him well now. Your hand pumps against his hardened tip. You feel his breath heavy against your cheek as you press your body against him.

"Oh, you like that, L.T.?" you taunt. You place a hardened kiss against Ghost's mouth, pulling away with a bit of his bottom lip tied between your teeth. You could see a little red of blood as you catch another glimpse of him. Those brown eyes with black saucer-like pupils. The mask hanging on for dear life at his cupid's bow. His pale mouth now reddened after a multitude of embraces.

"What about this?" he adds before you can finish admiring him. His hand places against your groin. You feel your breath taken away as his fingers and palm move beautifully in between your thighs. "Fuck," you gasp as you crash your forehead against the nape of his neck. As you struggle to maintain your rhythm, you quickly peer down to spit onto your hand. With a bit of lubrication, you can feel him harden beneath you. You cannot help but smile and press yourself firmer against his chest. He feels so. fucking. good.

Ghost's fingers begin to play tricks with you. They quickly change from fast and slow movements. You can feel bit of frustration burn a hole within your body. You know he's doing it on purpose. You squeeze tighter against his cock. He hisses against your cheek with gritted teeth. You smile as you crash your mouth against his once more.

Both of your hands move at a quickened pace. Thank goodness for that soldier stamina. You hear his breathing shift rapidly. "Fuck, Aero," he whispers. He flicks the "ro" of your callsign a bit longer as he rides through his high. He's close, you think to yourself. You maintain your movement as you feel his body move underneath you. Such a strong and firm body. "Cum for me," you mumble against his lips.

Almost as a reaction to your words, Ghost's movements become harder and rougher. How does he know exactly what you need? The abrupt change leaves you gasping - throwing you off your game. You feel a tightness at the pit of your stomach. A tingling sensation boiling over your temples and forehead. "Shit," you whimper as you struggle to hold your grip.

"Cum for me, baby," Ghost demands. You can hear the struggle in his voice as he is determined to last longer than you. As much as you would want to beat him at his own game, you cannot ignore the fluttering feeling in your chest. Your legs begin to tighten as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your mouth hangs open. He quickly places his lips against you, not wanting any breath to go to waste. "Ghost," you whimper as you feel your knees pull together. Your thighs clench against his wrist and arm. Your entire body feels the overwhelming pleasure that is Ghost.

With a mere mention of his name, Ghost cums alongside you. You feel his hot breath push against your mouth. His hands tense around you. His moans like music to your ears. You feel his hips rut against your palm. His warm cum splashes in your hands and upon both of your stomachs. With a chuckle, you look down to admire the mess you both have made upon each other. Cum everywhere, just how you like it.

Ghost smiles as his hand returns to the back of your neck. His grip hard and pulling at your hair. You watch him with excited eyes and a smile. "Join me for a shower?" he says as he abruptly drops his grasp. He quickly turns and begins to walk towards the showers, where this all began. He takes off his shirt, revealing several pale scars ripped against his back. Scars that peak your curiosity. Scars that match yours.

That's when he takes off the balaclava, turns on the shower head, and stands beneath the falling water.

note: hope you liked it c: comment or message to join the taglist!

taglist: @hoosier-daddy01 @hypernovaxx @edenstarkk

• nav • no-no plagiarism • one shot • requests open •

[blushinggray]

navigation 🧭

hello. for anyone new here:

i'm michelle (aka hokshi), she/her, 25+

lover of himbos

simp for tsunderes

appreciator of dilfs

addicted to slow burn

(and slave to kirishima natsuya)

here you'll find my anime-related interests, as well as my spontaneous, low pressure, unbeta'ed drabbles. i mainly write [male character] x fem!reader, and about half the time, it contains mature content. so pls be aware of that and manage your own boundaries. i am very casual about what/how i post here, so i'm putting a lot of trust into you to care take of yourself

most of my writing that i actually put my soul into is on AO3, so if you're looking for slow burning, emotional tension with a sexy ending, you'll likely find smth more fitting over there

but since i've accumulated enough writing on this blog now as well, i figured it was time for a directory, so here ya go:

🔞 — nsfw 💖 — personal fave/rec 

— drabbles —

BNHA

bakugou katsuki:

choking 🔞 baby boy thirsting at the gym bakugou pole dancing 🔞 fantasizing 🔞 moon viewing tsundere dad!baku + art 💖 ph!baku x stand up comedian!reader basketball player!baku 💖 domestic thoughts "come see me"

kirishima eijirou:

pwp 🔞 reverse somno 🔞💖 at the beach with a himbo + song rec 💖 the last to know bunny boy bj 🔞 cum buckets 🔞ish

sero hanta:

pierced/tatted fuckboi!sero change of plans (a fuckboi!sero series) 💖🔞

general:

kink headcanons 🔞ish

JJK

itadori yuji:

pick your poison (yuji/sukuna twins!au) 🔞ish nothing but ass on the brain 🔞 glass slipper type beat

//

— fic trivia —

some extra headcanons, rough visuals, or fun facts from some of my fic universes, which can also be found in my #fic trivia tag

HQ

from "Love Unlimited" (hinata x atsumu x reader) - sequel/aftermath headcanons

BNHA

from "Good for Me" (a tattoo artist!bkg x tattoo artist!reader au) - sketch of bkg's tattoos - extra au headcanons

Free!

from "Within the Chaos" (a single dad!natsuya au) - fanart i commissioned of natsuya & yumeko - headcanons of having "the talk" with teenager!yumeko

//

— other info —

this is a side blog, so i follow/like from a different account

i mostly write for myself/my own enjoyment, so i don't take requests. but i do enjoy hearing suggestions if you want to share some inspo!

for anon asks, I just tag it as #anon / for non-anon asks, I just tag it as #ask

i really enjoy meeting/talking to new people tho! so if you ever want to share your love of your faves, talk about writing, recommend me fics/artists, or even just send me memes (related to my fics or otherwise), you are so very welcome to visit my DMs/ask box!

— if you'd like to support me —

i have a ko-fi, where if you're feeling generous, you can leave me a tip! i always deeply appreciate it!

you can also purchase a special extra story from a bakugou fic i wrote a while ago, which i'm actually quite proud of

when i'm feeling up to it, i occasionally open up commissions! ranging from 2k~5k words, depending on the price. please message me first about what you'd like before purchasing though! depending on your request, i may or may not be the right person for the job, so i would really appreciate communicating and coming to an agreement beforehand!

if we come to an agreement, you can purchase the commission through the ko-fi link above (for those with paypal), or if you live in the US, you can also send it to me through venmo!

if you made it all the way down to the bottom, thank you so very much for visiting my blog and taking an interest in my writing 💖🌹 i hope you have a great time

divider images by @/firefly-graphics

[kpopxx]

Spy Games [Chapter 1] : More Than It Seems

Characters: Twice Momo, Male Reader

4579 words

Authors Note: This is literally the first fiction writing I have done since I was a little kid writing stories about a town full of hamburgers. I was inspired to try my hand at writing by the plethora of amazing kpop smut writers out there right now, but by @lockefanfic​, @nsfwtwicecatcher​, @nsfwflint​, and @ggidolsmuts​ in particular. If there are any similarities between my writing and theirs, please forgive me as I’ve spent more hours than I’d care to admit “researching” their work. 

