#they are very sharp and piercing and demand your attention

[mephisto-reporting]

I Love You: Caleb Edition

Premise:

Trope: Angst with open ending

Pairing:Reader x Caleb

Note: Reader and the men are NOT in a relationship. but there is implied mutual attraction. This can be read as MC or non MC reader... I kept the details as vague as possible. Let me know if you want to be a part of my taglist. HELP (If anyone has a nice header of his warmer memories, please share because I struggled to find them online and I need them for my fics.)

Sylus Edition | Rafayel Edition | Xavier Edition | Zayne Edition | Caleb Edition

The evening air felt oppressive, a strange mix of warmth and chill that matched the storm brewing in your chest. The world around you blurred into muted lights and faint sounds, the hum of traffic in Linkon and chatter of pedestrians barely registering in your ears. You should have been paying attention, counting steps, tracking the time—but your thoughts were too loud, too consuming.

Caleb.

His name echoed like a ghost, haunting your every waking moment. It had been weeks since Skyhaven, weeks since you discovered that the boy you’d grieved, the boy you’d buried in your heart, wasn’t dead after all. For months, you’d carried the weight of his loss, only to find out that he’d been alive all this time. That he hadn’t told you. That he’d let you believe he was gone.

And he wasn’t the same as you remembered him.

The Caleb you remembered was warm, his laughter infectious, his presence a steady comfort. He’d been your rock, your protector, the one who made you feel like nothing in the world could touch you as long as he was by your side. The explosion had taken him, or so you thought. You’d mourned him, grieved the loss of the one person who had always been your anchor. And now? Now, he was a Colonel of the Farspace Fleet with a cold, calculated aura that clashed with the warmth you used to know. It wasn’t that his warmth was gone, but there was something hidden, something tainted in him that existed alongside the man you thought you knew and lost. A man who moved through the world with an iron grip and a sharp edge, commanding respect and fear in equal measure.

At times, it was like looking at a stranger wearing Caleb’s face.

You rounded the corner to your street, the familiar sight of your small home coming into view. But there, sitting on the steps of your porch, was the very ghost you’d been trying to escape.

Caleb.

Your heart clenched. He was dressed casually, his black and orange flight jacket unzipped, revealing the crisp shirt beneath. His head was bowed, but as you approached, he looked up, those piercing purple eyes locking onto yours.

“Hey…” he greeted, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“What are you doing here, Caleb? Or should I say, Colonel?” Anger, confusion, longing—it all tangled together into a knot that threatened to choke you.

“I needed to see you...” he replied simply, standing to his full height. His presence was overwhelming, a mixture of the Caleb you knew and someone entirely new. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and humorless. “Avoiding you? Avoiding you?” The words spilled out, raw and unfiltered. “I didn’t even know you were alive, Caleb. You let me think you were dead. For months!”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I mourned you!” you continued, your voice shaking. “I grieved you. And now, suddenly, you’re here, alive and well, acting like everything’s fine. Like you didn’t lie to me. Like you didn’t leave me behind!!.”

“It wasn’t like that!” he said, his tone clipped.

“Then what was it like?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Tell me, Caleb. Explain to me why you couldn’t let me know you were alive. Why you couldn’t trust me enough to—” Your voice broke, and you swallowed hard, fighting back the tears threatening to spill. “Why you couldn’t trust me???”

“It wasn’t about trust,” he said, his voice softer now. “It was about protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” you repeated, incredulous. “Do you have any idea how much it hurt? How much I—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “No. You don’t get to say it was for my own good. You don’t get to make that call.”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “I had to. If you knew, if anyone knew, you would’ve been in danger. I couldn’t risk that.”

“Danger from what?” you snapped. “From who? You keep talking like you’re some kind of martyr, Caleb, but all you’ve done is shut me out and expect me to be okay with it. Well, I’m not okay with it. I’m not okay with you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Everything I did was to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” You let out a harsh laugh, the sound breaking into a sob. “You think this is what safe looks like? I lost you, Caleb. I lost you, and now I don’t even know who you are anymore. You’re not the same. You’re not…” Your voice faltered, and you looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

“I’m still me... This has always been me...” he said, stepping closer. “I’m still the same Caleb who—”

“No, you’re not!” you interrupted, your voice rising. “You’re colder. Harder. You kept me in the dark, Caleb. The boy I knew, the boy I loved, would never—”

You froze, the words catching in your throat.

But it was too late.

Caleb stared at you, his eyes wide, the mask of control he always wore cracking. “What did you say?”

You let out a frustrated groan, the weight of everything crashing down on you. “You’re impossible...” you whispered, your voice trembling. “This is all too much, Caleb. I can’t—I can’t keep doing this. Not when…” You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. But they burned to be said.

“Not when what?” he pressed, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

“Not when I’m in love with you!” you burst out, the confession ripping from you like a dam breaking. “I mourned you, Caleb. I mourned the man I loved, and now you’re here, and I don’t even know who you are anymore. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Caleb stared at you, his eyes wide.

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I can’t do this, Caleb. I can’t keep pretending like I’m fine when I’m not. I’m not fine. I’m in love with you, and I don’t know how to stop.”

The silence that followed was deafening. “You…” His voice was barely a whisper, and he took a step closer. “You love me?”

Before you could say anything more, he closed the distance between you, pulling you into a crushing embrace. His arms wrapped around you, strong and unyielding, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“I love you too.” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “God, I’ve loved you for so long. I never thought you’d feel the same. Not after everything.”

You tried to pull back, to argue, but he held you tighter, his face buried in your hair. “Don’t.” he whispered. “Don’t say anything. Not yet. Just… let me hold you. Please.”

You tried to pull back, to look at him, but he held you tighter. “Caleb, this doesn’t fix anything. We still have—”

“Shh...” he interrupted, his lips brushing against your temple. “We’ll figure it out. Later. Just… stay here. Let me have this moment. Let us have this moment.”

The plea in his voice shattered what was left of your resolve. With a shaky breath, you leaned into him, your hands clutching his jacket as if it were the only thing keeping you upright. His scent—smoky and faintly metallic, like the air before a storm, flooded your senses. The steady beat of his heart against your ear was grounding, a reminder that he was real, that this moment was real.

“I’m sorry…” he murmured, his lips pressing against your temple. “I’m so sorry for everything. But I swear to you, I’ll never let you go again.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to hold onto this moment and never let it slip away. But the questions, the doubts, lingered at the edges of your mind, waiting for their turn to be heard. For now, though, you let them fade into the background. For now, you let yourself fall into him, into the warmth that had once been your home. Whatever came next, whatever truths or battles awaited, could wait. Right now, you had Caleb, and he had you.

And that was enough.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Sylus Edition | Rafayel Edition | Xavier Edition | Zayne Edition | Caleb Edition

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie

[maximura]

Max what's your favorite thing about Ni-Ki?

His smile. But also his voice and eyes. That's three things but this is a very difficult question.

[r3starttt]

BEHAVE

PAIRING: Caitlyn Kiramman x reader

SUMMARY: Being her controversial young girlfriend but she's sooo mean about it.

CW: Mean Caitlyn. fingering and public sex if u squint. A mix of Cait act 1 and after act 3 because that eye patch makes her so hot.

TAGLIST: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @patronagrona @halle5s @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight @fakevalentine

A/N: this was a headcanon but it's too long so, enjoy(? also I apologize because this is very self indulgent and maybe it doesn't feel like it's Caitlyn at all but who cares!

* first post of the year!!!! ahhhh praying I can write so much more

"Do you truly believe I wouldn’t notice?" Caitlyn’s voice brushed against your ear, a velvet whisper laced with reproach as her hands rested on your shoulders. She guided you through the sea of silk gowns and tailored suits, her touch light yet insistent. The weight of her name—Kiramman—still carried its unyielding responsibilities. These endless soirées, gilded in pretension, were as much a part of her world as the air she breathed.

You hummed in acknowledgment, your brow furrowing as the opulent liquor in your glass shimmered with each step. The crystal caught the golden glow of chandeliers, creating ripples of light that danced with the cadence of your movements.

"I distinctly recall telling you not to speak to her," Caitlyn said, her voice low but firm, a melody of restrained fury and high-society decorum. And there it was—why she was upset. Her words, precise as a scalpel, made the realization cut deeper.

Jealousy. It wasn’t the first time.

She was a woman molded by singularity, the only child of a family whose legacy loomed large. Years of hard work and calculated poise had shaped her, yet even Caitlyn Kiramman wasn’t immune to the corrosive sting of possessiveness. She had drawn comfort from women, and in doing so, learned too much about how easily temptation could unravel the strongest resolves. She knew what could happen when the wrong hands reached for what they desired.

"And I didn’t," you replied, your tone measured but pointed as you placed emphasis on the pronoun. "She spoke to me."

But you knew the defense was weak, the excuse thin. It wasn’t about who initiated the conversation—it was about the way you let it linger, the playful barbs you traded in defiance of Caitlyn’s clear wishes.

"Look at me."

She halted, steering you into a quiet corner where the hallway stood mostly empty save for the occasional passing silhouette. Her grip shifted to your chin, blue-painted nails biting just enough to demand your attention. Tilting your face upward, her single piercing eye—framed by the violet eyepatch that gleamed under the estate’s polished lighting—locked onto yours.

"That woman," Caitlyn said, her tone laced with hate, "will go to any lengths to provoke me. She is petty, immature, and cannot tolerate the fact that I chose you." The emphasis on you was punctuated with a fleeting brush of her thumb along your cheek.

"And why is that?" you countered, tilting your head slightly, an air of defiance laced in your words. You knew the unspoken truths hidden in her gaze, the ghosts of her past lovers lingering in her quiet. You weren’t the first to occupy her bed, but you intended to be the last. Still, the question hung in the air, daring her to acknowledge the vulnerability that simmered beneath her jealousy.

Her posture shifted, the tension momentarily releasing as she let go of your face, her hands finding yours. "Behave," she murmured, her voice carrying a polished warn. "You’re not some foolish girl in need of coddling , are you? Didn’t you insist I treat you like a grown woman and not—what was it?—a 'sweet indulgence,' like those other girls you claim I once entertained?"

Sharp, clever, and unrelenting , Caitlyn always knew how to turn the blade back on you, her wit as honed as the rifle she wielded with such precision.

"I’m merely observing," you replied with a shrug, feigning indifference though the sting of her words lingered. "You seem awfully afraid of some women. Almost as though you know them too well."

Her laugh was soft, almost a scoff, but her grip on your waist tightened. Caitlyn wasn’t one to retreat. Instead, she seized the moment, her free hand taking your glass and setting it on a side table near the staircase alongside her own. Without a word, she led you upward.

The quiet intimacy of the stairwell was a stark contrast to the party below. The golden light softened as you ascended, and with each step, the air between you grew heavier, thick with the unsaid.

Your heels echoed against the polished marble, mirroring hers as you followed her onto one of the estate’s many balconies. Caitlyn left the balcony door ajar, the muffled hum of the soirée seeping through like a distant murmur.

Her lips grazed the delicate curve of your neck, warm and insistent. "Do you know what I used to do?" she murmured, her voice low-- confessional. Her hands found your waist, steadying you as though she feared you might falter under the weight of her words.

"I would take them home," she began, her tone as smooth as the feel of her hands on your skin. Her fingers tightened ever so slightly, a possessive gesture had you folding already. "I would ask about their lives, their dreams... enough to slip beneath their guard."

Her lips traveled upward, brushing the corner of your jaw, then your cheek, before stopping just next to your ear. "And then," she continued, her voice a breath against your skin, "I would lean in, cup their necks, let my gaze linger on their lips... kiss them."

As the words left her mouth, she mirrored the act with you. Her fingers glided to the nape of your neck, holding you firm, her lips capturing yours with a deliberate fervor. The kiss was unhurried yet commanding, a declaration rather than a question.

"I would undo their clothes, piece by piece, savoring the soft of their skins." Her hands traveled down, tracing the contours of your frame with reverence until her fingers found the hem of your dress. Slowly, she gathered the fabric, the rustle of it rising in harmony with the quickening beat of your heart.

"I would caress their thighs," she continued, her voice dropping with promise. Her hand slid beneath the folds of your dress. She paused there, letting the silence be filled with the distant hum of the party behind you.

Her gaze met yours again, piercing. She pressed her knee in between your legs, her fingers making small circles over your clothed clit, feeling the fabric damp under her touch. A smile spread on her face, almost a mocking laugh escaping her as her forehead leaned closer to your own. "Yeah? feels good, doesn't it?" Her breath hovering over your lips before you nodded, opening your lips further to try and get a kiss she denied.

"I would love to feel how wet they got... listening those whimpers and the many obscenities spilling through such pretty lips." Her other hand went behind your waist, digging her fingers into you.

Your head tilted down as you got pressed into the railing. Worried that someone might see.

It wouldn't be new to them. Cailtyn had been caught endless times by those working for her or around her- and she couldn't care less. Making her girls go louder each time.

"I loved to hear how they pronounced my name in between gasps." Her wet lips pressed another kiss into your neck. Her hand guiding your hips to move against her leg as she slid her fingers up and down your covered slit.

You held behind onto the railing, using it to impulse your body as you wished against her fingers and her body and just enjoy yourself while using her. Your lips pressed too tightly to not let any sound out.

Your eyebrows furrowed to a point it hurt. Caitlyn made you mad, she knew how to put you in your place every single time.

"Be a good girl and let me hear you, love." She pressed herself closer to you again, her fingers busy with your wet. She had minutes that felt endless just rubbing at your clit over your clothes, providing you the friction of her knee against your cunt or her fingers over your hole- teasing to pull your panties aside and fuck you-- But that was it.

And maybe all of it had you falling for her one last time. Opening your lips to moan and whimper against her own. She wanted the show and if she asked so nicely why would you deny her?

But just as you felt like maybe there could be a way to convince her to fuck you like you wanted, she stopped. It was almost too abruptly it hurt.

"Go to the bathroom and compose yourself," Caitlyn instructed. Her grip tightened on your chin, tilting your face upward with a practiced ease that left little room to argument. The intensity in her eyes was an unspoken demand.

"I will not endure the embarrassment of your behavior tonight." The sharp edge of her accent making each syllable bite. Her fingers pressed into your cheeks, just enough to remind you of her control, her authority over this moment. "Your age is already... challenging for me. Do not make me regret this, love. Do you understand?"

You nodded, the motion awkward under the restraint of her hand. A wave of heat prickled at the corners of your eyes, tears threatening to spill, not from pain but from the raw sting of her words. Your voice came out small, broken, as though the very air had been stolen from your lungs.

"I'm sorry," you murmured an apology barely audible, stifled by the weight of her fingers against your face.

"Don't apologize," she snapped, the command as firm as it was cold. Her gaze bore into yours, cutting through your composure. "Just do as I ask. Prove to me that you're capable of being what I need you to be."

Her lips hovered dangerously close to yours, her breath warm, intimate, yet void of comfort. "Show me you're worth it-" She paused to make it clear, it was a warn if not a threat. "And never, ever speak to her again. Not a word, not a glance. Or it's over. Is that clear?"

There was no room for negotiation, no softness to temper her gaze. Her words were final. Like anything else around her, it was an unspoken contract you had no choice but to sign.

[yawnderu]

Pornstar!König's cock is a bitch breaker— that much you know by the way he's ramming every single inch of thick, veiny meat into your sopping cunt, his large hands digging on the supple skin of your waist in a bruising hold, his heavy balls slapping against your sensitive clit every time he manages to bury himself all the way in.

His blue eyes are fully focused on the screen displaying your face, the rhythm of his thrusts only getting rougher to drag more whiny moans out of your parted lips, exhaustion written all over your face at having to take his large dick on what was supposed to be a day off— only accepting a job after thousands of comments bombarding your media, begging you to collaborate with König. Perverts, you knew, yet you're more than happy to play into their fantasies.

One of the cameras pans to your face, fully capturing the alluring scene of your fucked-out state, beads of sweat dripping down your warm forehead, half-lidded eyes barely managing to stay open despite the way they're threatening to roll back with each deep thrust, and that famous smile that shows you crave his treatment. A trademark of sorts, something that made you end on the front pages of popular porn websites more than once, the very same thing that caught König's attention months ago.

“Harder.” A command you instantly regret the moment his hips falter, his brow scrunched up in mild disbelief, yet what is the behemoth of a man if not a people pleaser? König lets out a muffled chuckle, his warm hand trailing up to your chest, lazily rubbing your sensitive, pierced nipple with his thumb.

“Harder?” He repeats, his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace, a smirk pulling on the corners of his lips beneath the mask the moment a whiny moan of protest is dragged out of your lips.

“Fuck yourself with my dick.” You can hear your own heartbeat pulsating on your ear, the rate steadily rising at his command. His breath hitches the moment you impale yourself onto his throbbing cock right after his words, his calloused hand giving your tit one last squeeze before moving back down to your waist, his large fingers digging onto the crevice of your warm skin, admiring the thin layer of sweat covering your body, the way your ass jiggles every single time you move on his dick.

His eyes darken with desire, his hands almost itching with the growing need to fuck into you, something he manages to ignore for mere seconds before thrusting back into you the moment you pull away, a sharp gasp leaving your lips at the way his bulbous head hits your sensitive cervix over and over, his wide hips slamming against yours, filling the room with a lewd melody of skin slapping against skin and combined moans desperate for release.

König doesn't hold back, his thrusts deep and powerful as your fingers grip the bedsheets, trying to find a way to release the overwhelming sensations. He can feel your body trembling beneath him, the sound of your whiny whimpers only serving to heighten his own arousal, shooting one of the cameras a look that drips pure arrogance— his movements becoming more urgent and demanding.

One of the screens displays the way your eyes roll back in ecstasy as your walls tighten around his thick cock, a sense of satisfaction and pride filling him as you cum, only then allowing himself to succumb to his release, his cock throbbing inside you as ropes of hot white cum shoot right into your womb, a loud groan leaving his lips.

Despite how rough he likes to fuck, König pulls out of you, his softening cock coated with your slick and his own cum as your body falls on the bed, utterly exhausted. You can feel his large arms wrapping around you from behind, the sound of fabric rustling filling your ears as you feel his warm lips press a soft kiss to your temple, whispers of praise that have never come out of his lips slip out with so much easiness that it almost surprises him.

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; pushed to your limits, you endure under your mother's ruthless training. but the quiet of night brings an unexpected reunion—and amid raw confessions and unspoken truths, you draw a firm line between your past and present, choosing your new path over the fractures of your old life.

⚠️ warnings; none

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

The cold expanse of the stone training chamber greeted you as you stepped through the heavy wooden doors. The air was thick with the hum of residual magic, a constant reminder of the battles fought here before you. Flickering sconces cast elongated shadows that danced mockingly against the dark stone walls, their flames sputtering in anticipation.

Your Mother stood at the center, a sharp, commanding figure whose very presence demanded attention. Her arms crossed over her chest, and her piercing gaze fixed on you with the weight of expectations that could crush lesser souls.

“This will be your life until the ceremony,” she said without preamble, her voice sharp and unwavering, cutting through the heavy air like a blade. “If you fail here, you fail the coven.”

The words struck hard, meant to suffocate any flicker of defiance, but you squared your shoulders, refusing to falter. You stepped forward into the center of the chamber, the hum of magic growing louder with each step.

Training began immediately, and there was no mercy in her approach.

Waves of fire and wind lashed toward you, their force leaving you barely enough time to react. You conjured barriers of shimmering energy to counter her attacks, your hands moving instinctively in intricate patterns, your magic sharp and focused.

“Too slow!” she barked, her voice echoing off the walls as the ground beneath your feet rumbled ominously. Thorned vines erupted from the stone, their sharp tips lashing out with deadly precision. You sidestepped, barely avoiding the onslaught, and summoned a blade of pure energy to sever the attacking tendrils. The effort sent a sharp thrum of power through your bones, but you held steady.

Every spell she cast, every challenge she threw, was designed to break you—to punish you for leaving, for daring to defy her control. Yet you met her assaults with spiteful determination, the simmering rage within you sharpening your focus. Each successful counterstrike was a small victory, a reminder that you were not as fragile as she wished to believe.

“You’ve grown complacent,” she sneered, her tone icy. “The time you wasted outside the coven has softened you!"

Her words were daggers, meant to carve away your resolve, but you gritted your teeth and replied evenly, “And yet I’m still standing.” The flicker of amusement that crossed her face was fleeting, but it didn’t escape your notice.

The grueling session stretched on for hours, testing every ounce of your endurance. By the time she finally called for a halt, your body ached, your clothes were singed and dusted with soot, and sweat clung to your skin. Yet, despite the pain and exhaustion, you remained standing.

“Adequate,” your Mother said, her tone clipped as she assessed you with a critical eye.

You wiped at the sweat on your brow, your expression neutral as you replied, “I’ll do what’s required.”

She nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of your effort, before turning on her heel and striding toward the exit. Her long robes swept behind her as the heavy door swung shut, leaving you alone in the quiet chamber.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, letting the tension in your shoulders ease as you took in the stillness of the room. The scorched stone and scattered debris bore testament to your struggle, but it wasn’t defeat that lingered in the air—it was resolve.

You straightened, brushing off the grime from your clothes. There was still so much to do, so much to prove, but you would face it all, one step at a time.

. . .

Later that night, as exhaustion weighed heavily on you, Sybil pressed close to your side, her warmth grounding you in ways no magic ever could. You trudged down the hallway, the familiar path to your room offering a small sense of solace.

“Miss, please—wait!” a voice called out behind you, urgent and trembling.

You turned to see Marnie, the young maid who had delivered your clothes days earlier. Her pale face was illuminated by the faint glow of the lantern she held aloft, her chest heaving as though she had been running. She grasped your arm tightly before you could react, her fear palpable.

“There’s no time to explain,” she whispered, her voice strained. “You have to come with me. Now.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the desperation in her wide eyes silenced you. Without waiting for a response, she tugged at your arm, pulling you down a corridor you hadn’t walked in years.

