#preferences are great but this is something else entirely

[daeniradraconis]

omg i love your stories so much!!! you're such a great writer. i'm so glad i stumbled onto your fics somehow. can i please request prompt number 10 "i'm pretty low maintenance" with jack hughes?

Thank you so much for your kind words! 💖 I’m so happy you’re enjoying my stories! And thanks for the request! I hope you will love this as well! 😊✨ --- High Maintenance & Low Expectations

“I’m pretty low maintenance.”

Jack leans back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, looking very pleased with himself. He’s wearing a sweater that probably costs more than your rent, and his perfectly styled chestnut waves look like they were arranged by a professional hairstylist rather than just existing naturally. You, on the other hand, are elbow-deep in mashed potatoes, sweating like you’ve just run a marathon. 

The kitchen is a battlefield—flour dusted across the counter, butter slowly melting near the stove, and the unmistakable, sharp scent of something definitely overcooked lingering in the air.

Luke snorts from his spot at the island, where he’s lazily peeling a carrot. He’s managed to peel more of his own skin than the actual vegetable, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. The occasional "aww" and "oops" are the only clues that he’s once again being clumsy with the knife. "That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard," he mutters, barely looking up.

Jack gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “Excuse me? I’m the easiest person to live with.”

You burst out laughing, not even trying to hide it. You jab your wooden spoon in his direction. “Jack, you literally refused to eat a bagel last week because it wasn’t from your ‘preferred’ bakery.”

“Because it wasn’t real cream cheese! It was that weird, low-fat nonsense—”

Luke cuts in, his smirk widening. “Also, you order groceries like you’re a Michelin star chef, but can’t even make toast without setting off the smoke alarm.”

Jack lets out an exaggerated huff, shrugging his shoulders. "I just like quality ingredients," he says, a teasing grin on his face. "Sorry I have taste."

“Ohh, shut up!” you groan, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand as you turn toward the stove. The gravy is on the verge of boiling over. You lower the heat, hoping it’s not too late. The turkey’s still in the oven, but the stuffing smells like it’s burning. The mashed potatoes have lumps, and the cranberry sauce—oh god—is now all over the floor. How the hell did that happen?

Luke looks genuinely concerned. “Do you, uh, want help?”

You whip around so fast Jack actually takes a step back. “No. Absolutely not. I need to impress your mom and dad because it's Christmas, and if you two help, this entire meal will end in a flaming disaster.”

Jack blinks, insulted. “I resent that.”

“You once confused salt with sugar when making cookies,” you say, raising an eyebrow like this is a fact everyone should know by now.

Luke winces, his face going pale at the memory. “Oh yeah, that was bad. I could still taste it for days—even after brushing my teeth.” He shudders, as if the very idea still haunts him.

Jack pouts, arms folded defensively. “That was one time.”

“And,” you continue, pointing at Luke, “you somehow managed to burn a salad. A salad Luke!”

Luke goes bright red, practically sinking into the counter. “It was a pasta salad! And you promised you’d never tell anyone!”

Jack’s jaw drops in disbelief. Then a grin creeps across his face. “Dude, how do you even—?”

“Tough luck, Lukey,” you say with a smirk. “Some secrets just aren’t meant to stay buried.”You wave them off with a flick of your wrist. “Again, no help. I’ve got this. Just—just go be useless somewhere else.”

Jack smirks, leaning in to kiss your forehead, completely undeterred by the fact that you look like you just ran through a hurricane. “You’re so hot when you’re stressed.”

Luke makes an exaggerated gagging noise. “I’m leaving.”

Jack just grins, like he’s having the time of his life. “Love you, babe.”

You groan, shooing them both out of the kitchen with your spoon, praying to every holiday deity that Ellen and Jim will see the effort you put into this meal and not the absolute disaster it’s turning into.

—

Jim and Ellen finally say their goodbyes, wrapping things up with warm hugs and reassurances that everything was great—despite the cranberry sauce never making it to the table and the turkey being a little on the dry side. You exhale, sinking into a chair at the dining table, swirling your glass of wine, feeling relieved that the dinner is finally over.

Jack, however, has made it his personal mission to ensure you don’t lift a finger for cleanup. “You did everything,” he insists, “now it’s our turn.”

Big mistake.

Luke’s at the sink, sluggishly stacking plates, while Jack wipes down the counters like he's trying to scrub away the entire kitchen with one swipe. The clinking of dishes and the lingering smell of burnt stuffing fill the air.

“Luke, if you’re going to load the dishwasher like that, you might as well toss the plates in the garbage,” Jack says, his voice dripping with mock horror.

Luke rolls his eyes. “It’s not a big deal, dude. They’ll get clean. Chill out!”

Jack gasps, as though Luke has committed a cardinal sin. “You can’t put the knife facing up! That’s how people lose fingers.”

You take a sip of your wine, watching the chaos unfold like it's your own personal reality show. You loved Jack—really, you did—but you couldn’t deny that dealing with him required an extra dose of patience. And you knew Luke well enough to sense he was running low on that.

Luke sighs deeply, way too loudly, as he sets the plates down. Uh-oh. Here it comes. “You are so fucking high-maintenance, dude!”

Jack scoffs, his voice full of offense. “I am not! I just like things done right.” He drops the towel he’s been aggressively wiping the counters with.

Luke raises an eyebrow. “Jack, you rearranged the sponge at least three times.”

Jack crosses his arms, baffled by why his brother finds this so problematic. His genuinely confused expression makes it hard for you to keep a straight face. “It has a drying position and a scrubbing position,” he says, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Luke smirks, and you catch that mischievous glint in his eyes. Oh no. You’ve seen that look before. This is the calm before the storm. The smile just before all hell breaks loose.

And then, without warning, Luke flicks a few drops of water at Jack’s face, his grin spreading wider. “Oh, I understand,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I just don’t give a shit about it.”

Jack freezes, staring at him in disbelief. “Did you just—”

Luke, still grinning like a maniac, flicks more water at him. “Oops.”

Jack narrows his eyes, looking way too calm. “Oh, you are so dead, Lukey.”

Before Luke can react, Jack grabs the sprayer from the sink, aiming it at Luke with deadly precision. The stream hits Luke right in the face, and he yelps, ducking behind the island. “HEY! Did you just spray me with the cleaning stuff?!”

Jack laughs, clearly enjoying the chaos, but there's a brief moment where his brow furrows as he watches Luke’s reaction. Luke sticks his tongue out, squinting in disgust at the taste of the rosemary cleaner. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ugh, that’s disgusting!”

Jack quickly checks the bottle in his hand, his smirk flickering for a moment. “Don’t worry, it’s organic!” he says, his grin widening. “You can thank my high-maintenance nature, you little shit."

“You idiot didn’t even check what you sprayed me with! You just grabbed it!” Luke’s voice is rising with each word.

Jack shrugs, still grinning like he’s just won some kind of battle. “Should’ve thought about that before you disrespected the sponge system!” He winks, patting the sprayer like it’s his prized possession. “Now run!”

Luke, now fuming and ready for payback, spots another bottle on the counter. Without missing a beat, he snatches it up and sprays Jack with it. The organic cleaner hits him right in the chest. The two of them laugh maniacally, both dripping with rosemary-scented spray as they tumble around the kitchen, completely lost in the moment, like a couple of kids in a water fight.

You lean back in your chair, wine glass in hand, watching the chaos unfold. They’re so wrapped up in their little spray battle, you can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

“Careful, you’re going to slip on the water or…” you start to warn, but, of course, neither of them listens. No sooner do the words leave your mouth than one of them knocks over a stack of glasses on the counter, the sound of glass shattering echoing through the kitchen.

You roll your eyes, taking another long sip of your wine. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

Jack pauses, wiping water off his face, then turns to you with that mischievous grin. He’s soaked and sweaty, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. Slowly, he makes his way toward you, his eyes gleaming with playful confidence. “You love us,” he teases, pulling you close by the waist, before leaning down to kiss you.

You laugh, trying to pull away from the damp mess of him. “Jack! You’re gross! Let me go!”

But he’s persistent, kissing whatever he can reach—your lips, your cheeks, your forehead—his grin never fading. You giggle and squirm away, attempting to escape. But Jack’s not done yet. He grabs your arm to pull you closer, pushing his body against yours, his hips pressing into you.

“You’re not the girl who runs away from a little sweat, sweetheart,” he says between kisses, his voice teasing but affectionate. “I remember when—after practice—you licked…”

You press your hands against his lips, laughing in disbelief at his idiocy. Your face flushes instantly, the heat creeping up your neck. Of course, he just grins wider, that same stupid, adorable grin.

Jack pulls back slightly, his sparkling blue eyes locking with yours. As his hand gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, he brushes his thumb across your cheek. “I love that you do all the wild things with me in the bedroom without hesitation,” he says, his voice still low and tender. “But just mention the most vanilla thing we’ve done, and you turn into a blushing mess. You’re adorable.” His smile softens, his gaze deepening as he looks into your eyes.

Luke, standing off to the side trying to maintain some distance from the kitchen, turns around with a look of pure disgust. He glares at the two of you, arms crossed tightly across his chest. “Oh, no. Not this again. Can’t you two go five minutes without turning everything into a romance movie set?”

You and Jack just giggle, completely unfazed, while Luke dramatically turns his back to you both. “I swear, if I see one more kiss today, I’m going to lose it.”

Jack doesn’t even acknowledge his little brother’s complaint, leaning in for another kiss. And you don’t protest—not really. You’ve always been a sucker for his sweaty, silly kisses, even if Luke’s gagging in the background.

[leporinelou]

‘billy hargrove wouldn’t bottom’ i know him better than you

[gaysindistress]

Things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with Simon Riley.

Simon Riley masterlist

1. First off he hates the word ‘boyfriend’.

Maybe it’s because he’s in his mid thirties or something but he can’t stand being called your boyfriend. He’s more than that but also not at the same time. You live together, have access to each other’s bank accounts (which is only because he hates it when you try to fight him about him giving you money), and you’re each others emergency contact. He thinks of himself as your husband. The man wears a silicone ring when he’s home and a necklace with the ring that’s totally not a wedding band when he’s working. Price has seen the chain once or twice and smirks, shooting him a knowing look but never says a word.

Simon cannot stand it when people get nosy and want to know what your relationship status is. You’re together and that’s all that matters. No one needs to know that you’re the beneficiary of his will and life insurance policy or that he’s put you on all of his accounts. No one needs to know that he buys you anything you want but has only ever bought you two rings; a thin gold band with a flower engraved on it and its twin a matching emerald ring. No one needs to know that when he gifted them to you, there were tears and promises of safety, love, and happiness whispered against feverish skin. No one needs to know that he has your name woven into his chest tattoo.

No one needs to know any of that because your relationship is between him and you only.

2. You are not some submissive little house wife. You are a strong independent woman and he prefers it that way.

I know this one goes against what most people say but hear me out on this. Simon has been independent since birth practically. He’s only had himself to count on for years. Even in the military, he’s only been able to rely himself. Sure the others watch out for him but if it came down to it, he’s the only one who’s going to get himself out alive.

The thought of someone else relying on him in that way is terrifying. He can’t even fathom what it would be like to look at another person and fully trust them in that way. Half the time he feels like he can’t even be trusted to take care of himself let alone another human. In theory a sweet docile housewife is great with the meals and clean house but not for him. He needs to know that you can hold your own. He needs to know that you can be independent and carry on without him if something happened while he was working. He needs to know that you will be okay if he doesn’t come back.

You have to be okay without him no matter how much it pains him to think about it.

Like I said before, he’s made you the beneficiary of everything so he knows you’ll be set financially but that’s not enough. He’s made Price promise to keep an eye out for you. He’s made you promise to let Price do that and you agreed because it’s Simon who’s asking but you’d tell anyone else to fuck off.

In addition to all of that, he’s installed the best security system the government has to offer in your house. You have a very expensive and large safe in your shared closet that he’s instructed you to only open if you feel unsafe. While you might not like it, you agree to go shooting with him so he can sleep at night knowing that you could protect yourself if he’s not home. He’s gone as far as to make sure you have all of the licenses and certificates that are needed to legally own firearms in the UK.

He’s not leaving any opportunity for you to be vulnerable or have your ‘safety checks’, as he calls them, taken away.

3. Simon Riley is a godless man…until he meets you.

Now this is entirely my own headcannon with no evidence to support it so bear with me.

Simon had a shitty childhood where his mom would pray to a god who never listened and his dad would shout verses at him when he was drunk. God was a mythical figure that he was told stories off with nothing to show for it. He did believe at one point but then his dad never got better, his mom wore bruises of every shade, and his brother found comfort in drugs.

He found himself praying when he was being tortured by the Mexican cartel. Between the flashbacks of his abusive past, he prayed to a god who had failed him so many times before to help him. He prayed again as he dug himself out of that Texas grave with the major’s jaw bone. He wailed his prayers when he found his family executed after Sparks tried to kill him.

After that he deemed himself a Godless man. Years of praying had passed with nothing. This god had decided that Simon was not worthy of a miracle so why would he continue to worship him?

That was until he met you. He finds himself praying before every mission, every time he has to leave you, every time he’s on his way home, and just about any other time he thinks of you. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s praying for other than for you to be there when he gets back.

He whispers his prayers to an absent god against your skin as he worships your body, soul, and heart. He promises to be devoted to you until his last breath and vows to find you again in whatever afterlife awaits you. He pledges to find solace in you and only you when his haunting nightmares return. He makes an oath to your heart that it will never weather another storm alone again for his will take whatever beating that comes your way. He shows you that he will love you in the same manner as a Hozier song; putting you above all else because you have become his religion, his faith, his beliefs, his life.

You have become all that he is and he thanks the god he once believed in for you. He prays again but to you, his heart, his love, and his beacon through the enteral storm of life.

[kurokawaia]

❛ THEY ARE WHAT ?! ❜

Husband! Tomioka Giyuu X Fem!Wife!Reader

WC;1.4 k+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW; x fem reader, you and giyuu are married, fluff, slight crack warning + more?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 :: (filled request) Giyuu and the reader have been married for three years, but their marriage isn’t widely known. The reader, a bubbly and outgoing Hashira, is often seen around Giyuu, leading others to assume she pities him, unaware of their relationship. During a Hashira meeting, she casually asks for leave to celebrate her anniversary, surprising everyone. Ubuyashiki then reveals the truth by wishing the couple a happy anniversary, leaving the rest of the Hashira in shock - ANON

m.list | demon slayer m.list

You and Giyuu had always kept things... quiet. Not out of necessity, but because that's how Giyuu preferred it. He wasn't the type to flaunt his feelings or make a show of your relationship, and you didn't mind...most of the time. Sure, you'd tease him now and then, but your marriage wasn't something you shouted from the rooftops. You didn't hide it either, though.

People just never asked.

You were nothing like Giyuu in any aspect. Where he was brooding and silent, you were bubbly, always smiling, always drawing attention with your lively personality. Once you came into Hashira position, you'd gain the reputation of one of the friendliest and most outgoing but also one of the strongest.

People admired your skill, but they couldn't help but not ignore how you looked. You had that beauty to draw eyes, combined with your personality, it wasn't rare to hear other people say how you were one of the prettiest demon slayers.

No one knew your last name, though.

That might've been a clue-if any of them had stopped to think about it.

It was no secret that you spent a great deal of time around Giyuu, but most of the Hashira had come to the conclusion that you must pity him-some sort of friendly charity case. And Giyuu, in his usual way, didn't correct them. He never explained why you two were always together.

He let them assume and you let him.

But it was about to come out—whether you planned it or not.

The meeting started off like any other. You sat near Giyuu as per usual, not that anyone paid much attention to seating arrangements anymore. It had become routine. Sanemi barely spared a glance in your direction, too busy looking irritated by something else entirely, while Mitsuri flashed you her usual bright smile.

Rengoku was already there, greeting you with his boisterous energy. "Ah, good morning! You are looking radiant today as always!"

You smiled back at him. "Thanks, Rengoku."

Giyuu nodded in greeting but didn't say a word, silent as always and as still as air. You were used to it, though. His silence didn't faze you. Giyuu loved being near you in private, he was like a cat that didn't want to leave. But today, you did have something to ask, something that was going to definitely stir the pot.

When Ubuyashiki asked if anyone had announcements, you took a deep breath, preparing for the storm that would most definitely arise.

"Master Ubuyashiki, Giyuu and I would like to request a leave of absence for a week."

The other Hashira's eyes fell instantly upon you, curiosity written on their faces. Ubuyashiki smiled. "Of course. And for what reason?"

You grinned, your eyes flicking to Giyuu, who looked faintly concerned-he hadn't expected you to announce it, but you couldn't help yourself. "It's our anniversary."

There was a wave of shock around the room, though nobody said a word in that instant. Mitsuri gasped, eyes wide with wonder, while Sanemi shot you a look of utter incredulity. Rengoku's eyebrows shot up, for once, his grin faltered while he processed what you had said.

But Ubuyashiki didn't seem remotely surprised. As serenely as he always spoke, he merely inclined his head and said, "Ah, of course. Happy anniversary, Mr. and Mrs. Tomioka

Mitsuri's face had sagged. "W-what...?! Mrs. Tomioka?!"

Rengoku's eyes blinked, his confusion curled into laughter. "Wait—Giyuu's wife?! And all this time we thought you were just keeping him company out of pity!"

Giyuu's eyebrow twitched at the comment.

Sanemi huffed loudly, wrapping his arms around himself as if to shield the bruised ego within. "You've got to be kidding me. You're married? To him?"

Uzui leaned back as if he finally found the most amusing part of his day. "Tomioka's been keeping a pretty little secret from us this whole time, huh?" he said, raising an eyebrow in a smirk. "I gotta say, you are full of surprises. Bet you ain't as dull as we thought, Giyuu.

You tried to keep the laughter welling up inside of you contained, but Giyuu's expression was making you not to do so, he was getting embarrassed from the teasing. His face was stoic as ever, but you could sense him tense up. A hand laid stiff upon his lap gave a small jerk-a faint sign that all this attention set him ill at ease. You leaned forward and casually laid your hand over his, giving it a slight squeeze.

"Well, we didn't exactly hide it," you teased with a smile. "We just didn't tell anyone."

Sanemi grunted low. "You mean he didn't say anything."

Giyuu had nothing to say, his eyes on the floor. Moments like this, you knew he wanted to disappear. But instead of letting the others keep their teasing going, you turned the tables.

"Oh, don't look so surprised," you teased, moving in a little closer to Giyuu with a sparkle in your eye. "It's been years now. Giyuu's always been such a romantic."

Sanemi snorted, and Tengen let out a loud laugh. "Yeah, right. I really can't picture Tomioka being romantic."

You smiled, leaning your head against Giyuu's shoulder in exaggerated love. "He planned a whole week off for our anniversary. Isn't that sweet?

Mitsuri, the eternal romantic, squealed in delight. "Oh, my goodness! That's so adorable! How long have you two been together? Why didn't we know this all this time?!"

"Well," you said, "Giyuu's good at keeping secrets."

By this time Giyuu's face was a deep crimson color. his ears almost burned with embarrassment. You knew he'd most likely scold you later for being so casual about letting it all spill out, but for the time being you enjoyed your fellow Hashira's reactions.

Rengoku, still smirking, crossed his arms. "Three years of marriage, eh? That's awesome! I'm shocked we never put two and two together. How long have you two been a couple?

"Since we were in our teens," you said matter-of-factly. "We went through quite a bit together. He was always there to support me, even when I wasn't yet a Hashira."

The smirk on Tengen's face spread further. "So, how does it feel being Mrs. Tomioka? Got to say, I'm kind of curious. He's got that stoic brooding vibe going on, but I'll bet he's different when it's just the two of you, huh?"

Your beamed, and you shot Giyuu a sly look. "I don't kiss and tell."

That made the rest burst into a fit of laughter, though Mitsuri turned to you dreamily. "That's so romantic. I just can't believe that you were married all along..."

Sanemi rolled his eyes. "Romantic? It's impossible."

You laughed, leaning into Giyuu just a bit more, earning a barely audible sigh from him. You could tell he was trying to hold it together despite the attention, and you knew he'd probably scold you later for making such a big deal out of it. But for now, you were having too much fun with the moment.

Ubuyashiki merely smiled at the both of you, his calm and collected demeanor accompanied by an understanding sheen in his eyes. "I hope the two of you enjoy your week off together. It's well deserved."

You nodded gratefully to him. "Thank you, Master Ubuyashiki.

The other Hashira were still talking when the meeting wrapped up, still apparently in a daze from your marriage bombshell. Mitsuri darted over to you the instant the meeting was finished, her face shining with excitement.

"I have so many questions! How did you two meet? Who confessed first? Oh, I bet Giyuu's so sweet when no one's looking, isn't he?"

You laughed, dodging her interrogative attack. "It's a long story, Mitsuri. Some other time, I'll tell you."

With that said, before you could utter another word, Giyuu silently got up, tugging lightly on your sleeve. "Let's go."

You followed him out of the meeting room, the eyes of the other Hashira seemingly still on you well after you left. When they were outside and far enough away from their prying gazes, Giyuu let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"You liked that, didn't you?" he asked, his voice low but his tone gentle instead of angry.

You smiled up at him, slipping your hand into his. "Maybe just a little. But come on, they were bound to find out eventually. It was kind of fun seeing their reactions."

Giyuu sighed again but didn't argue. Instead, he squeezed your hand gently, and his expression softened just a little. "I suppose it wasn't unbearable."

You laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "See? I told you it'd be fine."

Giyuu said nothing, but the slight flush of his cheeks did the talking.

Do not copy, steal, modify use for AI, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | demon slayer m.list

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 10 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: A fight turns into something beautiful. Turns into what could be your last day on earth.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/rape/death, hinting at suicidal thoughts (only briefly and not really serious, but I'll put it here nonetheless), body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities and desires, smut, (rough) sex, oral sex, switch, degradation kink, dom/sub dynamics, daddy, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

The tight smile.

It was all you needed to see to know you were in great, big trouble. It was really disappointing though, considering how good the day had started.

When you woke up, right after having a short, restless sleep, you saw him lying beside you. And for once, ever since you had gotten here, he wasn’t awake. No, he was deep asleep. His beautiful  eyes shut tightly and his expression one of peaceful relaxation. You hadn’t ever seen him this perfect before.

It was nearly ridiculous. Just a few hours earlier, he had ravaged you in a way that left you feeling sore and used, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but somehow you had a feeling last night was different. It wasn’t the sex per say. It was the way he got angry and you felt you couldn’t get through to him, even if you truly wanted to. And what was far worse than all of it, was the threat.

The threat.

What did it even mean?

I would never kill you. At least not unless you gave me a reason to.

It wasn’t even a subtle threat. He didn’t try to hide that he was twisted and dangerous. Dangerous for you, if you pushed the right buttons. You had done so quite some times by now, but luckily you were still around. But how much was too much?

What would make his mind go blank and cause him to swing an axe at you?

Shoot you right in the face?

Gut you in the middle of the-

You shuddered and took a long, deep breath to calm yourself. This wasn’t going to happen. You wouldn’t anger him to that degree. And yet, you couldn’t keep yourself from thinking about it.

What could possibly piss him off enough, to trigger such an extreme reaction?

If you went out and fucked someone else?

Or if you spilled milk on the coffee table?

You took another slow breath and looked back at his peaceful, sleeping form. It was hard not to love him, when he was like this. Sweet. Peaceful.

Vulnerable.

You hadn’t even seen vulnerable, regarding him. Not really. You didn’t know his name, his family, his backstory or anything else that truly mattered. All you knew was which buttons to push and it would make him slap you. You had his age. And his sexual preferences. You knew he had some kind of dangerous job, but you had no idea what it was about. And you knew he was twisted.

Utterly and entirely twisted.

But you saw none of that as you watched him sleep. All you saw was a handsome man, the most handsome man you had ever seen, even with the faint trace of a scar on his cheek. You still hated the sight of it. Not because it would have done anything to his attractiveness. No, he was very obviously still perfect. It was the fact that he got hurt.

Someone hurt him.

You were surprised just by how angry the thought made you. He was always so confident. It was his choice to either be angry and take it out on you or to be gentle and spoil you with affection and gifts. But it was his choice. He was the man. He was in charge. He was the epitome of strength.

And someone hurt him.

Him.

A part of you was almost tempted to think yours.

Someone hurt your man.

But you pushed the thought away just as quick as it came. He was hardly your man.

Your bane, your curse, your horror. Yes.

But not your man.

When he stirred slightly, you were pulled out of your thoughts. It didn’t take longer than a few seconds for him to blink his eyes open. When he finally looked up at you and met your gaze, a hint of surprise flashed over his features. But he schooled his expression into a soft smile effortlessly.

“Good morning, my little owl.” He purred. “You’re up early.” He raised a brow and smirked slowly. “Were you watching me sleep?”

Your face flushed, but you didn’t feel the need to deny it. It was pretty obvious anyway.

“I did.” You said quietly. “I couldn’t help it. You looked so…peaceful.”

He hummed softly and propped himself up on his elbows, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear with two fingers. “Peaceful? Doesn’t sound like me at all.”

He didn’t seem angry or even irritated that you watched him. If anything, he seemed amused or maybe even strangely flattered.

You shrugged.

“Have you been up for long?”

You shook your head.

He frowned slightly and held your chin in his hand, brushing his thumb over your skin in a gentle way. “You didn’t sleep well. You look like you didn’t sleep at all.”

You averted your gaze. What could you possibly tell him? That you spent all night, asking yourself not if, but when he would finally snap and snap your neck the same?

“Look at me.”

You hesitated, but eventually you met his gaze again. His expression was one of thoughtfulness and curiosity and you knew you had to give him something. He wouldn’t stop pestering you otherwise. You thought for a moment, before you finally gave up. You didn’t trust your ability to lie to him. He would see right through it and punish you for trying to deceive him.

“It’s about last night.” You murmured quietly.

His eyes narrowed slightly, but eventually he relaxed his expression and let go of your chin. With a soft sigh, he murmured back: “Was it too much for you? Too rough?”

You thought about the best possible way to answer this. Eventually you came up with something you would have hoped would be the perfect solution. “I’m still ashamed.”

“Ashamed?” He frowned.

“Because a part of me enjoys it.”

He hummed softly. “We talked about this, sweet girl, but I’ll say it again and again. You have nothing to be ashamed about. First of all, it’s not your fault you turned out like this.”

“That’s kind of the problem.” It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. It did bother you. Just that the life threatening thing was worse. “I feel like you enjoy what we do, because you simply enjoy it. And I think I enjoy it, because I feel the constant need to get hurt and degraded, because of…because of what happened to me.”

He regarded you with a long, thoughtful look. His eyes softened somewhat and he was back. The man who supposedly cared about you came back, after a long, rough night. He sighed and rolled over so that he was on his back and staring at the ceiling. All the while he stretched out his arm and pulled you along, curling you into his side. He didn’t look at you as he spoke and his tone of voice was almost emotionless.

You couldn’t tell if you preferred this over the anger. Probably not.

“Did I ever tell you about my father?”

You froze. What? No. He hadn’t ever told you anything about himself that mattered. Let alone his family. As far as you were concerned, he didn’t even have a father.

But all you managed was a small, breathless shake of your head.

He hummed softly and played with your hair as he spoke, still keeping his voice cool and measured. He never met your gaze. Almost like he couldn’t. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to appear nonchalant or if he truly didn’t care. You hoped for the first one.

“My father had some creative ways of punishment.” He hummed. Oh, God. “Similar to your mother, I might think. Just more blood. And a few…other things.”

You held your breath as he spoke, feeling utterly sick. The fact that he had so subtly and smoothly threatened your life last night was suddenly the last thing on your mind.

“Don’t get me wrong, sweetness. I was always a little different from other boys my age. I wasn’t interested in the things the others were. I liked different things. Darker things. But I’m pretty sure, had it not been for my father…” He hummed. “He did some nasty things. Really nasty. And not only to me. To my mother as well.” He turned to face you fully, while you still lay frozen and staring at him with bated breath. All the while he caressed your face and spoke in this soft voice, like he was reading from a children’s book. It was eerie. “That might be one of the reasons why I am always in control.” He smiled briefly. “Especially sexually.”

You just kept staring at him. He hadn’t said it outright and he probably never would, but you could tell there was something. Something dark and terrible, something that still haunted him, even after all these years. And it made you sick to the core. The fact that his father, his own father, had hurt him, it made you feel nauseous. And especially, angry.

“So, I should probably be grateful to him, don’t you think?”

You knew you weren’t supposed to say anything to that, anything about that at all. No matter how terrible you felt, no matter how badly you wished to comfort him. He would get angry, because he would think of it as pity. You were sure. But you still had to say it.

“Your father is a sick man.” You said quietly. “And you didn’t deserve whatever he did to you.”

“Oh, I’m aware, my sweet, darling girl.” His face lit up in a soft smile. “I was just a boy. A twisted one, maybe. But still a boy.”

It made you feel as uneasy, as you felt relieved about it. At least he acknowledged it. He had no fault in his father’s cruelty. At least not back then.

And at least there was something. A tiny reminder that he was human, that he was real, that there was something akin to flesh and blood that made him similar to you. Not the fact that it had happened. Oh no, you would have changed it, were you in the power to. You would have bled and suffered, if only it meant to free him from the burden of his past.

No, but the thought that he told you about it. He had a father. A mother. A family. He had a childhood. A life. He was real.

You lay in silence for a long while. Of course you wanted to say more, to comfort him and hug him. To kiss away the fear he had probably felt as a little boy. You wanted to take him in your arms and make him whole again, puzzle him together until he got reunited with the love he was so desperately missing all his life. What about his mother? You asked yourself. But you thought now wasn’t the best time to ask. You didn’t want to risk making him angry, when he wasn’t so far. He hadn’t ever shared as much of himself. You didn’t want to say anything. And, you suddenly realized, you were afraid to pressure him.

So you said the next best thing. In the silent hope, that one day he’d trust you enough to let you in.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” You said very softly. His head perked up and his expression softened. No anger in sight.

“My sweet, caring girl. The ghosts of my past are no more than that. And don’t you worry. I got my revenge.”