One thing that amazes me is how the hell everyone cranks out thousands of words with such frequency, as this post isn’t even 5k and it took forever to write. I can’t begin to explain how much respect I have for all the authors out there who can write so much and maintain such high levels of quality.

As a new writer, I welcome any and all feedback! Feel free to drop me a line if you have any critiques, or if you just want to chat!

***

“Coming up on the target now.” 

“Roger that, remember the office is on the top floor. Let us know when you’re inside. And remember, no elevators...” teases your handler, Choa.

“Thanks for the reminder,” you reply sarcastically.

You survey the skyscraper against the night sky--it would be impressive if it weren’t one of a hundred just like it downtown Seoul--and wonder what you had done to deserve getting the short end of the stick. Of course, you knew there was a reason to avoid the elevators: they sat directly in front of the building’s concierge and the cameras in the lobby, while the stairwell lay in a remote part of the first floor. The logic behind your impending hike didn’t make the reality any less abhorrent.

“Meanwhile, Seolhyun gets to infiltrate an organization in the Caymans. Just my fucking luck.” you grumble to yourself.

“Oh, stop whining, you big baby,” says Choa, reminding you to keep your thoughts to yourself.

You sneak past the lobby and towards the back of the floor you find the entrance to the stairwell in a poorly lit area.

“Beginning my climb.” you report, shaking out your legs as you prepare to go up.

“Sir, I-I’m getting some interference over comms,” chimes in the timid voice of the girl you knew to be your newest team member, Yoo Jeongyeon. “It could just be local chatter, but I want to make sure it’s not someone trying to listen in.”

“Probably nothing to worry about, but we’ll let you know if there’s anything you need to worry about.” Choa assures you. 

As you climb up the stairs, you wonder why anyone would want to listen in on this particular mission. This was a run-of-the-mill operation to investigate money laundering at an accounting firm. You’d infiltrated foreign governments, broken into and bugged the offices of billionaire CEOs, and tailed enemy agents. You could understand people wanting to hear those comms, but this? Either someone wanted something to listen to as a sleep aid, or this mission was more interesting than it looked.

A tip had come in through one of the new girls at the Intel Desk reporting that there was some fishy activity related to organized crime going on at the accounting firm. This was routine and you’d gone on dozens of similar recon missions before: break in, find suspicious intel, get out. But if someone wanted so badly to hear what was going on, the new girl may have stumbled onto something worthy of a promotion. Hayoung, you think her name was. Her chestnut, shoulder-length hair along with her well-endowed physique reminded you of a young mother, but her mature beauty belied her young age. You had caught yourself more than a few times fantasizing about her in your off hours…

You stop mid-way in the stairwell, scolding yourself for losing focus. Too often over the course of the last year you found yourself fantasizing about the women in your life. Sure, before the incident with Eunha you had sexual thoughts about your coworkers--you were surrounded by beautiful women, after all. But recently you noticed that your life was increasingly preoccupied with sex: both in your thoughts and the real-life exploits you carried out. 

Much longer than a few minutes later, you reach the 63rd floor out of breath and sweating, wishing more than ever that it was you and not Seolhyun lounging on the beach. You take a moment to compose yourself before peeking out into the office floor to see if the coast is clear.

“We may have a problem, boss. Jeongyeon looked into the comms disturbance and someone much more sophisticated than the average joe is definitely trying to tap in,” Choa says. “Jeongyeon’s kicking their ass right now blocking their access, but there’s only so much she can do alone. Eventually we’re going to lose control of this channel.”

“Dammit. I knew something was off with this op,” you grumble. “If they want to listen in to whatever I find, it must be important. We’ll go dark. Recon says this should be a quick in and out anyways. I’ll tag you once I’m out.”

“Be careful. Signal us if anything goes wrong. Just don’t do anything stupid.” replies Choa. 

“What do you think they pay me all this money for?” you tease, wanting to put her nerves at ease. “See you on the other side. Over and out.”

You could hear the concern in her voice. Even though keeping you safe was part of her job, you knew she cared about you. You also knew as well as she did that anything could go wrong even in the five minutes it would take you to break in, especially when it appeared that someone knew exactly what you were doing.

You switch off your comms link and head out the door and into the office.

It looked exactly as you expected--rows and rows of non-descript cubicles, with a princely office lined with glass walls occupying the far corner. Jeongyeon had retrieved the floor plan by hacking into the building’s security database earlier in the week, and you knew after her effort tonight in detecting and fending off the comms interference that Choa would want you to acknowledge the work the new girl had been putting in. She certainly was more skilled than the five previous team members you’d fired after Eunha, but you found it difficult to bring yourself to praise her. The Ops Officer position she occupied was a sore point for you, after all.

You deftly pick the lock on the corner office door and immediately sit down in front of the terminal on the desk, logging in with the security bypass Jeongyeon drew up. 

Again your thoughts drift to Eunha. Eunha was your longtime Ops Officer--highly skilled, you trusted her more than anyone. It also helped that she was your fiance. It made you sad to think about her; about what could have been, what should have been. Over the past year, you were constantly reminded of her absence by the utter incompetence of her replacements. You suppose it was nice that at the very least, Jeongyeon didn’t give you many opportunities to bemoan her performance in the same way--to remind you of Eunha.

You shake your head, compelling yourself to rise out of your funk and get on with the mission.

As you scroll through files, you stop on one with a familiar signature. Reading its contents, your eyes open wider--suddenly you understand why someone would be interested to listen in to your communications. You quickly save the file to your flash drive and stand up to leave, only to be startled by a figure in the doorway.

“Care to tell me what’s on that?” comes a familiar voice from the darkness that you knew to be Hirai Momo’s. Momo was an agent for a foreign espionage agency--you had as friendly a rivalry as you could have when working for different governments. 

“What was the point of trying to hack our comms if you were just going to show up and ask me that?”

“I had no intention of coming until you decided to ghost your girlfriends,” teases Momo. “Besides, I like showing you how much better I am at sneaking around.”

Momo flicks on the light and she comes into focus. The Japanese government made a good decision when they hired her, you think. She was built for the job of a seductive spy. Her perfectly toned legs had a lovely sheen all the way up to her short skirt, while her cleavage suggested that her tits were ready to burst out of her tight, patterned blouse. Where most of your attention was drawn, however, was her lustrous blue hair, which fell to her shoulders.

“I may actually need your help with this, once you see what’s on it,” you say, nodding your head at the flash drive.

“Oh, so you’re willing to give it to me? I thought I was going to have to fuck you for it,” she says sarcastically. You knew behind the humor was more than a nugget of truth, though. Sex had been the primary vehicle for information trading with Momo over the years. You decide to test your reading of the situation.

“Just because I need your help doesn’t mean I’m giving it for free…”

Momo brings her thumb to her mouth and bites gently as she ponders your not-so-subtle proposition. She takes her turn to look you up and down, making you feel more than a little self conscious in her gaze of judgment. After so many years in the dangerous world of espionage, there were only a handful women who could make you feel so small. Then again, Momo was no regular girl. 

Once she’s satisfied she has properly appraised your worth, Momo lets go of her thumb and straightens her blouse.

“Fine,” she says matter-of-factly, “let’s get to it,” unbuttoning her blouse as she walks towards you.