Sybil let out a low growl but followed close, her alert posture mirroring your unease. The flickering lantern light in her grasp guided your way through twisting hallways that grew colder and darker the farther you went. The air grew damp, and the faint scent of earth replaced the sterile stillness of the upper floors.

Marnie led you to a narrow staircase descending into the underground levels of the manor. She hesitated at the threshold, her voice breaking as she urged, “Please. You’ll understand when you see.”

You followed her down the stone steps, the silence broken only by the distant drip of water and the soft scrape of your boots against the floor. The lantern’s light cast eerie shadows on the rough stone walls, making the underground space feel even more oppressive.

At the bottom of the staircase, an older woman stood waiting. Recognition flickered—it was Fiona, a maid from your childhood who had always been kind to you. Her sharp eyes studied you intently, worry etched into her lined face.

“Keep watch,” Fiona instructed the two younger maids at her side. They nodded nervously before scurrying off alongside Marnie, their hurried footsteps fading into the distance.

Fiona motioned for you to follow, leading you into a small, cluttered supply room. The air inside was stale, the shelves lined with long-forgotten supplies.

Then you saw him.

Johnny.

He sat by a small table near the far wall, his long hair held up in a messy ponytail. His once-distinctive mohawk was completely gone. In front of him sat a cup of tea, untouched and forgotten, its faint aroma mingling with the stale air of the room.

You froze in the doorway, your breath catching in your throat as your mind struggled to process what you were seeing. Of all the scenarios you had imagined, this—him—had never even crossed your mind. The sight of him here, in this place, after everything, left you reeling.

At the sound of your steps faltering, Johnny looked up, his tired eyes meeting yours. In them, you saw everything—pain, regret, longing, and something that looked like desperation. He stood slowly, his movements tentative as though he feared any sudden action might shatter what fragile thread held this moment together.

He murmured your name, his voice rough and low, holding the weight of everything unsaid. He took a hesitant step toward you, his entire being radiating fragility, a vulnerability you had never associated with him. He looked unlike anything you had ever seen before: broken and raw, stripped of the easy charm and boisterous energy that had once defined him.

But before he could take another step, Sybil moved.

The Borzoi stepped in front of you, her white fur bristling as she lowered her head and bared her teeth. A deep, rumbling growl rolled from her chest, reverberating in the small room as her sharp fangs caught the dim light. Her stance was protective and unyielding, her hackles raised as she planted herself firmly between you and the man she had once loved, just as you had.

Johnny stopped in his tracks, his face crumpling as though Sybil’s reaction struck him harder than any blow. For a moment, he stood there, his hands twitching at his sides as if unsure whether to raise them in surrender or let them fall in defeat.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The tension in the room was suffocating, the charged silence broken only by the low, menacing growl emanating from Sybil’s throat. And in that moment, all you could do was stare, the weight of the past colliding with the sharp sting of the present, leaving you rooted to the spot.

His fragile appearance fueled the fire rising in your chest. You took a sharp step forward, your voice cracking as it rose.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hissed, your words laced with equal parts panic and fury. 

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” you continued, your hands shaking as you gestured toward him. “Coming here—do you even understand what this place is?! You’ve put yourself in danger, Johnny, and for what?! To satisfy some... some whim?!”

Johnny raised his hands in a placating gesture, his face pale and his eyes pleading. “I had to see you. Just once—”

“No!” you snapped, cutting him off. “You had to stay away! Do you think this is a game?! Do you think they won’t find you?! That they won’t—” Your breath hitched as the weight of the situation bore down on you, threatening to overwhelm your already frayed nerves.

He took a hesitant step forward, his hand reaching out toward you. “Lass, please, I—”

“Don’t you dare touch me,” you spat, your voice shaking but firm. His hand fell to his side, his shoulders sagging under the weight of your words. For a moment, he looked as though the world had crumbled beneath him, but you couldn’t afford to feel sympathy—not now, not here.

“Sit down,” you barked, pointing sharply to the chair he had just risen from. “Sit your ass down, Johnny!”

He hesitated, his mouth opening as if to protest, but the look in your eyes brooked no argument. Slowly, he sank back into the chair, his posture defeated, though his blue eyes remained fixed on you, filled with unspoken words.

Your attention snapped to Fiona lingering by the entrance. “You need to leave,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “Go back to your posts. I won’t have you involved in this any further.”

Fiona hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. “But, miss—”

“I said go!” you insisted, your voice breaking slightly but your resolve unshaken. “I’ll handle this.”

Fiona’s eyes softened with something like pity or concern, but she nodded reluctantly, the door creaked shut behind her, leaving you alone with Johnny.

You turned back to him, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Johnny’s gaze never wavered from you, his presence simultaneously infuriating and heart-wrenching.

You exhaled heavily, the tension in your shoulders weighing you down as you pulled out a chair and sat across from him. Your legs felt weak, the exhaustion of the day compounding with the whirlwind of emotions his presence had brought. You glanced at Sybil, still poised like a sentinel by your side, her eyes never leaving Johnny.

“Stand down,” you murmured, your tone soft but commanding. She huffed, her tail flicking in irritation, but she obeyed, retreating a step. Even so, her ears remained pricked, and her gaze darted toward the door every so often, her alertness unshaken.

Johnny fidgeted in his chair, his hands gripping the edge of the table as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. His lips parted, and the words began to spill out in a flood, his brogue thickened by his heightened state. “It was Leah—no, not her—she didn’t mean it, we know that now, but it wasn’t about her, it was about you, lass. The curse, it was a parasite—Alejandro said—and it... it wasn’t meant for us. It was for you.” His voice cracked, his sentences tangling as he struggled to get it all out. “They wanted to isolate you, to—to pull you away, and we—God, we didn’t see it—”

“Stop,” you cut him off sharply, raising a hand. His words faltered, his wide, desperate eyes meeting yours.

With a flick of your wrist, you waved at the cup of tea sitting untouched on the table before him. A faint shimmer of heat rippled over its surface, steam curling lazily upward as you warmed it with a simple spell. “Drink,” you ordered firmly. “No talking. Not until it’s gone.”

He blinked, caught off guard, but you held his gaze with unyielding intensity. Slowly, he reached for the cup, his hands trembling slightly. His first sip was cautious, his lips pursed as the heat hit him, but he didn’t complain. Instead, he settled into a slow, deliberate rhythm, sipping the tea in silence.

The quiet between you was heavy but oddly grounding. You leaned back in your chair, your arms crossed as you watched him. The act of drinking forced him to pause, the heat of the tea slowing him down as he took each sip with care. His breathing evened out gradually, and the wild, frantic energy that had gripped him when you first entered the room began to dissipate.

Sybil shifted beside you, her head resting on her paws but her sharp eyes never leaving Johnny.

When he finally set the empty cup down, he let out a long, slow breath, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the world had momentarily lifted. He looked up at you, his eyes clearer but no less filled with emotion. You said nothing, your own expression unreadable as you waited for him to speak.

He began to speak, his voice quieter and steadier than before, though tinged with the raw emotion that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. He recounted the events that led him here—the unraveling of the pack, the curse that had ensnared them, and how everything had been orchestrated to isolate you. There were details you hadn’t known, fragments of the story that filled in gaps you hadn’t realized existed. He told you about the painstaking journey he had taken to track you down, the guilt that weighed on all of them, and how they were left trying to piece themselves back together in your absence.

You listened, your expression neutral, though your heart churned with a mix of emotions you refused to let surface. The words were significant, the pieces he shared adding clarity to the murky picture of what had happened, but in the end, none of it really mattered. Not now. The past was carved into stone, the choices made and the consequences paid. 

Whatever answers he sought from you weren’t ones you could give him—not anymore.

When he finally stopped, silence fell between you, heavy and expectant. His hands fidgeted with the edge of the table, and his blue gaze flicked to yours, searching.

You leaned forward slightly, your hands resting on the table as you fixed Johnny with a firm, steady gaze. The flickering light from the overhead light cast soft shadows across his face, emphasizing the gaunt hollowness that hadn't been there before. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you raised a hand, cutting him off before he could start.

“No,” you said, your voice sharp yet steady. “My turn now.”

He froze, his lips pressing into a thin line as he sat back in his chair, his shoulders tense. His hands fidgeted on the table, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I’m not coming back,” you began, your tone resolute. “Not to the pack, not to that town, not to the life I left behind. If you can tell Laswell that, she can sell off everything I left. Maybe Farah or Alex will want something—it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Johnny flinched as though you’d struck him, his eyes widening slightly. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered hoarsely. “You can’t mean—”

“I do,” you cut him off again, your voice soft but unyielding. “I’ve made my decision, Johnny. I’m staying here. I’m taking leadership of the coven.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his mouth slightly open as if trying to process what you’d just said. His hands curled into fists, body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

“You don’t have to—” he began, his voice rising, but you cut him off with a sharp glare.

“Don’t you dare,” you snapped, your voice low but venomous. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t have to do this. You think I’m being forced? That I don’t know what I’m doing?” You leaned closer, your eyes narrowing as your anger flared. “I paid the price to heal Leah.”

Johnny froze, his breath catching in his throat. “What?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“I paid the price,” you repeated, your voice trembling slightly but no less firm. “Leah—she’s alive, she’s whole, because of me. And maybe that’s for the best after everything.”

His face crumpled, his hands clenching tighter as he leaned forward, his lips parting to say something—anything—but no words came out. The guilt and anguish in his eyes were almost too much to bear, but you didn’t let it break you.

“You’ll relay this to the pack,” you said, your voice softening but still firm. “Tell them I’m staying here. That I’m rebuilding my life, in my way, on my terms. And please...” You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat as you struggled to keep your composure. “Don’t come back. Any of you. My heart has endured too much already, and this—this is the least you can do for me. All of you.”

Johnny’s head dropped. For a moment, he looked utterly defeated, the weight of your words pressing down on him like a physical force. 

“I’ll tell them,” he finally murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. He lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’ll tell them. But—” His voice broke, and he had to take a moment to steady himself. “You’ll always have us, lass. No matter where you are.”

You said nothing, your expression unreadable as you leaned back in your chair, your hands falling to your lap. Sybil nudged your leg gently as you tried to keep the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes at bay.

Johnny sat there for a long moment, before he finally stood, his movements slow and reluctant. His gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer, as if committing you to memory, before he turned and headed for the door.

He paused at the door, his hand resting on the frame, his shoulders hunched under the weight of everything left unsaid. Slowly, he turned back to you, his eyes glistening with tears that clung stubbornly to his lashes. His voice, when he spoke, was hoarse, trembling with emotions he could barely contain.

“Can I... touch you?” he asked, his words cracking under the strain. “Just once. One last time.”

For a moment, you hesitated, your gaze flicking to Sybil, who remained at your side, her head raised and alert. But Johnny stood there, his hands shaking as if even the question itself was too much to bear.

You nodded, a small, reluctant gesture and stood up. “Alright,” you whispered. “But just this once.”

He stepped forward hesitantly, as though afraid you might change your mind, his movements slow and careful. When he reached you, his trembling hand reaching up to touch your face. His fingers were rough but gentle as they traced the curve of your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. He closed his eyes, his breath shuddering as he pressed his forehead briefly against yours.

Then, as if unable to help himself, he dipped his head, burying his nose in the crook of your neck. He brought you snug against himself, one arm wrapped around your waist, and the other cradling the back of your head.

You shivered, the familiar sensation of him so close stirring a wave of emotions you couldn’t quite control. But you didn’t pull away, allowing him this moment, this chance to hold onto what had already been lost.

“Your scent,” he murmured against your skin, his voice breaking as a tear slipped down his cheek. “I just... I needed to remember. Keep it close.”

You stiffened slightly as he shifted, his lips brushing close to your face, but you pressed a hand lightly against his chest, stopping him. “No,” you said softly, firmly.

He didn’t argue, didn’t try to push further. Instead, he drew back slowly, his tear-filled gaze locking with yours for a final, heart-wrenching moment. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice heavy with sorrow and gratitude.

Without another word, he turned and walked toward the exit, his steps slow and heavy, as if every movement cost him. You stayed rooted to the spot, watching as he disappeared through the doorway and into the darkened corridors beyond.

When you finally stepped outside to see him off, the sky was painted with the soft hues of the encroaching dawn. Johnny’s figure was barely visible as he disappeared into the edge of the forest, his long hair catching the faint light before he vanished entirely into the shadows.

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks, hot and unbidden, as you stood there in the stillness of the morning. Sybil pressed her nose to your hand, a soft, comforting whine escaping her as you wiped your face roughly and turned back to the house.

You didn’t look back again. There was nothing left to see.

banner credit

[vrystalius]

Pls pls pls pls make one about Muzan finding reader gone and turns out she was in their kid's room trying ti stop them from crying and the baby just cries even more after seeing Muzan cause he don't spend no time with em so the baby don't recognize him.

Demon king’s heir

Muzan’s own baby doesn’t recognise him as the father.

Here’s pt.2!

Pairing: Muzan x fem!reader

You’ve been tending to your baby on your own since you’ve given birth. Muzan just took some blood samples from your baby and barely ever showed his face around your assigned wing of the infinity castle. You’ve been missing the man you fell in love with. He was so romantic and affectionate with you before your birth. You two been to many dates that range from talking in restaurants to visiting tech museums together. Without his presence around, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly lonely.

Muzan is not even bothering to come by to check on the condition of you or your baby boy. It felt like that man only used you to try making a demon-human hybrid baby. Now that he achieved his goal and got blood samples, does he not want to do anything with you anymore?

You sighed tiredly, rocking your ever crying baby. What’s up with him the last few nights? He keeps crying and crying. He doesn’t want food or attention, or a diaper change. Before you could think about any other reason for his crying, you felt an incredible powerful presence suddenly appearing near you, accompanied by the sound of a biwa string being plucked. Your knees buckled as you felt overwhelmed from the shift of energies. You leaned onto the crib of your boy and held onto your crying baby tightly, anticipating your husband to open the door to the nursery any moment.

Muzan glanced around in your bedroom. The cries of the baby reached his eyes and he scrunched his eyebrows together from that ear piercing sound. How infuriating. He massaged the bridge of his nose and stepped towards the nursery, opening up the door. “My sweet.” His voice sounded sharp as your husband greeted you.

You turned around to him and glared at the man. The baby boy in your arms clung onto your night robes, quieting his cries slightly. He seemed to sense the presence of that man and felt intimidated.

Muzan eyed the bundle of life in your arms and stepped closer to you. “How has my son been?” “Your son has been missing you.” Your voice was laced in venom as you turned away from him, bouncing the fussy baby in your arms. He furrowed his brows and sighed. “Are you upset with me? I am very busy.” He heard your scoff and tightly gripped your shoulder, forcing you to face him. “I want to hold him.” Muzan glanced down at your baby boy, who stared back at him with big eyes. He seemed confused almost. You protectively held your baby closer to your chest. “Why? Do you need more blood samples?” “Just give him to me.” His voice sounded demanding and left no space for arguments. You carefully handed over your baby boy to Muzan, showing him how to hold him properly and how to support his neck. He stared down at the baby in his arms as his eyes seemed to soften a little. He tried tickling his soft tummy a little, but as Muzan tried to touch his son, the baby cried out and started wiggling against his gentle hold.

The whaling cries made your husband tense and tighten his grip on the baby. His aura darkened and he reached out for the face of your precious child. Fearing he’ll do the worst, you quickly wrapped your arms around your baby boy and slipped him out of Muzan’s arms, shushing him quietly. “Shhhh… mommy’s here.. I’m here, it’s okay…” You quietly spoke to your boy as he began calming down slowly. The baby stopped crying and wiggling around, instead gripping onto your clothes and refusing to let go.

Muzan frowned st the sight. Was his son not recognising him? How dare he? Why is that whiny thing not recognising him as his father? He reached out to the baby again, but it just began crying again, hiding his face by nuzzling against your clothes and skin.

You turned away from Muzan, shielding your boy from the sight of him. “You should leave or else he won’t sleep at all tonight. Return to your research. I’ll be fine be fine on my own.” He doesn’t appreciate being commanded around. “I’ll do as I please.” His voice sounded darker and more upset as Muzan stepped closer and looked at his baby over your shoulder. The boy has already calmed and closed his eyes. The baby looked much more peaceful nuzzling against your body like that. “Hm.” He quietly noted how his son preferred your presence over his.

He turned away from you and stepped out of the nursery. The sound of a biwa being strung echoed through the halls of the infinity castle as your husband disappeared again. You glanced down at your baby boy.

“It’s okay, the scary man is gone now.”

💠

I may or may not really really love this man, alongside the other demons. Don’t get me wrong, I fell inlove with almost all the characters in the kny-verse (except a couple characters like the clomes of Upper Four, Emmu, Obanai…), but I just feel magically pulled towards the upper moons, the angry wind hashira, his brother, the sun breather and his brother as well. Thank you so much for requesting, this was so fun!!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough <3

Take care of yourselves <3

[gloomwitchwrites]

Locker Room: Part Two

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, rough kissing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, desk sex

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: originally for @glitterypirateduck 's Ghost Writing Challenge, this is the follow-up to Locker Room

Part One // SImon's POV

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

Like the steam from the locker room, your irritation soon evaporates. It floats away until all that’s left is this gnawing, twisting sensation in the pit of your stomach.

What the fuck were you thinking storming into the men’s locker room like that, demanding that Lieutenant Riley show his face?

You weren’t thinking. That’s the entire problem. You were angry—and rightfully so—but you didn’t even consider where your actions were leading.

The reports are just fine, sweetheart.

Just thinking those words sends your stomach twisting all over again. You need to cool off. To calm down. While you’re not exactly angry anymore, there is a needy sensation crawling beneath your skin.

Lieutenant Riley was entirely too forward. And this nonsense about staking a claim? Hardly. You are your own person. Lieutenant Riley isn’t allowed to have a sliver of you unless you say so. Speaking it into the air doesn’t make it the truth.

You slam your office door shut and lean against it, resting your head in your hands. Taking a deep inhalation through your nose, you exhale through your mouth. Repeating the process helps, but it is momentary. Fleeting.

You’re tense the rest of the day. On edge. You keep glancing over your shoulder thinking that Lieutenant Riley will appear like a phantom. It’s silly, because he doesn’t. You don’t see him at all. Even as you push through your lunch and consume dinner in your office, you don’t see him.

He doesn’t come by. No one mentions him.

But the sticky note is there. It’s still stuck to the front of the manila folder.

The reports are just fine, sweetheart.

With your newly blooming irritation comes the creak of door hinges.

“What?” you snap, glancing up.

Lieutenant Riley stands in your doorway. He as one hand on the handle and the other on the doorframe. For some reason, you expect the towel, his wet skin, and the steam from the locker room, not this behemoth of a man covered nearly head-to-toe.

He does not reply to your sharp tone. Lieutenant Riley saunters in, shutting the door behind him. Without looking, he pulls the little strings on the blinds, cutting off the view of the hallway. He even locks the door, and in this, he still doesn’t glance back. Every movement is fluid. Smooth. Natural.

It’s sexy. And fucking irritating.

“Come to fix your reports?” you ask, leaning back in your chair. You twirl your pen end-over-end. It’s keeping you from looking away from him.

Lieutenant Riley says nothing. He strides forward—all of three steps as the office is a fucking closet—and snatches the manila folder off the desk. He opens it up, glancing down at the content.

You cross your legs and attempt to relax your shoulders. You don’t want Lieutenant Riley to know that he has an affect on you. Already, your body wants to lean in his direction. It wants to give him attention.

And that will not do.

“What’s wrong with them?” he finally asks, flipping a page.

You stop twirling the pen. Start clicking the end. “My notes are right there. Can you not read?”

It’s not very nice of you, but it’s simply defense. Fuck the reports. If they’re garbage, you’ll submit them anyway. You just need Lieutenant Riley out of your office. You need some goddamn space. It’s far too hot in here. Too cramped.

Lieutenant Riley glances up from the report, and it is then that you know you’ve completely fucked up. It’s that same piercing stare from the locker room. You’re stabbed through. Gutted. He sees you for who you are, and there is no way out. No path for you to take.

Slowly, Lieutenant Riley closes the folder. He holds it out and then drops it onto your desk. His arm returns to his side.

He is so large like this. So much more intimidating.

“Are we fucking here? Or elsewhere?” His delivery is so bland and straightforward that you don’t believe you’ve heard him correctly.

You stop clicking the pen. “What?” you nearly squawk, sitting up in your chair.

“I said—”

“I fucking heard you, Lieutenant.”

“Simon,” he growls. “I told you to call me Simon.”

In the steam and heat, he did say that. And you grabbed his dog tags, yanked him down to your level, kissing him through the balaclava in response.

You also told him to fix the reports. And here he is.

“Simon,” you begin, and then pause because his hips sway slightly as he shifts toward you. “What are you doing?”

Simon comes around to your side of the desk. There is a sultry sway to it, a confidence that steals your autonomy. He walks right up to you. Leaning forward, he reaches out, placing his hand on the top of your chair, boxing you in.

“Are we fucking in this room?”

“We’re not—”

“—or am I taking you home?”

You swallow, heat flaring up your neck to flame your cheeks. “Aren’t you here to fix the reports?”

It’s a diversion. A way to turn the conversation. But Simon doesn’t take the bait.

“Pick,” he says, voice low.

“Simon.”

“Want me to pick for you?” He arches a single eyebrow.

All the steam and bluster are gone. You’re melting. Submitting. You feel it deep in your bones.

“Back up,” you murmur, but even you hear the weakness in it.

Simon shakes his head. His other hand comes up, the backs of his fingers brushing along your jawline. It’s a gentle touch. You reflexively lean into it.

“I think you want my cock now, love.”

You jerk backward, but Simon is quick. He has you out of your chair and sitting on your desk in moments. You’re completely flustered, hands digging into his biceps as Simon settles himself between your legs, his hands on your waist.

