#the flickering of the lights just before the reveal of the art

[sleep-deprivedracoon]

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f! reader

word count: 3680 Summary: Satoru doing his best to get you out of your downward spiral. He failed Suguru but he won't fail you. Author's note: based on this prompt. I think I speak for most of the fandom when I say we all need some extra fluff and love from Gojo after the week we've had with the anime and manga. So this one is for all of us Gojo wives. Ngl, I am literally shaking right now as I dare to post this. I don't know if y'all will like this or if this just flops. CW: depression, food habits, angst, implied relationships, patterns of isolation, fluff, angst to comfort, helplessness, mentions of smoking

Satoru Gojo stood before your door, an unusual sense of foreboding gnawing at the edges of his normally self-assured demeanor. It was a feeling he wasn't accustomed to, one that clashed against the confident façade he typically wore like armor. He couldn't shake the nagging sensation that something was terribly wrong with you, something that went far beyond the physical injuries. It had been weeks since you returned from that mission, and something had changed in you—It was as if something was tearing you apart from the inside.

He'd delved into the mission reports, scouring through the details, looking for any signs of what might have transpired. The mission had been a success, technically flawless, with only a handful of unfortunate bystanders caught in the crossfire. You'd managed to take down a first-grade curse with no fatalities—by all accounts, it should have been considered a triumph. So why had it left you so shattered?

As the door creaked open, revealing you on the other side, his sharp eyes caught the flicker of a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

Your smile, once a beacon of light that never failed to brighten his day, now seemed a mere shadow of its former self. It was as though the spark within you had dimmed, leaving behind an empty echo of what used to be.

"Toru," you greeted, your voice a little too forced, a little too brittle.

Gojo pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a desperation he couldn't quite put into words. He pressed his lips to the top of your head, a gesture that had become second nature to him, a silent declaration of affection. “Hi, sweets.” he murmured, his voice tinged with concern.

As he held you, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was teetering on the edge of a precipice, that the ground beneath him was unstable. He hoped beyond hope that he was merely overthinking, that you were stronger than he feared. But deep down, he knew. He knew something was fundamentally wrong.

You gently pulled away, and he followed you into your apartment, his senses immediately assaulted by the disarray that greeted him. Sure, you were a chaotic person, but there was usually an organized chaos to your living space. Books strewn haphazardly on shelves, art supplies scattered on tables, and the comforting scent of incense in the air—all elements of your usual environment. The chaos was familiar, a reflection of your vibrant, unpredictable personality. But this... this was different. There was an air of neglect, a sense that even your usual disorder had lost its usual rhythm. He took in the scene—the scattered papers, the toppled books, the forgotten articles of clothing strewn across the floor. Each item seemed to whisper a tale of neglect; a story of a mind too preoccupied to care for its surroundings. He saw the remnants of a once vibrant spirit, now muted and worn.

He followed you into the kitchen, concern etched into his features. "Have you eaten yet?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

You mumbled a half-hearted "yes," but he wasn't fooled. He opened your fridge to place a few drinks, and his heart sank at the sight. It hadn't been stocked in a while; the shelves almost barren. It was a stark contrast to the usual assortment of ingredients and snacks he was accustomed to stealing. He glanced at you, silently noting the tired lines etching your face, the weariness in your eyes that belied your attempt at a smile

You stood beside him, trying to deflect his concern with a forced smile and a weak excuse. "I've been lazy, just ordering takeout."

He glanced at the trash can, noting its emptiness. He saw right through the lie, but he didn't push it. Instead, he turned his gaze back to you, taking in the disheveled state of your hair, the dullness in your eyes, the weight loss that had left you looking frail. It was a familiar dance—one he had witnessed before, with someone else he had cared for deeply. That smile you offered him, that empty, hollow smile with closed eyes, it hit him like a tidal wave of dread. It reminded Gojo of Suguru after Amanai's death—their once lively friend reduced to a mere shell, hiding behind a facade. The parallels between you and Suguru's descent sent a shiver down his spine.

The weight of helplessness settled like a leaden anchor in Satoru Gojo's chest. He cursed inwardly, the bitter taste of regret mingling with the dread that had consumed him. How was it happening again? Why was it always the ones he cared for the most? The memory of Suguru, his once-vibrant friend reduced to a mere shadow of himself, haunted him. He had failed Suguru, and that failure still weighed heavily on him.