You are surprised by the lack of fight she put up, but you thought it best to keep that to yourself. Her tone reminds you of a business meeting--that is, if you hadn’t seen her pull her top off as she approached you. She sits in your lap on the chair, wrapping her arms around your neck as you meet her lips for a kiss. Momo’s mouth was familiar to you, introduced to you many times throughout your career. It seemed like every time you ran across her you had sex. One thing you adored about your relationship with her was that it was absolutely without strings attached. You fucked for work, but just because it was part of the job didn’t mean you both didn’t enjoy it. 

Momo, however, was loath to admit the pleasure she got out of her liaisons with you. Call it pride, call it being professional, whatever--Momo refused to act like sex with you was anything other than work, no different than working in a spreadsheet.

You feel her reach down to your pants, quickly unbuttoning them as she sinks to her knees in front of you. You smirk--her eagerness to please you betrayed her air of ambivalence.

Momo wastes no time getting down to business. You are certain the Japanese trained her very well in tender foreplay, but it seems she doesn’t care much for subtlety at the moment. Instead, she utilizes a more direct method to extract your pleasure--one that must have required its own fair share of training--as she spits on your cock before immediately forcing it as deeply in her mouth as she can take it. One, two, three bobs is all it takes for her to reach the base of your cock, her nose buried in your pelvis.

“Fuuuck me, that’s good,” you groan as you hold her head in place for several seconds, and Momo replies in turn with a cough that spits a healthy serving of saliva on to your cock. You release your grip on the back of her head to give her a chance to breathe, but she surprises you when she simply continues to work her mouth on your increasingly saliva-drenched cock, swirling her tongue around your base. Most of the other women you had slept with in recent months would be gasping for air by now, but Momo’s demeanor was cool, calm, and collected. Almost as if she was reading your mind, Momo paused her slurping and pulled her mouth off your shaft--but not forgetting to continue stroking it with achingly deft corkscrew motions.

“What’s the matter? Girls in your department not able to take care of your cock like a real woman?” Momo clicks her tongue and grins. “I’ve told you for years, you’d never be treated so poorly if you came to work for a professional outfit like ours.”

“Shut up and suck my cock.”

Momo shrugs, and gets back to the task at hand. Slobbering even more as she takes you into your mouth again, you pause to thank your lucky stars that you had a job that paid you in part to fuck women like Momo. You gaze upon her face, which has become just as messy as your cock. Momo’s sloppy blowjob has not only left liberal amounts of spit on your cock, but on her face as well--with strands of her blue hair plastered to her cheeks. Even though you thought it impossible, you feel your cock get harder at the sight of Momo’s messy face.

For several minutes, Momo continues inhaling your cock as you find yourself nearing the point of no return, you yank Momo’s head off your throbbing cock in order to prolong your session. A bit too forcefully, it seems, as Momo falls over onto her side.

“What the fuck!” yelps Momo as she picks herself back up, glaring at you. “I suck your cock and you thank me by throwing me on the ground?

“I didn’t mean to, I’m just not ready to cum yet. We both know you would’ve ignored me if I had asked you to stop.”

“I guess you’re right about that,” Momo replies sheepishly. You knew from previous run-ins with her that she loved nothing more than swallowing cum. Even though you had just denied her that favor, you were already thinking about how to make it up to her in a few minutes.

“How about I repay your kindness? Get up on the table and let me eat you.”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries. I’ll get up on the table, but you’re going to fuck me.”

“Someone’s eager to see what’s in this thumb drive,” you tease, inadvertently reminding yourself that this was a transactional liaison. You suspected that Momo’s interest in you extended beyond her desire for the information at hand, and part of you yearned to take her outside of the confines of work. You’re skeptical such a day would ever come, however, given how ambitious Momo was. 

You knew her story--she applied for a job in the Japanese spy agency several years ago, making it all the way through the process before being cut at the very end. She ended up receiving an offer shortly after one of the other finalists died in a ‘training accident’, but Momo lived with a chip on her shoulder ever since. She lived and worked with a pathological drive to prove the agency wrong in their original decision to cut her. Already the youngest lead operative in her country’s history, she had an eye on the directorship and seemed destined for it. So, you supposed, it was nice to be able to fuck her before she became famous.

Momo hops on up on the desk, hiking up her skirt to reveal a delicious-looking blue thong that matches her hair. She looks behind towards you with lust heavy in her eyes as she pulls her thong to the side, revealing her glistening pussy--already dripping, you noted.

“I don’t have all night.”

More than happy to oblige, you line your painfully throbbing cock up with her pussy and you can feel the warmth radiating from it. You take a second to appreciate Momo’s incredible physique as your hands graze downward from her upper back, to her hips, and finally to her ass. As you rub it, you cannot help but appreciate how sublimely taut it is. 

“Jeeze, you act like this is the first time you’ve seen a woman naked,” Momo jabs, interrupting your reverie.

You are starting to get annoyed with Momo’s demeanor. It was nothing new, really--she always carried an air of superiority--but it nonetheless grates on your nerves to see her be so dismissive. You are mature enough to understand that at least a part of this aggravation had to do with the fact that you knew Momo slept with plenty of men for work. Not so mature, however, to be able to stifle the primal urge deep inside of you that wanted Momo to see you as the best of all her lovers. More than ever, it seemed that sexual vanity mattered a great deal to your self-confidence.

With a renewed sense of purpose and your cock in hand, you enter Momo slowly with a long stroke until you fill her to the hilt. In unison with your initial insertion, Momo lets out a whine that crescendos as you bottom out.

As you begin to thrust in and out Momo settles in and widens her stance ever so little, which has the added benefit of allowing you to go even deeper into her warm, wet pussy. Momo was not a girl of surprises. Her face was gorgeous, capable of angelic beauty and fiery lust. Her body reflected the many hours she spent in the gym with ample breasts, insanely tight abs, and a toned ass to match. Her pussy feels exactly as sublime as her beautiful face and incredible body suggested. The perfect combination for a woman who used her body to seduce and take advantage of brainless men. You decide to push out your mind the realization that at this very moment, you are in fact one of those men.

You wanted to make sure Momo felt each and every drive into her hot flesh. Momo continued to moan quietly, each breath punctuated with a new thrust and the sound of your skin meeting hers.

“Looks like someone’s gotten real quiet all of a sudden,” you say, noticing her haughty attitude had subsided as pleasure took you both over.

“Oh, get over yourself,” Momo says, looking back at you with rekindled determination in her eyes, “you’re no better than half the guys I’ve been with. I’m here for the file, not for whatever you call this.” She cooly turns her head to face front again, leaving you seething.

Your twinge of annoyance was now a bubbling boil.

You slow down before withdrawing your cock from her warmth--Momo lets out the faintest whine of disappointment, betraying her dissatisfied front.

Just as Momo turns her head again to complain, you quickly slam your cock deep inside her. Momo yelps, and you notice her eyes bulge as you move your hips in a circular motion with your cock filled to the hilt, scraping deep inside her pussy. After several seconds of this you grab a makeshift ponytail out of her hair and yank backwards, causing her to gasp and arch her back instinctively. As much as she bothered you with her air of indifference, you had to admit that the image in front of you was the stuff of dreams.

Taking advantage of the highly erotic sight before you and the increased leverage offered by your grasp of her hair, you began to truly fuck her with quick and powerful strokes.