“Better,” he says, sounding content.

You blink and then smack his chest. “Simon Riley!”

“My full name?” he purrs. “That’s a nice change.”

“You presume too much.”

“Do I?” he counters. He releases your hips, placing his hands firmly on either side of you. “Then explain that kiss earlier.”

You swallow, knowing that he’s caught you. There is a need that sits between your bones. A need for him, even if you don’t want to admit it.

“It meant nothing.”

“No, love.” He shakes his head. “It didn’t. Try again.”

Simon is caging you in. Splitting you open. Why should you run? Why should you not admit your feelings? If anything, the two of you can fuck on this desk and get whatever this is out of your system.

“I was angry. I wanted to push you.”

The balaclava around his mouth stretches. He’s fucking grinning.

“Here I am.”

“Here you are,” you agree.

Simon’s dark gaze shifts to your lips. “Without the balaclava this time?” His gaze returns to your face, and there is intense need there.

You reach out, slip your fingers underneath, and push the balaclava up. Slowly, you reveal Simon’s chin and lips, then the tip of his nose. There are scars, but that is not what you’re focused on. You’re focused on his lips, and he yours.

Leaning in is agony. You long to close the distance, and yet there is hesitation in the way you bring your face closer to his. Simon senses it too, because he grabs the back of your neck, and closes the distance.

There is no gentleness in the way Simon kisses you. His need is apparent. Aching. He is a devouring beast, and you meet him with equal enthusiasm. Simon’s tongue passes between your lips and you open for him. You taste mint and black tea with the faintest hint of smoke. You commit this taste to memory.

Simon’s hands are everywhere, squeezing waist, thighs, and hips. There is no pattern to it. There is only desperation.

Growling, Simon pulls away. He grabs hold of the collar of your button up shirt. Tugging, Simon pops the top three buttons. They go flying, disappearing from you.

“Simon,” you gasp, but it’s all you can manage. His mouth is on yours again, and that large hand is slipping inside, palming your breast.

“Fucking hell,” he moans into your mouth. “I need to be inside you.”

Begging. Simon is begging. You’ve never heard this. Simon is the stoic one. Calm. Cold. Calculated. But he’s kissing you with hunger, and his hips rock against you, the sensation almost more than you can handle.

“Then fuck me, Lieutenant.”

Simon chuckles, and he smiles—actually smiles—before grabbing your waist and bringing you to your feet. With his hands still on your waist, Simon turns you around, facing you away from him.

His hand slide forward and easily undoes the front of your slacks. Simon tugs them down enough to expose you to him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, fingers sliding between your thighs to play with your pussy.

The contact is electric, and you push back against his hand. Simon rests his face against the back of your neck.

“You’re already so fucking wet for me,” he says against your skin.

His fingers find your clit, and the moan you let out is obscene. Simon strokes until your pussy clenches as your wetness floods his palm.

Glancing over your shoulder, Simon brings his sticky fingers to his mouth. He sucks them clean.

“My turn, love.”

With a sharp tug, Simon forces your slacks down to your knees. He bends you forward slightly and your hands press into the top of the desk to keep yourself steady.

The angle is tight, overly so. When Simon notches the head of his cock at your entrance and beings to push in, it feels far too large.

“Simon. Simon. Fuck—oh. Fuck.”

“You can take me, love. Just breathe. That’s it.” Simon moves your hair to the side and his mouth comes down on your neck, leaving behind gentle kisses as he rocks his hips.

Once he’s in to the hilt, Simon adjusts. One arm crosses over your stomach, his palm coming to rest between your hands that are pressed against the top of the desk. His other hand is on the front of your throat.

His lips brush against your ear, and then Simon thrusts. It’s not slow. It’s not gentle. This one makes him grunt with effort, and the desk hinders all forward movement.

Simon’s teeth nip at your earlobe. The distraction works, causing your mind to temporarily drift from his withdrawal. The thrust forward makes you gasp, and then it is unending.

There are no words spoken, only heavy breath. Sweat blooms on your brow, and runs down the back of your neck. Simon’s weight is relentless, and the pleasure building in your core again is a taunting thing. It wants to explode, to roar outward, to consume you.

You don’t have space to slide your hand between your legs. Instead, you arch your back, bringing your ass up slightly. It gives Simon a different angle, and this time you shiver. Shake. Thighs quivering as your orgasm crawls up and out your throat.

The moment you start to cry out, Simon turns your head toward him, his mouth coming down on yours. He swallows your pleasure, matching it with his own. He grinds forward, his release flooding your pussy.

Your chest heaves as Simon pulls back.

There is nothing else in room. There is only him, and his dark eyes.

Slowly, Simon eases himself from your pussy. He reaches over and grabs a tissue, cleaning you up the best he can before tossing it into the trashcan beneath your desk. Then his hands are drawing your pants into place.

He guides you around to face him, closing the zipper and putting everything to right. He even fixes your buttonless shirt as best he can.

“I’ll replace it,” he says.

“It’s fine, Simon.”

The two of you stare at each other, the silence stretching. You’re not sure what he might be thinking, but his gaze hardens.

“You’re off tomorrow,” he states, not asking.

“I am. How—what are you doing?”

Simon has his phone out. He’s tapping away at the screen and then the little whoosh of a text sending off reaches your ears.

“You’re coming home with me,” he says, slipping the phone into his pocket.

“You—”

“Told Price I’d be in late tomorrow.”

“You can do that?”

Simon shrugs. “Price can manage.”

He takes a step back, his gaze observing you. “You’re a right mess.”

“No thanks to you,” you mutter, smacking his chest as you push past him.

You snatch up your purse and work bag, glancing up at Simon just as he returns the balaclava to its original place.

He saunters up beside you and extends his hand. You take it, and Simon draws you against him, gaze never leaving your face as he guides you to the door.

You doubt that you will come back from this.

Simon is not out of your system.

taglist:

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@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @haven-1307 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving

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@yawning-grave81 @ash-tarte @azkza

[affableramen]

when they try to woo you

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

tags: early stage of relationship ; suggestive ; minors dni

Wriothesley

Lots of, I’m telling you, lots of cuddling and hugging. Wrio is very touchy

He tries very hard to be a real gentleman with you however it results in funny, awkward situations (which is so endearing of him)

Will talk a lot about his piercing telling you a story of each

Lets you touch his hair because you want to touch it

Can’t choose the proper colour pallette for his formal suit and ends up wearing the most laughable socks ever

Wants to show off with his bike and will certainly give you a night ride

Will come to your date half-sleeping after late night shift but still see you

Neuvillette

Would pull the chair for you at the restaurant 100%

Chooses the suit for your first date for a whole week in advance

Wants everyone to know that you’re his so will hold your hand at every possibility

He puts a lot of effort to be a perfect boyfriend so he’ll even offer to pick you up from work

Neuvi has a closed personality so he generally won’t be the first to kiss but if you do, he will certainly be the one to deepen it

Chooses the date place really attentively, remembering all your needs, food choices, allergies and the general vibe you give off

Is the person to spend the night with you completely without doing anything naughty besides sleeping

Pantalone

Would certainly wear a cologne with pheromones on your first date in order to woo you. Not that he’s insecure but he’d definitely like to add up to his charm

Very nice hair styling in gel and possibly perfumed shampoo with a sweet-spicy scent like amber

Neatly manicured nails (lol always in gloves)

Expensive gifts are must-have for him but sometimes he’s afraid he will scare you off with that so does that in moderation

Helps you do shopping, choosing the highest quality goods and balance your spending

Is actually a horny catastrophe but will never push you past kissing and cuddling if you are not ready. When you ask if he is ok with being patient, he nonchalantly responds that he is a grown man and can control his needs

Dottore

Different mask on every date

Gifts you his vial earring as a token of his affection

He’s not very touchy and it is exactly the problem! He doesn’t want you to slip off his fingers because of his personality, that’s why he offers you lots of phone calls in order to compensate some other aspects…

Will help you make choices in absolutely different aspects of life because he’s older and also has a unique perspective on things

Can definitely answer your message in the late night if you feel upset

Buys you concert tickets before you do it

Capitano

FLOWERS is a must have on every date with you. The bouquets he gives you are rich and radiant

He’s like a rose with sharp thorns and can demand lots of privacy in the early stages. If he doesn’t feel like it, he won’t go past hand holding and kissing

Asks you a lot about your previous relationships (if you have ones) because he genuinely want to learn more about you. Capi desperately needs to gather every single detail abt you in order to make his company as comfortable as possible for you

Will let you examine his helmet and will certainly let you braid his hair

Tells you epic stories about each one of his scars

Even exhausted from work and with tight schedule will agree to see you at least 3 times a week because he wants to stay close to you so much

Alhaitham

Hardly talks, prefers listening to you

Lets you wear his headphones, but worried you might not like his choice in music (mostly lo fi)

Loves hand holding with you. Does that on every date

Will make sure to finish your dates with kisses even if brief, he just needs your lips on his

Provides you with fast access to Akademiya library if you ever need that

Sits never in front of you, but next to you

Will take you for a late night date only to gaze at the stars afterwards. He finds it romantic and dreamy

Chews mint gum and wears fresh-smelling cologne in order to attract you

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

do you fancy a quickie? word count: 2,5k cw: shameless smut, viktor is a tease (everybody act surprised), no use of y/n, reader is reffered to as spouse. what else? ah yes. semi-public sex.

art cr: @arcanescribbles. saw her viktor in formal wear and instanly knew i had to write something mentioning it. *standard 'english is not my first language please don't be mean to me' bullshit*

It felt immaculate. The languid wince of bright eyes, the smirk you were wearing — chiselled just perfectly precisely for a moment like this, as if you were an inborn heartthrob rejecting unfortunate suitors left and right — a natural, if you will. 

“I appreciate the compliment,” you started from a far, making sure — patently by total accident — to casually snake a dextrous hand up your chest, resting it right above your cleavage — just where that fool’s eyes were devouring you. “But I am simply not interested. I’m married.”

You’re savoring the drop of his face when he notices the ring. You just wiped a grin off a man’s face with class — surely, that must’ve felt spectacular, and you rejoiced when he hummed — suddenly all clumsy and simply pitiful — and, with a rather impolite mumble of a sharp ‘excuse me’, walked away, leaving you all proud and unapproachable. Yeah, that’s right. Don’t ask me for a hand in a dance, gentlemen — because someone has already put a ring on it. 

You got back to chugging on your champagne, lips tightly closed around the rim of that ridiculously fancy glass, although it matched the ridiculously fancy gown you were impressing the so-called select society with tonight. And it actually worked (or so it seems),  since you managed to strike the fancy of the mentioned earlier tipsy sir, who were now pouting his lips like an offended child, turning his subtle drunkenness into a full-blown intoxication; squinting, and ranting, and swallowing yet another drink as he kept whining about your flawless rejection to a bunch of sympathetic peers. 

But you couldn’t care less — not when you were just minutes away from leaving this bougie ballroom behind, with all its curious glances and endless mingling; so many faces, when you only wanted to stare into the sharpness of one — with two moles piercing the pale canvas of skin and cheekbones hollow enough to stroke a soft finger over the lines of them, demanding a kiss. You sigh — almost dreamily in the way your head wearily leans its weight onto the back of your palm. So cliché, but who are they to blame you? Not when your husband is such a sight, and certainly not when your husband is such a sound — raspy, low, and, frankly – simply hot, and you giggle at the thought, sinking two front teeth into the pad of your thumb. 

You barely understand a word when Viktor tells the inquisitive Upsiders about the Hexclaw glove, yet still absorb each moment of his speech with tender thoroughness, because listening to him talk — about anything, really — is a privilege, one you cherished dearly and with genuine care. You were an admirer, watching him — all intelligent and so pensive, in that suit, with that raw passion in the depth of copper eyes, on that stage. And comprehension is not necessary — not when you see how talking about his inventions lights him up; so bright, that he could easily outshine the golden boy. In your loving eyes, at the very least. 

He notices when you join the round of enthusiastic applause, quietly thanking his audience for the attention — pensive and polite, so uniquely pretty in his demureness. It feels like showing him off, and that grin stretches even further across your face when he goes down the stage to walk up in your direction. 

You’re not subtle with that kiss. Pulling on his tie, shamelessly pushing your tongue into his mouth, knowing that they stare, and when Viktor — all wide-eyed and smitten — reciprocates, humming into the heat of your lips, you’re gone. He’s breathless when it’s over, arches a thick eyebrow in a curious manner, sinking your proud expression in. 

“What was that for?” he chuckles, feeling the damage done to his bottom lip with your teeth. 

“Can’t I kiss my husband simply because I felt like it?” you purr in response, greedily eyeing him. 

He laughs. You stroke a hand over the rise of his chest, and he clutches his cane — the pretty one for special occasions, with elegant carving and gilding. 

A thin arm wrapped around your waist coaxes you to jump off the stool, allowing him to steal an embrace. Can’t resist Viktor in a suit. In his other attire too, of course, but god does he look spectacular all dressed up. It’s almost like he was made for all the blazers, vests, and ironed shirts — an inborn gentleman, sickeningly handsome.  

His gaze travels down, to the oh so taunting cut of the silky dress: a peek of garter holding the elegant stocking, and you notice just how he relentlessly fails not to drool over you too shamelessly.

“How was my, er, speech?” he asks, practically forcing himself to rip those eyes off your hip. “I suppose it went rather well — very laconically, if I do say so myself. However, I’m afraid that Jayce is much more natural when it comes to keeping the audience entertained.”

“I was too busy listening to you to pay much attention to the golden boy,” you confess, straightening his vest for him — another excuse to touch him, but Viktor decides to touch you instead.

“That is rather disrespectful,” he scoffs, gently capturing your wrist into the warmth of his hand, and before you can react — presses a chaste kiss to the back of your palm. Damn him and his gentlemanly tricks. 

“Perhaps,” you shrug, giggling when his breath tickles your knuckles. “But you did amazing. Truly.”

“I am flattered,” he acknowledges, letting go of your wrist. His touch lingers there — warm and domestic, a wordless way of returning the courtesy. “I hope that my brief absence didn’t bore you too much?”

“Not in the slightest,” you assured him with a wry smile, and he met your words with another inquisitive hum. “Some very persistent gentleman kept trying to convince me that I need an interlocutor.”

“Is that so?” the inventor asked, evidently amused by your revelation. “And just how did that go for him, may I ask?”

“He was heartbroken to hear that I was married, you see,” you sigh, and your lips protrude into a pout — one of fake, rather comical sympathy.

“What a pity,” Viktor retorted, blessing your ears with that low, raspy laugh of his. “I hope the news didn’t crush him.” 

“Ah, don’t even bother. You hope they did.”

“What an accusation,” he exclaims, and your hands ache to strangle him with that pretty tie. “Though not an entirely unreasonable one, I must admit.”

“My point exactly,” you bite back, and your arms rush to be wrapped around the bastard's neck, chest pressed flush to his, heartbeats mingling into a mess of thuds. 

Sinewy fingers don’t hesitate to slip into the cut of your dress. They also don’t falter to cautiously crawl into the band of your stocking, almost forcing you to whimper his name into the crook of his neck — an indirect plea to proceed in private. 

“Such a mouthy thing,” Viktor whispers, and you’re done with him, almost ready to demand he bends you over in front of those very Topsiders. “Just what shall I do with you, hm?” 

He’s hard against your thigh, even a hint of friction has him jolting, hissing a quiet curse into your mouth when he occupies it with a kiss again — one too lewd to be appropriate for public eyes. 

“You should steal me away,” you suggest, staring into the madness of heavy eyes piercing yours. “For some fresh air, of course.”

“Fresh air?” he mocks, shaking his head in fake disapproval. “Is that the only reason? Not that I’m reluctant to be alone with you — quite the opposite, actually. I simply doubt that it’s the real, eh… purpose of the encounter you’re suggesting.”

Fuck’s sake. He’s utterly incorrigible. Thanks Janna you love this man. 

You sigh, struggling to suppress the urge to slap him. 

“Do you fancy a quickie?” you finally surrender, knowing damn well that out-smartassing Viktor is simply impossible. Besides — the way his lips stretch into a thin handsome line feels greater than any meaningless pleasure a well-aimed smart comment could ever bring.

It feels even better when his mouth hovers above your ear, purring a sweet, “I most certainly do.”

***

You squeak when he presses you against the cool bathroom wall, and a cautious hand cradles the back of your head, preventing it from repeating the dreary fate of his cane, which had just hit the floor with a loud thud. You, on the other hand — no pun intended, of course — are not that careful with your limbs, fingers already tangled into his hair, messing up its unusually neat style. He’s kissing you with desperation: rush didn’t leave him any time for hesitation, but you’ll gladly take him like this — all frantic, cock an aching swell inside his finest dress pants. 

“Darling,” he keens, licking at the fresh proof of his lust after you, as if trying to soothe the pain from his teeth needling into the softness of your neck. 

“Yes?” you breathe out, thoughts a mush of smutty images, but the limited privacy of this bathroom is not enough for a full-course debauchery. They call it a quickie for a reason. 

His hand slips under your gown, shamelessly kneading the plumpness of ass, ready to free you of the lace underwear. 

“No,” you pull away, shaking your head with a sharp inhale. “We don’t have time for this.” Your outfit is too impractical to allow him the pleasure of undressing you even partially, even though you’d love to let him have his way with you.

“But, beloved, isn’t that what we’re here for?” he protests, but you shut him up with another kiss, and, while he suffocates against your mouth, smoothly turn him around, firmly capturing between the wall and your softly pushed between his legs knee.

“I had other plans,” you reply, kissing down his jugular — some brief foreplay before abruptly sinking down.

“Oh,” he lets out a shaky laugh, leaning that bright head against the wall, but his eyes never leave yours — they attentively follow your every motion, carnal need thickly seeping out of them. “You’ll get on your knees for me? In that dress? My, I might’ve done something good in my past life.” 

“Will you please shut up?” you snarl, fighting with the buttons of his pants, and he nods, figuratively zipping his mouth with one dextrous move of a hand, informing you that his lips are sealed. Viktor knows better than to talk back to a person who’s about to suck him off. Teeth are a rather dangerous weapon.

He tenses up when you tease the head of his cock — slightly swollen flesh a pretty shade of pink, so sensitive that it twitches against the warmth of your fingers when you wrap them around the hilt.

He goes quiet, but not purely for the sake of not getting caught. He watches you in fascination: mouth forms a silent ‘ah’ the second you dip your tongue into the slit, and precum coats its tip, all sticky and bitterish. You both know he won’t last long — your next ministration proves it, relentlessly riding him of his wits. 

You kiss at his shaft with tenderness, to the point when it becomes barely palpable, so he squirms, demanding the resumption, and you can’t help but smile against the velvety skin of his tip. Pearly liquid clings to your bottom lip, forming a translucent trail — a mixture of him mingled with your saliva; just enough lubrication to slip lower, licking at the sensitive frenulum. Viktor lets out an illegible sound — you recognise a keen of your name in it, and it earns him one languid stroke — just the tiniest mercy. 

“Don’t you just love to torture me?” he sighs, looking down — all vulnerable and pretty, weak knees threatening to start trembling any second. 

“I’m only using your weapons against you,” a sweet reproach rolls of the very tongue you’re tormenting him with, and he swallows the most delicious whimper when you swirl it around the tip — once, twice, but thrice is what finally has him slapping a palm over his open mouth to muffle a dirty moan. 

He abstains from grabbing a handful of your hair, reluctant to ruin its whimsical style — because at least one of the spouses has to be an actually considerate lover. His long legs are struggling to keep in place, relentlessly spreading apart with each bob of your head — but he’s leaned against the wall securely enough not to fall. 

You swallow around him in a rather messy rhythm, but it still manages to reduce Viktor to a mush of babbles and incoherent praises. You have him by the balls — quite literally, because your free from squeezing his width hand is cruel enough to knead them, dragging more throaty sounds of pleasure out the thrusting into your mouth man. 

You’re fucking him with skill, painfully aware of just what goes through his head in this exact moment: that orgasm will be intense enough to hurt, making him wish you’d rather proceeded with those teasing licks and fleeting kisses. His hips jerk when you suppress the gag, taking him whole, not a single inch left without your thorough attention. Even the hand shoving those moans back into his lungs doesn’t stop him from letting out the most embarrassingly high-pitched keen — it breaks free when he coats your tongue in warm spurts of thick cum. You stick it out, allowing him a pornographic view of exactly what he’d just done to you, and he almost sobs, completely forgetting about his initial intentions of keeping quiet. 

“Gods a-above,” he stutters, suffocating like he’s the one whose mouth was just frantically fucked, wiping his release off your lips with his trembling thumb — a gesture of gratitude, tender in comparison to the curses he was panting just seconds ago. 

The air is thick with the smell of sex, raunchy enough for anyone who decides to walk into this bathroom to meticulously define what the two of you had just committed in it. Even getting off your knees and tucking him back into his pants wouldn’t help your condition — the pure way Viktor looks at you right now makes it all appallingly obvious. One doesn’t need to become a witness of the intercourse itself to confidently state “They’ve just fucked, Your Honor.” It’s written on both of your faces, on the mess of his hair, and, of course — on the burning under the thin material of stockings redness of your knees. 

You accept his touch, swallowing the remnants of his climax still covering your tired tongue, and he sighs, engraving the sight into his mind — probably to get off to the thought of it someday. But you decide not to tease him about it. You’re not that evil after all. 

You’ve never stormed out of the bathroom so fast before, all trembling limbs and nasty giggles —  the afterglow of your shared secret, dirty enough to banish Viktor from the Academy. 

He’ll recall it later, most definitely next Progress Day, when you’ll wrap those impatient arms around his neck, whispering a famous “Do you fancy a quickie?” into his ear again. 

Except for this time, your outfit will be easily removable. 

[schemmentigfs]

Sweetening The Deal. (part 11.)

Summary: your first time with Melissa Schemmenti is the equivalent of paradise on its purest form.

tags: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @kukikatt @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10.

