#the sounds flow well idk

[puppyeared]

horrible truth bomb dropped on my head 20 min ago

[whump-in-the-closet]

CONGRATS ON YOUR FOLLOWERS!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉 for your scene prompt idea: a royal whumpee with a migraine, perhaps? context up to you :>

- @seth-whumps :D

Thanks dude!! It feels so surreal

anyway...

cw: royal whump, forced caretaking, migraine, noncon drugging because its "for their own good"

The young king’s room was cool and dark. A faint puff of wind made the chiffon curtain billow out like a sail, and then fall softly back to its natural position. Faint starlight shone on the white marble sill, and it glowed ever so softly, also glimmering in the pale blue eyes of the king who stood staring dully at the night sky.

The king's ears were still ringing from the heated arguments in the Council room. The fighting was tearing apart his leaders and he wanted nothing more than to put his head down on the cool marble and cry-- he was past caring about keeping himself together. Done.

He ached as if the entire universe was resting on his shoulders.

And in a way, it was.

A few days ago his most pressing concern had been whether or not the pretty lord with the dark eyes was single. Now it was whether or not he could keep his country from falling into his enemies' hands.

I can’t do this.

I can’t.

And he put his head down on his arm and sobbed.

No father to plan with him and advise him. No mother to comfort him and listen to him pour out his worries.

Alone.

Completely alone.

There was an urgent knock on the door, and someone’s voice called out, asking if he was alright. But he had no strength to stem the flow of tears or to even move from the window. Behind him, the door opened, a shaft of warm light falling across his back.

“M'lord!” 

One part of him ordered him to sit up and greet the intruding lord with the facade of calm that he had spent years perfecting, but the other part was stronger, and so the king didn’t even look up when the young man repeated his name in a shocked whisper. 

“Are you alright? Do I need to send for a healer?” 

This shook him. He had no wish to appear weak. “No,” he choked out, pressing his forehead harder against the cool, tear-splashed marble. “I’m fine.”

“You’re very obviously not fine,” the lord replied, rushing across the room to stand beside the young king. “I’m calling them anyway.”

The king didn't look up. His head throbbed, and even the lord's voice felt like a needle probing into the soft, malleable batter of brain tissue.

“No,” he insisted, the ringing in his ears growing louder. “I’m-- I’m fine.” 

“But…”

“Don’t!” he shouted, whipping around to confront his friend. But instantly his anger vanished, replaced with a searing pain through his head, and his vision went fuzzy, then black as he crumpled.

The lord lunged forward, barely catching him in time. He picked up the limp form of the king with a protective concern. “Someone get me a healer!”

Panic shot through the lord as he realized how effortlessly he had lifted the king's body. He was far too thin and deathly pale.

He carefully lay the king, still with boyish features, on the couch and his eyes fluttered open.

The king tried to sit up but the lord shook his head and placed a hand on his chest, forcing him to lie still.

“Don’t try to sit up yet,” he said, his voice laced with worry. 

The king didn't have the strength to argue, pressing his hands to his temples, where the ringing continued to persist. 

“What… what happened?” 

Before the lord could respond, a healer entered the room. 

This woke the young man up. He bolted upright, ignoring the pain in his head and managing to shoot a glare at the lord. “I said I was fine!” he snapped, instantly wincing as his headache punished him for the sharp movement.

The lord looked worriedly at him but did not answer, instead turning to the healer. “He lost consciousness. He’s also burning up and when I picked him up it was like picking up...picking up a child.”

The king wished he could come up with a come-back to the dark-eyed lord's accusations, but the ringing in his ears made it nearly impossible. All he could manage was an incoherent groan.

The healer was immediately by his side. 

“Your majesty, do I have permission to help you?” 

Like with the lord, the worry was evident in their voice. Blond strands of hair floated down their neck and covered their healer's tattoo at their collarbone.

The king shot another glare at his friend, who remained unfazed. He hesitated but finally nodded, swallowing down the bitter taste of failure. 

“No one is to hear of this, am I clear?” he got out through clenched teeth as the healer pressed their hand to his forehead.

For a moment, their touch was freezing against his skin. The look of worry did not fade. “You need to rest. A proper rest, not a few minutes when you fall asleep during meetings.” 

“I don’t fall asleep in meetings," he lied.

"Sure you don't," muttered the lord.

"I don't!" Another round of electric pain sent him into throbbing agony. He doubled up on the couch. 

The healer sighed. They did not have the patience for the king's stubborn pride. They handed him a small vial, filled with a glittering liquid. “Please drink this. It will help.” 

He eyed it doubtfully. “What’s it for?” 

The healer's eyes flickered with hesitation. “Pain reliever” 

The king pushed himself into a sitting position, “It's not a sedative?"

"...No."

The lord and the healer exchanged a glance.

It was a sedative. Both knew the king would refuse to take a sedative, so the healer lied and the lord kept his mouth shut.

The king looked up at the lord with a pleading expression. "You wouldn't lie to me?"

The lord felt a pang of guilt. He crouched down and wrapped a hand around the king's. His hands were trembling. The lord forced himself to hold the king's gaze as he lied. "It's not a sedative, m'lord."

This seemed to assure the young man. He took the small cup, chugging it down as fast as possible.

The king's hand fell out of the lord's as almost instantly, darkness stitched its way along the inside of his eyelids. In between shallow gasps, he panicked. "You--"

"Shh," whispered the lord. "I'm sorry." He stroked a stray strand of hair out of the king's face and noticed how just within a few months, worry lines had formed on his forehead. "Rest, m'lord. You need it."

The king's eyes fluttered closed.

The healer placed a hand on the lord's shoulders. "It's for his own good," they consoled him.

"I'll sit with him until he wakes up," muttered the lord, pinching the bridge of his nose.

It was the least he could do.

[lonewolf638]

Sam & Dean, Supernatural / Sister, She Wants Revenge

You better lie down cause the angels are watching She closed her eyes and said quit the talking

[youmaycallmebrian]

my toxic trait as a native french speaker is that I always pronounce Astarion’s name the french way

[oflgtfol]

like i still dont know if i feel anything romantic for him but like i guess at this point it’s not really platonic either since like we’re kissing and holding hands but like. idk. i guess i just dont know what romantic feelings… feel like? in my mind it’s still just hanging out just like, different 😭😭😭 like i know everyone always says ur partner should be ur friend first but like. we’re literally just hanging out. like it doesn’t feel any deeper or anything like that, it just feels. different. bc we are doing different things with different expectations. so even though i mean like well i have a. God i cant even say the word rn. even though im dating someone now i still feel incredibly aromantic about it. and luckily he knows and he took it well and he knew it from the get go so it’s fine but i also can’t help but feel like ahhh i’m aromantic though

[pl4n]

clouds

[kavehater]

BORN TO YELL 🚨🚨🚨🚨 forced to say awww he seems sweet ☺️

[quarterprioritymidnight]

Why do you hate Run Into Trouble? 🙈

cause i think its bad

[sparrownnax]

w.hat was thay noise

[cliowo]

I know this has probably been said before but hands are so beautiful. They tell me so many stories. I'm such a sucker for stories.

The specific position and sizes of your calluses tell me which hand you write with, how much force you use when you write, even the way you hold the pen. I love how much your hands can tell me about you.

And I know some of you feel ashamed of how rough your palms are, how jagged your fingernails have become, worn by work and teeth, by your gnawing anxiety. You don't have to be. The rugged dips and valleys of your hands tell me that you have worked hard. You have known what it is to fight for what you want, perhaps even crawled through hellfire and back just to put warm food on the table. The food is still warm. And so are your hands.

And then there are hands which are wrinkled and scarred, reminders of a not-so-distant past that you would always carry with you. I am curious. I want to know how they've changed you. I want to recognise the past you in the present you.

Would you tell me the story behind each faint silver line? Would you let me share the burden? Time has not always been kind to you or to me. But there's still some time left, and I want to hear what your hands had to fight to hold on to. What they said when you were forced to let go.

And most of all, I love how I can use my hands to reach you. To convey that I'm here, and you're here and we're alive. They can bring so much comfort. Thank you for being here. I'm glad you exist

[k-hotchoisan]

Hear me out... yeosang greek mythology-esque AU where every few decades a maiden is sent as a sacrifice to the one they believe is the god of love and fertility. A very confused deity yeosang usually just rolls with it and puts these young ladies to sleep for a night ot two before returning them to their people (cuz that one time he just sent someone back the entire village panicked and blamed her for not being a "good enough offering" and he felt bad for a century). But this time... for some reason... he just can't take his eyes off the sleeping girl before him (there can be backstory here like he's met her before while parading as a mortal or sumin idk) and decides... maybe this time he'll keep her...

alrighty aphrodite

<yeosang x fem!reader>

every eleven years, a young maiden is chosen as sacrifice for the god of love and fertility, at least they think they do, only for Yeosang to put the sacrificed maiden to sleep because he doesn't want to deal with them.

but when it’s you being chosen to be the next maiden, Yeosang decides, maybe this time, he’s gonna keep you for himself instead.