You bit your lip and rolled onto your side, facing him properly. The thoughtfulness in your eyes turned into something else the longer you looked at him, a mixture of concern and gentleness. He didn’t seem to mind. He let you stare without interrupting your thoughts. It was a peaceful, comfortable silence.

“How did you get your revenge?” You asked quietly, before you could stop yourself.

He smirked and stretched out his arms behind his head.

“I killed him.”

A part of you had suspected as much. But another part of you, the naïve little girl that you somehow still were, felt horrified. He killed his own father. And yet, that other part of you whispered softly in the back of your mind.

Did you expect anything else?

You thought back to your mother. Had you ever had a gun in the wrong moment-

No. Never. You couldn’t kill anyone. Not even a fucking fly. You were the type of person to chase them out of the window, instead of crushing them.

It wasn’t enough to calm you down and he seemed to notice.

“Are you alright, sweet girl?”

You were going to die anyway. Why not speak freely at least?

Forget his father. He’s dead. But you’re not. Not yet at least.

“You scared me last night.”

His brows furrowed. “When we-“

“No.” You said in a soft tone and slowly sat up, wrapping the sheets around your body. “I mean, yes. Kind of. But that’s not the problem. You scared me when you said…when you said you would kill me if I gave you a reason to.” Your expression and your tone of voice were almost child-like. Innocent and curious, not at all trying to guilt-trip him. Just a girl, scared for her life. Her sanity.

Herself.

“Oh, sweet girl.” He said softly as he sat up as well. He reached out to pull you on his lap, but you pulled back. He frowned, but he didn’t protest.

“I was simply-“

“What could get me killed?”

It was so sharp, so matter-of-fact, that it made him pause for a moment. He looked genuinely caught off-guard, like he never expected him to ask him such a question. And like he wasn’t sure how to answer it.

“What?”

“What could I say or do that would make you kill me?” You asked in a soft voice. Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, but you tried to stay strong. You needed to get a point across. You needed to know.

He thought for a moment, before he leaned back and narrowed his eyes in a thoughtful frown.

“Another man.”

Cheating. As if you really were anything to each other, right?

Such a normal thing. People got killed over cheating all the time, didn’t they?

Or did they really?

“Another man.” You whispered. “Okay. What else?”

He hummed softly. “If you left me.”

“If I left you?” You meant it in a way as if saying; how would I be supposed to leave you? There aren’t even fucking windows here.

He nodded. “When you leave me, you’re no longer my girl. And I don’t have a reason to keep you alive, if you’re not.”

You swallowed thickly. How very refreshing. He was being honest at least. Wasn’t that what you wanted? And you didn’t know if this was better or worse. You had expected as much.

“Anything else?” You whispered hoarsely.

“No.”

Your brows shot up in surprise. “No? If I don’t cheat on you or leave you, you won’t-“

“No.” He said again, in that infuriating, calm tone.

“And if I insulted you?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking. “If I hurt you? If I-“

“Don’t get me wrong.” The menacing bastard was back. “You don’t get to trample on me, sweet girl. In fact, you know what happens, if you do all that. You’ll get punished. And that didn’t change.” He narrowed his eyes further.

He took a long breath to calm himself and finally said: “I just didn’t want you to be terrified for no reason. I’m sure there are a few more things you can do that will definitely get you killed. So, try not to push my buttons too much. Don’t experiment. Don’t think you get any kind of power. All you are is my girl. Mine. Mine to use. Mine to torment as I please. You’re my plaything. My toy.” He got angrier with every word and you were sure, more than sure, you had done something terribly wrong.

“Mine to use however I see fit.” He gritted out. “Because that’s all you are to me.”

Every word stabbed a wound deeper and deeper into your soul. He didn’t love you. You weren’t an idiot. But a part of you had hoped, hoped so desperately, that you were anything more to him. Anything of meaning. Anything he cared about. Anything he thought about and smiled, when he went off to his mysterious workplace. Anything at all.

But you weren’t. You were his plaything. His fucktoy. His doll.

His girl.

Your face burned in shame and your guts churned painfully. You slowly looked down at your hands and folded them in your lap, while you kept the blanket pulled up to your chin.

“I wasn’t-“

“Yes, you were.” He hissed and roughly pulled your chin up, to make you look at him. “Did you hear me? You’re nothing more than a thing for me to use, a doll, something to dress up in a pretty dress and take my anger out on. Did you get that through your goddamn, thick skull? You’re nothing. Nothing at all.” He spat out.

At this point, you felt indeed like he had stabbed you. The knife was still there on the carpet by the bed. How very reckless. You could have stabbed him last night, didn’t he think about that? No, he was tired or maybe he just trusted himself to have broken you enough not to ever hurt him.

It was true. You wouldn’t ever hurt him. Not like that. That one punch was as far as it could go.

And now, as you sat there and listened to his cruel words, a small part of you suddenly wished he hadn’t bluffed, hadn’t used the knife as a way to find relief in his twisted mind. A part of you wished you weren’t there, to listen to his cruel reminders. The reminder that you were nothing.

Nothing at all.

You felt your hands shake, just the same second your lip quivered.

He was so angry, so furious, he hardly even recognized your presence. He wanted to make some point known.

You understood it now.

He would never love you.

But you? It was too late for you. You already loved him. And he was breaking your heart.

All your life you thought that couldn’t happen to you. You always assumed you were far too numb for these things.

A tear rolled down your cheek and you stared firmly down at your lap. Your hands were shaking furiously and your body shook with the sobs you choked back.

By the time he looked up again and saw the state you were in, his anger immediately disappeared. Something akin to horror took its place instead. He rushed forward without even thinking about it and held your arms tightly, tilting his head down below and staring up at you, to make you look at him.

“Wait.” He said quickly. “Wait. I didn’t mean it.”

You were stuck between pushing him away and letting him console you. But you knew there was probably nothing that could ever bring you back. Your heart, already broken and bruised, had just somehow been pieced back together by him, only for him to crush it again under the palm of his hand, under the cruelty of his words, under the weight of his actions.

You decided to push him back instead. At least for once, you tried to keep a semblance of dignity. It was a lost cause, but it meant something to you.

He let out a surprised exhale, but quickly rushed forward again, trying to get ahold of you, but this time, you struggled.

“Get off of me!”

“No, you need to listen to me!”

“No! No, get the hell off!”

“You need to listen!”

You struggled even harder and pushed him back, clawed at his skin and within seconds you found yourself in the middle of a physical fight. So far, he hadn’t tried to slap you or bring you to your senses anyhow, he just tried to make you focus. And when you hit against his chest or pushed him back by his shoulders, when you scratched his arms and pulled on his hair, he let you. Without retaliating. He let you.

You were just waiting for him to snap. A part of you might even have been hoping to get some kind of reaction out of him, because he had just hurt you so terribly. But he didn’t.

And when you pushed him back against the mattress, he let you.

And when you straddled his lap, he let you.

He even let you intertwine your fingers and press his hands against the bed.

He just let you.

You stopped struggling. Stopped fighting him and stopped trying to provoke anything.

You were on top him, your hair falling over your shoulders and framing your face like a waterfall. Everything else was suddenly gone. All that there was left were him and you. He stared up at you, his eyes wide and his expression one of quiet fascination. Of course he allowed you to take control. After all, all it needed was a tiny bit of strength from him and he’d have you pinned to the floor. But this time, he didn’t. He didn’t protest, didn’t fight back, didn’t even flinch. He allowed you to take the lead. He allowed you to take control of him.

When the thought hit you, you nearly choked on the air you breathed. And you breathed, heavily and quickly, until your breaths mingled into one. You leaned further down, so close that the tip of your nose almost touched his. His chest rose and fell quickly. You could tell, even though you kept your focus on his face.

“You meant it.” You whispered breathlessly.

He stared at you with his mouth slightly agape and then he slowly shook his head. “You’re more.” He whispered back.

More than a toy?

More than a doll?

More than just his girl?

You didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t allow yourself to hope, because if you did, the next time he crushed it, it would be ever harder for you to find back to yourself. And did you really want to risk that?

You shook your head, ready to come up with the next bitter, biting response, when his words caught you off-guard.

“You’re not only mine”, he said quietly. “I’m also yours.”

God, this was confusing. And slowly you felt yourself get as dizzy and nauseous as you would have on a rollercoaster. You hated rollercoasters, because you were afraid of them. You hated them, because you never went on one.

“You’re two people at once.” You whispered breathlessly. “How do I know, when your evil twin will be back?”

He smiled slowly. Even now, even when you felt heartbroken and furious, his smile meant so much to you. It made everything seem beautiful. Everything was easier. Nothing hurt.

Until it did.

“I know.” He whispered. “Maybe you could try and put him in his place, every once in a while.”

You stared at him with wide eyes. Did he really allow you to take control? Just like that? Was it a trick? Was it a game? A joke? Something even more evil he’d come up with?

Whatever it was, you were dying to find out. Because you were sure, you’d get punished anyway. So, why not make use of it?

You took a shaky breath and leaned further down, so close, until your lips almost touched.

“You really didn’t mean it?” You asked in the ghost of a whisper.

His gaze briefly wandered down to your lips, before he looked into your eyes again.

“No.” He whispered back. “Not even I am that dense.”

That nearly made you smile.

But just nearly.

Instead you did something else. You leaned further down, until your lips finally touched his. The kiss was feather-light and hesitant. The touch was so gentle, that you caught yourself asking yourself in your head, if it really was the same man.

He was letting you kiss him. He didn’t try anything. Didn’t try to part your lips or pull you closer. Didn’t try to push your legs apart. His hands were still motionless under yours, all that he did was slowly caress the back of your hands with his fingers.

He participated in the kiss. He kissed you back, obviously. But all he did was mirror your touch.

You were in control.

You gasped against his lips. You had no idea what to do. It felt odd. Maybe even wrong. The only things you had ever fantasized about were to get controlled by someone else.

Controlled by him.

And for you to control him, it sounded like an impossible endeavor. It felt like one, even more. But there you were. On his lap. Slowly guiding the pace.

You swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know what to do.” You whispered into the kiss.

He hummed very quietly. “Imagine I’m the good twin.” He whispered back and pulled back just enough to look at your face. “There is no right or wrong. Just do whatever feels good.”

You bit your lip as you watched him closely. It could still be a trick. But in the back of your mind, you knew it wasn’t. It was an attempt to heal you. Heal him as well, maybe. You were both damaged. Both two fragments, incomplete and alone. Was it possible that you could heal each other?

It sounded strange in your head. You wanted to be controlled. And he survived off the feeling of being in control. But maybe, just maybe, this was what you both needed. A role reverse. A chance to grow. A chance to connote. Just this once.

To become one, whole thing.

You took a deep, shaky breath and brushed your lips over his. You were still nervous. But you tried to do what he said. Just do whatever feels good.

And maybe it would.

You hesitantly, almost shyly, ran the tip of your tongue along his lower lip. His reaction surprised you. He moaned. You really expected him to get off on nothing but cruelty and violence. But somehow the feeling of you, of being with you, in any way, seemed to be enough.

You needed to try it. The shift. The control. Even just this once.

You slowly parted his lips with your tongue and yours met his in a timid, careful movement. He was still the one guiding you. But the biggest reason was, that you had no idea what you were doing. But he was holding himself back. You were on top, pressed against him.

He was yours.

Your man. Your psychopath. Maybe even your lover.

The kiss went on and your movements became more and more confident. You didn’t actually care what you were doing, as long as you heard the soft moans he tried to suppress. And every time he did, you couldn’t help but moan, too. Your tongues tangled in a sinful dance and you slowly slid your fingertips over his wrists and up his arms. Until you eventually reached his shoulders. His neck. His hair. His cheek. His chin.

You hadn’t realized how quickly you were breathing. All the time you expected him to push you away, to reject you, to stop you. But he never did.

Your hand stilled against his face and you pulled your head back to look at him. To see if he was going to stop you. Mock you. Hurt you some more.

But his expression was more earnest than you had ever seen before. You could see the way his throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed and the small, tiny frown of focus on his face. He looked much more mature in that moment than he usually did. When he wore that twisted smile, he looked younger. Carefree. But in that moment, he looked like a man who had seen life.

And death.

And taken a part in it.

He slowly parted his lips, when your fingers stilled against them, inviting you. Your mouth fell open and you inhaled sharply as you felt his tongue dart out.

“God, what are you-“ You stopped yourself and instead released the softest moan, when he ran his tongue along your index finger. His hand gently circled your wrist and he pressed his lips against the back of your hand. Your knuckles. And eventually each finger.

You watched him in awe, realizing you were only ever falling deeper for him.

What was it with that man that you loved him so much, despite all the pain he put you through?

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. The watching, the silence. You squeezed his hand and your head dipped forward. Your lips found his neck and you made a point of kissing each and every spot of skin you found on the way. His eyes fell shut and he took a shaky breath.

“No.” He whispered. “Wait.”

You immediately froze, expecting the inevitable rejection. But instead, he bit his lip and slowly slid his hands under your nightdress. The calloused skin of his palms ran up your back and he gently slid the material up, until he finally managed to pull it over your head and onto the ground. His gaze wandered from your face, down to your neck, where it lingered and eventually further down to your breasts and your stomach.

“God.” He whispered breathlessly. “God, you’re perfect.” He bit his lip again and met your gaze. “Let me worship you.”

A shiver ran down your spine and you tilted your head to the side, only to feel his lips brush along your earlobe and eventually over your neck. You closed your eyes and sighed softly. It was the best feeling in the world.

His lips caressed your neck and his tongue occasionally darted out, drawing a moan from your lips. He moved with devilish slowness, a torturous pace, slow enough to make you melt into a puddle of desire on top of him. A part of you almost wanted to beg him. Beg him to go faster, to touch you harder, to take you. But you didn’t. Because another part of you wanted to savor every second of this.

When you felt the wet heat of his mouth move lower and embrace the sensitive skin of your breast, you felt your eyes roll back in your head. The sigh that came over your lips was more of a moan. You gently buried your fingers in his hair and played with it. Every time his tongue slipped out to run over the curve of your breast, you felt your hips press down against his own on pure instinct. You felt how hard he was, painfully so. But he didn’t press his hips up against you, he didn’t even try once. He was skilled at ignoring his own need, when he wanted to. He made you feel like a princess. Like all that mattered in the world were you.

You squirmed and shuddered when he moved underneath you, brushing his tongue down a wet path on your stomach.

His hands encircled the back of your thighs and he held you firmly, his fingers gently digging into your skin. And he moved. Lower and lower. Until you felt his hot breath kiss the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. A soft whimper left you and you bit your lip to keep yourself from begging. He was going to give you whatever you wanted. Today, there was no need to beg.

He slowly but firmly pushed your legs apart, and settled in-between them, still lying on his back and ignoring his own ache. He shot you a pointed look, before he finally stuck out his tongue and rolled it over the warm wetness of your need.

“Oh, God.”

He hit every right spot at the first try and you could no longer stay silent. His grip on your thighs tightened and he silently encouraged you to move. Move. Take what you want.

You swallowed a shaky moan and began to tentatively move your hips. It didn’t take long for you to figure out how it worked, how you had to move. It was so easy and the pleasure rolled over you like a warm bath.

“Oh, God.” You whispered again, tightening your hand in his hair.

He did the most sinful things, sliding his tongue inside you and pulling it back out, running it along every spot, embracing your center of pleasure with his warm lips and it felt like Heaven. He knew where to kiss, where to lick, where to suck and where to flick his tongue. He knew everything. And in that moment, you didn’t care one bit about where he gained that knowledge.

Because he used it on you.

And he’d be using it on your for as long as you were his girl.

And you wanted to be his girl for the rest of your life.

“Yes. There. Right there.” You gasped out, moving your hips again and silently begging him to continue, to give you what you wanted, to give you him.

And he did nothing less than that. He kissed you like he’d kiss your lips, he tightened his grip, he didn’t let you back away. His mouth was firmly attached to your body, eager to give you everything you wanted. Letting you ride yourself to bliss.

Which was exactly what you did. You didn’t even realize it, by how suddenly it happened, but your release rolled over you like a flash of lightning. It felt more intense than ever. You felt everything deeply and he didn’t stop, until he was sure, you were entirely spent and satisfied.

You were still gasping for air, when he finally released his grip on you and looked up at you with a soft expression.

You stared at him, trying to catch your breath. All you wanted was to say something, anything, but no words came over your lips. All you managed was the gentle touch of your palm against his cheek. He smiled slowly and covered your hand with his own. Then he slowly moved back up, so that you’d straddle his lap again.

“How was that?” He whispered.

“Fuck.” Was all that you managed.

A low laugh rumbled in his chest, but no trace of mockery. Just satisfaction and a tad bit of pride. You forgave him. You would have forgiven him anything.

“Can I?” You finally whispered. You needed to know, if you were still in control.

He smirked. He looked so confident. Just like you always knew him. Confident and strong. In control. And yet…

“I’m all yours, baby. Ride me.”

You bit your lip. Your face flushed the tiniest bit, but you nodded. Now, this was making you really nervous. You had seen videos, but were you able to do it yourself?

Why not? You thought. Why not?

You leaned down and captured his lips in a kiss. Still slow and sensual, but you poured all the passion you felt for him in that kiss. And he responded in kind. He didn’t try to take control of your mouth. Instead he moaned against your lips, every time your tongue brushed against his. He ran a hand down your back and squeezed your behind firmly in his hand.

“Fuck, I need you to ride me or I’m going to die.” He groaned as he bit your lip. You responded with another moan. You still felt his hardness press against you, hard and ready and needy.

God, the thought alone. The thought that he wanted you that much. It drove you insane.

You swallowed thickly and carefully ran a hand down his chest, down his stomach, down his waist, until-

You smiled. You missed his throbbing, aching need and brushed your fingers gently along his thigh instead.

He glared up at you, a hint of desperation behind the repressed anger.

“I should have known this would come.” He hissed.

Your smile widened into a grin, as you teasingly caressed his side instead.

“What? I’m just doing what you do.”

He released a frustrated growl.

“You-“

“Come on.” You whispered. “Let me have this. Just this once.”

He was still frustrated, but the look in his eyes softened the tiniest bit.

“But I want you.” He murmured and you swallowed.

“How much?” You whispered. God, this was fun.

“How much?” He asked incredulously. “Can’t you feel how much?”

You hummed in the same way he normally would. So innocent. So devilish.

“Paint a picture with your words.”

He exhaled sharply. But eventually he calmed down and wrapped his arms around you gently.

“I need to be inside of you or I’m going to die. I’m going to die, I mean it.”

“Keep going.” You whispered. “Talk to me.” While you spoke, you shifted slightly on his lap, gently grinding down on him and letting him feel you. Just enough to make you gasp, not enough for him to enter you yet.

He bit his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood.

“I want to feel you.” He murmured. “I want to fuck you. I want to be one with you. And I fucking want to cum inside you.”

A shiver ran down your spine and you sighed.

“Keep going.” You responded in a breathless whisper, as you ground down against him again. The friction was enough for your both to snap your eyes shut.

“I want you to cum.” He whispered back. “I want you to cum so hard, that it’ll make you cry.”

“Fuck.” You whispered breathlessly and buried your face in his neck. “Fuck, yes.”

You swallowed again and pulled your head back up, enough to rest your forehead against his.

“Let me move then?” You whispered. “Please?”

He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. “But fucking get to it.”

You released a shaky sigh. You kept your forehead pressed against his and stared into his eyes, intense and deep, while you slowly spread your legs further. You shifted again, your movements a little awkward and insecure, but eventually you felt him press up against you and you felt his tip press against your entrance. And then you slowly lowered yourself down onto his lap. You felt him fill you, but it happened so slowly that you felt every bit of it. And all the time you kept your gaze fixed on his eyes. His reaction. Every moan, every sigh, every twitch. All of it was enough to make you moan in return. You slowly lowered yourself further down, until you felt him all the way. And when you did…You didn’t move. You stayed like that. Just feeling. Just feeling all of him.

And the look in his eyes was worth it.

You had never seen him this soft, this vulnerable before. Not even when he told you about his father. His eyes were softer than ever before and you suddenly realized; you had never seen him this needy. This desperate to feel you. You were sure, just a second more and he would either take control or beg you. But you couldn’t let that happen.

It was his first time to let someone else take control after all.

And you couldn’t have him begging. You couldn’t have him do anything that would make him feel ashamed, when he was so unabashedly doing everything in order to make you happy.

So finally you moved. Slowly and carefully, very unsure still. But you moved. And he moaned. And he moved. And you moaned.

You had never felt him this deep before, this hard, this raw.

“Ride me.” He whispered breathlessly. “Ride daddy’s cock, baby.”

Your face flushed even more, but all you could focus on were his words. You movements became more forceful, more frantic, more desperate. And as hard as he tried not to move at all, it was simply impossible. He pressed his hips up against you, letting you feel him, so hard and God, so desperate.

“Yes. Yes, babygirl, just like that. Let daddy fill you up.” He groaned out.

With every thrust, every move, you felt yourself get closer yet again. It felt like a fantasy.

“Yes. Yes, my sweet girl, my baby, my darling, my love-“

His eyes widened frantically. He panicked. You could tell. So did you. On the inside. But on the outside, you pretended. You pretended all you could, that you hadn’t heard it.

The L-word.

The word that nearly broke you.

No, you hadn’t heard it. He had never said it. It was just a slip-up. A simple mistake. Nothing to get hot and bothered about.

When he realized you didn’t react, he slowly calmed down again and tightened his grip on your hips. His own movements became more and more desperate, until he was pounding into you from underneath.

“Fuck, yes. Cum for me, my babygirl. Cum for me, my darling. Take every drop of my cum.”

His words were enough to drive you over the edge. With a sharp inhale, a breathless moan, you felt your own orgasm hit you again. And he went over the edge right with you.

Your lips just an inch apart and your eyes fixed on each other.

Deep.

And raw.

“Yes.” He growled. “Oh God, yes. Fuck, yes. My girl. My girl, my...” His voice cracked and he came with a roar. He pushed his hips against you with a fervor that nearly left you bruised from the inside and it made your release drag on and on, until you felt you were about to take off to the sky.

It took you a few seconds, but when you both finally came back down from your high, you realized you were still staring into each other’s eyes. You mouth slightly agape and gasping for air, your brows furrowed and your bodies still connected in the most intimate way. You didn’t want him to withdraw yet. You wanted to feel his release run along your thighs. You wanted to feel dirty like that and at the same time you wanted something else entirely.

Stay close.

Stay together.

My love.

The word kept echoing through your mind like a poem, like a curse.

Like a death warrant.

My love.

He buried his hand in your hair and gently tugged on it.

“That…was…”

You had never seen him speechless before. The sight stirred so much in you.

You idiot girl. He hurt you, he hurt you so terribly and all you wanted right now was him beside you, at all times, maybe with a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly.

God, you were just as insane as he was. Probably even more so.

He was a psychopath. What was your excuse?

You tried to distract yourself from your thoughts and so you decided to take control a last time. Your head dipped forward and you kissed him. With a tenderness that made your heart ache. And he responded. With a softness that left you breathless.

My love.

Half an hour later, you finally managed to get your hands off of each other. After you finished your bathroom routine, he invited you to the shower with him. You’d join him in a minute, you decided, while you were on your way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Your mouth felt dry, your whole body did actually.

You felt sore as hell, but God. God.

The memory of it made you smile. You had never felt more loved in your life. Never felt more special, more desired, more…

A sound made you snap out of your thoughts and you looked up from the ground. What you saw made your heart stop.

The door.

The fucking door.

You mind went blank and your heart stopped beating.

The fucking door was open.

You swallowed thickly. Was it a test? Probably. Did you consider leaving?

You took a deep breath and slowly stepped into the hallway. The front door was open and there was that visitor’s terrace with a glass door attached to it, which led to the great staircase of the apartment complex.

It was a test. Or something equally cruel.

But what if it wasn’t?

What if he truly made a mistake? He was only human after all.

You stared at the glass door like you would have stared at an alien.

This was probably your only ever chance. To flee. Escape.

Get back to…

To what?

To normality, you told yourself.

To safety.

A lump formed in your throat. Did you want that? Did you even want to leave?

Even if it wasn’t a test, did you truly want to leave him?

The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth. It almost felt like acid and it weighed like a heavy stone on your heart. The thought of sleeping alone again, of never seeing his silly smile again. Even the twisted one, you’d miss.

The thought of never feeling his lips on yours again.

His hands in your hair, his voice in your ear.

His everything.

Him.

You were his girl.

You couldn’t just up and leave. What was there in the world for you?

Maybe this was exactly your destiny. Him. Him. Him.

He was all you needed, right? He took care of you. He provided for you.

He loved you. In his own, twisted way.

My love.

You couldn’t, you decided. You couldn’t leave. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t ever-

The sound of someone’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, but to your horror, it wasn’t him. Your eyes widened impossibly when you saw the form of a man approaching.

He looked like a janitor or something like that. A man far past his prime with greying hair and a kind smile.

God, you had missed kindness.

But no, no, you were his girl. You were his girl. You wouldn’t ever leave.

You took a step back like a cornered animal as the man approached and said something to you in Korean. When you backed away even more, he stopped and his eyes widened in surprise.

He kept talking to you, kept speaking in that reassuring tone of voice.

“I…don’t…understand.” You breathed out.

You didn’t even realize how you must have looked, terrified and broken. A faint mark on your cheek. Your clothes crumpled. Bite marks, love bites, more marks on your throat.

He frowned slightly and tilted his head to the side.

“Miss-“ He said in a thick, Korean accent. “Miss- The man that’s live here- The man- Is he-“

In that moment, you felt it. His presence was so prominent, you didn’t need to hear him call out to you. You just felt it. He came in, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair wet from the shower. He most likely came to look why you hadn’t come yet.

You quickly spun around and met his gaze, your expression horrified. Your eyes were so expressive.

The door was open. He came by himself. It wasn’t my fault. Please! It wasn’t my fault!

Something hard flashed through his eyes, but it was only visible to you and it was only there for the blink of an eye. And then it was gone and it got replaced by the tight smile.

A tight, polite smile, directed at the janitor in the doorway. He spoke to him in Korean and stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You stared at the ground, completely horrified.

Oh no, you thought.

Oh no. This is it.

_____________________________

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@hayakamis-blog Thank you for your lovely request, I loved the idea and I hope it turned out the way you hoped!

Author's note: I'll be honest with you, guys, this chapter cost me YEARS of my life, omg. I wrote 5000 words yesterday and then realized I didn't like what I was writing, so I deleted everything and did this today instead. I hope it was the right decision! On a super exhausted note, I'll try to answer all of your sweet, lovely messages in time!!! I'm not even exaggerating, a few of them really made me cry. Not almost, but for real. I don't know what I did to deserve all this kindness and love, but I really, really love you all! SO much!

[evilminji]

Oh shit :D ?

I just remembered! (Thank you, historical fantasy section!) But like? Serving and protecting The King, especially a HIGH KING, is quite literally not just an incredible honor... but it can sometimes be a person's Life Ambition?

Specificly a WORTHY king.

Perhaps they were denied in life. Perhaps they FAILED. And in their dying moments struggle with all they were to LIVE. To PROTECT. Perhaps the PREVIOUS king was a great and worthy ruler... but their heir is...

Unworthy.

Maybe they are born to an age without Rulers. Power shifting between hands in hidden halls. Unclear and murky. All they want is for their loyalty to MEAN something. For things to be SIMPLE.

The universe is large. The Infinite Realms? Unimaginably larger.

And Pariah Dark was a BASTARD.

Who would willingly swear to him? Fools! That's who! Every warrior soul worth ANYTHING gets as far AWAY from his Realm forsaken resting place as they can. Hides. Lest they be dragged in to his infernal, gods forsaken, cess pit of a so called "army"! *disgusted spitting noises*

But what does this mean? It means every trained FIGHTER... got the hell out of dodge. Oh, sure, a FEW refused. Like Pandora and her people. But most? The farthest side of NOWHERE, several layers down! Some still GOING! Better to be decried as cowards then have ANYTHING to do with THAT(said with loathing)!

It also means they weren't where Pariah could get to them when he woke. Couldn't help. Couldn't fight. Couldn't be commanded to kneel. Nothing. They removed themselves completely. Planned on CONTINUING to remove themselves. Preferably to the farthest reaches of forever, far beyond the bastard's gaze.

But! The whole REALM INFINITE felt it? When that... that hissing, acidic, malicious undertone? SLAMS back and away, like somebody's knocked a parasite from their backs. Replaced by coolness and starlight. Delicate balance and blood on your teeth. The pounding in your chest of HOPE.

It flutters so small across their backs, inside their chests. Washing away the old.

The King... feels tiny. Young.

.......what are they doing? Running like this. Hiding away like that will change anything. How long... when did...

There are so many of them now. A veritable army of souls, of all Ages and People's. Every armor and crest imaginable. They'd been so.. so REPULSED by Pariah... nothing else had mattered but to get AWAY. Where even ARE they? What YEAR is it? Does any of that matter?

The King.

Their Obsessions whisper. Loyalty. Service. Protection. Honor. You have left you post! Abandoned your DUTY! What are you DOING!?

They are AGHAST. They turn around at once. The King! How could they have ABANDONED the King!? Who is guarding him if they are all HERE?!

Himself!?

(Yes. Danny is fine. He is eating the "Thank You for keeping us all from dying to whatever the FUCK that was!" tamales Paulina's mom pushed into his arms on his way back home. He didn't even try arguing. He made eye contact and knew he would lose.)

(Why does he feel like something really, really bothersome is headed his way?)

It's UNACCEPTABLE. Unthinkable! The King? Unguarded? Where assassination attempts and nefarious PLOTS could occur?! What if someone tried to steal his eggs!? Or attacked him while his exoskeleton was molting!? They aren't entirely sure which species he is yet, but there are SO MANY NEFARIOUS PLOTS OUT THERE!!

*panicked honor guards*

Just? Imagine becoming king. And thinking "well, aside from the skeleton army I have to figure out, at least I don't have to manage anybody!" Only to *WABAM!* your ENTIRE GHOST COURT shows up like a week later. Turns out they were hiding from your predecessor.