The mantra of his own strength echoed in his mind, a bitter irony. He was the strongest, but in this moment, he felt powerless. Weak. Useless. Helpless. As you stood before him, offering a smile that barely masked the turmoil within, you felt so distant, so far away. It was as though an impenetrable barrier had risen between the two of you.

It had started weeks ago, with your return from that fateful mission. Even then, something had felt off. You had been fatigued, weary, and Gojo had been there for you, trying to help you unwind and recharge. But you barely spoke of the mission, your words guarded, your gaze distant. In the ensuing weeks, he had watched as you withdrew, not just from him, but from their students. He noticed how you declined Nobara’s invites to go shopping, how the playful banter with Megumi had all but disappeared. Even your calls with Yuta who was overseas had become brief, the once-lively conversations now reduced to strained exchanges.

He caught a whiff of smoke around you one evening, a scent that hung in the air like a lingering secret. He knew then, without needing to ask, that you had turned to cigarettes for solace. There were signs, always signs. The subtle shifts in behavior, the hollow looks, the moments of silence that stretched on longer than they should. But he had chosen to give you space, believing that time would allow you to heal and find your way back. It was a mistake, one he deeply regretted now as he saw the signs he had missed piling up.

Gojo's gaze settled on you once more, his heart heavy with concern. You had lost weight, your eyes dulled, your once-lustrous hair now a tangled mess. It was as though a part of you had withered away, leaving behind a hollow shell. The pain in his chest intensified as he realized that he couldn't afford to stand by and watch you slip away. He had to act, to break through the barrier you had unknowingly erected around yourself. But how? That was the question that haunted him as he searched your eyes for a way to reach you, to pull you back from the abyss you seemed to be falling into.

He turned to you, his eyes tracing the weariness etched into your features, the fragility in your frame. "Sweets," he murmured, his voice laced with a mix of concern and determination. "We can't keep going on like this. You don't have to face this alone.”

As Gojo's concerned gaze bore into you, he couldn't help but notice the immediate defensiveness in your body language. Your chuckle, dry and forced, cut through the air like a fragile attempt to push his worries away. "I'm okay, Toru," you insisted, your voice wavering just slightly.

"(Y/n) …" he urged; his voice gentle but firm. "You don't have to pretend with me. I can see that something's eating at you. You can rely on me, you know that, right? I'm here to shoulder whatever burdens you're carrying."

You met his gaze, eyes guarded, and shook your head, a hint of stubbornness in your expression. "Toru, really, I appreciate it, but I'm okay. You're worrying unnecessarily.”

You remained closed off, a wall of resistance that he couldn't breach. Your insistence that everything was fine felt like a dagger to his heart, but he understood that pushing you further at this moment could risk you shutting him out completely and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you to the darkness.

So, he accepted your words, even as they left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Alright, sweets. Just remember, I'm here whenever you're ready to talk."

Ordering takeout seemed like the most rational thing to do, a glimmer of normalcy in the midst of the storm. He chose a spicy Chow Mein with Gyoza on the side, knowing it was a combination that never failed to put a smile on your face. As the two of you sat in silence, he couldn't help but notice how you toyed with your food, pushing it around on the plate rather than really eating.

He teased gently, "You know, you're starting to remind me of a kid being forced to eat their vegetables. Come on, at least take a few bites for me."

You glanced up, a faint glimmer of amusement in your eyes, and complied, taking a few bites to prove a point. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. It was through these small steps, he realized, that he needed to slowly guide you back from the darkness that threatened to consume you.

After dinner, he bid you farewell, his footsteps heavy as he walked away from your apartment. Once out of your sight, he clutched his hair in frustration, a tumultuous storm of conflicting emotions swirling within him. He couldn't bear to see you like this, not again. He couldn't let another person he cared for slip into the abyss.

With a determined exhale, he removed his shades and reached for the black blindfold that he rarely wore when it was just the two of you. He tied it securely and looked back at the window to your apartment. In that moment, he vowed to himself that he wouldn't let you slip away. He would fight for you, even if it meant stepping into the darkness alongside you.

-------------

In the days that followed, Gojo remained steadfast in his determination to pull you out of the suffocating depths of depression that had ensnared you. He knew he couldn't do it alone, and admitting that fact was a monumental step for someone as self-reliant as him. It surprised even Shoko, who had known Gojo for years, to witness his newfound vulnerability.