Good girl. Those words easily made your heart stop.

When Melissa Schemmenti calls you her good girl, your heart stirs, like a soft breeze brushing over still water. It’s not just a phrase; it’s a tender thread that weaves through the fabric of your very soul, a gentle, sweet ache that dances between your ribs and settles deep in your chest. It’s an affirmation, one that feels like a secret, only between you and her, a promise in her voice that wraps around you like a warm embrace.

The words slip from the redheaded woman’s lips with such ease, but for you, they carry weight, like a whispered prayer, as if you are hearing it for the first time, yet it's a song you have known all your life. It’s not the words themselves but the way they make you feel—a delicate, almost fragile thing, cherished in its own raw vulnerability. The simplicity of it makes you feel seen, in a way that nothing else can. Like the world outside has quieted, leaving only the space between their hearts, where you are both held and adored, soft but strong.

You have always been wary of your own worth, but in that moment, when she speaks those two words, it feels as though the air around you is charged, thick with the warmth of unconditional acceptance. It’s a balm to the wounds you hide so carefully, a kind of softness that pierces through you, unraveling the pieces of yourself that were once too guarded. It’s not submission but a gentle surrender—one that she offers freely, knowing it is not demanded but given, as a gift, as a love so complete it makes her tremble.

As red lips and flat tongue trail down your folds, every inch of your skin ignites with sensation, a heat that spreads like wildfire. The feeling is intimate, consuming, every touch of this mouth marking you as hers. It’s not just physical; it’s a slow unraveling, a delicate surrender to the pleasure that only Melissa knows how to give.

There’s a rawness in it, an intensity that draws every part of her attention to the present moment, to the way she moves with such purpose, with such reverence. Every breath you take is sharp, caught somewhere between longing and release, as her warmth spreads over your most sensitive and delicate parts.

Your body arches instinctively, seeking more, chasing the heady mixture of tenderness and heat. The contrast between the green eyed woman’s pure softness and the firm press of her tongue causes your mind to scatter, every thought becoming a blur, except for the overwhelming sensation of being loved in this way. It’s not just physical pleasure, but something deeper—a melding of their souls, a raw and beautiful intimacy that goes beyond skin. The rhythm of her mouth is rhythmic, almost hypnotic, drawing her deeper into the abyss of pleasure and trust.

Your hands clutch the sheets, the cool fabric grounding you as every nerve in your body sings with want. The feeling of Melissa’s pink tongue, so deliberate and skilled, makes you pulse with a kind of desperate need, one that only this moment, only this connection can fill. This is where you belong—here, in those strong arms, in the softness of her touch and the strength of her love. The world outside of this room, outside of this bond, no longer exists. There is only this, only the deep trust you feel in the way she takes her time, in the way she listens to your body and answers with devotion.

As Melissa continues, each movement, each kiss on your most sensitive parts, feels like a prayer, a reverent act of worship, and you can’t help but surrender completely, allowing yourself to be consumed, to be adored in this way. Your heart races in tandem with the rhythm of their intimacy, the pressure building inside, a delicious tension that tightens in your chest and lower belly. The pleasure swells inside you, and with every stroke, every subtle shift of her mouth, you are definitely overwhelmed with the sensation of being both cherished and owned. Good girl is still in your ears, and it hums within you like a constant echo, reminding you of the love that laces every action, every touch.

Her tongue finds its destination with deliberate precision, the warm, wet pressure against your harden clit drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. It’s not gentle, not tentative—Schemmenti knows exactly what she’s doing, and the confidence in her movements sends a jolt of electricity through your body. Your thighs tremble, but the redhead’s manicured hands are there, firm and steady, gripping your hips and thighs to hold you in place, as if grounding you to this moment. Her grip is possessive, her nails pressing just enough to leave a hint of sensation that only adds to the overwhelming pleasure.

A sweet sound of Melissa’s needy moan vibrates against your pussy, and the sensation sends your head spinning, back arching off the mattress as a raw curse spills from you. “Fuck, baby. That tounge feels so good.”

The words come out breathless, broken, and you can barely recognize your own voice. The heat pooling in your belly intensifies as your possible girlfriend’s tongue moves in perfect rhythm, flicking and circling your clit, each motion calculated to pull you closer and closer to the edge.

The older woman doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter. Instead, she hums softly, almost smugly, against you, the vibrations shooting sparks of pleasure up your damn spine. Moans mix with the wet, sinful sounds of her mouth working tirelessly, and the combination is enough to drive you wild. Your palms clutch at the sheets again, twisting them as your body writhes, caught between trying to pull away from the intensity and pressing closer to ride Melissa’s sinful mouth.

“Goddamn, Lis, please—” your voice is ragged, laced with desperation, the words slipping out between sharp breaths. Your figure is alight, every nerve ending focused on the way Melissa’s tongue lavishes attention on your clit, alternating between firm, slow strokes and quick, teasing flicks. Hands tighten on your shaky thighs, pulling them even wider apart as if she needs more of you, all of you. The possessiveness in her grip, the raw hunger in her moans, sends shivers down your soul spine, teetering on the brink.

Her relentless tongue doesn’t falter for a second, but soon, you feel the unmistakable press of her fingers, teasing at your dripping entrance. It’s slow at first, deliberate, as though Melissa is savoring every moment of your unraveling. The sensation of her sucking and circling your pebble paired with the gentle, probing touch of her digits pulls a broken moan from your throat, her body convulsing as you gasp for air.

Green eyes look at you while she takes her time, sliding one finger in, curling it perfectly to find that spot that makes more curses spill out uncontrollably. “Fuck, Melissa, oh my—” 

Your tone is trembling, desperate, every word dragged out by the pleasure coursing through you. She grunts against your tight cunt in response, the vibrations sparking another jolt of electricity through your core. The thing is she knows exactly what she’s doing, knows how to pull you apart with maddening precision.

“Such a good girl for me,” Melissa murmurs against you, her tone husky and dripping with affection, even as she adds a second finger, stretching just enough to make you whine sharply. Her praise, her touch—it’s too much and not enough all at once, and your hips buck against her, seeking more, chasing the fire that’s building higher and higher inside you.

The redhead’s grip on your thighs tightens, keeping you steady as her fingers pump in and out in perfect rhythm, her mouth leaving your clit to lick and plug your entrance. The combination is dizzying, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge, every flick sending you spiraling further into bliss. She moans again, the sound satisfying and deep, vibrating through you in a way that makes your whole vision blur.

“Babe,” you grab her auburn curls as tightly as you can. “I need to cum, please.”

You pant and break, words dissolving into a sharp cry as fingers curl just right, hitting that spot with an intensity that leaves you shaking. It feels like everything it’s on fire, every nerve alight with sexual tension, your mind lost in the sensation of Melissa Ann Catarina Schemmenti consuming you completely. The pure wet, obscene sounds of fingers moving inside you combined with the strong scent of sex filling the bedroom, soft hum of her tongue on your pussy it’s overwhelming, intoxicating.

Melissa looks up briefly, her olive eyes blazing with hunger, the sight alone enough to make you tremble. “C’mon, pretty girl,” she commands. “Let me feel you. Cum for me.”

This is the final push, and with one last nurse of her tongue, one perfect thrust of her fingers, you fall apart completely, your figure shuddering violently as the climax of the orgasm rips through you. Curses melt into incoherent cries and screams, your hips trembling as the forty-five year old holds you through it, her mouth and fingers working her through every wave of pleasure until you’re left trembling and begging for rest.

Minutes pass and she pulls away just long enough to hover over you, her breath heavy and ragged as her hands grip your hips, positioning you just right. She spreads your legs wide, guiding you into position so that your bodies can press together, your clits brushing softly at first, then harder, the friction sending a rush of heat through both of you. It’s new, unfamiliar—raw and intimate—and every touch, every shift makes it feel like the world is unraveling around you and her.

Your heart stops at the first contact, the electric spark between you making your stomach tighten. Melissa moans loud, her eyes fluttering closed as the sensation builds, as your pussies slide against each other in a maddening rhythm. The sound is guttural, needy, like a prayer escaping her lips. Her hands grip your thighs, her fingers digging in as if she’s trying to hold on to this moment, but nothing feels like it’s enough. Nothing is slow enough, soft enough.

“God, fuck, you feel so good,” the older woman gasps, shaky and raw, her tone breathless and frantic as she rolls her hips against yours, feeling your buds rub together in an agonizingly slow, steady motion. Olive eyes flutter open, locking with yours, and she watches your face, her mouth parted with each breathless whimper that escapes.

“Melly,” you try to speak but she interrupts quickly.

“You like this? Yeah, I know you do. So fuckin’ perfect,” Melissa groans, her pupils blow with desire. “Jesus, you’re making me lose my mind.”

Your own breath is ragged, your nails scratching her curves as both bodies grind together. The friction is intense, and yet the two of you seem to hold back, not letting the release come too soon. You are caught in the building pressure, each movement pushing further toward the edge without quite letting you fall.

“Ohh shit, yes, yes, yes!” your body shudders as you try to hold on, but Melissa doesn’t let you escape. She keeps pushing, keeps rolling her hips harder against yours— almost bouncing—every moment an invitation to something more.

She breaks, her moan deep and drawn out, almost a growl. “Don’t you dare cum yet, baby,” she whispers desperately. “I need to give you permission first.”

The redheaded woman forces herself to slow down, to keep the pressure building, her green eyes rolling back in her head as she tries to hold onto the feeling without giving in. The heat builds and builds, your bodies slick with sweat, and each brush against each other sends both of you spiraling closer to the orgasm without releasing.

“Please...” you beg while trembling with need, hips rising to meet each press of hers, desperate for more. The tension is unbearable, both of you are teetering on the brink, lost in the feeling of each other’s bodies so close, so intertwined.

Melissa can hardly breathe, her movements becoming frantic as she chases the same release that you do, but neither gives in. “Holy fuck, honey, I can’t—” she gasps, her voice a broken plea, as her hips grind harder, faster, chasing the feeling, losing herself in your warmth. “You are so sweet, so warm. So delicious.”

The sexual tension is obvious, like a coil tightening, but then, a small shift in the way you move catches her off guard—your hand slides down, palm flat, and then wraps around the curve of her pale ass, squeezing it firmly. The sudden touch sends a jolt of heat through the sicilian, a wave of arousal that makes her entire body tighten with want.

She whimpers, louder now, her lashes fluttering as the sensation of your hand on her ass forces her to slow down just for a moment, savoring the feeling of being held, of being claimed in such an intimate way after a long time. The pressure of your palm is possessive, urgent, and it stirs something deep within Melissa. She can feel your fingertips digging into the flesh of her ass, the way it moves in a slow, teasing circle, feeling the curve and muscle beneath her skin. It’s like a spark, igniting the very core of her desire.

Your grip on her ass tightens, squeezing again, pulling her closer, and Melissa’s breath catches in her throat. The touch is everything—dominant, possessive, and incredibly tender all at once—and it sends shivers down her spine. It makes her feel raw, vulnerable, as if this connection is something far more than just sex. It’s an unspoken claim, a promise, a shared understanding.

“For fuck’s sake. Keep touching me like that," the redhead gasps, her breath hitching as she moves against you. ”I need you, amore. I need you... so bad.”

The connection deepens with every touch, every movement. It’s like you’re both desperately holding on to each other, not wanting to break the spell, not yet ready to give in completely. The heat between you grows unbearable, as the beautiful Melissa Schemmenti continues to feel the steady pressure of your hand, the way you hold her, owns her in this moment. Every stroke, every grind, pulls you both closer and closer to the release you can’t hold off much longer.

And just like that a single word escapes from your deep throat, breathy and trembling, a word that sends an electric shock through her entire body. “Mommy.”

The title hits Melissa like a punch to the gut, a shock of raw desire shooting through her veins. She freezes for a second. She stops. She swears she can feel her heart skip a beat, her mind barely able to process how right it sounds coming from your lips.

The way you say it, soft but desperate, the word laced with something possessive and needy, ignites something deep inside of her. A wave of heat floods her body, her core tightening with an almost primal lust. Mommy—green eyes flash with something else, something raw and untamed as the word reverberates in her head, making her head spin. She’s been called Mommy before by other women and men, but never like this—not with such unrestrained need, such will. It’s as if you poured your entire soul into that single word, and it wraps around Melissa like a vice, pulling her deeper into this moment. Her breathing fails, her manicured hands trembling slightly before they grip you tighter, her hips grinding down harder as the sensation threatens to undo her completely.

The green eyed woman groans, before she’s leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, her mouth hot and demanding. The kiss is intense, filled with heat and Melissa can’t stop herself from pulling you closer, deepening the kiss as her fingers dig into your flushed skin.

“Fuck, don’t say that,” she growls against your mouth. “You’re gonna make me insane.” The plea come out between hungry kisses, her lips hot against yours, as she starts to kiss you more fiercely, more urgently. Each time your lips meet, she can feel the tension rising, her body on the edge of giving in completely. She bites down on your lower lip, tugging it gently, as her hands slide to your hips, guiding her into a rhythm that makes both shudder.

“Mommy, please fuck me,” you whine, seeking for more.

“Mommy....goddamn,” Melissa curses, the satisfaction in her voice unmistakable. She can’t control the way her body reacts to the word, the way it pulls her deeper into the moment, closer to the madness of this connection. It feels like a dangerous secret, a boundary crossed, and she can’t help but kiss you harder, more desperately.

Bodies move against each other, the friction making the world blur around you, your kisses messy and frantic as the two of you chase that dizzying height. Your hand grips auburn curls, tugging her closer, urging her to continue, and with every touch, every kiss, the Schemmenti woman feels herself unraveling more, her control slipping.

“You like that, don’t you?” she prompts between kisses. “You like calling me Mommy.”

“I-I do,” you agree as the intensity of the moment overwhelms you. The way Melissa is kissing you, everything about this feels urgent, almost desperate. It’s as though you are both clinging to something, unwilling to let go, pushing forward without hesitation.

The redheaded woman sees the nod, the silent agreement, and her body takes over, moving faster, harder, the rhythm building into something electric. She lets out a breathy moan, feeling your body press into hers, the friction becoming a steady wave of pleasure that floods through her. Each thrust, each roll of her hips, makes feel like her control is slipping, losing its grip as she pushes harder, her figure desperate for cumming.

“Holy fuck, this is the best thing I ever felt in all my life,” Melissa grunts.

She moves faster, her movements becoming more frantic, more intense. She feels your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer, encouraging her to go deeper, to give you more. The pace quickens, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the air as her sharp nails dig in, guiding your movements as you become almost frantic in their need for each other.

“Say it again,” the older woman breathes, her words a desperate plea, her mouth hovering just over your ear. “Call me mommy again, and I’ll make you feel so good.”

“Mommy,” you smile softly and the word along with the grin has the power to send Melissa into a frenzy.

“That’s it,” she mutters. “Fuck, you’re mine. All mine.”

The speed escalates as the pressure mounts, Melissa’s movements become more urgent. Her breath hitches, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she feels herself on the edge, just a moment away from falling into the intensity of your shared climax.

Her face twists, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her usually composed exterior. It’s a moment of rawness, of surrender, and it’s impossible for her to hide it. The muscles in her jaw tighten as she moans softly, her lips parting as she gasps for air. Her olive eyes, usually so full of control, now glimmer with something desperate, something wild. Her brows furrow in pleasure, her mouth opening as she chokes out a low, broken curse.

“Fuck,” she gasps barely more than a breath. “I’m going to cum. Please babygirl, make Mommy come.” The look on her face, that unmistakable sign of the climax building inside her, makes her pant harder. She presses her forehead against yours, lips barely brushing as she moves faster, harder, chasing the moment she knows is about to explode.

You see it—see the raw expression on her symmetrical face, the way her muscles strain, the way she’s losing herself in the intensity of their connection. It’s a moment of pure vulnerability, one that strips away any walls, any barriers. And it only drives you to meet her with equal fervor, pushing both to the edge, to the precipice of everything you have been building.

Melissa’s grip tightens, her breathing becoming ragged as she lets out a strangled cry. It’s clear now—she’s right there, on the edge, and everything inside her is unraveling in waves of heat. Her glistening lips part, her green eyes half-closed, and for a moment, she’s lost to the intensity of it, no longer able to hold back, no longer caring if she shows how close she is.

In that moment, it’s impossible to ignore the raw, unfiltered truth in her expression. She’s coming undone, and it’s the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

As you and her reach the edge, the tension in the air snaps, and everything comes crashing down in waves. Melissa’s curvy body tenses as her breath catches in her throat, the rush of pleasure flooding through her. She gasps, a low, guttural moan escaping her lips as she finally gives in, her body shuddering uncontrollably on top of you. Her grip loosens slightly, her hand falling to the bed as she breathes out a string of curses, the overwhelming sensation of release pulling her further into the moment.

You follow close behind, the feeling of your souls and bodies connecting, sending you spiraling into your own climax. It’s like an explosion, a wave of warmth and satisfaction that fills you completely.

When it’s over, when the tremors slowly fade, Melissa pulls away, her body slumping back onto the bed. She rolls onto her back, her arm coming over her eyes to shield herself from the harsh light. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as the aftermath of everything lingers in her body. She feels exhausted, her muscles sore, but it’s a good kind of ache.

“Jesus Mary and Joseph…” the redhead giggles on a hushed rasp. She doesn’t even move at first, letting herself bask in the quiet aftermath, feeling the soft sheets beneath her. The world feels like it’s slowed down, like time has stopped for just a moment, and she can finally catch her breath.

Her arm remains across her eyes, a shield from the vulnerability she feels in the aftermath. It’s not shame, not exactly—just the rawness of the moment, of everything she just shared. She’s always been one to keep her composure, to stay in control, but now, in this quiet afterglow, she lets herself be a little exposed.

“Fuck..” she says again, quieter this time, as she tries to steady her breathing, still feeling the thrum of their connection coursing through her. “That was...” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Words feel unnecessary now, and instead, she just exhales deeply, her arm slowly lowering as she lets herself relax into the bed, her chest rising and falling slowly with each breath.

Slowly, you reach out, her fingers gentle as you brush it against Melissa’s arm, sliding it away from her face.

The forty-five year old doesn’t resist. She lets you uncover her, her arm falling limply to the side, revealing flushed cheeks and strands of auburn hair sticking to her damp forehead. Her skin glistens with sweat, and her lips are parted slightly, still swollen from the kisses. Olive eyes flutter open, hazy and dazed, and for a moment, she just stares back at you, her breathing still uneven.

You cup her face delicately, thumbs brushing over the soft, warm skin of her cheeks. The sight of her like this—vulnerable, flushed, and utterly spent—sends a wave of affection through you. Melissa Schemmenti, who’s always so composed and in control, now looks completely undone, her green eyes soft and filled with something unspoken

“You’re so beautiful,” you sigh quitely.

Red lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile. “You're staring,” though there’s no real protest behind the words. If anything, there’s a softness there, a quiet vulnerability she rarely shows.

“I can’t help it. You’re... breathtaking like this.”

The woman chuckles weakly, the sound more like a breathless exhale. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” Her hand comes up to rest over yours, holding it gently against her cheek. She leans into the touch, letting herself relax completely for the first time, her walls completely down.

Hours later, the night casted shadows that danced on the walls. Melissa and you lay tangled together in the aftermath of everything, your bodies entwined in a warm cocoon of sheets and limbs. She was resting her head on your chest, her body draped over yours, her soft breaths creating a gentle rhythm as she pressed her lips to your skin in the quiet moments between kisses.

“You're my beautiful girl,” your lover whispered, the praise full of meaning, more intimate than anything she had said before. She lifted her head just enough to look into your eyes, her expression tender, her auburn hair tousled from the night. Her fingers brushed against your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw as if memorizing the feel of you.

“Yeah?” you prompted nervously but still gently.

“Actually…my girlfriend,” the redheaded woman added, her voice a little more tentative, but no less genuine.

A soft giggle bubbled up from your chest as you shifted, bringing her closer as you rolled onto your side, your arms wrapped around her waist. You kissed her again, slow and sweet, not rushed but languid, the kind of kiss that carried everything you couldn’t quite put into words.

The weight of the moment was heavy in the best way possible, and you found yourself smiling as your fingers tangled in her hair. “I love you.”

For a split second, the world seemed to stop. Melissa gulped, her eyes widening, searching yours as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. Her lips parted, and for a moment, she looked lost in thought, her gaze flickering between your eyes, her hands trembling where they rested on your body.

Then, without warning, tears welled up in her olive eyes, the dam breaking as she blinked rapidly. “Oh my god,” she breathed. She buried her face against your chest, her sobs quiet but intense, as though she were overwhelmed by the weight of your confession.

You held her tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she shook with the force of her emotions. “It’s okay,” you whispered, your voice soothing, comforting, as she clung to you, her breath hitching with each sob.

“I—” Melissa gasped, her words caught in her throat as she lifted her head to look at you again, her face streaked with tears but glowing with something else—something radiant. “I love you, too. I love you so much, my beautiful angel.”

You smiled, the weight of everything—of the love, the joy, the uncertainty that had once been there—feeling lighter than air now. With her in your arms, everything finally made sense.

After a long deserved rest, the morning light of dawn crept into the bedroom, painting it in muted shades of gold and pink and casting a glow over the rumpled sheets and tangled limbs on the bed. Melissa stirred first, letting out a groan as her body reminded her of the intensity of the night before. Every muscle seemed to ache in the most delicious way, and she stretched out slowly, wincing slightly. Her hair was a wild mess, a lion’s mane of auburn curls sticking out in every direction, and her eyes were barely open as she sat up, scratching the back of her head.

She looked over at you, still fast asleep, your face serene and buried in the pillows. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she took in the sight of you—her beautiful girl, her girlfriend. The title still felt new and thrilling in her mind, making her chest tighten with warmth.