“Take it, Momo,” you grunted, beads of sweat beginning to form on your forehead.

Momo said nothing, emitting only breathless gasps from her open mouth. You noticed that their intensity was gradually increasing, so you increased the speed of your shaft penetrating her young, sinful body. You knew she was enjoying this, but you wouldn’t be satisfied until you broke her facade. You wanted her to lose herself to you.

You speed up even more, and the volume of your skin slapping together increases as her pussy drips wetter and wetter, mixing with your leaking precum. You are slamming your cock into her now, and Momo has to grab on to the table to steady herself. Slowly but surely her pretense was crumbling.

“You want it, don’t you Momo? You want more?”

“Fuck yeah,” Momo gasps hoarsely, struggling to speak with her hair being pulled, “Give it to me...o-oh...fuck, give it to me!”

Satisfied that she had succumbed to her pleasure, you relax your grip on her hair slightly and lean over to growl in her ear.

“I’ll give it to you. I’m gonna make sure you remember this, make sure every time you’re with another man you wish it was me.”

Momo acknowledges your promise with a deep groan, giving you great pleasure as you resumed fucking her gorgeous body.

Your eyes drift downward to her glorious ass, now shining with sweat and jiggling violently with each crash of your cock inside her. Inspired by the sight, you release her hair and put one hand on her hip and begin striking her ass with your other. Momo shrieks in surprise, but quickly looks back at you with lidded eyes while biting her lip to tell you she wanted more.

Again you oblige, and it was quickly becoming clear that lust and pleasure were staging a coup of Momo’s senses. She’s making lots of noise, but nothing intelligible. Nothing but guttural moans interspersed with high-pitched squeals. You continue spanking her ass, alternating cheeks--noticing a deep pink beginning to form on both. She’d most likely be dealing with soreness for several days after this, you think.

“You wanna cum, Momo? Cum for me, I know you want to.”

“Mmmmm...Ah, ah, AH! Unggghh,” comes Momo’s response.

“Come on Momo, fucking cum baby...cum all over this cock,” you shout, sincerely hoping there was no one working in an adjacent floor to hear.

“FUUUUCK!” Momo screams eloquently, suddenly dropping her head as her body begins convulsing. You knew what to expect having slept with her before, but you are nonetheless surprised to see how completely overtaken her body was by pleasure. Her upper body jerks spastically as her legs tremble with your cock plunged deep inside her pussy, all the while letting out a high-pitched whine that turns into a soft whimper. Just a few minutes before she was defiant and happy to throw insults at you...now she was a mewling, writhing mess incapable of speaking. The dark, primal part of you is satisfied by her tacit recognition of your talent.

After a short while, Momo begins to compose herself and lifts her upper body from the table. You take it as a sign to slowly resume taking your cock in and out of her. You decide to give her now glowing pink ass a rest and caress her back, tracing long lines with your nails.

“Mmmmm, that feels good,” Momo says, her eyes still closed, “you fuck me so good.”

You slowly begin ramping up the pace, rolling your hips with each stroke. You want to make sure your cock pleases every inch of Momo’s pussy, and make sure it craves you when she’s alone at night. 

After several minutes of this tender, softer version of lovemaking, Momo comes back to her senses. She arches her back again and turns her head to gaze in your eyes as you continue to take her. She begins to move her ass back and forth on your cock in unison with your own strokes.

“Oh my god, you feel so good in my fucking pussy! Every...fucking...stroke!” Momo gasps, the final words punctuated by the force of her majestic ass crashing against your cock.

“You’re a bad girl, Momo,” you tease, “you like being taken and shown who’s boss, don’t you? You like me grabbing your hair and slapping your ass?”

“Yes!” she gasps, “Yes I love it! Mmmmm...I want you to fuck me until you cum. Fuck me until you cum!”

There was no command in the world easier to follow.

Satisfied that you had fulfilled your vain, immature desire to see her acknowledge your skill as a lover, you now focus yourself on extracting pleasure from the young woman beneath you. You settle into a pace with rough strokes, fiercely pounding her over and over. Your pleasure rises with each thrust, aided not only by the mindblowing caress of her pussy, but by the incredible sight of Momo on all fours before you moaning with each strike of your cock inside her.

“Fuck Momo...I don’t think I have much longer, I’m gonna fucking cum so hard!”

“Yes,” comes the response from Momo, “Yes, yes! Fucking cum baby, I want your cum so bad!”

A few more thrusts and you can feel the point of no return coming. For a brief moment you contemplate cumming inside Momo, to truly claim her. You quickly reconsider, wanting to give her what she truly wanted--to swallow your load.

And so, you quickly withdraw your cock from Momo’s now sopping wet pussy and she instinctively turns around and drops to her knees on the floor. Stroking your cock with great fervor, her mouth wide open begging for what was to come.

“Please give me your cum, please, please! I want it...I need it! Cum for me!”

Your head tilts backward as a long groan escapes your lips. Your cum explodes from your shaft, shooting long, thick ropes of semen into her mouth and onto her cheeks and nose. Over and over, your cum splashes on her beautiful face until you finally reach the end of your orgasm, panting and exhausted. Momo’s face is a pornographic picture of lust, her eyes rolled back in pleasure as she swallows the mass of cum you deposited in her mouth.

“I fucking love your cum,” Momo says as she wipes the remaining cum off her face with her finger and promptly brings it to her tongue before swallowing it down as well.

“I’m glad we were both able to get what we wanted,” you say, struggling to catch your breath.

“Speaking of getting what I wanted…” Momo says, nodding her head to the part of the floor where the USB drive now sits, evidently thrown from the table during the session that had just taken place.

“Right,” you say, suddenly remembering you’re here for work, “make a copy and let’s get out of here.”

“Great,” says Momo, still on the floor with a satisfied smile of content on her face, “Hey, I meant what I said about having you join our team. As much shit as I give you, we could really use someone with your talent.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m better off staying put. Don’t think the Korean government would let me live if I tried defecting.”

“Probably true,” says Momo as she begins picking up her clothes, “Never hurts to ask, though.”

***

A few minutes later, you and Momo had both gotten dressed and copied the file onto a drive for her. Momo disappeared into an adjoining hallway and you set off to traverse the stairwell again. As you prepare yourself for the descent, you also steel yourself for the repercussions of giving the intel to a foreign spy agency. With the information you saw in the file, you knew the Japanese would have to be looped in sooner or later. If it was going to happen eventually, you thought it made the most sense to entrust that intel to the agent on the other side you knew would make sure things got done correctly. As logical as it seemed to you, however, you knew it wouldn’t be taken well back at the office.

You click on your comms link, now knowing there’s nothing to fear. 

“Hey Choa, I’m on my way back to the rendezvous.”

“Oh thank god! That took forever, I was about to call for a tac team!” Choa sighs with audible relief, “I take it you got everything you needed?”

“Got more than I needed, actually,” you say, nervous about Choa’s reaction to what you say next, “Listen, there’s one small thing you should know...”

“You did WHAT?!”

[alltheselights]

Hey so I am a solo louie, I follow you despite you being a larrie because I think you are super level headed and quite frankly I love that you separate how you feel about their relationship and their career your damn good writer too. I became a fan last year and I am well aware that for the most part larries don’t believe that child is his. Apart of me thinks that is just crazy but another knows that the entertainment industry is also batshit crazy so anything can happen. What I don’t understand is the point of it , nobody really cares and there is no way he would come out of this without without ruining his life and like I just don’t see how the whole thing makes any sense. None of it makes any logical sense like how do they plan all of this to end and why ?

