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forbidden-sunlight · 5 months

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yandere! literary agent with fem!reader scenario

warnings: implication of obsessive thoughts or love.

There might be potential triggers in this story. If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant.

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Hey guys, welcome back to another yandere fic, introducing Yulian Prescott. I'd like to give a big shout-out to my dear friend @deathmetalunicorn1 for helping me write this and finding the perfect likeness for my character, especially when this idea came to me all of a sudden on a Sunday night when I should be sleeping instead of staying up an ungodly hour.

As always, bullying on here will not be tolerated. If it does happen, this scenario will be taken down. I'm not sure if this will be a series. At the moment, this is just a scenario.

With that being said, sit back, relax, and let's dive into the cutthroat world of publishing.

PART TWO

Yandere!Literary Agent is a man who prides himself on being very good at his job. He represented one of the best publishing houses in the country. Anything less than what he expected from his clients was unacceptable.

If the manuscript arrived in his inbox exactly two minutes past the promised deadline, he would not look at it. If his client is acting like a stupid moron at a function or royally fucking up their reputation by posting something inappropriate on their social media account, he is not cleaning up their mess. He is not their babysitter. They are full-grown adults. And if one of them is not able to produce another book that will actually sell past the number of copies slated to be printed, he will let them go. Call him cruel if you want. Yandere!Literary Agent is simply being pragmatic. He wasn’t cheap. He only wants the best of the best.

So imagine Yandere!Literary Agent’s surprise when a particularly difficult client sent him a completed manuscript. He planned on writing her an email that after much deliberation, it was time for her to find another agent to represent her. The client, Abigail Crowley, had written an adult dark academia trilogy and a feminist retelling of the myth of Theseus, told from the perspective of his lover Adriane. The manuscripts following the conclusion of her last book, however, were complete shit. Her royalties were nearly gone, having squandered them on a penthouse in a high-end neighborhood, the latest clothes, and a wine fridge. You heard him. A fucking wine fridge when she could have replaced that shoddy laptop of hers with something better so she could keep writing books and not have it crap out on her.

Half-amused and half-annoyed at this pathetic attempt to keep her contract with the publishing company from being null and void, Yandere!Literary Agent clicked on the attachment and read it. One page became four, then fifty. He had to force himself to stop when it was lunchtime and he was already at the mid-way point.

This story, it was…good. No, it was more than good. It was absolutely fantastic. And Yandere!Literary Agent did not compliment his clients’ works very often, which meant he believed at this very moment, this manuscript will most definitely become Abigail’s comeback to the literary industry. Book sales would go through the roof, A Netflix deal was also possible. But the first hurdle he had to overcome was pitching the manuscript, and making sure the query letter was at least consistent with the story that Abigail was trying to sell to him.

And he’ll make it happen. He is very good at his job, after all.

Once he had successfully pitched it with a bit of extra charm, he contacted Abigail. She was over the moon, promising to make any necessary edits to the manuscript and it will be sent to him on time. From there, time fast forwarded. ARC books were sent out, Abigail selected the cover designs for the regular and special editions, and a tentative book tour was scheduled. Seven cities, and one international trip, maybe another in the future. Sales for this book were projected to exceed expectations. Yandere!Literary Agent was very confident things would go smoothly from here. At least he had thought so.

A month before the book was to be published, his secretary knocked on his door and said he had a visitor. They insisted on seeing him. Yandere!Literary Agent raised his brow, rising from his desk and stepping out into the hall and saw you.

In the beginning, he will begrudgingly confess that his first impression of you was someone who is painfully average and out of place. A backpack slung over your shoulder, dressed in navy blue medical scrubs and looking absolutely haggard. Your eyes, though, shined with anxiety and determination. You inclined your head.

“I apologize for the sudden intrusion, I know you’re busy, but I have some concerns about the book that’s going to be released soon by Abigail Crowley.”

Yandere! Literary Agent’s gaze sharpened.. “And what, pray tell, are your complaints?” He crossed his arms. “Are you one of the people who had signed up to be ARC reader and didn’t get their copy?”

You raised an eyebrow. “...No?”

“Then why -”

“Because it is my novel that is being published. Without my consent.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Look, I know it is hard to believe, I get it.” You then swung your backpack around to your front, unzipping the larger compartment. You pulled out a large notebook, some papers, and a flash drive. You held them out to him. “But I think what I have here might convince you to allow me ten minutes, if not five, to hear me out. That’s all I’m asking. This isn’t about money, this isn’t about suing your company. I just want my story back. I’ve already tried talking to Abigail about it, and she isn’t picking up my calls. Please.” You said. “Three minutes.”

His schedule was clear until the two o’clock meeting with another client on the other side of town. That was about an hour and half from now, as he had just come back from lunch. He supposed he could give you three minutes. Rolling his eyes, Yandere!Literary Editor swiveled on his heel.

“Let’s see what you have. Melissa, please hold my calls until I’m done.” His diligent secretary nodded and went back to her desk. You followed him like a lost little duckling back to his office. Once the door was closed, you handed him everything.

Yandere!Literary Editor went over the materials carefully, flipping through the pages of the notebook. The outlines and character designs were here, all written in excruciating detail and in such tiny print. He asked you random questions, going off of his memory from the manuscript and these notes. You answered him without hesitation.

“Yes, that’s correct. What? No, absolutely not. I would never have those characters be romantically paired up! Their relationship is too toxic, and wouldn’t set a good example to the target audience. I’m sorry, what? No, that isn’t her name! It’s Cristabel, not Anastasia! She’s supposed to be assisting the Night Emperor with collecting intelligence via the gossip of salons under her alias, not swooning over his brother when he’s already happily married to his wife! Good God, no. That scene should not even be there! That’s filler content and makes the character growth of the protagonist seem like the pay-off wasn’t worth it, or that he didn’t learn anything at all since the beginning of the book!”

Yandere!Literary Agent grounded the molars of his back teeth, inhaling slow, deep breaths through his nostrils. Keeping his emotions in check is one of the reasons why he has survived in the publishing industry for this long, and he’s such a successful man.

But hearing you speak about the characters, perfectly recalling the manuscript’s themes and looking back at the notebook in his hand, seeing the colorful sticky notes with edits and improvised scenes written on them…he couldn’t deny it any further. You were the real author of the book he’s representing, and Abigail Crowley played him like a goddamned fiddle.

If this wasn’t enough damning evidence of his client’s plagiarism, you had shown him an original illustration of the world you had created. It was done by an artist you had commissioned on Etsy, with proof of purchase for their services and a timestamp. Three years ago. That was when Abigail’s last best-selling book hit the shelves, and when her creative well began to dry out.

You must have caught on to his irritation, because you told him that you weren’t here to intentionally stir up any trouble. A coworker had told you about Abigail’s newest book coming out, and the premise was exactly yours, at least what was advertised in the BookTok and Youtube trailers online. You’ve been searching high and low for your manuscript, and the only other person who has been in your apartment and knew about your creative endeavors has been Abigail. She wasn’t really your friend, per say. You took some of the same creative writing courses. You eventually found another career to pursue, and you kept writing as a hobby. She went on to become a professional author and never missed an opportunity to show off her success whenever she invited you out for drinks at an upscale bar or went to fancy dinners.

Why would Abigail steal the book you’ve been working on for three years when you work a full-time day job, you had no idea. She’s living the dream that she’s always wanted, defying her mother’s wishes to get a normal job because writing is everything to her, and she would never give up on it. But if you were to be hypothetical, it might be another attempt to somehow get one up on her self-proclaimed rival, Cindy Chen, who is an even bigger success than her.

You then rubbed your eyes. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.” You murmured, standing up from your seat. “Keep the notebook, the maps, whatever you want. If you could return them to me when you’re done, that’s all I ask. And an apology from Abigail, if you’re able to get one out of her. Like I said, this isn’t about money, royalties, or fame. I just want my story back.”

Yandere!Literary Agent immediately stood up, his eyes slightly widened in fear. “Wait, please, just a moment! I know you’re tired, you want to go home…but I need to set things right. If I had known that this manuscript, your story, had been stolen, I would have never spearheaded its publication.” And he wouldn’t have. Not only would it affect his reputation, but the company’s too. Stocks would plummet, and there would be a feeding frenzy on social media with #abigailcrowley, #plagiarism, #sailboatpublishinghouse.

When you looked at him, his heart lurched uncomfortably at seeing your lips fall into a crestfallen expression. You looked so tired, so done with everything, and oh god you looked like you were about to cry shit. Walking around his desk, Yandere!Literary Agent eased you to sit back down and quickly prepared an espresso, possessing a machine to make it in his office so he did not have to walk down five flights to the break room.

You thanked him for the drink and took a sip, wrinkling your nose slightly, no doubt surprised at the taste. You must not be a regular espresso drinker, or prefer how you made it. Either way, he was grateful that you did not bolt out of the office. Picking up his office phone, he dialed Melissa’s number.

“Call all of the heads, including the marketing and social media departments. This is an emergency meeting. Now!” Bless Melissa, she did not ask him questions and said she would get on it immediately, hanging up on him. The next person he called was Abigail fucking Crowley. He sweet-talked her into coming to the office, apologizing for interrupting her ‘creativity time’ and promised it won’t take long. She swore to be there in a half an hour, so long as traffic didn’t back up. Yandere!Literary Agent played the understanding card and hung up, his smile being replaced with a smirk. Hook, line, and sinker. He scoffed. He then turned to you.

“Everything will be resolved soon.” He promised.

“Sir -” You began.

“Yulian, please.”

“Mister Yulian, I understand that you want to make things right, but…can you really get Abigail to talk? She blocked my calls, and the book is hitting the shelves in a month, maybe less than that? How are you going to recover the money that has gone into getting it published, the fees for the printing companies, and the marketing? Correct me if I’m wrong, I’m not too familiar with how publishing works these days.”

You weren’t wrong, at least in the aspect that the company has put a significant amount of money into the publication of the stolen manuscript, your work, he added mentally. It was too late to stop the printing, and the final draft would need a significant amount of changes. Unless…

“Abigail is a plagiarist, and you are the rightful creator. The way I see it, we can salvage the financial loss by putting your name on the cover, and fixing the glaring omissions as well as other scenes you claim shouldn’t even be there.” He sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Of course, we would need to have a press conference and explain why we are changing authors, and what she has done. Considering the timetable and coordinating with the printing companies, it will be cutting it close.”

You stared at him silently for a long moment before placing the espresso cup back onto the tiny saucer with a soft clink, releasing a heavy sigh. “If I agree to do this, to help with the edits, probably fuck up my sleeping pattern and might potentially be fired from my job unless I can use some of my PTO, what will I get in return?”

He smiled. “Abigail will be the one to pay for publishing and marketing fees. I can extend the deadline for the revisions by a week. And you will be paid for your time, of course. There will be no need to come here to drop off revisions either. All correspondence will be through email. As an agent, I am qualified to be your representative during press conferences, so you will not have to be present. All I would ask of you is to turn in the final manuscript on time and not say anything on social media until our legal team is fully prepared.”

“No need to worry about Twitter or Facebook. Haven’t logged on to my account in years.” You raised the espresso cup to your lips. “Too much politics.” You tilted your head to the side, a puzzled frown stretching across your face. “Any chance I could get all of this in writing? I might need to get a lawyer if Abigail tries to take it to court and sue me for defamation.”

Yandere!Literary Agent nodded. He opened up a blank document and immediately typed up the contract, including everything that you have discussed and a few other variables. Once he finished, he printed it out, handing it to you. You read through the contents carefully before handing it back to him.

“It looks good - it’s all here and I’m agreeable to the terms.” You said.

Humming under his breath, Yandere! Literary Agent signed the bottom. You signed your name next to his, with today’s date and the time.

He ignored the tiny tingle that crawled up his spine when your fingertips brushed against his as you gave him back the pen. You agreed to stay until the matter with Abigail was over, and he would email you the manuscript so you could go through everything when you get home.

As it turned out, you did not have to wait much longer for the best-selling author to make her entrance at Board Room 3. Exchanging numbers with Yandere! Literary Agent you would wait in the adjacent room until he sent you a text to make your entrance. Melissa escorted you to said room when he received a message from Abigail that she would be here in ten minutes.

It’s time. That was the message he sent you. When you opened the door, revealing yourself to the staff and the flustered Abigail…she snapped.

She rambled how she needed a book, just one more successful book, and she would be set for life. She wouldn’t lose her penthouse, she would still be considered a worthy rival to Cindy Chen, and above all else, she could still write as she had always wanted to do since she was a teenager. You already had a normal job, you had a steady income, you weren’t even a writer. Being a hobbyist writer did not count. Yes, she took your manuscript, but it wasn’t a big deal! You could just write another book when you had time between shifts at the hospital, right?

The look you gave her…it was resignation. Hopelessness. Disappointment.

“Abbie…it wasn’t just a story I wrote. You should know that. Writing is so much more than that. I’ve tried to be nice, to talk to you but you wouldn’t listen. I’m sorry it’s come to this, I really am.” You said. That was the last thing you said before you were escorted outside of the door. Seeing your part in this is over, Yandere! Literary Agent took control of the room.

“Whether it is a hobby or professional writing, it doesn’t change the fact that you stole someone’s work and tried to pass it off as your own.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You are a thief, nothing more and nothing less.” Then the lawyers approached Abigail, presenting her with the fees she will need to pay. If there was an issue, going to court would not be an issue as he had all of the evidence needed to ruin the once best-selling writer Abigail Crowley.

Her reaction was….amusing.

After security had escorted the screaming woman off of the premises, Yandere!Literary Agent went to search for you, thinking you had gone back to his office to wait for him. You weren’t there. Melissa said you did stop by her desk, only to leave a message on a sticky note that you needed to go home but promised to get the revisions done as fast as you could, and thanks for the espresso it was really good.

Yandere!Literary Agent smiled softly at the hastily written chicken scratch, pocketing it in his trousers before going back inside his office. You weren’t like any of his other clients. And he would like to get to know a bit more. Who knows? Perhaps….he could persuade you to sign a contract with him, be your agent. You shouldn’t hide your talents from the world. There were people who would love to read your stories, and he had no doubt that the company would benefit from it too.

But there was no need to rush. There was a month until the book was to be released. That was more than enough time for him to work his magic. He is good at his job, after all.

Taglist

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@yanderefangirl

©️do not repost or use any of the characters depicted here without the author’s permission. forbidden-sunlight, 2024

#forbidden-sunlight #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere x you #fem!reader #yandere! literary agent #yandere fanfiction #yandere manhwa x reader #ns.fw #tw obsessive love #tw obsessive behavior

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gremlingottoosilly · 2 months

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König who cheats on his wife with reader? (Whether reader knows or not is up to you.) His relationship with his wife has become rather stale now and the two can’t even sleep in the same room without an argument starting, or maybe he didn’t even want to marry her in the first place. If reader does know, he’s constantly telling her that he’s going to divorce his wife eventually.

You thought you knew better than to get involved with a military guy of his rank. It's only obvious that he had a wife - probably someone he married to get out of the barracks and to make his family shut up about settling down. Probably someone older, someone mature and respectful, and someone who could give you a few pieces of life advice before she'd known you were fucking her husband. Dick isn't even that good to betray the sisterhood, but you wanted money and you wanted attention - and getting with Konig provided you with both. You didn't know he was married, you didn't really care about him besides his money and his cock buried deep in your wet, tight pussy, but he really liked using your boobs as a shoulder to cry on. As something to bitch and moan about his failing marriage or his desire to shoot half of the KorTac personnel, or his therapist threatening to up his anxiety medications again. Now, you were honestly trying to break up with him once you realized he was married. You didn't want to be a homewrecker and you wanted something with a bit of a future instead of endless promises to leave his wife - so, you talked to Konig. Said that it was really fun and you enjoyed sex and having everything paid for, but you really needed a clean slate right now, and you wanted to quiet being the mistress from now on. He pulled out divorce papers that he prepared ever since you started the conversation with "I need to talk about our future". He pulled out the ring he had prepared since you really wanted to talk about the perspectives of your relationships. He pulled out a conversation with his wife where she is really fucking thankful for him finally signing on the divorce. You really, really started to understand how he ended up in a weird and loveless marriage in the first place. You also recognized the way his wife had barely even shown up in his life before. You can kinda see your future in her - maybe just a tad bit more pampered at first. Maybe, if you manage to last a few years, he would find himself a new obsession with longer legs and younger posture. You stare at the obsessive glint in Konig's eyes as he promises that his wife "was already taken care of" and that you can have his mom's wedding ring now. It feels awfully rusty. Maybe, you'd last more than a few years. You just hoped that "second time - the charm" won't actually work in this situation.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod

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eupheme · 1 month

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— clean slate [into the fire, part v]

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, sex for favors, sub/dom elements, canon-typical descriptive violence and death, references to blood/gore, anti-ghoul sentiments, physical violence against reader, hurt/comfort, kissing

a/n: please mind the tags! this chapter got twice as long as the others (maybe I didn't want it to end, haha!) and there was a good break, so to keep things consistent, I am splitting it in half! both are being posted today though, so you don't have to wait 💖

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game. But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

(or - they took something from the Ghoul, and he’s here to collect)

The afternoon edges into night, and he tells himself each hour is the last one he'll think about you.

The Ghoul had waited for you to look back. Stock-still in the swirling dust that bit at his skin. A white-knuckled grip around the thick coil of rope.

You hadn’t.

His hand still reaches to scrubs at his neck, his jaw. To wipe you away or rub you in, he’s not sure.

It doesn't fucking matter.

He's stuck around a long time. Enough to see generations of families grow old and then die. The last few weeks are no more than a blip, in his far too-long life.

Hell - he's spent more time underground, than with you.

But something prickles at him. Lingering like a bad trip, leaving his teeth clenching and jaw aching as he finishes out the bounty.

It's messy.

It shouldn't have been. Should have been easy - but he's aching for a fight, something to take his mind off things. He's antagonistic.

Could've finished everything up from afar, but he ends up in close range. Another scar marring his chest, new splatters streaked across his dark coat.

It aches, a deep bruise as it heals.

Still only slightly dulling the itch of irritation.

I haven't lied about anything.

Didn’t last night mean anything to you?

It's sometime the next morning, after a night of a starless sky closing in around him, that he gives in.

Heading the way you went without thought, and when he does notice, he tells himself it's only because he needs more chems. That it’d be a shame to lose a supplier as good as you.

That it's easier, for both of you to stick together.

Maybe that's why he was careless. Knowing deep down, it would be easier to find a corpse later than to haul around a bounty, kicking and screaming.

The small sliver left of another man, from another life, knows he was cruel. That anger had turned him into a viper. Had always been good at striking first. Self-preservation beaten into him after two-hundred years - an old, festering wound.

He doesn’t know how to apologize anymore, but he can already think of a few ways to distract you.

Maybe you’ll forget completely, if he's thorough.

The Ghoul is faster than you are. Needs less rest, less food. Has already plotted just how far you can get in a day. Your footprints faded as packed earth leads to woods, but you’re not the type to wander, and there's only a few settlements in the miles ahead.

Halfway to his destination, when his eyes snag on a patch of rocks. A broken bits of branches on the trees just before it. There's something smeared across the stone - tasting like iron, when the tip of a finger brings it to his tongue.