He started with small, manageable gestures, well aware that overwhelming you would only push you further away. Slowly, he began to tidy up your apartment, one step at a time. He organized the scattered papers, straightened the toppled books, and restored a sense of order to the chaos that had overtaken the space. He did it in small iterations, so as to not catch you off guard.  He knew that even the semblance of cleanliness and organization could bring a sense of calm. Another day, he arrived with a bag of groceries, quietly slipping into your kitchen to prepare a meal. At times, he found himself sneaking food into you, taking advantage of moments when your mind wandered elsewhere. He'd feed you, offering fruits and treats while you mindlessly chewed on it, lost in thought. It was a silent promise that he was there to support you, to ensure you took care of yourself.

Then came the day he dragged you out, insisting that you join him and his students for a shopping excursion. It was an attempt to remind you that there was still joy and fun to be had, even in the midst of the world's worries. He made sure to bring his students along, Yuji and Nobara, who shared a single brain cell with their hairbrained schemes, and Megumi, who often found himself the target of their antics. As you wandered through the bustling market, you couldn't help but be drawn into the silliness that surrounded you. Yuji and Nobara's playful banter, Megumi's exasperation, and the way his students relied on you for the silliest of things slowly began to chip away at the darkness within you. There were moments when you couldn't help but smile, caught up in the absurdity of it all. Watching Yuji and Nobara embark on their ridiculous plans, seeing Megumi squirm in embarrassment, witnessing the camaraderie among his students—it all served as a poignant reminder that life held moments of levity, even in its darkest corners. Gojo reveled in these small victories, each one a testament to your gradual recovery. His approach was slow and deliberate, mixing moments of genuine concern with his signature goofiness.

"Hey, sweets," Gojo said, nudging you playfully as Yuji and Nobara attempted to outdo each other with their ridiculous purchases. "You see what I have to deal with every day? They're a handful. Why do I always end up taking care of brats?” He sighed in exaggeration.

The sound of your giggle was a melody that resonated in the depths of Satoru Gojo's being. He couldn't help but be drawn to the warmth in your laughter, a glimmer of the vibrant spirit that still lived within you. Your fingers brushed against his cheek, a gentle caress that sent a jolt of electricity through him. He leaned into the touch, his heart leaping at the connection.

"You know," you teased, patting his cheek affectionately, "you adopted these brats yourself. You're such a mother hen, Toru."

His lips curled into a playful smirk. "Well, what can I say? I've always had a soft spot for the misfits." He took your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. "And I'm glad that this mother hen has you as my favorite rooster to come back to whenever I need a break from these rascals."

Your laughter, though still fragile, filled the room, a welcome sound that eased the weight in his heart. He was getting closer, step by step, to uncovering the vibrant spirit that resided within you.

------------------------

Several days later, the Tokyo Jujutsu High planned a retreat to an Onsen resort in Gunma. The students shared rooms, and Gojo, in his usual annoying fashion, had managed to finagle Yaga into assigning you to share a room with him. After all, you were both teachers and adults—it shouldn't have been a problem.

Gojo sat on the tatami floor of your room, dressed in a yukata, having just returned from the baths. He sipped on cold coffee milk, enjoying the tranquil atmosphere of the traditional inn. When he heard the sliding door open, he looked up, and his heart skipped a beat. You looked ethereal in the Yukata, the fabric draping gracefully over your form. Your hair was still damp from the baths, strands clinging to your skin in a way that made his heart race. There was a newfound fullness to your cheeks, a healthy flush to your complexion that spoke of progress.

In that moment, he realized just how far you had come. The bags under your eyes were still there, but the overall transformation was striking. He clicked his tongue several times, pulling you gently to the tatami floor in front of him. He reached for the towel that hung around your shoulders and scolded you gently, "Sweets, you need to dry your hair properly. You'll catch a cold like this."

His fingers moved through your hair with a soothing touch, the room enveloped in silence save for the rustle of fabric and the soft hum of the night outside. He was meticulous, his actions deliberate as he dried your hair strand by strand. As he continued to pat your hair dry with gentle strokes, he noticed that you were trembling. Frowning, he stopped, his concern growing. And then he heard it—the soft, muffled sniffle that escaped your lips. In an instant, he turned you around to face him, his eyes widening as he saw the tears welling up in your eyes.