VERY long response under the read more!

I think the key thing you’re forgetting is that when this started, people DID care. This didn’t start in 2017 or 2020 - Louis’ heavy closeting with Eleanor started all the way back in 2011 (a much different time then now) and babygate started in 2015. Louis was in the biggest band in the world and there were continual widespread rumors about him and his bandmate being together - his bandmate who was set up as the heartthrob frontman from the beginning of the band and I think starting in 2014 (or whenever Jeff first entered the picture) was looking toward an eventual future solo career, which is exactly what Sony wanted.

I think part of it was just to shut down the rumors with Harry, who again, I think Sony has always viewed as their money machine, and also just because just as many boybands before them, One Direction was marketed to girls as objects of their lust - boys the fans could fantasize about dating. I don’t believe any of the boys who may have identified as LGBTQ+ would have been permitted to come out while in the band because of this marketing strategy, but especially not Louis, who many stereotyped as gay from day one of the band and who many shipped specifically with the most popular of the heartthrob members.

I think the other big part of it is just punishment for Louis and always has been. Not only did he threaten their bottom line by not fitting into the cookie cutter One Direction straight boy mold that Sony clearly wanted and expected from all the boys, but he also fought for One Direction to become more than Sony/Syco wanted them to be. They expected the band to make them a lot of money with bubble gum pop songs for a few years and then burn out quickly when they’d overworked them too much and when all the girls turned toward a new shiny boyband or artist on the horizon, but what they didn’t account for was the fact that rather than falling in line, Louis and the others would fight to write more on the albums and Louis specifically would fight for them to mature their sound. And Louis was very successful in that because even though One Direction was not at their peak popularity with some of their later, more mature, and more well-written albums, they developed a fanbase with that music that would’ve stuck around long-term, not just for their personalities and pretty faces but for the actual music, which I suspect would never have happened if they’d just continued on their generic path that Sony set them on.

Most solo Louies recognize the sabotage of his career with his lack of promo, the fact that he is never protected or defended in the media by his team, and how they push his personal life as a focal point for most promo rather than his talent and music. If you can recognize that, it’s probably not that hard to imagine that they could saddle him with a beard and a fake child to double down on his heterosexuality and then continue it out of spite, fully recognizing that they have tied his hands in terms of his public image because it’s been so long of this, media trained him out of showing his true personality and mannerisms for years, and alienated him from large portions of his fanbase - because Larries are NOT the only group of his fans that suspect he is not straight - I know tons of solo Louies do as well.

The question of why it’s continuing today is a great one and I wish I had the answer and could see what’s happening behind the scenes. If Louis had finally gotten rid of Sony and Syco last year and immediately his solo career started improving, suggesting that his team was finally working for him and doing their jobs properly, and still the stunts continued, I think it would make sense to start to wonder whether Louis wanted that for himself. However, that’s not what happened at all. Louis still has the same management and PR, PR that has always been associated with Sony and Syco, by the way, and there have been no improvements to anything related to his career. I understand that there are limitations because he hasn’t toured or put out a new album yet, but I think you just have to see the lack of press, promo, and even basic respect and recognition around his massive record-breaking livestream in December and his upcoming festival to see that things haven’t changed. LTHQ on Twitter continues to be as useless as ever, Louis’ social media is rarely used to promote his career, and there has been no attempt to build hype for the future music that Louis is working on aside from a single set of pap pictures outside of the studio. These are some of the most basic things that a normal team would be working on, particularly considering how massive Louis’ platform is and how excited his fans have been even throughout the pandemic.

Louis watches what his fans say about everything on Twitter, and when he’s able to, he changes things with a snap of his fingers to ensure that his fans are happy. There’s no doubt in my mind that Louis has watched fans continue to complain about his team over the last year, yet nothing ever changes or improves, and he occasionally makes subtle nods to the fact that his support and successes are thanks to the fans only - never his team. It’ll be interesting to see what happens when he releases new music, but at least as of now, I think it’s evident that Louis is still not being positioned for success in his career with the team that he’s with, even after leaving Syco/Sony.

Without knowing what contracts Louis has signed over the years and how long they are binding, it’s impossible for fans to know how free he is officially, so all we can do is go off of what we see. And what I see right now is that nothing has changed with his career, and so while it seems absurd, it doesn’t actually shock me that much that other elements haven’t changed either. I also think it’s going to be very difficult for them to end babygate in particular at this point, which is probably something at the forefront of their minds.

So I can’t answer for why it hasn’t ended or when and how it will, but I can tell you that as long as his career is not prioritized by anyone around him, I find it very hard to believe that he is 100% free to make his own choices. Even if commercial success is not Louis’ number one priority, we’ve seen so many times how much it means to Louis when he does well on the charts. I do sometimes worry that Louis has given up and resigned himself to this fate because of how long he’s been sabotaged - I’ve worried about this particularly in the last year or so - but I still don’t believe this is all his choice. You can’t convince me that this person who was so clever with how to mature the band in One Direction, this person who has so much interest in the back end of the music industry, this person who has fought tooth and nail for a solo career that nobody thought he could pull off, this person who cares so deeply about what his fans think, is content with the team around him not bothering to do the basics of their job - to the constant widespread and loudly expressed frustration of his fanbase. And as a result, I suspect that babygate and Elounor are likely still around for the same reasons the rest hasn’t improved.

[theyareweird]

Jareth as a Barn Owl From Labyrinth

Barn Owls are considered wise and mysterious creatures. In European fairy-tales, these animals are also associated with mischief and misfortune. It’s believed whenever one is spotted, the owl would bring a bad omen to the human's life upon seeing a fae in disguise. Noting this, it’s not surprising Jim Henson decided to have Jareth, a type of fae-folk as The Goblin King, possess the ability to transform into a Barn Owl.

Jim Henson’s Labyrinth is a great movie. It would have been nice to see a sequel before David Bowie passed away. Unfortunately, fans have to be content fantasizing about a film which will never be. If a second installment was created, it would be nice to see Sarah grown up a bit in regards to her ideas of romance. The now young adult Sarah could learn how to love, along with Jareth, as both their emotions towards relationships mature. Of course, this is assuming the Goblin King is no longer the villain and he has stopped being abusive towards Sarah. Even if the heroine is seen wearing a pearl-like crystal ball ring on her finger at the end, the romance would be second in the film compared to the actual plot and story.

Despite these suggestions, it’s cute to imagine Sarah unintentionally loving Jareth in his owl form. It would be funny for Sarah to assume the animal is simply an ordinary Barn Owl. Perhaps this could be a gag throughout in the story where Sarah often receives help and guidance from what she thinks is a ‘spirit animal’ in the form of a Barn Owl. Then, Sarah would later discover the owl was Jareth all along.

[basicjetsetter]

Part I

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Mild Language, Triggering Content

▹ Words: 4.6k

▹ A/N: Buckle in. This is going to be a long ride.

“No way!” Your friend Manda squeals. “Those were the exact words?!”