You have a whole ass honor gaurd. Who REFUSE TO LEAVE YOUR SIDE. You have Chefs. Who WILL cry if you send them away. The Literal Best In The Multiverse are all following you around... YOU, a RANDOM TEENAGE, with Excited Shoujo Sparkles in their eyes... because you punched a jackass really, REALLY hard.

There is no way to make this stop. Your friends are laughing at you. The interior decorator wants you to look at swatches. What are swatches and why are you being harrased by them at 1am, you wonder? If you are Mean(tm) they throw themselves upon the floor and blame themselves for their Wicked, Evil, King-Upseting Ways and you can't even TELL if your being played here.

It's like being bullied by house elves. Or Miette.

Your parents are too excited by all the New Research (at least the reveal went well?) To SAVE THEIR SON, and your sister is HELPING THE ENEMY (Traitor!), so now you're being bullied into eating vegetables and studying more.

Then? THEN!! WHO SHOWS UP?! Like... five WEEKS late?! The Justice League. Gee! GREAT RESPONSE TIME, GUYS! Reeeal snappy! But ya, JUST missed the guy!

.......YES HES BEING SARCASTIC!!!

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones

[thesilmarillionblog]

STRANGER

Summary: Although you were always aware that Black Noir was silent, it didn't stop you from quickly developing a bond. However, as soon as he touches you when he gets home, something about him feels off. You ignore his attitude since it still feels so nice, despite the fact that it feels like he is someone else entirely, a stranger.

Pairing: Black Noir / Reader

Warnings: Dark Fiction!, +18!Only, Smut, Suspense

Word Count: 2423

A/N: English is not my first language.

You asked Homelander and Ashley if Noir had been assigned to another mission because you were getting frustrated that he had not texted you back for days and had suddenly vanished. You were relieved when they informed you he had a lot on his plate, but you were also annoyed because it wasn't like him to ignore you or return your texts. One of his great virtues was that he would always text you back, even when you believed he was going to rip a head off during those missions.

Though you knew he couldn't talk which was a big obstacle for a healthy conversation, you moved his house months after you started dating without a second thought. You weren't in the slightest disturbed by that. Since actions speak louder than words, it was actually preferable if men said nothing at all. And Noir certainly knew how to express his affection for you.

You giggled uncontrollably at the memory of his adorable actions toward you. Even though he appeared tough and ruthless when wearing that black suit, he was always warm and affectionate with you. He was regarded by the world as one of the most formidable, vicious, and dangerous supe alive, yet you were aware of his extreme thoughtfulness and sensitivity, particularly with regard to his relationship with you.

No matter how much you wanted to see him, you didn't push him, even if he didn't take off his mask or suit at all while you were around. You knew he was extremely sensitive about how he looked and everything. When he finally trusted you enough to show himself to you, you knew he would eventually open himself up. 

You made the decision to dress elegantly and boldly for his gaze when he eventually texted you back to say he would be home tonight. You knew he liked you in short, lace-covered satin gowns. It had been nearly two weeks since he returned home, and you were aware that he missed you just as much as you did. 

It was when he eventually came home, after you had been waiting for him for hours with your dress on and messaging him nonstop, that you understood how much you liked him. You couldn't help but think about him and grin to yourself at all of your adorable times together when he acted a little goofy and awkward.

As he slowly made his way inside the home, you said, “Hey,” and gave him a quick hug. "Welcome home."

Noir offered you a strong hug in return and nodded as if he wanted to say the same thing. You then landed a firm kiss through his mask and said, “I've missed you too.”

As Homelander and Vought cautioned him not to talk, especially when you were around, Black Noir tried his hardest to remain silent. It was told to him that you were Noir's partner, and since Vought already had too much on its plate these days, it would be best if you didn't realize he wasn't the real Noir. He didn't mind you acting like your adorable, naive lover since he had seen your pictures and the way you texted him as though you were in heat, making it obvious that you wanted to be fucked till you were unable to walk.

As a result, he would enjoy the ride as well, providing for your needs in the manner that was expected of him. When they showed your picture, he didn't really care about Vought and all that, but now he thought it would be fun because you seemed so eager to please him with that slutty, lovely fucking dress. 

You said, “How went?” as if he could respond, but it didn't feel strange for you to remain silent. If one of you stayed quiet the entire time, it would be odd.

Noir kept himself from talking and instead studied your body and outfit with fascination, which made you chuckle. As though you could see him, he turned out the lamp, and you didn't object, supposing it was just one of his insecure times. 

You sat on his lap and softly touched his covered face before responding with a whispered “Why the hell you didn't text me back for days?” in an attempt to sound like a mad woman. “You didn't behave like that before, you know.” 

Under his mask, Noir gave you a mischievous smile as his hands boldly stroked your body, growing harder every second as he saw your nipples peek from your thin dress, giving the impression that you wanted a quick and brutal fuck. 'Who would have thought that mission would be so hot and delightful?' he thought as his gloved hand squeezed your hips until you nearly moaned with pain. He was touching your pussy firmly and passionately, making it wet. 

You removed the stupid plastic item covering his cock with your hands and began slowly grinding against his clothed shaft while moaning, “You're such a turn-on today? Did you really miss fucking me that much?”

Noir gulped down, and as you kept continuing to moan and gasp loudly, one of his hands tightly pinched your tits. “Did you miss filling me with your hot seed into my pussy? When you finally texted me back today, I fingered myself while thinking about your huge cock.”

The filth flowing from your lips made him extremely hard, and once he filled up your dress, he gave your ass a hard spank. 

You groaned in protest when he abruptly lifted you off his lap. He forced you to your knees before you could say anything, gripping your hair firmly as he struggled to get his cock out of his suit. He stretched his legs and drew your head toward himself while you were kneeling in front of him on the edge of the bed. You were taken aback by his sudden harshness and passion because you had never sucked him off before. Maybe the fact that you hadn't fucked in weeks was the reason he was feeling so kinky this evening.

Excitement filled your body as you waited for him to finally reveal his cock. Before you could even say anything, he pushed your head against his cock, forcing you to suck him. 

Noir made a determined attempt to stop himself from giving you orders to properly suck him off and wet his dick as your tongue quickly lapped the tip of his shaft. As you gave him a head, he grabbed one of your hands and put it on his cock, urging you to use your hands. 

“You're so thick, you know, it's hard to take it all,” you remarked as you placed your hands on his balls and sucked the sensitive head of his thick cock. “You taste so good.”

Noir let out a soft and low chuckle as you did your best to satisfy him and make him cum. You were such a good cocksucker it was disappointing he couldn't give you any compliments. He smiled thinking about how would your boyfriend respond seeing you sucking a stranger’s cock so eagerly.

When you swallowed his head, he moaned angrily, as you were only able to take half of his cock. He took hold of your hair and began giving you hard pushes until your nose touched his pubic hair. 

When he began to fuck your face, you attempted to pull away as his hands applied heavy pressure to your head until the tip of his cock touched your throat and tears streamed down your cheeks. He was always extremely particular about being clean and well-groomed, so when you saw he didn't shave, you were somewhat taken aback. He made you take up every inch of his hardness, pushed your head into his balls, and waited till you tapped his legs in an attempt to regain your breath. 

After he finally released your head a bit, you muttered, “You're extremely rough tonight.”

Even though he was harsh, you were so attracted to his behavior that you began to suck him the way he preferred, taking his entire shaft and rubbing his balls, wetting them with your saliva.

You pushed yourself to get him to cum in your mouth as soon as you sensed him getting closer.

You teased him, “Where do you want to cum?” as you continued to stroke his throbbing erection.

Noir slowly withdrew his cock from your lips, stilled your head, and began to fuck into your mouth, pressing the tip of his cock on your tongue so you could taste its salty essence. He was savoring the facial expressions you made and your sensual groans, and he growled with pleasure as he thought he was fucking real Black Noir's girlfriend's mouth and he was about to fuck his girlfriend's pussy. 

He removed his cock from your mouth and stroked your lips and cheeks with his cock while holding it as if he were fucking your face. After some time, he stopped wanting to cum in your mouth or on your face. 

When you attempted to put him in your mouth again, he growled in disapproval and threw you into the bed while trying to help you get up. With a swift and forceful motion that left you gasping in dismay, he forced your face against the mattress and tore off your underwear quickly. 

Although you weren't prepared for him to behave in this manner, you waited for him to lead you in the direction he wanted since you were eager to please him and you were already turned on by him. 

Noir stretched your legs apart and checked the intensity of the wetness by sticking two fingers inside your pussy. He groaned in satisfaction as he saw that you had already gotten wet, and he removed his meaty fingers with ease. 

You let out a loud cry and pushed him to move more quickly as he roughed you with his fingers. You let out a cry of pleasure as soon as you began to clench around his fingers. Once your climax subsided, he pulled you more into the sheets, thinking that this would be the time when he would finally turn you back and act a little more romantically. You let him have his fun, figuring he wanted to play hard this evening. 

Noir played with your clit from behind, taking his throbbing manhood into his fingers and giving himself short, rapid strokes. Upon realizing that you were anticipating his fuck with your legs apart, he gasped with delight. 

Breathless, you gasped as he began to press his shaft into your wetness. His gloved hands gripped your hips firmly as he began a quick and violent fuck. His big balls were slamming into your clit, producing obscene noises that filled the room. 

You were gasping out and raising your hips to meet his strong thrusts as Noir's hardness throbbed into your pussy. He pounded into you with powerful strokes, gripping your hair and pulling it while you clutched the sheets beneath your fingers under his instense fuck. 

You whined, “Fuck, you are so good,” your eyes welling up with tears due to the intensity of the moment. “Fuck me harder.” 

Under the mask, Noir grinned at your filthy actions and the way you urged a total stranger to give you more fucking, like a whore. He began fucking you from behind even more forcefully after pulling off your hair. You were screaming like a bitch in heat, and you had no idea that you were fucking a stranger. He thought you were a free chick for him to enjoy himself to the fullest. He would count himself fortunate.

Sensing his approaching closeness, he moved slightly and reached your sweet spot, giving you multiple orgasms before spilling inside of you. Your legs trembled wildly as you clamped around his cock after he found your sensitive spot and gave you an aggressive fuck there. Your pussy felt so sensitive that you tapped his legs to get him to slow down, but instead he fucked you even harder and struck the same area repeatedly, leaving you speechless. 

“Fuck, Noir,” was the only thing you could say. “It feels sensitive.” 

But instead of slowing down, he continued to fuck you through your climax until he made you cum on his cock once more. Your legs were shaking, and you were screaming his name in between endless orgasms. He was forcing himself not to laugh out loud while you kept orgasming under a stranger.

He pushed all of his length into your pussy and began spilling himself into you as he continued to fuck you after he decided you had come on his cock enough. You again clenched around his cock as his thick white ropes filled your insides. When he felt your pussy continued to clench around his shaft with eagerness, and he moaned with satisfaction. It seemed to him that you were a needy one, and he would be thrilled to give what you needed.

Your legs continued to shake as you felt his thick seed leaking out of your pussy, and you grinned and bit your lip, satisfied. You felt a deep sense of satisfaction, and you had no idea that you could get so many orgasms so quickly. Noir did give you a hard fuck during certain times, but that was the first time he used such force on you and ignored your boundaries, of which you were glad. You felt that he ought to have revealed more of his personality sooner. 

Noir met your tongue, palmed your pussy from behind, and put his weight on your back. He pulled his mask halfway to give you a firm kiss, you realized.

You gasped in horror as his lips found your ear, and he whispered into the darkness, “Not bad, darling.”

[yanderenightmare]

i love your hybrid au sm! the way you characterise each animal to suit not only it’s species, but the characters itself is so creative and nothing short of genius! so it got me thinking, how would you imagine the bnha characters as mythical creatures and monsters ??? ( eg. vampires, wendigos, harpies, werewolves ) etc.

Katsuki, Tomura, Hawks, Deku, Shoto, Dabi

TW: implied noncon, yandere, the supernatural?

gn reader

Shigaraki Tomura Ghost

You’ve moved into his old room, and though you furnish it a bit differently than he did when he was still alive, you’ve placed the bed in the exact same spot. It’s been all dust and dead moths up until now, it almost feels like he’s alive again as he sleeps next to your warm body.

It’s only small things in the beginning. Underwear that goes missing, unexplainable handprints on the foggy shower doors, your duvet on the floor even though you’ve never been one to kick it off in your sleep.

You’ve never been one to believe in the paranormal either, but something convinces you to search up the history of the house. You find out a boy had murdered his entire family here—parents, grandparents, his sister—and that the boy himself was never found.

Obviously, you shut your laptop with a bang and try and will it away from your mind. It happened years and years ago—whoever that boy was, he was long since dead. But the more it starts sinking in that you’re not alone, the more your belief feeds him—makes him feel real again, as though you’re slowly bringing him back to life.

Sometimes, you spot him in the mirror of your vanity, but when you twist around, there’s no one there. But you feel him—the gust of cold breath giving you goosebumps, the weight of hands and a chest pressing against yours at night, and the brush of coarse fingertips touching you in places—places that have you moaning his dead name.

Bakugou Katsuki Demonic spirit

He enjoys large houses—preferably something with a bit of history. But every now and again, some moronic humans decide it’s time to wreck the old and build something new—which means he’s often on the move.

He doesn’t mind living alone in his new house until you move in. He’s a little mad at you at first—he thinks you’re one of those wreckers, what with your renovations and whatnot—but then he understands that you’re preserving, not destroying. Apparently, the Gothic manor is your ancestral home built by one of your great-grandparents seven generations back in the 18th century—seems you were the only descendant who felt it was worthwhile to keep. 

He wouldn’t normally stay when someone else moved in—he’d often use his demonic means and scare them on their way. But with you, he settles for dwelling in the shadows, in the many dark rooms you haven’t found a use for yet. But when night comes, and you turn off the lights and go to bed, he can't help but end up in your room—watching you sleep, oh-so-peacefully and blissfully unaware of his presence. But he won’t do anything to you even though he could, even though you make it so easy—he’s grateful to you, his little housemate.

Your bedroom becomes awfully hot at night—you can’t explain it. Nor can you explain why the wind howling through the house sounds more like the groaning breaths of a beast. All you know is that your bed feels heavier than it should if you were the only one in it—and that you don’t dare twist around to see what it is sleeping next to you because whatever it might be, you don’t think it’s human.

You know it isn’t human. It’s too big to be, and its hands are too warm and too rough—and its claws too sharp where they rake into your skin and tuck you close to a chest that feels as though engulfs you. You don’t think it has a heart, only a stomach—and it sounds hungry.

You read up on sleep paralysis demons, and it brings you peace of mind, but only until night comes and you go to bed in wait. It’s the first time he talks to you. His laugh is like rusted clockwork, and his voice is like raked coals—hot and scratchy against your ear as he tells you how your human ways of rationalizing the things you don’t understand are cute and amusing.

Keigo Takami - Hawks Guardian Angel

Being a guardian angel has always been a fun hobby of his ever since the creation—he’s found it to be a nice break from all the other angelic duties he has bearing down his wings. Of course, it’s always sad when your human dies, but luckily, there’s always another one not far behind to steal your halo all over again.

You’re his most recent. He watches over you any minute he can spare, chuckling over all your silly human antics. And though he’s had plenty of humans before you in the long history of man and God, he can’t help but confess you’re his favorite so far. You’re just so cute with your big, adorable eyes and pretty smile.

He begins taking greater pride in his responsibility of being your guardian. He used to see it as but a menial little task he could take to when feeling up for a laugh, but something about you makes him want to watch over you every single second of every day.

And so he does—he has the feathers to spare, especially for something so important. But soon, simply watching over you doesn’t feel like enough anymore.

He knows it’s wrong—so very wrong—so much so he’s afraid he’ll be cast out if anyone were to find out. It’s not right for angels to feel amorous for humans—most would call it deviant and demonic. But he can’t help himself—watching you in your vulnerable state while you undress, bathe, and sleep.

Still, it doesn’t feel like enough.

Maybe he’ll come to visit you one of these days.

Midoriya Izuku - Deku Hybrid between fae and troll

He protects the forest and nurses all sick and wounded animals back to health, writing down the condition of trees and brushes in his notebook as he wanders for hours until he falls asleep in a moss bed beneath the stars. And though he knows his responsibility is purely to the forest, he can’t help but feel inclined to keep an eye on the little human who lives just beyond it. You’re just so cute with the way you walk the forest and sing songs you think no one hears—wearing your human clothing and living in your human abode behind walls and a door. He just finds it absolutely fascinating. 

Sometimes, you feel like there’s something following you when you walk about the forest next to your house. You’ll turn around to see a cluster of rocks and greenery you could have sworn weren’t there when you walked by—you look away before allowing yourself to think the pile looks an awfully lot similar to a larger human’s huddled form. But sometimes you hear it—the sound of stone scraping methodically, as though walking. You don’t humor the thought until you start finding his footprints outside your house, on the path to the forest—feet thrice the size of your own and sunken as though made by something very heavy.

Your legs go out from beneath you once you first see him—not like those times you’d turned around only for him to pretend to be part of the earth—this time, he’s pretending to be more like you, and it only makes it all that much worse. He’s bigger than a bear, grey-skinned with flecks that remind you of freckles and hair like fresh moss sprouts. His eyes are as green as the fox-fire fungi when night falls—glowing with nocturnal light. When you try to run, he follows suit, making the ground shake so bad it knocks you over. 

He carries you into the mountain where he lives and keeps you there from then on. After all, the part of him that’s fae has considered you his pet from the moment you took a bite of your first forest fruit. It was his gift to you whether you knew it or not, and now you’ll belong to him forever.

Todoroki Shoto Vampire

It’s an awfully boring world. Not much to do when you feel you’ve done it all twice over. The taste of blood has become stale no matter how many different types he drowns himself in at night. Sometimes, he humors the thought of setting his manor ablaze if only to watch the fire roar until the sun rears the top of the roof and finally puts him to eternal rest. But he’s been thinking about it for two or more centuries already, and he’s beginning to doubt his nerve.

Dead things can’t make vows, so he must go on as he decided to when he was still alive—that’s the curse—only another person can break it.

You seem doable enough when you stride into his manor with your little sharpened sticks and silver daggers. It’s been a while since a hunter has graced his presence. The scent of holy water makes him lick his fangs, and the nearly irresistible urge to drink you dry almost has him pouncing on you—but he knows it would be but a fleeting high unworth it in the end when he’d have to live another millennium without the warmth of the sun or another soul.

He drops down before you with grace. You have the tip of your silver dagger pointed up under his chin in the same second but get stunted by his pale porcelain face, showing no signs of aggression and rather riddled with a bleak sort of melancholy you’re not used to seeing on the godless creatures.

He simply stands there, straight-spined and high-headed, with his hands folded behind his back as though showing you respect—and then, unprompted and to your great surprise, asks if you would please make it quick and put him out of his misery.

Todoroki Touya - Dabi Hyrbid between incubi and vampire

He preys in nightclubs on those who have that mischievous glint in their eyes in dire hope their lust can match his. Every day, it’s a dozen new—he can never seem to find the right one—always starving and never sated no matter how much he gorges himself, always thirsting, always dying for more. 

Until you.

You’re but a dainty wallflower who doesn’t want to be there, but you have this scent about you—garden-fresh, like something he’s never smelled before, and his tongue yearns for a taste. He knows what it is once he gets closer to you—the opposite of sin of all things, it’s innocence, and oh, how he craves to devour it whole.

His silver tongue has had so much practice that using it on your gullible ears makes him all but drool, asking you if you’d like some fresh air. You nod your head, big eyes looking at him as though he were some sort of saint for offering. He laps it up—it’s all he can do to pace himself. But when he has you alone, it’s all over for you.

He’s going to corrupt every last piece of you until that once peachy keen taste of innocence has become an ever sweeter taste of syrupy sin. He’s going to make you exactly like him—and your tall fall from grace will leave you blasphemous and beautiful.

♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Worship of a Sacrificial Lamb.

Pairing: ???!Gojo Satoru x Yandere!Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 8.0k.

Commissioned by the very lovely @elsecrytt.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Dub/Con, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Kidnapping + Prolonged Captivity, Physical + Psychological Abuse, Wildly Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Codependency, Suicidal Ideation, Mentions of Previous Suicide Attempts, and Blood. Gojo's Not The Yandere But He Sure As Hell Isn't Normal Either. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were sure, beyond the point of reason, that Gojo Satoru was an angel.

A guardian angel, actually. Maybe even your guardian angel, if you were going to let yourself be so sickeningly romantic. Even if you were going to hold yourself to some kind of distorted rationality, you weren’t sure how anyone could ever so much as look at him and not see an act of irrefutable divine intervention. He had the body of a marble sculpture – as if some great, ancient master of their art had taken decades aside to carve the embodiment of all things good and beautiful  – and a face any model would’ve killed for. His hair was the most brilliant shade of white you’d ever seem, purer than cloud and softer than velvet, and there was a special place in your heart reserved entirely for his lips – pretty and pale and so lovely that if you ever got the chance to kiss him, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

Of course, his eyes were your favorite. Not that it was easy to pick a favorite part of Satoru – no, you’d spent long hours deliberating over the perfectly straight arch of his jawline and the slightly crooked bridge of his nose, the gentle slope of his shoulders and harsh angles of his hands – but if you absolutely had to, you’d say his eyes were the part of him you spent the most time thinking about, that you adored above all else, that would’ve wanted to keep for yourself if you couldn’t have Satoru as whole. The color of the sky and twice as clear, you could still remember the way they’d seemed to glow in the dim light of the deserted street where you’d first met, the way your heart broke just a little every time he blinked or fluttered those perfect snow-white eyelashes. If you could’ve, you would’ve liked to keep a spare set in a small glass jar – something clear and sturdy that you could carry with you whenever you didn’t have access to the real thi—

“...ma’am?” And then, leaning forward, flashing a perfect smile and snapping his perfect fingers, “I think I might’ve lost you, there.”

You perked up, nodding frantically before thinking better of it and, with a sheepish smile, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I—” You paused, clearing your throat and taking a sip of your coffee before going on. “I’m just having a little trouble concentrating. You can keep going.”

That was enough to earn a breath of a laugh from your perfect Satoru, and immediately, you fell in love with him all over again. He mirrored you, taking a sip of his own drink (some awful, adorable type of frozen hot chocolate served half-drowned in whip-cream) before responding, his melodic voice akin to birdsong and rainfall and every other delicate, beautiful thing in the world. “I know it can be a lot to take in. For someone in your situation, especially.” What that situation was, you weren’t entirely sure. Still, you nodded and smiled like he’d said the most comprehensible thing you’d ever heard. “Just try to stay with me. I promise – curses are a lot less scary when you know what they are.”

His head lulled to the side, his perfect eyes lulling into something softened and dream-like, and just like that, he’d lost you again. It was unfair, honestly. He’d been the one to invite you, scrawling down his name and phone number on a scrap of paper with the excuse that he owed you an explanation, but you’d picked out your meeting spot (a café on the edge of business district, somewhere he’d never go on his own but that suited his preference to a T), made sure you arrived half an hour early to claim a table in the most secluded corner and order a drink you knew he’d like just in time for his to be fifteen minutes late. You were lucky, really. Anyone else would’ve noticed your starry-eyed gaze and giddy smiles and figured out that there was something deeply, deeply wrong with you, but not your Satoru. He was probably used to hero-worship, even if the thought of anyone else sharing the same connection with him that you did was enough to make you grit your teeth.

Now wasn’t the time for that, though. You pulled yourself out of your thoughts as the corner of his lips quirked downward – the closest thing to a proper frown you’d ever seen him wear. Whatever he might’ve gone on to say about wizards and invisible monsters was lost entirely as he trailed off, his eyes darting to either side behind the dark lenses of his glasses. “Sorry, ma’am, I think I—” With an uncharacteristic clumsiness, he pushed himself to his feet, nearly tipping over his chair. In your peripheral, you watched for concerned samaritans and curious onlookers, but came up empty. That was good. That made sense. It was a busy coffee shop during the late-morning rush on a weekday – who’d ever think to pay attention to the couple in the far corner? Even half of that couple was a deity in the flesh. “I think I need a second.”

It was smart of him – to make such a hasty retreat. He barely waited for you to give one final, enthusiastic nod before cutting through the crowd and disappearing into a unisex bathroom.

It was smart, but it would’ve been smarter to run somewhere you couldn’t follow.

Saliva pooled under your tongue, your fingers drumming erratic and involuntary rhythms into the table, but while Satoru might’ve been an angel, you had the patience of a saint. You counted down the seconds, nursing your coffee and occasionally checking your phone, until three minutes had passed, only getting up when you were sure you would’ve been seen waiting. Rather than moving towards the exit, you positioned yourself at the edge of the counter, flagging down the youngest barista – a mousey girl in her late teens, with an expression that said she’d do anything to be helpful and a shrunken quality that told you she’d do even more not to get in trouble. “I’m so, so, so sorry to bother you, but—It’s my boyfriend,” you started, wringing your hands together and keeping your eyes on the floor. There was a sick thrill that came with calling Satoru your boyfriend, even if it wasn’t true, but you were careful to keep your tone strictly apologetic. “He’s, uh—He’s got a thing about crowds, and he’s kind of having an episode. Is there any way I could get him out of here without making a scene?”

There was – an employee exit just next to the door to the storage room, one that opened up directly into a back alley that would’ve kept a comfortable distance between you and the main road. Her eyes lit up, but she made a show of looking concerned, of glancing to her smothered coworkers, before looking back to you. “Well, we’re not supposed to let customers—”

“Please?” You tried, and then, with a type of cloying desperation, “It’s kind of an emergency. He just really needs to get outside.”

It took a second, then another, but finally, she cracked with a muted sigh. “There is a backdoor – past the bathrooms and to your left. I… I have to ask my manager, but I should be able to leave it unlocked.”

You didn’t have to fake your gratitude. You bowed your head, mumbling ecstatic little ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’s as you turned on your heel and moved towards the restroom. You’d been prepared to pick the lock, but Satoru must’ve been more affected than you realized – he was already so out of it, he’d left the door open. You could only be thankful no one else had seen come in. You couldn’t imagine there was anyone in the world who could resist taking advantage of someone as wonderful as Satoru in such a vulnerable state.

Grinning to yourself, you shouldered the door open and stepped inside, shutting and locking it behind you.

Satoru didn’t make himself heard to find. He’d collapsed onto the faux-marble vanity, his feet still on the ground but his back braced against the mirror, one hand clamped around the side of the sick while the other struggled to form one of the strange, distorted symbols he’d used the night you met him. His half-lidded eyes widened when he saw you, his mouth falling open, but he didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. You couldn’t blame him. The sedative you’d used was strong enough to put a grown man under with a single dose, and you’d given Satoru enough to put a horse into a coma.

“Hey, pretty boy.” You took a tentative step forward, and when he didn’t react, another. His fingers twitched, but whatever he was trying to do was forgotten as soon as you took him by the hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “It’s not that bad, is it? You should just be a little tired.”

Again, predictably, there was no response. His perfect lips opened wider before sealing into an acute, adorable pout, and you drank in the sight like a man starved.

Cooing, you leaned in closer – placing your body in the space between his open legs and squeezing his hand before letting go entirely. Rather, you cupped his face, admiring the pink flush spread across his pale cheeks, the glossy sheen over those beautiful eyes. Suddenly, it was too much to take, and you jolting forward; your mouth crashing into his and your tongue pushing past his lips, his teeth. His taste was euphoric – caramel and cream and everything good and sweet and divine – but you didn’t give yourself long to savor it before you pulled away, dropping to your knees. You hadn’t meant to move this quickly, but you loved Satoru. You worshiped Satoru.

And no real acolyte would ever refuse to kneel in front of their sacred alter, if given the chance.

Disappointingly but unsurprisingly, he wasn’t hard. You let his jeans and boxers (the latter patterned with pure-white bunnies – cute) pool at his ankles as you wrapped a fist around his cock, pressing a kiss into the curve of his shaft. Like every other part of him, his dick was perfect – long and lean, with a slight left-leaning tilt and a few thin, ridged veins that you dragged you tongue over before taking the head into your mouth properly. Admittedly, it’d been a while since your last hook-up (and even longer since you’d cared enough about another person to put any more than a passable amount of effort in), but everything about Satoru seemed to come naturally to you. His reactions were limited to a vacant stare and the occasional, breathy noise, but soon enough, you felt him stiffen against the flat of your tongue, filling out your fist where you pumped lazily over his shaft. If it’d been anyone else, you might’ve been disappointed at just how quickly he went from soft to stiff to leaking thick beads of arousal, but not with your Satoru. Of course he was sensitive. Angels were supposed to be delicate.

Using one hand to brace yourself against his thigh, you reached up with the other and found his hand, still hanging dully where you’d left it. It was a bit of an odd position – trying to hold his hand while bobbing your head and doing your best not to choke on his cock – but you made it work. It wasn’t long before those little, breathy noises built into cracked whimpers and airy whines, before you could feel him twitching against the roof of his mouth. It was hard to see, given the angle, but when you thought to look, you could make out tears forming in the corners of his eyes, something new knit into his expression. It wasn’t quite distress – or, at least, not the kind of distress you’d been expecting – but you didn’t recognize it. That didn’t really matter, though, not if you were being honest with yourself.

It was coming from your Satoru, and that was enough to make it beautiful.

You moaned around him, and a pitchy keen slipped past his numb lips, his grip going vice-like where he held your hand. You swallowed him down to the hilt as he came, determined not to waste a drop of what you’d fought so hard for, before pulling back, a string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his cock for a lingering second, then another before that connection snapped and severed you from him completely. Suppressing the urge to mourn its loss, you pushed yourself to your feet and pulled him close – pressing a kiss into his neck, then his jaw, then the corner of his lips. “Such a good boy,” you purred, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “My good boy. My perfect little angel.”

This time, Satoru did react – slumping against you even as his hand remained braced around yours. You took him by the shoulders, leaning back just far enough to see his eyes lull, blink, then shut entirely. He wasn’t unconscious - you could see a certain stiffness to his shoulder, a rigidity to his posture – but it was clear that you’d worn him out. You smiled, shaking your head as you raked your fingers through his hair and laughing as you found it just as soft as you’d imagined. “Think it’s time to go home, ‘toru?”