Before he could say a word, you began sobbing, your shoulders shaking with the force of your emotions. You buried your face in his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you cried. He didn't brush away your tears or offer empty reassurances. Instead, he let you cry, allowing the dam you had built around your emotions to finally break. He could feel the warmth of your tears soaking through his yukata, the shudders that racked your body, and the tremble of your hands as they clung to his robes. It was a raw, vulnerable moment, and he was there to bear witness to it, to share in your pain and offer his silent support. Gojo's touch was gentle, his hand stroking your back in a steady, rhythmic motion. He didn't speak, understanding that this moment was about you and your release. His heart ached with each anguished sob that wracked your body, but he remained a steadfast anchor, giving you the space you needed to let it all out.

As your sobs began to subside, your words spilled out in a torrent of emotion. You spoke of the mission, of how it had torn open old wounds, making you confront shadows from your past. The cursed technique of the first-grade curse had exploited your own memories, forcing you to relive the pain and uncertainty.

Gojo had been privy to your painful past, as you had confided in him long ago. He understood the emotional scars that had marked your journey, and now, he could see why you were descending into darkness.

Your voice trembled as you confessed your fear. You longed to return to the person you used to be, but you were terrified that you had lost yourself in the process. The fear that in losing yourself, you might also lose him gripped at your heart.

Gently, Gojo cupped your cheek, his sky-blue eyes locking onto yours. He removed his shades, allowing you to see the sincerity in his gaze. "No matter what version of yourself you present to me," he said, his voice soft but resolute, "I will love you. Whether you're happy, sad, angry, or anything in between, it doesn't change a thing. If you somehow turned evil, I'd love you. If you don’t want to be a sorcerer anymore, I’d love you. Even if you transformed into a worm, I'd love you. I will love every version of you that has been and that is yet to come, (Y/n). " He couldn't help but inject a touch of his signature playfulness into the moment. "Well, unless you turn into Gakuganji," he added with a mock shudder, "then you might be pushing it. But hey, I'll even love you if you morph into that old fart. Just… just don't test me on that one." He kisses your trembling lips gently. “I don’t think my heart could handle that.”

A small giggle burst from your lips, and you playfully swatted his arm, the sound like a gentle chime amidst your tears. It was a moment of relief, a brief respite from the weight of your emotions. Gojo couldn't help but chuckle in response, his grin boyish and goofy. “I will always love you (Y/n). Even if you lose yourself, I will walk with you to help you rediscover yourself. I am great at helping people find things. These six eyes are here for a reason, you know?”

You gently shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips as you leaned in to kiss Satoru Gojo on his lips, your gratitude and affection evident in the tender gesture. "Thank you," you whispered against his lips, "for being you."

His lips curved into a soft smile as he returned your kiss, savoring the warmth of your affection. "It's been my pleasure, (Y/n)," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. “After all, nobody is best at being Gojo Satoru other than Satoru Gojo himself.” He winks.

You continued, your voice barely above a whisper, "I know what you've been doing, Toru. All these days, you’ve been taking care of me, helping me even if I didn't want to admit it to myself. But I needed it, and I needed you."

Gojo's eyes softened as he gazed at you, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "If the roles were reversed, you would've done a far better and more efficient job," he admitted, a hint of shame coloring his voice. "I should've seen it sooner, (Y/n)."

You silenced him with a gentle finger against his lips, his mock pout making you smile. "Don't blame yourself, Toru," you murmured. "I didn't want you to find out, and it's not your fault. I feel lighter now than I have in days, although I am still struggling to cope.”

In response, Gojo spoke with unwavering determination, "I'll be here beside you, sweets. However you want and in whatever form you need.

“Whatever I need huh?” A wistful smile tugged at your lips. "Maybe turning myself into Gakuganji would help," you mused, a playful glint in your eyes. “won’t it, Toru?”

Gojo groaned dramatically, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. His fingers danced along your sides and ribs, eliciting giggles and laughter from you as you squirmed beneath his touch. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. His fingers attacked your sides and belly, evoking peals of laughter from you. The tatami floor beneath you seemed to come alive with the sounds of your giggles and Gojo's playful laughter. As he tickled you mercilessly, Gojo's thoughts were clear—he would do anything to keep that light in your eyes, to see you smile, even if it meant turning into Gakuganji himself. Anything at all. And with every joyful laugh that filled the room, he knew he was one step closer to bringing you back to him.