Genre/warnings: smut with plot, (kinda) Greek god au deity yeosang x maiden!reader, mentioned elements of sacrifice (though not too heavy nor gory), unprotected sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, masturbation (m), obsessive softdom! Yeosang, he’s actually fucking whipped for you, praise kink, mentions of virginity (where reader is NOT but it’s not elaborated further), yearning!yeosang

wc: 6k

a/n: I’m sorry this took SO long to develop. Truth to be told, this prompt has been stuck at the back of my mind and boy, I really wanted to make this beauty work. Also a special thanks to @bro-atz for helping me develop (this is for you as well hehe) Enjoy! 🩷

Walking through the cold and pale marble temple, you watch the way the vines curl around the pillars, creeping its way up to get some sun. The temple is insanely huge, standing tall thanks to blocky pillars, with intricate carvings, which you identify as white marble being slowly overtaken by soft moss and stubborn vines. 

You know, despite the gorgeous temple, its practices to serve Aphrodite were but.

Despite the anxiety you feel, you know you could do not much to fight against the elders and their ridiculous traditions. For centuries, chosen maidens by the fertility deity have been offered to appease the gods for the blessings of fertility of the town’s land and women every 11 years. No one knew how the gods looked like, but it seemed that every time a maiden was sent, the fields would bloom and flourish, couples would be blessed with a pregnancy. 

Of course, why wouldn’t they continue this ridiculous tradition?

And this year, you were chosen. 

You remember the last conversation you had with your mother before you had stepped foot into the temple. 

“I’ll come back mother. Weren’t there rumours that one of the maidens managed to come back?”

Your mother’s index finger flew to her lips. “Be careful of what you utter, my daughter. They don’t like the reminder that their choice was rejected.” 

You blinked at her, recalling the incident where one of the maidens got “returned” right after the ceremony and from what you could remember, led the elders to grow furious on top of anxious, then demanding that another sacrifice to be made, since the maiden was now considered “rejected” by the deity. The poor girl. Surely this deity couldn’t be that picky, right? 

You continue to thread the path before you, the soles of your feet getting used to the coldness of the marble floor by now. 

You enter the fountain room, and as its title, sits a large marble fountain, a statue lady draped over with a long piece of fabric looking down onto three cupids that spit out water, while she, herself pours water out of a vase.  

The sound of flowing water could honestly put you to sleep, if it wasn’t a curt reminder that you’re meant to drown here. Rose petals decorate and almost fully cover the surface of the bottomless fountain. Maybe it was a ploy to at least relax the previous maidens. There are a handful of people, all dressed in white robes that hide their faces, while the elders are dressed in ivory.

“There she is. Beautiful y/n”, the elder woman smiles, the emotion not reaching her eyes. You force a smile back. “Come, the water’s not cold.”

You dip your toes in. 

The water is fucking cold. 

“Think of it as a blessing to us, that you’re doing a gracious service to the village”, another elder curtly reminds you while she tosses more rose petals into the fountain. 

Two other women lie you down onto the water and more petals are strewn across the surface. Your hair is wet by now and so is your dress. You cringe at how cold the water is biting against your skin but you bear with it. 

The older woman turns around.

“We are gathered here today to witness the blessing Aphrodite will be giving us. We pray that the maiden reaches the goddess safely and may she stay in good hands”, she announces with clasped hands. 

“May Aphrodite bless us all.” She yells, her hands raised to the heavens, before the two hooded elders beside her shove your body into the fountain, sinking you to the depths, the last thing you’re hearing are loud chants that gradually become muted as you slowly accept your fate. 

A familiar hymn plays, and it catches Yeosang’s attention. 

“The maiden offering is here”, his Cupid announces. 

Yeosang only sighs in defeat, annoyed that his rose gardening has been interrupted, muttering how these mortals were being ridiculous, while still walking over to his marble foundation, careful not the crush the roses that had fallen onto the grass. 

“I genuinely have no idea how to stop these people from sending women down the fountain”, he complains to nobody in particular. 

“Why not just appear in front of them and tell them you’re the deity?” The little Cupid suggests as he floats beside Yeosang. 

He turns to his minion with folded arms. “No way. These people would pelt me with stones before they even decide to give me a chance to prove that I am. I’ll just do the usual.”

“Put them to sleep and then tie a red string on their ankles?”

“-to make sure they don’t get hurt or freak out or something. Then send them back up when enough time has passed.”, he continues with a small pout. “I’m still shocked at the way they freaked out when I sent the previous one back four decades ago.”

The Cupid purses his lips, listening to Yeosang rant about this for the nth time ever since he took over the temple and the rituals started every 11 decades as they near the fountain. 

He continues his rant up till he reaches the fountain. “Besides, none of them they send are ever my cup of tea. I’m sure this one’s not any-“

Then Yeosang immediately quietens down when his eyes land on the sleeping maiden before him. His Cupid casts him a confused glance, then back to the maiden on the fountain, wondering what suddenly silenced Yeosang. 

It’s just another maiden, his Cupid thinks. 

On the contrary, Yeosang can’t seem to keep his eyes off the maiden who’s unconscious, covered in rose petals like the previous maidens. What made her so different? He doesn’t know, but there’s a strange tinge of familiarity when he rests his eyes on your sleeping figure. 

The cupid’s eyes widen when Yeosang personally picks you up from the water with his bare hands. He never did that to the previous maidens, for he would complain about getting his robes wet. 

He sets you down on the cloud bed, watching how you’re breathing softly while he waits for the cupids to hand him a spare robe for you to change into. 

“Yeosang, aren’t you gonna change out?” His Cupid asks as he hands Yeosang the fresh set of robes. 

You stir from your slumber, feeling softness against your skin. You slowly open your eyes, before you remember what happened, and you shoot up, soaking in the unfamiliar environment surrounding you. It’s a beautiful, spacious, and airy room. Your eyes land on a male who’s fitting stalks of roses into a glass vase. 

“In a bit”, Yeosang replies, his eyes not lifting from you. 

He turns to you just in time, and you freeze. 

Oh gods, he’s stunning. His eyes are a shade of gray that makes him look all the more dreamy, and his lashes are long. His hair is a soft platinum blonde, contrasted by the bright red roses that rest on his hair. He looks like a statue himself. 

“You’re awake”, he greets with a curt nod. 

“You’re-“

“—Aphrodite‘s descendant, Deity Kang Yeosang”, the flying child announces. 

“Oh! Pardon my rudeness, Deity”, you squeak, going on your knees, your hands on the cold, marble ground. 

But Yeosang has his hands around you, lifting you up. “You don’t need to-“

“Oh but I should. You’ve been blessing our village with bountiful fields and beautiful children. It’s only right that I bow on their behalf”, you insist. Yeosang is speechless, mostly because it’s the first time that he has allowed a maiden to be conscious around his quarters, and that he’s speaking to one. He doesn’t really know what to do, let alone why he even did that in the first place. 

Yeosang looks away sheepishly. “It’s part of my job. Please, you may rise.” Despite his seemingly soft demeanour, you realise how chiseled his arms are, his muscles lifting you up together with him. When you’re finally facing him, you can’t help but wonder if this was the view that every maiden had—and that maybe it’s not so bad after all. 

Yeosang practically gave you the living quarters you woke up in, in which you were obviously thankful, offering for any help in exchange for it. Yeosang declined but you insisted, telling him you should repay him, so he decides to let you tend to one of his rose gardens around the temple.

It had been a few days since. 

By then, you had warmed up to the deity, spending time with him in the gardens, exchanging stories. Through these interactions, you realise how mellow and soft Yeosang is—usually stories of gods warn of them being picky, petty and sometimes, even wrathful. Yeosang didn’t seem to tick all of these boxes. It seemed like he would rather tend to his myriad rose gardens and caring for his cupids.

“Has anyone told you you’re absolutely beautiful, Yeosang?” You say, missing the way his ears are turning as pink like the roses that lie on his head. The both of you are cutting off the fresh buds that bloomed to collect the petals that afternoon. 

Yeosang’s cheeks flushes, rubbing the nape of his neck with a smile. It’s no different from what he always hears, especially as Aphrodite’s descendant, but to hear it from you makes him feel flustered for some reason.

“I mean not just how you look, but the way you treat the things around you.” 

“I’m not following”, a confused Yeosang replies, and it makes you giggle. 

“I’m saying, you’re gentle and kind too.” 

Gentle and kind. Of course he is, considering that has been something he’s been his whole life. It’s well known how much of a temperamental and petty his ascendant had been known to be, and he knows he’s not like that.

Distracted by his thoughts, he feels a sharp pain shoot in his finger. He flinches and pulls his hand away, realising his finger has been cut by a rose thorn.

This has never happened before. 

"Are you okay? Let me see-" you interject, taking his hand to inspect if the cut was deep, and you instinctually place his finger against your lips to suck on his skin. 

Yeosang's heartbeat is climbing at an exponential rate right now, wondering why do your lips feel so soft. Would it feel as soft if it wasn't just on his fingers? How would you taste against him?

"Are you okay, Yeosang?" your voice snaps him out of his rapidly growing crooked thoughts. His eyes meet yours and he forces a smile, letting himself enjoy the way you're gently stroking his fingers. He thinks it feels nice.

"It doesn't hurt. Don't worry", his voice lowers a pitch, his gaze softening as he watches the way your hands go from stroking his injured finger to playing around with the rest of his fingers, thinking it would help ease the sting. 