Something ancient twists in his stomach, awakening from a slumber.

Backing up, he's able to piece together the struggle. Seeing the flattened grass, the heavy boot prints, melding with the smaller ones.

Finding a body, fallen off to the side - angling off the rock with the stain. Something familiar about the look of him.

A boot sinks into their side, rolling them over. A curl of a lip - he recognizes them. One of the two bounty hunters they’d fun into.

He had hated their eyes on you when they blew through that town.

Something had prickled at him then, but he had ignored it. A grit of his jaw - should’ve dealt with both of them.

There’s a hole in their head - red spilling down their neck, still tacky to the touch. A clean, close shot. His finger sinks in the wound, the same size as your 10mm.

"Good girl." The Ghoul murmurs.

The slightest ease of the knot in his chest.

A crunch of glass beneath his feet, the glint of the sun catching the needle. Another shape he knows well - a syringe. Probably a tranquilizer.

Three meeting one, with three leaving. The dead weight of you weighing down their steps, the footprints pressing heavily into the earth.

Easy enough for him to follow, as he slings his gun free.

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game.

But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

Despite being back among faces you knew, fear had been your only companion since the meeting in the forest.

Hazy memories flicker through your mind. Being dragged, snippets of light and the heat of a fire. The bright sear of dawn, and the dry embrace of the desert again.

Waking to the feeling of your arms being wrenched above your head. Coming to, hissing and spitting. Nails catching the face of one of them - Baine, you think - his fist cracking down hard against your cheek in retaliation.

Leaving you dazed, as your wrists were caught again - bound in place. A cruel curl of a lip, as they examined you like a brahmin.

“You look like a Wastelander”. It’s spit out, a wet mark against the floor, “We’ll get you back where you belong soon enough.”

You’re not sure how much time has passed. A day, maybe. Hunger gnaws at you - only a small sliver of comfort in the dried meat and fruit tossed your way.

Axton, the head of the Reclaimers - those who were tasked with bringing people back - had grown up with you. At one time, was perhaps even more than that. A distant relation of the current Overseers, his blood too thinned out to be of use - but even he won’t look you in the eye.

You both know how this will go, when you get back home.

Hope drains from you, with each hour. Eating away at the little flicker of hope in your chest, wrapped tightly around your heart.

Maybe he’d show.

But despair clouded your thoughts, soon after.

“You get hurt doing some stupid shit, and I’m leavin’ you behind.”

“You're a goddamn fool if you think I hadn’t been planning on turnin' you in the first chance I get."

Maybe he’d been truthful all along, and you hadn’t listened. Read into all those small moments, weaving them together until they had made something tangible.

The looks, stolen breaths and almost-careful touches. All fleeting, but you had caught them. Holding them close to your heart.

But life isn’t like the holotapes you grew up, back when everything felt safe.

There aren’t cowboys anymore. No heroes on horses - with their silver spurs and a shining, golden badge.

No one was coming for you.

The footprints die out, as the bleached trees grow thin.

Tall grass to packed dirt, dried by the sun. Rolling hills and then mountains, scraping against the horizon. The dipping sun casts him in a red light that bleeds to black at his ankles, his shadow stretching back long and lean behind him.

But these roads aren't wholly unknown to him.

Spent time blowing through Junktown and The Hub, a couple dozen miles away. The memory hazy, but there weren't too many places folk could stay, once the sun went down and everything wild and unruly came crawling out.

A feeling in his gut has him stopping two miles down the road. A half-dug quarry, long abandoned even before the world went to hell. Threadbare railings and platforms held together with spit and a prayer, framing the rusted building that cuts into the stone walls.

The tip of his boot taps a loose rock, sending it off the edge. Head cocked as he thinks, until he hears the faintest clatter a hundred feet below.

Two-hundred years ago, he had stood on a ledge much like this. Valley of the Gun. The final shootout had his guns lost in the dust. Fist-fighting with the leader of the gang, until they both near tumbled off the edge together.

Honorable, in the way he had caught the man's hand. Tried to haul him up, but had to let go when a knife was pulled - keeping him the hero. A satisfying death that wasn't his fault, a way to keep his conscience.

All movie tricks. Angles and the implication of falling, as the camera focused on his face that swam with regret.

Comin' after a girl then, too.

Thinks that's why the old memory has loosened in his mind.

Funny how things can change, but the bones remain. How he's still drawn back to life he's left far behind. Even if his conscience was buried, a long time ago.

Some things linger. He could go down. Take one of those ladders, work his way through the tunnels that are sure to wind through the limestone, and up through the back.

But he's never much liked being underground.

Another second of considering, before he's heading for the front door.

He used to like a script, but that was back in the day when the worst thing that could happen was a box-office bomb, not the hell he's been dragged through.

A half-cocked plan already forming. Twisting that connection between them, his own abandoned contract. Get him through the front door and to the man in charge at least, and that might be all he needs. Let years of instinct take over, after that.

Had already gotten a good look at a couple of them, when he first picked up the bounty. It had made him curious - why there was so much fuss, over so small a thing. Easy caps, he decided, when he had gotten a look at you.

Picking up that their brutality had been learned from sharpening their teeth against a silver spoon. Hardy - compared to some Wastelanders - with their filling meals and their pristine weapons.

But they sure as hell don't have the same grit as one.

Not much of anything, really, when compared to him.

The door opens with the push of his shoulder. Hand beneath the swirl of his coat, finger already fixed on the trigger. Not far in until he’s running into one of them - another Vaultie.

The man startles, wide-eyed when he sees him. Green, in his shades of blue and yellow.

“Here ‘bout a job.” The Ghoul keeps his voice light, in spite of everything.

Knows they’re keeping you alive for someone else, as much as that makes his jaw clench. No need to go rushing in just yet.

A flicker of recognition, as the man frowns, “How’d you find us?”

His head tilts, that smooth drawl slipping in, “Wouldn’t be much of a Bounty Hunter if I couldn’t, now, would I?”

The Vault Dweller’s eyes are fixed on his face, that familiar look of fear and disgust - dipping down to the pocket of his nose, the curling smile of yellowed teeth.

It’s strange how foreign it feels, after the hours spent with you looking at him so differently.

Maybe he’d been a fool, after all.

Maybe it’s more than your tight cunt that he wants to bury himself in, to claim. Something soft, bitten back behind his teeth. Something he doesn’t even know if he has a name for, anymore.

Something he didn’t know he needed , until he had chased both it and you away.

“We’ve already got her.” The man manages, after thinking it over, “Don’t think we need your services anymore.”

There’s another flash of teeth at the confirmation.

“Agreement was to find her. And who do you think rustled her up?” His brow lifts, “Would’ve been half-way to New Reno by now, if I hadn’t herded her your way.”

That sharp edge creeping in, “Think my time’s worth a little somethin ’. Don’t you?”

It’s easy for the guard to leave that decision to someone else. Standing aside, to let him pass.

“Thank you kindly.” The Ghoul tips his hat, a swirl of his coat as he passes.

Taking just enough steps past them, waiting until the man’s back turns. Spinning on his heel, after.

The knife glints between his fingers as he twirls it. A hand pressing over the Vault Dweller’s mouth, before the blade sinks into their neck.

Muffling the dying gurgle. A grunt as the Ghoul yanks the blade free - leaving the body crumpled in the shadows, as he winds deeper.

One down.

Hold on, he thinks.

I’m coming.

His whistle echoes in the chamber.

Half old-world - a long-forgotten leitmotif that fuses with new notes of his own. A part to play until he doesn't, letting the Ghoul guide him.

Down the half-lit hallway, the lights flickering overhead from the ancient generator. Everything picked clean like he figured it would be - every last piece of scrap ferreted away, leaving only dusty crates behind.

Still playing the part, as the low murmur of voices grows louder. Ears pricking up, listening for hers. Picking out at least three or four others from the layered hum.

A sneer, at the number. He’s faced worse odds. It’s in his favor really - take out as many fuckers as he can. Send bits and pieces of them back.

His intentions masked, an old habit, by the time he enters the warehouse. A wide steel grate floor, opening up to a second level below, scattered with old machinery.

There’s a table. Cards littering the top - a luxury brought from the Vault, as they bet using caps. Couple Vault Dwellers and that Wasteland son of a bitch from the town. Four total, one lounging on a sleeping pack as if it’s just another night, and they weren’t bringing you to your death.

It rankles him, teeth set on edge.

A scrape of chair legs on the floor, at the drawling condescension of his voice.

“Ain’t y’all a little old for a sleepover?”

Hands rest on holsters, but they don’t draw. The Ghoul focuses on one - a face he recognizes, the one who had sought him out.

The man’s legs spread, as if he’s got something worthwhile between them. The leader of this whole operation. Axton , or some shit like that - it hadn’t been worth his time to remember.

“Believe you fellas got somethin’ of mine.” The Ghoul drawls, “I’m here to collect.”

There’s a pause at that.

One of them, a right-hand man by the look of their padded leather armor - not a scratch on it - scowls. A face that tells another story. Pink marks start at their cheek, jagged lines that end at a thick neck.

His eyes narrow at that, lip curling. A flicker of unease in his belly - fingers clenching where they rest against his hips, close enough to draw.

“You’re too late for payment, ghoul. Heard you were dragging your feet.” His head tilts, towards the Wastelander who had gone still, “We went and got her ourselves.”

The Ghoul grins - a fierce thing, with a flash of teeth. A lilt, in his voice.

“Now, what makes you think I’m here for caps?”

It gives them pause. His question - the prospect of a ghoul showing up, unannounced.

“What else you here for?” Another grunts - eyes already back on his cards, a comfort in their numbers.

“Think you know.”

“The girl?” Atmos laughs, and the sound is cruel, “Heard she split from you. Caught her after.”

A tilt of his head towards the armored man and the Wastelander. Taunting then, “Must not be that good, if you let her slip away. What, she get tired of looking at your ugly mug?”

If they only knew the kind of things he’d done to you. What you had done to him, right back.

The Ghoul is only half-paying attention. Sticks and stones, all their insults falling on deaf ears. Too busy with eyes that flick over the top floor. Then down to the ground below.

Something flipping inside his guts, when he sees it. Cast in shadow near the base of the stairs, but his eyesight is keener than it’s ever been.

Arms bound, the knot looped around the hook of an overturned crane. A raw, split mark - swollen and bruised flesh - on the curve of a smooth cheek. Just above where your teeth cut into a piece of cloth, tied tightly around to gag you.

A tilt of your head, and then your eyes are meeting his. Round and blank with fear. Widening, when you see him.

His girl.

Muscles string tight, eyes narrowed as his teeth clench. You’d paid for what you did, and he’d be there to return the favor.

His gaze snaps back, and focuses. Whatever plan he had been working up burns, turning to ash.

“Always heard that beauty was in the eye of the beholder.” The Ghoul’s tone is conversational - although his blood boils, scalding hot, “But if you wanna see an ugly fucker , well… you best look right there.”

There’s a nod of his head, towards the man in charge. As if on cue, their heads twist to look - just as he draws, and then fires.

The Vault Dweller’s head caves in. Gore splattering against the blue of his suit. Barely a breath before his finger is tugging again, a bullet going through the chest of a second.

Always too goddamn slow.

Hesitant to take a life, even with their bravado.

Something that molted from his skin with the rest of him, over a century ago. He’s already reaching for the gun holstered at his shoulder before return shots are fired.

He can feel the flicker of something miss him, before he’s charging. Ducking under the swing of a knife, the muzzle pressed against ribs.

A hoarse shout that is drawn out by the ringing blast. The knife caught and sent spinning into the back of the Wastelander, heading towards the door.

Flinching, as something slams into his shoulder, just shy of his collarbone, and out the other side. The turn of a head - an eye fixed on the last man standing.

Padded armor won’t do much to stop him.

“That your handiwork?” The Ghoul growls, as his head tips towards you.

The man's finger twitches but he’s faster - a shot going into the meat of their thigh. Downing them as they scream, as the Ghoul saunters over to tug the hilt from where he’s buried it in the Wastlander’s back.

It glints a gleaming red in the light, as he adjusts his grip. Eyeing the scripted tattoos that cross over the man’s knuckles - as they grip at their thigh, near-tenderized from the blast.

Ones that had struck you. Could send them back, spelling out something obscene. A rough laugh at the thought.

He’s got someone waiting for him. But, he knows from experience…

That this won’t take too long.

In the hours since you parted, it’s only now that you can breathe.

For a long moment, you hadn’t dared believe. Eyes drawn to the noise above - the loud pitch of voices.

One of them - rough and low - draws your attention. Everything dark from your angle, an ache as you had tried to see.

Knowing that shadow. The brim of his hat.

The burn of his eyes, when they fixed on you. You could feel the fury in them, even from here. A muted sound of desperation from behind your gag, as you watched.

The Ghoul shoots first - the second his eyes pull away, and it’s all over in a matter of moments.

Your eyes closing at the sound of gunfire, of screaming - until it finally cuts short. Leaving the warehouse eerily silent, except for the clicking of spurs against metal.

He crouches in front of you, now - and you can’t help the whine. So much trapped behind the thick binding of cloth. All you could do is tug at your bound wrists - neck craning as you tried to watch from below.

A force of nature. Bared teeth a quick draw. Again you’re forced to admit to yourself how lucky you were to still be standing, after your first meeting.

He had blown through them like it was nothing.

“Hold on a minute, honey.” That low tone is familiar, calming you as his fingers hook around the cloth. Leaving a smear of red against your jaw as he tugs the gag free - shucking his gloves after.

“Are you hurt?” It comes out ragged. Tongue heavy in your mouth, throat dry. Eyes scanning the dark leather of his coat - all that red , smeared across it, “Thought you got hit.”

He barks out a laugh, your chin trapped between thumb and forefinger, “That’s what you’re worried about?”

Something dark swirling across his features, as he tilts your head towards the light. His thumb pressing at the edge of your bruise, denting skin.

“They got you good, didn’t they?” He murmurs, and you smile through a wince, at the dull ache of pain.

“You got them.”

“Sure did,” It’s distracted, as he cuts at the binds, next. The rope fraying and then splitting, an ache in your shoulders when your arms finally lower.

“Fuckin’ amateurs.” He mutters again, watching as you wince at the rubbed-raw skin at your wrists. The corners of his lips tipped down, lost in thought.

“Thought you would’ve liked seeing me all tied up.” It’s a weak thing. An attempt at humor, the ache in your heart at seeing him cut by the acidity of your last meeting.

He blinks. Comes back to himself, a hoarse hum of amusement.

“Only when I’m doing it, sweetheart.” The Ghoul’s eyes meet yours then, a hint of a smirk with the tilt of his head.

“Can think of a much better way of gagging you, too.”

There’s almost a softness to his tone. Just barely there, tinting the rough edges. Something like hope flutters - delicate, behind your ribs.

“You… you came, for me.” You need the clarification. To hear him say it. That this isn’t some ruse, a way to take you directly to the source, “You’re not-”

There’s a sigh, as he fixes you with a long look. His head tipping towards the platform above, a lazy flick of his finger towards an arm that dangles from the ledge.

“Well that there man’s the one I got your contract from,” The Ghoul drawls, “Said I was to return what belonged to somebody else.”

Those eyes fixing on you again, “Seein’ as you’re not , and seein’ as that man is now indisposed…”

His words trail off - and you can’t help the small smile, as he finishes.

“I’m thinkin we’re square.”

The look you give him is soft. Admiring. You don’t know how he tracked you down, but he did.

“You saved me.” It’s hushed, and at your tone his eyes pull from you.

Fixing somewhere low, off to the side, as he crouches. Uncomfortable with the way you look at him. How you see him. Not used to it, not after so many years.

You’re not able to resist.

Muscles stringing stiff when you lean forward. Lips pressed against the leather of his cheek, fingers ghosting against his jaw.

A huff then, teeth biting into his tongue with the shake of a head. His eyes dark, as you pull back, hovering.

“Darlin’ if you’re going to be stealin’ a kiss, you best be doin’ it properly.” The Ghoul rasps, eyes flicking down to your mouth.

His head tips towards yours, but it’s your that meets his first. A little sound in your throat as your lips slot against his. Warm and insistent as his knees drop to press into the cement floor.

Tugging at you, as your fingers grasp at his collar. A hungry lick of his tongue against the seam of your lips as you whine, crushing your chest to his.

His fingers at your neck, your jaw. Angling your head, a rough groan as you part for him. Turning ravenous - wandering hands as your tongue slips against his. Panting breaths and a grinding of hips when he yanks you closer.

“How many were there?” He hums, as you try to sneak a ragged breath.

The curve of a smile when you try to ignore him, a click of his tongue.

“I dunno,” Your mind is too foggy. Too focused on the hands that trace against your waist, “Four? No… maybe five?”

“You don’t seem too sure, sweetheart.” He does smile then, at the little mark between your eyebrows. Untangling himself - a hand reaching down to adjust himself, as he stands.

“As much as I’d like to take you right here,” He husks, eyes dragging over you, “The last thing I need is a bullet in the ass.”

A tilt of his head, towards the open floor.

“Come on, cowpoke. Let’s do a sweep.”

the last (final, for real this time) part will be up in just a little bit! 💖 thank you so much for reading - this series has become so much to me, and every ask or comment or tag or reblog has absolutely meant the world 💕

#please mind the tags!#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout smut #fallout tv series #fallout #cooper howard

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thewritetofreespeech · 1 month

Note

May I request Nanami and Gojo finding out their s/o got disowned by her father, who is one of the higher-ups, because she showed mercy and defended Yuuji?

Nanami Kento

It was late at night when he got the knock at the door. So late, in fact, that Nanami was just about to go to bed, already in his pajamas with his teeth brushed, when he heard it.

“[Y/N]?” He asked curiously when he saw them there. Standing in front of his door, looking a mixture of distraught, sad, and just hopeless. A strange case given that they were usually so confident and strong as a Special Grade Sorcerer. “What’s wrong? Has someone died?”

“No. No one has died. I guess that’s the problem.” Nanami arched a brow at their cryptic comment, before they let out a shaky sigh. “Can I stay here tonight?”

He of course let them in. Offering tea or some kind of comforting drink, although they don’t take him up on the offer. “Will you tell me what’s wrong, please?”

They eventually break down and tell him everything. About the boy that ate one of Sukuna’s fingers. How he was slated for execution, which was cruel but reasonable in their world, and how that idiot had them stick their neck out to vouch for the boy’s hold even though they didn’t know a thing about him. Of course, Nanami knew that they would speak up for him. They had an incredible sense of morality and standing up for the weak. ‘That’s the job, isn’t it?’ They had told him that more than once.

Apparently not everyone shared their noble heart, it seemed. Not even those in her own family. For standing up to the higher ups and ‘embarrassing’ the family her father kicked her out with threats of disownment and banishment. Whether or not he meant to follow through would be a problem for tomorrow, but right now she was out on the street. Which in his opinion was unforgiveable already.

“You can stay here as long as you like.” Nanami told them. Amending their original request from earlier to stay the night.

[Y/N] sniffle once, but seem hell bent on refusing to cry. Nanami told them to take a shower if they wanted and he would find them some clothes to sleep in. They literally had nothing on them. So they would have to make do.