Taglist - @hiraethsdesires Note to @hiraethsdesires: thank you, Hira. I thought I'd never be able to get back into writing again. I thought I had lost it. But it felt so nice to dive right into this again. The first character I had ever written for in this blog was Gojo. It feels just right to get back into it with him again.

[candy69gurl]

Bound by Ropes Love

Sub Gojo Satoru x dom f!reader

Warnings- 18+, dark, reverse consensual (m!sub+f!dom), mentions of breakup, bondage, m!nipple biting & playing, dick squeezing, blow job, cum play, m!teasing & begging, m!harassment, use of threats, clit rubbing, cum squirt on face (male), use of nicknames, mutliple orgasms, raw sex (cumming inside), face sitting, cum eating

wc - 4k

ART NOT MINE !

Satoru saunters up to Utahime, smirking mischievously as she rolls her eyes at his approach. She leans back against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you want, Satoru? I'm busy."

Undeterred, Satoru props himself up against the opposite wall, leaning closer to her until their faces are mere inches apart. His eyes sparkle with playful intent. "Oh, come on, Utahime," Satoru drawls, that same devilish grin never leaving his face. "I wasn't expecting such a cold welcome from someone as warm and lovely as you. Can't a guy just say hi without getting the icy treatment?"

Satoru chuckles softly, shaking his head at her protest, before continuing his flirtatious banter. "Alright, alright, no need to be so defensive. But look at me, Utahime. You know you enjoy these little interactions between us. Admit it."

He leans even closer, their lips almost touching, and whispers, "You'd miss it if I stopped, wouldn't you?" His eyes locked on hers, daring her to object. Utahime scoffs, trying to hide her discomfort behind a forced laugh. "Like I would ever miss your constant flirting, Gojo. You're relentless."

But even as she speaks, her cheeks flush a light pink, a clear indication that Satoru's words have affected her. Her gaze flickers away from his, unable to meet those vibrant blue eyes directly.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING !", you yell, your voice echoing in the hallway.

Gojo Satoru and you have been dating for about six months, and everyone is aware of this. Yet, Gojo has a terrible inclination of flirting with others. It upsets you greatly.

You walk into the hallway, startling both Satoru and Utahime, who are engaged in a heated flirtation. They separate immediately, catching you off guard. What the hell are they doing? Your voice rings out sharply, revealing your emotions.

Utahime meets your gaze, guilt flashing across her face for a brief moment. Satoru, though, remains nonchalant. Pushing his sunglasses up his nose, he offers you a casual wave.

As you step closer, Utahime seems to sense danger and quickly excuses herself, slipping away from the scene before you can react. You turn your attention fully to Satoru, who now stands alone in the hallway with you.

"Well, well, what brings you here?" He asks, still maintaining his cool demeanor. His eyes gleam with a hint of defiance, challenging you to say something. You clench your fists, anger bubbling inside.

"I could ask you the same thing," you snap back, taking a step closer to him.

Before you can react, Satoru attempts to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you close. His proximity makes your heart race, but you stiffen in resistance.

"Don't you dare," you hiss through gritted teeth, pushing against his chest to keep some distance between you two. For a moment, the tension between you is palpable. Your eyes lock, his vibrant blue irises meeting your own. In them, you see a mixture of defiance and challenge, daring you to push further. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife. His attempt to pull you close stirs a whirlwind of emotions within you. You feel conflicted - between anger at his blatant disregard for your feelings and attraction to this man who continues to toy with your heartstrings.

For a moment, it seems like neither of you will back down. But then, finally, Satoru releases a sigh and takes a step back. "I apologize if I went too far," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends chills down your spine. "But you know how I am." There's a hint of playfulness in his voice, as if he's trying to lighten the mood after such a tense encounter.

"We are breaking up", you hear yourself saying the words, feeling every ounce of them ring true. A heaviness settles in the pit of your stomach, causing your knees to shake slightly. Seeing the shock wash over Satoru's face, you notice the smile fading away from his face. His eyes widen, and for a moment, he seems genuinely taken aback.

"Breaking up?" he repeats, disbelief tinging his voice. "Baby, please I am sorry"

"I mean it," you say firmly, standing your ground. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. You swallow hard, trying to regain control of your emotions. "I can't do this anymore, Satoru. You don't love me, you fucking don't"

His eyes soften, and for a split second, he looks pained. But thenhe shakes his head, a determined glint entering his eyes. "No, no, you're wrong. I do love you, more than you know."