Rather than pull away from you, he seemed to melt even further. It was barely more than a whisper, but you made it out as clear as day. “…home?”

“Yes, angel,” you laughed, pressing your lips against his forehead.

“Home.”

~

He was asleep by the time you reached your car, and thoroughly knocked out by the time you got back to your townhouse – a modest machiya in a neighborhood that valued its privacy. Admittedly, carrying a man twice your height with triple your weight in muscle could’ve gone better, but you managed. There was a short list of things you couldn’t do for Satoru.

The sedatives had already proved less effective than you’d been promised, but still, you had plenty of time to get him into his bedroom, lock the titanium collar around his neck, and most importantly, change his clothes. You’d already picked out a new wardrobe for him – all whites and creams and soft pastels, nothing as harsh as the restrictive, black uniform he usually wore. Not that Satoru didn’t look good in black; you were sure he’d look breath-taking in anything! Even if he decided to wear, you didn’t know, an all-leather body suit, you were sure he’d—

…

You’d have to look into ordering a custom set. Preferably in white, but you’d settle for blue, if you had to.

You’d also made sure his room suited him, too. After making sure you had the bare necessities (deadbolts, bars over the windows, etc.), you might’ve gone a little overboard. You wanted Satoru to feel comfortable, so you made sure to work-in a few of the cute, soft things that reminded you of him – string lights and stuffed animals and plush blankets all the same color as his hair. You knew he was prone to migraines, but you couldn’t stand the idea of letting him put anything between you and those beautiful eyes, so you compromised with permanently low lighting and heavy curtains over his singular window. Entertainment might be an issue, since you obviously couldn’t give him anything with an internet connection, but—

You heard Satoru stir, and immediately, every logistic thought you might’ve had died and fell away. You’d planned to keep your distance while he woke up, but in an instant, you were perched on the side of his bed, your gaze fixed on his lax expression as he slowly woke up.

It was surprisingly peaceful – his slow trek back into consciousness. Long seconds passed between the first awkward stagger in the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the moment he actually opened his eyes, still glassy and unfocused with exhaustion. You didn’t rush him. It was all you could do to watch as he sucked in a harsh breath and pulled himself up, only to collapse against the headboard just as quickly. A hand drifted to his shirt, fisting at the alien material, then to the collar around his neck. He didn’t try to take it off, which was good. You didn’t want to have to resort to something so ugly so early on.

Finally, he seemed to perk up – glancing around his new bedroom, as if evaluating it. When he turned to you, you smiled, and Satoru remained blank.

You broke the silence. “Welcome home, ‘toru.” You swallowed back the temptation to tell him how happy you were to finally have him here, how long you’d been waiting for this moment, instead centering your attention on his needs. “Do you want something to drink? You shouldn’t eat so soon, but you were out for a while. It seemed like you could use a little rest.”

A beat passed, but eventually, Satoru shook his head – as polite as could be expected, given the circumstances. “…you’re the one who kidnapped me?”

“Mhm.”

“And you’re not a curse-user? Or working for the higher-ups?”

More made-up words. You decided to let him have his fun. “No, I’m not.”

“Why, then?”

Your smile widened. You’d been hoping he would ask. “You’re not dumb, Satoru. The day you found me—” Or, rather, the day you’d found yourself in his arms, barefoot and shaking, caught by a divinely beautiful stranger after taking a long fall off of a short building. The day you’d fallen in love with him. The most important day of your life. “I’m sure you know that no one actually pushed me.”

And, even if he didn’t, it couldn’t be hard to believe. There were only so many reasons a salary-worker would be on the roof of their office building in the middle the night, only so many reasons you would’ve left your heels and your coat on the same ledge you’d eventually topple off of. He’d been kind enough to get them for you, as you sat sobbing into your hands on the curb. He only pursed his lips, though, his eyes remaining perfectly lifeless. You took that as a sign to go on.

“My job is—” Terrible. Pointless. Soul-sucking. It paid well, and nothing you did was particularly hard, but the constant overtime and mindless pencil-pushing meant you had very little time for yourself and even less to show for it – besides the paycheck, of course. You couldn’t even say you hated it. You’d just been so ready for something, anything else, and it’d worked, in a way. You’d gotten Satoru. “—pretty boring. I’ve never really liked spending time with other people, and I’m not particularly good at anything aside from busy-work, so I really didn’t have a reason to stick around. But, then you saved me, and you were so kind, and so heroic, and I—”

You shut your eyes, curling your hands into fists. Not unlike a schoolgirl, too embarrassed to confess properly. “I love you, Satoru.”

There was no response, not at first. Internally, you panicked – what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he didn’t realize that this was for the best? What if he’d rather die than—

“You…” His tone was light, airy, only the slightest traces of shock shining through. As if he didn’t believe you. “You love me?”

“More than anything.” And, just like that, you were spilling open. “I—I thought it’d be enough to keep an eye on you from a distance, for a while, but after a few days – after seeing how much you worked and how little you slept and how terribly you took care of yourself – I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t live without you, and, well,” You cut yourself off with a sudden laugh, only a little forced. “You couldn’t have gone on much longer if I hadn’t stopped in. Not like that.”

For a second, he seemed to regard you. It was strange, how hollow he seemed compared to how vibrant he’d been every time he’d spoken to you previously, but you didn’t mind. Not all gods could be cheerful ones. Even divinity had to be morose, from time to time.

Still, your racing heart beat a little faster when the corner of his mouth twitched into a slight, cocked smile. He didn’t say anything, but he shifted, reached out, tentatively resting a hand on your knee before bringing it up to your thigh, then your hip. After waiting for you to nod (which you did, eagerly), he pulled you closer – into his lap. You managed to keep your guard up for all of three seconds before he collapsed onto you entirely, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You melted against him with just as much pathetic desperation, grateful beyond words to have the distance between you finally closed. “Do you really mean that?”

“And then some. When you reached out to me, my heart almost burst with happiness. It was hard to believe you even remembered that I existed.” You nestled against him. “I meant what I said about wanting to take care of you, too. You shouldn’t have to worry about yourself ever again, not after everything you did for me.”

There was more, of course. Rules to go over, punishments to warn against, specifics to lay out, but he wasn’t fighting back, or trying to escape, and he was tucked so sweetly against you – it would’ve been a shame to move, let alone start listing off threats. Thankfully, tragically, Satoru ripped the band-aid off first. Slowly, he lifted his head, drawing back just far enough to dart back in for a clumsy, lip-bruising kiss. You’d already, technically, stolen his first, but there was a difference between kissing his limp body and feeling his lips move sloppily against yours. It was a fragile, immature connection – all scraping teeth and kneading hands and Satoru’s little, throaty moans, but you didn’t dare break it off until your lungs ached. Even then, you held him as close as you could as his hands fell to your waist, a thumb slipping under the waistband of your skirt and—

“Down boy,” you laughed, and Satoru glanced up, pouting. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but not so soon. You’re still in shock, and I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

The impulse blowjob a few hours prior felt unnecessary to mention.

Satoru seemed conflicted. He was still in that sort of blank, softened state, but he let out a whine by way of protest. It was all you could do to sigh, kissing his forehead before going on. “Later on, ‘toru. After I’m sure that you can be trusted to behave.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to make love (‘fuck’ felt to crude, ‘sex’ too clinical; making love wasn’t perfect, but it was what you had) to Satoru. You would’ve done anything to take care of him, anything to keep him happy, but there’d always been a gap in your mind when it came to your own pleasure – an instinct that urged against expecting your love to be requited. As far as you could guess, it would come with time – after you’d started thinking of him as less of an angel and more of something able to love you back. The delay was for the best, really. Intimacy would make you vulnerable, exploitable. You needed to show Satoru how strong, how strict you could be, first.

“That sucks.” It was almost endearingly childish, just how shamelessly he sulked. It took a few more pecks and another minute or so of coddling before he sighed. “You can keep kissing me though, right?”

“Of course,” you said, automatically. It was a dangerous promise to make, with plenty of chances for unwanted escalation, but you never would’ve been able to say ‘no’ to Satoru – not so directly, at least. Not when he was looking at you with those beautiful, pitiful eyes.

“Anything for you.”

~

“So when are you going to use the collar?”

The question was posed casually, unprompted and unrushed. Still, you paused, humming as you glanced over to Satoru. He’d gotten more talkative in the two or three weeks since you brought him home, but he still seemed caught in that quiet, liquid haze of tranquility – all easy smiles and half-lidded eyes and slow, sloppy kisses from the moment you came home to the second you had to leave. He seemed to be enjoying himself, spending his time basking in your affection and letting you take care of him, and that made you happy. All you’d ever wanted was for him to be safe and looked after, and he was. You could make sure of that, now.

(Admittedly, there was a small, negligible part of that had expected there to be some resistance – a hissy fit, a muted protest, something aggressive and combative that wouldn’t be calmed with a few kind words and a gentle touch – and mourned the fact that Satoru was taking this all so well. It wasn’t that you wanted him to hate you, but you’d always struggled to trust what came to you easily. If you had to work for Satoru’s love, you could be sure that you’d earned it. If you had to smother him into submission, you wouldn’t have to wonder if he was only lulling you into a false sense of security before stealing away all the tools you used to keep him safe. You tried not to be so pessimistic – outwardly, at least.)

“I won’t have to, preferably.” Pulling a towel off of the nearest rack, you bent down to his height and started to ruffle his hair dry. He shut his eyes, but didn’t try to stop you. Currently, he was sitting on the wall of your bathtub, only partially dressed in a pair of tan sweatpants while you finished drying his hair. You could shower alone before work in the morning, but Satoru needed more care. He needed to be treated like something precious, and he’d already proved that you couldn’t trust him with such an important responsibility. “It’s kind of a last resort. It should only go off if you try to leave.” And then, as you burrowed your nails into the towel., “Is that… Is that something you’re going to do, ‘toru?”

“Never. You keep me too good n’ spoiled.” He flashed you a lazy grin, and just like that, you were looking away, biting down on your tongue, trying to coax your heart back into beating at a steady rhythm. You pretended to be busy rummaging through the nearest drawer for a brush, but Satoru only laughed. His next question was just as probing. “It came with a remote, though, right?”

“…like I said, it’s a last resort,” you repeated, too flustered to lie. “I don’t want to hurt you. Unless you tried to escape or attacked me, I really can’t see myself doing anything so—” Blasphemous. Unforgivable. Sinful. “—harsh.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Like always, he was a little too quick, a little too willing. You bit back a scowl. “I just think it could be romantic, y’know?  I’d get to see how much you’re willing to do for me, or something like that.”

You forced a bark of a laugh. “There’s nothing romantic about me hurting you, baby. ‘specially not if I’m only doing it because you acted out.”

“I promise, I’m tougher than I look.” Another smile, even more dazzling than the first. Again, you felt your head start to speed up, only to stop beating entirely the second he went on. “I used to have this friend – Suguru – and he’d—”

Your hand was in your pocket before you had time to stop yourself, the plastic remote clenched in your fist before you had time to think. You’d never read the manual, never thought you’d have to use it, but that didn’t matter. There was only one button, and it only did one thing.

Satoru’s voice cut out as the current picked-up, pumping the maximum voltage into his throat. Satoru didn’t scream, didn’t thrash, but he reacted – going rigid as his beautiful eyes went painfully wide. The whole thing was silent save for a low, almost inaudible buzzing-type sound, and you kept your thumb pressed into the singular button for a second, then another, before forcing yourself to let go. Even that was more difficult than it should’ve been. You couldn’t stand the idea of hurting him, but…

Fuck. You would’ve done anything not to hear Satoru say his name ever again.

To his credit, Satoru didn’t collapse. When it was over, he only buckled forward – catching himself on his thighs as he dragged in a jolting, ragged breath. You were on your knees in front of him in a second, his face in your hands and your mouth on his cheek, his forehead, his neck, as if you could kiss away the pain. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” you chanted, each word less coherent than the last. “It’s just—I’ve read about him in your diaries, and I should’ve known you’d bring him up, and—”

“I love you.”

You went quiet.

You tried to pull away from him, but his arms lashed out; wrapping around your midriff and pulling you closer – burying his face in the dip of your shoulder, the crook of your neck. Again, he repeated, “I love you.”

For a second, you thought about pulling away, about sending him back to his room while you pulled yourself together. For a second, you considered reaching for your remote, again.

Then, you settled against him, shutting your eyes and resting your head against his chest.

“I love you too, Satoru.”

~

Admittedly, Satoru’s apartment was the closest thing you had to a guilty pleasure. The first time you’d broken in, you were still on the fence about just how much he needed your help, but by the third, or the fourth, or the fifth, you’d already made up your mind about bringing him home. You’d only visited a handful of times since, but it was nice to stop in every now-and-then, to remind yourself there were two distinct eras of Satoru’s life – prior to the day he’d met you, and post. Getting to spend a few minutes tucked into a space so essentially Satoru wasn’t something you were opposed to, either.

You made your way slowly through his former home – stepping over heaps of abandoned clothes and stopping to straighten forgotten piles of cluttered paperwork he would never be forced to re-visit. Satoru didn’t have any close friends or family who’d stop by uninvited, which meant every little detail was exactly how Satoru would’ve left it. The fridge was still empty, the freezer stocked with frozen, pre-packaged desserts; the walls were still empty and drab, utterly devoid of life; and best of all, his bed still smelled exactly like him. It was a silly thing to be so excited about, especially when you had the source waiting for you at home, but you collapsed onto the mattress without hesitation, shutting your eyes and basking in the evidence of just how hopeless he’d been, before you had a chance to—

Clipped footsteps, followed shortly by the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open. You bolted upward, your pocket knife (because self-defense was important when you treated breaking-and-entering like a hobby) in your hand in a fraction of a second, but the intruder didn’t seem quite so concerned.

It was a woman – deathly pale and worryingly gaunt, just a little too short to be considered average. She regarded you with a cold stare before nodding by way of greeting. “I’m guessing you’re Satoru’s girlfriend?”

The irritation that came with hearing someone else use his given name was immediately overshadowed by pure, euphoric delight. Smiling like an idiot, you asked, “He calls me his girlfriend?”

“Oh, I’m not going to repeat what he calls you.” Her gaze dropped to your knife, now little more than an afterthought. “You can drop the weapon,” she said, holding up a manila envelope stuffed to the point of bursting. “Just here to pick up his lesson plans. It’s been a pain in the ass – having to cover for him since you two started playing house.”

She sounded agitated, but only mildly so. A small, rational part of your mind urged you to linger on the mild irritation in her voice, the odd casualness in the way she spoke to you. She couldn’t have talked to Satoru recently, not the months he’d spent with you, but if she was concerned for his safety, she wasn’t concerned enough to bring up the issue now.

The vast, easily distracted majority could only chant girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask if Satoru had talked about you often, if he’d ever mentioned your name, if she remembered word-for-word what he’d said about you, but she was already gone – muttering a curt goodbye and slamming the bedroom door behind her. By the time you could force yourself off of his bed, she’d disappeared entirely.

That day, you picked up roses as white as his hair and forget-me-nots as blue as his eyes on your way home. Just to remind Satoru how much you really loved him.

~

Satoru greeted you as soon as you got home, like he’d done every day since you gave him permission to roam freely. You didn’t call out, didn’t ring the bell, and yet, as soon as the door was closed and locked behind you, he was there; his arms wrapped around your waist and your body hauled against his. He held you in that bone-crushing embrace for a second, then another before lowering you back onto your feet. You clung to him for just a little longer before letting go.

He always seemed to be smiling, but tonight, he was beaming. He pulled you into an eager kiss, only to jerk back just as abruptly, too excited not to start talking while his lips were still pressed against yours. “Happy six-month anniversary,” he managed, quickly enough for the words to blend together. “I, uh—It’s not much, but I got you something. I thought it’d be cute to leave it in your office, but that might’ve been— I mean, I can bring it to you if—”

“Remember to breathe, ‘toru,” you cut in, laughing. He let his head lull to the side sheepishly, and you went on. “You got me something?”

“It’s not a lot,” he reiterated, still shy. “I’m sorry, I’m not really used to this. I wanted to have dinner ready when you came home, too, but I think it needs a few more minutes.”

It was hard to believe, sometimes – just how lucky you’d gotten. There were only so many human beings who could say they’d met an angel, and you got to come home to one every night.

“You’re perfect.” Satoru blushed, and you pulled him close, pecking the bridge of his nose just underneath the bar of his glasses. “Finish up. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen to tell you how much I love my gift.”

Reluctantly, you detached from Satoru, and made your way to the home office you’d all-but abandoned after bringing Satoru home. His present sat on the edge of your desk: a small mason jar, just the right size to sit in the palm of your hand, filled with water and finished off with a jet-black ribbon tied around the lid. Two spherical objects floated near the bottom. Even from a distance, you recognized them immediately.

Satoru’s eyes.

If you’d been holding the jar, you would’ve dropped it. They had to be fake, but they couldn’t be – replicas wouldn’t have been so bright, so organic, so perfect. He’d been wearing glasses, but you’d been able to see his eyes, and— and even if you couldn’t, it wasn’t like he’d be able to carve his own eyes out in the nine hours you spent away from him. Had there been blood on his clothes? You couldn’t remember, now. Was he hurt? Had you ever seen him hurt himself? He couldn’t have left, but—

You felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your midriff, drawing you against a broad chest. The metal of his collar pressed into the back of your head as he slotted himself against you. “You mentioned how much you like my eyes, once,” Satoru explained, the eagerness in his melodic voice now painful to listen to. “I… I thought you might want a couple spares. For when we can’t be together. And, after dinner, I thought we could finally…”

He trailed off, embarrassed. Still, what he wanted was clear.

For a long moment, you didn’t say anything.

Then, with a heavy exhale, you forced yourself to glance over your shoulder, facing Satoru with a smile. “Not tonight, ‘toru.” You’d never been thankful not to be able to see the clear blue of his eyes, before.

“But soon. I promise.”

~

You couldn’t find Satoru.

It was hard to believe, even as you hunched against the wall of his bedroom, your knees pulled into your chest and tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes. You’d looked everywhere – torn apart every room in your house, overturned furniture, called his name until your throat ached – but he just—he wasn’t there. You’d checked the locks (still in-tact) and all the windows (decisively unbroken), but the only sign of him you’d managed to find was his collar – cold and abandoned, undone and left carefully on the foot of his bed. It would’ve been impossible for him to take off without the remote still sitting safely in your purse, the mechanism was strong enough to endure getting hit with a car, and yet, it was here, and he wasn’t.

God. You were so fucked.

The open collar sat on the floor next to you, your pocket knife immediately next to it. Satoru was gone. He’d left you, or been taken – it didn’t matter. Your life was over. He’d go to the police, and you’d be arrested, and you’d never get to see Satoru again. Even if he didn’t go to the police, he was never coming back. Either way, it was a death sentence.

You were never going to see Satoru again.

Half-consciously, your hand found your knife, fingers curling around the handle. For the first time in months, you remembered what your life was like prior to meeting Satoru. You remembered what you’d tried to do - what you would’ve done, if he hadn’t been there to save you.

You drew in a shaky breath, tightening your hold on your knife and raising it – first to your chest, and then thinking better of it, your throat. You weren’t very strong, but you weren’t very durable, either. If you were lucky, it’d only take a minute or so before—

“Baby?”

You stiffened, blotting out. For a moment, your mind went perfectly, euphorically blank.

When you came to, you weren’t pressed against the wall, but on your knees – straddling Satoru’s waist. The knife was still in your hand, but you couldn’t see the blade. It was buried in Satoru’s stomach to the hilt.

To his credit, he didn’t scream. His reaction was uncannily alike his response to the shock collar – wide eyes and parted lips, pain and shock only visible in the absence of his smile. Warm blood soaked through the fabric of his uniform jacket, washing over your hand, but you didn’t care. Only half-voluntary, you pulled the knife back and brought it down. You did it again, and again, and again, each motion repetitive and mechanical. You’d never killed anyone, before. It was unfair that the first had to be Satoru.

It was only when the blade of your knife met loose pulp rather than solid flesh that you paused, dropping your weapon entirely. Rather, your hands found his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin through tattered fabric and tearing. You let out a miserable sob as you clawed at his chest, trying aimlessly to dig to his heart. “You left,” you whined, like that would explain anything. “You were gone, and I couldn’t find you, and I thought I’d never see you again, and—” You cut yourself, gasping. “And you’re dying. Oh my god, Satoru, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

It never occurred to you to call an ambulance. Your body seemed to move on its own, clambering down just far enough to tear at the waistband of his pants, to free his cock. “’m just fine, princess,” he muttered, but you weren’t in a state to listen. With a frantic sort of desperation, you pumped your fist over his length, his blood serving as good-enough lubrication. Satoru let out a low groan – the noise impossible to read as pain or relief. “Even better, with such a pretty view.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Your fist wasn’t working. Too frantic to be graceful, you forced his cock past your lip and fucked the tip into the hollow of your cheek, doing your best to ignore how his natural bitter mixed with the near-overwhelming iron-tinge. That, at least, got you a reaction – another rough groan, his hand in your hair as his tip started to leak arousal and you felt his shaft stiffen against your hand. You almost choked on your own relief, but Satoru soothed you, his blunt nails scrapping over your scalp as he cooed. “Been waiting so long to see you like this…” He trailed off, laughed. You felt another jolt of fresh blood leak from the tattered flesh of his stomach. There was enough to pool on the floor below him, now. “’m sorry – did I say that already? Thought I could step out for a second before you got home, deal with a last-minute mission, but—” His voice hitched as you let out another sob around him. “—clearly, my pretty girl can’t be left alone for so long.”

You couldn’t understand why he was still talking. Every word hurt more than the last – like he was trying to make it that much harder for you to do the only thing you could. When you pulled away from him, it was only to let out a fractured cry, to bury your face in his thigh, muffling your voice until it was only a whisper above nothing. “You can’t leave me. If I don’t have—If you’re not here, then I can’t—”

“Hey, hey, don’t talk like that. I’m not going anywhere.” You felt the hand in your hair dip lower, cupping your cheek. Another caught you by the chin, tilting your head back, until you were staring at Satoru – blood-drenched and glorious, sitting up and smiling down at you. He shouldn’t have been moving, you shouldn’t have let him move, and yet, it was all you could to do jolt upward and throw yourself against his chest, your mouth latching instinctually onto his neck. You’d always been so careful not to bite, not to bruise, not to do anything that’d leave a mark and mar his perfection, but suddenly, your love felt less like an act of pure-hearted preservation and more like the desperate throes of a forsaken acolyte clinging to the blessings of a dying god. It was hard to worship divinity as something everlasting when your hands were stained in its blood.

 So you didn’t try to. You dug your teeth into the side of his throat without reservation, cautious only not to visit the same patch of skin twice. Satoru felt any pain, if he could feel anything after losing so much blood, his only reaction was an airy laugh and a shallow kiss to your temple as his hand found your hips, then your sides. You felt yourself leaving the ground long seconds before your processed that Satoru was lifting you up, and even then, your awareness was burdened by a numbing sort of confusion. You wanted to tell him not to move, not to breathe, to let you help. You wanted to find your knife.

In the end, though, you only strung your arms around his neck and let him lay you on his bed, the mattress dipping where he kneeled in the space between your open legs.

In a daze, you felt your skirt being slid up to your waist, your panties shoved aside and replaced by the soft warmth of Satoru’s mouth. Like always, he was adorably clumsy – the bridge of his nose grinding against your clit as his tongue lapped and traced over your pussy. His fingertips dug too harshly into your thighs, his tongue thrusting into you too erratically, his little whines and occasional whimper too pitchy to allow for any real reverberation, but your poor nerves were so fried and your heart was still beating so fast and it would’ve taken a miracle for you not to cum – moaning pathetically as you bucked into his mouth. You’d imagined this scenario before, pictured yourself showering him with praise as you taught him exactly how to make you cum on his pretty tongue, but this was too quick, too abrupt, too out of your control. You weren’t in a state to teach. If he learned something from this, you doubted it would be the right lesson.

You reached for him as he straightened his back, but Satoru caught your wrist, guiding your hand to his stomach. Rather than mangled flesh and exposed viscera, your palm pressed against perfect in-tact, perfectly seamless skin. Like he’d never been injured. Like he hadn’t been on the verge of death only a few minutes ago.

Like you’d never even touched him.

“See, baby? I already told you – I’m not going anywhere.” His smile was soft, his voice soothing, but he was distracted. With a fist curled around his shaft, he aligned the head of his cock with your entrance, heavy beads of his arousal drooling onto your cunt and down your slit. “You had me worried for a while, there.” This time, his eyes flickered up to meet yours. “I know what I’m good for. Thought you might get sick of me before I ever got a chance to prove it.”

It would’ve been impossible to tell if Satoru was still in pain, or if he was capable of feeling something so human at all. The hurt that sliced through your chest, though, was agonizing. “I would never do that, ‘toru.”

“I know. And I’m sorry, too – it’s unfair to keep comparing you to him.” He bowed his head, dipping low enough for the heat of his breath to ghost over the shell of your ear, when he went on. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

There was a shuddering inhale, a sudden pressure against your slit. He pushed into you slowly, less concerned with your comfort than he was savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around him, of your body inviting him deeper, closer. You held your breath, doing your best to memorize every curve and vein, to accommodate him even as his length threatened to split you open. It wasn’t painful, but even if had been, you wouldn’t have complained. This was what you were supposed to want. This was what you were supposed to do for Satoru.

You could only wonder, then, why it felt so cold.

It was only when hips pressed into yours and he was fully hilted inside of you that he picked himself up – a hand planted on either side of your head, a broad, careless smile plastered across his lips. You registered that his lips were moving a full moment before you recognized the sound of his voice, as angelic as it was unbearable.

“I love you.”

For the first time, you didn’t bother trying to say anything at all.

[luxcuriousao3]

I've been messing around lately, writing Ghost in different ways to see which rings most true to his character (in my opinion). I wouldn't say that it does ring true for me in this one (then again this one did spawn from my stalker!Ghost thots, tho this fic isn't part of that universe), but I decided to post it anyway. So this little ficlet, despite being xReader, is more of a Ghost character study than anything else. This characterization is definitely experimental, and leans into the "Ghost and Simon are separate personalities" headcanon. No smut, but still NSFW.

Ghost x general's daughter!Reader

You were the daughter of some aging General, a balding, pot-bellied man on his way out, an honorable discharge in his near future. You’d come to visit him on the base, a tray of gooey brownies held firmly in your hands, two hot cocoas balanced on top, and a visitor’s badge pinned to your chest.

Initially, Ghost hadn’t taken much notice of you. Pretty thing, would be easy to kill, was his first impression. A casual, fleeting thought that he paid no attention to but made Simon shudder. There had been a time that when Ghost was in control, Simon was entirely unaware. He would come to and hours could have passed, sometimes days, or, on one particularly grueling campaign, even weeks. It was how he knew there was something evil lurking inside him. But in the desert, all was revealed, and Simon and Ghost were irrevocably tangled up in one another, the same but not, like two different sides of a single coin.

It wasn’t until you walked straight into his firm, broad chest and spilled the scaldingly hot drinks on him that he really noticed you.

Clumsy fuckin’ bird, Ghost thought angrily as he grunted in pain. Should break your bloody wings.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” You chirped, looking up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. He waited for you to flinch and look away when you saw his mask, but you didn’t. You just shifted your tray of brownies to one hand, the other fluttering uselessly over his soaking wet chest for a few seconds, before you grabbed the hem of your dress in a panic and lifted it up to try and dry him off with it.

Your dress was long, long enough to keep you from flashing him entirely, but he still caught an eyeful of your legs, even a glimpse of your plush thighs. At least until you realized what you were doing and dropped your dress again with a squeak of embarrassment, cheeks reddening.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeated earnestly, as Ghost stared down at you in bemusement. It wasn’t often he was shocked by someone’s behavior, but you were just so odd. It was, admittedly, amusing. Watching you squawk and try to smooth your ruffled feathers was like watching someone who’d tried to kill him choke on their own blood. Entertaining. Satisfying. Vaguely erotic.

“Are you okay?” You finally remembered to ask, reaching out to touch him again, as if to check him over. Ghost’s hands shot up, one wrapping around your wrist in a firm grip, the other moving to stop your dessert tray—which was tilting dangerously—from falling. He could feel your pulse thrumming beneath his finger tips, and the warmth of your skin seeped through his glove.

“M’fine,” he said shortly, voice deep and grumbly but not as hostile as usual. Simon’s influence, no doubt. Ghost almost rolled his eyes. His other half always banged on and on about treating ladies with proper respect. Ghost wasn’t particularly interested in sex with other people, preferring to fuck his own fist if the urge grew too great to ignore, but he thought about bending you over right here in this hallway and bullying Simon’s big cock into you, just to spite him.

“Oh! Thank you,” you said with a charming smile, entirely ignorant to the image he’d conjured up of you. One he found himself enjoying more than he’d thought he would. “I really am sorry,” you said for the third time, like a parrot echoing itself. Little bird indeed. “I’m such a klutz. Except for when I’m dancing. Then I’ve got at least a modicum of grace.”

Beneath his mask, Ghost raised a brow. Had he mistakenly given off the impression that he cared?

His silence was pointed, and you flushed deeper. You pushed the tray of brownies towards him, seemingly unphased by the grip he still had on it and your wrist. He let go.

“Go ahead, take it,” you said encouragingly, holding out the treat insistently. “It’s the least I can do to make up for ruining your shirt… I can always make more for Daddy another day.”

Simon’s cock twitched, and this time the dirty thoughts in their head were entirely his. Though Ghost could admit the thought of you calling him Daddy in that sweet little voice of yours, all innocent and sincere, was appealing. Perhaps there was something attractive about fucking another person after all.

“Don’t want any,” Ghost answered after a moment, and your face fell. But instead of taking his words for the dismissal they were, you perked back up and continued talking.