Both of them now in pajamas with their teeth brushed, [Y/N] curled up beside him and tried to get some sleep. It seemed a struggle, but the emotional exhaustion took hold, he thinks, and they both try to get the best night sleep possible for the hell that was to greet them in the morning.

Gojo Satoru

Gojo whistled down the hall as he made his way from one part of campus to the other. He was quite pleased with himself.

It wasn’t every day he got to ridicule and humiliate the higher-ups; despite his attempts and life’s goal to make it an everyday occurrence on his part. Those old fools didn’t know what hit ‘em when Gojo plead his case and told them what happened. He might not have gotten this Yuji kid off scot-free, but he bought him some time. That’s all he needed for Gojo’s master plan to come to fruition (whatever it was).

He passed a familiar doorway and saw a light was on. Thinking it had been left on by mistake, he invited himself in and was surprised to see [Y/N] there. Boxes on their desk as they were throwing things into it.

“Hey, isn’t it a little early for spring cleaning?”

“Not for me.” They told him. “I have to be out of here by morning.” Gojo tilted his head to the side, so they explained further. “I’ve been sacked.”

Gojo’s face was one of alarm. “Wait. What are you talking about?” They couldn’t have been fired. Really? For what??

“Apparently my behavior at the council meeting was ‘unbecoming of an educator at this institution’.”

Gojo growled in his throat. “That’s bullshit! I was there too, and it was my idea! I did all the talking!”

“Yes, but I don’t have the Gojo name to defend me.” His ire and shoulder fell. Oh shit….

“They seriously fired you?” [Y/N] nodded. He clicked his teeth. “Can’t you do something? Your dad maybe?” He’d hate to ask him for any favors, but if it kept [Y/N] here they should take it.

“Who do you think signed my ‘death warrant’?”

He wanted to say he was surprised, but he wasn’t.

“I’m sorry [Y/N]. I didn’t realize that you might –“you did the right thing Satoru. Even if it was originally for selfish reasons.” He sighed. So he guessed they knew that the only reason he initially did this was to piss this old coots off. They lifted the box and put in on their hip. “I’ll be fine. I’m not exiled entirely. Not yet. I’m still a Special Grade. Still can go on missions.”

“Yeah. Ones that will get you killed.” They all knew what happened to people who weren’t Gojo that stood up to the council. They were given mission in far off places and then ‘died under mysterious circumstances’ while in Brazil or Cameroon or something.

[Y/N] let out a bitter chuckle. “They’d have to catch me first. For now, I need to find a place to stay. Get an apartment. They took away my professor housing too, and I obviously can’t go home to dear-old-dad.”

“You’re staying with me.” Gojo cut in quickly.

[Y/N] seemed surprised, but quickly schooled it into coy. “Ooo….I never thought we’d be in a point in our relationship where we were moving in together.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Gojo grabbed the box they were carrying and helped carry it out. “I really am sorry.” He apologized on the way.

“I know.” They told him. But that was all they said this time. No ‘you had a good reason’, ‘you did what you could’, ‘it’s not your fault’. He suddenly felt all the more guilty. He had to remember more often that just because things couldn’t touch him, that other people weren’t as lucky. Collateral damage was something he never thought of. He’d need to think about that more in the future. Especially with his new student.

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digital-domain · 1 month

Text

Retrieval

Alastor x Reader // word count 4.4k

Pt 3 to Spring Cleaning and Clean Slate

In which you attempt to leave.

Tags/warnings: yandere, intimidation, noncon kissing, choking, Alastor’s shadow doing things a shadow should not be able to do

A/N: Really thought this was gonna be a one-off but here we are. I usually don’t even write one follow-up, much less two, so this is unfamiliar terrain for me. Alas, I could not resist. Enjoy (or don’t. I’m not in charge.)

You remember a time when this was good. Well - no. You’re sure, now, that it was rotten from the beginning. But there was a time when it felt good. When you invited it in. When you wanted more.

Time for bed, my dear.

He’s said this to you many times. Now, each repetition deepens the never-ending pit in your stomach. But the first time…how long ago was it? You don’t remember. You don’t even remember how long you’ve been here. Here at this hotel, or here, in hell - each one distorts hours and months in its own way. They tug at you until you slip through the fingers of time, and end up on a day you don’t remember arriving at, in a place that is only yours if you forget what has happened there.

It’s far too late for you to be thinking as deeply as you are.

You’d been sitting on the top of the stairs for a long time that night, however-long-ago, fending off the inevitable onset of your dreams. He’d been gone all day, and when he had finally returned (from where, you never found out), he’d seen you from the lobby. Called out to you, in a voice far too quiet and gentle to carry to your ears as well as it did. It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken to you, but it was the first time he’d spoken to you alone. And even if that wasn’t true, there would have been something different about it.

And, in my opinion, far too fair a night for such misery.

From the beginning, you’d known that nothing about him was entirely unfiltered. The first time you’d met, he’d given a wonderful little performance. Shaken your hand, taken you by the shoulder, quickly escorted you away from the people who would soon warn you not to trust him. And you’d known it was fake. Of course you had. You weren’t, perhaps, the most excellent judge of character, but you knew no one acted like that by instinct. It was calculated. Not to be trusted.

It struck you oddly, then, to hear such an allegedly inhuman character talk about something as mundane as the joy of pleasant weather. It felt entirely real, even at an hour when almost nothing seemed real at all. Hell did have its decent moments, now and then; there were no seasons, so to speak, but very occasionally you’d get a day that felt like summer, and a night to match. It was nice, when it happened. Delightful, even.

But, if you insist upon staying awake - and I admit, I do understand that impulse better than most - I suggest you do it somewhere with an open window.

The realization had hit, somewhere in the middle of this, that he was being kind to you. You hadn’t wondered why at the time. You’d take anything you could get, in those early, confused days after your death, and receiving it from an unexpected source somehow made it better. He didn’t do things like this out of obligation. He cared, for some reason you could only guess at.

You’re still guessing, now. But that night, you hadn’t thought so deeply about it. You’d only stared back at him, and nodded almost imperceptibly at his suggestion.

He’d paused, matching your silence for a long stretch. Considered your expression, in the way those unblinking eyes always seemed uniquely suited for.

Shall I escort you to your room, my dear?

You’d nodded mutely, and he’d ascended the stairs, offered you his hand, helped you to your feet, guided you to your door.

And then, a mistake. Grateful, exhausted, feeling utterly alone in a strange world - you’d invited him in.

He’d opened your window for you, and lingered beside it for several quiet seconds before you asked him to sit down in your desk chair. He’d smiled strangely at that, softer than you were used to, and left quickly, almost hastily, after only a few minutes. But he’d stood motionless in the hallway for several seconds before you’d heard him walk away.

After that night, you never invited him in again - you didn’t have to. He came of his own accord. Only occasionally, at first. Then, more often, until hardly a day went by without it. It was almost pleasant, at first, and then a slow, unyielding creep towards what you have now. Something you don’t understand. Something you only started resenting after it was too late to back away.

You’ve spent a long time wondering why he chose you, of all people. Why he feels so entitled to your space, to your life, why he wants it to begin with. Why he holds onto you so tightly. You’ve even asked him, in roundabout ways, to no avail. But somewhere in your mind, a shoved-down place that only now rises to the surface, you think that it might be your fault. Your fault, for being so desperate for solace, for company, that you’d take it from anyone you could. For feeling proud to have gained his attention, long after the point where it stopped doing you any good.

Now, lying above your bed covers, you toy with the hem of your slip, which you’ve absently pulled up to mid-thigh. Perhaps you don’t need to be wearing it tonight. Alastor has been mysteriously absent from the hotel in the two days that have passed since his last appearance in your room. You doubt whatever’s called him away has left him much time for spying upon you. And still, you feel compelled to act as if he is watching. As if he might return to your bedside at any moment.

Your memory flashes back to two nights ago, and you try to yank it away. You don’t want to think about what he did to you then. You certainly don’t want to think about why. The way his eyes were fixed not on your body, but on your face, as if it was your shame he wanted to see, and nothing more.

It was unsettling. But perhaps not surprising. If it was only your body that he wanted, after all, he wouldn’t be trying so hard to control the rest of you. That, you don’t understand. That - it’s what really keeps you awake.

The light from your lamp, which you have no intention of turning off, stings beneath your closed eyes as you lie rigidly on your back. You barely slept the night before, either, so this day passed in a sort of stupor, the adrenaline of early morning giving way to a numb, heavy feeling as the afternoon dragged on.

But the numbness is good, in a way, you think. It lets you do things you wouldn’t otherwise. With your eyes still closed, you bring your other hand to the hem of the slip. The lace and the silk above it are delicate, and you pull hard with both fists. The light ripping noise that follows is beautiful, for a moment.

Then, the familiar dread snaps back into place, worse for your act of stupidity.

He will be back, before long. His sudden absence has not been a reprieve, but a looming threat, a two-day stretch in which you have not taken one proper breath, and you have the feeling that he will know what you have done the moment he returns.

If he does not somehow know already. If you haven’t already summoned him back by the rebellious movements of your hands. There is panic coursing through you, fear not of what is here now but of what has been, and what will be. It’s not the panic you’d feel at an immediate threat, like a wild animal baring down on you in a dark forest - instead, it’s the sort of inescapable head-buzzing sensation you experienced often in life, when you’d been in a room for far too long, and were not yet allowed to leave. An overwhelming feeling that you are trapped, not by physical bonds, but by the consequences that might ensue if you walk away.

If you were to walk away, to run away…what would happen? You do not know, and you don’t want to think about it. You want to leave. No - you need to leave. If you do not do it now, now, you never will. And the idea of never leaving, of this stretching on until he decides that it’s time for it to end - if he ever does -

You sit up, and swing your legs over the edge of your bed. He will be back soon. You’re sure of it. And you cannot bear the thought of being here when he returns.

What can you do about it? You can do something. You can stand up. You can find the large backpack stuffed into the corner of your closet, and start shoving things inside. You don’t have many things at all, and most of the things you do have are not important enough to keep. You’re certainly not bringing any of these clothes with you.

All these things, you do quickly, in a sort of daze, driven by a single motive. Get out, get out. It is easy, if you don’t stop moving. If you don’t think more than you have to, if you let this one idea drive you all the way out the door. One set of clothes, you do have to bring - the one that goes on your body. The only one that you feel even remotely comfortable wearing. Black trousers, red sweater. The contents of the small compartments of your dresser have been replaced, so you do not feel comfortable with the things you are wearing underneath these clothes, but they are quickly hidden. You are not in strong enough possession of your body to feel them clinging to your skin.

You’ve discarded the slip onto the floor, and with the way it’s crumpled, you can’t even see the small rip in the hem. It’s not enough. You pick it up and rip it further, until it is torn all the way to the neck, before dropping it like it’s on fire. Perhaps it would be better to take it with you, to get rid of it in a place where he won’t see the remains, but you do not want to have it for a second longer. It flutters back to the floor, and you cover your clean, white, unfamiliar socks with the ragged sneakers you’ve somehow been allowed to keep.

Where do you go? Where can you go? For reasons that you certainly didn’t come up with yourself (reasons that seemed like cloying but utterly convincing advice, at the time) you barely speak to anyone outside of these walls. You haven’t even got a phone. And even if you did, you can’t imagine pulling anyone into this mess - your mess, a quiet voice in your head reminds you. This is your creation, and you will see it through alone. There is a motel, you remember, a shoddy building a few streets away that you’ve taken notice of every time you’ve passed. You will go there, and you will sleep, and tomorrow -

Tomorrow does not matter yet. Tonight, you only need to leave.

You’re sure that no one in this building is awake. Or at least, no one is awake enough to check on the noises your feet make as they collide, painfully loud, over and over, with the creaking hallway floor. And yet, you advance as slowly and carefully as you can manage, barely keeping at bay the adrenaline that urges you to run. The night is pleasantly warm, but a shudder runs through you as you crack open the front door of the sleeping hotel. This, too, you keep at bay, instructing your feet to keep moving until you dislodge the disarming chill from your bones, and settle back into your skin. You are walking quickly, but not running, as you wade into the dark streets before you. It is a bad idea, being out here alone, at this hour, and running is loud.

Then again, you think your breathing might be harsher, at this moment, than any noise the soles of your shoes could create.

You didn’t realize until now that you already had this route mapped out in your head, so clearly that you can follow it without thinking. It’s not far. Quicker if you slide through the little alley to your left. Quicker still if you speed up, just a bit, just enough that your breath catches oddly in your throat, exertion mixing with the faintest glimmer of hope. There is a breeze flowing out from behind you, gentle against the nape of your neck. The streets are mercifully quiet.

You are not thinking. If you were, you might not be able to tell yourself that all was well.

As it is, you buy yourself a few more seconds of hope. But your eyes are wide. Too wide and too alert to miss the strange thing that comes your way. Once you see it, you cannot look anywhere else.

Your stomach drops. You slowly ease your bag off of your shoulders, and let it fall to the ground beside you. You will not be taking it any further than here.

You know this, because there is an inexplicable shadow pressed against the side of the alley. It is cast by nothing, darker than the night that surrounds it. A long, abstract shape unfurls bit by bit, extends its tendrils across the worn brick, and drips down until it spills onto the polished boots that have appeared suddenly on the ground in front of you.

There’s a horribly familiar sigh, but no words. No touch. Not yet.

Soon. Too soon, you’ll hear his voice.

But you find that you do not have the impulse to scream, like anyone else might in this situation. Nor do you want to run. You do not want to take so much as a step backwards. You do not do these things, because you are not scared like you might have expected. No. The thing that quickens your pulse is not fear, but anger. You were so close. You could have made it. And you should have made it.

You should not have had to run to begin with.

You answer a question that you didn’t realize you were asking until this moment. This is not your fault. None of it. Nothing that makes you feel like this could possibly be your doing alone. So, instead of looking up and apologizing, you stare at the ground, and imagine that your eyes shine as intensely as the ones above you. It’s a striking contrast, your worn, comfortable shoes toe-to-toe with polished leather. A victory, in its own small way.

You feel Alastor lean over you, and your hands curl into fists of their own accord.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively calm, “what a terrible risk you’ve taken?”

“Some idea.” You’re seething, just as you know he must be underneath the surface - the only difference is that you aren’t bothering to hide it. “You’ll forgive me.”

“Oh…I’m not talking about my own impulses, my dear. Running was a terrible idea for many reasons.” His glove catches you beneath your jaw - you press back against it for a moment before following its guide. Before looking up into the eyes you never wanted to see again, and the grin that bears down upon you. “You might find it hard to wrap your head around, considering its current misguided state, but I assure you that I am far from the only threat that the nights of hell have to offer.”

“But you are a threat.” He’s shown his hand, you think. It’s satisfying to point out - until it’s thrown back in your face.

“Only when provoked, darling.” His eyes are a brighter red than you’ve ever seen them, glowing with some intense emotion - whether it’s hatred or a deep appreciation, you don’t know, and will never know. He releases your jaw, runs his finger slowly down the line of your neck. “But you’ve no need to worry…it would take quite a lot of provocation for me to hurt you. Even now, I’m not even close to taking such drastic action.”

Your teeth grind together, clenched as tightly as his pasted-on smile, as the fist wrapped around his staff. “You think you haven’t hurt me already?”

“Oh, my.” He laughs gently, dismissively - but it’s not quite as convincing as usual. He’s standing rigidly, pressing the bottom of his staff tightly against the ground, holding his free hand not behind his back, but at his side. Fingers stiffly curled, practically trembling with the effort of holding still, as if they’re itching to grab onto something.“You are feeling bold tonight. Not as if I couldn’t tell by the little present you left behind in your room…but it is rather strange to experience it in person. You’re usually such a sweetheart.”

You tune out the syrupy condescension of his voice. You’re done with listening to him. Done with beating around the bush, done with getting brushed aside again and again. “What do you want from me?”

“Cliches don’t suit you, my dear,” he intones darkly. “Especially not when paired with that expression.” He slowly raises his hand, and reaches for your face, as if he hopes to rearrange the features he finds so unpleasant. Without a second thought, you jerk backwards, and slap his hand away.

He holds it frozen. Poised in midair. The last time this happened, it was enough to make you tug back everything you’d just done.

Not this time.

“What,” you hiss, taking another full step back, “do you want from me?”

The corner of his grin twitches so severely that you can almost imagine it dropping from his face. “At the moment, I only wish for you to return home.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You hold your fists at your sides. Spine straight, shoulders pressed back. Toes curled inside your shoes. You can feel the unfamiliar undergarments clinging to your hips, your ribcage - you want them gone. You want him gone.

“Then pray tell, my dear”-

“All of it.” You hold his gaze as his head tilts slowly to one side. Listen to the cracking of bones, and press on, before you can think better of it. “You won’t let me go. You can’t. And I don’t even get to know why.” There’s a desperation in your voice, rising with the volume of it, quickly spiraling out of your control. “All I know is that you’re - you’re trying to control me, and that I hate it, and that I don’t fucking understand it.”

Images from two nights before descend upon your mind, and your train of thought comes entirely undone. It’s more than images, really. You can certainly picture him standing over you, his red eyes flaring as you stripped yourself bare in front of him, but you can also feel it, the awful heat under your skin battling with the chill of the air, the brush of his finger along your hip, the gentle kiss to your forehead. The hands pulled tightly behind his back. And the way you felt then, the thing you’d be afraid of, if it was anyone else.

“You - you don’t”- You feel strangely distant from your body, as if your mind is a separate entity, floating somewhere slightly outside of your skull. Your mouth takes a sharp breath, and more words cascade out before you can return to stop them. “I was fucking naked in front of you, and you didn’t feel anything. If you don’t want - that”-

Any other stupid words you might say are cut off by a rising buzz of static, which emanates from him as his staff disappears before your eyes, and his newly-free hand takes on the stiff, barely-restrained posture of the other. You wonder, in that detached manner your thoughts take on when you are frightened, if he’s doing this on purpose, or if it’s somehow leaking out in a way that’s beyond his control.

You feel tears welling in your eyes, and try in vain to shove them back down. You don’t know where they came from. “I don’t understand.”

For the first time, you see his grin drop - not all the way, but enough that the line of it changes, enough that it becomes a grimace. It’s so unsettling that you wish the usual, terrible smile would return. “That much is obvious, my dear. I wonder if you even realize how tragic what you just said really was.”

You freeze as your wrists are snatched by coils of shadow, smooth and inexplicably solid. Your arms are yanked straight down, and when you try to tear them away, you fail. Your hands are free to form fists, but remain trapped against your sides.

“That you can only fathom being desired in such a shallow way…”

His image flickers before you. You’re already half-turned around when he reappears behind you a moment later, but there’s nothing you can do to stop his hands from curling, one finger at a time, around your shoulders, far too close to your neck for comfort. You stare straight ahead as his face twists into the periphery of your vision.

And he whispers in your ear, his voice bare of any effect, just the hint of some old, earthly accent slipping through. “I’m afraid that I want much more than that.”

He slides around you at the same moment the bonds around your wrists release, and effortlessly turns you by your shoulders - he does not push you against the wall that now stands behind you, but you step back out of instinct and flatten yourself against it. He matches your steps with his own, traps you between himself and the rough brick at your back, and latches his gloved hand beneath your jaw, wrenching your face upwards. With his other hand, he reaches down, flips your palm so that it’s no longer facing the wall and interlocks his fingers with your own. His grin springs back into place, and oh - you wish you could run now. You would, if you could.