Yeosang places his hand on your cheek, gently stroking against your skin and his smile spreads to you. 

“Thank you. I’ll go and wash the wound. Don’t worry about it, really. It’s just a small cut”, he assures, almost reluctant to leave your side when you let him go, and he walks back to his chambers.

As he rinses his hands, Yeosang's cupid floats to his side, watching the way his deity has his eyes locked onto the maiden.

“You haven't sent her back up, Yeosang. I’ve never seen you do that.” 

Yeosang doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know what to reply. 

There is silence for a while, as the Cupid watches Yeosang bloom the roses.

“How long will you keep her?”

Yeosang watches the way you smell the roses from his bedroom window. His heart flutters. 

“For a little longer.”

You watch the rain fall and hit the leaves from the window of your room. The room is spacious, much too spacious for your liking. It wasn't you that you didn't hate being in the temple, having Yeosang and his little Cupids around were comforting, but during some days, the thorns of being home sick would prick you. 

Something is starting to bubble in Yeosang when his thoughts drift to you as night falls. Unfortunately, he seems to have realised it too late. 

Undoubtedly, the incident of Yeosang getting pricked by his rose bushes closed the distance between the both you. And that night, you realise you didn’t want to sleep alone. 

That night, Yeosang is still up, his concentration on finishing a book he had bought from the mortal realm. Then he hears a soft knock on his open door. 

His gazes flies to his door, his heart speeding up when he sees that it’s you standing at his doorway. 

“Is it okay for me to intrude?” You ask. “I feel lonely in such a big room.”

Yeosang blinks before remembering to respond. 

“Sure. There’s plenty of space on the bed”, he offers, shifting uselessly on the large bed to make space for you. You break into a smile, crawling into his shared space, the comfort of having Yeosang by your side already easing your worries. 

“What are you reading?” You ask, peeking over to his book trapped in his long fingers. 

He tips the book to show you the cover. 

“I got it at the marketplace.”

Your eyes brighten. 

“Right! You can travel to the mortal realm”, you remember him briefly mentioning it to you. 

He nods. “I can bring you back to the village from time to time to get stuff if you want.”

“You can bring me back?”

“I try to, discreetly, I guess. The mortals in the village for some reason didn’t like it when I brought back one of the maidens back directly once.”

Suddenly, the pieces start to fall into place. It’s all starting to make sense. 

Yeosang doesn’t realise he’s frowning. “You…yearn to go back there?” The words taste bitter in his mouth while he waits for your answer. 

“Well, I’ve grown rather attached to this place actually. But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go back from time to time. You can send me back whenever you’re ready to, Yeosang”, you reply. 

Oh gods. Yeosang was internally preparing for the worst but for now, he’s satisfied with whatever arrangement he has with you. He’s never had a maiden stay longer than this, and he’s getting very comfortable with your companionship. 

You stifle a yawn, eyelids growing heavy. Your fingers brush against his playfully, and it gets his attention even though his eyes are empty on the pages of his book.

“You’re my favourite thing about this temple”, you mutter, shutting your eyes. Yeosang freezes in his spot, his heart hammering in his chest. 

“I think you’re my favourite thing about being a deity”, is his delayed reply. When he turns to gaze upon you, you’re asleep—comfortable and calm—just a hair’s breadth away from him. 

That night, he had the most comfortable night of sleep since the past few decades. 

Since then, your own bed in your quarters grew cold, and Yeosang’s bed only grew warmer as you continued to seek comfort with the deity. 

Yeosang wouldn’t lay his hands on you, even though he was fine with your small touches. He’d grown accustomed to it. 

Nonetheless, it doesn’t change the fact that his heartbeat accelerates when he feels you shift closer to him and lean your head against his arm or shoulder—whichever you felt like it—while you join him in reading whatever novel he has his nose buried into. 

Your hair brushes gently against his skin again, and it’s making him more jumpy than usual for some reason. Is it the way that he’s conscious of how physically close you are to him? Is it the way that your scent surrounds him like a veil recently? Is it the way your laughter sounds more beautiful than the hymns the harps could play?

He glances down at you, realising you’ve fallen into slumber, your breathing light. Yeosang smiles, his gaze landing on your face. 

Then the scent of you hits—sweet and intense—it makes Yeosang’s mind cloud. He feels his body warm up, and his eyes trail down from your face to your bare shoulders—where the strap of your nightgown had slipped past your shoulder—the lace trimming of your nightwear had lowered down your chest, revealing your soft breasts just shy of your nipples—

Fuck. Yeosang’s mind is on its road to being a goner. The discomfort that’s starting to bulge against his robes being the biggest indicator. 

He seeps deeper into his twisted fantasies, letting his hand slip down to palm his thickness, groans leaving his lips soft and controlled enough so that he doesn’t wake you up. His suppressed fantasies start to bubble to the surface—flashes of you in between his legs, your tongue lapping his nectar from his base to the tip, then struggling to take his cock full into your pretty mouth. Shit. It’s driving him to the edge. Yeosang swallows hard. He knows that everything about this is so wrong, but he can’t help it. The pleasure trickling into his veins and the risk of getting caught if he’s too loud—it only adds onto the rush that his cock is feeling, and he’s fucking loving it.

The robe is slowly shed off his chiseled body, the speed of his hand fucking his cock increasing when his fantasies start turning to you above him, settling onto his cock, eyes so glazed out and pretty for him while he spilts you open. He dreams of melting into your velvet heat and it only makes more precum leak out of his cockhead while he struggles to keep his breathing slow. 

He eyes flutter shut, a strained moan slipping past his lips. He doesn’t know how you’re not being awoken by now, but frankly, he doesn’t care. 

And when you shift in your sleep slightly, accompanying your movements with a sleepy groan, it only makes Yeosang’s predicament worse. He watches the way your top has completely slipped down, your nipple growing perky and hard from the cool air. Oh, what he’d do get a taste of it between his lips. 

The sounds of his hand fucking grow louder when his thoughts grow wilder when he wonders how you’d taste between your legs—sweet like the nectar of the roses you grow for him maybe. 

The precum seeping only grows white and thicker, the sensitivity burning through his body, making Yeosang press his head deeper against his pillows, his hand movements more desperate.

When his fantasies reach to one of you cumming and fluttering with tears in your eyes on his cock, Yeosang bursts with a broken cry of your name, his white and thick cum making a mess of his body and undone robe. His breathing is shaky, staring at the thick cum that stained his hand under the silver moonlight. 

It was then the realisation looms over him--there's no way it's possible to send you back up. Not when the need to hear you scream and cry his name is creeping into his veins like the thorny vines of his rose bush. 

“With all these roses around, doesn’t Yeosang get sick of the smell?” You ask the Cupid while your hands are busy snipping off the buds. 

He shrugs. “I guess he’s used to it.”

The Cupid casts another glance to the rose bush, furrowing his eyebrows, seemingly reflecting his confusion. 

“Although, you’re not wrong—the roses recently seem to smell stronger, and I’ve never seen buds this dark before.”

“Something wrong with the roses?” You hear the soft deep voice echo through your ears. 

“Yeosang!”, you exclaim, realising the subtle change in him—the roses that sit around his pale hair like flower crown are now as dark as the roses on the rose bush. 

You absentmindedly reach out to touch the roses on his hair, amazed by the deep crimson hue. “No, Cupid and I were just mesmerised at how pretty the dark roses are, actually.”

His smile fills your stomach with butterflies. 

“Were you? I’m glad you and Cupid seem to like them.”

Yeosang lets his hands linger on your cheek for a moment longer, his warm spreading through your skin. 

“I’ll see you tonight as usual, y/n?” 

You nod, but for some reason, the expression Yeosang casts you sets a whole cage of butterflies into your stomach. 

He’s satisfied with your answer and he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to your temple, the smell of roses floating around you, before he strolls back to his quarters, humming to himself. 

For some reason, something feels a little different that night. 

You walk into Yeosang’s chambers as usual, as you always do. He has his novel in his hands, but his eyes glance at you at his doorway the moment he feels your presence. 

You slide into his bed, like you always have done, noticing the comforting warmth that the deity radiated seemed slightly a little hotter than usual. But you attribute it to the fact that it had been pouring quite a bit lately, including tonight. 

The moment you crawled into Yeosang's space, he has his palm spread over your exposed thigh, his warmth spreading across your skin. 

“Isn't someone eager today”, you tease, absentmindedly returning his touch, much to Yeosang's surprise. 

“It's been cold lately, and your warmth is the only thing I've grown used to”, Yeosang replies with a gentle smile, and it makes your stomach burst with butterflies. 

“As with you”, you giggle, inching closer to the male. 

Yeosang reflects your bloom with a soft smile, before his attention returns to his book. You rest yourself against his arm, as you always do.

This night, Yeosang realises he can't concentrate on reading, not when he's hyper aware of the floral shampoo that's emitting off you. You've always been using the same floral shampoo, so why does the smell seem to come off stronger this time?

His thoughts are then interrupted when he hears you soft sigh as you shift your weight against his arm, his eyes locked at the way the strap of your nightgown slips past your shoulder once more, the gown dropping slightly lower, barely revealing your soft and perky nipples.