"Love me?!" you scoff, almost laughing at the absurdity of the statement. "How can you love me when you are flirting around with others. I've seen you doing the same with Mei Mei last week."

Satoru's lips thin into a tight line, his expression hardening. "It was just a friendly conversation," he insists, defensive undertones creeping into his voice. "You know that wasn't anything more than that."

"And I'm supposed to believe you? When I fucking saw you with my own eyes" you say incredulously, shaking your head. "I can't do this anymore, Satoru. You need to learn to control your urges if you want to be in a real relationship."

"Fine, fine please I am sorry, it won't happen again."He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair, seeming frustrated with himself and the situation. "I know, babygirl, you're right. I was stupid," he admits, meeting your gaze earnestly. "I never meant for this to end up like this. I never wanted to hurt you, I swear," he pleads, reaching for your hand.

You withdraw your hand. "No we are done", you already forgave him but you want to make him suffer for what he did.

The sting of rejection flashes across Satoru's features, and he watches as you pull your hand away, the warmth of his grasp replaced by cold air. Tension coils between them, thick enough to cut with a knife. The realization hits him that he has lost you, and it stings worse than any curse ever could - because unlike those, this loss is permanent.

"Please? I'll do anything.. Please babygirl?" he murmurs softly, his voice a mix of desperation andpleading.

You try to hide an upcoming smirk on your face, "Oh really anything?"

Satoru notes the smirk on your face and his eyes narrow slightly, suspicion flickering in their depths. "Anything," he confirms, crossing his arms over his chest. "Name it."

You watch him, enjoying the game you've started. He's so used to being in control and having the upper hand, and seeing him on edge, unsure, is oddly satisfying. It feels good to finally hold some power over him.

"You mean anything physically too?", your mind racing with the evil ideas.

Satoru raises an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. "What do you have in mind, my little butterfly? You know I'm always up for a challenge." His voice drips with playfulness, but there's no mistaking the heat beneath the surface, the promise of pleasure and pain mingling temptingly.

"Tonight at my place , I'll test my dearest boyfriend's love for me", you chuckle darkly.

"Test me, huh?" Satoru chuckles, the sound low and husky. "I'm intrigued, darling. I accept the challenge. Tonight, then." He winks, the mischief in his eyes undeniable as he leans closer, brushing a feather-light kiss against your temple before sauntering away, confidence oozing from every pore. The kiss sends shivers down your spine, leaving your body tingling in its wake. As Satoru walks away, you can feel the heat rise inside you, anticipation building.

You nod, feeling a strange sense of power over the situation. Tonight will be different, and you're excited to see how far he's willing to go for you.

You wait for Satoru, your nerves a jumbled mess of excitement and anxiety. Anticipation bubbles in your chest as you hear the doorbell ring. Taking a deep breath, you answer the door, and Satoru stands before you, looking every inch the charming playboy you fell for.

"Hello, darling," he greets, a devilish glint.

"Go straight to my bedroom", as soon as you gesture for him to follow, Satoru's eyes light up with understanding. He doesn't question your request, simply going to your bedroom, while you follow him.

The tension in the room is palpable, electric even. He takes in the preparations you've made, raising an eyebrow, but he says nothing, waiting for you to lead the way. The air is heavy with unspoken words, both of you aware that things are different tonight.

"Take off your clothes," you command, your voice steadier than you expected. Satoru's eyes widening slightly at your directness, slowly, he undresses, his muscles rippling under his pale skin. When he's finally standing before you, with only his boxers on, your heart skips a beat at the sight of him. His eyes never leave yours, a challenge burning in their depths. You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure.

"Now what, love?" he asks, his voice a sultry.

"On the bed, Satoru," you instruct, your voice steady despite the tremors in your knees. Surprisingly, he doesn't argue. Moving to the bed, he lies down obediently, eyes locked on you as you begin to strip down. Nerves threaten to consume you, but you push them aside. One by one, you remove your clothes until you're left in just your underwear.

Your heart races, but you force yourself to maintain eye contact with him as you walk towards the bed. "Spread your legs," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. There's a newfound power in these words, in this moment, and it thrills you. Satoru complies without hesitation, his eyes never leaving you as you move closer. Your hands shake slightly as you reach for the ropes you prepared earlier.