You smoosh a frantic hand over Manda’s mouth and shush her, then slightly pop up from your seat to scope out the packed bus, making sure none of your schoolmates heard her outburst. To your relief, only a few close students glance over with little interest and barely anyone in a wider radius catches Manda’s words over the buzzing clammer of other conversations. Blowing out a satisfied exhale, you turn back to your friend, removing your hand from her mouth with a teasingly reproachful frown. 

“Tell the whole world, why don’t you?” 

She giggles, “My bad. But can you blame me? This is huge!”

Thrilled warmth floods into your cheeks from her enthusiasm. She’s right. This is huge, and you might have secretly sought this exact reaction because only Manda’s trademark, earsplitting squeal stamps news with the seal of authenticity. It’s real. You heard your Destined Words.

The same jitters from when you woke up this morning skitter up and down your spine, sharpening your senses to the max, making it easier to recall the words that floated into your subconscious—words from a bodiless voice. Your Soulmate.

I’ve got you.

Your mind handles the precious words like a porcelain tea set, carefully deciphering the voice pitch and attempting to match it to a face, knowing its efforts lie in vain because the words’ owner only becomes apparent when they speak them to you.

Some inner part of you distinctly translates the words into a comforting assurance, an assurance one might receive after coming home from a long day’s work and walking into the soft embrace of a lover. It weaves itself around your mind like a consoling safety net, painting an image of a lover better than you’ve ever imagined and everything you’ve ever hoped for.

You couldn’t have hand-picked a better day than today, Midtown High’s field trip to the MoMA, to gush over the words with Manda while admiring spectacular, thought-provoking art pieces. One of the perks of going to Midtown High is their fantastic field trips. You circled this Friday on your calendar at the start of the semester because while you loved being in a school centered around technological sciences, you were excited to study artists’ colorful, eclectic expressions and how their cultural personalities materialize in the stroke of a paintbrush.

“You’re so lucky,” Manda says, trying to pull off a pout. Her vibrant smile triumphs. “Only three days after you turn eighteen, and you hear your Destined Words. I’ve got four more months before I file a complaint.”

You sympathetically rub her shoulder, her oversized, long-sleeved denim jacket rough to the touch. “It’ll come. Just don’t wait for it.”

“Oh, I know it’s coming. I just want it to be something as cute as yours, you know.” She shudders, “My cousin Alonzo said his Destined Words were ‘Sure, whatever.’ Can you imagine that? Finally being mature enough for your Soulmate and that’s the first thing they say to you? I mean, sure, he and Tanya are super cute together, but ugh. Those words?”

You snicker, “Let me guess. You’re expecting a grand gesture?”

Manda nods with a dead serious face, though she could never truly pull it off with her full lips and Cabbage Patch Doll cheeks. She’d have a better chance at getting away with murder than intimidating someone with her cute little frown. “If I don’t hear the words ‘Where have you been all my life, you breathtaking, drop-dead gorgeous goddess,’ then I’m demanding a full refund.”

You blankly stare at each other for a beat before you crack, both of you laughing until your sides ache and you’re gasping for air, not caring for the teachers' hushes from the front of the bus.

“I just can’t believe I finally hear the words, you know,” you say as the laughs fade. “It’s like a fairytale come true.” You lean your head against the cool glass window, watching the placid cerulean waves come into view as the bus drives onto a bridge. “I wonder what they’re like, if I know them. If they’re nice. My mom says she already had a mega crush on my dad, so when he said the words, it already felt like they were together.”

Manda sighs dreamily. “I bet they’re cute. And super smart. Those words seem kind of thoughtful, too, so that’s a bonus. And, hey, don’t worry so much.” She gently knocks her shoulder against yours. “They’re going to love you.”

You weren’t scared that they wouldn’t love you. Everyone who finds their Soulmate never doubts that that is their person. What pins a tiny knot of anxiety to the pit of your stomach is how it will happen.

As a young girl, you spent countless nights dreaming of the sequential events leading up to the day you finally met your Soulmate, orchestrating the moment like a scene from all the rom-coms you binged. Your person accidentally bumps into you either in a hallway or on the bus or in the lunch-line, gazes deep into your dazed eyes, then declares their love for you with some cliché phrase before scooping you into their arms and planting a kiss on your expectant lips.

I’ve got you.

The sweet words drifting in your head do their best to ease away the anxiety. You have nothing to worry about. The meeting will play out the way you fantasized, if not better. All because of those words.

“We’re all gonna die!” Ned Leeds shouts from the middle of the bus.

All heads snap to the right windows. In an instant, densely packed bodies swarm from the left side to the right, sandwiching together to search for what Ned was staring at, some opening the windows and craning their necks for a better look. You grunt as someone digs their elbow in your ribcage to see more, and you tensely shove them against the back of the seats in front of you before peering out of your window.

It’s a sight no eyes could miss. A large, metal donut levitates in the clear sky, an obstruction not there mere seconds ago. You gasp in wonder, but not fear. Surely, the Avengers, Earth’s mightiest heroes, will have this taken care of before the sun sets.

The bus driver, an old man with a smile as sly as a fox and pearly white hair, casually calls out, “What’s the matter with you kids?! You’ve never seen a spaceship before?”

“He’s got a point,” you shrug as Manda gapes at the driver with incredulous eyes, then rounds on you as you calmly sit back down. “We always get so worked up over these aliens, and nothing ever really happens. The Avengers got it handled.”

“You sure? Because that looks a little menacing.” Manda worries at her lower lip, anxiously sneaking peeks out the window. Many students stay plastered to the scene.

“Positive.”

✦ ✧✦ ✧

The appearance of the metal donut effectively sullies your experience of the MoMA. None of the tour guides thoroughly explain the paintings' and sculptures' meanings or historical relevance. Instead, they string together incoherent sentences about person, place, and time as they gape at the video feeds live-streamed to their phones. Even Manda stays glued to her screen, chewing on her lower lip so hard you're surprised she hasn't punctured it.

Fifteen minutes into the tour, aggravation chafes into you like sandpaper, rubbing your skin raw. You waited months for this trip. Months! You'd be damned if a few pesky aliens took this special day away from you. You weren’t afraid. You had no reason to be.

Fed up, you take matters into your own hands and stealthily break away from the group, tip-toeing back to an intriguing wall of paintings and observe it by yourself. 

One painting catches your eye early, drawing you to the middle of the wall to study it further. Its tag reads The Lovers, René Magritte, Paris, 1928, Surrealism, Oil Painting. There are two people, a man and a woman, painted with white cloths shrouding their faces as they share a seemingly intimate kiss. You lean in closer, noting the almost murky atmosphere and how it lends to the mystery of the kiss. What did Magritte want you to think when you analyzed this piece? What questions did she want you to ask? 

You derive two: Is love mysterious and complicated as the atmosphere suggests, or is it intuitive and straightforward as the veiled lovers suggest? And, would the love still be the same once they lift the veils?

Beep. Beep. Beep. All the phones in hearing range chime out three urgent trills, nearly ejecting your soul out of your body. Clearing your head with a shake, you pull your phone out of your back pocket. You don't even have to unlock it. The news alert flashes up like a hazard light. Tony Stark Missing.

You blink. What the hell is going on?

"Are you seeing this?" Manda whispers, sidling up to your side.

You nod, at a loss for words. Iron Man is missing? How? What happened? Did it have something to do with the metal donut? 