His eyes slide away from you for a moment as he puts something together in his head. “These little acts of rebellion from you…I think I ought to thank you for them.” He blinks slowly, and returns his gaze to your face. “I don’t think I would have realized just how close I wanted to keep you, if you hadn’t attempted to leave. And now…oh. I understand perfectly, now. I know exactly what I want.” He bows his head, lowers his lips to your ear, so that you can hear the shudder of his breath. “I’ll have your soul one day, my dear. A day when you’re already bound so tightly to me that such a contract will be a mere formality.”

“And until that day comes…” He draws back from the side of your face, stares not into your eyes, but through them. His teeth part. His tongue flicks out from between them, and slides quickly over their jagged edges. “I feel as if I’m prepared to do anything, if only it will bring you closer.”

The last vestiges of your anger burst forth, and you attempt to wrench your face out of his grasp. He lets you, and moves his hand to the back of your neck, his long fingers pressing harshly into the sides. You look up, eyes wide with terror, as the palm that has been flattened against your own releases your hand from the wall, and rises to curl tightly around your waist.

He pulls you close. You do not see the moment that his smile disappears, as it surely must - your eyes are already closed when he kisses you, screwed tightly shut as his hot, rancid breath works its way into your lungs. There’s a hint of whiskey beneath the rot, and something metallic, the same taste that floods your mouth when you bite the inside of your lip a bit too hard. His hand slides around from the back of your neck, and closes at your throat - he keeps it there after he’s pulled away, and watches as you struggle against his grip.

“You have a decision to make now, darling.” He takes a deep, satisfied breath, the tension leaving his posture even as you fight to breathe beneath his hand. “You can return all by yourself…” His fingers curl tighter around your neck, and tendrils of shadow lash at your wrists and ankles, slowly twisting their way up your limbs. “Or, I can bring you back. I imagine that would cause quite a scene..but the choice is yours.” He tilts his head, stares down at you through narrowed eyes, and - after another moment of watching you struggle - eases his grip just enough for you to answer.

You don’t hesitate for a moment. Even if you had the air to argue, you wouldn’t dare. “I’ll - come back” -

“Lovely.” He releases you, and takes a step back. Pulls one hand slowly behind him, as if doing so takes a tremendous amount of effort. “Since you’re so attached to your freedom, I’ll allow you to walk back unsupervised.” He traces the back of his other hand gently down your cheek, stopping only briefly to press the tips of his fingers against the hardened clench of your jaw. You let it go slack - only then does he pull his hand away. “But as I told you before, darling…there are many threats lurking in the shadows of these streets. So I do suggest that you watch your step.”

His image fades away before you. In the same moment that you watch him disappear, there is a shift in the surface under your feet. You no longer feel the familiar soles of your shoes, but the ground beneath, rough with the texture of cracks and debris. Cold. Not damp, exactly, but carrying the faint suggestion of something wet having only recently become dry.

Your toes curl inside your pristine white socks, which will soon be stained by the filth of the ground beneath them. There’s a new shadow against the wall - it slides along with you as you carefully retrace your steps home.

#yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor #alastor x reader #tw yandere #tw power imbalance

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rowanthestrange · 10 days

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A thing I think should be included with Ruby’s abandonment/attachment issues when we’re writing her, is that she was a foster sibling to a lot of kids. Like a lot of kids. She has effectively lost so many siblings and playmates and even babies/very young children she’s essentially had a hand in raising. Her entire life has been loving and losing. And for foster kids getting adopted or reunited with their parents under better circumstances, she will basically have been unable to grieve that properly because it’s a good thing they’re gone and they’re supposed to celebrate it. She’s clearly very loving and caring even after a whole life of that, even though each time they leave a piece of her goes with them.

No shit she’s going to end up with some attachment issues. Especially if she considers herself the lucky one, survivor’s guilt, Carla adopted her and none of the others, who have probably expressed that sentiment to her directly and asked why, in the hopes they could stay forever too, or just jealousy - what made you so special?

Foster children/youths in the UK also have to choose themselves to stay in-touch. Foster carers cannot directly contact the child once they have left their care. A “clean slate” approach is preferred. So if the child doesn’t request to get into contact — and sometimes aren’t told they would have to or are discouraged from doing so — that means losing contact immediately and for good. Does that remind you of anything? Sometimes it also happens very quickly - it is far from unheard of for a foster sibling to go to school in the morning and find out the child they’ve been living with for months has gone when they come back in the evening. Even with warning it could still often be only days. I think you could argue 73 Yards has more to do with Ruby’s experience as a foster sibling than being an adoptee.

And of course the continuous loss of loved ones mirrors the Doctor’s experience with their companions fairly often. Another thing that quietly binds them that most other people couldn’t understand.

#ruby sunday #not saying you need to write it explicitly #but that will have been a key factor in her life easily missed #so needs taking into account #to me this whole thing exemplifies why it’s so vital #that we keep exploring these sorts of things #in different ways through different characters with different experiences and opinions #a story and character that resonates less with you #(either by you not being adopted #or even just your different personal views/experiences)#may in fact resonate more with another #(the long term issues a foster sibling especially of high turnover may face #which i genuinely don’t think i’ve ever seen depicted before #outside of autobiographies) etc.

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pisoprano · 7 months

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Thinking about the symmetry of Catwalker and Loveybug.

Yes, they’re both just a version of their civilian selves, but those versions have been pushed to extremes. For Catwalker, he’s the embodiment of perfection and doing what he’s told, but Adrien the civilian often pushes back against being controlled. For Loveybug, she the embodiment of daydreams and affection, but Marinette the civilian is often gets in her own way of fulfilling her romantic dreams.

But these two aren’t just mirroring their own civilian selves, they’re also mirroring their superhero partner. Like Ladybug, Catwalker is focused on the mission above all else and tries to be professional. Like Chat Noir, Loveybug wears her heart on her sleeve and indulges in grand romantic gestures at inappropriate moments.

And this new version of the heroes is simultaneously all their partner thinks they want, and yet not at all what they truly need. Catwalker can help her carry her burdens, but he can’t be the partner who knows Ladybug well enough to be her best friend. Loveybug can shower him with affection, but she can’t be the partner Chat Noir knows well enough to love him for the real him.

And even when you remove the partner they know from the equation and just have it be Catwalker and Loveybug, they still find themselves drawn to each other. Loveybug knows from prior experience that Catwalker is a total sweetheart and is exactly the sort of boy she’d drool over if she didn’t have Chat Noir and/or Adrien. Catwalker knows from prior experience that Loveybug is totally lovey-dovey and is exactly the sort of girl he’d want to have close to him if he didn’t have Ladybug and/or Marinette.

And both are internally screaming just being transformed like this. Catwalker is stressed over having to force himself to conform to a strict standard for Ladybug’s approval, but he thought that having this clean slate would let him be by her side after facing rejection. Loveybug is stressed that letting loose on her emotions so much will be lead to a mortifyingly embarrassing rejection, but she thought that having this clean slate would let her act on her feelings for once without having to worry about long term consequences.

And in our scenario where Catwalker and Loveybug have become partners, it’s only a matter of time before they both crack from pushing their identities to their limits (her from showing a boy more love than her comfort zone has ever allowed, him from restraining himself from reciprocating the love he desperately wants). And once those cracks finally show? Then they’ll be able to see—just a bit more fully—who their partner has been hiding under the mask all this time.

#loveybug au #loveybug #catwalker #ladybug #chat noir #ml analysis #parallelism #late night post

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okiedokrie · 1 month

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High Infidelity

Summary: There are many different ways that you could kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough. So what happens when you find someone who was all too willing to give you thee attention you craved, you said you'd only dip your toes into the idea, and yet, you find yourself already drowning. The novel you've been writing has been in progress for the better half of two years now, your writer's block beating you up, and your husband hasn't shown you any sympathy. Maybe a visit to the art exhibit from this new artist would jog your creativity, but what happens when this new artist offers you more than just relief from your writer's block?

Characters/Pairing(s): Xu Minghao (The8) x F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

AUs/Trope info: Non-idol!AU, Aged-Up!AU, Right Person (not) Too Late

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Infidelity, very inappropriate conversations with a married woman, afab!reader, wears dresses, lmk if i miss something!! (Smut warnings under the cut)

Rating: 18+

A/N: banner and dividers by @daemour!! tysm!! This is also a rewrite/reupload of my own fic, "High Infidelity" on @pyeonghongrie, yes I reskinned my own fic.

A/N 2: Thanks to @nebulousbrainsoup, @kwanisms, @the-boy-meets-evil, @wooahaeproductions, and @gongiz for beta-reading!

Smut Warnings: tipsy sex (not drunk), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple stimulation, masturbation, lmk if i missed anything!

The rain soaked into your skin—cold and icy—piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, and your soon-to-be ex-husband was angrily slamming the door shut, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

"I'm right here, honey, I love you." He whispers into your skin, slowly unbuttoning your shirt, one button at a time. He kisses your skin every time new skin is revealed to both of you, he kisses your skin so delicately as if you'd break at the slightest touch-

"Y/N, you still haven't dealt with the dishes yet." Your husband, Haru, said monotonously just as you were starting to gain momentum in your writing.

You groan, the interruption making you lose focus and motivation to write. You stare at the last word on your document, gaze burning into each pixel as if hoping that this piece would write itself.

Unfortunately, life said, "Fuck you."

With another groan, you rub and pinch the bridge of your nose, a headache starting to settle in as your husband returns to work as if he didn't just cause you a serious inconvenience.

Standing from your comfortable computer chair, you take calm and even strides toward your kitchen, where only a handful of dishes are left in the sink.

And this little shit didn't even bother washing like, what? 8 dishes? He has to be kidding me, men.

You thought to yourself, your inner monologue only making you more irritated. But you wash them in silence, thinking of ways to calm down and clear your head so you have a clean slate to work with to get inspired again.

I think I should visit the gallery again, there's this new artist that I've been following. He's getting pretty popular, maybe I could draw inspiration from his work?

You think maybe this is the best idea you've had since you put bacon bits on mac & cheese.

Taking the time to visit this gorgeous gallery was the correct move.

Xu Minghao is a passionate man, you can see his dedication to his craft in all the pieces in this gallery. He was a mixed media artist, sometimes his work was pops of color on a canvas, others were sculptures made of clay, made with the most delicate of hands, and others were more niche, like the stained glass piece in another part of the gallery.

One thing about Minghao's work is that his subjects are also subjects of passion.

Paintings of a man's devotion to worshiping his lover's skin, a stained glass recreation of The Birth of Venus by Botticelli, and his latest masterpiece, simply titled "Passion", a sculpture of a woman in the throes of pleasure, with her lover holding her close to him, no gap between their skin, eternally locked in a passionate embrace.

As a romance writer, this is exactly what you need.

You take in this sculpture, the light of the gallery display emphasizing the delicate attention to detail this piece had, you know the man who made this takes pride in this, his work, skills, and dedication finally being realized.

You stare in awe at this piece for a little over 20 minutes, the more you look at it, the more entranced you become of the mastery of this craft.

You feel a presence beside you, a man around 5'11", slightly muscular build, in a turtleneck with glasses sitting delicately on his nose. He has a peculiar hairstyle, a mullet to be exact, and the most gorgeous face you've ever laid your eyes on.

"I see you like this piece in particular," He started, hands in his trouser pockets while smiling fondly at the piece, "'Passion' was a difficult piece for me to finish, ironically enough, I got bored of it quite easily." He continues, turning to face you.

"I'm Minghao, by the way, Xu Minghao. If you haven't already figured it out." He takes a hand out of his pocket, extending it towards you.

"Oh, I'm Y/N, Park Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you, Minghao. Your exhibit is astounding, I love your dedication to your work." You take his hand to shake it,

He chuckles at the compliment, "Oh please, save your praise, I know that name from anywhere. I love your latest work, that book was what inspired this entire collection, to begin with."

You gawk at him, oh my god, he reads smut. My smut.

"Oh my, what an honor! I'm glad you also enjoy my work." You receive the compliment gracefully, "Although, I do want to hear more about why you got bored of this piece in particular, such a wonder to the arts community, surely you aren't downplaying your work?"

He smiles, perfect teeth on display, you swear you’ve never looked at a man like this in your life. You were down bad for his smile.

"I'm not saying I think it's bad, I just got bored of the creative process." He explains, "Although I do want to continue adding to this collection, perhaps we can go and get drinks together? Exchange ideas?" he offers.

You ponder on this for a bit. Going out to drinks with a budding friend wouldn't hurt, right?

"Could I give you my number? Let's set aside a day to chat. I have to get home to my husband before it gets too late."

A smirk came into his face, something dark about a seemingly insignificant change in his expression, “Of course, I look forward to our time together.”

The mug in your hands warmed your palms, and your focus was fixated on the man in front of you. He talked about another piece of his, titled “Longing”; it was heavily inspired by his desire to find someone who shares the same passion as him, the longing to hold someone in a way that nobody else could, intimacy in its purest form.

“It sounds a bit pathetic, I’m known for my work in the art of passion and, to put it simply, sex; but I haven’t been able to find the company of a lover myself. Perhaps that’s just the consequence of being a hopeless romantic. Then again, you wouldn’t know the feeling of being lonely, I assume.” He said calmly, a small chuckle ending his tangent.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” You look into the mug in your hands, your reflection swirling in the tea. Your face looks back at you, eyes sunken in and sad, “To put it nicely… my husband robs me of solitude, but fails to offer me company.” You shouldn’t be talking about Haru like this. Your husband works many hours, tirelessly providing you with the house and connections for you to pursue a career in writing. But that wasn’t the reason why your anxiety was swirling in your stomach.

Looking back up at Minghao, the same dark expression sits on his face, a minuscule smirk, barely there even if you squint, “Well, we’re friends now, aren’t we? I could keep you company.”

That. That was a quality of his that you noticed fairly early on. You can never read his true intentions, suggestive prose with just enough deniability to gracefully reject him without the conversation becoming inappropriate.

But your anxiety wasn’t caused by that, no, it was caused by the fact that you didn’t want to reject him.

“I’d like that, Maybe we could head to a bar and get drinks there too? My husband won’t be back for a few months because of a business trip in a few weeks. I could use the company.” You say, looking at him through your lashes; he knows his effect on you, and the mental gymnastics that both of you play over the table was just appropriate enough that to anyone listening, it’s just two friends agreeing to get drinks sometime in the future.

But to both of you, well, only the two of you know what’ll happen once the sun goes down.

“Of course, my schedule is free for the rest of the month. Be sure to think of me if you need company.” He offers you a soft smile, directly contrasting how intensely he’s making eye contact with you. The way he’s looking into your eyes makes you feel vulnerable like he’s directly using them as windows into your head. You’re half-convinced he could read your mind, if he could, he’s a master at hiding it.

You haven’t learned much about him, but from what you do know, you can never take his words at surface level, much less his actions. The way he’s leaning over the table, elbows on the surface, and his shoulders relaxed. His closing the distance, even if just by a hair, and the way his posture suggested the epitome of familiarity, shook you to your core.

His presence is almost suffocating, his dominance over your mind silencing whatever protest his suggestions may have created. You nod dumbly, “Of course, be warned though, I think of you a lot.” This causes his smile to relax into a smirk, the kind that could pass off as a smile if you don’t think too hard about it.

“I’m glad to hear that. I think about you a lot too.” He says picking up his cup of tea, “So much that a collection was born from the thought of you.” He takes a sip from the cup in his hands, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the cup, the way he holds eye contact with you always makes goosebumps litter your skin, the cup hiding the growing smirk on his face, silently enjoying his effect on you.

“Ah, speaking of the collection,” He started again, after setting the cup down, “Would you do me the honor of visiting my studio sometime? I’ll text you the address right now, you can come by at any time if you’re interested.” Taking his phone out from his pocket, feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket, you pick it up. The small device, usually light, feels like a heavy weight on your palm.

Opening your messages, you see that Minghao already sent the address, a building about 20 minutes from the cafe you’re in right now. “Lovely, could I trouble you to pick me up when I decide to visit?” You ask,

“Of course,” He replies, a gentle smile stretches across his face, “I’d love nothing more than to see you more often.”

The first time you entered Minghao’s studio, it felt like a dream. The studio wasn’t small by any means, the place was neat, neater than what you imagined any artist studio would look like. “Make yourself at home, I’ll brew some tea for us,” Minghao said as he took both your coats. Hanging the heavy fabrics on his coat rack, he gently guides you to the couches with a hand on your back, the light touch helping to ground you in this new environment.

He shoots you a quick smile before turning his back to you, setting his electric kettle to boil the water at the perfect temperature for tea. He rummages through his extensive tea set collection, settling on a simple white ceramic set with wooden handles. His eyes meet yours briefly, taking note of how you watch his every movement with care and curiosity, the way you were fascinated with the way his hand veins jumped every time he set a piece of the tea set down.

The kettle finishes boiling, he finally sets it down next to the tea set. “I want to introduce you to this teacake that my friend from home sent me,” He pulls out a teacake about the size of his head from the drawer under the table, wrapped in a slightly stained paper. He carefully unwraps it to show you the rich brown of the aged tea leaves, “This is a 15-year-old aged pu’er, I haven’t had the chance to try it yet, so I’d like to try this with you.”

“What an honor, I read from a recent interview that you were waiting for a good day to taste that right?” You ask, trying to gauge his reaction, if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it,

“Of course, making a new friend is a special occasion, isn’t it? I’d consider that a good day.” He replies cooly, taking a tea knife and carving out a piece of tea to steep for a second, you watch as he delicately handles the porcelain set, the control in his movements reminding you of his mastery in sculpting, “You know, making tea is much like cultivating a new relationship,” he starts as he stands up to take the kettle off the stand.

“You carefully carve out your leaves, boil your water to the perfect temperature to bloom them, and steep the leaves a few seconds at a time.” You see him pour the water over the tea leaves, dried blades blooming like flowers under the delicate stream. “Each steep of tea is different, starting from the bloom until the flavor develops; and only then will you appreciate the true complexities of what tea has to offer.”

A small smile grows on your face as you watch him pour the first bloom onto his tea pets, “If my assessment is correct, you’re trying to correlate the developing flavors of tea with how our relationship is progressing?” He nods, confirming your hypothesis, “Then, I’ll ask you a question, which steep are we on?” you say with a cheeky smile.

Minhao grins at this, eyes almost disappearing with how wide his smile was, “Literally? The second steep.” He says as he pours more water over the leaves, you let out a chuckle at his little joke, “Figuratively? The fifth.”

You tilt your head a bit, “The fifth? I didn’t realize we were already at that stage.” you say as you accept his offer of a teacup.

He chuckles, “Well, I don’t just share my most expensive teas with anyone, so I might as well share it with one of the most brilliant minds I know.” he said while bringing the cup to his lips, sipping the drink carefully while making eye contact with you over the rim, winking playfully.

You raise your cup as well, the rising steam not being the only reason for your flushed face, you grin against the rim of your cup, savoring the rich and deep aroma of the high-quality tea.