“Do you not like brownies? I can make you something else and come back tomorrow,” you offered, for some unknowable reason. Both Simon and Ghost were astounded the conversation had lasted this long, and worse yet, showed no signs of ending. “I can make lemon bars, white chocolate truffles, pudding, anything you’d like.. But nothing too fancy.” You giggled. No one had ever giggled in Ghost’s presence before. “I’m no professional baker. I just do it when the mood strikes, or when Daddy is craving something sugary. He’s the one who taught me to bake. Oh! Do you have any allergies? Nuts, gluten, anything? I don’t want to poison you…”

And on and on you went, rambling like Ghost was actually listening to you. Except that he was. Perhaps it was cruel curiosity, wanting to see how long you’d carry on making a fool of yourself. Or maybe it was Simon pitying you for the nerves in your voice, not wanting to interrupt you and make you more anxious. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that you were showing Ghost more kindness than he had ever received in his life.

Simon had experienced the joys of living, of companionship and love. Ghost had not, though he’d seen it all through their eyes. He hadn’t really thought that he was missing out on anything.

But now, with a lovely little dove like you offering to bake for him—not Simon, but Ghost—he thought he maybe he was, if just a tad. Especially if your pussy tasted as sweet as your baked goods smelled.

[persicipen-archive]

𑑛 “OLIVE GARDENS” ﾉ DR. RATIO. HONKAI STAR RAIL. ANTIQUITY AU

fem reader ﾉ words 3.5k ᯽ unspecified romantic relationship. mentions of playful ancient gods lol. oral — character receiving. shamelessly doing it outside and lots of touching (grass). riding him. lotus position (?). cumming inside. protection used in ancient times — silphium (quite valid) and pomegranates (barely valid) ﾉ rewritten ᯽ ADULT CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ᯽

as the priestess of the temple, your task is to ensure that the gods are praised with gifts. what if there is a scholar that prefers to worship you instead?

The warm breeze tickles your nose as you lie on the soft grass, pleasantly cold compared to the early noon weather. The shade of a large olive tree helps ease you into relaxation after hours spent in the blazing morning sun tending to your everyday tasks around the temple.

You feel him approach the hill long before you actually see him, like a ghost creeping up on you through the golden light shining upon your eyes through the leaves.

It’s expected of him to be here at this hour, next to you. There’s no one else to disturb you two, just lazy birds and the zephyrs dancing in the wind; little spirits weave and swing their arms around your form, ruffling his hair with fresh air, cool against the dew gathered on your forehead.

Veritas Ratio has nothing in his hands to offer, but his presence alone is enough to make the gods jealous; he’s beautiful, matching the divine statues holding the nearby temple tall and mighty on its columns. As if one of said sculptures escaped and turned human, with violet hair like the sweetest grapes and amber eyes like the finest quality copper coins.

With all that adorns him — from jewellery to elegant sandals — his skin glistens more than your own in the sun, the liquid gold of his being that he can offer instead. The sweat shines on the tips of his ears, nose, and cheeks, highlighting each crease with a perfect precision you’d swear is unnatural. Godsent.

“I welcome you again on these sacred grounds,” you whisper with a smile, glancing at him as you finally decide to take your arm from your forehead. The look you exchange makes something stir deep inside you, right between the navel and pubic bone. “Have you come back for some more wine?”

The question doesn’t catch him off guard; you can see in those pretty eyes that he anticipated it. When he doesn’t answer immediately, however, your sight trails down to the lush curve of his lips.

“Indubitably, the wine would be pleasant,” he mutters thoughtfully, already pulling closer. The jangling of metal pieces connecting to his ankles rings along with the crunchy sound of dry grass under his feet. “But I’m sure the gods already have more than enough wine to indulge themselves throughout the entire afternoon.”

“Perhaps. What are you here for, then?”

It’s fun to tease him; it always ends with you having a great time playing around with the words. This also isn’t an exception when he answers with another question.

“And you? Shouldn’t you be waiting in the temple instead of dozing off in the gardens, waiting for some stranger to stir a conversation?”

A weak exhale of laughter leaves your chest at that, prompting him to tilt his head inquisitively. “That depends if the stranger is you or someone else.”

You raise a hand, allowing him to close the last gap between you and bring it to his face to kiss your knuckles softly.

“If it’s you, maybe I wanted to see you sooner,” you add, stretching your neck upwards slightly in search of more touch.

It comes quickly as a brief peck on the lips, chaste and careful — just a greeting as well as a promise of what’s coming. The peachy colour of his cheeks only emphasises his sharp features further when he leans back, though you doubt anyone could ever forget how gorgeous this man is. One of the wonders of the world, with or without the blush.

His clothes slide from his shoulders effortlessly, the flowing linen clinging to the curves of his muscles like second skin as he exposes himself to the world. That beautiful hair spreads messily on the ground once he lies down next to you and pats his chest with one arm.

It takes neither hesitation nor further words for you to lay your head in his open embrace, pillowed by his heart beating steadily right under your ear. A pair of strong arms embraces your shoulder soon after, but most importantly, a new shade joins your rest beneath the tree.

Even without having to look at the sky, you know the clouds gathered to dim the sun. The rustling of olive branches in the wind almost completely replaces the sounds of cicadas, gales soaring high in the sky to travel above the hill.

In such peace, the silence feels warm and welcome — as much as his skin brushing against yours does. You sigh deeply when his lips press down onto the top of your head, his breath tickling the roots of your hair, gentle fingers threading through it.

The tone of his humming is content. His hands exploring your back, petting and stroking each little bump of your spine, are the reasons for which you squirm lightly from time to time.

Would be nice to continue and deepen the pleasure, but just resting like that was lovely on its own. Sometimes you simply cannot decide — the kindness of the day enveloping you both is quite compelling too, and you wish to never get up from the lush grass.

That is until you feel his erection stirring, pulsing under your thigh that accidentally landed on top of his robes around the hips. Must be enjoying himself, if you can assume this much, from the hardness growing between your bodies.

Without delay, your lips turn to graze over his neck, where his scent is stronger and fills your nostrils with its sweetness. It’s as if he just dipped in wine and ate some honey; that’s how rich it is — an intoxicating combination to inhale when you let your teeth nibble on the collarbone.

“Are you sure you’re not coming here with different intentions than just offering your praise to the gods?” You purr against his skin, sliding down his torso, taking the folds of his robes with you to uncover more of his muscular body.

His chest is pale compared to the legs he shows during his public appearances, tinted with a golden tan that gradually disappears under loose layers of fabric.

“Depends. If I can praise the gods through my actions, I will gladly show it all to you,” he replies, his voice sultry.

Oh, those gods have definitely been playing with your heart this year, giggling every time they send him here, probably watching from the clouds as the two lovers meet again under the tree.

“As always, I would be pleased to receive the worship in their stead.”

Lazily, you rut your lower body against his leg while your fingers wander under his robes, smoothing up his inner thigh with a light brush, barely ghosting above the skin. He doesn’t let out even the slightest sound of acknowledgement, yet he doesn’t need to — you see his cock twitching.

The moment the pad of your finger touches it, his arms around your shoulder tighten. He shifts, grinding against the sole of your palm.

With a soft laugh, you lean forward to kiss him on the mouth. The groan of excitement you swallow sounds wonderful in your ears, full of longing for fulfilment, yet he couldn’t force you to move any faster, still too deep in his complicated thoughts.

As you feel the slippery tear of precum slide between your fingers, you want to pull the foreskin down, slowly teasing the ridge under the tip. So many possibilities, so many desires.

One more peck lands on your cheekbone as he puts one of his hands down between your legs, parting them carefully; fingertips stroke at your sensitive thighs, barely reaching for your private parts, too shallow to satisfy either of you.

“It’s okay, I can wait. No need to do it at the same time…” You smile at him when he pauses in his motion to study your face, frowning lightly, almost apologetically. “We have lots of time ahead, don’t worry. I’ve been waiting this whole morning, I can spare you another moment or two.”

He hums in agreement, though not without a bitter note of disappointment, probably having more than one idea of how to actually make it work. He could even fuck you right away, with those vast arms keeping your waist in place and those powerful thighs putting all that strength to work. Or turn you around, with your face near his pelvis and your pretty ass above his face, grinding your wetness against his chin. He has said once that he wants to taste you like that, after all.

His hold around your waist is gentle, firm, and tempting — if you were standing, your knees would have given in long ago just from imagining such treatment.

Nonetheless, as you finally unwrap his shaft to see it standing proudly, flushed and hot, glistening at the very tip, you take your chance to play with the foreskin, moving it back and forth with one hand and circling the glans with another.

Losing your head, you place a gentle kiss on the exposed ridge, feeling the slit tremble when more pre slides out and tickles your lip. It tastes slightly salty, sweet on your tongue, and it makes your hunger only worse, eager to open your mouth and lick up the underside.

A hitched breath follows right after when your tongue swipes across the entire length from the balls to the crown; then another, with more power, to let the head rub against the palate and savour the taste that was left there.

Obvious to notice that he enjoys it so much when he reaches for your midsection and grips at it so eagerly, thumbs stroking your tummy.

But before you could lose your mind and ride his thigh again, you feel something pushing your loincloth aside, cold air hitting your intimate parts; the fresh breeze combined with the sweat cooling your skin sends chills down your back. The difference in temperature is enough to make your skin prickle.

He may not reach your pussy, a bit too far away, but his large hand caresses the curve of your ass languidly, drawing patterns of worship all over the skin, massaging it every time your movements falter.

He knows all the right ways to make you melt; even a mere touch like that leaves you purring happily against his shaft. Your thighs tremble when you imagine yourself in some other position — any of those you two have already experienced together.

He must have thought about them too when his other hand presses on the back of your neck, leading your head down again to lick over his cock.

If that’s the direction he wishes to go, then who are you to decline? Especially when your cunt clenches with emptiness, dripping onto the grass already just from this little gesture.

When you take him in your mouth, you hear his low moans, short and satisfied, followed by the thuds of his head hitting the soft ground. Your hands work to cup his balls, tugging lightly to bring the first surge of pleasure to his body, rewarded with a warm shiver rocking his thighs.

He’s so generous today with the sounds of enjoyment, little gasps escaping his pretty lips, mixing with the wet slurping of your tongue; that makes it nearly impossible to contain the blissful laugh building in your chest.

Finally, you can feel his hands travelling back to your legs, spreading your folds, and rubbing in just the right way — longing for more.

“It’s enough. Come here.”

Without a word, you oblige, although it doesn’t keep you from whining loudly, desperately trying to give him the final push. Your kisses trail up his abs to his pecs, then his shoulders and neck, his body rolling beneath you like waves in the ocean.

All the way, his palms stay on your sides, guiding you with a careful but confident grip onto his lap, holding you steady at a good angle when your lips lock again with passion and impatience.

Your cheeks burn at the accidental sight of his cock nestled perfectly between your folds, ready to take in when you roll your hips — so warm against your clit that the heat pooling in your stomach spreads through your limbs, warming them from the inside.

“Look at you, beautiful. Be so generous and sit on me already. I will repay you the other time,” he whispers, leaning for another kiss; the way he bites into your bottom lip tells you he is impatient.

With your hands on his chest for balance, you straddle him comfortably, locking your ankles behind his thighs. He watches, panting and groaning in sync with the movements, eyes hazed and cheeks flustered as you rise on your knees, hissing from the drag of skin against skin.

Slowly, with a measured pace, you sink onto him with a delightful sting, feeling every little detail of his shape as you hold your breath in anticipation.

He doesn’t close his eyes; he doesn’t look anywhere else but at you. The intense gaze on your face makes your insides clench involuntarily, and it takes a moment for you to regain control and continue your progress.

When you’re finally sitting flat on top of him, your head is spinning. Just being connected makes your walls pulsate, and it takes an enormous amount of effort to not succumb to your needs. Your aching core just wants to rut down until the climax.

There’s still so much you want to do before that happens, so much you wish to share, but the syrupy whines just keep spilling from your throat, and the pleasure takes away the control over your muscles.

You have to cling to his wide shoulders when he wraps his fingers around your waist, trailing the sides with the back of his knuckles. The tender caresses send waves of delight up your nape.

“Be still a little longer,” he coos, but his own breath is so laboured that it trembles in his ribcage as well. “You’re enjoying yourself too much just by sitting on me. How will you manage to continue?”

“Please, don’t say anything… mmh—!” You respond, mouth slack to allow the long moan to slip off your tongue.

The high-pitched keens resonate with your hammering heart. You’re the cause for the shameful noises in the gardens, but you couldn’t care less — just as the man beneath you, you know the gods will have no issue with those. They aren’t easily offended, quite the opposite.

Just thinking that they might be watching makes you hiccup, shattering the rhythm of your breaths.

And then the sound changes when he moves. Hips rising off the ground, slamming your ass down hard enough for your spine to arch, yet you find the perfect position and squeeze around his shaft, receiving a hiss for a reward. His cock pulsates as you grind against it, fucking yourself at last — with a tad more pressure and patience, it wouldn’t matter if he moves or not; it could be just as satisfying.

“Oh, if you only knew how it feels when you clench like this,” he groans as you watch his Adam’s apple move with the heavy swallow. “To feel how my seed gathers in my loins, ready to release into your womb.”

“I didn’t take you for a man like that.”

“Only with you.”

It takes an immense effort to tear your eyes from his handsome face, flushed, shiny with sweat, and with a pleasured grimace twisting the corners of his mouth. But the throbbing is too urgent; your orgasm right at the edge.

“Ah! Hmm… I still prefer to eat too many pomegranates, you know.”

“Don’t you store silphium at the temple?”

“if we haven’t used it all by now before getting a new batch.” You laugh briefly at that.

Your legs open further to lean backwards, hand clasping on his thighs behind your back, giving you better access, and from that view alone, it would be so easy for him to cum on the spot. The pearly sheen of slick running down your thighs makes you quiver and pull away again, no more than an inch, though it leaves your whole body twitching in search of stimulation.

As he realises what you want, one hand lets go of your hips to put itself on the swell of your pussy, right above where your petals spread to embrace him. The delicate touches there, massaging in circles and applying a soft pressure over the protruding pearl hidden among your folds, send the sharp bolts of bliss through your gut.

“Ahh, gods,” you mewl, knees shaking when you try your best not to fall over. His other hand holds your side with strength, securing your trembling figure as you roll yourself against both his fingers and his cock.

Even with all the care to move your hips to get the right angle, your bodies collide forcefully, making your inner walls wail in joy as the nerves in the soft skin catch the last sparks before it all fades. You buckle under the wave of euphoria crashing against you, everything coming at once — the rhythmic contraction, the heat igniting your whole body, and the tears of overstimulation burning your eyes.

Without even trying to open them, you let out a whine, feeling you tighten over him, and legs struggle to not give in, still rocking against his shaft, dragging every second of this godly ecstasy.

Noises of him speaking die down, though, and the pleasure turns sour at the thought you accidentally upset him; maybe your hips jerked too hard against his erection, or you hit his chest a little too harsh.

Then you open your eyes.

He sits up to hold you by your arms, with his length still lodged deep in you, hefty as ever. Yet his features are not scrunched up nor furrowed, not even in the slightest.

He just looks dazed.

“Apologies if I interrupted your preferred rhythm. I lost myself in the pleasure…” His voice is honeyed and so lovely to hear that it seems unreal to experience it just once, even if you’ve already heard it so many times when you embrace together like that, skin to skin. “Come closer. I want you like that… here.”

Your lips find each other in another kiss, slow and sloppy, interspersed with tired licks. It’s such a blessing to see him like that, glowing with peachy blush and with the mix of both yours and his sweat — it’s the thrill of excitement bubbling in your heart that you are the reason behind his satisfaction.

Slightly embarrassed by your previous reaction, you let him move your own body as he wants to, making it feel as if you were one, swaying in a dance of love under the canopy of branches and olives in the warm light of day, basking in the glory of their gifts.

He seems to be thoroughly enjoying the situation, playing with your senses so mercilessly that you have to bite onto your lower lip to suppress another bout of moans — not when you can hear the quiet ones of his own, breaking out with every other breath.

His movements are a tad clumsy and awkward in their attempt to fulfil two roles at the same time. Yet you couldn’t mind the pace, his girth rubbing just the right places and forcing another squelch out of your cunt, drooling shamelessly all over his pelvis.

Still sensitive from the previous peak, it doesn’t take much time before you feel another one building in your lower abdomen. Your legs hug his waist tighter, and you lean your whole body weight against his.

But it’s not your job to move. It’s his, and he does it wonderfully.

Heavens, it feels so good that your throat closes, all your attempts at breathing completely unsuccessful, and he probably sees how your eyes glaze over. Even when your back arches away from him, the intensity of his stare never falters, bringing you the utmost joy, but now his expression changes too.

The words get caught somewhere along the way when your walls spasm and milk him without warning. With the brief gasp, he can’t even tell whether it was intentional or not. His mouth hangs slightly open, letting out silent huffs while his body continues its thrusts, shivering in tandem for the last seconds.

Not once does he tear his gaze away from you as the ecstasy in his stomach snaps — a rush of warmth coating your insides — and slows his pace into shallow rolls. There is something magical in those moments of conclusion — seeing him still holding your frame as if he didn’t just spill all that thick cum into your core.

Gathering strength in your muscles, you straighten up enough to playfully take the tip of his nose between your teeth with a giggle; it doesn’t take long for him to push it up slightly, catching your mouth for a long kiss. With a sigh of satisfaction, he falls back on the grass, taking you with him, still embracing, still connected.

You follow the path his thumb traced down the curve of your cheek, nestling against his chest, and your heart beats alongside his. It’s tempting to let your eyelids close and let the pleasant post-orgasmic sleep claim you.

“Tell me,” he hums, fingers reaching for your head to skim through your hair, untangling sweaty strands. “Is the priestess elated with our leisure? Have I done what I had to do?”

“Perhaps.” You grin at him. “The gods are thankful for your devotion.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE — i say ‘lowkey’ antiquity au because the setting is only vaguely described and could work if we get dr. ratio’s planet at some point in hsr (i wonder if it is amphoreus??) :3 until then, just imagine it as loosely inspired by ancient greece or rome ﾉ as usual, i’m sorry if i overlooked any mistakes, but i can only endure this much of proofreading before giving up ﾉ also, please don’t believe in ancient protection methods even if they could work lmao — the joke there was that reader and dr. ratio get together so often that they have no more silphium to use and need to resort to other temporary methods before acquiring more for future use hehe

[readngandweepng]

needed to put my thoughts on paper about screwing daisuke or curly in the main lobby + some tidbits (pre-crash)

MDNI gn amab top reader, bottom character. can honestly be any of them i guess?? but i wrote this with curly and daisuke in mind lmao. basically just a horny post about same-room sex. half proof-read and probably ooc

imagine fucking him while he’s either sitting on the kitchen counter or laid against the table when everyone’s sound asleep in their respective cabins. he’s hiding his face in the crook of your neck where you can feel his warm breath against your skin as he’s trying oh so hard to keep his volume down. his hands clutch the back of your shirt so tightly you think he’s going to tear it. he bucks his hips, sending a shake bolting through his body. the moan it erupts is muffled by your neck, as are the rest of them. with your fast fucking he has to take a deep breath before hiking a leg up over your waist, angling your cock just a little bit deeper inside of him where he needs you most. the fear of getting caught has dwindled down, too distracted by the feeling of you pounding into him to even give it a second thought. all he can do is hook his legs around your waist and take your cock. he slaps a hand over his mouth to keep his moans repressed as he arches his back and cums. your cum filling him up is almost rejuvenating, and suddenly the consequences of getting caught means absolutely nothing as he rocks into you, his legs around your waist keeping you, and your cock, perfectly in place.

both daisuke and curly would really enjoy the humiliation aspect of something like this. actually getting caught would be absolutely mortifying, but if you were to successfully have sex in the kitchen or on one of the couches without anyone knowing or catching you? say goodbye to your dick because it's curly's now. it wouldn't be an insanely common thing between you two, but i do think that he would secretly be kind of in love with it. daisuke would enjoy it but i don't see him as too much of the exhibitionist type; he prefers getting caught being lovey-dovey.

curly definitely has a rebellious side, and if he was feeling frisky enough he'd lean against one of the kitchen counters while daisuke and swansea were at the dining table, bending over just enough to catch your eye. he might even brush himself against your crotch when passing by, but it wouldn't be noticeable to anyone other than you or someone actively looking for it.

though i don't think daisuke would be forward like that in public, (the most he'll do is give you kisses or sit in your lap while he's playing) he wouldn't mind if you kissed up his neck while he's playing sorry! or rifling in the kitchen for something to eat. swansea would scold you and it would make his face red, but he does enjoy the little thrill he gets out of someone catching you sneak kisses.

(i'm not entirely sure what their sleeping quarters entail, like if there's bunk beds and everyone sleeps in the same room) but in this case that is the set-up, and neither daisuke nor curly would be opposed to riding you on your bed while everyone else is asleep.

daisuke is like a bunny, riding you too fast for his own good until the creaking of the bed forces him to slow down. really, if you actually want to get caught this is the best way to do it, but to ensure there's some kind of dignity left, sitting up and controlling his speed while he has something stuffed in his mouth to keep him from whining is the way to go. otherwise he won't have the self-control to cover his own mouth where your hands are too far away to cover it for him before he wakes everyone up.

riding you is definitely one of curly's favorite things to do, so he would be great at it, even in a situation where you have to be quiet. he'd like leaning over and kissing you with his hands by your head and your arms wrapped around him. the main concern here is having the self-control to not buck your hips up into him, yet your feet are still planted flat on the bed, just in case. he's not the worst at being quiet, so why not make things exciting?

daisuke would love sneaking into bed with you, even if it really is just so sleep. he loves having his back flush against your chest as your hand goes down the front of his pants to stroke him. sometimes he'll just rock into your hand until he cums, and sometimes he'll take off his pants and slip your cock inside, rutting back against you until you push him down onto his stomach and take him. you have to be careful with daisuke because he's noisy, and if you can't tire him out he'll just ask you for more, and by that point the whole crew will know what you've been up to at night (as if they don't already know).

curly, depending on the circumstances, can a lot of the time be the one to start it. playing it off by giving you kisses on the corner of your lips and acting like it's just to send you off to sleep. but then he'll move his lips down to your jaw, and to your neck. you'll feel his hand palm at you through your pants, but if you try touching him he'll shush you, taking your cock out and stroking it painfully slow. you can kiss him, but then he won't throw the blanket over his head and mouth at your dick to slip it down his throat.

ftm!curly would adore having you eat him out under the covers. the feeling of your fingers curling inside of him is intoxicating, and having to keep his voice down and his breathing even just adds to the pleasure he feels. curly is good at keeping his volume down until you start sucking on his clit, then he has to turn his head and pull the pillow over his mouth to quiet himself. he bucks into your tongue a lot because even though he won't outright admit it, he revels in the thought that others might hear how wet you make him.

ftm!curly, if he's feeling too shy, likes when you fuck his thighs, being perfectly content with your cock grazing his cunt. he'll tweak his nipples and watch your dick being sandwiched by his thighs. if he doesn't cum, he's not opposed to finishing things quickly and having you just rub his clit while you kiss and nip at his chest.

ftm!daisuke also loves being eaten out but he's not as good at being quiet, so he'd prefer being fingered where the pleasure being inflicted upon him isn't as overwhelming and direct. he likes when you slowly drag your fingers in and out, spreading him open little by little while thumbing his clit every now and then. he gets very wet very fast, so being under the covers is ideal to drown out the sounds his cunt makes, especially when you begin to speed up and his thighs clamp around your hand because the feeling is too much.

ftm!daisuke loves dry-humping too, and he cums a lot quieter. he'd like having you hold him as he rides your thigh, clothed or not. daisuke also would love to feel the head of your cock rubbing against his pussy, teasing his entrance. absolutely can cum from just your dick gently slapping against his clit.

these thoughts honestly spawned from the very minute i saw the bedrolls on the ground in the lobby. i'm not even a horn-dog but one of my first thoughts was damn imagine fucking there so now here is this post to finally relinquish weeks of 'what-if-'s and 'i-would-totally-'s. i am really into the whole having sex with the chance of getting caught but would hate actually getting caught thing if you couldn't tell lmao.

[scatter-snz]

Best Laid Plans - Part 1

Details: 9k, Male sneezes, no pairing (yet..)

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. The agency’s best engineer has constructed something to give him an edge.

PART 1 - PART 2

My first original piece I've posted here!

This is VERY self-indulgent so you’ll have to excuse me lol. It’s like.. lizard brain horny. Seriously lol. Slapping NSFW on here for good measure. It’s rare I get embarrassed about my kink nowadays but I feel a little embarrassed about this one. Still, I had fun writing it! I hope someone else can enjoy it too! 

These are original characters, all in their late twenties and early thirties! This story was inspired by @testingtwns writing. She has such captivating descriptions, spectacular characterizations, and fascinating world lore. This snippet can’t hold a candle to her amazing stories, but I was moved to try writing it after reading hers. (If you would prefer I remove this shoutout, Red, please let me know! Your stuff is just so great!)

(Warnings: Unrealistic science, my cringe attempt at sneeze characterization, Mess Lite™, questionable workplace dynamics, general horny undertones and overtones, accidental boners and feeling pleasure from sneezing).

THIS STORY IS NSFW!

-

It was never a great morning when Agent Omicron found himself in Dr. Anita Voster’s lab. She was a little eccentric, he thought, and liked to make mischief. Not a good combination for a scientist. Still, she was the best in the force and the one assigned to his case by the powers that be. He knew why he was reporting to Dr. Voster’s lab and he knew what his bosses would say - The sooner you report to Dr. Voster, the sooner you can begin your work.

Omicron reported to her lab sharply at 0800, shrugged off his suit jacket at her behest, and sat himself down in her vaguely threatening patient chair for the administration of her invention. Dr. Voster was far too giddy in handing over a small container of nasal spray. It looked harmless, but Omicron knew better.

“This,” he said, inspecting the bottle, “will make me sick?”

“Something like that,” Dr. Voster replied. She fetched the bottle from his hand as she spoke, and rolled a plush stool over to sit as they talked. “This virus was engineered specifically to make you sneeze, so think of it like a cold in your nose.”

“Similar to allergies?”

“Yes, if you were allergic to air.”

Omicron sighed. He wasn’t in the business of complaining, but this was going to be challenging. He crossed his arms, trying not to fidget. “How long does it last?”

“Just long enough to see you through the mission. Your symptoms should abate by Thursday.”

So he’d be sick the entire time, essentially. Great. His leg started to bounce.

“Will this slow me down?” he asked. Dr. Voster arched a look over her safety glasses. He clarified himself. “Am I going to feel like shit?”

She smirked at him. “Are you one of those man-cold types?”

Heat swept over his ears and burned the back of his neck, and her smile only widened. He crunched his brows with a glare. “No, I’m just being thorough. If this will compromise my performance in any way, I want to know about it.”

“It won’t,” she chuckled, and he tried not to get defensive at the amusement in her voice. “Like I said, the primary function of this virus is to make you sneeze. You’ll be contending with some nasal congestion, but aside from that you’ll be fine.”

That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t going undercover into enemy territory. He tensed as she snapped on a pair of gloves and looped on a face mask. When she uncapped the bottle, he cleared his throat. “The paperwork said something about me being more ‘suggestible?’ What does that mean?”

She huffed at his air quotes and yanked down her mask. “It means you’ll be vulnerable to psychosomatic triggers. In other words, if you think hard enough about sneezing, you’ll prompt one.”

“That sounds unlikely.”

“We have testing data to support it,” she chastised, and yanked her mask back up. “It was a goal for the formula. We thought you might find it handy to take matters into your own hands if a sneeze wasn’t forthcoming.”

“For.. what? Tactical measures?”

“Yes, strategic options. Now, tilt your head and relax.”

He reluctantly settled back into the cushioned chair, sniffing in preparation. One of her latex hands moved to cradle his jaw and keep him still as she nudged the applicator up the right side. It was wide enough to graze the sides of his nostrils, and he felt them flare in response.

“Okay, deep breath..”

Swallowing, he breathed slowly, deeply through his nose. A fffssh from the bottle yielded a mist of curiously warm aerosol that instantly coated the skin. He flinched a wrist up to his mouth to cough in response. It felt suddenly like his nose was running, so he sniffed, sniffed, and sniffed again. A strong flavor coated the back of his throat.

“Why is it salty?”

“Well, we didn’t intentionally flavor it,” she said, already moving to his left nostril. “Probably the saline. We used it as a base. Now, give me another big breath.”

He did as he was told, and again a warm puff of wetness invaded his nose. And another. And another. They performed this three times for each nostril, alternating sides, and the last one rubbed him wrong. A tiny tickle ignited. Omicron warded Dr. Voster back with one cautious hand as the other routed to his nose. He anchored his forefinger beneath his nostrils, pressing deliberately against his septum as he parted his lips to breathe. Voster snorted at him as she set the bottle aside.

“I thought that only worked in cartoons.”

“And on me,” he mumbled in a heady voice. 

It took a moment of concentrated effort, but the urge passed. He sniffed, a little wetter this time as he blinked away tears. Agent Omicron was an old hand at holding back sneezes. Sudden, uncontrolled outbursts weren’t great for business when he was out in the field. That, and he generally didn’t like to draw attention to himself even in civilian life. He caught Dr. Voster smiling at him and his brows trenched.

“What now?”

“I’m not into sneezing,” she told him as she capped the bottle, “but that was pretty cute. Your target won’t stand a chance, Mr. Honey Pot.”

He replied with a scowl and one more see-sawing rub beneath his nose. “When does this kick in?”

“Give it twenty-four hours,” she said, and snapped off her gloves. “I’ll check on you then to make sure it took.”

He stood and slipped back into his jacket, straightened his tie. “Isn’t this cutting it a little close? I’m flying out tomorrow.”

“Maybe, but we didn’t want your poor nose suffering anymore than it has to,” she cooed, and punctuated this with a little tap of her knuckle to his septum. He swatted her away.

“Stop.”

“Oohhh,” she pouted, leaning a hip against her workstation. “Always so serious, Agent O.”

Omicron lurked a warning glare her way as he adjusted his sleeve cuffs and shirt collar. “I’ll be back in 2400.”

---

And he was, though he dragged his feet most of the way.

Omicron believed Dr. Voster when she said this nasal spray contained a virus that would cause his nose some hell, but he didn’t quite understand just how.. intense the experience would be. 