Yeosang doesn't realise his fingers are clamping onto the pages, hard. 

He averts his gaze back to the book that he knows it's pointless to get back to, so he shuts it.

Your eyes rake over his bothered expression, and your mind swims with worry.

“Are you okay, Yeosang?”

Yeosang turns his attention to you, forcing a smile. His words come out uncertain, “of course. I just need a breather. Give me a second, y/n.” He drops the book onto his nightstand before he leaves the bed to the balcony. You decide it's best to leave him be, while you keep yourself busy with the pile of books Yeosang bought for you on his nightstand.

Yeosang is barely confident that he's finally composed himself, but he decides to enter his room once he feels his heart gradually slow. He brushes off the crimson rose petals that had landed on his shoulder.

Since when have his petals gotten this red? 

He returns back to his room, and all of that self preservation immediately falls apart when the view before him on his bed is you–relaxed, with the sheets off you, your bare legs in full view for him to take in, your sheer nightgown bunched up to your thighs as your nose is deep into your novel. 

Yeosang remains silent as he inches towards to your side of the bed, and his movements definitely catch your attention. You look up and your eyes meet his, trailing him as he slowly settles down right in front of you. 

“Can I help you?” You tease, shutting the book. Yeosang doesn't answer, but rather, he lets his fingers dance along your leg, and up until he pauses at your knee.

You watch the way his eyes glimmer against the moonlight, then how it highlights his features like a marble statue. 

He's leaning closer.

His eyes are downcast for a second before they find the resolve to meet yours.

“Could I…?” he mutters, shyness reflected in his gaze. 

His palm is flat against your knee now, and he's warm to the touch.

You're suddenly feeling curious yet shy. You lower your gaze when you feel his palm press against your cheek, then lean in. His hands feel like comfort. Your eyes flutter open and you meet Yeosang’s stare.

His mind is going haywire when you look at him like that.

There is tension in the air, silence so loud you could hear two hearts fluttering if you listened hard enough. 

“Please”, you reply softly, loud enough for him to hear.

Before you could process it, Yeosang leans in for a deep kiss, determined to steal your breath and heart away as his lips collide against yours. He traps you against the bed, and your hands are around his neck, slowly lingering on his soft locks of hair. 

Red petals are slowly filling up the white spaces on the white sheets as Yeosang grows greedy–he’s pulled away from your lips, now he's messing with your cheek, then your jawline, then down your neck. His hands are going down. You gasp when you feel him cup your breasts. There's no way he doesn't feel your nipples grow harder through the thin fabric, and he makes full use of it to pinch and roll in between his fingertips, the sparks going right to your soaked pussy.

Yeosang lets you off momentarily, and the strange glint in his eyes don't go unnoticed by you. Too caught up in the moment though, you let him continue with whatever he wants to do. He continues kissing down south, teasing you with the fact that he's not letting his lips touch your skin directly. Every soft gasp and sigh he hears from you is his reward.

Then, he stops right at the wet patch of fabric in between your legs.

You swear his eyes form hearts. 

“You're already so wet for me?” He asks, which doesn't come off much as a question. His finger grazes along the damp fabric, and the wetness spreads even more. It’s driving Yeosang off the edge. You're driving Yeosang off the edge.

All Yeosang is thinking is that you're such a perfect gift. He wouldn't have asked for more.

The perfect offering. 

Perfect for him to ruin.

A thought crosses Yeosang’s mind–how far can he get your thin and useless panties soaked? He nuzzles against the warm and sticky fabric, trying his best to ignore the way his cock is just painfully throbbing to be let out. 

“Yeosang–!” You cry out, accidentally flattening some of the roses in his hair when the sensitivity bursts dully in your pussy. 

You're suddenly feeling self-conscious even though your mind is slowly sinking into the sins Yeosang is gravitating you into. 

Your cunt is getting soaked by the second, to the point your panties have pretty much grown transparent, so sticky and wet from your cream.

It doesn't change the fact that worries still flicker in and out of your mind. 

You're not a virgin. Would Yeosang approve of that? Would he be disgusted that you aren't?

You feel his fingers slither up your thighs, his thump hooking onto the waistband of your panties before he completely pulls your panties off, your pulsing wet pussy blooming like the most gorgeous flower Yeosang's ever seen.

Before Yeosang’s ready to reward himself, you squeeze your thighs, stopping him. 

He looks up at you, his eyes slowly glazed over, waiting for you to let him.

How is he so patient?

“I’m not a virgin—“

“It doesn't matter, darling”, Yeosang cuts you off while he presses his nose against your supple thighs, taking in a sharp inhale, letting your scent turn him dizzy. “I’ve always dreamed of hearing you scream my name when I’m fucking you.”

You struggle to keep your breathing in check, dazed and taking in this newfound side of Yeosang that seemingly bloomed from nowhere. 

“I'll make you feel so good, darling”, he promises, a teasing lick just to the side of your pussy, and your rationale completely dissolves. 

Yeosang pulls your legs apart, smiling against your skin when you don't offer resistance, then he presses his tongue against your wet cunt. 

You taste like heaven, is what is repeating in Yeosang’s head, over and over. He wants to make sure he sucks you dry. You squirm against him, the pleasure building recklessly whenever Yeosang drives his tongue against your clit, your moans turning into a mix of cries. Your wetness isn't drying up anytime soon, that's for sure. 

“So fucking good. Y-Yeosang…”, your lashes are wet, and with every flick of his tongue on your clit, it builds so fucking good that your legs have completely spread open for Yeosang, your cunt shamelessly leaking more creamy nectar for Yeosang to indulge in. He brings his tongue up to your clit once more, dragging the soft muscle against it. 

“You're so close, aren't you? Your sweetness is just getting better”, Yeosang hums. 

Your fingers clutch against the soft pillows under you, your mind slowly starts to blank and break. It feels so fucking good that Yeosang has to hold your hips down so he can tongue fuck you better.

“Be a good girl for me–cum as hard as you want.”

A choked sob echoes in his chambers while you go completely undone–shaking and pulsing against his tongue, your vision washed out by white as the pleasure seeps into each nerve and crevice of your brain. 

Yeosang is still lapping your cream up, dizzy from how you cummed all over his face. He really wants to make you do that over and over again until you break.  

The remnants of your orgasm and the overstimulation has you twitching in the best ways possible. You halt Yeosang–stealing his attention with your fingers under his chin. Yeosang looks up at you, burying his cheek against your palm while his tongue peeks out past his lips to lick the off the remainder of your cream on his face. Your thumb caresses his soft cheek and Yeosang appeases you for a moment before he climbs over you, his palm covering your wrist, guiding you down to the knot of his robe. Your fingers grab onto the loose end and you tug–his robe completely loosens. He leans in closer, letting your hands wander his body, flicking the robe away until Yeosang is fully naked before you.

He's nothing short of a marble statue–everything about him is completely ethereal. As much as you’re admiring his bare body,  your eyes can't help but wander to his thick cock. Even his cock is so pretty especially when it's glistening and hard, in a sheen of precum.

His voice is deeper now and it tickles your ears.

“I don't think I can go slow on you, my love”, Yeosang mutters, before he presses his lips onto the back of your hand. His crimson eyes meet yours, and your heart skips a beat. 

“I don't wanna.”

He fits a pillow under your hips, and his cock is easily resting right at your pulsing, wet hole. 

“Wanna feel you all the way, Yeosang. You can go as deep as you want”, you whisper, just craving to be fucked now. 

Yeosang smiles in reply, before he lines himself to your cunt and pushes himself in an inch or two.

A curt “fuck” slips past your lips, and your abdomen tenses once Yeosang starts fitting more of himself into your tight hole. 

“Gods, you feel so fucking amazing. So fucking warm for me”, Yeosang curses, his fingertips pressing onto your hips to keep any remainder of his sanity intact. 

When he finally has his dick fully fit in you, you look like you're about to cry. 

His fingers brush your cheek.

“Are you okay there?”

You nod. “You just feel so full in me.” Yeosang laughs, then groans when you squeeze him again.

“I'm gonna start moving.”

The lewd sounds of skin slapping start filling up the room once more, one wetter than the other. 

His thrusts have you clawing the sheets once more, eyes rolled back and pussy clamping him down for more.

He grunts at the way you're squeezing him.

“I'll fill you up so good, my love. Make you so swollen–full of my pretty little offspring just for you to bear”, he mutters in your ear. 

Your head is spinning as the pleasure builds up in your abdomen once more every time his cock hits your g-spot. The thought of Yeosang making sure you're leaking full of his seed, that he wants to breed you so badly throws out any rational thought out of your head. You want it so fucking bad too. 

“You feel so better than heaven, you know?” He manages, the thread of his rationale thinning the more he's fucking into you. “I really want you all to myself.”

His thrusts are getting heavier and every time his cockhead presses onto your g-spot, it sends you into an orbit. You're seeing fucking stars or flowers–they’re starting to look the fucking same at this rate.

“Yeosang!”, you cry out, your toes curling from the pleasure hitting you over and over again. You leave light marks down his pale skin. Your cunt has him tight in you, and it makes him dazed. His moans are filling up your ears while his cum fills up your pussy. 