The redheaded woman swung her legs over the side of the bed, groaning softly again as she stood up, wrapping her silk robe around her sore body. She padded barefoot into the kitchen, craving the comfort of a cigarette and something sweet. Spotting a bowl of fresh strawberries on the counter, she plucked a few, popping one into her mouth as she slid the glass door open and stepped onto the villa’s terrace.

The cool air hit her freckled skin, waking her up slightly as she lit her cigarette with practiced ease. The first drag calmed her, and she exhaled a long stream of smoke, leaning against the railing. The view of the lake below was breathtaking, but her thoughts were far from the scenery.

She reached for her phone on the patio table, scrolling through her contacts until she found the name she was looking for. With a quick tap, the call began ringing, and soon, the familiar, warm voice of Pearl came through the line.

“Missy? What’re you doin’ calling me this early? Did somethin’ happen?” The housekeeper’s voice carried its usual mix of care and mild irritation, like a mother fussing over a grown child.

“Well,” Melissa began, her voice still raspy from sleep, “you won’t believe what happened last night.” She sounded like a teenager sharing a secret, the awe and excitement in her tone undeniable.

“Oh, this I gotta hear. Lemme guess—your girl finally made you stop actin’ like a fool?”

The youngest laughed, taking another drag of her cigarette before blowing the smoke out slowly. “Yeah. She’s my girl now, officially. God, Pearl, she’s... she’s somethin’ else.” Her free hand gestured vaguely, as if trying to articulate something too big for words. “We stayed up talkin’, kissin’, touchin’—you know. And I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.”

A low hum of approval camethrough the phone. “About time, Mel. You’ve been floatin’ around, scared of commitment, for too long. This one’s different, huh?”

Melissa nodded, even though Pearl couldn’t see her. “Yeah. She’s different. She makes me feel... alive. Like I’ve been waitin’ for her my whole damn life.” She paused, her voice growing softer. “She called me her angel. Can you believe that? Me? An angel.”

“Well, you better treat her right, then. No runnin’, no hidin’. Just love her, Melissa.”

“I will,” the green eyed woman promised, popping another strawberry into her mouth and savoring the sweetness. “I’m all in, P. No more games.”

They chatted a little longer before Melissa ended the call, feeling lighter and more certain than ever. She flicked her cigarette into the ashtray, wiped her hands on her robe, and padded back inside, her bare feet making soft sounds against the tiled floor.

When she entered the bedroom, the sight of you still curled up in bed made her heart skip a beat. She slipped off her robe, letting it pool on the floor, and quietly locked the door behind her. The breeze was warm against her naked self as she slid back under the covers, her body naturally gravitating toward yours.

You stirred slightly, your face instinctively nuzzling against her stomach, hiding there like it was the safest place in the world. Your girlfriend chuckled softly, running her fingers through your hair as she sighed, feeling a wave of tenderness wash over her.

“You’re so precious to me, you know that?” she pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You hummed sleepily, your arms wrapping around her waist as you pulled her closer, and Melissa couldn’t help but smile, her heart swelling with a love that felt almost too big for her chest.

This was home. This was everything.

[gigiszn]

A NORMAL TUESDAY — gwinam x fem!reader.

 ۫ ꣑ৎ ｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄! don't get pissy if this is too much for u, this is a smut and youve been warned. please let me know if you want more stuff like this tho! i actually enjoyed stepping out of my comfort zone with this one, since i've never really written smut before. don't shame me for my first time writing lol

tw: language, abuse, smut (+18) mdni, sub!reader, dom!gwinam, choking, degradation, breeding, spanking, carving into skin, p in v, dacryphilia, fingering.

wc: 2.2k

 ۫ ꣑ৎ ｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

Jieun’s tendency to stay to herself had always been both a refuge and a burden. Tonight felt like any other—routine, familiar. She returned home, took a shower, and possibly sobbed for minutes, hours—Who wouldn't after the constant terrorization? Then again, who would have guessed that tonight would be different?

Her father, as usual, waved her off with a dismissive hand, demanding her to run to the local store for groceries and beer. With a quiet sigh, Jieun left the house, her steps heavy with frustration. The night air was colder than she expected, but eventually, her pace slowed into something more habitual, like she was walking to escape her thoughts.

The streets were unnervingly quiet, the usual hum of the city absent. It was just another Tuesday evening, most people tucked away at home, spending time with their families. Jieun walked past the dim, neon-lit storefronts, their harsh glow flickering in the shadows of the empty street.

She turned into a familiar alley—a shortcut she had taken countless times before. It wasn’t the most well-lit route, but she knew it like the back of her hand. Even at this hour, it was no different than any other night.

Then came the voice.

"You're never going to get it right, are you?" The words pierced the silence, unexpected and sharp. Jieun froze, her pulse quickening as she turned toward it. The tension in the air thickened, but she hesitated, unsure whether to leave or investigate.

"I swear, you keep your grades up, and I'll kill you for good," the voice continued. There was frustration in it, but no immediate anger, just disappointment—a feeling Jieun was all too familiar with.

Her curiosity gnawed at her. She should have walked away, gotten the groceries, and gone home. But something kept her rooted in place, as if some invisible force was pulling her deeper into the alley.

When she finally dared to peek around the corner, the scene before her was strangely surreal. A man, his posture slouched from his clear state of drunkenness, was standing before a boy she recognized all too well—Gwinam.

She hadn’t expected to find him here. His head was bowed, eyes fixed on the ground, his body language closed off. There was something so painfully familiar about his stance, the same way she had often stood in front of that very same boy, shoulders weighed down by the weight of his words. The similarity was striking, almost eerie. It was as if Gwinam, too, was carrying a weight he hadn’t asked for.

Jieun felt her heart tighten. She had seen this look before—the kind of resigned sadness that came when you felt like you weren’t ever going to meet anyone's expectations. The kind of sadness that settled in your chest and never quite let you breathe right.

She almost felt guilty. Almost. But, her mind's screaming finally got her attention. Jieun furrowed her brow to herself. What the hell was she thinking?

Pity? For the same boy who'd thrown her against dozens of walls, gripping her neck so tightly he'd left deep bruises? It all replayed in her mind as her senses began to work properly.

His father had left with a final shove, Gwinam's back hitting the hard brick surface behind him. Jieun took this as her cue to leave, spinning on her heel and taking careful strides away.

Clank!

Of course.

Instantly, she froze. Her body was as stiff as a board, foot frozen mid-air as her ears strained. They waited to hear a reaction, a sound, anything. The silence was deafening, and though she should've been happy, the eeriness crept up her spine like a black widow.

A sudden force knocked her down, hard. With a groan, she stood up slowly and rubbed the back of her skull, squinting her eyes.

There he stood, tall and undermining. His height towered over her frame, her eyes fearing and aghast. His slender hand reached up, though it held no remorse.

"Always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, huh?" He muttered as he pushed her against the alley wall, a growing pain echoing on the back of her head.

His free hand reached up, pressing harshly on the back of her skull, a whine emitting from Jieun's throat. He smirked, pulling back his two fingers, now covered in her crimson blood.

"Look what you made me do," he spat, his grip tightening around her neck like a noose, each word dripping with venom. Jieun's frantic attempts to kick and slap felt laughable; her body was a marionette caught in a twisted game.

With a brutal shove, he tossed her against the unforgiving wall, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. The world around them blurred into chaos as her mind raced; freedom was a distant dream now. "Please, Gwinam. I-I swear I didn’t see anything! Just let me go!" Jieun's voice wavered, desperation lacing her plea.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, glistening like diamonds in the harsh light of the streetlamp. He let out a low growl, his head tilting back as he closed the distance between them, an aura of menace radiating from him. Her desperate gaze met his, eyes wide and pleading, but beneath the surface, they held a flicker of arousal; through all her defiance and struggle, she couldn't deny the wetness pooling in her underwear. Jieun had to force her thighs not to clench, the evil smirk on his face hazing her senses even more. His hands reached upward, ruthlessly groping her breasts. He ripped her shirt open, a primal urge flaring in his core at the sight of her breasts bouncing out of her dangerously tight top.

She wanted to fight him, truly. But something inside of her felt so desperate for the attention she'd finally been receiving that it held back her sensibility.

"Girls that misbehave deserve punishment, right, Mouse?" He asked, the cruel teasing tone lingering in the air. Her head shook, hands trembling at the undeniable fear and horniness shooting through her mind and straight down to her throbbing cunt.

"Open." He demanded, raising his index and middle finger upward, covered in her blood. Jieun's hesitation brought a sense of fury in him, gripping her jaw and forcing it open. She gagged as his fingers reached the back of her throat, her own taste of metallic blood pouring down.

His fingers were coated in her saliva, creating a bridge between them. Aggresively, Gwinam pulled her skirt up, manhandling her. She attempted to close her legs, though this only angered the rage-fueled boy further.

He finally managed to get her legs open, using his knee to keep them apart. A whine left Jieun's throat at the sudden pressure between her legs. "You're such a fucking whore," He spat, "Don't act like you don't want this when I can feel your drenched panties."

Roughly shoving her underwear to the side, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he felt her slick coating his already dampened fingers. His left hand now gripping her hair, yanking her head backwards as he began thrusting his fingers upward.

She felt as though she was at her peak already. His fingers scissored repeatedly in her tight pussy, throbbing around his long fingers. Gwinam's fingertips reached her mushy clump of cells, Jieun's eyes widening. Her mouth parted, but no sound dared to come out at the hold he had on her neck. She was so close, just there. And as her eyes shut and thighs clenched, he pulled out just as quick as her climax brinked.

Her eyes shot open as he roughly pressed his lips to hers without giving her a second to think. There was nothing romantic about their kiss. It was purely a way to shut her up and take his frustrations out on something other than the poorly-rehearsed porn he'd been watching.

Their mouths parted with a bridge of saliva between them. Gwinam reached into his pocket, Jieun's senses immediately rushing back to her as the shiny blade was slowly pulled from his pocket. She began to struggle again, but stopped just as quick as he placed the blade ever so closely to her neck.

Her neck was strained, eyes half-open as she tried desperately to pull herself away from the sharp knife. "You scream and I'll cut you apart like the worthless plaything you are." His lips were on her ear, voice barely above a whisper as his hot breath fanned against her.

He brought the knife down, giving Jieun a small sense of relief. Suddenly, her eyes widened as an aching sting formed on her thigh. A choked sob escaped her lips, her hand immediately shooting upwards.

She knew better than to scream after his threat. Gwinam was a lot of things, but he was never one to back down on his word.

Her eyes were filled with tears, a drop landing on the 'G' he was now carving into her leg, blood dripping with the salty-water.

"Take that as a warning," Gwinam smirked, gripping her jaw with one hand. "Each time you scream I'll add another letter to that pretty little thigh of yours."

He began roughly unbuckling his belt, finally pulling his pants and boxers down low enough for his cock to hang free from it's restraints. He lifted her wounded thigh upwards, the burn causing her to hiss.

She felt him rub his tip around her wetness, every touch heightened. She could feel every twitch, every vein, and could hear every soft huff he let out. Finally, he pushed his hips upwards, Jieun's hands finding their way to his shoulders.

Every sane part of her screamed at her to scream, but the rest of her couldn't give her a valid reaction as it was too busy being fucked away.

Their pants and groans were the only things heard in the quiet night, any passerbyers surely able to deduct the unholy actions taking place 10 feet away.

His tip was deep enough inside her she could practically feel it in her stomach. Gwinam groaned as her tight clit throbbed around him, his head resting against the wall behind her.

The taller boy quickly spun her around, shoving her face harshly against the jagged brick. His hand pinned hers behind her back, pulling her ass up in the air. He slid in easily once more, never giving her a chance to adjust as he resumed his ungodly pace and abuse against her aching hole.

Smack!

Jieun let out a sharp gasp and a scream as his hand landed an aggressive hit to her ass. A pink handprint now engraved into the plush surface, Gwinam's movements abruptly stopped.

Her breath hitched in her throat, realizing what she had just done.

"No, no. P-Please," She begged as he spun her around, "I-I'm sorry. I'll be good, I swear." His mouth opened in a groan at her cries, his lips curling into a wider smile than she'd ever seen.

He was getting off on her suffering, and her pleas of mercy only made him closer to cumming all over her clothes.

The blade shimmered as the cool metal dragged around her thigh teasingly. He violently yanked her pale leg upward, pressing the knife into her skin and carving a 'W'.

"We could keep going until I carve my entire name, or you could be a good slut and take my dick," He demanded, lips brushing against hers, "Got it, mouse?" Her eyes squeezed shut, lip trembling as she quickly nodded her head.

Gwinam turned her around once more, gripping her abused cheeks and burying himself in her. His hips were flush against hers, the wet noises and slaps echoing across the acoustic alleyway. The fresh wound dripped blood with every fast thrust, right leg now coated with the ruby liquid.

He continued slapping her ass, adding to the arousal she deeply wanted to rid of. Their parts seemed to mold into each other, the sounds a cacophony of every frustration and desire he wanted to take out on her pretty little body since the day he met her.

"I'm not gonna last—f-fuck." He groaned, hips stuttering as his pounding became sloppier, rhythm breaking. Her forehead was pressed against the wall, mouth open as droplets of drool dripped onto the cement underneath.

"I'm gonna cum inside you, and you're gonna walk around with me inside you all week." He ordered, her fists balling as she bent over and took his relentless thrusts.

He bent over on top of her, his chest pressed to her back. He reached his hand underneath her, rubbing harsh circles around her clit. Her eyes became saucer-like as a broken moan sounded in the air, her orgasm shooting through her and around his dick.

His release followed soon after as he rode them through their climaxes. Gwinam's hips slowly stopped their motions, his now soft dick pulling out of her.

Wordlessly, he pulled his pants back up as Jieun slid to the floor, legs wide open as his cum shamelessly spilled out of her. He smirked at the sight, spitting at the floor next to her and walking off, sure to ruthlessly shame her for it the next day.

So much for a normal Tuesday.

[yandere-sins]

The Orcas' Tale - Krill's Story II

a/n: And finally! The finale of the series! It was two years in the making and still didn’t finish in time, but I’m glad I got to finish it at all. The stories didn’t all turn out as I planned but I’m glad I got to tell you about these three. I am almost certain that they’ll make an appearance on this blog sometime in the future, perhaps next year to next Mermay’s where we might have some very different kinds of mermaids showing up. But until then, I only have a few more asks to reply to and this chapter is closed. Thank you everyone who supported this story and stuck around for over a year to wait on the closure, and please enjoy the last chapter! ♥

Fandom: Original Content   Pairings: Yandere!Orca Merman x GN!AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere... with a twist, Sexual Content (Mostly dub-con, Jerking someone off, Kissing, Attempted deep-throating, Rubbing against each other, Copious amounts of cum, Non-human cock, Mention of non-consensual mating, Magical relaxing cum), Violence (Major Character "Death", Fighting, Gunfire/shots/wounds, Mention of blood), Description of drowning, Animalistic behavior, Mention of claws/sharp teeth, Mention of Slavery, Mention of Abuse, Very long post (7k)

You weren't sure if you felt encouraged or even more appalled as you watched Krill's face contort, pleasure and frustration mixing as blood ran from the corners of his mouth.

He was biting his lips so hard, tearing the flesh with his sharp fangs just so he could hold back from giving any audible cue about how he was feeling. It felt like he wasn't doing it for himself but rather for you, considering how reluctant and unwilling you were to actually put your hands on him. But it also made your job harder, as you did not get any feedback on whether you were on the right track. 

Even with two hands, you could barely close around his shaft, his massive cock pulsing and jerking in your grip violently, demanding more than you could give. You only had two human hands, so how were you supposed to handle all of this need in front of you? Krill watched you intently, following every movement of your gloves rubbing against his skin obsessively. The muscles in his body twitched ever so often, tensing and stretching to receive more or shy away from your attention, you weren't sure which.

"Krill," you called out, watching the crimson blood drip from his lips as he gnawed them, his gaze instantly snapping upwards to meet yours. "Don't hurt yourself."

That was enough for him to make a conscious effort to unlock his jaw and peel his teeth out of his own flesh. You were tempted to turn around and grab a towel to wipe off the blood when a guttural groan resounded from the depths of his body, unleashed through the opening of his mouth. You felt it shudder through your own body, piercing right to your core and starting a fire there, spreading the warmth from your cunt to the tips of your ears. 

A mating call.

"I tried…" He winced when your hands stopped moving, holding on to his cock for support like you would to a railing. Every cell in your body was heating up, overcome with need after being exposed to this trick that the sirens had up their sleeves. I tried shielding you from this—you wanted to believe his words even though he didn't finish the sentence, but the effect had already rattled you to the core. It would have been sweet of him if this had been any other situation, but you two didn't have that kind of relationship. You had to act with the tools you had, and he couldn't deny the parts of him that were feral; those were just the facts you had to come to terms with.

"I didn't want to come back. Didn't want you to see me like this."

"But you did," you mumbled, regaining some of your composure. His groan had caught you completely off-guard, the overwhelming influence of a siren's call not something anyone could get used to. But for some reason, it made you even more determined to get this over with. 

"And I told you I'd help you. So try not to knock me out again."

Your scolding was as light as a jest as you returned to stroking his cock. Krill let his head fall back, chortling some merman sounds and buckling his hips to help you. As the friction grew, you realized the gloves were more of a hindrance. Although you were reluctant to discard them, as the intensity was picking up, you decided to go skin-to-skin.

Every time you pulled your touch from him, Krill snapped his teeth at you, but you began to understand it was out of frustration rather than fury, forgiving it. "Watch it," you warned him once, his attitude a thorn in your side. You were trying to help, after all. 

Strangely, he took your words for more of a command rather than you trying to get him to be less intimidating. And watch he did. He watched as you spit into your dry palms, his cock jerking upwards like a spring as you did. You furrowed your brows in abash nervosity as you caught his shaft between your hands again, smoothing over the skin. Without the gloves catching on every ridge, your strokes became much more even and longer, going from his bulbous tip to the slit the cock emerged from. 

Out of purely scientific interest, you slid two fingers along the shaft into the cock slit, feeling around the hiding spot of such a massive instrument carefully while your other hand dutifully kept stroking him. A thick liquid spread over the hand that was closest to his tip alerted you to the stimulation you were causing with your inquisitive exploration of the merman, gel-like precum coating your hand. You looked up at Krill, who was back at biting his lips, unsuccessfully, as he whined through his teeth. It was hard to read him, but you thought he was in pain by his expression, so you immediately retracted your hand.

"No…" he sighed, rolling his head in the brace, a long, exasperated sigh deflating his body. "I was so close."

You could not help but feel frustrated by the lack of understanding of what you were doing. It was so hard to determine what felt good and what wasn't when you didn't really know the… man you were working with. So as you tried to build up the pleasure for him again, sinking your fingers into the slit and stroking his cock at the same time, you felt yourself discouraged by everything around you. 

It was a feeling you knew too well. Having spent days and nights crying after you realized your life was over, that you'd be caught here forever as punishment by this corporation that neither cared about their researchers nor the creatures they were trying to exploit, you started to curse yourself for the smallest things. Sure, times had been rough ever since; years of bullying and scorn laid behind you. But you found yourself blaming every little mistake on the skills you lacked. Here you were, forced to jerk off the creature that had caused all of this, and you still failed at even that simple a task.

But you had always adapted so far. And this was your time to finally shine, you just needed to utilize it properly.

"Krill," you called out to him, and he immediately reared up to pay you his undivided attention. Albeit with a strange form of adoration in his eyes as you slowed your stroking pace. "I'm not your mate," you clarified, and he let out a weary chuckle. 

"You're so cute, trying to deny it," Krill mumbled, sounding much more relaxed than before, although his cock was still jerking against your hand.

"No, I–" You felt your face flush with heat as his words registered, unintentionally gripping his cock hard and causing a blissful moan to echo through the laboratory. "I refuse," you finished your sentence, shaking your head at his horniness and softening your hold. 

"But whatever it is, I'll help you. I'll make sure you don't get treated as badly and that you can live somewhat… normal. I'll spend all my time with you, so… promise you'll help me make this all possible. Promise you'll not try to kill me or anyone."

Although you saw him bare his teeth at the last part of your speech, his answer didn't take long. "I promise," he snarled, sounding less convincing than you would have liked, but you nodded firmly, grasping at the slight chance of a mutual understanding you two had. It was hard enough to have all these enemies around you. Perhaps you could make an unlikely alley out of Krill, who needed you just as much as you needed him. 

"Okay," you whispered. The first step was made, and you went to the next one. Letting go of his cock, you stepped down the platform, Krill's brows furrowing as he tried to look after you. 

"Where are you going?" he asked and you stepped up to a panel on the wall, staying silent as you pressed an inconspicuous button. Krill was twisting in his holds when you disappeared from sight, but when the metal lock around his neck sprang apart, giving him much more freedom than you should be comfortable with, his eyes widened. You held your breath as you picked up the wet towel from before and walked up to his head.

Krill let it fall back once more, watching you with suspicion in your eyes. Communication is key, you thought as you lifted the towel in your hand, taking another step. "I will wipe the blood off your face," you explained, and his eyes narrowed, sharply watching every step. You couldn't begrudge him for also having trust issues after the dose of drugs you gave him, causing his agitation. You were unable to stop yourself from glancing up at his cock, still perked up, waiting, needy. You'd be returning to it soon, but first, you needed to know if you could trust him. 

"It won't hurt," you whispered gently, knowing he could hear you well no matter how loudly you spoke. Sacrificing your arm over your throat, you stretched it out, waiting with bated breath on his reaction before you dabbed the towel to the side of his face, clearing up some of the blood. Krill hesitated, perhaps just as tensely as you were, and you stepped even closer to properly wipe his cheeks. 

"That's a good killer whale," you teased, lips curling into a cheeky grin, when you noticed the corners of his mouth twitching as well. He was trying so hard not to laugh along with you, but you used your free hand to steady his head before going to work on his lips and cheeks, wiping off the sticky blood. It could have been fatal to be too immersed in your work, but you wanted to believe that this cooperation could work. 