He sniffled, a necessary indignity since he woke up this morning, and the slow, deliberate flare of that ever-present irritation beckoned him toward an unavoidable conclusion. Still, Omicron shoved the hard edge of his finger beneath his nose and tilted his head back for another whip-crack sniff. It flared the tickle dangerously, but the steady breakwater against his septum kept him in the clear. His nostrils twitched and he pinched them, rubbing rubbing rubbing until he heard the embarrassing squelch of something wet in his nose.

Another strong sniff, and a weak huhh on his exhale. Shit. He wiped his hand on the side of his pants with a grimace. He’d have to start carrying tissues.

“There he is!” Dr. Voster greeted him with a disarming smile, but he could see the hawklike way she zeroed in on his nose. He tried not to sniffle. “How’s my magnum opus treating you?”

It’s bullying me, Omicron thought, but as he laced his hands properly behind his back, what he said instead was, “It’s working.”

“Oh, is it?” she said. She wasn’t even trying to mask the delight in her voice now as she crowded him back into her exam chair. “Let me take a look.”

He stared hard at the ceiling as she slipped on gloves and wheeled forward on her stool, leaning over him like a dentist. He hated the dentist. A warm trickle of wetness prompted an automatic sniff, and a huffing exhale when that far-back tickle teased him.

“Runny nose?” she chirped, using her thumb to gently coax his nostril open. She held an otoscope with her other hand, using the little light to peer up his nose. Omicron tried not to shrivel in embarrassment as she crooned with sympathy. “Oooh, poor thing. You’re so inflamed..”

“Wasn’t that the idea?” he sighed, and sniffled again. A spark somewhere in his sinuses caused him a hard blink.

“Yes, but it must tickle so much..”

In response to her words, another spark snapped inside him. Like striking flint to burn kindling. Another reflexive sniffle. His eyes began to water. 

“It must feel like something fuzzy is stuck up there,” she was saying, rubbing her thumb softly against the quivering edge of his nostril. “Every time you breathe, this fluffy thing, lodged in place and too far for you to reach..”

The frantic efforts of the virus continued, tenacious now in its purpose. The fuse caught, as did Omicron’s next inhale. His chest hitched with a stutter. He tried to reach up, finger extended and ready, but Voster caught his wrist and pinned it back down to the chair arm.

“It must be new for you, to be so out of control. This thing inside you, tickling so sweetly, growing unbearable, and there’s nothing you can do but submit.”

That tantalizing feeling got worse. The line of gunpowder trailing through his pulsing nostrils lit up with an unstoppable blaze. It raced through him, and Omicron couldn’t do anything but give it fuel. He gasped hugely, his chest straining against the buttons of his shirt. The exhale crashed out of him clumsily, unrelieved.

“H-HUHhh..”

Dr. Voster leaned away, but set her otoscope aside to pin his other wrist when he reflexively raised it to ward off what was coming. “Don’t fight it, Omicron. That tickle nestled in your nose was built for this. Listen to it. You two are a team, remember?”

Omicron couldn’t even open his eyes, the sensation held him so powerfully. It felt alive, calculated, somehow vying for control. He snatched in another soft breath, breathed it out on a moan, and then gasped again. His lungs strained to accommodate as that demanding tickle wanted more.. more..

He huffed out another helpless groan. “HHUHhhh..”

His hands flinched toward his face, but met resistance. A tear surfed down his cheek and got caught in his stubble. He gasped- gasped-! “.. hH-hiIHH-!”

The sensation crested, and finally, overcame him.

“HHZZZSSSCHOOO!!”

The force of it threw him forward. It was the loudest, strongest sneeze he’d ever sneezed, but somehow it didn’t feel big enough. Cool, tingling aftermath quickly gathered a second storm. This time, Omicron didn’t do anything but breathe into it.

“..hhHI’JJIZZSHHUE!”

Another uncharacteristically enormous sneeze. His wrists were free, but he didn’t even bother to cover his mouth or muffle into his elbow. Usually he’d rather disintegrate than sneeze freely even in his own home, but.. this tickle.. he just wanted to let it.. let it do.. 

“HEH’CHIZSHOoo!”

.. do whatever it wanted. And what it wanted was complete and utter domination. Omicron sniffled helplessly, half-aware he was leaking out of more than one orifice but too punch-drunk to do much about it. His breath caught fitfully in his throat and he-.. 

“-idzhih.. HID’ISSsshoo!.. huhh..”

Omicron leaned over to press hands over his eyes, his palms coming away wet. He was normally a one-and-done guy, with fairly normal-sized sneezes; this many at this size had him light-headed. His breath hitched again, quick like the strike of a viper, before he let it go on a sigh. And another, just the same. It felt like hiccups. He didn’t dare touch his nose, too wary of setting off the wrath of this thing deep inside him. Instead he just sniffled pitifully, catching his breath.

There was a tap on his shoulder. He glanced askance to a sheepish looking Dr. Voster who was offering a box of tissues. He snatched several, still too dazed to be properly embarrassed as he blew a wet, crackling sound into the wad of them. It took a few rounds, but when he finished he cleared his throat and blinked at her with teary eyes.

“What the fuck, Anita.”

“Sorry,” she winced, and she actually did seem sorry. “I wanted to test the ‘suggestible’ variable and you reacted more strongly than I anticipated. Also, um.. bless you, by the way.”

He sat back against the seat with a stuffy sniffle, arms crossed, and now that he was more aware of himself, valiantly fighting down the urge to blush. “Yes, well. You were just doing your job, so I can’t be mad.”

She hedged a nervous smile. “Can’t be, or shouldn’t be?”

He gusted a long sigh, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose when somehow even the rumble of his own voice stirred the residual dust of another sinus-deep tickle. “Do you need to test anything else, or can I go?”

His voice had lost most of its resonance from the sneeze attack as the congestion set in -- not yet enough to blunt his consonants but enough to dull the overall sound. Moisture skated down the side of his nose and Omicron wrinkled it with another snuffle that moved nothing at all. How could his nose be both dripping and completely blocked? He indulged a rub this time, soothing his nostrils to stillness with the tempering back-and-forth of his index finger.

The doctor’s voice broke the quiet. “How does it feel?”

Omicron peered up at her, finger still held to his upper lip. “Pardon?”

“Your nose,” she clarified, but not by much. “How does it feel?” He scoffed and stood to leave. She stood to stop him, holding both hands out as if to placate him. “I’m not teasing you. I really do need to know. Are you in pain?”

“No,” he said, chest lifting with another short sniff. He pressed harder against his septum, rubbing in earnest now as the tickle began gathering momentum. It stalled against the wrangling touch, but didn’t back down. “No pain.”

“But it does tickle?”

“I believe we’ve estahh..hkrrrm!” He cleared his throat to steady his voice. “.. established that, yes.”

She eyed him, her gaze trailing down to the finger glued beneath his nose. “You shouldn’t try to hold them off, Omicron. It might be why your sneezing earlier was so extreme.”

All this talk of sneezing was just emboldening the tickle. It’s like the sensation was surging forward, eager to answer to the call of its name. His eyes fluttered closed and he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to try and waylay another gasping breath. His nostrils pulsed against his finger, prompting him to pinch them instead, but still they tried to flare against his grip. He heard Dr. Voster sigh.

“I don’t know why they picked you for this mission,” she muttered, just loud enough to be heard. “If you’re too shy to sneeze, you’re going to lose your target pretty much instantly.”

His eyes sliced open, as defiant as his nose still squirming between his fingers. His voice was bottled back in his throat completely. “I’b dnot shy, I’b.. I’b jhhss.. hooh..”

The tickle hijacked his voice, tremoring it on a snatchy inhale. It prickled ominously behind his eyes, insistent, and Omicron stayed perfectly still in an effort to tame it. Even with his nose plugged and his fervent attempts to rub the sensation away, the tickle persisted. It dragged another breath in on a soft gasp, out on another dreading utterance.

“.. H-Ihih!.. ohh..”

“You’re so stubborn,” said Dr. Voster, and he could hear her rolling her eyes. He’d known her for years, and while he tried to rise above her goading taunts, there always came a point when she got to him.

Omicron let go of his nose and took as long and deep of a breath as he could through his trembling nostrils. The tickle welcomed it, greedily advancing, and rather than prolong the fight Omicron simply braced his hands on his knees to keep his balance as the sensation built inside him. As Dr. Voster so strangely asserted during his last volley, he and this virus were a team. He wouldn’t see the success of this mission without it.

It was this thought that compelled him to breathe again, a sniff that coasted directly into a gasp. He waited, hovering on the edge of it, but the sneeze backed away just before he could snatch it. Omicron squinted up at Dr. Voster, who was watching him with bald interest.

“Iihhff… hoo..” He sniffled, abandoning all dignity as he snubbed the wet edges of his nostrils against the sleeve of his suit. “If I let this tiH.. tiihckle ha..uuHUhh.. have its way ev..” 

His eyes fluttered closed, and he snatched in a series of chuffing breaths. Each was a shrill gasp followed by a bleating exhale, utterly beyond his power to stop. The crescendo carried him into increasingly higher and faster octaves, before the sneeze ripped out of him with gusto.

“HAH’CHIZSHOO!-ohhhh..” He swayed on his feet, panting at the ground, and was shocked to find in the tingling aftermath how good that felt. It made it easier to let the next one swell and crash out of him. “..HIH’SSschoo!- fuck mbe..”

Omicron rarely swore, but the power and sheer abandon of these sneezes were so unlike his usual that he couldn’t help it. Through the haze of another rising tickle, he tried to hurry through the rest of his thoughts before he completely forgot what he was saying.

“If I let it have.. hahve it’s wayiiiiee..ig’GIZZSCHue!!-hah... I’ll be sdnee.. sdiizz.. HIZZSSSHOO!!..ughh, sdeezig for..fuh! UH!hhh.. for days.” He finished on a sigh, unrelieved, one hand now holding desperately onto the chair so he didn’t end up on his knees.

Dr. Voster didn’t immediately speak and when he finally blinked away blurry tears, he found her biting her lip with a worried crease between her eyes. “.. Do you always sneeze like this when you catch a cold?”

Even the very word caused his nose to buzz. His willpower was all but shredded, so he clamped onto the chair with his other hand and threw his head down with a body-shaking, “IID’DZZSSSSSTTH!!”

It was an unfortunate sneeze, one that painted his tie and the seat of the chair with its aftermath. Omicron didn’t have the energy to blush about it; honestly, this was all Anita’s fault so if he happened to catch her furniture in the crossfire of his helpless sneezing fit he.. heeeeeeee-

“HEEZZZSHOOO!!” He stumbled forward into a suspended tray of implements that crashed to the ground in a tremendous clatter. Omicron paid it no mind, tilting his head back to the fluorescent lights in an effort to keep his running nose at bay. “Bloody hell, won’t it st.. uh.. ohh.. hH!”

A bridge of pressure appeared beneath his septum, pressing firmly against it. He cracked his eyes open to find Dr. Voster beside him, her finger fearlessly anchored beneath his flaring nostrils. They threatened another revolt, under the tickle’s full command. That enduring, swelling force inside Omicron begged again for release and he gasped loudly against Dr. Voster.

“..hihHIT-!”

“Nope, nope, nope,” she muttered, pressing even harder against his nose. “Work with me here..”

Omicron had no idea if she was talking to him, or the virus, but both struggled to comply. The maddening prickle became tortuous. His nose cried out for relief, as the tickle played his sinuses like a fine instrument. Holding it back now seemed impossible. And to be frank, he was still a bit irked with Anita. He flicked his gaze up to the lights, sensitive enough that the bright flash of them set alight the simmering fuse inside him.

And, because he was a gentleman, he did try to warn her. “.. caahh.. cahhdd..”

“O, don’t you dare. I know you have more control than this, just-”

He heaved his way through an ominous buildup, letting the tickle dictate the pace of his breath until it brought him to the brink. His chest inflated, pressing against Dr. Voster as she fought to the end to keep him together. She pressed hard enough that he half-wondered if his nose would bruise, but no amount of pressure could tide it back. He threw both of them forward with a sneeze scraped up from the depths of his lungs.

“HAAAZZSCHHOOOO!!-ooohhhhh..” 

His knees felt a bit weak after that one, but for the first time since he’d woken up that morning, his nose tingled with welcome relief. It would be brief, he was certain, but he’d take the reprieve while he had it. The satisfaction of the fit filled his head with a pleased emptiness as he teetered his way around the edge of the chair and dropped to sit there. He tried to catch his breath.

“Agent Omicron, I swear to god,” groused Dr. Voster. He cracked his eyes open to see her ripping out more than a dozen tissues to throw at him. “You did that on purpose.”

He gathered them up and groaned wetly into the white bouquet. His voice was an achy croak. “I had no control over that, I promise you..”

Dr. Voster washed her hands at the sink and joined him on her stool when she finished. By that time, he’d managed to make himself somewhat presentable. His suit was a bit of a lost cause, but with luck the stains would dry into something less noticeable before his flight.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, and there was a serious quality to her question. “Do you always sneeze like this when you catch cold?”

Omicron shook his head, bringing another bunch of tissues to his face to blow. ‘Sore throat’ may not have been an intended symptom, but it soon would be if he kept shouting sneezes on the hour. He massaged his sinuses through the thin paper, already hopelessly stuffed up as he tried to suck in a sniffle. It just made him cough.

Dr. Voster was muttering beside him. “.. may have hit you harder than intended..”

“Whad was that?” he asked. He didn’t bother masking the reproach in his tone. She sighed and adjusted her glasses.

“I said, I may have underestimated how reactive you’d be,” she admitted. “You rarely sneeze, so I thought your sinuses weren’t sensitive.”

“I have to sdneeze all the time,” Omicron admitted in turn with a sawing rub beneath his nostrils. “I’b just good at holding themb back.”

Dr. Voster stared at him a moment, then bent over her knees with a sound of pure frustration. “Omicron. You should have TOLD me that in the INTAKE INTERVIEW.”

Omicron startled in his seat, sputtering with insult. “Are you tryi’g to make this mby fault? I answered all your questions honestly!”

“I asked you if you sneeze a lot when you’re sick and you said no!!”

“Thad’s because I DON’D!” 

His throat didn’t take kindly to the treatment and he turned away to cough. He yanked out more tissues, determined to free his consonants with a noseblow. Nothing moved, and all he got was another threatening jab from the tickle for his trouble. Oh, please not again, he thought, blinking at the sensation.

“Then what do you call this, O? Are you sneezing for fun?”

Anita’s voice called him briefly back to his ire. “I almost never sneeze this much when I’m sick! In fact I sdneeze more when I’m well, I-..”

He stopped, and Dr. Voster watched him with bare worry as he wrestled with what could be another punishing sneezing fit. Omicron learned his lesson from before, and he didn’t try to fight it at all. Just gave himself over to the feverish tickling until it snagged his breath in one fell swoop.

“H-ih.. TZSshoo!” 

He waited briefly for another, but none came and Omicron could have wept with relief. That was far closer to what he’d expected at the start of this experiment. He wiped his nose with a tissue and was unsurprised to find the skin was already getting sore. His skin was prone to chafing with too much friction, which was just as inconvenient as it sounded.

Dr. Voster frowned at him. “Was that..?”

“My usual, yes,” Omicron verified with a sigh. He was numb to the embarrassment of discussing this by now.

“Okay.” Dr. Voster folded her hands in her lap and with a deep breath, marshaled herself. “Okay, okay. This.. is salvageable. I just have to create an antidote, or maybe a diluting agent, and then maybe I can administer a weaker dose before..” She glanced at her watch and hung her head in defeat. “.. you leave in less than an hour.”

Omicron gave her a half-lidded stare over his tissues. “You didn’t create an antidote?”

Dr. Voster threw her arms up and shot up from her chair to pace. “No, Omicron! No, I didn’t. It’s a cold. It’s a harmless, nose-oriented cold at that. Barely a case of the sniffles. But apparently you have the most delicate sinuses of all mankind because my dose was too strong and now you’re-”

She glanced over at Omicron to find him in a state of sneezy limbo, no longer listening as his nostrils twitched their way to a consuming finale. He stuttered a few breaths, each exhale a sound of unwitting surprise when the sneeze didn’t come. It took longer than Omicron wanted, but he finally got it.

“DZSSSH!” Another pitchy gasp, the corners of his mouth flinching upward in the barest hint of a relieved smile as he vented one down on his lap. “TSSschoo!! ahhh, tha’g you..”

Omicron wasn’t even sure who he was talking to, the tickle or his nose, but each succinct release felt wonderful and left him spent in a way that relaxed him. It seemed if he didn’t try to stop them, they would come in much more manageable waves. Hmm.. maybe that meant if he held them off, he could get another one of those punishing volleys when he needed one. It would depend on the target’s preferences.

“Omicron, are you listening?”

He glanced up to find a fretful Dr. Voster, her hair loose from her ponytail and lab coat a little askew. He sniffed. “No, sorry. What did you say?”

“I’m going to recommend we ground you,” she said. Omicron froze, uncertain if he heard right, but jumped to his feet when she snatched up her phone. “We can’t risk this compromising you.”

He tried to grab her phone from her, but she dodged. “What are you talking about? I thought that was the point.”

“The point was to give you a reliable way to sneeze,” she clarified, quickly typing something out with her thumbs. “Not make you a liabilit-HEY!”

Omicron managed to liberate her phone and held it high above to keep it out of reach as he tried to reason with her. He sniffed again when he felt his nose begin to run, and blinked against the throbbing reply of his nose-tickle. “Listen, Anita, I’ve been training for this mission for months. It’s our only chance t.. to..”

Her eyes narrowed as his fluttered. “You have to sneeze right now, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, but I’m telling you I’m hh!UHhh..” He sniffled again, fighting for composure. “.. I’m learning to work with it, alright?”

“If you can go thirty seconds without sneezing, I’ll believe you.”

Omicron swallowed. Thirty seconds yesterday would have been nothing, but today? His nostrils flared at even the suggestion. If he wasn’t certain viruses had no capacity for thought, let alone emotion, he would claim this tickle had a mind of its own and a chip on its shoulder. It was always simmering somewhere in the recesses of his sinuses, but the moment he committed to staving it off, it surged forward with pure intention.

Somehow, he could tell he’d be in for another seismic sneezing fit if he tried any tricks to keep it back, so he let his eyes fold shut. Rather than increments of jumping breaths, this sneeze was a smooth slide into fruition. He drew in a dreamy breath and felt his nostrils ease wide. Then-

“HETZChuu!” It was cleansing, a reset that cleared his mind. He welcomed another. “h-hHEH!h.. ohhH!hh..” 

The urge abandoned him, and of course the moment he wanted to sneeze, he couldn’t. Clearing his throat, he realized with a measure of chagrin that when he sneezed, he hadn’t done more than turn his head. Where had his manners gone? The urges were so immediate, he could scarcely think of anything else.

Dr. Voster snatched the phone from his hand. “That wasn’t even fifteen seconds! I’m calling HQ.”

“Anita!” he growled, and darted forward. The two of them ended up in a spontaneous spar. While Dr. Voster was rarely on the field, she was trained in hand-to-hand as well as he was. They exchanged a series of blocks, strikes, kicks, dodges, and by the time Omicron wrestled her into a hold on the linoleum, they were both breathless. Splayed out on her back, he huffed heavy breaths into her hair. The silken strands ruffled in the gusts.

She threw him a dirty look from the corner of her eye. “Let me go, Omicron.”

“Not until you let go of this notion that I’m incapable of fulfilling this mission, Anita,” he leveled back at her. “It’s unlike you to worry like this.”

Her glare darkened; she didn’t like his choice of words, but didn’t deny it. “I oversensitized you. It will be my fault if you collapse in an uncontrollable sneezing fit and get captured by the enemy.”

He scoffed. “Is that all? I didn’t sneeze once during our spar and, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got you in a lock on the ground. Not to mention the mission is information extraction. If I attract unwanted attention, that would be my own mistake.”

She said nothing in return, which prompted Omicron to slide off of her. Together they sat up, still sitting on the floor together. She tucked hair behind her ear, refusing to look at him. He sighed. “Anita..”

She shot him a side glance. “.. are you seriously going through with it?”

“Of course,” he replied, twitching his nose to one side. The tickle rippled, and he sniffled in response. Out of habit he reached up to rest his finger beneath. “If the target enjoys this as much as sources claim, th-h!.. then it’ll beeeeh-”

He tucked his finger more tightly to his septum, only realizing his mistake after the tickle churned restlessly against the tender, tortured edges of his sinuses. “Oh, fuck mHH-.. HIH!hh.. uhh… UH..”

Dr. Voster made a noise of exasperation and he caught the sound of tissues getting snatched from the box. As he gasped and groaned his way through another incredible buildup, a flurry of softness enveloped his squirming nose. He cupped his hand over hers as he flinched forward into their shared grip.

“iiiIHH’GGZSSCHOO!..oohhh, uhduther-..” He caught his breath in a desperate gasp, straight from the bottom of his belly. When he crunched forward, he heard a couple seams rip in his shirt. “AAHHDZZSCHOO!!”

“I guess I should said bless you,” grumbled Dr. Voster. She wiggled the tissues around his nose, which remained twitchy. He had yet to open his eyes. “Are you done?”

He shook his head.

“One more?”

He paused to consider, then nodded. And after another terrific gasp, the force of his doubling-over wrenched their hands down toward his lap. “EEHTTZZSSSCHOOO!!.. ohhh, wow..” 

Omicron nearly shivered at the pleasant, tingling aftermath. Why did they always feel so good? The bigger the better, even if they winded him. Dr. Voster left him with the tissues as he muzzily blew his nose. He kept his head down for a moment to let the dizziness ease, so he was still facing his lap when he opened his eyes.

Oh. That was new. Side effect of the virus, perhaps..? 

Omicron darted his eyes to the doctor, but she was already up on her feet and brushing off her coat. She hadn’t seen - his first and only stroke of luck today. Because if she thought his violent sneezing was grounds for calling off the mission, his sudden sneeze-induced half-chub would definitely warrant a mortifying and career-destroying advisory call to HQ. He rushed to adjust himself as she turned away, and then both of them jumped when the door opened.

“ - yes, yes, just tell them to fax it,” Agent Delta was saying, attention still focused on someone else in the hall. Omicron scrambled to his feet, standing at attention as Dr. Voster filed beside him, just as Delta turned to them both. He clapped his hands together. “Ah, there they are! Case 28947!”

That was the case number to which they were assigned, and the very case that would see Omicron leaving for the airport in the next.. his eyes flew to the clock on the wall.. twelve minutes. That’s probably why Delta was here. 

“How’s our experiment? A success?” He strolled over to Omicron, over whom he held a few inches. Omicron stood his ground, resolving not to drop his eyes when Delta jovially scanned his features. His gaze lingered on Omicron’s nose. “Looks like it was.”

“It was.” Dr. Voster and Omicron briefly locked eyes before she continued. “It’s.. functioning as intended.”

“Really?” asked Delta, impressed. Dr. Foster preened under that look, in spite of the circumstances. The senior agent looked between the two of them with a polite smile. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind me testing it as well?”

Again Omicron and Anita met eyes. This time, Omicron cleared his throat and nodded his reply. “If you wish, sir.”

Delta scratched his cheek thoughtfully, studying Omicron in silence until the shorter agent couldn’t help but sniff. He also couldn’t help the need to briefly wrinkle his nose afterward. Delta grinned.

“From how it was described, it must tickle pretty bad in there, huh?” he said, nodding to Omicron’s nose. It must be blushed pink by now, if not darker. He waited for Delta to continue, and then realized that his superior was waiting for an answer.

Much as it humiliated him to say it, he replied, “It does, sir.”

“Mmm,” Delta hummed thoughtfully, and to the man’s credit he sounded a little sympathetic. “It must feel like.. hm, how did your poetic literature put it, Doctor? What was it?.. Liiike..”

Dr. Voster, who was busy putting her hair back up into its customary ponytail, darted an apologetic glance toward Omicron. Well, it wasn’t her fault. Omicron knew what literature Delta referenced and it was only part of protocol for her to write something thorough for their records.

“Like feathers.”

“That’s right, like feathers,” Delta continued, shifting on his feet in front of Omicron. His eyes never left his subordinate’s face. “Constantly and tirelessly petting the inside of one’s nose.”

The words seemed hypnotic to Omicron because he could feel it. He could feel those feathers, stroking so gently and repeatedly against the far depths of his sinuses. Somewhere deep, somewhere too far to scratch. They were careful with the fragile nerves there, but dauntless in their purpose. To make him sneeze. And sneeze.. And sneeze…

Omicron’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath deepening as his nostrils flared softly to the siren call of those thoughts. His hands remained firmly clasped behind him.

Delta continued as if he didn’t notice. “Yes. An ever-present irritation in the most sensitive depths, coaxed to greater and greater strength by your breath. Isn’t that ironic? That you yourself are the catalyst to this growing fire inside you, cursed to fan the flames even in sleep.”

Did it start while I was asleep last night? Omicron wondered. Because when he woke, it was to an itchy nose. So itchy in fact he snorted, sniffed, and rubbed it with such single-mindedness he nearly forgot he was due to Dr. Voster’s lab today. He breathed now, a slow and reverent inhale that squeaked around his blocked sinuses and added speed to the stroking sensation of those silken feathers.

His lips parted, his chest jumping with a sudden breath. He sighed it out, the ghost of a moan carried on his exhale.

“And once it starts, it is nigh impossible to stop. That tickle won’t let you. No matter how badly you might want a reprieve, those feathers are mindless. You can’t reason with them. They’ll just keep at their work, teasing and teasing that aching flesh until..”

The tickle buoyed him through a catching gasp. Omicron sighed again, his voice carrying, wanting. Another cresting gasp, the wave of something reachable, and then he fell short again. His nostrils pulsed plaintively, begging what dwelled inside to give him relief. But Omicron didn’t mind this limbo, this torture. He knew what came after would be well worth the wait.

“.. agitating.. working you over.. beckoning you with a relentless tickle.. until you can take it no longer.”

His chest swelled, and what he thought might be another forsaken gasp turned into the exclamation of climax. “HAH-.. BBZSSSSCHHUUHH!”

The first one came, because of course there would be more, and he snatched an arm around his middle when there was a strong, delicious undulation of pleasure deep in his gut. He groaned, his voice deep and gravelly and unfamiliar to his ears.

“Whoa!” came Delta’s exclamation. He sounded shocked. “That sure was something. Omicron, bless-”

“HEH-.. BBZSSSHHOO!.. nnnnghh.” 

These were smooth as butter - one big, long, scooping breath and then a knee-shaking release. He sniffled thickly, wetly, with his eyes shut in concentration. Omicron wanted another, and this time the tickle delivered. Those invisible feathers rustled like wheat in a windstorm, and he caught himself grinning as he gasped another huge breath. 

“HHHH!.. EHDZZSSSHUUE!!”

He swayed forward as another cramp of ecstasy swirled in his gut, and Omicron felt a strong hand brace his shoulder to keep him from tipping over.

“Is he okay?” was one faint voice.

“Yes, just-” came another.

Omicron sneezed.

“HIIH!.. IIHTDZZSSSHHHTT!! .. fuck.”

That one was particularly wet, fired haphazardly at the floor like the rest. It also contracted in a burst of stars behind his groin so intense that Omicron became instantly and fearfully aware that he would actually come in his pants if he kept this up. And holy shit he didn’t want that to happen. Not here. Not now. 

He jerked his free hand out, holding it expectantly toward the voices. With tremendous effort, he tried to be understood. “Tiih.. Tiizzusss.. HUH-”

“One second, one second!!” he heard Anita’s tempering assurances over the rush of blood in his ears. 

And the rush of ticklish sensation through his nose. He couldn’t get the visual of feathers out of his head. Delta, damn him. All Omicron could see behind the dark of his wet eyelids was a field of pristine, white, downy feathers positioned diabolically against every inch of his nasal walls. The tips of them wavered each time he hitched a stuttery inhale, and huffed a helpless exhale. They were devoid of life beyond that which he gave it, breathing intent into them as they swayed against swollen, irritated flesh. He could picture his nasal membranes flinching helplessly against the onslaught, crying out to him for relief. And he would give it-

“hH-.. uHH’TZZZSSSHHOOOO!!”

The feathers fluttered wildly and his nose calmed with a prickling balm, sated. Until he sniffled against the slogging block of congestion in his nose and what little air there was eeked through and-.. the feathers trembled, dragging their soft tips gingerly against his quivering flesh, an endless torment, so subtle yet compounding in its simplicity because he could feel the echoes of that tantalizing sensation all through his nose and as he snuffled against the feeling, the feathers trembled again as if in eagerness, excitement, their tendrils tracing long worn paths on fraught nerves as the aching pressure built and built in his nose, deep inside, and oh-.. ohh-

“hHHHHH-”

“Oh no you don’t.” 

The sudden presence of a hand over his nose surprised him, frightened the sneeze away, and Omicron felt an irrational pang of frustration when his gasp escaped from him with a gutteral hhuhh unrelieved. He realized in retrospect that the voice was Dr. Voster, and the hand belonged to her too. He also realized, in a wash of cold sweat, that he was achingly hard where his prick was tucked into his belt.

“Blow your nose, Omicron.”

He struggled to comply. A hitching breath got out of his control, only emboldening the tickle, and again he thought of the feathers. They were everywhere, impossible to blow out, and they’d just keep… keep-

“RRZZSSSSCHH’HOO!”

It tore out of him with a passion, and the pleasure washed over him so fiercely he would have gone to his knees had Delta not stepped in to catch him. Omicron panicked, bursting into motion to put distance between himself and the others. They let him go, only for him to stumble backwards onto his ass. The impact shook an impending sneeze out the queue, and Omicron had a moment to collect his bearings.

He quickly got to his hands and knees, trying to keep his crotch pointed to the floor. He was still painfully hard, but thankfully he hadn’t managed to sneeze himself into orgasm. Now that he had his wits, he realized he still had the wad of tissues in his hand. He brought them to his face and blew as hard as he could, concentrating only on the act of getting something out rather than thinking too hard about what was happening inside.

Adrenaline and humiliation were quick and quiet boner killers; any residual arousal swirling in his thoughts extinguished as he assessed his situation. He was somewhat sweaty, stained with a few of his own sneezes, and his damn nose still tickled. Omicron threw caution to the wind and rubbed it with fast, punishing pressure against his septum, as if to admonish it. Rather than chance a sniffle, he breathed only through his mouth as he climbed to his feet.