After a while of banter and small talk, you finish your tea, setting down your cup gently on his expensive-feeling coffee table, he stands from his seat, “Could I show you something?” he said, holding his hand out to you. You place your palm on his, the warmth from his hand seeping into your skin. The touch was negligible, simple, even, but the contact with his skin sent electricity through you, like a violent jolt of excitement.

Minghao notices this and smirks, feeling pride swell up in his chest as he pulls you up from the couch, leading you to the other side of the room with a hand on the small of your back. He finally stops in front of a large canvas, laid across what looks like a bare-bones bed frame. You turn to him, curiosity growing on the expression of your face.

“What’s this? This looks fairly new, the paint on the frame still seems wet.” You ask, eyes raking over the splotches of color seemingly placed without much thought or care, it looked like the aftermath of a messy and angry paint spill.

“It is new,” Minghao starts, “I’m trying a new technique where I release frustrations by getting whatever paint catches my eye and throwing cups of it without much thought.” He shrugs, nothing particularly of note, but you do notice the amount of emotion that is in the piece.

“It’s not an elegant piece, but for a collection centered around passion I find it missing raw emotion.” He runs his hand through his face, frustration taking over his features, something you noticed early on was his emotions were closely tied to whatever art was around him, it seems as though the frustration in this one was affecting him at this moment.

“Yes, the human form and sex are great subjects, but pure, raw emotion is hard to capture.” He mumbled, eyebrows furrowing. “So, that’s why I invited you here. Tell me, as someone who’s written longing, despair, and everything in between. How does this make you feel?”

You pause and take in his words, turning back to the canvas and trying to soak in the colors, the shapes, and the emotion behind this piece. Yes, frustration is here. Yes, anger is here. But how does it make you feel?

“It makes me feel like I’m missing out on something.” You say simply, your stomach sinking just thinking about what that might entail. Minghao has a genuine look of shock for the first time since you’ve met him. His head tilted to give his attention to you fully.

“Really? Interesting. That’s the first time I heard that about this piece specifically.” He said with a lopsided grin, seemingly getting a new stroke of genius with your answer. He looks back at the canvas too, shoulders shaking from his restricted laughs. Your answer seemed to entertain him a lot. That much you can figure out, but you can never be sure what goes on in the mind of Xu Minghao.

Just then, your phone starts to ring, you only know one person who would call you at this hour—your Husband. You watch as the expression on Minghao’s face falls, face contorting into something short of a scowl for a split second before settling on his usual cool neutral expression. It was so quick that you barely missed the change, it happened so quickly that you decided it was all in your imagination as you ran to answer the phone.

You pick up the phone, “Hi honey-” You were cut off by your husband speaking,

“Get home, it’s getting late and you haven’t started dinner yet.” He said simply, before promptly dropping the call.

You stand there, the line going dead as you try to hold back tears. You take a deep breath, too afraid to show your face to Minghao in case tears were about to fall from your face. Grabbing your coat, you turn to face the door.

“Thank you for inviting me over, I have to get home now,” you said, your voice a little shaky, as you roughly opened the door.

You were out of his sight as Minghao stood alone in his studio, pondering. As silence took over the space, a dark smirk on his face.

'How long before you break?' he wonders.

The next time you and Minghao meet, you’re sitting on a park bench watching the autumn leaves dance to the silent song in the wind. You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you hear leaves crunch beside you, seeing the tail of Minghao’s long coat swaying in the wind.

He sees you, a smile spreading across his face, his long hair almost covering his face. His fast-paced walking makes the leaves crunch under his weight rhythmically. You think that he looks beautiful under the soft brightness of the autumn morning, only ever seeing him in the harsh rays of high noon or the constant humming of fluorescent lights.

You feel the heat radiating off his body through your and his coats as he sits next to you on the park bench. “Beautiful morning, the view is exquisite.” He says, looking directly at you. You giggle at this, he’s always been such a charmer ever since you met him. You peel the notebook from your lap, “I’m no artist, but the park is too gorgeous this time of year to not at least try to capture on paper.” you say as you open it to show him a relatively crude sketch of the scenery.

“Oh? This feels like a threat to my career.” He says with a chuckle, “But, genuinely, this is an amazing sketch. Are you sure you aren’t an artist?” You think you could get used to how relaxed you were around Minghao, conversations with him flowed so easily, it reminds you of the times your husband used to be invested in you as a person. Perhaps it was easier to compare the thrill of meeting a new person with feeling the start of a romantic spark, it was a dangerous game to play with him.

“No, I’m not, but I can appreciate a masterpiece when I see one.” You say, this time looking at him. He notices this and laughs at the fact that his joke is being used against him. He closes the notebook, handing it to you to put in your tote bag.

“The weather is perfect for a walk, care to join me?” He said, offering his hand for you to take. You accept the offer, the warmth of his palm being something to ground you on such a dreamy morning. Leaves crunch under both your weights in synch, your hand moves from his to hold onto his arm, and you try not to notice the lean muscle of it or the steady and secure way he guides you through the path.

You breathe in the autumn chill, enjoying the comfortable silence that followed the quiet whistle of the wind. “Your book,” Minghao said, his silky voice cutting through the silence effortlessly, “The one that inspired the collection, I’ve been following your publisher’s updates on the series, and I was wondering if you'd be able to share your progress on the second book?”

“Ah, about that.” You grimace, and you shake your head, quelling the urge to complain about your husband’s lack of sympathy for your predicament. “Maybe I’ll tell you another time, it’s not something I can talk about at the moment.”

Before you can correct the old man, Minghao speaks up, “Of course, could I take three of these?” He said, pointing at the basket of Jonquils.

He hums, luckily, Minghao was never the type to pry, “I get it, ever the tortured poet you are.” he said in a joking tone, you let out a chortle at this, agreeing that you may or may not be one.

Both of you are stopped by a flower vendor, “You both are a lovely pair,” The old man starts, as he turns to Minghao, he asks, “Could I interest you in some flowers? I’m sure your lady would appreciate them.” He smiles.

“Of course, you’re in luck too, these are the last off-season flowers I had in my greenhouse.” the old man said as his nimble fingers wrapped the flowers in some yellow tissue paper.

“I'm really lucky indeed.” He agreed while looking at you, your cheeks warming up at the implication. Minghao accepts the flowers and happily pays for them, gracefully handing the bundle to you.

Holding onto the stems, your fingertips graze over the delicate petals of the bright yellow flowers. “Thank you Minghao, they're beautiful.”

He smiles at the way you look at the flowers fondly, simply adoring the way your face lit up; literally, the yellow from the flowers reflected off your face and gave it a yellow hue.

“Shall we continue to walk?” He asks, offering his arm for you to hold again, you hold onto it, the flowers in your other hand. And you let the silence take over again.

Before you knew it, you've spent the entire day laughing and talking with Minghao, only stopping at several vendors for food and other trinkets, feeding the ducks berries, and watching the fish in the pond.

But the day has to end at some point.

You regretfully leave Minghao at the train station, waving goodbye through the glass of the train doors as you watch his figure get smaller and smaller.

Arriving home, you try to find a vase to put your flowers in, setting it down on the kitchen counter, your husband walks in and sees them.

“They're ugly, don't put them anywhere where I could see them.”

He said coldly, you try your best not to scoff at him, still searching for a vacant vase.

Finally finding one, you decide to place the flower vase on the windowsill of your office, the bright flowers contrasting everything else in the room, the dark and neutral furniture your husband got for you.

You jolt, realizing you're comparing your husband to another man.

You expected guilt to eat you up at the realization, but really, you couldn't find a reason to keep defending Haru.

“Could you come over to the studio later tonight? I don't think I should be alone.”

This text from Minghao worried you a bit, you've been spending a lot of time with him recently, you met him 6 more times after he got you flowers at the park, and you never noticed that he could deal with something so sinister.

Of course, you agree to come, your closest confidant in your adult life needs you right now. You wait for your husband to fall asleep in his office, again, before you leave the house, walking to the end of the block before calling a cab.

Arriving at his studio, you already knew the code, punching in the numbers 150526 on the smart lock, the studio opens with a click.

You take cautious steps into the studio, seeing the silhouette of a man on the couch, his back towards the door, nursing what you assume is a wine glass in his hand.

He turns his head to face the door, “You came.” He said, with relief in his voice, a little slurred from the alcohol you assume.

“You called.” You replied. Shrugging off your coat to hang, you join him on the couch. He looked a lot more disheveled compared to the usual clean and put-together Minghao that you know.

His hair is slicked back, some pieces of hair falling onto his face, his tie loosened, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And glasses resting lowly on his nose.

You look at his face, and you notice dark circles around his eyes.

“Drink, and stay with me. Please.” He asks, no, almost begs you. You don't have the heart to decline. He pours you your glass and you both toast your glasses together.

You take the normal sip and he downs the rest of his, taking in a deep breath as if to steady himself. “Y/N, there's something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach drops at this, anxiety filling the pit of it as you nervously wait for the rest of what he has to say.

“I think I'm in love with-” he pauses, “someone I shouldn't be in love with.” He finishes, leaning forward to pour himself another glass of wine.

Your face falls only slightly, a minuscule change in expression that neither you nor Minghao catch. You cross your hands over your lap as soon as you realize your silence.

“Why can't you be in love with them?” You ask. Your head tilts as you take another sip of your wine. He hums, a smile graces his lips, but it doesn't seem to reach his eyes.

“They refuse to be vulnerable with me, opening up throughout our time together then closing back in the next time I see them.” He says with some fondness, “Also, they're married to someone else.”

“You probably should've led with that.” You mumble lowly, “I see, I know that all too well, wanting someone you can't have, someone so close yet so far. It's suffocating, especially when you haven't felt like yourself in so long, and then this person comes around and gives color back to your sad, gray, life. It's cruel, actually.”

You realize you've been rambling, turning to meet Minghao's eyes, you notice an emotion swirling behind them, something bittersweet, a realization that may change the course of your relationship.

“Anyway, how did you end up falling for them in the first place?” You ask in an attempt to bring the conversation back to him,

“Well, at first it was just a cure for boredom, I saw how receptive they were to my advances and I thought their marriage served as a fun, harmless challenge for me. But I got to know them, spend time with them, I got to witness the color come back into their face and I couldn't help but find it beautiful. That fact that I did that, bring color back into their face, slowly becoming someone again. The moment I saw their face light up with a simple gift I knew I was down, down bad.”

You hum, thinking the person Minghao was talking about is one of the luckiest people in the world right now. To be loved by him was like witnessing Orpheus’ choiceless grief that drove him to save his lover from the underworld, it was like feeling the devotee's dread-filled need to turn around, it was like experiencing the immediate forgiveness of Eurydice.

You wanted to be loved by him.

You both continue to chat and drink, and it isn't long before the two of you finish your second bottle of wine, Minghao offers to pay for your cab home, and he decides he's going to sleep in his studio.

You reflect on the events of that night as you slip into the cold covers of your marital bed, your husband’s side tidy as it was for the past month.

You run your hand over the pristine and cold sheet, imagining someone else filling its space on your bed, as he does your heart.

Minghao added a new piece to his collection, his gallery is still a work in progress and you walk through familiar doors. The very same statue you were entranced by still sits by the entrance, and you see a very familiar figure standing in front of it.

“I feel like this already happened before.” You said cheekily, he snorts at this, handing you a paper bag with tissue paper peeking from the top.

“Maybe this happened before in a dream, maybe we were destined to meet under the judgemental fluorescent lights.” He jokes as you feel the weight of the bag on your fingers.

“What's in the bag, Hao?” You ask cautiously, mischief flashing on his face before he fully turns his body to you, giving you his full attention.

“It's something you might like, maybe.” He said, his confidence faltering toward the end of his sentence. Tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, he eagerly waits for you to open the semi-heavy bag.

You carefully move the paper to the side of the bag, seeing white porcelain peaking back at you, you whip your head with with your face showing an expression of surprise. Minghao smiles, enjoying your reaction to his gift.

“You got me a tea set? That's so thoughtful, thank you.” You say with a smile, inspecting the frog patterns in the glaze.

“You mentioned your husband is leaving for a business trip soon, so I figured you'd like a set so we can have tea at your place. I'll even bring you a teacake to keep.” He said as he pulled a hand out of his trousers, fixing a stray hair that fell from your up-do.

“It's perfect, thank you.” You said, looking up at him, a smile still on your face.

“Do you want to walk around the gallery with me? I added a few pieces since then, and I'd like to talk about them.” he said, offering his arm. You wrap another hand around him, the familiarity of his arm under your palm giving you a sense of calm.

You spent the rest of the day walking around the gallery and chatting, other gallery-goers openly gawked at Minghao. It was obvious, really, the artist is here in the flesh, and he's gorgeous.

Minghao stopped to entertain other guests too, seeing him in his element made pride swell in your chest. His work, and by extension him, is finally being recognized by more people in the community. His hard work and dedication paid off handsomely.

Stopping in front of a mural, you noticed it was a replica of a really old painting. A painting of Ares and Aphrodite getting caught by Hephestus.

“Oof, poor bastards.” You joke, Minghao found this funny too, chuckling with you.

“It’s almost comical how this painting compelled me. I don't know what drove me to recreate the thing as a whole mural, but we both know I'm a little crazy.” He says with a playful groan, you try to hold back a loud laugh by giggling into your palm.

“Well, dear Xu Minghao, everyone knows crazy people are geniuses.” squeezing his arm, you check out the side of his face. His side profile was so sharp and soft at the same time, the dichotomy of his features was an easy subject to study. He's a gorgeous man, too gorgeous for his own good you think.

You both sat down on the bench in front of the mural to chat, and before you knew it, enough time has passed that the gallery was about to close.

Minghao calls a cab for you, and you arrive home in-tact, but not safe.

“Y/n, where have you been running off to these past few weeks?” Your husband questioned you as soon as you entered your home. Your mood instantly dropped, feeling the weight of your actions all at once.

“I'm hanging out with a friend, and it's really not that deep. It's not like I've neglected house work at all. So you should have a reason to care.” You snap back, a little too much for such a simple query. Your husband rises from his seat, cupping your face with a gentle hand for the first time in a long time.

“You’re my wife, of course it's my concern.” He said, just as he was about to make you fall for him again, he said, “We haven't been intimate in a long time, I'm leaving in a few days, so I want to make love to you before I go.”

Ah, there it was. He only ever shows affection for you when he's asking for sex nowadays.

You nod, what followed was unfulfilling and unsatisfying sex. Missionary, a few pumps just to get him off, and he didn't even kiss you.

And obviously, he didn't make you cum.

Your husband is fast asleep in your bed for the first time in months, and yet you can't find it in yourself to be happy about it.

You take out your trusty friend, egg.

The jolts to life with steady vibrations as you press the toy to your clit, relaxing into the sheets as you imagine a pair of calloused hands roaming the plane of your skin.

Controlled pressure and technique only a sculptor could have, his hair falling over his face, and his eyes holding you gaze as if you gave him everything he could ever want by simply existing.

He looks at you like you hung each star in the sky just for him, just so he could watch your skin bathed in moonlight, twinkling like the most precious diamond he could ever have.

This man isn't your husband, It was Minghao.

Your orgasm came unexpectedly, the realization that you were fantasizing about him snapped you back into reality so violently that you ruined your own orgasm.

You huff as you tuck the toy back into its drawer, pulling up the covers to try and sleep off the guilt.

Your husband left for his business trip a few days ago, and you made preparations for your first guest in a while. You finally set up the tea set when you heard a knock at your door, springing up, you head towards the door to look through the peephole, you see Minghao dressed a little more casually, a cap on his head and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

You swiftly unlock the door for him, he smiles upon seeing you, tipping his cap, he says, “Good evening, it's a pleasure to finally be invited into your home.” You greet him back, stepping to the side to let him enter. As he does, he takes his cap off to let his hair fall onto his face again.

He offers you the flowers and you take them, “I'll go find a vase for these, make yourself at home, dinner is still cooking in the oven.” You said as you turned back to find another vase.

After finding one and setting the flowers in your office again, you find Minghao setting a record on your turntable, a slow tune plays through the air, instantly making the room feel calmer and homey.

“I didn't pin you as the type to have such an extensive vinyl collection, you have good taste too.” He said, swaying to the music by shifting his weight from one leg to another.

“I didn't feel the need to mention it considering I haven't touched those in a while. My husband hates them.” You say solemnly.

“Well, he isn't here now. Let's enjoy the music,” he said, holding his hand out for you to take, “Dance with me?”

You smile as you take his hand, he suddenly pulls you towards him and you land on his chest, his arms wrapping around you securely as you sway to the calm of the music.

You think to yourself, This is nice, this is safe. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be married to Minghao instead.

You turn your head and press your ear to his chest, hear him breathe slowly, his heart beating rhythmically. This is the first time you were ever this close to him, practically holding him in a loving embrace.

His woody cologne almost distracts you, so seductive and masculine and you almost reach up to cup his face, to kiss him. Before you realize that he isn't your husband.

You're both snapped out of your little bubble when the oven dings, signaling that dinner is ready. You break away from him, already missing his warmth as you set the dining table, one that hasn't been used in a while.

You eat dinner with him, talking about your days and how work has been. It's a welcome change of pace from your husband’s tolerance of your presence. You didn't have to beg Minghao for footnotes on his life, you didn't feel like you're taking up too much of his space or time.

It's safe, secure. It feels like you're being celebrated for existing.

You dwell on this feeling long after Minghao heads home, your stomach and heart full. As you slip into the covers you wonder what it'll feel like to hold him under them, for him to kiss the crown of your head and whisper the three words you desperately wanted to hear again.

You fall asleep with the fantasy that when you wake up, he'll be right next to you.

Minghao invited you downtown this time, various pop-up stores of luxury brands recently opened and he just secured a sale of a really expensive painting; so of course, what better way to spend that money than taking a shopping trip with his closest friend.

“This would look amazing on you.” He said while taking out a dress, it's a color that compliments your hair and skin wonderfully. Minghao always knew how to dress.

“Oh, I'm inclined to agree, but I'm not willing to look at the price tag for that one.” You joke, shrugging as you follow him around the store.

“Nonsense, I'm offering to pay.” He said, turning his nose up. “I'm getting this for you, I'll ask the salesperson for more sizes so you can try them on.” He said, turning to the salesperson doing just that.

The salesperson nods enthusiastically, bringing the dresses to the dressing rooms and ushering you in despite your protests. Minghao only smiles in amusement as the curtain hides your figure, he sits on the bench near the dressing rooms in silence, scrolling through Instagram on his phone.

He hears the curtains roll open, it only takes a moment of him looking at you in the dress to take his breath away. It fits you perfectly, hugging your body deliciously. Minghao almost drops his phone onto his lap, his grip loosening, star-struck by your beauty.

“How does it look?” You ask, awkwardly fiddling with the expensive fabric of the dress, feeling a little too expensive to be on your body.

Minghao wordlessly stands from the bench, looking a little dazed, he turns to the salesperson and tells them, “We're getting the dress.” As he walks toward the cashier almost in a trance.

You're a little taken aback by his reaction, but nonetheless you change back into your regular clothes. As soon as you walk out of the dressing room Minghao Pushes you back in with more dresses.

“Please try these on.” He says, not having the strength to look you in the eyes. You comply.