The high slowly descends, leaving both of you catching your breaths, his face in your hands, eyes locked onto each other. You watch the dark red in his eyes slowly lighten but still remain red. 

Had he always donned such deep red eyes? 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, letting his fingers travel down the curves of your body.

You giggle tiredly, “a little sleepy.”

He covers your eyes with his slender fingers. “Then rest

Yeosang stares at the way you slowly sink into your slumber, huddled close to him. 

He brushes away the blood red rose petals that fall on your shoulders. 

I can’t help it if I adore you this much. I’m keeping you for a little longer. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind, right? 

💘bonus epilogue💘

Yeosang knew he was about to be chided for always escaping his duties by hiding in the mortal world. Not that Eros would care anyway. 

No human comes around here, and that’s another reason why Yeosang loves this specific spot. If he’s feeling slightly more daring, he might hide himself amongst the mortals while he window shops at the marketplace, but for today, relaxing is on itinerary instead. 

He walks over to his usual tree, humming to himself.

Then he stops himself in his tracks, his eyebrows knitted together in disbelief. Someone is already occupying his tree. He watches the maiden hum to herself, her hands busy with picking flowers and she sits the stalks on her lap. 

Unfortunately, Yeosang is the last deity to be confrontational, and he’s ready to just turn and leave—

“Oh gods! You’re breathtaking.”

He stops in his tracks, and turns back slowly. 

His finger points to himself accompanied with a confused expression he wears. 

“Me?”

He’s only met with laughter that sounded like sun rays when dawn first breaks. 

“I’m sorry. I probably scared you. It’s just, I’ve seen you a couple of times here, and I’ve always wanted ask—has anyone told you that you’re beautiful?”

Plenty. 

You laugh again. It tickles Yeosang’s ears. 

“You’ve probably heard it many times. But I still want to say it—you’re beautiful.”

That day Yeosang hums a wonderful tune that even Cupid has never heard before. His attention goes back to tending his rose garden, his slender fingers getting busy, brushing against the bud of the roses, blooming them full. 

He notices Cupid's surprised gaze, before he plucks a rose bud out to hand it to him.

“What's wrong, Cupid? Never seen a red rose before?”

Cupid furrows his eyebrows, his gaze reflecting confusion on top of curiosity before he shakes his head in reply.

“Yeosang…this is the first time I'm seeing you bloom red roses.”

taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3@mcarebearsstuff. @choisansplushie @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @yeosangiess @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf @skteezcursed

@jeon-ify @miss-fallon @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn @vic0921 @sanhwajoong @bitejoongie @no1likevie @jwnghyuns @everythingboutkpop @skz1-4-3 @minalizasworld @seomisaho @tunafishyfishylike @songmingisthighs

[pyrriax]

oh maaaaan... the temptation to push things back a bit so that i can get more elaboration done for the next act. (it'd probably be 30 -> 33 or 35 chapters)

i have no idea if anybody would mind that, or if it'd be fine, but like.

hm. hmmmm.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Please could you write more Caitlyn (arcane) x Reader?!? Omg I loved that fic, but Idk if you still wrote for arcane

Social Events

|| Caitlyn Kiramman x fem!reader

|| Warnings; smut, swearing, drunk sex, top Caitlyn & bottom reader, reader receiving, breast play, fingering, praise kink, orgasm, finger sucking, good girl use

|| Summary; when reader and Caitlyn meet at a social event, things get heated pretty quickly. With the help of a few drinks.

Requests closed!