"I need you to tell me if something hurts or upset you. With your words, preferable." Establishing some ground rules was your main objective as you cleaned him up. Trust would be harder to earn, but if you could show him how much better it would be to work together, that would be a big step. 

"I can't hurt you," Krill replied, and you flinched as you didn't expect him to open his mouth, these sharp teeth still as daunting as they were the first time you saw them. You knew it hurt him that you were scared just by the tense expression on his face. But to your surprise, he turned his head to the side, kissing your wrist with an unfamiliar gentleness. "I could never hurt my mate."

"Krill, we–"

"Yeah, yeah. Not mates." He let out a deep sigh, all of the tension leaving him. When he finally pried his eyes from you, you quickly wiped off the last smears of blood of him, not wasting his distraction. It made you feel better to have cleaned up the mess you caused, even though you knew there was still the biggest mess to make. Undeterred, you brought the towel back to the table so you could examine the remnants of his blood later. 

"So you need me to tell you how I feel."

You whirled around, finding him staring at you absentmindedly. You didn't even feel his watchful eyes on you this time, which was getting concerning. Were you growing comfortable?

"Yes, please," you answered, nodding encouragingly. "We need to understand each other if we want this to work."

This time, Krill gave you a small, brief nod. A human gesture that looked a little clumsy coming from him, but he tried, and you counted that as a success. You stepped up to his head again, placing yourself between his restraint arm and his free head. For most researchers, this closeness would be way too dangerous. There were so many vital organs he could bite, but you'd bring results here, even if you had to put yourself at risk. "We are… a team now. Not mates, but a team. And we'll get through this together."

"Pretty words," he mumbled, exhaustion in his smile. "You keep denying it, but you smell absolutely delightful for someone not interested in me."

You felt your face flush from heat, realizing there must have been remnants from that mating call from before. It didn't help hiding your arousal when his head was perfectly in line with your crotch, and you immediately wished to abandon this plan of yours and go back to being hostile with him. 

"Don't be such a smartass, Mr. Having-abnormal-senses," you chided him, reaching up to pinch his nose like one would while joking around with someone you were close to. This time, Krill was the one to close his eyes in wariness before snapping them up again, clearly unamused. "Is that how you treat your subjects?" he asked. His wording felt weird, making you question the meaning of the word 'subject' for you and him. But maybe you were overthinking it. Clearly, Krill wouldn't put himself below you in the hierarchy and must have picked it up somewhere in a context more related to experiments. 

"Focus," you alerted him, forcing yourself out of your thoughts. It was easy to get lost in foolish banter—he was so fascinating, after all—and joking around with him felt more natural than with most people you knew. "I need you to tell me how to make you feel good so we can move on from this." 

Turning away from him, you missed the grimace on his face as you gestured to his cock. "What do you do for pleasure? What do you like?"

"I…" he drew out the word for as long as he could before avoiding your eyes, and you scoffed in horror as you realized he didn't know. 

"You never had sex before?"

"Of course I did," he snapped back. "It's easy with other mermaids. You catch them while they are in heat, do your thing, and it's over. We don't need to know what we like or don't like. It's just easy like that. They are… they're not like you."

You should have been relieved to hear he wasn't a virgin, but at the same time his last words made you panic. If he didn't know, you two would have to start from the basics, and there simply wasn't any time for that. His words also implied that you might not be able to satisfy him, making you worry even more. Now, it was you gnawing on your lips, unsure of how to proceed. You thought you were making progress, but alas, it was all for naught. 

No. No, you couldn't give up yet.

"I will try something," you announced, and looking into Krill's eyes, you felt a shiver run down your spine. It was either one of fear from the intensity that served as a warning or pleasure from the keen interest he was showing you—undiluted, enamored interest. "I don't know if you'll like it, but try not to hurt me."

Before he could react and diminish your feeble confidence even more, you pulled off your facemask and leaned down, awkwardly smashing your lips against his. It could barely be called a kiss, but although you felt weird initiating it so suddenly, he immediately caught on. Parting his lips in a hot breath, his tongue lapped out, demanding entrance from you. And caught off-guard as you were, you gasped, giving him what he wanted. The taste of blood lingered, but it was overtaken quickly by the intensity of the kiss. His tongue was choke-worthy, but as much as you wanted to get away, you tried to endure his inquisitiveness, allowing him a taste as he rubbed it over your tongue and blunt teeth that would never be able to hurt him. 

Only when his tongue threatened to slip down your throat did you react, jerking away faster than Krill could respond. There were signs of frustration as he rattled in his holds, hands curled into fists while his head tried to follow. "Why did you stop?" he asked as you coughed from the unwanted penetration of your throat. 

"It can't go that deep," you explained. "You have to be gentle. I am not as big as your kind is."

His frustration was expressed in a growl before Krill snapped, "Again!" at you, and you took a deep breath. 

"Gentle," you urged, and he brought his lips together thinly as if to restrain himself. It was almost comical, considering you would kiss him again, but this time, his effort paid off. Although his tongue kept lapping out, and you refused to get yours anywhere near the fangs, you two actually managed to kiss properly, the smacking of lips paired with unfiltered moans and sighs ringing out in the laboratory, making this almost intimate. 

You reached out your hand towards his chest, a muffled groan resounding against your lips as you applied feathery touches to his nipples. Krill arched his back into your touch, and you flicked the nub, causing some of his muscles to spasm.

"I like this," Krill muttered in between smooches, quickly trying to find your lips again after speaking. You felt like a bad teacher, always stopping when things got intense. Still, there was only so much you could endure, and in Krill's eagerness, he had more stamina than you. "It feels good." 

Seeing his lips curl into a cheeky grin following his words, the 'good' was nothing more than an approving purr from his lips.

"Good," you whispered as you moved away, caressing his cheeks gently. His body moved behind you, but the arm against your back remained utterly still, giving you a chance to rest against it. "That's a kiss. It's supposed to make you feel good." 

Your explanation almost made you feel stupid, but you had no time to fall into your feelings of shame and defiance. Not when you had a purring merman demanding more of your attention. "Are you going to kiss me down there, too?" Krill asked, and you looked over to his cock, not needing more guidance to figure out what he meant.

"Would you like that?"

He nodded, and you bit your lip. You should have just said no. Letting your hands fall from his face, you didn't pull them from his body, feeling the smooth, taut skin beneath your fingertips. His gills flared, and now you were much more aware of the eyes following you as you stepped away, facing your fear head-on.

After all this time, his cock should have been dry like a fish out of the water. But you found even more spilled precum all over it and Krill's stomach. You gulped, searching for reassurance as you looked back up at him. There was something core-heating about the confident smirk on his face, the knowledge that he could make you act as he wanted, all for the farce you two were trying to build. If you really were his mate, you were screwed. But you didn't want to know the amount of aggressions and defiance that letting him down would rise between you two. He was your ticket to a better life, and at heart, you were still a softy when it came to these poor creatures captured here. 

Catching his twitching cock in your hands, you led it to your mouth. Another gush of precum bubbled out of it, coating your hands and almost splashing on your face. You wiped over the tip with your thumb, hearing the soft moan coming from Krill just from this small gesture, before you brought your lips to the heated flesh, kissing the side of the tip once briefly before catching yourself and doing it properly. 

This time, the sound coming from him was anything but restraint, your kisses trailing along his shaft. You couldn't take it into your mouth for even an inch with the massive tip befitting Krill's size. Regardless, you used your lips and tongue to stimulate parts while massaging your hands, sometimes harder, sometimes gentler, into it. 

"Does it feel good?" you asked, leaving a few more pecks around the gushing hole at the tip, more and more fluids collecting there, making it hard not to have a little taste of it. 

"Yes… Yes!" Krill confirmed, somewhat impatient yet completely enamored. It was just a small win, yet it boosted your confidence more than it probably should have. Growing bold, you drew closer to the top, swiping more of his fluids away as you planned to conquer this sensation with Krill. Pressing your own legs harder together, you tried to deny the wetness you felt when you first tasted his cum, both salty yet alluring on your tongue. It had a strange relaxing effect on your body, one that made you not care so much about everything that made you hesitant. And although you cautioned yourself, you found yourself sucking on the sensitive, aggravated skin of his tip, more precum gushing onto your lips until you realized you were licking it off with your tongue.

Immediately, you recoiled, unbelieving about what you were doing. You weren't supposed to enjoy this… or were you? It would make things easier if you didn't hate it so much, although the shame was hard to conquer. A strangled whine escaped from Krill, and you looked at him, his eyes once again glazed over. But not with relaxant. With lust. 

He was holding himself back, and that wouldn't work for you anymore. "Use your words," you reminded him sternly, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. 

"Do that again," he demanded, thrusting his hips into your hands. 

"I'm sure you could ask a bit nicer than that."

You watched, stopping your stroking when he didn't react. Dominance and need fought with each other in the flaming red of his eyes, and the sight of it was mesmerizing. No matter if you denied being his mate, everything pointed to him wanting to give you the world. Even his questionable motions, the way he'd rather bite his lips bloody than to moan, it all seemed so profoundly ingrained into him to not want to put himself beneath anyone's authority. And yet, you witnessed first hand how much he wanted to give up by the way he uttered his next words—reverently. 

"Please do that again. It felt so good."

And you did. You didn't care that endless amounts of juices soon invaded your mouth as you suckled his tip. You didn't mind the way he kept bucking the soft flesh of his tip into your face every time. Your hands slid back down to the slit where you danced your fingertips around the entrance, teasingly dipping it in and out. This time, there was no holding back as Krill yelled, "Yes! Yesss!" the further you two were going. You felt him getting close, a knot building in your stomach knowing you got him to a point of release, and you moaned softly into his tip, the sound vibrating on the surface, finally pushing him over the edge. 

His hips went completely rigid as heavy strings of cum exploded out of him. You drew back just in time, moving away a bit too abruptly as you watched the eruption that was Krill's climax. It was beautiful, mesmerizing, accompanied by the sounds of the ocean breaking out from his throat. 

Watching the cum drip out of his tip and down his body, you couldn't look away, couldn't focus on anything else but Krill's relief. His face was a mesmerizing show of shame that quickly turned into pure, unfiltered joy. You realized much too late that you let the samples go to waste as they sloshed on the floor. But Krill wouldn't let you down. Virile and perhaps still under the influence of the drugs, his cock immediately sprang back to life the second it had spent itself all over him, and you felt your core clench with admiration as it stood ready, just like before. 

You should have been mad that it wasn't over. You wanted to. But in that moment, Krill being ready for another round was so much more exciting than you ever thought it would be.

There was no denying that you were aroused. Aroused by a creature other than your own kind. Aroused by the way he pleaded with you, how the strain in his body showed you all the ways he wanted more of you to make him feel good. The taste in your mouth and the memory of his mating call shuddered through you. You were lucky he was restraint, otherwise you weren't sure if either of you could have held back. And your body certainly wasn't made for being penetrated by this massive cock twitching impatiently as it waited for your return.

A new idea popped into your head. One that benefitted all. 

Honestly, it was a stupid idea, but you were hopeful you'd be able to get control of all these thoughts in your head that were growing out of control.

After stripping off the apron and lab coat, you were left in the obligatory wetsuit, which was the standard uniform for everyone since you worked with aquatic lifeforms. You were supposed to get wet, although probably not the way your own slick stuck to the inside of your thighs. 

Pushing off your shoes, you swiped one of the test tubes, sticking it safely into the chest pocket of your suit before you stepped closer. Krill's eyes were back to his sharp focus, studying every twist of your body with a burning passion. His body wrung impatiently in The Fisher, upset that you left him, but his eyes were so fierce with their adoration that you felt another gush of heat rake through you.

"I can smell you, Human. Let me out of here so I can make you feel good, too."

There was something uncanny about the way he was able to quickly catch onto things. You let out a shuddering breath before forcing your lips into a smile, shaking your head. "There's still more for you to learn. I think it's best if you stay where you are."

A growl escaped him, but you weren't scared anymore. It wasn't a threat to your life, though perhaps to your pussy as it reminded you of all the savage things he'd do to you if he could. You were feeling strangely aroused and relaxed now. You could only blame the precum that you swallowed for feeling so much more chill about what was happening, and you knew you'd have to study this thoroughly if you ever snapped out of it. You believed in yourself more now, and you had made him beg for you more than once at this point, which boosted your ego. Krill only had to sit back, and you'd take care of him—just like you promised.

Not letting him know your next move, you stepped up to his side, the movements in his body ceasing—the expectancy of your what you were going to do was high. With your hands dancing over his body, you gave his nipple one more flick, chuckling as Krill let out a strained sigh. Steading yourself on his hips, it wasn't too hard to climb on top of him. Since he was more or less situated beneath you, all you needed to do was find some hold on his slick body and climb on. Krill unintentionally did the rest.

You didn't mean to fall down onto his cock, but when he bucked his hips unexpectedly from surprise, you slipped and crashed down. It did nothing to hurt him, though, and you both ended up moaning as your weight pinned his cock down, the pulsing shaft pressing into your cunt. 

"Well, fuck," you muttered, already feeling like this could have been enough to push you over the edge. 

"You should have let me lift you up," Krill complained, a slight pout puffing his lips, and you laughed, feeling strangely cared for with this comment. 

"And let you miss this experience? I don't think so. Tell me what you feel."

There were very little words actually leaving his mouth as you rocked your hips forward, rubbing your pussy along his shaft. It was wet enough that the clothes standing between you two only added to the friction, not caused the same mess as the gloves. You felt the heat catching up to you as his cock twitched against you eagerly. A constant reminder of how much it wanted to be smothered in your walls, invade you deeply until it would spill its seed deep inside. But this was as far as you two could possibly go without destroying your body, and it had to be enough for that impatient cock of his. 

"Harder," Krill ground out, his hands flexing in their holds, endlessly frustrated with the lack of freedom. 

So, instead, you slowed down.

"I'm sure you can say that nicer," you challenged him, raising a brow as you slid your hips back and forth at a snail's pace.

"Fuck you," Krill growled, but when you gasped at his defiance, sliding your pussy up to his tip without looking, you both mewled in pleasure, immediately forgetting about his brattiness. 

"You liked that?" you asked, unable to hold back your own ragged breaths as you pressed your pussy over the curve of his bulbous tip, all the way to the top and then back again. This was the closest you'd ever get to penetration, but it was damn good, just as it was. 

Krill let his head fall back, groaning loudly as he bucked his hips. Luckily, his body was too massive to make you fall off, but you did feel like he was restraining himself more now that you were on top of him. 

"I like it," he mumbled. "I like it a lot. My mate is fucking my cock—it drives me insane. Are you feeling good, too? Is it because of me?"

Krill looked back at you pleadingly, wanting so desperately to be the reason for your horniness, and you were unsure how to react. However, unable to deny it, you nodded and he let out a groan, more precum spilling out of him, wetting your thighs thoroughly. The Fisher was aching as Krill's arms flexed, and you became painfully aware that although it felt good—the ridges on his shaft teasing your clit, his cock pushing against you eagerly as he wanted the same as you did, while his precum warmed every inch of your body—it had to end soon. Lest you risk Krill being the first mermaid to actually break free from The Fisher and hurting you in the process.

"Krill," you mewled, feeling yourself get riled up as he pushed his hips upwards, allowing his cock to be rubbed against you rather than the other way around. 

"Are you going to cum? Am I making you cum? Gods, you are so beautiful like this. I can't wait to watch you cum so prettily on my cock, Mate."

You knew better than to lose yourself in the pleasure, but to an infatuated merman, you must have looked like quite the wonder, disheveled, and horny as you rode him to the finish line. "You must cum, too," you gasped out as you were so close to your orgasm, knowing you were one mere push of his hips away from cumming from the intense friction and heat that tingled all through you.

"I am! I'm cumming with my mate, you can bet your pretty pearls on that!"

Krill was no liar. Because the moment you panted breathlessly, a single ridge flicking over your clit as Krill bucked his hips upwards, you both came fully undone. Your orgasm was overwhelming as you felt the cum travel through the long shaft, pushing its swelling into your pussy before exploding from the tip that you had worshiped before, but you were prepared this time, grabbing the test tube that you had hid in your wetsuit to hold it in front of the eruption happening before you. It filled with more ease than getting rid of the post-orgasm mind fog was for you, but even when you sacked down on top of him, you held the tube steady, not spilling a drop. 

"Fuck…" you muttered, unable to remember the last time you came this hard. Certainly not from playing with yourself, that much was clear. Tasting his precum had to be an unknown aphrodisiac that you didn't know about; testing was inevitable. But for now, you had to get off and get your act together again. 

"You good?" you asked, patting Krill's loin—the closest body part you could reach—before getting off him, classy like a cowboy but with a pussy aching and pulsing for the warmth it had experienced.

All you heard was Krill's low chuckle as a reply. He truly was awful at using his words, but you'd teach him that, you were sure now. Quickly, you stored the test tube with his sample in the fridge, jogging all the way over to keep it as fresh as possible. And from the workstation, you returned with more towels and a sense of stickiness all over your body. You hadn't noticed just how much of his cum had splashed onto your chest and stomach as well, nobody being safe from it, it seemed.

You were relieved to find his cock shrinking again. It was still massive, but it surely was going back to where it came from, and you had finally fulfilled one of the promises you had made. "You look pretty like this," Krill commented as you gave his stomach a good wipe down, semen splashing to the ground in unholy masses. 

"Covered in your cum?" you asked mockingly and he chuckled. He sounded the most peaceful ever since you encountered him that day. No wonder, after having spent his essence in copious amounts twice. 

"You look like a mate now. If I had you in my cave, I wouldn't let you wear anything but my seed ever again."

You grimaced. "Sounds mighty unhygienic."

"You'd come to like it."

The banter felt less aggressive now, although the topics were far from normal. Wringing out the third soiled towel, you sighed, announcing your defeat. "I give up." You dropped the towel, walking up towards his head again to press the buttons so Krill would be put back into the water. Once it had cleaned him, the filters could do the work of cleaning out the pool. 

"Wait," he called out, and you stopped in your tracks, raising a brow at him. 

"I want a… a kiss. I think I deserve that."

"I'm sorry who did all the work again?" you asked, faking your anger and Krill thought hard for a second.

"Then… you deserve a kiss. But I can't move, so you still have to come to me, Human."

You let out a laugh, but seeing how serious he was, you realized it wasn't a joke. You grew quiet as you thought about not wanting to but not wanting the mood to go sour after all that happened. It was all for the team building. Another trust exercise. 

Capturing his head in your hands you didn't need to lean down much as he had enough mobility now and an idea of what to do, so Krill took the initiative to kiss you. He wasn't aggressive, didn't choke you with his tongue. But you quickly realized why you felt so icky doing it, its gentleness and the added trilling that reminded you of giggling too intimate to be between teammates. But you endured it for the sake of this experiment. The sake of reclaiming your future and actually be someone again and regain your freedom little by little. You did it only for that!

The sound of the door unlocking, the metal screeching as it swung open, made you recoil violently from the kiss. Krill hissed sharply, swinging his body helplessly in the restraints—but not against you. 

A slow clap rang out through the laboratory, and you turned around, frightened, unable to hide the mess that was still everywhere and evident all over you. How were you going to explain this? Your worst nightmare had stepped into your new workspace, smiling from ear to ear, looking almost… proud? 

"Wonderful! What a wonderful demonstration of bonding between mates," the Professor exclaimed skillfully ignoring Krill's aggression towards him. "I always knew you could do it, we just had to wait for the right moment."

"Professor, I…" you wanted to explain yourself, try to talk yourself out. Ignoring Krill's whining as you stepped away from his body, which could have been a protective shield to you, Krill quickly returned to hissing and threatening your superior as you moved towards him, desperate not to leave the wrong expression. 

"No need," the Professor cut you off. "We saw everything and we are very impressed with your achievements."

He pointed towards the corner of the room, and you could have punched yourself for not realizing there was a camera with a red blinking light on the ceiling. Of course, they wouldn't have left you alone, even though they made your work out to be unimportant. "Fuck…" you muttered, defeated, knowing they had heard and seen everything. 

"We aren't mates. He's wrong about that!" you explained, frustrated at the situation, but more angry at yourself. Your supervisor was behind the Professor, grinning like a kid on Christmas Eve about the development of the situation. Behind him, guards. Soldiers who were definitely underpaid but felt overly important in their role here at the facility. And they undoubtedly weren't here to guard you.

"Surely you don't mean that. Look at the poor guy. You've been breaking his heart every time you say it."

The Professor didn't touch you, and you couldn't begrudge him. He just raised his hands to your shoulders and you turned around on your own towards Krill, your eyes meeting. However, there was no such thing as disappointment. Just pure anger and restraint. It was your fault. You made him promise not to hurt anyone. And now he had given up, too. 

"Let's put the fish back into the water and discuss your promotion. Matehood is so exciting, I can't wait to introduce you to another special mate of this one's cousin. I am sure you two will become best buds in no time!"

The cheery voice of the Professor did nothing to lift your spirit. You wanted to break free and do as he said, not wanting Krill to hear about these things and see you in this shameful moment. Tears were welling up and your supervisor went to push the buttons instead of you, feeling almost like you were betraying Krill's trust as his handler. 

However, at the sound and motions of the machine's working, something inside Krill changed. He began struggling again, thrashing in The Fisher. "Don't you dare," he hissed, but at the Professor, rather than you. He began focusing his strength on one arm, The Fisher making an aching sound as the metal was strained. 

"Stop it, Krill!" you called out, scared he'd hurt himself again, and his attention shifted to you. 

"And let you be taken from me? I'd rather die!"

His heroics were admirable, but when the soldiers cocked their guns, you jumped forward. "No! No, wait! He's just confused from the drugs, he won't hurt you! Please don't shoot him!"

"Ah," the Professor sighed, much too relaxed in this kind of situation. "Young love. It's so sweet how far you two would go for each other."