It took you hours of trying on dresses and accessories to the point that you almost bought the store out. Minghao couldn't get enough of the mini-fashion show you were putting on for him, and it's not like the salespeople are complaining either.

You walk out of the first store with multiple bags in hand, you thought that was enough shopping for the whole year maybe, but no, Minghao pulls you into another store, and another, and another, all leaving with bags (multiple) of clothes.

It got so bad to the point that Minghao had to leave your bags in his car so you could free up your hands to buy more stuff.

You stopped trying to fathom the amount of money Minghao was spending on you, yes, he did buy items for himself too, but he looked much more satisfied to provide for you rather than procuring items for himself.

The car ride back home was filled with way too many ‘are you sure's and ‘you really didn't have to's. But Minghao was insistent on you keeping all the items he got for you.

“I'm being serious, you're a gorgeous woman, you deserve to be spoiled like a queen.” he said, turning to you while waiting at a red light, “You need to visit my studio in the clothes I got you, you'll fit right in with my paintings.” He smiles.

Your face flushes at his compliments, a bright and happy smile stretching across your face. You couldn't remember the last time you were this happy with someone. To find joy in the company of another felt liberating, you felt like you deserved this.

Minghao drops you off at your place with your new clothes, helping you get them into your living room like a true gentleman.

“I'll see you next time, Y/n.” He said stopping at your doorstep, annd leaning down to press a kiss on the crown of your head, he took note of what your shampoo smelled like and left. Leaving you awestruck in your doorway as you watch his car drive off.

This studio has become so familiar to you, like a second home almost. Punching in the code was muscle memory at this point, the smell of drying paint and clay becoming a calming scent.

You smooth over the front of your dress, one that Minghao got you, as you enter his studio again. Shrugging off your heavier coat, the beginning of winter creeps closer as the trees lose the last of their leaves.

Minghao just got out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his paint-stained shirt and apron. He looks at you, the dress, the way it fits on you. And he smiles widely.

“Hey there gorgeous, what are you doing all the way there? You should be over there with the rest of the art.” He says cheekily.

You giggle as you enter the space more, stopping in front of him taking his extended hand and following it, giving him a twirl.

He simply adores the way the fabric flows and shapes around your curves and contours, your skin practically glowing with life.

He fights the urge to kiss you, succeeding for now.

He guides you onto the couch, a turntable sitting next to his stone tea tray on the coffee table. ”Oh? This is new.” You said when you noticed it.

“Oh that? I got it for when you come over. I got a few records too, if you'd like to make yourself comfortable while I brew us some tea.” He said, untying his apron to hang on an easel, turning his back to you and he started preparing tea like before.

His movements and practiced, you'd guess this tea ceremony is second nature to him, considering he always talks about it. This scene is safe, familiar, it's comfortable.

He does this whole song and dance again, you've seen him do this over and over again but you can't seem to get sick of it. It's like you're giving yourself excuses just to keep seeing him.

But they don't feel like excuses, not at all, they're just more reasons why you feel deeply, and so quickly for Minghao.

Again, the both of you talk about everything and anything under the sun, him walking you through all his latest pieces, him plans for new ones creativity vibrating through ever cell in his body.

You imagine him talking so passionately about the future, maybe even a future with you.

Before you could realize what you were doing, you’re holding onto Minghao’s shoulders for support,

and you lean up to kiss him.

Minghao fights the urge to kiss back, he fails.

His hands come up to cup the back of your head tilting his head to deepen the kiss, pouring all his emotions into the simple, gesture of affection.

Your head was spinning, dizzy from his cologne and the wind getting knocked from your lungs as soon as your lips met his. It was electrifying, finally feeling the warmth of his body pressed so close, yet so far from yours.

Oh, you wanted him, so, so badly.

He pulls away first, heaving from the intensity of the kiss, eyes in a daze. Meeting your eyes again, he couldn’t help but lean in for another kiss.

This time he's really pressing into you seemingly drunk off of the feeling of his lips meeting yours. He's just a man at the end of the day, a weak, weak man in the face of paradise.

He came back to his senses once he felt the cool metal of your wedding ring on his neck. Jolting back, he pushed your shoulders back, creating a significant distance between the two of you.

“I, I think you should leave.” He said turning to hide in his studio bathroom to collect his thoughts.

You stood there puzzled, did he not feel the same way you did? But why did he kiss you, twice? Something isn't adding up.

But moreover, you can't ignore the painful sting this rejection gave you. You wanted him, did he not want you? What was the point of trying so hard to make you fall for him when he just decided to back down when he finally had you?

You gather your belongings and leave the studio, the door clicking to lock behind you. The ride back was suffocating, it felt like you left a part of yourself in that studio with Minghao. And you fear that this may be the last time you see him.

You haven’t spoken to Minghao in the weeks following the kiss, your nerves on fire every time you remember how his pillow lips felt so right on yours.

You're standing in front of the mural. The one where Hephestus caught Aphrodite, his wife, and Hephestus, her lover, having an affair and having sex on their marital bed.

It's funny, looking at this mural. You spent your last weeks wandering his gallery, searching for his shadow, but he always seems to evade you so easily. He's marked you like a bloodstain on a pristine white dress, lingering like fog on a cold autumn day.

Winter is still young, yet you feel cold. So, so cold.

As if your most desperate prayers were heard, Minghao practically materializes next to you.

“Hi. I'm sorry I wasn't able to speak to you for the past few weeks. I'm a coward, a fool to run from you.” He said, both of you looking at the mural and not at each other.

Silence follows, you couldn't look at him, you couldn't speak to him. “Y/n I-”

“This isn't the place to talk about this.” You said coldly.

Minghao flinches a bit, not used to how icy your voice was. It usually greets him so warmly, so lovingly.

“Let's go out to drink, there's a bar that's walking distance from here, if you'd like go go with me. I have too many things to say to you, too many thoughts left unsaid. You deserve to hear them, at least.” He said, remorseful.

You really couldn't find it in yourself to stay mad at him. So you agree to walk with him.

The walk to the bar is silent, unlike your previous walks. You're so far from him, you even refused to hold onto his arm like you usually do.

It's early winter yet Minghao is sweating bullets, he's almost vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass. His nerves are all over the place, he's acting so out of character, nothing like the calm, cool, collected Minghao you've come to know over the past few months.

He takes a deep breathe before you both enter the bar.

A few drinks in and you’re already tipsy, “You know- hic- my husband is being a dick to me.” You drunkenly slurred, “This novel I’ve been writing for over two years now is fucking me in the ass- I- I want to finish it so desperately but all he does is sucks the soul out of me. He’s a giant pain in the ass-!”

Minghao snorts at this, loudly talking over the music of the bar, “Your husband is a fucking dick! Your work is amazing. If I were him, I would do anything to help you get rid of that writer’s block, you know, inspire you.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’d do that?” You ask, clinging onto his arm, “Thank youuuu hao bear~ you’re the best-!” You giggle into his arm, your weight pressing against his side. You’ve only known him for three months at this point, but his ideas and influence on your work improved your writing and motivation drastically.

“Hao bear? That’s new, you’ve only known me for- what? 3 months? You’re already calling me nicknames!” He holds the back of your head gently, pressing his forehead onto yours, “I should give you a nickname too… Starlight, how does that sound?” At this point, you tune out every other sound other than the sound of his voice and the pounding of your heart.

This man had you in a chokehold the moment you met him, you were fucking doomed from the start.

“Starlight? Yeah, I like it more than a little bit.” You say softly, your words almost getting lost in the noise of the bar.

“Let’s move to somewhere quieter, yeah? Tell me more about your work. We can head to my place to settle down for a bit.” There it is, the same dark, barely there smirk that plagues your stomach with butterflies.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Arriving at Minghao’s place, you take a quick look around his apartment. Everywhere you look is a pop of color, bold splotches of vibrant hues making the place look like it was pulled straight out of the 80s, “Hao, your place is amazing, the furniture brings me so much joy~” You giggle a bit, sitting down at the plush red velvet couch shaped like a seashell.

“Thanks! Most of the furniture is thrifted from retro thrift stores, I like this style more. It brings so much personality to the space.” He passionately talks about them, “Do you want anything to drink? I have water, juice, and beer here.” He says, rummaging through his fridge.

“Oh, just water, please.” You say you have a feeling that you need to at least sober up for whatever the night brings.

He takes two glasses of water and places them down on the coffee table. It’s the only piece in the entire house that is a neutral color, a fine hardwood. You couldn’t tell what it was at a glance, not that it was important anyway.

“So, let’s talk about this book that you’ve been struggling to write now. Could you tell me what it’s about?” He asks, taking a swig of his water, you stare at his side profile while he does, sharp yet delicate features, his Adam’s apple bobbing from his drink.

Bro’s so majestic.

“Well, it’s about an artist who’s losing passion for his work, told from the perspective of his lover. It’s a spicy romance, with, in my opinion, a correct amount of sex scenes-”

“Give me a percentage of how much of it is smut.” Minghao interrupts you,

“Like… 75 percent?” He snorts at this, “Anyway, I’ve been stuck on the last spicy scene of the book, the climax, pun not intended,” You take a swig of your water, “I mean, it’s not like I don’t have experience writing that sort of thing, or lack experience in sex either, but my sex life’s been such a drag with my husband being gone for long periods and-”

Minghao interrupts you again, “And he doesn’t fuck you right, does he?”

The forwardness of his words made you freeze, you contemplated whether to reject him here, to tell him it wasn’t appropriate to talk about this with you, especially about your husband. You know how Minghao looks at you. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that he wanted you, but he never acted in any inappropriate way. He never makes you uncomfortable.

This was no exception. The swirling in your stomach wasn’t because of unease, no, this was because of arousal.

“No, no he doesn’t.”

He leans in, kissing you. This time he's not rushing, no more pushing and pulling, no more things left unsaid. He wants you, he'll have you. That was a promise.

He lifts you from the couch, lips never parting as he carries you to his bedroom, peeling each other's clothes, bumping into walls and furniture. But you couldn't care less, you were lost in each other's embrace and you can't think of another place you'd rather be.

Half-naked on Minghao’s bed, who, need you be reminded, was not your husband.

His hands roamed your sides, the heat from his palms warming your skin, causing it to flush, his soft, plump lips pressing feather-light kisses to your neck. You could feel his breath behind your ear, his hair tickling your cheek.

“How would your husband feel if he knew what you were doing with me right now?” He asks, clearly getting off on the fact that you were in his bed, getting ready to fuck him, a man who wasn’t your husband.

“I hope he’d be disappointed, but at this point, I think he forgot about me.” You say with a chuckle at the end, trying not to ruin the mood.

Minghao gently pulls away from you from that, “What?” he asks quietly, the word almost getting drowned out by the hum of the air conditioning, “Sorry, I know this was supposed to be a taboo, forbidden relationship thing but… I’m angry at him.” He says, avoiding your eyes.

“I know I’ve only known you for a few months, but I never felt this way before. It fucking kills me to think that a woman like you would be forgotten, for what exactly? Work?” He said anger gradually filling his voice. His hand reaches for your face when your eyes meet, thumbs pressing down on your cheekbone. The controlled and purposeful movement reminds you just how pliable you are under his touch. He sculpted you into what he wanted you to be; beautiful, strong, unashamed.

You gently cup his face, still hovering above you, “Kiss me, Minghao.”

And he did.

His lips met yours in a searing embrace, just the force of his passion against yours was dizzying, fiery desire clashing to make fireworks behind the eyelids that fluttered close. You never felt this type of longing from your husband, never felt his devotion being kissed through your lips like Minghao’s tongue was exploring it.

At that moment, you knew you were gone.

Minghao pulled away from you, hazy eyes meeting yours as the string of saliva that connected your mouths broke. At that moment, Minghao was stuck in a trance, his lips coming to meet yours over and over like he couldn’t stop tasting your lips even if he tried. A sweet ambrosia, too saccharine to stop. He’s become addicted to your lips molding onto his like sickly sweet honey sticking to his lips.

Out of breath, he grabs hold of your waist, rolling over to get you on top of him. He reaches behind you, unclasping the hooks of your bra and letting your breasts fall free from it. He cups both of them while you sit up, grinding on his hardening cock through his boxers, he groans at this, reflexively squeezing your boobs.

Placing both of your hands on his pecs, you also give them a gentle squeeze. Minghao notices this and his gaze darkens, passing his thumbs over your hardening nipples. Your pussy clenches onto nothing at this, a soft gasp leaves you as you started to grind harder against Minghao.

His nails started to dig into your hips, his own desperately grinding up against you for more friction. Soft moans leave him as he throws his head back against the pillows, eyes fluttering close just so he could focus on the sensations of your clothed cunt grinding against his cock through his boxers.

“God, get off of me before I cum in my underwear like a teenager.” He says with a playful groan, lifting your hips off from his crotch.

“Right, you still need to cum inside of me.” You say back playfully, his eyes darkened at this.

“Fuck, you make me want to keep you forever,” taking one of your hands and placing a kiss on your palm.

He lifts his hips only enough to get his boxers off, shimmying them off to somewhere on the floor near his bed. You also take this time to take your underwear off, secretly hiding it under his pillow when you lean down to kiss him again.

When you both pulled away, another string of saliva connected you two. You took two fingers to swipe at the liquid, bringing it down to rub your clit while you lowered yourself down to grind on his bare cock now.

Minghao hisses, “Fuck, I can feel how wet and warm you are, sweet christ.” he breathes out a shaky breath as you grind your bare wetness on his cock, lubricating the shaft for later. You moan at the contact, body slightly shaking from the friction of the tip of his cock hitting your clit occasionally.

“God, Minghao, fuck I need you inside me.” You desperately whine out. You lifted your hips up to finally hold his hard cock to align it with your pussy, slowly sinking on the thick girth. You throw your head back at the satisfying stretch his dick was making you feel.

“Fuck, you feel so good, so tight and warm,” He moans, he’s not shy about letting you know how good it feels with how vocal he’s being, he takes your right hand and holds it tightly, pressing it against his chest. You could feel his racing heartbeat under his skin, “Let me keep you forever, please, don’t make me beg, run away with me.”

You openly gape at him from this, You’d be a fool to accept this, especially since you’ve only known him for a fraction of the time you knew your husband, but god dammit.

“Take me with you, anywhere you want to go. I’m yours, please take me.” You say desperately. You’ve never been wanted this badly before, and god, you wanted more, for the rest of time.

Minghao abruptly thrusts up into you from this, tightly clenching your hand in his, still pressing on top of his racing heart under the skin. You cry out in pleasure, somehow the sensation of his heart under your palm elevates your pleasure, making you go dizzy at the thought that you’re doing this to him, and only you.

You come close to your climax embarrassingly quick, the sensation of his cock rubbing your velvet walls so perfectly made your head spin. Your ears are ringing so loudly that it almost drowns out your sounds of pleasure, and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Minghao isn’t far from you either, the same dizzying effect taking hold of his mind too. He’s so close to finishing that he could almost taste it, his moans and whines of your name leaving his lips like a mantra, a prayer, even.

“Minghao I’m gonna cum-!” you say frantically, pressing your forehead onto his as he meets your lips with his for the nth time. You swallow the moans he spills into your mouth as you both climax at the same time. His heart still beating frantically under your palm.

“Did you mean that?” You ask breathlessly, “When you said you wanted me forever, did you mean it?” you couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Exactly, I meant it word for word. Let me replace the ring on your finger with mine.” He smiles at you.

In the end, he did replace the ring on your finger with his, much more extravagant, and elaborate. Your husband wasn’t surprised at your sudden request for a divorce, since your marriage was already failing before you met Minghao.

Still, time was the ultimate truthteller.

Your husband found out about your High Infidelity around the middle of your divorce proceedings, and in a rage, he threw you and all your belongings out onto the driveway. In the middle of winter rain.

The rain soaked into your skin, cold and icy piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, and your soon-to-be ex-husband was angrily slamming the door shut, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

You finished your book, it received critical acclaim and it was a New York Times Best-Seller.

And you got to marry Minghao, the love of your life. Who you were happily married to until the both of you grew old.

FIN.

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figgrrr0 · 1 year

Note

Heyy!! If head cannons are still open I’d love to see one about Tartaglia, Dulic, and Wonder react to fem!reader telling them about how they’re going to go on an adventure for a couple weeks to explore! (Sfw or nsfw is fine)

Their S/O goes on a solo adventure

Characters: Tartaglia/Childe, Diluc, Wanderer/Scaramouche // Reader: Gn

Genre: Smut // CWs next to the corresponding character

Tartaglia:

Cw: Rough sex, implied biting and pain play, public sex?

When you told him, Tartaglia would be surprised. He'd have to take a couple of seconds to silently collect himself, which from your perspective looked quite funny because of how stunned he was. He'd definitely make some kind of joke, like how he's the usually the one having to leave you for missions, and how heart broken he'll be if you go (how much of a joke really is that one?).

You'll be basically forced to spar with him before you go. He uses it as a ploy, saying that you have to convince him that you're strong enough to go alone, but really he just wants to spend as much time with you as possible – it only helps that it'd let you get a bit stronger. He also gets the chance to show you some new techniques! He only means well, and if at any point you do get annoyed by his showmanship, you can't help but feel your irritation be quelled by the proud look in his eyes and the smile he holds when you get it right.

We all know that Tartaglia is battlesexual, so it's only natural that your training session would lead to something more. He becomes more and more distracted on how dishevelled and sweaty you're getting, and he needs another outlet for all of his pent up energy from the fight, since he can't just completely let loose on you.

He'd take you right there in the arena, his movements fast and grip rough enough to colour you in the prettiest shades of purple. His exhilarated breaths puff into the side of your neck, kisses and bites and nips of all manner latching onto your pulse points; and if you'd been able to see his eyes from the place he'd taken over you, you'd have seen the outright love that he presented to you, just barely containing something more.

When all is done, Tartaglia would help you get redressed, as messy as you still looked with all of the fabrics torn, looking as though you'd been attacked by a wild animal. When you go to reprimand him with a swat to the arm, he just lets out a bashful laugh, taking you into his arms as he walks home, cleaning you up and setting you into bed for the rest of the evening. He knew that you'd need to... recuperate, to say the least.

And when you awake the next morning, unable to walk and sore all over, as well as completely covered in marks and bruises, some of which you had no hopes of covering, you knew that you'd have to reschedule your adventure. But, even though he was apologetic, you couldn't help but wonder if that was his plan all along...

When it really came time for you to leave, Tartaglia would let you go seemingly pretty easily, but says that you'll have to spend extra time with him when you return to make up for the lost time. He couldn't help but think of you almost constantly; even when he's working, questions of your safety would pop into his mind, overthinking the possibilities of dangers that could hold you back... as much as he knew you could fend for yourself, he couldn't help but worry. More over, his subordinates and even those who see him regularly would notice that he's been colder since you left, his face a blank slate and eyes darker than ever, and his temper easier to flare...

Diluc:

As soon as you mentioned your plans for an adventure, Diluc was immediately running through the list in his head of what he could help you with to ensure your safety. A part of him thinks that he should accompany you, in case something goes wrong and you need help, but the other side of him knows that you need your freedom. After all, even he needs a bit of space every now and then. And so, he insists that you let him make all of the arrangements, in terms of hotels for you to stay at and ordering provisions and equipment that could come of use. It'd really put his mind at ease to know that everything was taken care of.