Started; November 11th

Finished; November 11th

~~~

Social events. They were never really your favourite, but you had to represent your family. Being the eldest daughter and all. For the wealthy, it was pretty common for them to have gatherings and socials. Just keeping up to date in each other's business. Because the upper classes of Piltover didn't know how to stay out of each other's shit. You tried your best to keep to yourself, occasionally engaging in conversation when someone would approach you. Or the rare time you found someone interesting enough to talk to.

There was one girl whose eyes you kept meeting. Every time you did, she would send you a smile. God, she was stunning. You couldn't keep your eyes away from her. It wasn't often you found someone interesting enough to just stare at them. Like some weirdo. But you couldn't help it with this girl. You thought you recognized her, Cassandra Kiramman's daughter maybe? That was your guess. Though you weren't 100% sure.

Well, no time like the present. You decided to walk over and try and start conversation. Maybe flirt a bit if you were lucky. "Hey, Cassandra's daughter, right?" You asked, silently praying you weren't wrong in your assumption. Otherwise that would make this incredibly awkward.

The girl nodded," It's Caitlyn. But, yes." Caitlyn held her hand out to you and you gave it a gentle shake. The smile never leaving your lips when you heard her talk. Damn, that accent was going to be the absolute death of you.

"Y/N L/N." You introduced yourself go her and Caitlyn raised a curious eyebrow. You were part of the L/N Household? She's heard many things about your family. Your family was more wealthy than her own, it would've been nearly impossible to have not heard your name before.

"Is that so?" Caitlyn looks at you with new found interest. Before, when your eyes kept meeting hers she thought she'd recognized you. Somewhere, somehow but she couldn't put her finger on it. Now Caitlyn knew why. She's always been rather found of you from a distance, your morals were something she could agree with. That was getting rare in Piltover. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise." You replied. After that, conversation between you and her flowed easily. As did the drinks. And before you knew it, Caitlyn was pulling you away from the social event. Not that you had any complaints, of course.

Caitlyn got you to her room, where she then closed the door before pushing you up against it. You grunted as you felt the wood suddenly behind you. Smirking as you met her eyes once more. Caitlyn looked into your own for a brief moment, before her lips were on yours. Hand cupping your cheek and bringing you impossibly closer. You kissed back with ease, as though you'd kissed her a million times before.

When her lips left yours, she bit your bottom lip. Getting a small sound of you. Your hand then intertwined with hers and Caitlyn pulled you over to her bed. Pushing you into the sheets as she got on top of you. Your hands went to her hips, pulling her down until she straddled you. Caitlyn laid herself across your body. Kissing at your neck as she worked to get your top off. You tilted your head to the side, giving her more access to your neck. She placed one hickie, then another before pulling your top over your head.

Caitlyn took a moment to just admire your breasts. Then her lips latched the nipple, sucking and rolling it between her teeth. With every suck, a moan left your lips. Your back arched into her touch as her hand slid down your stomach slowly. Brushing against your abdomen with her thumb while her hand moved aside the rim of your pants. Slipping through and past your underwear. Your breath hitched as you felt her graze your clit, smirking against your skin. Caitlyn let go of your breast with a pop, a small gasp leaving your lips.

"F-fuck-" You muttered when her fingers applied gentle pressure to your clit. Rubbing and rolling it between her fingers in a soft massage. Your head fell back against her pillows and all you could do was moan when she pushed a finger in you.

She certainly didn't go easy on you. The moment Caitlyn knew you'd adjusted, she added in a couple more fingers. Pumping relentlessly until your stomach twisted in knots. Your moans got louder, back arching further into her touch. Trying to get more. Fuck, more.

"You're doing so good," Caitlyn whispered, but loud enough for you to hear her over your moans. Your leg twitched and flicked, nearly kicking her. Your grip on the sheets tightened. She just laughed at that and held your leg down. "Shh, just relax your body."

That was it. The extra touch on you. You were already sensitive as it was with how hard she was fingering you. You cummed on her fingers, practically screaming out.

"Ah- Caitlyn- fuck!" You screamed her name as she helped you through your high. When you finished, she slowly pulled her fingers out and into your mouth. You happily sucked them, looking into her eyes as she gave you an encouraging nod.

"Good girl." She murmured. Fuck, you hoped that wasn't the end of it.

Thankfully, it seemed to only be the beginning.

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞.

✦ in need of a kiss? well, feel free to pick an experience from our finest collection! perhaps you’ll find one suited perfectly to your tastes?

(or, in other words, the types of kisses they give, and what it’s like to kiss them.)

✦ featuring: aventurine, dr. ratio, jing yuan.

✦ warnings: very kiss focused, not proofread.

✦ notes: these characters with this concept were particularly inspiring today, so i jotted down a little something really quick (might add more characters later in a pt. 2 later? idk)

also forgive me for any characterization errors please i'm still studying them

aventurine.

his kisses are greedy. 

he’s greedy, far too greedy, and selfish to boot— he wants everything you have to give, all for himself. he tastes like a burst of citrus on your tongue, always, always keeping you on your toes, his lips sneakily capturing everything they can, right down to the slightest sound that leaves your lips.

he wants as much of you as he can possibly get, and he’s perfectly capable of drawing it all out from you, bit by bit. he just needs the right bargaining chip, and he has it already, doesn’t he? 

a kiss, for a kiss.

 a fair trade, wouldn’t you say?

(he doesn’t make deals that don’t pay off, after all. and this thing he’s doing with you? well, it sure is raking in the profits.)

veritas ratio.

dr. ratio doesn’t do things in half measures. when he kisses you, it’s all or nothing; he will put his all into it.

he doesn’t confine himself to your lips, either. the philosophy is simple: what kind of learning would one hope to achieve by limiting themselves?

his hands travel all over, learning the wheres, the whens and the hows, almost as if he’s trying to see how you tick, while his lips embark on a journey of their own across the skin of your face, your jaw and your neck.

he kisses with diligence and precision and passion, meticulous and methodical, quickly adapting his methods to even the slightest of hints you send his way. every action he does is intentional and deliberate, so why should this be any different? 

oh, but make no mistake, for all his versatility and straightforwardness, he will not make it easy for you to keep up with him. 

but you can take a challenge, can’t you? 

jing yuan.

he is gentle, he is soft, he is slow— he kisses in the way that honey flows; lazy, languid, almost hypnotizing, like he has all the time in the world. he savors you the same way he savors the tea that lends his lips the subtle bitterness they carry, but they taste sweet all the same.

when he pulls away, a smile graces his face, one that lights up his eyes with adoration. soft as they are, they still command your undivided attention with the way you cannot seem to tear your gaze away from him. his hands still remain on your person though, holding you impossibly close.

and when he tenderly cradles your face in his palms, worries evaporate into air, thoughts slip away to spaces unknown, and moments stretch into lifetimes.

[fvsm4x]

S1 E24 —☆ HAUNTING TOUCH

pairing ( 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗦. 𝗫 𝗙𝗘𝗠 ! 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥 )

Looks like you’ve accidentally moved into a haunted apartment, and there’s no escape now! You’ll have to deal with Gojo Satoru—your pervy, invisible roommate who can’t stop teasing you in all the wrong ways.

c.w. Ghost ! Gojo satoru x female reader, oral ( f. receiving), satoru is a perverrtttttt, pantie sniffing and stealing?? Idk, nsfw, mdni, stalking, somnophilia, lovesick gojo kinda, reader is a bit stupid, Spectrophilia

word count. 5.6k

a.n/ TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY!!

Moving into your new apartment was supposed to be a fresh start, the beginning of something exciting and different. After months of searching for a place that didn’t break the bank and didn’t feel like a closet, you stumbled across this one: a charming, slightly old-fashioned apartment nestled in a quiet neighborhood. The rent was suspiciously cheap, but everything looked good on paper.

The landlord, a friendly but quiet older man, had seemed eager to get someone in the apartment, and after a quick tour, you were sold.

The building was old, with high ceilings and tall windows that let in just enough sunlight to make the place feel cozy during the day. The floors creaked slightly beneath your feet, and the walls had a few nicks and scratches that gave the place character. It felt like it had a story, something comforting in its age, a contrast to the sleek, sterile apartments you'd seen before. You loved it from the moment you set foot inside.

Moving day came faster than you expected, and after a long, exhausting day of unpacking, you were ready to collapse. You spent hours dragging boxes up the narrow stairs, arranging and rearranging furniture, and trying to make the space feel like yours. By the time the sun set, casting long shadows across the floor, you were too tired to cook, so you settled for ordering takeout. Sitting on the floor, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, you ate your dinner while scrolling through your phone, enjoying the silence of your new home.

The first few days went by uneventfully, though you couldn’t help but notice how quiet the building was. There were no sounds of neighbors, no creaking floors from above, no distant hum of conversation through the walls. It was peaceful, almost unnervingly so. You told yourself it was just because the apartment was well-insulated. Besides, the quiet was what you’d been craving after living in a noisy, cramped city for so long.

But little things started happening that made you pause. At first, it was just the lights. They would flicker every now and then—nothing too out of the ordinary for an old building, you figured. The kitchen light buzzed occasionally, casting a faint, uneven glow that was easy to brush off. You’d call maintenance about it when you had time.

Then, you started noticing objects in slightly different places than where you’d left them. You’d place your keys on the kitchen counter, only to find them on the coffee table later. Or you’d set your phone down, and when you came back, it would be a few inches to the side. Small things—things that could easily be explained away by the chaos of moving, you told yourself. Maybe you were just more scattered than usual, with all the boxes and stress.

But the more it happened, the harder it was to ignore.

One evening, you were washing dishes when the lights in the kitchen flickered again. You paused, hands in the soapy water, watching as the overhead light buzzed and dimmed, casting long shadows across the counters. You sighed, making a mental note to call the landlord in the morning. But just as you turned back to the sink, the faucet next to you sputtered and came on by itself.

You froze, watching the water gush from the tap, your heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, you reached out and turned the handle, stopping the flow. You stared at the sink for a moment, your mind racing to come up with an explanation. Maybe the pipes were just old. Maybe there was a pressure issue. You shook your head, trying to brush it off.

That night, as you lay in bed, the unease crept back in. The apartment was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made every little sound feel amplified. You could hear the floor creak occasionally, and once, you thought you heard a soft, distant sound—like someone sighing. You sat up, listening, your breath catching in your throat. But there was nothing. Just the quiet hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

You told yourself you were imagining things. Moving was stressful, and new places always felt a little strange at first. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… off.

The next morning, the lights flickered again as you made coffee. The buzzing sound filled the room, and for a split second, you thought you heard something else—a soft laugh, almost playful, like someone watching from a distance. You stood still, the hairs on the back of your neck rising as the sound faded.

You spent the rest of the day trying to ignore it, trying to convince yourself that it was just the apartment’s age showing. But that night, as you were brushing your teeth, the bathroom light flickered twice, then stayed off for a few seconds before coming back on. Your pulse quickened, but you finished brushing, telling yourself it was nothing.

Then, the faucet turned on by itself.

You jumped, staring at the stream of water gushing from the tap. This time, it wasn’t just a drip or a sputter—it was as if someone had deliberately turned it on. Your hand shook as you reached out to shut it off, the silence that followed feeling almost deafening. You glanced around the bathroom, suddenly aware of how alone you felt in the apartment. The air felt heavy, like you weren’t quite alone after all.