This helped nothing to calm down the soldiers or Krill who was getting increasingly agitated as he hovered above the pool, waiting for the floor to open up fully. It was then that complete chaos unfurled itself. The sound of metal snapping next to you, followed by a heavy body falling to the ground. In an instant you were surrounded by darkness as Krill completely enveloped you, and you yelped, hearing gunshots ring out violently and the pained groan of your merman. 

"No!" you screamed, thinking the worst. But as you lurched towards catching him from collapsing—a truly rash move as he'd easily bury you beneath him—Krill grabbed you by the waist. Before you knew what was happening, you were pulled into the water. You neither had the time to hold your breath nor to assess the situation as you sank to the depths, caught in Krill's hold while he was an unmoving mass weighing you down. You wanted to cry, thinking he was dead and so would you be. No one would fish you out of here, especially without knowing if the merman was still alive. And by the time they figured that out, you'd be long gone.

All you could do was wait out the inevitable drowning, and you commiserated this fateful meeting with the creature that destroyed your life in the first place. No… no, that wasn't fair. It wasn't Krill's fault. It wasn't even your own. You kept blaming yourself all this time, but in reality, it was the fault of greedy people and this facility that catered to them. Neither Krill nor you deserved what they were doing to you two. Had the circumstances been different, you might have come to an understanding and built a genuine, scientific relationship on trust. Although he was a handful, you had to admit.

Your thoughts flashed by like many others in your last moment, and it brought a smile to your face, remembering the stupid banter and even his insults and calling you 'human' desperately. You two were definitely even with you calling him creature and the like. Krill was a boisterous idiot and too cocky for his own good, but he could be sweet and caring. He listened, and he even protected you in the end. Reaching up, you found his neck, the air getting thin in your lungs as you hugged him tightly. He didn't deserve this. He really didn't. 

The splashing of water was the last thing you heard before you lost your conscience, only for it to be immediately beaten into you as someone slapped your back over and over hard enough until you coughed up all the water in your lungs. 

"And that's why we don't give them any freedom," the Professor's voice rang out, murrs of agreement echoing after. You felt his presence as he kneeled before you, the old man grunting from the strain. His finger dipped underneath your chin, raising your head to face him even if you vision was blurry still. 

"Have you learned your lesson, [Name]? You'll never escape from here. I've made you into the amazing researcher you are, you are a product of my teachings. And you will provide me with the results we need. Only you can find the eternal life hidden in these creatures. I don't care what you have to do to get it. Mate him, fuck him, get your needs met by a monster, but afterwards you'll come to me with a product that will give you back your freedom, alright?"

"Krill…" you coughed. "What about him?"

"Oh, he'll be fine. A few doses of adrenaline and his body will regenerate."

Letting go of you, your head fell forward to cough out some more water that burned in your nose alongside the tears in your eyes, but you couldn't grasp the situation in front of you properly. 

"I am so glad we fished you out there before it was too late," the Professor exclaimed, always thick on the dramatics. "What would we have done if we lost you two, huh? It would have been such a shame to lose our best researcher and their mate to such a little mishap, right, [Name]?"

This time, when you looked up, you couldn't help but glare at the person you had so admired when you were still studying under him. He was nothing but an insane maniac who would do anything to get an end to his means. Sacrificing merfolk, sacrificing humans. It didn't matter, but he made it clear that there would be no escaping him. No escaping at all… hm.

How did you set the orcas free in the past?

"Right," you mumbled, your lungs still hurting from the water. 

"I'm glad we are on the same page," the Professor laughed, but all you could do was try to remember how you escaped before. The memories eluded you, but there had been a way for sure. For now, you had to admit your defeat as you watched Krill's barely alive body being transported away and out of sight. The door to the laboratory remained open as everyone left you behind, but you didn't feel like going at all. 

You had to.

Getting to your feet, you had to follow wherever they were bringing Krill. And you had to remember how you managed to let them escape before. And when the time came, you'd go with them. But you needed access to the mermaids until then, perhaps some more companions. You lost your freedom, your new position as 'mate' hanging over your head like the blade of a guillotine. But even so, you had to push on, fight for what you wanted.

You lost the fight but not the war.

And when the time came, you'd make sure that this time, no one would stand in the way of your freedom.

[yoursinisforgiven]

ENVY ──

pairing: asirel x reader (pet) 

cw: smut, pwp, penetrational sex, afab reader, master–pet relationship, semi–public sex, car sex, blood play, spit play(?), drooling, biting, mentions of drugs, thoughts of murder, dissociative episode (?), isaac and pickel appearance, breeding without intentions of pregnancy, dry humping, voyeurism(?), reader is wearing a dress of some sorts, oral (male receiving), light hair pulling, cum eating.  

you are responsible for your own media consumption

“You’re going.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, whether that be drugged or not. Your choice, of course.”

You hadn’t been facing him, instead perched on the cushions of the bayside window. From there, you watched as life continued beyond the walls of the manor, unaffected by the confines of your world. You didn’t need to look at Asriel to know the smug smile that curved his lips, the glint of amusement in his voice. It was always like this—Asriel’s insistence, his way of bending the world to his will, and your quiet defiance. It had been decades since anyone had dared to speak to you like this, but for Asriel… You allowed it. Most of the time.

Fingers flexed against the windowsill, the wood creaking slightly under the pressure, almost as if you were considering something dangerous. It was no secret that you, the ancient vampire—Asriel's pet—was an object of both fascination and fear.

And tonight, Asriel was forcing him into the lion's den.

Asriel's voice dropped lower, just a touch, but there was no mistaking the finality in his words. "Don’t make me drag you there, pet. It’ll be much less enjoyable for both of us.”

There was a beat of silence. The weight of Asriel’s expectation hung in the air, thick and suffocating, and you could feel it like an invisible chain pulling him forward. The words weren’t threats; they were just facts. Asriel wasn’t asking for cooperation. He was demanding it.

Amber eyes flickered in Asriel's direction. No matter how much you wanted to rebel, to slip into the shadows where you belonged, you knew that resistance was futile. You had no true freedom. Not here, not in this world of glittering masks and whispered lies. Asriel had the power to break you, to make you a prisoner again, and you had already tasted what that might feel like. You weren't ready to go back to the darkness—the cages where Asriel had found you.

Not yet.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, the smallest trace of irritation twisting your features. “You’re making a mistake, Master,” your voice cool but laced with the warning of a predator forced to play a game you never wanted to join.

But Asriel didn’t flinch. He never did. The human stepped closer, his fingers brushing your arm with deliberate slowness, sending chills down your spine. You arched slightly at the sensation—a reminder of just who held the power in this relationship.

“I don’t make mistakes,” Asriel said softly, his voice a dangerous purr that sent an involuntary shiver down your neck. “And you are a very important part of my social circle tonight. You will make a good impression.”

Your existence—his servitude—was a curiosity. A symbol of Asriel’s wealth and power.

And no matter how much you resented it, you were part of that image.

 ──

You didn’t want to be here. You shouldn’t be here.

You stay close to Asriel’s side, just far enough to remain in his shadow, but not enough to draw attention. The weight of his presence presses down on you, and you force yourself to ignore the way it feels too familiar. You ignore the tug of memories, the fleeting flashes of Ivan that refuse to be buried.

No. Asriel wasn’t him. Far from it.

You are ripped from your thoughts by a feminine—obnoxious—voice. You catch the movement from the corner of your eye, and before you can stop yourself, your gaze snaps to her. A delicate hand brushes across Asriel’s shoulder, lingering too long, her laughter piercing the air like a sharp, brittle note in a too-perfect melody. Her voice is sweet, syrupy, the kind that makes your teeth ache.

She’s laughing at something he said, her lips curling with practiced flirtation. Surely it wasn’t that funny.

You feel your jaw tighten, the familiar gnaw of irritation rising in your chest. The way she touches him—light, teasing, as though claiming him for herself—makes your skin itch, and for a moment, you wonder what she sees when she looks at him. Does she see the same power that everyone else does? Does she know how easily he can crush anyone who stands in his way?

Or does she think of him as a prize to be won? Just another man with wealth and a title, who can be charmed and seduced like any other?

You can hear her laugh again, and the tension in your body spikes. You’re not jealous, you tell yourself. You shouldn’t be. You’re attractive—naturally seductive, in a way that has always drawn attention. You don't need to feel threatened by her. 

But you can’t help it. You can’t help the dark, bitter twist that curls in your stomach. Asriel is yours. He’s always been yours. And no one else has the right to touch him. Not like this.

You feel it—a pulse of something raw, something almost animal in its intensity. It starts low in your chest, the need to assert yourself, to remind them all of what you are to him. But then you catch yourself.

No. Asriel wasn’t Ivan.

The thought settles over you like cold water. You take a deep breath, forcing your fingers to relax at your side, your claws retracting.

You’re nothing like you were back then.

But that doesn’t stop the jealousy from bubbling beneath your skin.

Asriel doesn’t seem to notice your discomfort. His attention is still fixed on the woman beside him, his smile wide, though it holds no true warmth. It’s the same practiced smile he’s given a thousand times before, a mask of politeness, of obligation. His eyes, however, flicker briefly toward you, and for a split second, you see the familiar glint of amusement in them.

It’s as if he knows exactly what you’re feeling. He knows you’re watching, knows you’re seething just beneath the surface.

And he enjoys it.

You try to keep your expression neutral, to push the gnawing sensation in your chest back into the dark corners of your mind. But it’s harder than it should be.

The woman laughs again, her fingers drifting to rest lightly on his arm now, and you can’t stand it anymore.

You need to make her stop.

The smile on her face, the way she tilts her head, the way her eyes flicker toward Asriel with that pitiful, calculated desire—it sickens you. It eats away at the control you’ve worked so hard to maintain.

She thinks she has him. She thinks she can have him.

A strange heat rises in your chest, filling your body with the kind of rage you haven’t felt in decades—since him.. It’s not just anger. It’s possessiveness. It’s primal, it’s raw. And it’s like a fire inside you, burning, threatening to consume everything else in its path.

Your vision sharpens, the edges of the room blurring into a dull fog. Her laughter starts to sound like nails scraping against your skull, the sweetness of it curdling into something unbearable. You want it to stop.

You need it to stop.

What would it take?

Your breath quickens, shallow, too fast. Your fingers curl into fists at your sides, nails digging into the soft flesh of your palms, leaving half-moon indentations. Your pulse throbs in your ears, growing louder, the pounding rhythm matching the wild beat of your heart. The world around you feels distant, unreal. As if you’re watching from somewhere far away, a spectator in your own body.

What would it take to make her shut up?

You glance at her again, her fingers trailing slowly over Asriel’s arm. You can see it—the way her eyes darken with flirtation, the way she presses just a little closer to him, like she’s staking her claim.

No.

The feeling inside you builds, swelling. Something inside your chest twists like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. You watch her, study the soft curve of her neck, the delicate line of her jaw. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she laughs, oblivious to the monster she’s awakened in you.

And then you imagine it.

It’s like a switch flipping in your mind. Suddenly, everything else fades away. All you can see is her. The way she’s touching him, the way she’s smiling at him, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

You imagine reaching out, your fingers curling around her throat, tight, too tight. You could do it so easily. You could crush her in seconds. The blood would rush to her face, her eyes wide, gasping for air, panic setting in, but it would be too late. She’d choke on her own breath, the life draining from her as she tries to scream, tries to beg.

Would Asriel even care?

The thought flashes across your mind, sharp and brutal. And something in you cracks open.

You can feel the heat of her skin beneath your fingers, the delicate pulse in her neck. You could break her. You could take that fragile neck in your hand, snap it like a twig. The power would be intoxicating—so simple, so final. No more laughing. No more touching. No more her.

You feel it. The pressure in your chest, the pressure in your throat as you imagine it. The power of it. The raw, satisfying violence of it. It’s the kind of hunger that can’t be satisfied with anything else.

The woman laughs again, oblivious to the madness rising in you. Her fingers move down to the crook of Asriel’s arm, a small touch—insignificant. But to you, in this moment, it’s the end of everything.

You could feel her flesh crumple beneath your hand, her body going limp with a single, vicious motion. You could hear her scream. No. You could make her scream—beg—but no one would stop you. No one could.

The world feels lighter now, as if everything else has melted away. The floor beneath you is no longer solid. The walls bend and warp, the edges of the room fading in and out of focus, like a hallucination. Your hands tremble at your sides, but it doesn’t matter.

You could do it. You could kill her. You could make this all stop.

You’re not sure when you stopped breathing, but you feel the suffocating weight of the air around you. Your vision is narrowing now, the voices in the room, the laughter, all drowned out by the pounding in your head. All you hear is the sound of her throat snapping, the wet, final sound that would end it all.

You need this. You need her to stop existing. You need Asriel to stop looking at her the way he does. You need it.

But then, suddenly, you hear Asriel’s voice.

“Pet,” he says, and it’s enough to bring you back. “Are you okay?”

The world crashes back into focus. You blink, and the woman is still there, laughing, still touching Asriel’s arm like she hasn’t a care in the world.

You step back. Your breath is shaky, your hands unsteady. The rage, the hunger, still coils inside you, but now there’s a coldness. A sudden, sharp distance from the scene in front of you.

You force your hands to unclench. You force yourself to breathe.

Asriel wasn’t Ivan.

You simply walk away. You hadn’t expected Asriel to chase after you—not that he would. He was a man of too high a status, too important to give chase to someone like you. 

You slip out of the dining hall, the murmurs and laughter fading behind you, swallowed by the heavy oak doors that close with a soft, final thud. The air feels cool as you step into the hall beyond, the stone walls of the manor thick and oppressive. The corridors stretch long and narrow, the architecture grand, but suffocating. Marble floors reflect the distant flicker of candlelight from chandeliers above, casting shadows that play like whispers on the walls. Heavy tapestries hang in every corner, depicting scenes of war, conquest, and power.

You feel the weight of those tapestries on your shoulders, the gaze of the countless ancestors staring down at you, judging. You pause at the top of the staircase, your hand on the iron railing. The staircase curves downward in elegant spirals, and from the balcony above, you can see the vast entryway below—polished floors gleaming in the dim light. There’s no sound here, nothing but the distant echo of voices from the ballroom behind you, murmurs of the rich and powerful who are far too busy with their own lives to notice a creature like you.

You take a step down.

Another.

Your feet make no sound on the marble, but your pulse is thudding in your ears, matching the rhythm of your steps. There’s something almost suffocating about the silence of the manor, as though the house itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to make a mistake.

You feel the hairs on your neck rise as you continue your descent. A couple walks past at the bottom of the stairs, laughing softly, their voices carrying to you like a distant melody. The man seems familiar. You stop and squint into the shadows of the hall, studying him with renewed focus.

He’s tall, impossibly so. His frame is lean but broad-shouldered, a stark contrast to the delicate elegance of his companion. His pale skin almost seems to shimmer in the candlelight, as though he’s carved from marble. 

And then you hear it.

The thrum of their hearts.

You don’t need to see it, don’t need to touch them to know. Their blood is singing to you, a rapid pulse that echoes through the hall, sharp and frantic. The person beside him clings to him, laughing softly at something he says, their head tilting back as they gaze up at him. But it’s the sound of their heart that draws you in—the quick, erratic beat as their emotions flare. They feels something deep for him, something frantic, a kind of desperate need, and the air around them practically hums with it.

You stand frozen for a moment, watching them, feeling their pulse rise with each passing second. Their hands are on his chest now, gripping his jacket with a possessiveness that mirrors something you know too well. It’s familiar—the fluttering, nervous energy that comes with attraction, with desire.

It’s strange. There’s something about him that feels different, an energy that’s colder, sharper. You can feel it even from this distance. The kind of power that ripples off him, like a storm waiting to break. It’s unnerving, that calmness in the face of such a flurry of emotion, as though he sees something she doesn’t. Or perhaps he’s seen it all before.

You don’t know why you’re still watching. You should turn away, walk past them, let them live in their moment. But something pulls at you. A curiosity. A kind of sick fascination with this stranger and the strange magnetism that surrounds him.

“Isaac?” The name slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, unsure if it’s the right one, but it feels familiar. Like a whisper of something you should know.

The man stops. His companion, still nestled in his embrace, also halts, her eyes flicking between you and the man, a flash of confusion crossing her features. The man turns toward you, and the moment he does, you feel an unsettling chill. His gaze is sharp—too sharp. It’s like he’s seen you.

There’s a moment of silence. You feel the blood rush to your face, the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck as you realize how out of place you must look, standing there, disrupting something so... intimate.

You’ve interrupted them. You shouldn’t have called out. You shouldn’t be here.

“Sorry,” you mutter, the words leaving your mouth like ash, bitter and unformed. You turn quickly, your heart racing, almost as if you can feel his gaze still on you, heavy, like a weight pressing into your back.

You hurry down the steps, not daring to glance back, the sound of your shoes echoing against the marble floor, the silence between you and them stretching longer with every step. The doors at the entrance loom ahead, the dark night waiting outside, offering the only escape you can reach. Without looking back, you push through the heavy doors and step into the cool, fresh air of the night.

 ──

You begin to see people exiting the building, their voices rising in a murmur of light chatter. The event must be over. You’re not sure how much time has passed since you stepped away from the crowd, but it doesn’t matter. The weight of their gazes still presses against your skin, their judgment an unspoken burden. You ignore the dirty looks thrown your way—some dismissive, others openly curious—as they file past you toward the valet.

Your gaze sweeps over the crowd, and then you see him.

Asriel.

He’s walking toward you, effortlessly parting the sea of people as if they’re little more than obstacles. You catch his eyes almost immediately. There’s a brief flicker of something—something unreadable—before he looks away, his attention shifting toward the parked limo. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t acknowledge you beyond that brief, knowing glance. He never does.

For a moment, you stand frozen, just a little too aware of how invisible you are to him, how easily he walks past without a second thought. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. You don’t need to turn around to know the driver is still not behind you, that he’s probably already in the car, waiting, prepared for Asriel’s exit. Of course he would be. You would sense him if he were close. That feeling of presence, that pulse of life, the faintest energy ripple in the air. And there’s nothing.

But then, just as your thoughts begin to wander, you hear the familiar sound of a door opening. Asriel’s deep voice cuts through the tension, pulling you back to reality.

“Get in.”

You look up, and for the first time, you see the door to the limo held open—for you. His posture is straight, commanding, but there’s something almost disinterested in his expression, something too practiced in his gestures, as if this is all routine, just another moment for him to play his role. You hesitate only for a second, the residual weight of the evening still hanging around you like a cloud. 

With no more hesitation, you step forward and slide into the car, feeling the cool leather beneath you as you settle into the plush seat. The door shuts behind you with a soft click, and the silence inside the limo feels heavier than it should. Asriel follows, his presence filling the small space like a shadow. He sits across from you, his gaze flicking briefly in your direction, though his face remains unreadable.

It was isolating, the privacy window closed in. Leaving just you and Asriel.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The hum of the engine starts, the car pulling smoothly away from the curb, but you can’t shake the feeling that something is hanging in the air. Something unsaid. The distance between you and him feels almost palpable, thick with things left unspoken.

“You caused a scene.”

The words hit you like a slap in the face, and you can feel your jaw tighten in response.

“I did not,” you reply, your voice firm, betraying none of the seething frustration that churns beneath the surface. “I could have truly made a scene by killing her.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. You don't even flinch, though you know how dangerous that statement sounds, how easily it could be taken as a threat. But at this point, you’re too far gone to care.

Asriel’s gaze flicks over to you, his eyes sharpening for the briefest of moments, before they return to the window. There’s no anger in his posture, no reaction at all, really. He merely gives a soft sigh, a sound so casual it almost feels dismissive.

“You wouldn’t do that.”

It’s not a question, just a statement. And in his voice, you hear something like amusement, a soft mocking edge that only adds to the bitterness building inside you.

“You remember what happened to Rehne, don't you?” you mutter under your breath.The car continues its journey through the night, the hum of the engine the only sound between you now. But it’s the silence that stretches between you both that fills the space, that makes the air feel too thick, too heavy.

Asriel shifts slightly, his suit jacket rustling as he adjusts his posture, but he doesn’t speak again. The only indication of his awareness is the slight tightening of his jaw, the faintest flicker of something—almost like concern, though you’re not sure if it’s for you, or just because you’ve finally dared to speak out of line.

You’re not sure why you said that. Why allow yourself to feel the need to claim something, to show that you were capable of something more than simply being in his shadow. But the words had spilled from your lips, raw and unfiltered.

The weight of it lingers.

“Is that what you think of me?” you ask quietly, before you can stop yourself. Your voice isn’t challenging, but there’s a trace of vulnerability in it that surprises even you. "A thing that just... exists by your side? Something to look past, to ignore?"

You didn't expect him to answer right away. In fact, you almost wish he wouldn't—because you’re not sure what you want to hear. But Asriel's silence stretches longer this time, and with it, something shifts inside you.

The urge to say something more, something sharp, something biting, is almost overwhelming. You want to make him feel something. But the quiet calm that fills the limo only tightens around you, like a vice.

Then, without warning, he speaks again, his voice quieter this time, as if he's carefully choosing his words.

"I never ignore you."

The words are so simple. So strange. They shouldn’t mean as much as they do, but they cut through the thick silence between you like a knife. His eyes meet yours, the first time in what feels like an eternity, and there’s something in his gaze—something difficult to interpret. A flicker of something human, something that almost feels... apologetic.

You try to read his expression, but the instant your gaze lingers, his face shifts back into that unreadable mask, his eyes going cold again, distant.

"But that doesn’t mean I’m going to entertain your tantrums," he adds, the edge of his voice sharpening once more.

You clench your fists at your sides, willing yourself not to snap, not to show how much those words hurt, even if they’re true. How he can so easily dismiss you, push you aside, and yet never fully let you go.

A bitter, almost desperate ache curls in your gut. The irony is sickening. The contradictions between what he says and what he does never fail to unravel you.

He pats his lap, an almost casual gesture, but it sends a jolt of icy awareness straight through your core. His eyes glint with something dark, a mix of command and something else—something you can’t quite place. 