Cw: Soft sex (making love 🩷)

On the morning that you are set to leave, Diluc wishes you good luck on your journey, accompanied by a sweet goodbye kiss that lasts longer than you'd expected, and holds the promise of a warm return. He spends that first day as he would any other, working away as though he'd never stop – maybe that had been his intention. Because he knew that his bed would be cold and empty without you by his side.

He tries not to think about you too much, because he knows that acknowledging your absence will only make things harder. He trusts you to take good care of yourself, and lamenting further would only run the risk of unnecessary worry, and of him ruining your journey by coming to find you. He manages to pass through the days that you are gone quite easily after the first few, a new idea fueling his work hours:

If he can get all of his work done while waiting for you to come back, he'll have even more time to spend with you; and so that becomes his goal, with the help of the maids keeping his self care relatively on track.

Upon your eventual return, Diluc is almost literally plastered to your side for at least a day or two. He's helping you unpack, and as soon as you're ready to relax and settle down, he's running you a nice, warm bath, of course with a couple of candles for ambiance.

When you've soaked for a while and get cleaned up, Diluc will be patiently waiting for you in your bed, where he'll immediately pull you into his arms, wanting to hear all about your adventure. Now, he's content to just cuddle; but being separated from you for longer than a week had been harder than he'd anticipated.

If you so choose, your first night back with Diluc would turn to breathless lovemaking, the thrusts of his hips precise and familiar – exactly what you'd been missing for weeks on end. He could easily get carried away. Being away from you means that he'd gotten used to being alone again, and having you here, so close and so sudden, can be a little overwhelming... his pace will pick up intermittently when he forgets himself, caught up in the smell and feel and sounds of you. he'll be much more vocal, too. His grunts and moans picking up in pitch while his mouth spouts his wandering thoughts, all entranced in you, a seemingly endless profession of his devotion.

When he finally stills, he'd look you in the eyes, his gaze simultaneously hazy but clear as he leans down to kiss you one final time. And when you awake the next morning, having gone to sleep during the process of him cleaning you up, you find yourself still encircled in Diluc's strong arms, where usually he would have already been pulling on his shirt halfway across the room, ready to start his day.

Wanderer:

The Wanderer's immediate reaction is frustration. He'll kind of shut himself off from the conversation, and when you pause your explanation, in wait of an answer from him, all he could force out is, "I don't exactly... approve of this decision, but you're free to do whatever you want." But his discomfort is obvious. He'll want to get away for a few hours to try and sort out his thoughts, knowing that he was probably being unreasonable, as much as he wanted to be selfish when it came to you.

Cw: slight blowjob, implied overstim, not dacryphilia but he cries, angst. (It's so hard for me to get a hold of his character)

In truth, his frustrations stemmed from his worry and insecurity; he doesn't even want to think about being forgotten again, especially not by you. But he can't accompany you, he wouldn't even be able to subtly work his way into your day like he usually does (not that he'd ever admit it). He'd just have to hope that you'll come back to him; and that uncertainty, that sheer dependency on another is what makes him second guess the situation.

However, when you find him again, really trying to settle his thoughts and lay out your intentions, only then does Wanderer finally manage to rein himself in. It'll take a couple of minutes for it all to sink in for him, but if you just stand by, maybe keeping a source of contact between the two of you – a hand on his arm, for example – to show that you're not leaving, well... that's when it'll finally click. He'll begrudgingly repeat his words from earlier, but this time, you can tell that he understands. He may not want you to leave, but when you do, at least he won't have a silent meltdown as soon as you're gone.

That being said, the final days prior to your departure, Wanderer will try and distance himself from you. In his mind, when you leave, the change won't be so sudden. It only makes sense to prepare in this way. So if you can't find him on the day you're set to leave to say goodbye, don't take it too personally; he doesn't think he could make it through an actual goodbye from you, and he doesn't want to look any weaker in your presence.

While you're away, there's a nagging thought in his head that won't go away, constantly telling him that he shouldn't have let you go alone. It'd get to the point that, at least once, he'd reluctantly have to go to Nahida for reassurance, to stop him from spiralling, or impulsively trying to find you.

Despite all of this, upon your return, it may feel as though he's purposefully avoiding you, but he's not. Not really. But he does want you to be the one to seek him out. He's feeling slightly petty that you left him alone, even though rationally he knows that you needed the time to explore; it's the nature of humans, after all. The easiest way to get him to "forgive" you is to sit him down and almost literally beg (I plays into his god complex really well, even though he knows that's why you're doing it).

Your Wanderer will also be deceivingly desperate for your touch, though. He needs your hands on him, passing over every inch of his body. He needs to feel your breath, your lips, your tongue, when you take him into the heat of your mouth. He needs to grip your hair, keeping you exactly where he needs to feel you most. And he needs to feel your rising heartbeat against his bare chest, when you finally slide him into your constricting walls, the drag more overwhelming than he'd ever remembered.

And when he turns his head, hiding the tears that you know fall so easily, that's when he knows that he can let you go; that you could be anywhere in the world, and still you'd come back to him. So when he no less than passes out straight after you've drained him as much as you felt was needed after so long away from each other, you have no doubt that he'll be back to normal, tomorrow.

Want to send a request/brainrot with me? Check my rules!

Thank you for reading! 🩷

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praisethegabs · 9 months

Text

METANOIA

ID!Professor!Leon Kennedy x Student!F!Reader

euphoria masterlist

summary: your relationship with your professor remains a secret for everyone. despite the fact that you both know this is wrong, you both can't stay away from each other, making this way too difficult than it should be. things don't end too well when an unexpected person from his past appears suddenly at the same time your ex decides to win you back, jeopardizing your secret.

warnings: age gap, reader is in college and in mid 20s while Leon is in his 30s. NSFW content, delicate to rough sex, p in v, oral receiving (both), praise kink, degradation kink (eventually), use of pet names (bunny), vaginal fingering, masturbation, cum swallowing, dom!leon and sub!reader. leon is insecure af. oc named chloe as the reader's best friend.

word count: 7271k

a/n: part two of the euphoria series. this part is much longer than the first one bc let's be honest, we need some drama to balance things.

tags: @worriedweirdo

METANOIA (psychology) is the process of experiencing a psychotic "breakdown" and subsequent, positive psychological re-building or "healing"

The early morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow across the sparsely decorated room despite the noise caused by the rain. Leon sat at his desk, gazing out at the campus that spread before him like a promise of new beginnings. He took a deep breath, the crisp air filling his lungs, as if to cleanse the lingering doubts that clung to him.

The recent break-up had been a harsh jolt, a sudden rending of a once inseparable bond. The wounds were still fresh, and Leon sought solace in the unfamiliar halls of Woodsboro University. It was a chance for reinvention, a slate wiped clean.

As he leafed through the pages of his notebook, his pen poised in mid-air, Leon couldn't help but revisit the night that had left him wrestling with his own morality. A chance encounter with you, a whirlwind of emotions, and a single night that blurred lines he had once thought clear.

He had always prided himself on his sense of right and wrong, on being a man of integrity. But now, as he sat in the quiet of his new office inside his new apartment, those lines seemed to blur, to twist and contort into something unfamiliar. He wondered if this was a sign of weakness, a fracture in the armor he had worn for so long.

With a heavy sigh, Leon closed the notebook, setting aside his doubts for the moment. He knew he couldn't change the past, but he could shape the future. He would navigate this new chapter with care, mindful of the choices he made, and the impact they would have.

As the clock ticked on, Leon's resolve strengthened. He had to remind himself to find his way in this new environment, redefining not only his academic pursuits but also the man he aspired to be. The weight of his decisions, both recent and past, served as a reminder that growth often came from moments of discomfort.

But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was wrong and his morals were in conflict, the more he wanted to replay that night. Leon thought he could never feel that way again, he even believed he was destined to be alone, but when he saw you dancing in that crowded room, looking so beautiful and desirable, he felt something new floating inside his stomach.

It was pure physical attraction, but lord have mercy, his body reminded him everyday about this carnal pleasure, which he only felt with you and despite the fact he wanted you desperately, he still found himself in constant conflict.

A knock on his door was enough to catch his attention.

And there you were; your hair dropping water from the rain outside. You already knew the way to his place, and despite the fact that your relationship was pure sexual, you couldn't help but feel something for him as well.

"Why did you take so long? I was starting to get worried, " he said as you entered his place, watching outside carefully to make sure no one saw you.

"I'm sorry, but it's raining outside, and I had to stop before coming here," you said to him, removing your jumper. "I bought this. For you"

It was a bottle of wine. He seemed surprised by your kind gesture, but the feeling of guilty was practically eating him alive inside and out. Every time he tried to go back, to turn away from you, he ended up fucking you hard. It felt like this was the only way to release his conscience from guilt, the only way he could wash his insecurities and doubts; you ended up being his drug, his addiction. And he hated himself for using you like that.

"I think we should talk" he says, sighing heavily. He needed to be strong. He needed to do what was right.

"What's wrong?" You asked, the smile on your lips fading away when you notice isn't good news.

"I don't know. I can't keep reminding myself this is wrong, that we shouldn't be doing this... I came here because I wanted to start over, to forget what happened before... but then, when I saw you... and later that night when we had sex..." Leon said, walking around his living room, venting his feelings and his thoughts with you. "I just can't stop thinking I'm an awful person that's just using you to release my conscious from guilt... but this is so messed up... I mean, I could actually be your father and... and I'm your fucking professor... God, this is so wrong"

And his confession, this breakdown he was having... it was the first time you saw someone scared like this. You thought he was having a middle age crises or something like that, and you know he was entirely right. What you both were doing was wrong, against a lot of rules and basically defying the ethics and morals between your positions. But at the same time, he was so weak for you, and you were so weak for him. He was the only person that could put you on your knees, and apparently, you were the one that made his eyes sparkle like fireworks in the night sky.

This was pure chemistry.

Leon sat on the edge of an old, worn-out armchair, his face buried in his hands, his disheveled hair a stark contrast to the exhaustion etched into his features. You sat across him, wondering what you could possibly do. Taking a deep breath, you decided again to follow your guts. He needed you.

You moved closer, the soft rustling of your movements breaking the silence as you knelt down beside him. You placed a gentle hand on his trembling back.

"Leon," you whispered, your voice a soothing balm, "you don't have to carry this burden alone."

Leon's shoulders shook, and he lifted his head, tears glistening in his weary eyes.

"You don't understand. I've put you in danger. Our secret, it's a ticking time bomb." He said, and for a moment, you knew something was wrong with him. Maybe he was having a hard time accepting what happened between you two. "It's just a matter of time before one of us end fucked up"

You moved even closer, your touch becoming more comforting as you cradled his face in your hands.

"I know it's complicated, Leon. But we've made that choice knowing the risks. I'm not a child, and I can make my own choices. You're not alone in this." You said assuring, trying to find the right words to make him understand that you were in this too.

A tremor ran through Leon's body as he looked into your eyes, seeing nothing but understanding and love there. It was a carnal relationship. You were not his girlfriend, and yes, he was old enough to be your father, but you weren't naive. You wanted to be with him, and he knew that.

"I'm just scared, sweetheart. Scared that one day, they'll find out about us, and you'll be hurt because of me. I can lose my job and never teach again... there's so many things that could happen" Leon sighs, trying to recompose himself. He sounded like a baby boy, but he didn't care. He was honest with his feelings.

You leaned in, your foreheads touching, and whispered:

"Leon, I made this choice too. I knew the risks. But I also knew that I wanted you so badly... and at this point, I just can't stay away from you... and it sucks because I never imagined I would fall in love with my old-enough-to-be-my-dad professor. But here I am" you said, facing his blue eyes so deeply. He penetrates your soul, invading your veins like a drug.

His breathing slowed, and he nodded, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist, and it was just the two of you, finding solace in each other's embrace.

"I'm not ready for another relationship" he whispers, sounding broken. And that hit you really hard.

"I'm not either. But I promise I won't hurt you... just let me... take care of you" you whispered, your forehead touching his, as you feel his breath against your face.

Six months passed since his apparent breakdown that day.

And since that day, Leon seemed happier than before. All his worries were washed away when he decided to give himself another chance and enter this journey with you. He was healing, learning a new life with you, and despite the fact that it was a secret, he couldn't help but feel a teenager again.

He was distracted, writing in the board and thinking about his life. Then, when Leon turned to face his class, you were there, in the front row. Your eyes locked on his, and the way he was looking at you, it was enough to make your body go feral, already feeling something wet between your thighs.

"So, today's class will be different. I won't give you guys another lecture, " Leon says, making his students chuckle. "Shall we try a new dynamics? Please, Chloe, give me a hand"

Chloe glanced at you, and her cheeks blushed hard. She knew what was happening between you two, and when she saw you nodding discretely your head, she sighed in relief. She went next to him, waiting for new instructions. Leon asked her to help move some desks from the front row, giving enough space to everyone join them in a circle.

"I know, it's sounds like we're in elementary school, but I promise it'll be fun" Leon says, sitting on the floor. "When the subject is war, I want you guys to have a different experience. Yes, we all know what happened between 1914 and 1945, plus the consequences after this war..."

His method was simple but very effective. Although he was old, Leon had a way with his students, and the way he used to teach and talk about history, well... it was something else. He was funny and very intelligent. It was worthy to listen to him talk about the subjects because he made everything sound amazing and interesting.

"But let's be honest in here. Do we really know the consequences? The way people were affected? In history, we say there were thousands of people homeless, alone, and broken both emotionally and mentally. The war affected our economy, our jobs, our families..." Leon kept saying, his eyes focused on something else while he was gesturing his hands. "And when we see things from another perspective, we can change the world if we want. Thinking about that, today we'll share together stories from our families and how we got affected by previous events"

His class sounded surprised. He always found a way to improve his classes, to let people feel comfortable, and to enjoy their time together. And it was true. You could see Leon was very passionate about his job. That glow in his eyes, the way he treated every subject.

"Who wants to go first?" Leon asks, and everyone raised their hands, with no exceptions. "Okay... let's start with..."

And then, his eyes met yours. Everyone was looking at you, even Chloe. You gasped, but then started to talk.

"My family's experience during World War II," you began, your gaze fixed on the map, "is a story of resilience and sacrifice. My grandmother lived in Poland during the war. She was just a teenager when the war broke out."

You paused, your thoughts drifting back in time as you continued. Then you remembered all the times that your family shared this story as a reminder of how cruel the world could be sometimes.

"Her family faced the unimaginable. They were forced to flee their home as the Nazis occupied Poland. They endured hunger, fear, and the constant threat of discovery. My great-grandfather joined the resistance, risking his life to fight for his country's freedom." You said next, remembering the countless times your grandmother told you that story.

You stood up, walked to the board, and moved your finger across the map, tracing the path of your family's journey.

"They traveled for weeks, sometimes on foot, seeking refuge in neighboring countries. They faced discrimination and hardship along the way, but they never lost hope." You said, showing the path your family did to escape war.

"Eventually, they found safety in the United Kingdom, where they rebuilt their lives. My grandmother went on to become a nurse, dedicated to helping others, inspired by the wartime experiences that had shaped her." Your voice grew more impassioned as you shared your family's story.

The classroom was silent, the gravity of your family history sinking in. Leon, especially, couldn't keep his eyes off you. He was paying attention to every single word you said.

"Their story is a testament to the strength of the human spirit during the darkest of times. It's a reminder that war doesn't just affect soldiers and politicians; it touches the lives of ordinary people in profound ways." You concluded, looking at your colleagues, feeling his eyes on you.

"Thank you for sharing that personal perspective. It's a powerful reminder of the human stories that lie beneath the pages of history books." And then, Leon nodded, his eyes filled with respect for your storytelling.

Moving forward, everyone in the class had their moment to speak. Meanwhile, you've noticed that sometimes, Leon was looking at you and then looking somewhere else. At the end of the class, he called you again. His excuse was something related to your last essay that he needed to tell you, and that was why he waited until everyone left the room.

"Am I in trouble, Mr. Kennedy?" You asked, biting your lower lip as you watch him close the door.

"Oh, you have no idea," he said, walking towards you, his hand reaching the back of your head as he pulled you into a kiss. "God, you're so beautiful today. I had a hard time focusing in the class"

"That's why you suggested the conversation? Very smart" you whispered, feeling his lips on your neck as he kisses you passionately.

"Meet me tonight at my place" he said, his hand sliding through your thighs, making their way to your pussy. "At seven"

"Yes, sir" you moaned softly in his ear, automatically spreading your legs for him.

You felt his fingers touching your pussy. Today, you were using a skirt with no panties, since you liked to tease him between classes and when he saw that, he went crazy. You knew he would make you pay back for teasing him, but you didn't care.

"Come on, you really thought I didn't see you teasing me like that?" Leon whispered, circling your clit very slowly as your body joints with his touch. "Such a naughty girl... you think you can walk around shaking that ass and I won't do anything?"

"No, sir" you moaned, biting your lip and trying to control your breath while he kept touching you, his fingers dancing and playing with you.

He kept circling your clit, sometimes his fingers entering your pussy, savoring your cunt. With his free hand, he grabbed your hair tight, pushing your head back and forcing you to look at him while he's fucking you with his fingers. You knew if you closed your legs, he would punish you, so you didn't dare to defy him.

"Please, sir... let me cum" you begged, already feeling the pleasant feeling growing inside you.

And then, a knock on his door was enough to make him back off. Your legs were shaking, your breathing was labored, and Leon glanced at you, being extremely calm. He swallowed and smiled at you.

"Yes?" He said out loud to the person outside.

The door opened.

There was a beautiful woman, she was the most gorgeous you've ever seen in your life. She had a look in her face that you knew pretty well; arrogance. Her eyes met yours, and you felt something burning within you. The way she was looking at him... it made you uncomfortable.

And when she entered that room, you looked at Leon. He was pale.

When you entered your apartment, Chloe was sitting next to the window and painting her nails. When she noticed the look you had on your face, she immediately stopped what she was doing, knowing you needed to talk.

"Hey, bestie. You look like you've seen a ghost. What's up?"

You dropped your bag beside Chloe and plopped down next to her. You took a deep breath and began.

"You won't believe what happened after class today. Leon and I were talking about my essay when this mysterious woman walked in." You said to her, avoiding some spicy details.

"Mysterious woman? Do you mean like a substitute teacher or something?" Chloe raised an eyebrow.

"No, Chloe, it was nothing like that. She was… I don't even know how to describe her. Short dark hair, wearing this red dress that looked like it was from a different century, and she had this air of, I don't know, mystery and arrogance." You shook your head, describing the woman you saw earlier.

"Okay, so what did she do?" Chloe's curiosity grew as she leaned closer, listening to every single word you said.

"The weird part is that as soon as she walked in, Leon's entire demeanor changed. He went all distant, like he didn't even know me. And then, Chloe, he started talking to her. He sounded a little nervous, and she was practically eating him in there!" You continued, your voice tinged with frustration and confusion.

"That's... bizarre. I mean, Leon has always been attentive to you. Are you sure it wasn't just some random conversation?" Chloe's eyes widened, and she leaned in closer.