The lights flickered again, and this time, there was no mistaking the sound. Soft, barely audible, but definitely there—a laugh, low and teasing, as if someone was standing just behind you. You whipped around, your heart pounding in your chest, but the bathroom was empty.

You told yourself it had to be your mind playing tricks on you, but as the days went by, the odd occurrences became more frequent. Objects moved on their own, the lights flickered at the strangest times, and the laughter—always faint, always distant—began to follow you from room to room.

You tried to ignore it, tried to rationalize it, but the feeling of being watched never left you. Something—or someone—was in the apartment with you. And it wasn’t going away.

As the days passed, the strange occurrences in your apartment didn’t stop—they only grew more unsettling. Flickering lights became a nightly routine, always at the most inconvenient times. The soft, teasing laughter followed you from room to room, making your skin prickle. It wasn’t just random noises anymore. It felt targeted, like something was watching you, waiting for the perfect moment to make its presence known.

It started small. Your laundry, for example—folded and left in a neat pile on your bed. At first, you thought maybe you’d done it in a tired haze, but then your underwear, particularly your panties, would be laid out, almost displayed, as if someone had gone through them. Each time you found them, your cheeks would burn with embarrassment, but you forced yourself to dismiss it. Maybe you were just being paranoid.

But it didn’t stop there.

One night, after a long day, you stepped into the shower, eager to wash away the stress. The hot water felt amazing as it poured over your skin, steam rising and fogging the bathroom mirror. You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax for the first time all day. The warmth was soothing, but just as you started to unwind, you felt something strange. It wasn’t a sound this time, but a shift in the air, like someone was there with you.

You opened your eyes, glancing around the bathroom nervously. The shower curtain rustled slightly, but there was no one else in the room. You shook your head, trying to shake off the creeping anxiety.

But then the lights flickered.

You froze, soap slipping from your hands as the overhead light buzzed and dimmed. The room felt colder, the warmth of the shower suddenly less comforting. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling exposed even though you were alone. That’s when you heard it—his voice, low and teasing, as if he was standing right behind you.

“Nice view.”

Your breath hitched, and you spun around, water splashing against the tiles. But the bathroom was empty, save for the lingering steam swirling around you. Heart racing, you reached for the towel, wrapping it around your body as tightly as you could. The voice—it was clear as day, but there was no one there.

You stepped out of the shower, still dripping wet, your mind racing. Maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe the stress of the move was finally getting to you. But as you walked toward the fogged-up mirror, you froze. There, in the condensation, a message was slowly appearing, as if written by an invisible hand:

“Nice ass:)”

You gasped, backing away from the mirror, clutching the towel to your chest. The message blurred as the steam started to dissipate, but the message was clear. Someone—something—was here. And it wasn’t just watching.

It was playing with you.

Over the next few days, the incidents escalated. You’d come home to find your dresser drawers open, your panties scattered across the floor like someone had gone through them. The first time, you thought you’d left them out yourself, but the way they were laid out—so deliberate—made your stomach turn. Then there were the bathroom moments—whenever you showered, you’d feel that same eerie presence, like eyes lingering on your body, watching, waiting.

The laughter grew louder, more distinct, as if whoever—or whatever—it was, was enjoying your discomfort. At night, you’d feel your sheets shifting slightly, like someone was tugging at them from the foot of the bed. You’d sit up, heart pounding, only to find nothing but empty air. But the sensation—the feeling of being watched, of being toyed with—never left you.

Then, one particularly quiet evening, you were changing out of your work clothes— when you felt it again—the shift in the air, the invisible presence that seemed to hover just over your shoulder. You were halfway through pulling on your pajamas when the lights flickered, and a low, familiar voice whispered into your ear:

“Why don’t you leave the pajamas off this time?”

You gasped, pulling your shirt over your head in a rush, your face flushing hot with a mixture of shock and humiliation. But that teasing laughter filled the room again, like whoever was haunting you was enjoying every second of your reaction.

The worst part? A small, nagging part of you was starting to wonder—what if this wasn’t a dream? What if you really weren’t alone in this apartment? And worse, what if he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon?

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding heart, the events of the previous night replaying in your mind. Had it all really happened? The flickering lights, the teasing whispers—it felt too surreal to fully grasp. You rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of a restless night. After a quick breakfast, you left for work, determined to brush it all aside.

But as you stepped into the bustling city, the lingering feeling of unease trailed behind you like a shadow. You couldn’t shake the thought that something—or someone—was watching you. Each time you caught a glimpse of a stranger on the street, your heart would race, but you’d quickly remind yourself that it was just your imagination. There were no ghosts lurking in the corners of your life; this was just an old building with some quirks.

Yet, as the day went on, your thoughts kept drifting back to the apartment. You couldn’t concentrate on your work, your mind wandering to the strange occurrences. Maybe you should call the landlord about the lights, or even consider looking for a new place. But the thought of starting over again, packing up all your things for the second time in a few weeks, felt daunting. You sighed, trying to focus on the tasks at hand, but it was no use.

When you finally returned home, the apartment felt eerily quiet, as it had for the past week. The sunlight was fading, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever awaited you in the shadows.

As you moved through the rooms, you noticed your laundry basket had been knocked over, clothes scattered across the floor. Your heart sank. Had you left it like that? Or had someone—or something—done it for you? You knelt to pick up your clothes, feeling a chill race down your spine as you gathered your things.

“Okay, this is ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself. “It’s just an old building. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

But as you stood up, a flicker of movement caught your eye. You turned sharply, only to find the bathroom light flickering ominously. Your pulse quickened, and a wave of anxiety washed over you. You took a cautious step toward the bathroom, but before you could reach for the doorknob, the light stopped flickering, plunging the room into darkness.

“Really?” you said, forcing a laugh, trying to convince yourself that this was all just a trick of the mind. You opened the door, peering inside, and noticed the steam lingering in the air, as if someone had just taken a shower.

“Great, now I’m imagining things,” you muttered, shaking your head as you flicked the switch, and the light flickered back on, illuminating the room. You moved to the sink, splashing some water on your face, trying to ground yourself in reality.

Suddenly, a cold breeze brushed against your neck, sending a shiver through you. You spun around, heart racing, but there was no one there. You rolled your eyes, scolding yourself for being jumpy.

“Get a grip,” you whispered, taking a deep breath. You closed your eyes for a moment, leaning against the cool sink, letting the water run. The sound of the water was soothing, but just as you started to relax, you heard it again—the low, teasing laugh echoing off the tiles.

“Why do you keep pretending you’re alone?” the voice came, a soft whisper that sent chills down your spine. It was unmistakably playful, dripping with a teasing quality that made your skin prickle.

You froze, eyes wide as you scanned the room for the source of the voice. “Who’s there?” you asked, but the only response was the echo of your voice bouncing off the bathroom walls.

The air grew thick with tension, and you stepped back, your pulse pounding in your ears. “This isn’t funny!” you shouted, though the sound felt hollow, almost weak in the empty space.

“Not funny? I think it’s hilarious,” the voice replied, the amusement clear in its tone. “I love watching you squirm.”

Your breath hitched as a wave of heat rushed to your cheeks. Was someone—something—really watching you? The realization sent a shiver down your spine, and you stepped out of the bathroom, retreating into the safety of your living room.

But as you turned to leave, you caught a glimpse of movement in your peripheral vision. You whipped around just in time to see a flicker of white—was that a figure?—before it disappeared. Your heart raced, and you fought the urge to scream. You were alone, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t.

“I know you’re there!” you called out, trying to sound brave, though your voice wavered slightly. “Show yourself!”

In response, the only sound that met your challenge was a soft, breathy laughter that echoed through the apartment, taunting you from the shadows. You took a shaky step back, your heart racing as you glanced around, the flickering lights dimming again and casting eerie shapes that danced along the walls.

The silence that followed felt heavy, almost oppressive, and you could sense the presence lingering just out of sight. A chill raced down your spine, and you couldn’t help but feel that he was watching you, delighting in your unease. The knowledge that you weren’t alone gnawed at the edges of your mind, both thrilling and terrifying.

Eventually, you managed to muster the courage to retreat to your bedroom. You turned off the light, hoping to banish the creeping dread that had settled in your chest. As you slipped into your pajamas, you tried to convince yourself that this was all just a figment of your imagination—a bad dream that would dissipate with the morning light.

But as you jumped under the covers, cocooning yourself in the warm fabric, the shadows seemed to close in around you. You closed your eyes tightly, willing yourself to fall asleep and hoping that when you woke, everything would be back to normal.

As you lay in bed, the tension of the evening began to fade, your eyelids growing heavy. The soft rhythm of your breathing filled the silence of the room, and you felt yourself slipping into a dreamless sleep, the haunting presence momentarily forgotten.

But as the night deepened, a cool draft swept through the room, carrying with it an almost palpable energy. The covers at your feet began to stir, slowly pushed aside by an unseen force. You stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake.

Gojo, unseen but very much present, hovered just above your bed, his gaze fixed on your peaceful form. The way the soft glow of the moonlight illuminated your features made his heart race with an intensity he hadn’t expected. He watched, entranced, as you slept, your chest rising and falling rhythmically, your hair spilling over the pillow like a dark waterfall.

Unable to resist, he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your cheek. The warmth of your skin sent a thrill through him, and he admired how serene you looked, completely unaware of his presence. He traced a finger along your jawline, careful not to disturb you, savoring the softness beneath his touch.

His fingers then moved down, grazing over your stomach, feeling the gentle rise and fall as you breathed. He marveled at the way your body seemed to relax into the sheets, completely trusting and vulnerable. With each touch, he felt an intoxicating mix of desire and reverence, appreciating the intimate moment without wanting to push too far.

He continued to explore, his fingers trailing to your waist, brushing against the fabric of your pajamas. The urge to pull you closer—to bridge the gap between the living and the dead—was overwhelming, but he held himself back, content to admire from a distance. The thrill of his touch, though fleeting, made his heart race, and he found himself captivated by the way you responded to his gentle caresses, even in your sleep.

Gojo continued to trace the delicate curves of your body, he felt an overwhelming surge of desire wash over him. The way you lay there, so innocent and unguarded, ignited something deep within him—an intense craving that surged like a tide. His heart raced as he let his fingers linger on your waist, the warmth of your skin contrasting sharply with his cold touch.

He bit his lip, trying to suppress the instinctual urge to claim you. But the sight of you sprawled across the sheets, completely unaware of his presence, stirred something primal within him. It was maddening; every time he looked at you, a rush of lust clouded his thoughts. He shifted slightly, feeling his body react involuntarily to the intoxicating combination of desire and admiration.