You blink harder and take another long look at the notification, hoping it was a typo or missing a few words, words like Tony Stark Missing Iron Man Suit. Hell, even Tony Stark Missing Cheeseburgers. Anything but what's on your screen.

Somewhere in the background, Mrs. Kramer, your Art teacher, roll-calls the students to the front entrance. "Okay, guys, time to cut the field trip short."

Your shoulders sag. This can't be happening. Is it really that serious?

"Peter? Peter?" Mr. Dell calls out, clenching onto a clipboard with shaking hands. "Has anybody seen Parker? Peter Parker?" he inquired, looking over the students' heads. A bead of sweat gathers on his forehead, even though there is virtually no heat in the building, and it's a breezy, 72-degree late-spring afternoon in New York City. "Where does this kid always sneak off to?"

Ned stuttered out, "He, uhm, Pe-Peter left early, sir. Family emergency."

"An emergency? Was it so important he couldn't at least notify the supervisors?" Ned bobbed his head up and down, keeping his eyes stapled to the floor in a manner that hinted at no further comment. Mr. Dell huffs, "Alright. But he's getting detention, and I have half a mind to put you in there with him, Leeds."

Ned's face screws up in a chastised grimace. "Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again."

Your eyes linger on Ned as he pulls out his phone and rapidly taps at the screen, probably sending a strongly worded text to his best friend, rebuking Peter for roping him into his antics and nearly earning him a week's detention. You don't know much about their friendship, but they appear tied to the hip at school. 

Ned's a nice guy. Reliant to a tee. You had the pleasure of partnering with him on an art project in Kramer's class a few weeks back, spending a considerable amount of time joking while diligently rendering an interpretation of Van Gogh's A Starry Night on a five-by-five foot canvass. During that time, he often complimented your paint-smeared overalls and your hair's ever-changing up-dos. He seemed like such a great friend to have.

Peter, on the other hand, is a tough nut to crack.

You only ever shared one class with Peter Parker. Spanish last semester. You remember him being too antsy for your liking, always checking his watch impatiently, answering questions too fast, bouncing his leg up and down, acting like he had someplace better to be and better things to do. His impatience never made sense to you until you heard some girls in the locker-room whispering about his Stark internship and how lucky he was to be working for the Tony Stark. 

When the internship suddenly halted, and Peter landed himself in the longest detention sentence you'd ever heard of, you started to take more notice of him only because he was around more often. He was sort of cute in a boy-next-door kind of way with his science pun tee-shirts and smooth, tousled brown hair. For a brief time, you fleetingly considered asking him to Homecoming, but the futility of such a question wasn't lost on you. He noticeably crushed on Liz Toomes, and you were confident Peter's pining for her meant destiny twined their paths.

But Liz is gone now, and there's a growing 90 percent chance Peter's set his sights on MJ. Brooding quirky girl ending up with boy-next-door, now that match made perfect sense, just like a rom-com, or even better, an 80's teen romance.

Manda tugs on your arm, her hands forming a shackle around your wrist. "Come on. They're getting back on the bus without us."

Sure enough, you two were nearly the last ones in the entrance, the remaining students filing out of the door. You rush after them and reach the bus doors right before they shut, huffing in unison. Manda doubles over and grasps her knees, heaving.

"Here," you gasp. "We're here."

Your driver tuts, swinging the doors back open. "Good thing you two made it in time. This bus waits for no one, not even me. Come on," he says, waving you inside. "Let's get this show on the road."

You trudge back to your designated seats, collapsing against the plastic covering as the adrenaline subsides, replaced with the forgotten dread of the trip's abrupt end. You lean over and peer out the left side windows when the bus rolls over the bridge again, surprise rattling ominously over your bones as you find the metal donut gone from the sky.

Where did it go? Did the Avengers get rid of it?

Your hand still clamps your phone. An annoying, slight tremble in your hands trips up your fingers as they try to type in your passcode, but you succeed on the fourth try. You scroll through your social media, hoping beyond hope that someone captured the Avengers' victory or something close to a victory, something that proves the news headline wrong. Stark's probably lying low, too beat down to show his face to the press.

The far-fetched lie makes you internally flinch. You don't know much about the guy, but you're more than a thousand percent sure Stark wouldn't hide from the press if he won anything.

A sinking horror clogs your chest as you obsessively watch clip after clip, onlookers recording some unconscious guy in a red cape being invisibly bound and trailing after the commanding hand of an elongated, greyish-blue alien. Spider-Man tries to get the red-caped guy back, swinging through the city and dodging billboards, his webs clinging to the departing ship's underside, Iron Man flying into the sky after them.

It’s bad. Oh, sweet heavens, it’s bad.

Maybe it’s not that much of a big deal. Yeah. Yeah, it’s probably nothing. The end of the videos suggested the Avengers gained the upper hand on the fight, so maybe, just maybe, the alien was fleeing—fleeing… with a captive. Hurtling off into God knows where with Iron Man and Spider-Man onboard.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. 

Your back flattens to your seat and your unseeing eyes meld to your phone, the thunderous beats of your heart stifling the rest of the world into silence. The air is thinning. 

Your ears are buzzing. 

A vice clenches your chest.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. 

The dubious mantra and vague words of your Soulmate blend into an all-consuming cacophony of words, gelling together in a chant of solace. 

It’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine.

By the time the bus drops off the students at Midtown and you and Manda quietly walk in the direction of home, the mixture of affirmations fans away the panic settling around your chest, bringing back a semblance of your earlier confidence, or rather, what was left of it, which wasn't much.

Outside the apartment complex, an overwhelming amount of residents’ windows glow, most of them probably stuck to their couch, replaying the recent events on any major news network and speculating the whereabouts of our mightiest heroes.

It takes a while to dawn on you that you and Manda are the only ones standing outside. On the entire block.

Nothing stirs. Even the bodega on the corner appears closed for the day.

It's five o'clock on a Friday afternoon and there’s plenty of light left.

Emptiness pours out of every alley like ink spilling from a broken bottle, blotting the whole surface of the street with the absence of human activity. A tree's rustling leaves are so startling your breath locks up and you jump. Manda doesn't say anything, recovering from the sudden noise herself.

Leaving the deserted streets behind, you and Manda glumly walk up the steps of your apartment complex and up to your residence on the third floor. The apartment is eerily silent as you toss your keys on the kitchen counter and lock the door behind Manda.

"When are your folks getting back from their honeymoon again?" asks Manda, shrugging out of her jacket and toeing off her sneakers, leaving them propped against the wall by the door.

Habit controls your body as you open the fridge, grab two Sprites, set them down on the counter, then reach for the half-finished bucket of Red Vines from the top cabinet shelf. "Sunday morning, I think. They only have the weekend off. Want some pizza? I can call up Joe's."

"Please and thank you," she says, plopping down on the couch. The old thing croaks, its springs wheezing under the unwelcomed weight.

The maroon monstrosity is a family heirloom, dating back to your grandparents' time. Mom loves it, claiming it adds the right amount of character to the drab living space, knowing fully well that anyone with fashion sense would never describe any space she inhabits as drab. Dad is adamant that it's one spill away from handing in its resignation.

Picking up your house phone, you confirm, "Extra-large cheese and olives?"