Both Dr. Voster and Agent Delta regarded him warily. Omicron straightened his vest, his jacket, and smoothed back his hair where it had fallen into his eyes. 

“Pardod be,” he rasped, still breathless. He coughed into his fist to clear his throat.

Delta’s features eased into genuine concern. The man’s flippant nature notwithstanding, he did care about his people. “Agent, are you alright?”

“Of course,” insisted Omicron. He cleared his throat again. “Just fine. Why?”

“Well, that just..” Delta looked over to Dr. Voster, who was refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “.. it seemed very intense, don’t you think? Doctor?”

The doctor startled at her name, then reached to adjust her glasses. She looked now at Omicron, her expression as hard and firm as her voice. “Yes, I agree. And I would recommend..”

Here, Omicron bit his tongue. If Anita really did want to rat him out, he’d only dig his own grave if he tried to deflect. But then her eyes softened.

“.. that Agent Omicron desist from triggering the suggestion impulse until this initial sensitivity wears off.”

Tension left his shoulders. He closed his eyes briefly in relief.

Delta rubbed the back of his neck, contrite. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was an issue. You should have told me!”

“I wasn’t aware it was a pattern until you tried it, sir,” said Dr. Voster. She crossed her arms and nodded toward Omicron. “And with all due respect, sir, you should really apologize to Agent O.”

Delta turned to him with dewy puppy-dog eyes and Omicron wanted to evaporate out of embarrassment. He didn’t do well with anything sentimental and at times his superior was pure sentimentality. “Forgive me, Omicron. I hope I didn’t cause you any distress. I’m sure that wasn’t comfortable.”

On the contrary, thought Omicron, but admitting anything even close to the truth made his tongue wither. His cheeks burned, and to add further indignity, he sniffled. The brief, tickling swell prompted him to thumb the end of his nose to encourage good behavior. 

“Not at all, sir. Please don’t trouble yourself over it.”

Delta clapped him companionably on the shoulder, and when he turned toward Dr. Voster, Omicron leaned around him to throw a scathing look her way. She only smiled. That prompted apology was likely just her getting some revenge. To be frank, the new complication of sneeze-induced arousal would absolutely complicate the mission, but Omicron begged to be given a case like this for months. More than a year, even. He’d take the risk rather than give this up.

Besides, it wasn’t his fault his nose couldn’t calm down. He didn’t conduct a half-baked intake interview and design an overpowered tickle virus, so why should he be the one to suffer the consequences? Beyond those he was already suffering, he supposed.

Once again, thinking too much about it summoned the tickle forth. Omicron refused to get stuck in another self-perpetuated sneeze-cycle, so he focused only on the wall as the urge lapped at the edges of his sinuses. Oh, the ones that made him wait were the worst.

“.. to it that we grab your luggage on the way to the jet,” Delta was saying. He still had his hand on Omicron’s shoulder and squeezed when he got no response. “You already packed right?”

Omicron took a breath to reply, but it hitched in his throat. Then rushed out with a soft uhh that he couldn’t suppress. Gone were the days when he could quietly build up to a sneeze; it seemed this virus wanted everybody to know as soon as his nose started to tickle. He fought to keep his eyes open, and his ears from flushing red.

“.. yeh..hssirr..”

Delta’s smile tilted back into concerned territory, and he rubbed Omicron’s shoulder. “Looking a little sneezy, Agent. Try not to knock yourself down this time.”

Omicron huffed a laugh that trembled into a gasping inhale, a fitful exhale, an even more urgent inhale-.. “-uUHH!” and then left him on a frustrated sigh. He rubbed his face with both hands. “Fuck,” he mumbled. Then his head shot up in alarm. “Oh-.. ah, sir-...”

Agent Delta only laughed, booming and cheerful as he slid his arm further across Omicron’s shoulders to give him a jostling side-hug. “Don’t worry, Agent. These are extenuating circumstances, I’ll let that it slide.”

Omicron nodded as he was jerked around by Delta’s strength, reaching up to push his hair back when it fell out of style again. His nose was still tingling, unrelieved, and he scrunched it with exasperation. Sneeze or don’t sneeze, won’t you? 

“Off we go!” crowed Delta, escorting Omicron toward the door while still under his arm. He looked back to Dr. Voster. “I’ll be with him on the flight, so we’ll let you know if there are any case developments.”

He tightened his hold when he said this, and Omicron fought down a flash of annoyance that Delta probably meant any developments with Agent Omicron’s nose. Speaking of which… 

Omicron let his eyes roll shut as Delta led him into the hall, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. He was saying something, probably about the jet, but Omicron let the words wash over him just as he let the tickle wash through his nose. Wary of what might happen, he strayed away from thinking too much about feathers. Instead, he thought of dust motes. A dandelion seed. Something small and irritating and hopelessly stuck somewhere deep inside him. Whatever it was, this thing wanted to escape. It squirmed and twisted, fluttered its wings or flicked its tail. The throbbing urgency of Omicron’s tender pink membranes wouldn’t deter it, neither would the gradual unsteadiness of his breath. He exhaled, yearning.

“..uh-..”

The invader redoubled its efforts, writhing against his most sensitive places. He couldn’t-.. he..

“.. huhh-..”

If only he could reason with it, but on a baser level, Omicron didn’t want to. He wanted it to flap and struggle, tickle and itch, uncontrollable and impossible to satiate. Fan the flames of this urge so feverish that he couldn’t do anything but-

“HAH-!”

Omicron found himself smiling again, delirious as he breathed into this unstoppable force. He was completely helpless to its thrall. This thing in him, nuzzling and ruffling and bothering his nose so fervently, dotingly, sweeping him up with its caress. He.. oh-.. oh-!

“S’combi’g-” He gasped out, if only just to himself. The breathy word preceded an absolutely euphoric sneeze. “WRIZZSSSSHUUU’uoohhhh…”

Omicron stayed as he was, one hand cupped to his nose and the other bracing his middle. Another dagger of pleasure had stabbed him through, but it was fast to dissipate as he sniffled into his palm. The way his nose tingled signaled a temporary relief. Omicron couldn’t decide if he was disappointed by this or not.

“Goodness, bless you!” Omicron jumped. Delta stood beside him, both hands in his pockets now, looking amused. Omicron had forgotten he was there. “That was a big one! Sounds like you worked your way up to it.”

Why was Omicron cursed with the chattiest superior Agent in the force? He snuffled again behind his hand, by habit searching his pockets for a handkerchief or a restaurant napkin, anything. He paused when Delta extended a travel pack of tissues. 

“Thought you might need these, so I brought a few packs along.”

“.. Tha’g you.” 

Omicron took it with grace, turning around so he could use both hands. He blew his nose yet again, dismayed with the sheer amount of moisture he was capable of producing. At this rate he’d need to stay hydrated. Once he finished up, he turned back to Delta to find him extending a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He eyed the other man.

“You can’t actually catch this, sir.”

“I know, Agent, but the public won’t know that,” he said, as carefree as ever. “And even if you’re not actually sick, better to keep your hands clean, mm? And maybe try the vampire trick too.” Here he demonstrated by lifting his elbow and tucking his nose in. 

Omicron burned with the embarrassment of having his lackadaisical sneezing addressed in such an obvious way. Normally he was very thorough with his hygiene practices. He sneezed into his elbow or better, a handkerchief if he had one. He washed his hands frequently and properly. Something about this tickle just emptied his head of all sense when it came over him. It was a miracle he’d managed to even cup a hand to his mouth just now. He didn’t remember doing that.

So he could only nod, his cheeks burning, as he took the bottle and copiously applied. The stringent scent bloomed in the air. Delta could probably tell he was upset because he gave the shorter agent a lighthearted slap on the back. “You’re usually very conscientious. Just a gentle reminder, agent.”

Omicron nodded again, this time with a yip of surprise as his eyes slammed closed. Suddenly his nose was frenzied, filled to the brim with that strong, alcoholic smell. It burned, so sharp it brought tears to his eyes as he rushed his elbow to his face. Unlike the other sneezes of this morning, this itch wasn’t indulgent. It was almost brutal. 

“Chssh-! Tschh!” Even without muffling into his jacket, they would have been small. Smaller than his normal sneezes, even. They were fittish, barely letting him up for air. “Itschh! HHtschh!.. uh-.. TSSH’hee!!.. fucking hell..”

It only lasted seconds, over as suddenly as it began, and Omicron picked his head up blearily. He sniffled, coughing again at the remaining scent on his hands as he fished out another tissue and nursed his nose. Stupid thing was so needy now, he couldn’t even use hand sanitizer without a complaint. Belatedly he realized he’d cursed in front of his superior again.

When he looked at Delta, the man was regarding him thoughtfully. Not his usual fond musing sort of look either. The kind of discerning expression that awarded him the rank he currently held. Omicron’s blinked at him, wide eyed over the edge of his tissues.

“S-Sorry for sweari’g, sir..”

Delta stirred from wherever he’d been, and dropped into a polite smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s alright, Omicron, I honestly don’t mind. But, I’ll ask this again: are you alright?”

Omicron blinked at him again, owlish. “Me, sir?”

Delta chuffed an airy chuckle. “Yes, agent, you. You’re sure this..” He warred over his words, trying to pick the best ones. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this opportunity, but are you sure? About this?”

Omicron bristled, and he was certain Delta could tell. He finished up with his nose, balling up the tissue and foregoing hand sanitizer this time. “Respectfully, why wouldn’t I be sure, sir?”

“This science isn’t exact,” Delta told him. His voice was lower now, the proper tone of a superior officer. “Dr. Voster is a genius, but this is the first time we’ve tried something like this. There’s bound to be a margin of error. So I’m asking you again, Agent Omicron..” Here he fixed his subordinate with a firm stare. “.. are you sure about doing this right now, as you are, in this state?”

Omicron didn’t have to think about it. He merely drew himself up to a force-standard posture and looked Delta in the eyes without flinching. “Yes, sir. Very sure.”

Delta held his stare, but when Omicron didn’t buckle, he sagged where he stood. With a long sigh, he once again patted Omicron’s shoulder. “Alright, agent. But if you change your mind or if you become compromised, you must be honest and tell me immediately. Am I understood?”

Omicron just barely managed to resist twitching his nose; he could feel it wanting attention, but didn’t want to give Delta any reason to doubt him. “Of course, sir.”

Delta gave him a jaunty thumbs up, back to his usual lofty cheer. “Grand! I’ll take you at your word.” He turned away, beginning to stride down the corridor with expectation Omicron would follow. “Now, we ought to get a move on. They’ve got the jet idling and you know how they are about the fuel budget..”

Agent Delta carried on, blind to his subordinate keeping step behind him. Omicron absently, then more purposefully, rubbed his nose. The skin was starting to sting, no doubt ready to peel by tomorrow like sunburn. The tickle stretched languidly, lazily working Omicron up to another toe-curling sneeze. The hedonist in him wanted to welcome it.

However, he had nearly twelve hours on a jet to contend with, surrounded by other personnel. And he was certain now after that little conversation with Delta that the man would be watching Omicron carefully from here on out. If he noticed anything suspicious, he’d ground the mission and take Omicron off the case without remorse. He couldn’t let it happen, not after how hard he’d fought for this.

His nostrils flared against his finger, a premature warning to what was brewing. But Omicron knew, and he was prepared for the impending battle. It wouldn’t be easy, but he fully intended to negotiate with his nose and keep sneezing to nil on the flight. Almost nil, if he couldn’t hold out. Again his nostrils flared, as if playfully chiding him. You’re not in control, his nose seemed to say. I am.

Well, thought Omicron as he stepped out of the jet bay and into the sunshine. The jet sat waiting on the tarmac, a flurry of activity around it. We’ll just see about that.

/tbc??

I’m not sure if I’ll continue it, but I hope you had fun reading!! Part 2 is in the works!

PART 2 IS HERE!

[wholoveseggs]

Festive Frustration

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}{Five Days of Fluffmas}

{Elijah Mikaelson x Reader} When a chaotic Mikaelson Christmas party threatens Elijah’s carefully curated elegance, it’s up to you to remind him that some messes are worth embracing.

♡♡Happy Fluffmas♡♡

839 words - Warnings: flufffff, holiday party chaos, frustrated Elijah, spiked drinks, Klaus-induced pandemonium && soft dances under twinkling lights...

@starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss @eternalnoble @darth-laeka

You could tell Elijah was upset. His jaw was tight, and he kept flicking his cufflinks, a sure sign that he was done with the chaos around him. The Mikaelson Christmas party, which started as a refined and intimate event, had spiraled into something else entirely.

The decorations, once perfect, were either being knocked over or trampled on. The music had gone from Christmas classics to the tasteless modern ones you knew he disliked. To top it all off, someone had spilled wine on the rug, and Elijah’s patience was hanging on by a thread.

He stood by the Christmas tree, his shoulders stiff, glaring at a woman who nearly knocked over a tray of glasses.

You sighed, knowing you couldn’t let him stew in his frustration all night. He needed a drink and a distraction. Preferably one that involved you.

Grabbing a glass of whiskey from the bar, you wove through the crowd toward him. His face softened slightly when he saw you, though his frustration was still obvious.

“Hello, my love,” he greeted, his voice warm but strained.

“I thought you might need this,” you said, handing him the glass.

He took it, downing the drink in one go. You winced as his grip tightened around the glass, wondering if he’d accidentally shatter it.

“Thank you,” he murmured, setting the empty glass on a nearby table and running a hand through his hair.

You glanced around the room. The noise was deafening, and the elegant ambiance Elijah had worked so hard to create was long gone. “This isn’t quite what you had in mind, huh?”

Elijah’s lips twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “It’s mayhem,” he muttered. His eyes followed Kol, who was enthusiastically encouraging two guests to drink from the now-spiked punch bowl.

“It’s not that bad,” you said, trying to sound optimistic. “At least people are having fun.”

“If this is your idea of fun, I fear we have very different definitions of the word,” he replied dryly.

You laughed softly, but before you could respond, a loud burst of laughter and squeals erupted from the dance floor. Both of you turned toward the commotion to see Klaus spinning two blondes in opposite directions while a third clung to him, laughing uncontrollably.

Klaus was in his element, his face lit with mischief as he orchestrated the chaos. The women stumbled, colliding into other dancers, who then spilled their drinks, creating even more pandemonium.

“Of course,” Elijah muttered under his breath.

One of the blondes, clearly emboldened by alcohol, attempted to climb onto Klaus’s back. He caught her effortlessly, grinning like the devil himself as he twirled her around, nearly taking out a nearby couple.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. “He’s having a great time.”

“At my expense,” Elijah muttered.

The music changed to an obnoxiously loud dance remix of Jingle Bells and Klaus raised his arms triumphantly, shouting, “Now this is a party!” The room erupted in cheers, as though Klaus himself had blessed the event.

Elijah pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe I share blood with that man.”

“Come on,” you said, tugging on Elijah’s sleeve. “You can’t let Klaus have all the fun.”

Elijah hesitated, glancing at the crowded dance floor, then back at you. “I’m not sure that’s the solution.”

“It is,” you insisted, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the crowd.

Reluctantly, he followed. His hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth of his touch made your cheeks warm, and you smiled up at him as you began to sway.

“I don’t recall half these people being on the guest list,” he muttered, his gaze scanning the room.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “Rebekah might’ve invited... a few extras.”

His brow furrowed. “This was supposed to be a refined event, not-”

“A disaster?” you teased.

Elijah sighed, though his lips curved into a small smile. “Something like that.”

“I think Kol has spiked more than just the eggnog,” you added, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

Elijah scoffed. “Of course he did.”

You rested your head against his chest, trying to soothe him. “It’s okay, Elijah. You can’t control everything. You did a great job planning this.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but you felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You always know how to calm me,” he murmured, his voice low and warm.

You smiled, looking up at him. “It’s a talent.”

As the two of you swayed under the twinkling lights, the chaos of the party seemed to fade into the background. For a moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“Thank you,” Elijah said, his dark eyes meeting yours. “For reminding me what truly matters.”

You grinned, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Elijah.”

And just like that, the party didn’t feel like a disaster anymore.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

gentlemen thoughts, valentines day edition ♥️🫧 +iida, neito, sero 😚 slighttt nsfw, but nothing too explicit 🫀

gentleman! katsuki, who claims he hates valentines day, rolling his eyes and uttering that he “doesn’t need a special day just to love you.” who contradicts that point by cooking you dinner, lighting a few candles and playing some serene music. he’ll scoff and claims it’s nothing, just something he saw on tv or between his parents- but who also smiles like an idiot when he sees how happy it makes you. who keeps you at home for a reason, that reason being he can take you anywhere and anytime throughout the night. not that it takes much to stop him, anyway.

gentleman! izuku, who loves to love you. who does take you out, making it a point to give you a nice evening. who runs to open every door for you, pull out every chair, and who doesn’t let your fingers even graze the bill. who finds you beautiful no matter what, but whose green eyes light up in adoration when he sees you all dolled up, just proud to be with you, proud to love you. who forgets to eat, literal hearts in his eyes while he stares at you, lovestruck. who, afterwards, holds your hand and walks you through the city, the same way he’ll talk you through it later, at home. <3

gentleman! shouto, who never had a healthy model relationship when he was growing up, and is determined to treat you right. who takes you ice skating, partly because he knows how too, but also because ice skating dates are excuses for couples to hold onto each other for the entire night. who places his hand around your waist, gently gliding across with you, kissing your head and reminding you that you’re doing great. who may be awkward, because he’s never had a partner to take out on dates like this before, but who forgets about everything else when he’s with you. who has about a million little presents waiting in the car for you to open- little photos, or trinkets, or accessories that remind him of you. who will kiss any bruises or sore spots, and anywhere where else you want him to <3

gentleman! eijirou, who is down to just about anything with you, even those unconventional, un-thought of dates. rage room? sure. building legos? absolutely. shopping? take his card. who would do something he absolutely hates if you love it (he literally folds for you every time). who religiously wears basketball shorts and crocs, but who puts effort into his appearance for today, mentally noting your blush lingering eyes in his outfit. who will happily carry you back to the car afterwards- not because you’re sore, or tired, but because he loves you, and is a little cocky about the fact that he can toss you around and flip you over like its nothing. you’ll find out later <3

gentleman! denki, who knows how to have fun. who you’ll either go out to get food with or order in, whichever you prefer. either way, you’ll be staying in, playing video games and watching his movies. your dates consist of minecraft challenges, try not to laughs (he will 100% spit water on you) and exchanging clothes. he’ll have you sit between his legs, on his lap or in his arms, reaching his head down to press little kisses on your neck and shoulders. who makes you playlists and longgg instagram notes. by the end of the night, the couch is a mess, if not broken, and its safe to say you two did have some physical activity <3

gentleman! tenya, who may be the truest gentleman in this series so far 🩷 who is obviously rich, and who never shows it off… except for when it comes to his relationship. who spoils you, buying you one in every colour if you even utter the words that you want it. who offers you his arm whenever you’re walking around, draping his blazer around your shoulders and guiding you to wherever your going. who feels a bit like an imposter, being with someone so beautiful, being so, incredibly happy- but whose worries wash away when you squeeze his hand and thank him. who doesn’t need the thanks, but who might get you to beg a little when you get home <3

gentleman! hanta, loves arcade dates! who will spend an absurd amount of time and money trying to win that one plushy he noticed you glancing at, maybeee using his tape to cheat it a little. who also is a sucker for the small, traditional things- flowers, chocolates, cards- he thought they were all superficial, until he found meaning in you. who is inhumanly funny and sweet, the oxygen in his lungs being your smile. who purposely takes the long way home, loving long car rides with you, and who has to to be reminded to keep his eyes on the road and not on you in the passenger seat. who may eat you out in that passenger seat later <3

gentleman! neito, who THEATRE DATES THEATRE DATES sorry didn’t know how to fit that in 💐 who doesn’t mansplain or talk down to you if you have questions about the show. who honestly has a few questions himself, but mostly because he’s not watching the show- he’s watching the lights reflect off your irises, radiating even in a dimly lit theatre. who walks you out afterwards and takes you home. who toys around with the piano a bit, playing you little snippets of love songs, even singing if he notices you like it. who gets you to sing- or rather scream- his name with those piano fingers of his <3

gentleman! hitoshi, who has never been one for elaborate or big dates, but who has his own unique ways of showing he loves you. who throws a hoodie on and goes for long walks with you, making sure you find the perfect spot to sit and stargaze. who names stars with you, laughing and rolling his eyes at all the stupid names you pick. who tussles your hair and pulls you into his arms, every now and then pointing out the constellations he sees. who looks at you like you’re the universe, not even caring if theres a sky full of lights in front of him. who gives the sky one last look before fucking you right then and there, letting the moon watch till the sun comes up <3

[rubyuji]

She got the Ruby ๋࣭ ⭑🎸⊹ ࣪ ˖

“No way. I never knew how much I needed this kind of chaos until you showed up.” ᝰ.ᐟ

Genre: Slowburn, Fluff

AU: University AU

Pairing: Music Major!Woozi x Afab!Reader

Warnings: None

Synopsis: Jihoon had never been one for romance or dating—no one had ever truly caught his eye. But everything changed when he saw you bathed in the glow of red light at Soonyoung’s party, your ruby lips captivating him and making his heart race like never before. Why could you, a stranger, leave him so utterly spellbound?

Note: User rubyuji finally publishing a fic about her bias?! LMAO to be completely honest, this fic had been in my google docs for so long that I'm surprised it made it out despite the writer's block. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it! Don't forget to like + reblog as form of support!

W.C: 8.3k

Dating was never an option for someone in Jihoon’s league. His packed schedule aside, he barely left the house most of the time. Whenever his friends—emphasis on tried—attempted to introduce him to someone, the feedback was always the same: he was either too busy or seemed completely uninterested. 

It wasn’t entirely his fault, though. Jihoon had never quite found his footing in the dating world. Either the idea simply hadn’t appealed to him, or the person his friends introduced was too different for him to find common ground.

“Oh, come on! We’ve introduced you to, like, six people already, and you didn’t like any of them! You’re hopeless, Jihoon,” Soonyoung whined, dramatically flopping onto the couch beside his friend.

Jihoon barely spared him a glance, rolling his eyes as his fingers continued to move across the keyboard.

Soonyoung was a great friend—Jihoon couldn’t deny that. Even if he didn’t always show it, he cared about the guy a lot. But sometimes, Soonyoung could be a handful. His intentions were always good, sure, but Jihoon wasn’t ready to dive into the complicated world of relationships or love. Not now, not when all he could focus on was graduating, as if his entire life depended on it.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but being in a relationship is the least of my worries right now,” Jihoon sighed, closing his laptop with a faint click.

As if on cue, his other friend, Wonwoo, emerged from Jihoon’s room, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed after a long nap.

“You barely leave the house and hole up here like a damn hermit. You should take some time to relax once in a while, you know?” he quipped, leaning against the doorframe.

Jihoon rubbed his temples, his brows knitting together in mild frustration. He knew his friends meant well, but their constant prodding was starting to feel like a broken record.

Soonyoung suddenly gasped, drawing curious looks from the other two men. “How about this? We’re heading to my frat tonight—I’ve got a party planned. Maybe Jihoon could find someone to mingle with. It wouldn’t hurt, right? And if you end up hating it or don’t meet anyone, you can leave. No pressure.”

Jihoon’s mouth fell open like a fish out of water at Soonyoung’s suggestion.

He didn’t mind parties per se, but Soonyoung’s events were... something else. Case in point: Soonyoung had once woken up on the frat’s lawn after one of his infamous ragers and called Jihoon to help clean up the trashed house. But that was a story for another day.

Still, Jihoon found himself considering the idea. He hadn’t left his apartment in nearly a week, and after working nonstop, a change of scenery might not be the worst thing in the world.

Jihoon wasn’t a prude—far from it. He simply preferred to conserve his energy and steer clear of activities that drained him too much.

It was just part of his nature, and honestly, one of the reasons he couldn’t see himself dating someone too outgoing or high-energy. Still, this party might be an opportunity to step outside his usual bubble and meet someone new—someone who wasn’t just a direct connection to his friends.

“I’ll go this once, I guess. But if it’s a bust, I’m leaving immediately, like we agreed,” Jihoon sighed, his tone resigned.

From the kitchen, he heard the unmistakable sound of Wonwoo spitting out his water in shock, while Soonyoung erupted into cheers, dancing around the room like he’d just won the lottery.

Jihoon rolled his eyes but knew he couldn’t show up looking like a mess. If he was going to meet someone, he might as well make himself look presentable.

On the other hand, you weren’t exactly a fan of the party scene either. So why were you at Junhui’s frat, holding a red Solo cup, half-listening to Mingyu and Seokmin discuss some new workout Mingyu had discovered?

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” Mingyu huffed, snapping you out of your daze with an exasperated look.

You smirked, taking a sip from your cup. “Mingyu, you’re the biggest gym rat I know—besides Chan and Seungcheol. And Seok, don’t think you’re safe either. I’m not even surprised you found another workout to torture us with next week at the gym.”

Mingyu groaned dramatically while Seokmin burst out laughing at your comment. Shaking your head, you got up from your spot on the couch.

“Alright, I’m gonna go look for Saerom,” you announced, giving them a playful wave before weaving through the party crowd.

“If you see Minghao, let him know I’m looking for him,” Mingyu called after you. You gave a casual two-finger salute in response before heading to the kitchen, relishing the sudden drop in noise and the smaller crowd.

Saerom was leaning against the counter, deep in conversation with Jihyo. When they spotted you, both waved you over.

“Hey, have you guys seen Minghao anywhere?” you asked as you joined them.

Jihyo shrugged, and Saerom shook her head. “Mingyu’s looking for him, right? Well, no sign of him yet,” Saerom replied.

“Figures,” you chuckled. “Also, can you believe the party’s host is MIA? Imagine Soonyoung being late to one of his own ragers for once. That’s wild.”

Saerom laughed as she refilled your cup, the three of you slipping easily back into lighthearted conversation.

Before your friends can give out another remark, you guys hear Soonyoung’s boisterous laughter coming from the living room. “Looks like I spoke too soon?” You pout in faux disappointment. 

“Hey, isn’t that Lee Jihoon? Isn’t he in your class, Rom?” Jihyo pointed out, her finger directed toward the familiar face standing beside Seungcheol. Your brows raised in surprise.

As far as you know, Jihoon, along with Seungcheol, Wonwoo, and Mingyu, lived off-campus. So seeing him here was unusual—he was practically an anomaly in these parties, appearing only on rare occasions.

“That’s crazy, he’s actually at a party right now,” Saerom giggled. “We should go over to Soonyoung and see what’s up.”

You found yourself following your friends without much thought, a sudden interest in Jihoon sparking inside you.

He looks insanely good in that black button-up, and those forearms— The thought immediately made you snap back to reality, shaking your head slightly as you tried to regain focus.

“Y/N! Saerom, Jihyo! Looks like you made it too,” Soonyoung laughed, his voice bright as he spotted the three of you. Your friends rolled their eyes playfully, clearly used to Soonyoung’s usual antics.

“Yeah, we know she’s your favorite,” Jihyo teased, raising an eyebrow. “But seriously, how did you manage to convince THE Lee Jihoon to come to one of your wild frat parties?”

Soonyoung shrugged casually, glancing over at Jihoon, who was deep in conversation with Wonwoo and Junhui across the room.

“I don’t know. We talked about the party a while ago when we were at his place. I mentioned it, and he’s been holed up in his apartment all week, so I thought maybe he could use a break,” Soonyoung explained, reaching for a random Solo cup Jeonghan handed him, the latter seamlessly inserting himself into the conversation. 

“We also kinda wanted him to meet someone, but... that’s out of the question for now.” Soonyoung almost sighed as he said this, clearly not expecting much.

Your friends laughed at his comment, their attention drifting back to the conversation, leaving you free to let your gaze wander. It landed on Jihoon, just as it had moments ago.

You couldn’t deny it—Jihoon was undeniably attractive, and he was definitely your type. But you had no idea how to approach him, especially since you’d barely exchanged a word with the guy.

“Interested in Jihoon, huh? Can’t blame you. Soonyoung, Cheol, and practically everyone else has been on his case about getting a girlfriend—or at least starting to date someone,” Chan suddenly appeared beside you, causing you to jump in surprise. You hit his shoulder playfully, and he chuckled.

“I’ve barely spoken to him,” you sighed dramatically. “The only other time I’ve seen him was at Mingyu’s birthday, and the most we exchanged was him passing me a plate and me saying ‘thank you.’ I highly doubt he remembers that, considering he barely even looked at me.”

Chan laughed again, but this time he grabbed your arm and started pulling you toward the dance floor as the music grew louder and the crowd tipsier.

“Fine, take a moment to think about it. But for now, let’s dance! Give it your all—you didn’t take all of Soonyoung’s and my classes for nothing, right?” Chan yelled over the music, his grin wide.

You couldn’t help but laugh as Chan spun you into a playful dance battle, challenging you to keep up. Just then, the lights suddenly flickered off, and Junhui’s makeshift spotlights sprang to life, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors.

While you and Chan lost yourselves to the beat, Jihoon made his way over to where Jeonghan, Wonwoo, and Minghao were lounging, the latter two likely too lazy to join the chaos on the dance floor. He plopped down onto the beanbag next to Jeonghan, who glanced at him with mild curiosity.

“I didn’t expect to see you here. What made you change your mind?” Jeonghan asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jihoon shrugged casually, taking a sip from his Solo cup filled with Coke Zero. He wasn’t much of a drinker, so he had opted out of anything stronger.

“Soonyoung and Seungcheol insisted I needed to get out of the apartment and let loose a bit. I’d been holed up there all week, just going back and forth between home, university, and the gym, so I figured I’d give it a shot,” Jihoon explained, his gaze drifting to the dance floor.

His eyes found Mingyu in the middle of the dance circle before flitting over to you.

As you danced alongside Chan, Jihoon’s eyes lingered on you, captivated by your movements. Seokmin and Seungkwan were in the middle of their own dance battle nearby, but Jihoon couldn’t tear his focus away from you.