Gojo’s breath hitched as he fought to maintain control, his gaze tracing over your form, lingering on the way your body rose and fell with each breath. The fabric of your pajamas hugged you in all the right places, teasing him with the promise of what lay beneath. The mere thought of how easily he could pull those soft fabrics away made his pulse quicken, and he felt himself hardening at the thought.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured to himself, a hint of desperation lacing his tone. The tension in the air felt electric, charged with unspoken possibilities. His hand drifted lower, fingertips brushing along the soft material of your pajama top, teasing the edge of the hem as if tempted to explore further.

Every part of him wanted to surrender to the desire that throbbed in his chest, to take you right then and there. But he held back, reveling in the sheer thrill of the moment. Watching you, the way you sighed softly in your sleep, sent shivers through him, both thrilling and torturous. He knew he should stop, but the more he watched, the more he felt himself losing control.

His hand ventured lower, brushing the edge of your pajama pants, the fabric soft beneath his fingertips. The contact sent a rush of warmth through him, and he couldn't help but marvel at how delicate you seemed, wrapped up in the cocoon of your blankets. His fingers lingered just above the waistband, hesitant yet curious, feeling the gentle curve of your hips.

With each slow movement, he could feel the heat radiating from your skin, intoxicating him further. He traced the outline of your body, the subtle dips and rises that made you uniquely you, savoring the sensation of your warmth beneath his touch. You shifted slightly in your sleep, a soft sigh escaping your lips as if responding to his caress, igniting a thrill deep within him.

He hesitated for a moment, the line between admiration and temptation blurring in the shadows of the room. As his fingers inched closer to your skin, he felt a mix of excitement and restraint. He wanted to touch you, to explore the contours of your body fully, yet there was a profound respect for your innocence, a desire to revel in the moment without overstepping boundaries.

The fabric of your pajama pants was thin, and he could almost feel the warmth of your skin just beneath it. He let his fingers trail along the edge, teasingly close to crossing that invisible line. The sensation of his touch made the air thick with tension, electric and charged, as if the very atmosphere around you was aware of the forbidden intimacy unfolding in the dark. He slowly pushed your pants down—carefully to not wake you up

As your pants slipped down to your ankles and fell to the floor, the cool air kissed your skin, stirring you from the depths of your dreams. In your slumber, you remained blissfully unaware, lost in a world where nothing could touch you.

Gojo’s hand moved with practiced ease, slipping around your thighs and gently coaxing them apart. The sensation was electric, even in your sleep, as if some part of you sensed the shift in the atmosphere. His touch was teasing, almost reverent, as he revealed the delicate blue panties you wore, adorned with a tiny bow at the front.

The fabric clung to your folds, accentuating the softness of your skin. A subtle dampness had formed between your folds, making the material slightly sheer, hinting at your body's response to his presence. It was a testament to the tension that crackled in the air, as he admired the way the panties hugged you perfectly, creating a contrast that was both innocent and alluring.

Gojo's gaze was fixed on you, his expression a mixture of desire and fascination. He reveled in the sight of you, so trusting and vulnerable in your sleep, completely unaware of his hungry admiration.

Gojo breathed out heavily, a small smirk forming at his lips as he grinned. “Someone must be having a great dream,” he thought to himself, his amusement mixing with a thrill of desire. Slowly, he let his fingertip glide over the wet spot, the material yielding slightly under his touch, sending a jolt of excitement through him.

You stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you instinctively shifted deeper into the warmth of your blankets. In that moment, Gojo took the opportunity to slip your panties to the side, his breath catching as your skin was revealed to him. The sight was intoxicating, and he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful you looked, even in your slumber.

Leaning in closer, he lowered himself onto his elbows, his nose brushing against the soft skin of your inner thigh. He inhaled deeply, drawn in by your sweet, intoxicating scent that enveloped him like a warm embrace. It was fresh and alluring, igniting a primal urge within him that he struggled to contain.

The temptation became too much to bear; he felt himself losing control. His tongue flicked out, brushing against your warm skin, and you instinctively arched into him, a soft whimper escaping your mouth as your subconscious recognized the sensation. The initial touch of his wet tongue against you sent shockwaves of heat spiraling through your body, stirring you from your dreams.

As you began to wake, you felt a warm rush in your lower stomach, a heat building that made you blush even more. Your eyes fluttered open, confusion mingling with a strange sense of desire. The realization of what was happening hit you like a bolt of lightning, and you shot upright, your hand instinctively tangling in Gojo’s hair as your body reacted to the sensations he was creating.

You gasped, your breath hitching in your throat as his tongue expertly flicked against your sensitive skin, sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through you. It was a mix of surprise and undeniable pleasure, and you couldn’t help but moan softly, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

Gojo’s heart raced at the sound, his instincts driving him further into the moment as he continued to explore, tasting you with a fervor that only intensified your reaction.

Your heart raced as you tugged on his hair, a mix of confusion and overwhelming desire coursing through you. Gojo responded to your pull, the sensation igniting a fire in him as he continued his ministrations, licking and teasing with an expert touch. You gasped, the sound echoing softly in the dim light of the room, a testament to the intensity of your awakening.

You were torn between pleasure and confusion, your mind racing to comprehend the whirlwind of sensations and the reality of the situation. Who was this man? How did he get into your apartment? You had convinced yourself that the flickering lights and eerie shadows were mere figments of your imagination, a result of moving into a new place. Yet, here he was—intimate and insistent, his warm breath brushing against your skin.

“W-What’s happening?” you stammered, still gripping his hair as your body betrayed your mind, yearning for more despite the chaotic thoughts swirling around. “Who are you?”

Gojo paused for a moment, his blue eyes locking onto yours, a mixture of amusement and hunger dancing in their depths. “I’m your roommate who is enjoying the view,” he said with a teasing smile, leaning in closer, making your breath hitch.

“A roommate?” You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of pleasure clouding your thoughts. “I don‘t have a roommate! I live here alone..”

His laughter echoed softly in the room, a sound that sent another shiver of confusion down your spine. “You really think you’re alone in this apartment?” he replied, his voice low and playful, as if he reveled in your bewilderment. “I’ve been here all along, I thought that was obvious cause i spoke to you”

As the weight of his words sank in, the unease in your stomach twisted. The flickering lights, the shadows that danced along the walls—they suddenly felt more significant. Was it possible that you had unknowingly welcomed him into your life, this alluring presence who now had you caught in a web of confusion and desire?

You opened your mouth to protest, to question further, but another wave of pleasure washed over you as he resumed his teasing, his tongue flicking against your most sensitive spots. You felt the tension coiling tighter, each flick sending waves of heat crashing over you, making it hard to think straight.

“Don’t think too hard,” Gojo murmured, his voice dripping with mischief. “Just enjoy the moment. ”

His words twisted in your mind. You had never considered wanting something like this. The mixture of fear and pleasure churned within you, creating a heady cocktail that left you dizzy. “No, I—” you started, but the protest faltered as his tongue continued its wicked dance, sending another gasp from your lips

He looked up at you with an impish grin, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “You smell so good.. I couldn’t help myself.”

The playful tone in his voice only heightened the tension. You felt a blush creeping across your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and something else—something intoxicating that made you want to lean into him. The softness of your sheets contrasted with the heat building between your legs, and you could hardly think straight.

As he continued to work his tongue, you couldn’t help but arch your back, instinctively seeking more of that delightful sensation. Each flick and swirl of his tongue ignited every nerve ending in your body, drawing soft moans from your lips. It was as if he had uncovered a hidden part of you that yearned to be explored.

“Does it feel good?” Gojo asked teasingly, pausing for just a moment to allow you to respond, his breath tickling your skin.

You could only nod, a desperate sound escaping you as the tension inside you coiled tighter. The world around you faded into nothingness, leaving just the two of you in this charged moment. He watched you with a hungry gaze, taking in every reaction, every sigh, as if he were memorizing your body’s responses.

“Just relax,” he encouraged, his voice a soothing balm that only added to the pleasure. “You’re so pretty”

With that, he resumed his teasing, his focus unwavering. You surrendered to the sensations washing over you, losing yourself in the warmth and intimacy of the moment, every heartbeat echoing the unspoken connection that lingered in the air.

A low moan escaped your lips, unbidden, as his tongue slipped inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, a flood of heat radiating through your body. Your fingers instinctively tightened their grip on his soft, white hair, tugging at the strands as your hips bucked involuntarily in response to the maddening rhythm he set. Each flick of his tongue sent ripples of pleasure coursing through you, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

Gojo’s presence was both commanding and teasing, his movements deliberate, savoring every reaction he drew from you. He pulled away momentarily, the cool air of the room brushing against your heated skin, and your eyes fluttered open just in time to meet his gaze. Those piercing blue eyes were filled with a dark amusement, a predatory gleam in them that made your pulse quicken.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he whispered, his voice low and reverent, as if he were admiring something rare and precious. The words sent a shiver down your spine, the heat inside you pooling deeper, igniting a fire that you couldn’t control. Before you could respond, his mouth was on you again, more insistent this time, his tongue working with a skill that left you trembling.

The room around you seemed to fade, the only thing anchoring you to reality being the intensity of the moment. Every nerve in your body felt alive, hyperaware of his every touch, every subtle shift. Your hands clutched his hair even tighter, a quiet whimper escaping you as you felt the tension coil tighter and tighter in your core.

You could barely form a coherent thought, lost in the sensation as he continued his assault on your senses. With each pass of his tongue, the pressure built until it became unbearable, and then, like a wave crashing over you, the release came in an overwhelming rush.

Your body arched, your breath catching as the climax tore through you, leaving you gasping for air. For a moment, time seemed to stop, your senses overloaded with the heat, the electricity, the overwhelming pleasure that left you shaking. He didn’t stop, though—his eyes never leaving yours, watching as you unraveled beneath him, fully aware of the power he held over you.

Your body finally relaxed, sinking back into the bed as the aftershocks rippled through you, your grip on his hair loosening. Gojo lifted his head, his lips glistening with evidence of what he’d just done, and that smirk returned, lazy and satisfied.

As your breathing slowly returned to normal, your body still trembling from the intensity of what had just happened, you blinked your eyes open. The warmth of what had just transpired lingered in the air, but something was missing. The weight of his presence—his hands, his body, the heat of his breath against your skin—had vanished.

You lifted your head, blinking through the dim light of the room. Where was he? Your heart pounded, a mix of confusion and unease settling in. You were sure you hadn’t imagined it—every touch had felt so real, so intense—but now, he was gone. Completely.

You sat up slowly, the sheets rustling as you scanned the room. The lamp on your bedside table flickered again, casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to shift with every second. The unsettling quiet that filled the space made your skin prickle. He’d been here—right here, between your legs—but now there was nothing, not even a sound to suggest he had ever existed.

Had he left? Was he still watching?

A faint breeze seemed to brush past you, chilling the room even further. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly hyper-aware of your bare skin, of how exposed you were.

Just then, you heard it—the softest of sounds, a quiet, almost mocking laugh. It was close, impossibly close, yet no one was there. You shivered, your eyes darting around the room, searching for any sign of movement, any clue to his whereabouts. But there was nothing.

“Satoru Gojo. Remember the name, sweetheart. You’ll be hearing it a lot.”

🏷️: @sadmonke @collectionofdolls @1t4d0r1 @glazedtear @madamechrissy