You don't know why you ask. Ever since the inception of your infamous best friend "crash-overs," cheese and olive pizza starred as the staple meal: that, and a bucket of Red Vines your dad occasionally steals from. Maybe you asked for normalcy or maybe to confirm Manda's plan to stay for the rest of the night. What you do know is you don’t want to be alone.

She hums a distracted yes, turning on the TV and upping the volume to listen to Channel 10's news reporter recount the fight between Iron Man and the alien.

Though already burned in your memory, the images douse your body in bone-chilling fear.

You turn your back and dial in the order, not at all surprised that Joe's is still up and running. Once the employee confirms your order and promises a speedy delivery, you grab the drinks and candy and place them on the coffee table, ignoring the TV.

"C-can you turn it to something else?" you quickly pipe up as you sit next to Manda, unsuccessfully hiding the tremor in your words. "I don't think I can stomach the news right now."

"Yeah, sure." Slow and reluctant, Manda switches the input and goes into Netflix. "Anything you wanna watch?"

"Teen Wolf."

Manda groans, "Again? We've seen that a million times."

"Oh, come on," you groan back, playfulness strained in your words. "It's a classic. You can't say no to a classic."

She gives you a dour frown, one that still couldn't land an inch of seriousness on her amber-colored cherub cheeks, until she relents from the weight of your puppy dog eyes.

"Fine, but only because of Michael J. Fox. Next time, I'm picking."

Neither of you really pay attention to the movie or touch the pizza when it arrives. In fact, for most of the night, Manda scrolls through her social media, watching what you can only assume are today’s events. Sometimes she’d put the phone down when you politely asked, but it unfailingly ended up right back in her hands, so after a while, you stop asking. When the movie’s end credits roll around, and you dress into your pajamas, put away the remaining slices of pizza, and call it a night, both of you climb into your bed. She is still scrolling.

You try and force yourself into REM sleep, keeping your eyes shut until you hear Manda’s heavy breathing beside you. The clock on your nightstand reads 9:53 p.m.

Yawning, you curl up into a tight ball on your side of the bed and wish your mom and dad were here to help you get out of your head. Manda can’t do it when she’s so caught up in hers, and you don’t think you’d be able to tell her how scared you are. It’d only scare her more.

Tony Stark is missing. Manda would have screeched her head off by now if anything changed.

I’ve got you.

Yeah, but Tony Stark, the freaking Iron Man, is missing.

I’ve got you.

You can’t possibly understand how bad this is.

I’ve got you.

You audibly huff against the reassuring words, but they eventually do the trick in temporarily pushing the worry away, allowing you to fitfully slip into dreamless oblivion.

Seven hours later, you wake to a text from your mom. The sunlight is so bright in your room you lower your phone’s brightness all the way down, squinting at the small letters.

-Coming home early bbygrl. Dad says hi and he misses you lots hunny bun. xx

A titanic-sized weight lifts off of your shoulders—something you hadn’t even known was there until you re-read your mom’s text and verify the timestamp.

They’re on their way home, where it’s safe and you can all keep an eye on each other. Niagara Falls is just a six and a half-hour drive from here and Mom texted two hours ago, so they’ve got a couple hundred miles left. You don’t care about the distance. As long as they’re coming home, you’re fine. You can wait.

The morning’s activities in your residence pass into a weird déjà vu of last night. Manda is awake before you, sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal in her lap and the TV turned on to Channel 10, the volume slightly lower from last night. A bit peeved, you ask her to switch it to some cartoons while you pour yourself a bowl of Frosted Flakes.

She goes back to scrolling on her phone, sparingly taking bites of her soon-turned soggy cereal. You perch on the arm of the couch, far away from Manda's screen, and munch on your cereal in silence. This whole situation sucks enough without Manda’s constant doom-scrolling, but her utter silence is wearing your nerves thin.

Three full episodes of SpongeBob play on before you heave tempered sigh and set your finished bowl of cereal on the table and face Manda.

“Do you have to do that?”

She doesn’t even spare you a glance. “Do what?”

Unbidden anger flows through you like magma spewing from a freshly erupted volcano, flaming into your veins and flaring your heart rate as you yank her phone away and toss it behind the couch.

Manda stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. She may be partially right.

“Why the hell did you do that?”

You scoff, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I like talking to my friend once in a while. Maybe it’s mentally damaging to watch the same thing over and over and over again, and I was just trying to save you from brain rot.” You stand up and cross your arms over your chest, letting the rage propel your words. “Seriously Manda, give it a damn rest.”

“Why?” Manda crosses her arms too, glowering up at you, close to achieving a convincing frown. “Because you’re ‘positive’ nothing’s going to happen, right? It’s just aliens. No prob.”

You hold your tongue, waiting for her to air out all her frustrations because she’s right. She’s right to throw your words back at you. Yesterday morning you were totally sure of the Avengers, and not much has changed. You still firmly believe they’ll win whatever this fight is with the aliens, but you know scrolling through your phone for updates won’t do anything but boost your anxiety, like it’s doing to Manda.

When you think the coast is clear to speak, you lowly say, “I get it.”

“You get it? You get it? No, mama, you don’t get it. Because, see, if you got it, my phone wouldn’t be collecting dust behind your couch!”

“You needed a break, Amanda!” You shout back at her. “That phone’s never left your hand since you got here.”

She snaps her fingers as if she reached an epiphany. “Attention. That’s what it is. I haven’t given you enough attention today and you’re feeling left out of the spotlight. Newsflash, hon, the world doesn’t revolve around you. Other things are happening besides you hearing your Destined Words.”

“Wh-what?” you balk. “That… no, that’s not what this is about.” You’re not even sure where she even came up with the conclusion that you needed something as stupid as attention right now. Did she think you were that self-centered?

She cocks her eyebrow challengingly, “Alright, then tell me what it is. I’m all ears.”

“Me hearing my freaking soulmate has nothing to do with this! Nothing! And I’m not some attention-starved lunatic. Christ, Manda,” you roll your eyes, letting your hands fall with a slap against your sides. “It’s about you watching the news all day like… like this is the end of the world or something. We’ve gone through this. New York has gone through this. Alien attacks are nothing new, and I’m tired so sick and tired of you…”

You slow down, raising a soft hand to your chest—strange, tugging sensations sprout somewhere deep, deep down within you. So deep you're not sure it's actually there.

“Sick and tired of me what? What?” Manda pressed, the almost-frown lessening as your head tilts. “What’s wrong?”

You gradually shake your head. There’s no conceivable way to articulate what’s happening to you because it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You feel… tingly, like every single hair follicle on your arms and legs rise, standing on high alert.

“Something’s not right.”

The tugging intensifies dully. You gasp against it, desperately clawing at the front of your shirt with the pads of your fingers, seeking to protect something tangibly nonexistent. It’s like someone’s fingers pinch a taut guitar string inside your chest, pulling on it with increasing pressure, pulling it further and further until it can’t move an inch, holding it the apex in a deathly promise that, with one final tug, the string will give.

I’ve got you.

Everything happens within a second.

You whimper out an anguished yelp as the string abruptly snaps.

Manda leaps to her feet and grasps your shoulders, begging to help.

Then, right before your eyes, Manda’s body begins to dissolve.

“M-Manda...? Amanda, wait! NO!”

She falls away into a pile of ash on your floor.

You drop to your knees, screaming.

And so does the rest of the world.

...

Part II