You looked... familiar. He was sure you had been at Mingyu’s birthday party, and he had seen you with Soonyoung around campus, but he never really paid much attention until now.

It was almost as if everything slowed down for Jihoon at that moment. He took in every detail—how you looked so effortlessly good while dancing, how the red light seemed to make you glow. Red was his favorite color, and seeing the hue reflected in the lipstick on your lips only made things worse as he tried to hide how drawn to you he felt.

“Dude, why are you so thirsty?” Soonyoung’s voice snapped Jihoon out of his daze, and he immediately felt heat rush to his face. Wonwoo laughed, clearly noticing Jihoon’s flushed ears, while Minghao tried to suppress a smile.

Jihoon was finally making progress in his love life, and his friends couldn’t be more proud of him for stepping out of his shell.

“Finally, someone’s caught your attention,” Soonyoung teased, his grin widening. “Do you want me to bring Y/N over?”

Soonyoung’s plan was falling into place perfectly. The fact that Jihoon was showing interest in you—of all people—was just ideal.

You were everything Jihoon needed. Well, almost. You weren’t big on the party scene and preferred staying in, though you did go out more often than him if invited by the right people (the ‘right people’ being Mingyu).

You had a personality that could easily draw people in, and on top of that, you were the full package: pretty, smart, and kind. But being as perfect as you were also meant that you had no shortage of admirers.

“You know, Y/N’s great. She’s practically Seungcheol’s other half,” Jeonghan said, clapping his hands enthusiastically.

Everyone around them was practically buzzing with excitement, seeing Jihoon finally step out of his comfort zone. Honestly, Jihoon felt a strange surge of courage; for once, he was ready to take a risk.

“I mean, if she’s that amazing, why not? But how do I even approach her?” Jihoon asked, glancing over again. This time, he saw you dancing with Mingyu, your smile outshining every light in the room.

“Y/N’s laid-back. She can talk to anyone if you just let her be herself,” Wonwoo chimed in. “She’s a bit of a yapper, but in the best way possible—everyone feels comfortable around her.”

Jihoon didn’t get a chance to respond because, just then, you and Mingyu started making your way toward their group, which set off an eruption of teasing from all sides.

You waved at the guys before gently ushering Mingyu off to have fun with the others, then settled on the couch beside Wonwoo. It just so happened to be the seat directly across from Jihoon.

“Y/N! You’re not really into the party scene. What made you come?” Soonyoung called out loudly. You shot him a questioning glance and laughed.

He knew you enjoyed a party every now and then, but then your eyes caught sight of Jihoon sitting next to him, and suddenly, you understood.

“You know I enjoy the occasional party, Soonyoung. Today’s no different—I just wanted to let loose a bit,” you replied, leaning forward on the couch to grab an empty red cup from the table. You filled it with whatever concoction was in the bowl nearby.

“Is this spiked, by the way? Don’t wanna end up drugged or anything,” you joked, raising an eyebrow. Wonwoo shook his head to signal that it was safe and that you trusted his judgment.

“Oh, and Y/N,” Jeonghan chimed in, “Jihoon here actually wanted to talk to you. Why don’t you two take a moment?”

A smile tugged at your lips as you realized this was your chance. Chan’s words echoed in your mind—a lot of people sought after you, but no one had ever really stood out—until now.

Jihoon caught your attention in a way that felt different, and with a little liquid courage in your system, you felt ready to take that first step. You were grateful for the alcohol, knowing that without it, you might’ve been a complete mess by now.

“Well, we’ll leave you two alone then,” Jeonghan smirked, causing you to flush. You noticed Jihoon looked just as flustered as your friends began to leave the room one by one.

An awkward silence settled between you, and you decided to make the first move, choosing to go with the flow.

After all, what did you have to lose—other than your dignity if Jihoon didn’t respond?

“I take it you’re not the most sociable type? Or a huge partygoer?” you chuckled awkwardly.

Jihoon chuckled too, nodding as he noticed your flustered demeanor. Just moments ago, you had seemed so confident, but now seeing you shy around him gave him a strange sense of comfort.

He wasn’t used to many women approaching him, especially since he had no experience in the dating scene. Soonyoung and Seungcheol had quite literally thrown him into the deep end.

Jihoon scratched the back of his neck nervously, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since the awkward silence.

"I guess you could say that," he said, his voice soft but a bit unsure.

"I’m more of a quiet type, not really into the whole party scene. But Soonyoung and Seungcheol… they’ve been pushing me to get out more. I’m not used to this kind of thing."

He gave you a small, sheepish smile, as if trying to lighten the moment. There was a warmth in his expression, a vulnerability that surprised you. It made you feel like you weren’t the only one navigating uncharted waters.

You couldn’t help but smile back, your own nervousness easing a little. "I get it. I’m not really a party person either," you replied with a chuckle.

"I like the idea of letting loose, but it always seems a bit overwhelming. I’m more of the 'quiet drink in the corner' type myself."

Jihoon laughed softly at that, the tension between you both melting away just a little bit more. It was strange, but in that moment, you both seemed to find common ground in your shared discomfort.

There was something about the way Jihoon looked at you now, something less guarded, as if he was starting to feel more comfortable.

"Yeah, I get what you mean," he said, his tone a little more relaxed.

"I’d rather be at home, with my laptop and music. At least there, I don’t have to deal with—" He paused for a moment, glancing around the chaotic party. "All this."

You laughed, nodding in agreement. "Exactly. There’s something peaceful about just being at home, away from all the noise. But hey, at least we’re both getting out, right?"

"True," Jihoon said with a smile that made your heart flutter. "I guess we’re both stepping out of our comfort zones."

You looked around for a moment, the buzz of the party now seeming a little more tolerable. "I wouldn’t say I’m exactly ‘stepping out’—more like ‘dragged out’," you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Jihoon chuckled at that, and you noticed how his eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than usual.

The playful banter seemed to ease the nerves you were both feeling. It was refreshing to talk to someone who understood that sometimes, a quiet escape was more appealing than all the loud distractions in the world.

As if to prove his point, Jihoon glanced toward the dance floor, where his friends were causing even more chaos, and let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

"I swear, they get louder every time. I feel like I might go deaf just by being around them."

You laughed at that, and before you knew it, you were both talking more comfortably, sharing little details about yourselves. You were beginning to realize that maybe, just maybe, this night wasn’t as bad as you had originally thought.

"By the way," Jihoon said after a beat, suddenly looking a little hesitant again.

"I hope I’m not being too forward, but… if you’re not busy later, maybe we could grab a drink or something? I mean, I know this place is kind of… well, loud, but it could be nice to talk more, you know?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the offer, and you tried to hide your surprise with a smile. "Yeah," you replied, a little more confidently than you felt. "I’d like that."

The moment hung between you two, and for the first time that night, the noise of the party seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of quiet connection.

The next day, you found yourself sitting with Mingyu and Seungkwan at a quiet café, the bright morning sun filtering through the windows.

You had been eager to tell Mingyu about your interaction with Jihoon the night before, especially after how much your friends had teased you about it.

Seungkwan, ever the curious one, was also there, sipping his coffee with a raised eyebrow, clearly interested in hearing what had happened.

"So," Mingyu started, leaning forward with a grin.

"How was last night? Did you end up talking to Jihoon like you said you would?" He shot you a knowing look, clearly trying not to make it too obvious that he was playing matchmaker in his own way.

You chuckled, feeling a bit sheepish at the memory.

"Yeah, we actually did talk. I mean, it wasn’t anything super exciting or dramatic, but we had a decent conversation. He's... surprisingly easy to talk to, you know?"

Seungkwan raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "I thought Jihoon was like the silent, brooding type. What did you guys even talk about?"

You shrugged, a smile playing at your lips as you recalled the night.

"We mostly talked about how neither of us are really into the party scene. We ended up bonding over how much we’d rather stay home than deal with all the noise. It was actually kind of nice, just... quiet, you know?" You caught Mingyu’s knowing smirk and rolled your eyes.

"Stop it. I’m just saying we connected a little more than I expected."

Mingyu and Seungkwan exchanged a glance, and Seungkwan raised his cup in a mock toast. "Well, looks like you’re in the clear then. It’s not every day someone gets Jihoon out of his shell."

"Right?" You laughed, trying not to let your excitement show too much. "I didn’t expect it either. But I guess he’s not as intimidating as I thought."

Just as Seungkwan was about to say something else, your phone buzzed on the table. You grabbed it, expecting a random message, but when you saw the name on the screen, your heart skipped a beat.

It was Jihoon.

Hey, it’s Jihoon. I got your number from Cheol. Would you be free to hang out after your classes are done today?

You couldn’t help but smile as you read the message. Your friends were watching you closely, no doubt noticing the shift in your demeanor.

"You okay there, Y/n?" Mingyu asked, a teasing grin on his face. "Something got you smiling like that?"

You bit your lip, quickly typing out a reply, trying not to let your excitement show too much. Sure, I’d like that. I finish class around 4. How about then?

As you hit send, you glanced up at your friends. Seungkwan was grinning widely, clearly having caught onto what was happening. "Well, well, well," he said, his voice dripping with mischief. "Looks like someone’s got a date on their hands."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips.

"We’re just hanging out," you said, trying to play it cool. "But yeah, I guess we’ll see how it goes."

Mingyu raised his cup again, his grin widening. "You know, I always knew Jihoon had it in him. I’m just glad someone finally got him to make a move. Let’s see where this goes."

You couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at the thought. Jihoon had actually asked you to hang out. After everything that had happened last night, this felt like the beginning of something new—and you were more than curious to see where it would lead.

The afternoon passed in a blur, and as soon as your last class ended, you hurriedly made your way back to your apartment to get ready for your date with Jihoon. You were a bit nervous but also excited—this was a new experience for both of you, and the idea of spending time together in a more intimate setting had you feeling hopeful.

As you walked into your apartment, you were greeted by the sound of music blaring from the living room. Yerin, your roommate, was lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

“Whoa, slow down there!” Yerin called out with a teasing grin as she looked up from her phone. “A date tonight? Are you rushing to see him or something?” She raised an eyebrow and put down her phone, clearly enjoying the playful jab.

You froze for a second, a flush creeping up your neck. “I’m not rushing! I just... want to look good, okay?” You quickly grabbed your clothes for the evening from your closet, trying to brush off Yerin’s teasing.

Yerin sat up on the couch and leaned forward with a sly smile.

“Uh-huh, sure. You know, I was starting to wonder if Jihoon was actually real or if he was just a figment of your imagination. But now it looks like you’re actually getting ready for him.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Shut up, Yerin. I’m just trying to make sure everything goes well tonight.”

Yerin laughed, crossing her arms. “I’ll be here, waiting to hear all the details when you get back! I’m expecting the full scoop.”

You quickly finished getting ready, making sure to choose a stylish but comfortable outfit. You knew Jihoon wasn’t exactly the flashy type, so you opted for something that felt both casual and a little special.

Once you were done, you grabbed your bag and walked out of your room. As you stepped out into the living room, Yerin was still lounging on the couch, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“I’m serious, I want the full report later,” she called as you made your way to the door. “Have fun, and don’t forget to text me when you’re on your way back!”

You chuckled, throwing her a playful wave before stepping out the door.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Jihoon was already waiting for you outside. He looked a little nervous but also endearingly handsome, standing there in a smart button-up and dark jeans. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and his expression softened into a smile.

“Hey,” Jihoon greeted, stepping forward. “I hope this place is okay. I figured it might be more... private for our first time hanging out like this.”

You smiled back, feeling a surge of affection for how thoughtful he was. “It looks perfect. Very cozy, just what I needed after a long day.” You gently bumped your shoulder against his as you greeted him.

Jihoon seemed to hesitate for a moment, then reached into his bag and pulled out a small bouquet of red roses. Your heart skipped a beat as he offered them to you, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

“I... I thought these might brighten your day.”

You were momentarily taken aback by the gesture. Jihoon wasn’t the most outwardly romantic person, but the red roses made it clear how much he was putting himself into this. “Jihoon, these are beautiful. Thank you,” you said, your voice softer than usual.

“Of course,” Jihoon mumbled, his ears tinged with pink. “I wanted to make tonight a little special.”

You took the flowers, your heartwarming at the gesture. "You definitely did."

Jihoon led you into the restaurant, a sleek, modern spot known for its great ambiance and exquisite food. As you stepped inside, the dim lighting, soft music, and cozy atmosphere made it feel like the perfect setting for a first date. You quickly spotted the table he had reserved, a secluded spot with a view of the rest of the restaurant.

You sat down, and for a moment, there was a brief, awkward silence.

"So," you started, trying to ease the tension, "you’ve clearly got some taste. This place is nice."

Jihoon chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I actually googled a few places... and picked one that looked like it wouldn't make me look too much like a rookie. Not that I’m exactly experienced in this stuff," he admitted with a sheepish smile.

You couldn’t help but smile at his honesty. "Don’t worry, Jihoon. I’m definitely not an expert either. We’re both figuring this out, right?"

Jihoon nodded, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and nervousness.

"Yeah, we’re in this together."

The waiter approached, and after a brief moment of looking over the menu, you and Jihoon placed your orders. As the waiter left, Jihoon met your gaze again, his expression softening.

"So," he said, leaning in a little, his tone quieter now, "what’s been keeping you busy lately? Besides... school, obviously."

You laughed softly, feeling more comfortable now that the initial awkwardness had passed. "Honestly? Between classes and spending time with friends, I’ve just been trying to make some time for myself. It’s been a lot of balancing everything, you know?"

Jihoon nodded, his eyes reflecting a deeper understanding.

"Yeah, I get that. I’ve been stuck in my routine lately, just going to class, the gym, and back home. It feels like the same thing every day, so I figured... maybe it was time to break out of that a little."

You smiled, a soft laugh escaping you. "Well, you definitely made the right decision tonight. It’s nice to step out of the routine every once in a while."

Jihoon smiled back, his gaze lingering on you longer than usual. "Yeah. And I’m glad it’s with you."

The words hung in the air between you, but instead of making things feel heavy, they only added to the warmth between you both. Just then, the waiter arrived with your drinks, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics as the evening progressed.

As the weeks passed, Jihoon and you began to fall into a comfortable routine.

After each of your classes, you’d find yourself grabbing a quick bite to eat at the diner near campus, or sometimes just walking home together, talking about everything from random observations to deeper conversations about life.

 It had started off a bit awkward, but now, it felt effortless, like you had both found something meaningful in the mundane moments.

Jihoon was starting to appreciate the routine. It wasn’t something that had ever appealed to him before—he’d always been the kind to keep to himself, going through the motions of class, gym, and home without seeking much beyond that. But with you, he found himself looking forward to these little moments. 

He loved hearing about your day, even the small things you thought were unimportant. Your laughter became a highlight of his afternoon, and as silly as it might’ve sounded, he loved walking beside you, his hand brushing against yours as you talked.

One particular day, after a long class, Jihoon met you outside the building, your usual spot. His eyes softened when he saw you, and despite the crowds, he only had eyes for you. You were wearing a loose sweater and jeans, your hair tucked into a messy bun, looking effortlessly cute.

“Hey, ready to go?” Jihoon asked, offering you a small smile. You nodded, pulling your bag over your shoulder.

“Yeah, just finished my last lecture. Let’s get food, I’m starving.”

“Same here,” Jihoon replied, glancing down at his phone. “How about that diner? I’m craving their fries today.”

You laughed, nudging him with your shoulder as the two of you started walking. “You and your fries. But sure, that works for me.”

The walk to the diner was filled with comfortable conversation, the two of you easily slipping into familiar banter.

As you entered the diner, you found your usual booth by the window and sat down, already chatting about how your day had gone. Jihoon, for the first time in a while, felt completely at ease.

Then as you two dug into your food, Jihoon noticed something he hadn’t before—how he found himself looking forward to this part of his day.

He was actually looking forward to seeing you, to sharing these moments. And it wasn’t just about the food or the walk anymore; it was about spending time with you.

Later that week, Soonyoung, who had been hanging out with Jihoon more recently, couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in his friend’s behavior.

Jihoon, who used to brush off talks about relationships or showing any kind of emotion, had been smiling more, his mood noticeably lighter. Soonyoung wasn’t exactly one to shy away from calling things as they were, and it didn’t take long for him to notice what was happening.

“Okay, what’s going on with you?” Soonyoung asked one day, leaning against the doorframe of Jihoon’s room, a teasing smile on his face.

Jihoon, who had been lounging on his bed with his laptop open, looked up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You’re different,” Soonyoung said, crossing his arms. “You’re actually smiling. You’re not as... grumpy anymore. Did you get a new pet or something?”

Jihoon chuckled, shaking his head. “No, no new pet. Just... you know. Life’s good.”

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk forming. “Uh-huh. So, it’s ‘life’s good,’ huh? Is this about Y/n?”

Jihoon froze for a second, his eyes widening. He wasn’t exactly trying to keep things a secret, but Soonyoung was quick to catch on. “What?” Jihoon tried to brush it off, but it was no use.

“I knew it,” Soonyoung said, grinning. “You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?”

Jihoon let out a frustrated sigh, but a soft smile tugged at his lips. “It’s not like that. We’ve just been hanging out a lot lately. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“Oh, please,” Soonyoung laughed, throwing himself onto Jihoon’s bed.

“I’ve known you long enough to tell when you’re crushing on someone. You’ve been acting differently, Jihoon. You actually care about your schedule now. You used to skip meals like it was nothing, but now I see you going to class early, and I even saw you texting Y/n before your last lecture yesterday.”

Jihoon felt his cheeks heat up. “Okay, okay, you got me. But it’s not a big deal.”

Soonyoung sat up, his grin never fading. “You’re so obvious, man. You’re just making it worse by trying to act like it’s nothing. Just admit it: you like her.”

Jihoon sighed but couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his face.

“Fine, I like her. Happy now?”

Soonyoung let out a dramatic gasp. “I knew it! Jihoon’s got a crush! You two are so cute. But seriously, don’t mess it up.”

Jihoon ran a hand through his hair, the smile still on his face. “I’m trying not to. It’s just... I’ve never really done this before, you know?”

Soonyoung patted Jihoon’s back. “It’s all good. Just take it easy. You’re doing fine. Just keep being yourself.”

As the conversation ended, Jihoon found himself thinking about how much he had changed over the past few weeks.

He wasn’t just going through the motions anymore; he was actually living, enjoying these moments with you. And he couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—there was something more to explore between the two of you.

It was a Friday night, and you were at your apartment with Yerin and Jennie, sprawled across your couch with snacks, blankets, and plenty of gossip.

The three of you had been best friends for what felt like forever, and sleepovers were a tradition. You’d all gathered to catch up, share some laughs, and spill some tea—this time, about your not-so-secret crush.

Yerin was curled up with her phone, scrolling through TikTok, while Jennie, ever the gossip queen, was snuggled under a blanket beside you, eagerly waiting for you to spill the details.

“So,” Jennie said, raising an eyebrow and giving you a mischievous smile. “How’s Jihoon? Been seeing each other a lot lately?”

You paused for a moment, unsure if you were ready to admit just how much you liked him yet. But you knew your best friends well, and there was no point in holding back.

They’d seen you go through a million crushes, and they weren’t about to let you keep this one under wraps for long.

“I mean…” you began, glancing at Yerin for support, “It’s been nice, really nice. We’ve been hanging out a lot lately—like, almost every day after class.”

Jennie’s eyes immediately widened. “Wait, what? Every day? Are you telling me that you two have become, like, regulars at that diner near campus?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you chuckled. “We get dinner there after classes, talk about anything and everything. It’s kind of become our thing.”

Yerin, who had been half-paying attention, looked up from her phone at the mention of Jihoon. “Wait a second, hold on. I thought Jihoon was this… grumpy, antisocial guy. You know, the one who never really goes out?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too,” you said with a small laugh. “But honestly? I think he’s just been waiting for the right person. And I guess… maybe I’m that person.”

Jennie grinned widely, her eyes practically sparkling with excitement. “Oh my god, I knew it! I saw the way you two were around each other last time, and I was like, ‘Something’s going on here.’ You two just click.”

Yerin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “So, how does he feel about you? You’ve been spending all this time with him. Have you two… talked about anything serious yet?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the fluttering in your chest as you thought about Jihoon.

“We haven’t really defined anything yet. I think we’re both just taking things slow. But honestly, I feel like there’s a connection there, something real.”

Yerin smiled knowingly, setting her phone down. “I can tell you like him, Y/n. And I’m glad he’s making you happy. Just make sure to take it slow and enjoy the ride. You don’t have to rush into anything.”

Jennie, ever the romantic, added, “Yeah, but also, when are you two going to make it official? I’m dying to hear how this all goes down.”

You laughed, brushing your hair out of your face. “I don’t know if we’re at that point yet. We’re still just figuring things out.”

“Right, right,” Jennie teased. “But I know how you are, Y/n. You’re gonna make him fall for you, and it’s going to be cute. You two are a total power couple in the making.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you appreciated their support. “I’m just trying to enjoy these moments with him right now. But… I don’t know. I think I’m starting to like him more than I expected.”

Yerin leaned back, resting her head on the pillow, clearly satisfied with the conversation.

“You’re allowed to like him, Y/n. Honestly, I think Jihoon’s a good match for you. He’s different from the guys you usually go for. He seems like he genuinely cares.”

Jennie gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m already calling dibs on being your maid of honor whenever you two get married.”

Yerin snorted, throwing a pillow at Jennie. “Are you trying to jinx it already? Slow down, lovebird.”

You laughed, feeling a warmth in your chest as your best friends teased you. It felt good to talk about Jihoon, to let someone else in on what you were feeling. It was different from all the other crushes you’d had, and you knew that it was only the beginning of something special.

But for now, you were content to take it one step at a time, with your friends by your side and Jihoon slowly making his way into your heart.

After a long and stressful week of finals, you were finally free. The relief that flooded over you was immense, and the anticipation of meeting Jihoon made it even sweeter.

You had both been texting throughout the week, but with finals consuming all of your time, you hadn't been able to meet up. Tonight, though, was different.

Jihoon had messaged you earlier, asking if you wanted to meet up once you were done with everything. You could already feel the excitement building in your chest.

As you walked out of the library, the crisp night air greeted you, and your phone buzzed in your pocket. Jihoon’s message appeared on the screen:

Jihoon: "Hey, I was thinking we could grab dinner. You deserve a break after finals. I’ll meet you at that place we like near campus, yeah?"

You smiled at the message and quickly typed back:

You: "Sounds perfect. I’ll be there in 15 minutes."

You quickly made your way to the restaurant, the weight of finals lifting off your shoulders with each step.

When you arrived, you spotted Jihoon waiting for you outside, his usual shy smile lighting up his face as soon as he saw you. He looked great, as always, but there was something about him tonight—something more confident, like he had been looking forward to this just as much as you had.

“Hey,” you greeted, your voice already filled with warmth.

“Hey, Y/n. How was the last exam?” Jihoon asked, his voice a little more relaxed than usual, but still filled with genuine interest.

“It was tough, but I’m just happy it’s over. I could finally breathe,” you said with a smile.

Jihoon chuckled softly, pushing open the door to the restaurant and letting you go in first. The place was cozy, with dim lighting and soft jazz music playing in the background.

You’d been here a few times before, and it always felt like the perfect spot to relax and enjoy good food.

“So, what’s the plan now that finals are done?” Jihoon asked as you both sat down. He’d already taken the liberty of ordering a drink for you, something you’d mentioned you liked in passing weeks ago. It was a small gesture, but one that made your heart flutter.

“Honestly, I just want to take it easy and catch up with you,” you said, your voice gentle. “I’ve missed this.”

Jihoon smiled, and you could tell he felt the same. “Same here. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

After you both ordered your meals, the conversation flowed effortlessly. It was easy with Jihoon, like you didn’t have to worry about the awkward pauses or overthinking what you said. It just felt natural.

You talked about how your finals had gone, the stress, and everything in between. Jihoon, despite his quiet nature, opened up more than usual, and you could tell the weight of the past week had lifted from his shoulders as well.

As the evening went on, Jihoon casually leaned back in his chair and seemed to hesitate for a moment, almost as if gathering his thoughts. You didn’t mind the pause, enjoying the quiet comfort of just being in each other’s company.

“I know we’ve been through a lot recently with exams and everything, but… I’ve been thinking about something,” Jihoon began, his voice soft.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it?”

Jihoon took a deep breath, and you could see the hint of nervousness in his expression. “I’ve really enjoyed these past few weeks with you, Y/n. More than I expected, honestly. I know we’re both busy, but I want to see you more. Not just as a friend… but as something more.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a blush creep up your neck. “Jihoon…”

He smiled shyly. “I’m not good with words, but… I really like you. A lot. I want to be with you. Would you be my girlfriend?”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the realization hitting you hard. You had felt the same way, but hearing him say it out loud made everything feel more real.

A smile spread across your face as you reached out, taking his hand across the table. “Yes, Jihoon. I’d love to.”

The relief on his face was instant, and you could see the happiness in his eyes. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.”

And in that moment, with the lights of the restaurant casting a soft glow around you, everything felt right. It was the perfect end to a stressful week—and the beginning of something even more beautiful.

After dinner, Jihoon suggested that you both head to his place. He had mentioned before that he had a small studio where he worked on his music, and tonight, it seemed like the perfect time to finally show you what he’d been working on.

“You know, I was thinking of taking you to my studio,” Jihoon said as you walked side by side toward his apartment building. “I’ve been working on something… and I think it’s time I share it with you.”

You raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Something? What is it?”

Jihoon just smiled, his gaze a little more secretive. “You’ll see.”

Once you arrived at his place, Jihoon led you up to the small studio in the corner of the building. The space was cozy, but you could immediately tell it was filled with character.

There were posters of old-school musicians on the walls, a few vintage records stacked neatly in one corner, and the warm light from a desk lamp illuminated a red guitar leaning against a chair.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Jihoon said, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll just grab my guitar.”

You sat down, looking around the room, the quiet hum of anticipation settling in your chest. Jihoon moved around the room, picking up the guitar and tuning it for a moment before sitting down beside you.

His fingers brushed the strings, testing them one last time, before he looked at you, his expression soft and sincere.

“I wrote this song a while ago,” Jihoon began, his voice low, almost as if he were gathering courage. “And honestly, I didn’t know if I would ever share it with anyone. But when I started to really think about it, I realized… you’re the inspiration for it. I wanted to play it for you.”

You watched him, your heart already fluttering. “Jihoon…”

With a soft breath, he started playing, the chords flowing from the guitar as if they had been meant for this moment. The melody was gentle at first, and as he sang the lyrics, his voice blended effortlessly with the soothing tune.

It was clear that every word was carefully chosen, every note filled with emotion. And as the song progressed, you could feel the weight of his words hitting deep.

The lyrics were simple but beautiful, each line a reflection of how Jihoon saw you—his "ruby"—his muse, his heart’s desire.

As the last note faded, Jihoon set the guitar down beside him and looked at you, his eyes slightly unsure. “I… I know it’s a lot, but I wanted you to hear it. Because you’re the one who inspired it.”

You were silent for a moment, taking in everything—the song, his vulnerability, and the realization that Jihoon had really opened up to you in a way he hadn’t with anyone else. It took you a second to gather your thoughts, but when you finally spoke, your voice was soft, filled with sincerity.

“That was beautiful, Jihoon,” you whispered, your heart swelling. “I can’t believe you wrote that for me.”

Jihoon’s expression softened, and for a moment, he looked a little embarrassed. “I didn’t know how to tell you. But now, I guess there’s no hiding it anymore.”

You smiled, reaching out to touch his hand. “I’m really glad you did.”

There was a brief silence, but this time it was comfortable, filled with the weight of the connection you shared. Jihoon looked at you, his eyes full of warmth and something deeper. It was clear to you now—he had fallen for you, and he had done it in the most beautiful way possible.

After a few beats, Jihoon spoke again, his voice quiet but steady.

“You know,” he began, his tone playful but filled with sincerity, “you really have a way of turning my entire routine upside down.”

You raised an eyebrow, still feeling the warmth of the music and his words. “Oh really? What do you mean by that?”

Jihoon chuckled softly, the sound low and comfortable.

“I mean, my life was pretty predictable before you came around. Gym, classes, music, rinse and repeat. But now, it’s like—” he trailed off for a second, gathering his thoughts, “—I actually look forward to getting out of bed in the morning, you know? To seeing you.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, but you couldn’t resist teasing him. “Oh, so I’m just some distraction now, huh? Are you telling me I’ve become the highlight of your boring routine?”

Jihoon’s eyes softened, a smile curling at the corners of his lips as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping just a little. “If that makes me sound like I’m complaining, then yes. You’re the perfect distraction. The best one I never knew I needed.”

You let out a small laugh, not able to hide how happy that made you feel. “I don’t know if I should feel flattered or worried.”

“You should definitely feel flattered,” Jihoon teased, tapping the back of his hand against your knee. “But seriously, I’m really glad you’re in my life now. It’s like... you’ve made everything a little more exciting.”

You met his gaze, the playful air between you both still hanging, but something deeper flickered in his eyes now—something genuine, something real.

“Well, I’m glad I’m not just some distraction then,” you said, shifting slightly to face him fully. “And here I thought you were going to tell me I was ruining your carefully planned life.”

Jihoon chuckled, shaking his head. “No way. I never knew how much I needed this kind of chaos until you showed up.”

There was a brief pause, and then Jihoon leaned in a little closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, it’s nice having someone who actually doesn’t mind the mess I call my life.”

“Well, good thing I’m here then,” you replied with a wink. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Jihoon smiled, a mix of playfulness and tenderness in his expression. “Good. Because I kind of like this version of my life now. With you in it.”

With that, he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and as he did, you both shared a quiet moment, the atmosphere charged with the kind of ease that came only with truly being yourselves around each other.

The hum of his guitar, still resting by his side, seemed to match the rhythm of the moment. And as Jihoon leaned back into his seat, he added with a cheeky grin, “Also, just so you know… if you ever need a song to get stuck in your head, you’ve got the perfect one now.”

You laughed, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “Yeah, I think that’s gonna be stuck in my head for a while. Especially when it’s your fault.”

Jihoon’s grin widened. “You’re welcome,” he teased.

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