"I'm positive, Chloe. I could see it in his eyes. It was like he was under some kind of spell, completely captivated by her. And the way they looked at each other, it was like I didn't even exist." You nodded vigorously, sighing again. The image is playing in your head like a loop.

Chloe frowned sympathetically.

"Wow, sis, that does sound strange. Maybe you should talk to Leon about it, find out what's going on." She suggests, trying to cheer you up, knowing it was the right thing to do.

"I know I should, but I don't even know how to bring it up. It felt so... personal, you know? Like they had this secret connection, and I was just an outsider." You sighed again, your frustration evident.

Chloe looked at you like she was thinking about the right words. She knew about your secret relationship with Leon, and despite the fact she was concerned at the very beginning, she truly supported you. And then, you feel her put her arm around your shoulders.

"You're not an outsider, sweetie. Leon cares about you, and there must be a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe he didn't even realize he was acting that way. Talk to him, okay? Communication is key." She says kindly at you, her smile shining.

"You're right, Chloe. I'll talk to him and try to figure this out. I just hope it's nothing serious." You sighing, nodding your head, agreeing with Chloe.

She smiled again and then returned to finish her nails. You texted Leon to know if you could go see him or talk, and then, you left your phone to do your papers from the week.

As the hours pass by, you get no replies from Leon, which is odd. He never failed to text you. Even when he had a lot of essays to read, he always took some minutes from his time to talk to you.

You had spent the past few hours anxiously pacing your apartment, your mind a whirlwind of worry and confusion. Leon had been avoiding your calls and messages, and your instic were telling you something was wrong. Finally, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, you decided to confront him. Lucky for you, Chloe wasn't in there to stop you from doing something stupid. You didn't care.

You took some time to go to his place. You were thinking about that woman. The way she looked at you, the way she was standing between the two of you. You felt something inside your chest. And it wasn't good.

You stood before the door to Leon's apartment, your heart pounding in your chest. With trembling fingers, you knocked on the door, the sound echoing in the hallway. After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, revealing Leon's tired face.

"Hey," you stammered, your voice quivering. "We need to talk."

Leon hesitated for a moment before reluctantly stepping aside, allowing you to enter his cozy and cute apartment. The atmosphere felt heavy, suffused with an unspoken tension. You could sense that something was terribly wrong.

You both stood there for a moment, neither of you saying a word. Finally, Leon broke the silence, his voice strained.

"We can't keep doing this." He says, avoiding your eyes for a brief moment.

Doing what? You thought, your heart sinking. You knew exactly what he meant, but hearing it out loud was a devastating blow.

"What do you mean?" Tears welled up in your eyes as you whispered, your heart skipping a few beats inside your chest.

Leon ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his eyes avoiding yours.

"Us. This... relationship, whatever it is. It's not fair to either of us. I can't give you what you deserve, and I can't keep pretending that I can." He says, and for a moment, you thought he was also heartbroken.

Your entire world seemed to crumble around you as the words sunk in. You had grown so attached to Leon, and you had allowed yourself to hope for something more. But now, it was all slipping away. Tears spilled down your cheeks, your voice trembling with hurt and anger.

"So, you're just going to push me away without even trying to make it work?" You ask him, your words painfully hitting you hard.

"I wish it were that simple. But it's not. I can't keep hurting you like this." Leon's shoulders slumped, and he looked defeated.

With that, he turned away from you, leaving you standing alone in his apartment. You felt like your heart had been ripped from your chest. You knew that trying to change his mind would be futile. With a heavy heart, you made your way to the door.

As you stepped out into the cold night air, you felt a mix of emotions — heartbreak, anger, and confusion. You couldn't go back to your apartment, not now. Chloe would ask you a thousand different questions, and you weren't in the mood to answer. In a moment of recklessness, you reached for your phone and called your ex-boyfriend, someone familiar who had always been there for you.

"Hey," you said when he answered. "Do you want to meet up? I could use some company."

Matthew's voice was warm and comforting as he agreed, and you knew that, at least for tonight, you needed the familiarity of the past to help mend your wounded heart.

As you stepped into the bar, the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses enveloped you. Looking around, you couldn't help but feel a pang of nervousness as you glanced at the familiar figure waiting by the entrance. Matthew, your ex-boyfriend, stood there with a hesitant smile, his eyes carrying a mix of uncertainty and nostalgia.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft.

"Hey," you replied, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Then, you two exchanged awkward pleasantries and then settled into a booth at the back of the bar.

The atmosphere was charged with unspoken words as they ordered drinks. After a moment, Matthew cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

"You know, I've been thinking a lot about us lately," he admitted, his gaze fixed on the tabletop.

"Me too, Matt. It's hard not to, you know." You sighed, you heart fluttering.

You two began to talk about your past, reminiscing about the good times and dissecting the reasons for your breakup. As the conversation flowed, old emotions resurfaced, and your connection reignited. With a mixture of longing and desire, Matthew reached across the table and gently caressed your hand. You met his gaze, your eyes filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty.

And then, you finally remembered your previous conversation with Leon. You were so heartbroken by his words; he made you feel like heaven, and then he dropped you like you were nothing. And the sad part was you couldn't understand why.

You look at Matthew, and then it happens.

Your lips met in a passionate kiss, igniting a spark that died a long time ago. But as your kiss deepened, a wave of nausea washed over you, and you pulled away, gasping.

"I... I need some air," you stammered, sliding out of the booth and rushing towards the exit.

The cool night air hit your face as you stumbled outside, trying to collect your thoughts. Feeling disoriented, you leaned against the brick wall of the bar. That's when you heard a familiar voice.

"What the hell?"

Turning around, you found herself face to face with Leon. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in your disheveled appearance.

"Leon, I..." You started, but before you could explain, Leon interrupted.

"Come with me," he said firmly, slipping his arm around your waist and leading your away from the bar. You both walked in silence, a subtle tension hanging in the air.

As they reached Leon's apartment, you felt a mix of relief and trepidation. Leon's face was tense, his brows furrowed, as he tried to find the right words to express his feelings. The tension between them was palpable, a thick cloud of unresolved emotions hanging in the air.

"You went out with Matthew again?" Leon's voice was laced with disappointment as he folded his arms across his chest.

"What's the big deal, Leon? You're the one who ended things, remember? You said we wouldn't work out." You look at him, angry and frustrated.

Leon sighed, running a hand through his hair. He had to choose his words carefully.

"It's not that simple. There are things you don't know." He says, avoiding your gaze for a moment. There you knew, he was hiding something.

"Leon," you began, your voice quivering with a mix of frustration and hurt, "I can't believe you're making such a big deal out of this."

Leon took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.

"It's not about making a big deal out of it. It's about trust and respect in our relationship." He says firmly, trying to justify what happened.

You clenched your fists, your eyes flashing with anger. For a moment, you wanted to punch him in the face after he said that. He was being a hypocrite.

"Trust? Respect? You're the one who broke up with me, remember? You said we wouldn't work out. So why do you care who I go out with now?" You asked him again, your voice raising a little.

Leon's jaw tightened.

"I broke up with you because of something else, but that doesn't mean I stopped caring about you. And it certainly doesn't mean I want to see you with your ex."

You shook your head, your frustration mounting. Why couldn't he just trust you? You both been hiding this relationship for months, and now you noticed he didn't truly trust you. And that hurts a lot.

"You can't have it both ways, Leon. You can't end things and then act like you have a say in who I see or what I do." You said to him with a deep sigh. And it was true. He wasn't your owner.

Leon's voice grew more desperate.

"I still love you. I thought we could work through our problems, but seeing you with him... it hurts." He said, his breath was heavier.

"What are you hiding from me?" You ask him, wanting nothing more but the truth. You deserved to know. "Who was that woman?"

Leon avoided your gaze again, which made you way more angrier. He sat on his couch, his face buried in his hands. At this very moment, he was having the most difficult choice in his hands. It was a burden.

"She's... my ex fiancé" Leon finally looks at you, and this time, your jaw dropped. "And I think she knows about us"

And again, you felt your heart skipping a few beats. Your palms were sweating cold, and you felt your entire body shaking. This was very serious.

"What do you mean?" You ask, sounding less angry and more concerned, sitting next to him on his couch.

Leon took a deep breath, his fingers trembling as he pulled out his phone. He unlocked the screen and handed it over to you. On the screen were a series of threatening text messages, the sender's name blocked. Your eyes widened as you read the ominous words.

"Leon, who's sending you these messages? What's going on?" You ask horrified to him, still looking at his phone.

Leon swallowed hard, his throat dry.

"I don't know who it is, but they somehow found out about us, about our relationship. Look at the last message." He pointed at the screen, his voice quivering with a mix of fear and anger.

The final message was chilling: "Break up with her, Leon, or everyone at college will know your secret. Your reputation will be ruined."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked up from the phone to meet Leon's gaze.

"Leon, holy shit... we can't let them control us like this. I know it's against the rules, but we love each other." You said, trying to be reasonable. You were shaking. If someone leaked the information, he would be ruined for life.

Leon nodded, his eyes filled with determination.

"I know. I don't want to break up with you. But I'm scared of what they might do if we don't comply." He sighs, trying to find a way out from this mess.

"So... I think we... I don't know" Your voice sounds more like a whisper, and he looks at you.

Then, suddenly, you feel his lips against yours, his hands trailing down your body. Leon gripped your wrist and twisted it behind your back; you can feel his nails dug sharply into your skin, and instantly, you felt a rush of excitement, followed immediately by a wave of desire.

You had secretely wanting for this, had spelled out the fantasy in detail, wondering how he would fulfill your fantasy. And now that it was here, digging into your flesh and forcing your face-down onto the wall, it was too much: not just the helplessness, but how exciting the helplessness felt.

You didn't want to be that person. That cliche, the powerful woman who deep down just wants to be mastered by a more powerful man. Your safeword bubbled up in your throat, but you gritted your teeth and choked it back down. You had begged for this, and by God, you were going to see it through.

Leon led you to his room, already throwing you on his bed, spreading your legs without gentleness. He needed you. He desired you more than anything.

He forced his knee between your thighs and fumbled with his zipper, and all you could do was basically smalls whimpers, in something resembling real panic, as you felt pure wetness inside your pussy, already aching without his touches.

"Jesus Christ, bunny... I've missed seeing you like this" he whispers, his lips already circling your nipples.

His words made your pussy wetter, and the sharp fingers forcing your cunt lips apart made it wetter still, and you moaned in desire and pleasure at your treacherous pussy that was begging for his cock to force itself inside you like it was the last thing you would do in life.

"I'm gonna take you, bunny. I'm gonna make you scream my name" he said, his grip getting tight as you feel your stomach twisting.

And then, you feel him rammed himself inside you with full thrusts, going so deeper that you felt pain at first. He pinned your hands up, holding them so tight that it was almost impossible to get rid of him. His lips sucked your nipples with so intensity that when he released them, it was a soft shade of red.

"My bunny seems lusty" he moans again, still holding you tight.

"F-uck" you moan, closing and squeezing your eyes, your body automatically following his pace, your tits shaking up and down.

You feel Leon moving in and out of you. And your body jerked back and forth with the strength of his movement. The bed was practically banging against the wall with violence, and with every sharp thrust, your skin slapped together lusciously. This sex was loud and violent, just as you'd wanted.

Your moans and cries grew louder. You were at the very edge, about to explode into pleasure. Noticing how close you were, Leon flipped you over seamlessly and continued pumping into you with enough force to make you see stars. You were crying, desperate to be released, desperate to have your orgasm and be his.

You open your eyes, tears falling down your cheeks. His eyes were shining like sapphires, touched by the sun in a glorious morning, and his perfect features were shimmering with sweat. Leon looked beautiful than ever, like he was made by the Gods and blessed with their grace.

“You are mine, bunny. Do you understand me? I don't want to see you with him ever again" he rasped fiercely, leaning forward, as you felt him grabbing your face gently with one hand.

Waves of heat flooded your body. All you wanted was to cum on him, all you wanted was to be his and his only. You didn't care if people find out about you two; you wanted him.

Suddenly, Leon obliged you, wrapping his arms around your back. All you left escape was a gasp when he swung you onto his lap as he moved to the edge of the bed, still forcing you to keep your legs open. In one brutal thrust, he set you down on his length, filling you so suddenly you cried out in shock. His hands roamed, over you back and bottom, on your breasts, rubbing against your nipples.

He was everywhere.

Leon pulled you back up and then slammed you down again. You felt like you were flying, spinning, wondering why he made you feel so good and why you didn't let him do that before. Waves of pleasure rolled over you, making your entire body shiver with anticipation of your climax. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, holding you down when gravity ceased to exist.

And he was kind to let you cum.

You gasped for air, and the orgasm came to your relief. You were vaguely aware of his voice, your body shaking with this sudden release of pleasure as he whispered words of love and care. When you came back to your reality, you glanced at him, a tired smile on your lips, indicating you were more than satisfied.

"I love you" he says finally, kissing you passionately, his sweaty face and tired expression admiring yours.

Things couldn't be better for both of you and Leon. Sure, you both had to pretend for everyone nothing was going on. His ex fiancé was still around, and Matthew kept trying to convince you to hang out, which you declined every time, saying you needed to focus on college and, most recently, your new job.

You were working on a coffee shop not so far from your apartment, and you were excited. At least once in a week, Leon would go in there just to see you, and sometimes he wasn't alone. A few other professors would go in there as well, so he had excuses to see you.

As for the blackmail messages, it stopped for a few days. The last one he received was a picture from both of you kissing, so he decided it was safe to keep things lay low. He had to ignore you during classes, he avoided you inside the college — but at his apartment he would eat you alive without hesitation, making his neighbors know you're his and make them hear you moan very loud and beg to cum.

"So, how you're doing?" Chloe asks, sitting next to you for lunch. "It seems like you're happier than usual"

"Oh, it's just my new job" you said, obviously lying. Leon had specifically told you not to tell anyone, even your best friend.

"I'm happy for you" she smiled, her eyes shining again. "Does Matthew keep texting you?"

"Not really, I said that night was a mistake, and I was drunk. I apologized to him, " you explained, your eyes focused on your laptop as you research for your next assignment. "Anyways, it won't happen again"

Chloe nods, and then her attention returns to her own work. You wanted so badly to tell her about you and Leon, but you knew you couldn't put him in trouble. You sat at your desk in your bedroom, your fingers tapping nervously on the keyboard as you tried to focus on your homework. The soft glow of your laptop illuminated the room, casting a pale, eerie light on your anxious expression. You glanced at the clock on your wall, your heart racing with anticipation. Leon was supposed to call you any minute now.

Just as you reached for your phone, it vibrated with an incoming message. Your heart skipped a beat as you picked it up, hoping to see Leon's name. Instead, the message was from an unknown number.

The message read: "Naughty slut. I know your secret. I know about you and Leon. If you don't do as I say, everyone at college will find out."

Fear clenched at your chest, and you felt your hands trembling. You knew he was receiving messages, and it was a matter of time before you got your first, too. You quickly typed a response, your fingers fumbling on the screen.

"Who is this? What do you want?"

The reply came almost instantly, and it sent a chill down your spine: "You'll find out soon enough. But here's a taste of what's to come."

A photo appeared on the screen, a candid shot of you and Leon sharing an intimate moment inside his apartment. Your heart sank as you realized just how much the blackmailer knew.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you texted back: "Please, don't do this. We'll do whatever you want, just don't ruin our lives."

The reply was merciless: "You have 48 hours to meet my demands. You'll receive instructions soon. Remember, I'm watching."

Your phone went silent, but the threat hung in the air like a dark cloud. You knew your world was about to crumble, and there was no escape from the impending storm. You couldn't tell Leon, the blackmailer would know instantly. It was only you.

The room was dark and silent, the only source of illumination being the glow of your phone on the bedside table. You had been sitting there for what felt like an eternity, anxiety gnawing at you every passing minute. You had followed the instructions meticulously, as the blackmailer had demanded: no police, no friends, no Leon, just you, alone.

The digital clock on your phone ticked away relentlessly, the seconds feeling like a cruel countdown to your impending doom. You had been given 48 hours to comply with the blackmailer's demands, and time was running out.

As you stared at the screen, your heart raced with every passing minute. You knew the stakes were high, but the thought of exposing her secret relationship with Leon was unbearable. You couldn't let anything bad happen to him.

Just when desperation was starting to overtake you, a familiar chime broke the silence of the room. A text message had arrived. Your trembling hands reached for the phone, and you unlocked it with trembling fingers.

The message was chillingly simple: "You have one hour. Go to the college auditorium. Come alone, or your secret will be revealed."

Your heart sank as you read those words. The threat was crystal clear, and you had no choice but to comply. You quickly texted back an acknowledgment, confirming your compliance.

With a heavy heart, you began to prepare. You couldn't let this person destroy your life and Leon's. The next hour was a blur of frantic thoughts and hasty preparations. You dressed in dark clothing, concealing your identity as best as you could.

As the minutes ticked away, you left your apartment, your heart pounding with fear and determination. You had no idea what awaited you at the auditorium, but you were willing to do whatever it took to protect Leon.

As you arrive at the college, you walk towards the auditorium. You pushed open the heavy oak doors of the college auditorium, your heart pounded in your chest. That room, usually a place of inspiration and camaraderie, felt eerie and foreboding today.

The rows of empty seats seemed to stretch endlessly before you, leading you closer to the stage where a single figure stood, bathed in a cold, unforgiving spotlight. Chloe. Your best friend. The person you trusted the most.

"Chloe, what's going on?" Your voice quivered as you approached your friend, your steps echoing in the cavernous auditorium.

"Surprise" Chloe turned, her face twisted with a mix of emotions, her eyes wide and frenzied.

"Why are you doing this?" You demanded, tears brimming in your eyes as you realized it was her all the time.

"Because I love you, sweetheart. I've always loved you, and I couldn't stand seeing you with Leon." Chloe's laughter was unnerving, a shrill, hollow sound that bounced off the walls.

Your heart sank as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Chloe's jealousy had driven her to blackmail, to manipulate, to hurt those you cared about.

"You... love me?" You stammered.

Chloe's expression twisted with a manic intensity.

"Yes! I would do anything for you, darling. I had to get rid of Matthew and Leon to eliminate the competition and to make you see that you belong with me." She reveals to you, sounding sadistic and crazy.

She opened the curtains from the auditorium, and there he was. His face had a few bruises, and he was gagged, tied by his hands. You gasped in shock, but you didn't dare to move. You felt a chill run down your spine. This wasn't the Chloe you had known. This was a stranger, consumed by obsession.

"Chloe, this isn't love," you said, your voice trembling. "This is madness."

Chloe's laughter grew louder, more unhinged.

"You don't understand, darling. I did it all for us." She looks at you, pointing a knife towards you.

As Chloe's words hung in the air, the auditorium's silence was shattered by the sound of sirens approaching in the distance. Your heart raced, realizing that Chloe's breakdown had reached a critical point.

"I can't let them take you away," Chloe muttered, her voice a desperate whisper.

Before you could react, Chloe lunged forward, but a uniformed police officer burst through the auditorium doors, gun drawn. Chaos ensued, the echoes of sirens and shouting blending with your racing thoughts.

It happened fast.

In one minute, Chloe tried to end his life. In the other, you heard a gunshot, and Chloe was on the floor. You screamed, reaching both Leon and Chloe.

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