“Come here, pet.”

The word settles in the space between you both like a weight. It’s not a question. It’s an order, and you know what happens when you don’t obey. The thought of disobedience—it’s never really been an option, has it?

You hesitate for only a heartbeat before the instinct to comply surges within you. The friction of your frustration against the smoothness of his control. You move, almost too swiftly, as if driven by something far beyond reason. Your body finds its place on his lap, the cool fabric of his suit brushing against your skin, the familiar, intoxicating scent of him enveloping you. 

Your face buries itself in the crook of his neck, your breath shallow, the tension in your chest rising. It’s so close. Too close. And then it happens. You feel the tug of something primal, that raw need, the hunger building inside you like a drumbeat, steady and insistent. Your teeth ache at the thought

His fingers graze the back of your neck lightly, almost absentmindedly, as if his touch is meant to ground you. It doesn’t work. If anything, it only makes the need grow sharper, more unbearable.

“Is it attention you want?” His voice is quieter now, threaded with an almost teasing note. 

You feel his words like a whisper across your skin, like the edges of a blade. It would be so easy to give in, to let that hunger consume you—to claim what’s yours. Him. 

You stay still, just for a moment longer, holding your breath, trying to wrestle control back. Your hands are trembling slightly, but you refuse to show it. You don't want to show any weakness, not now, not in front of him. 

“I don’t need attention,” you murmur, your voice muffled against the soft fabric of his collar, but it lacks the conviction it should have. 

You hate the way it’s so undeniable, how your body betrays you every time. How you need him, in a way that makes your heart feel twisted and raw. How he makes you ache without even trying. 

But you don’t dare voice it. Not aloud. Instead, you stay silent, pressing your face deeper into the crook of his neck, the soft thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. The urge to bite him, to mark him, to feel that rush of power, it surges again. You bite your lip, clenching your fists tighter.

“I think you do,” he says, his fingers threading through your hair, his touch gentle but commanding. “Tell me what you want, pet,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a rasp now. 

For a moment, you just stare at him, your breath coming in shallow bursts. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. His lips curl upward just slightly, a smirk—one that is both knowing and cruel.

You want to scream, to fight against the waves of need crashing over you. You want to push him away, tell him to stop, but the truth is—you can’t. 

“I…” You stop, words catching in your throat. You try to force them out, to demand what you crave, but they don’t come. It’s too much. 

“Go on,” Asriel presses, his voice darker now, more coaxing, like he’s savoring the moment. “Tell me. What do you want?”

Everything. The thought hits you before you can stop it. You want everything he has to give. You want him. You want the control, the attention, the bite, the warmth, the sting of his presence.

But instead, you close your eyes, exhaling slowly, and force the words out, though they sound hollow in your own ears. 

“I want… you,” you whisper, barely audible. The words feel wrong on your tongue, like a confession of weakness.

You lift your head from his neck, eyes locking with his, searching for any hint of softness. Anything that could tell you that, just once, he might see you as something more than his possession.

He smiles, his thumb gently brushing across your lips. "Good." The single word hangs in the air between you both, heavy, loaded.

He tilts his head to the side, an almost imperceptible motion, silently offering himself up—for you to feed. And you do. Your fangs find their place against his skin, sinking in with a soft, practiced ease. His hands move to your waist, steadying you, as if the gesture is both a comfort and a reminder of his control.

You feel the burn of your fangs against his flesh, the subtle tug of his skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You know he’s giving this to you, but there’s something more in his touch—something that tells you he’s not just the one being consumed here.

His grip on your waist tightens slightly, a subtle shift that makes your heart skip a beat. He’s holding you in place—not just physically—but emotionally, too. His power is all-consuming, pulling at the edges of your sanity, demanding your submission without a single word spoken.

Slowly he rocks you against the growing bulge in his pants, "That's... enough," he says, his voice still commanding, even though it's laced with a faint breathlessness. You pull away immediately, obeying the command without hesitation.

Asriel's fingers start their exploration, his touch gentle yet firm as he traces the curves of your body. His hands roam lower, skimming over your hips, your thighs, until they reach the hem of your skirt.

He pauses, his fingers hovering just above your skin, waiting for permission. But you don't give it. You can't.

Instead, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat as you wait for his next move. His fingers twitch, the anticipation almost palpable.

And then, slowly, deliberately, he pushes your skirt up, exposing your thighs to the cool air of the room. You shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin, but not from the temperature.

Asriel leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "You're so beautiful, pet. So perfect."

His hands continue their journey, sliding higher and higher until they reach the apex of your thighs. He pauses again, his fingers resting lightly against your clothed sex.

You can feel the heat of his touch, even through the fabric, and it sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of his touch.

He brings a hand to his neck, his fingers brushing over the spot where you had fed, dipping into the blood you’d drawn. Asriel's fingers push your panties aside, exposing your slick folds to his hungry gaze. He trails a finger along your slit, gathering the wetness there before bringing it to his lips. His tongue darts out, tasting your essence with a satisfied hum.

He brings his blood-smeared fingers to your entrance, circling your clit with the pad of his thumb. The blood acts as a lubricant, allowing his touch to glide smoothly over your sensitive flesh.

Asriel slowly pushes one finger inside you, coating your walls with the metallic tang of his blood. You gasp at the sensation, your body clenching around the intrusion. He begins to pump his finger in and out, gradually adding a second and then a third, stretching you deliciously.

He angles his fingers, searching for your clit. When he finds it, he rubs it relentlessly, his thumb circling your clit in tandem.

The dual stimulation is overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Asriel can feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, knowing you're on the verge of climax.

"Come for me, pet. Give yourself to me completely."

With a few more skillful strokes, he sends you flying over the precipice, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You cry out his name, a litany of pleasure and submission, as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

Asriel works you through it, his fingers gentling as you come down from your high. He withdraws from your body, bringing his blood and pleasure-coated fingers to his lips once more.

Asriel's eyes darken with lust as he gazes at your flushed, satisfied expression. He can't wait to claim you fully, to feel your tight heat wrapped around his aching cock.

With a growl of impatience, he fumbles with his belt, undoing it with clumsy fingers. He shoves his dress pants and underwear down his thighs, freeing his impressive erection. It springs up, thick and hard, the tip glistening with pearls of precum.

"On your knees, pet," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "Show me how much you want it."

You comply immediately, sinking to your knees on the plush carpet of the car. Your hands reach out to grasp his shaft, stroking him from root to tip. Asriel hisses in pleasure, his hips canting forward into your touch.

He tangles his fingers in your hair, guiding you closer to his straining cock. You take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head before taking him deeper.

Asriel groans, his grip on your hair tightening as you bob up and down his length. Careful not to cause him pain with your fangs. He sets a brutal pace, fucking your face with abandon, chasing his own pleasure.

"Enough," he grunts after a few minutes, pulling you off his cock. "I need to be inside you. Now."

You hesitate for only a moment before climbing onto his lap, your legs straddling his thighs. His cock brushes against your entrance, and you shiver at the contact.

Slowly, carefully, you sink down onto him, inch by delicious inch. He stretches you, fills you in a way you've never been filled before. When you're fully seated on his lap, your bodies pressed together intimately, he lets out a low groan of pleasure.

You begin to move, lifting yourself up before sinking back down. The motion sends sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, and you moan, unable to hold back the sound.

"Fuck, you're tight," Asriel groans, his head falling back against the seat. "So hot and wet and perfect."

You quicken your movements, rising up and down on his cock, finding a rhythm that has you both gasping and moaning. The car rocks with the force of your coupling, the leather seats creaking beneath you, and the windows fogging up with the heat of your passion.

Asriel's hands roam your body, cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples, driving you wild with lust. He captures your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure.

"That's it, pet," he pants against your lips. "Ride me harder. Take what you need."

Asriel meets your movements, thrusting up into you, driving himself deeper with each stroke. 

His hands roam your body, cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt. He leans forward, capturing one pert nub between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to send a jolt of pain-tinged pleasure straight to your core.

You ride him harder, faster, chasing your impending orgasm. Asriel's hips piston upwards, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. You can feel your walls starting to flutter, knowing you're close.

Asriel's thrusts grow more urgent, more demanding. He's close, you can tell by the way his body tenses beneath you, by the guttural moans that escape his throat. "So—good" he encourages, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. 

With a final, brutal thrust, Asriel buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he finds his climax. "Fuck” he breathes, his head thrown back in ecstasy. 

You feel the hot rush of his seed flooding your insides, claiming you, owning you. It triggers your own orgasm, your walls clamping down around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

You collapse against his chest, both of you panting and spent. Asriel wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you bask in the afterglow. “I own you.” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

You shiver at his words, a thrill running down your spine. You've never felt so possessed, so claimed. Asriel's cum still pulses inside you, a physical reminder of his ownership.

He reaches down, scooping some of the excess seed from where it leaks out of you, and brings his fingers to your lips. "Clean up your mess, pet," he commands softly.

Obediently, you part your lips, sucking his fingers into your mouth. The taste of him, salty and musky, sends another shiver through you.

 ──

You’re not sure when you fell asleep—vampires didn’t need sleep. It was more of a state of rest, a brief lull where time didn’t matter and everything was suspended. The gentle hum of the car’s engine is a soothing backdrop to the quiet space you occupy with Asriel.

The steady rise and fall of his chest against your back tells you he’s asleep too, though the way he holds you—still and unyielding—keeps the tension between you palpable. His warmth presses into your side, the faintest shift of his breath against your neck. Even in the calm, the presence of him feels suffocating, but not in a way that you mind.

Your eyes flutter closed once again. The motion is almost automatic, as if the weight of the night, of everything that’s happened, is too much to fight. You can feel his hand still resting lightly on your waist, fingers barely brushing the fabric of your clothes, yet the touch is enough to send a rush of heat through you. The proximity, the intimacy of it, makes your pulse quicken in the quiet darkness of the car.

The car continues its slow journey, the outside world distant, muffled by the tinted windows and the silence inside. The lights from the city pass by, casting brief flashes of pale illumination across the interior, but the moment you share with Asriel remains shadowed, hidden. The rhythmic sound of his breathing, steady and deep, lulls you deeper into the softness of sleep.

For the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to surrender to the sensation of his presence, of his warmth.

──

author's note: just in case there's any confusion, pet does not posses any romantic feelings towards isaac, vise vera.

elias requested fic is next!

if you like this, read the mirrored sequel! (heavenly)

[infamous-light]

Fragments of Us Ch. 2

Emo! Bully! Wanda Maximoff x Nerdy! Loser! Gender Neutral Reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5

AO3: Fragments of Us

Summary: Wanda has been bullying you since the start of the school year, but behind those sharp words, there's more than meets the eye.

Chapters can be read independently. Requests for snippets about Wanda are welcome!

Word Count: 449

Warnings: Bullying

Wanda Maximoff rested her back against the lockers, her dark eyeliner smudged perfectly around her piercing green eyes. Her short, plaid skirt clung to her hips, the hem swaying slightly with each subtle movement, revealing the edge of her thigh-high stockings. Her fingers toyed with the chain dangling from her belt, the slight jingle drawing your attention despite your best efforts to avoid her gaze. But it was difficult. Wanda’s stare was sharp, cutting through the crowded hallway like a blade, and it was trained directly on you.

Your heart pounded uncomfortably in your chest as you walked past her, clutching your books as though they were a lifeline. You tried to shrink further into your hoodie, hoping to become invisible, but the intensity of her gaze seared into you.

It had been like this since the very first day school started this year. Wanda had made it her mission to torment you – mocking your clothes, spreading rumors behind your back, and even laughing when she deliberately tripped you in front of her friends once. She’d looked on with that smug, triumphant smile, as if causing you pain was her greatest pleasure.

You didn’t understand why Wanda seemed to enjoy making your life so miserable.

“Hey, loser!” Wanda called, her voice loud enough to make your cheeks burn as a few passing students snickered. “You drop this?”

You turned slowly, your heart sinking as you faced Wanda. She dangled a blue journal in front of you and your stomach dropped – it was yours, filled with sketches and scattered notes for a D&D campaign you had been working on. You didn’t even notice that it had slipped from your backpack. Heat crept up your neck as you reached for it, but Wanda yanked it back, a wicked smirk tugging at her lips.

“Let’s see what’s inside.” Wanda teased, flipping it open.

“Give it back, Wanda.” You demanded, grabbing for it again, but she stepped back effortlessly.

Her smirk then faltered. She stared at the page, her lips parting slightly. “Wait… you drew this?” She asked, holding up a detailed sketch of a dragon breathing out fire.

You nodded, a flicker of confusion crossing your face at the unexpected softness in her voice.

“This… isn’t bad.” Wanda murmured, almost to herself. She flipped through more pages, her kohl-lined eyes widening in surprise.

You blinked, unsure. “You – uh, you don’t hate it?”

She looked up at you, her usual sneer gone, replaced by something you couldn’t quite place. “Like I said, it’s not bad.”

With that, Wanda pressed the journal into your chest as she brushed past you, a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips, leaving you momentarily stunned.

[lovezbrownies]

Machinery (Yandere!M!BioMechanic x Gn!Reader.)

Masterlist

Another character you might like...

Synopsis: You've worked your ass off to get to where you are today. And watching the guy who was naturally gifted intelligence, you can't help but admire him and he seemed to have noticed and lends you a helping hand.

Inspired by Viktor from Arcane :3. A random burst of inspiration came upon me to write this i looveve Viktor :3

The university was a place of perpetual twilight, where the sunlight above barely reached. Instead, a faint glow emanated from etherlamps scattered throughout the sprawling maze of stone corridors and mechanical apparatuses, their flickering light casting shifting shadows across the damp walls. It was here, amidst the hum of ancient machinery and the scent of oil and damp stone, that Elias thrived—a figure both enigmatic and unavoidable.

You had always noticed him in passing. How could you not? He was the kind of presence that demanded attention despite his unassuming appearance. Elias moved with a subtle grace, his shoes tapping softly against the stone floor as he navigated the labyrinthine workshop spaces. His amber eyes, sharp and unyielding, seemed to pierce through every surface, every person, as though searching for something beyond their physical form.

You’d admired his intellect from afar, envying the quiet precision with which he worked. His projects were always on the cutting edge—clockwork automata imbued with eerie lifelike movements, and crystalline contraptions that seemed to pulse with raw energy. But there was an intensity to him, a kind of fervor that made others keep their distance. You weren’t entirely sure why he had chosen you to notice.

It started as a flicker on the edge of your awareness—a glance here, a lingering moment there. You’d look up from your own work to find his eyes on you, studying you in a way that made your skin prickle. He didn’t look away when caught; instead, he would offer a faint, almost imperceptible smile, as though he was pleased you’d noticed him too. At first, you brushed it off as coincidence, but the frequency of these moments made that harder to believe.

Then came the night when you found yourself hunched over your workbench, your frustration mounting as you struggled with a stubborn gear assembly. The machinery before you was intricate, its interlocking pieces refusing to align no matter how many adjustments you made. The air was heavy with the scent of burnt metal, your fingers aching from hours of effort.

“That’s not the way to do it,” came a soft voice from behind you, startling you out of your thoughts.

You turned, your breath catching as you found Elias standing there, closer than you had realized. His amber eyes were luminous in the dim light, their intensity softened only slightly by the faint smile playing at his lips. Before you could respond, he stepped forward, his movements deliberate yet quiet, and reached for the wrench in your hand.

“May I?” he asked, though he was already taking the tool from your grasp. His fingers brushed yours in the process, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver up your spine.

He leaned in as he worked, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, his voice low as he explained the mechanics in a tone more suited to a secret than an instruction. “This mechanism… it’s delicate, but not fragile. You need to coax it into place, not force it.” His hands moved with precision, adjusting the gears with a practiced ease that made you feel clumsy in comparison.

“You’re very focused,” he murmured after a moment, his gaze flicking toward you. “It’s admirable, really. Most people here are… careless.” The way he said the word made it sound like a personal offense, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

You weren’t sure how to respond. His praise felt heavy, almost intimate, like it carried more weight than it should. But before you could dwell on it, Elias finished the adjustment and stepped back, his hand brushing your shoulder as he passed the wrench back to you.

“There,” he said, his voice softer now. “Try it again.”

You did, and the mechanism slid into place with an ease that made you blink in surprise. You turned to thank him, but the words faltered as you met his gaze. There was something in the way he was looking at you—something that made your chest tighten.

“It’s late,” he said suddenly, his eyes not leaving yours. “You shouldn’t stay here alone.”

“I’m used to it,” you replied, though his concern was unexpected.

Elias tilted his head, studying you for a moment before he took a step closer. “That doesn’t mean you should. The city isn’t always safe.”

Before you could protest, he reached out, his hand grazing the small of your back as he gestured toward the corridor. “Come. I’ll walk you.”

His touch was light, fleeting, but it lingered in your mind long after he’d pulled away. The walk to your quarters was quiet, his shoes tapping softly against the stone as he kept pace with you. He stayed close, too close, his shoulder brushing yours with every other step.

“You’re too kind to people,” he said quietly as you neared your door. His tone was gentle, but there was something beneath it—an edge you couldn’t quite place. “Not everyone deserves that from you.”

You glanced at him, startled by the sudden comment, but his expression was unreadable. He reached out then, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was tender, almost reverent, and it made your breath catch in your throat.

“You’re remarkable,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t let anyone take that from you.”

The moment felt suspended in time, his hand lingering near your face as his amber eyes searched yours. And then, just as quickly as it began, he stepped back, offering a faint smile before turning to leave.

But as you closed your door behind you, your heart still pounding, a quiet realization crept into your mind: Elias didn’t just notice you. He was watching you.

[cscoldon]

intro ( yandere!mean girl x gn!reader )

includes; unhealthy mindsets, relationships and behavior. such as gossip, manipulation, bullying, and cyberbullying. as well as obsession, harassment, stalking, and/or trespassing. and very heavily highschool influenced college.

Annalise Whinchester. The reigning queen bee of your college. A modern-day Heather Chandler, if there ever was one.

With just a flick of her fingers, she could break hearts and shatter dreams.

Rich, stunningly beautiful, and brutally sharp in every sense, Annalise was the embodiment of a double-edged sword. Despite her notorious reputation, there was an undeniable allure to her. With her luscious curves, piercing blue eyes, velvety skin, and cascading silky blonde hair, she epitomized beauty itself. Whether you wanted to be with her or be her, one thing was clear: she commanded attention.

Annalise had her pick of anyone in the world—be it a student council member or a dashing jock. But then her gaze landed on you.

You, of all people. A regular student who kept to themselves, a "normie" if you will. Not a nerd, not an outcast, not particularly popular or anything of the sort.

But there was something about you that set you apart: your indifference toward her. While others quaked in her presence or simmered with jealousy, you simply didn’t care. And that infuriated her. Annalise thrived on the attention, the adoration, and the disdain—yet here you were, a stone-cold enigma who remained unbothered.

Your indifference became the spark that ignited her obsession. Born from an initial aversion, she began to watch you intently, analyzing and studying your every move. The more she learned, the more her disdain morphed into something deeper. You were, in essence, just a normie! This frustration manifested in petty insults and orchestrated harassment, but you remained unfazed, as if her words were nothing but a gentle breeze.

And if that didn't stoke the flames of her annoyance further, nothing would.

She became fixated on unraveling the mystery of what made you tick. Yet, to her surprise, she discovered that her feelings were not rooted in hatred, but rather something entirely different—a budding admiration that she refused to acknowledge. Even as visions of your lips brushing against hers invaded her thoughts, she denied any attraction, convinced it was merely a childish grudge.

But the truth became harder to ignore with each passing day. For Annalise, once she realized she liked you, she retreated from her usual antics. The relentless insults faded, replaced by an eerie silence that only heightened your curiosity. You were relieved, grateful to move on, but this only fueled Annalise’s rage. How dare you dismiss her so easily?

Determined to regain your attention, she switched tactics, feigning friendliness that left you bewildered. It felt surreal, like you were navigating a minefield of emotions. The girl who once thrived on cruelty now seemed almost sweet—almost as if she were shedding her skin as a sadistic monster.

Over the ensuing weeks, her behavior transformed dramatically. From furtive glances to genuine conversations that lacked hostility, the shift was palpable. Everyone noticed, yet none dared to challenge her.

And then came the stalking. What had begun as casual observation morphed into a relentless pursuit, complete with cyberstalking. You became all too aware of her growing obsession, even as she gradually integrated you into her inner circle. Small group chats turned into invitations to parties—where she practically dragged you around, ensuring your presence was not just welcomed but expected.

However, nothing irked you more than the gossip that surrounded her. While Annalise might have thrived in the chaos, you were not cut from the same cloth. The whispers and harassment, both online and off, alienated your friends, who distanced themselves to avoid the drama. The pressure was mounting, and you felt suffocated by her demands for your attention.

So, you made the decision to pull away, abruptly and almost completely.

That’s when the storm hit. Annalise was taken aback, confused and furious. She had always been aware of her snobbishness and cruelty, but she had kept that facade hidden from you—at least, she thought she had.

When you found yourselves in the same class just two days after your withdrawal, she was seething. You were chatting with your friends, ignoring her entirely, and that was the last straw. Annalise couldn’t comprehend how you could disregard her so blatantly.

Barely holding back her impulse to confront you, she waited impatiently for the lecture to end. As soon as the bell rang, she stormed over, her face a mask of anger as she seized you by the arm and pulled you into the hallway.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she snarled, eyes blazing with fury, though beneath it all was an undeniable hint of desperation.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” you shot back incredulously, frustration bubbling to the surface. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Why did you do that—stop talking to me?” she demanded, her voice laced with anger, yet tinged with an unmistakable hint of vulnerability.

“You can’t just do that. You’re mine.”

In that moment, everything shifted. The lines between love and hate blurred, leaving both of you grappling with an emotion neither had anticipated. It was a dangerous game, and neither was quite ready for the stakes.