"Do you think you can handle me, Satoru?" you ask, your voice rough with desire and nervousness. "Or will you beg me to stop?"

Satoru's eyes gleam at your question, his chest rising and falling rapidly with the exertion of restraint. "Never," he growls, his tone determined and full of promise. "I trust you, my butterfly. Show me what you've got."

The warmth in his eyes fuels your courage, and you waste no time in binding his hands above his head, securing them firmly to the bed frame. His breathing quickens, and the satisfaction you feel at his submission is heady. You run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness of it, the contrast between his silken strands and his rock-hard body.

"Now," you say, a boldness creeping into your voice. With a wolfish smile, you straddle his hips, grinding your hips slowly against his erection. The sensation is exhilarating, the power dynamic shifting in a way that makes your blood rush. You moan softly at the feel of him against you, your panties dampening with your arousal. Leaning down, you trail kisses along his collarbone, his skin warm and smooth under your lips.

His breath hitches, and you can hear the rapid beating of his heart, pounding in sync with your own. As you reach his nipple, you gently bite it, drawing a gasp from him. He arches beneath you, and you feel a rush of triumph. The taste of his skin is salty, the sensation electrifying. Switching sides, you repeat the process, leaving no part of his chest untouched. His skin is perfect against your mouth, and your senses are on fire.

As you finish with his second nipple, you lean back, gazing into his eyes as you watch his reaction to your every move. They're filled with lust and desire, a testament to your growing confidence. A sly grin tugs at the corner of your lips as you take his nipple between your teeth once more, eliciting a sharp intake of air from him. You tease him, sucking lightly and releasing, repeating the process until he's squirming beneath you.

"S-stop doing that with my nipples", he rasps, his voice thick with need. You hum in approval, leaning down to nibble on the sensitive bud again.

"Is that a plea, Satoru? Or a demand?" you ask, your voice low and seductive. You trace a finger down his flat abdomen, feeling theplayful. "You know, I could keep doing this all night if I wanted to. Would you like that?"

His struggles become more pronounced, his hips bucking in need of friction. "No, please... Stop..." he groans, the word sounding more like a plea than a command. You chuckle darkly, loving the effect you're having on him.

"Such contradictions from you, Satoru. Such need." You pinch his nipple gently, twisting it slightly, and he cries out, his hips bucking wildly. "Oh, the strongest man mewling like crazy," you bite your lip, seductively.

His cock brushing against your wet panties, the friction driving him wild. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his skin flushed with passion.

"What do you want, Satoru?" you ask, your voice sultry and demanding. "Do you want me to release you and ravish you like my dear little pet, or should I continue torturing you with my mouth?" His eyes flicker between desperation and defiance, the struggle clear in his gaze.

"Take.. me, please," he finally concedes, the words rushed and desperate. You smirk at his surrender, leaning down to kiss him passionately. Your tongues dance, your hands roaming over his body, exploring every inch of his muscles. Your heart is pounding, the scent of his skin intoxicating.

Slowly, you take out his rock like dick, from his boxers, yanking it off. You pull away from the passionate kiss, reaching down to grasp his cock firmly. He winces at the abrupt change, his eyes widening in anticipation. A wicked glint appears in yours, enjoying the power dynamic that's shifted. Gently, you squeeze his shaft, eliciting a choked gasp from him. His body trembles under your grip, his breath hitching in surprise.

"Aww" you taunt, your voice dripping with mockery. His eyes lock onto yours, pleading for mercy.

"Just... Just stop, please," he whispers hoarsely, his body tense with discomfort. You chuckle darkly, tightening your grip further.

"Already begging me to stop? Didn't you tell me you will be able to take this?" You question mockingly, your gaze intense.

His breath hitches, his gaze darting to the ceiling as he tries to find some semblance of control.

"You love how much I push the limits, Satoru. Admit it," you challenge, squeezing his shaft again, the tension between you palpable.

"Please let me cum, Y/N, I beg of you", he begs. Your grip tightens, his breath hitching in pain.

"Only when I say so, mister," you respond coldly, your voice holding no remorse.

He writhes beneath you, his muscles clenching with each squeeze. His eyes plead for mercy, but you remain relentless. Your thumb rubs over the head of his cock, teasing him mercilessly.

You lean down, your lips brushing against the tip of his cock, letting the precum coat your lower lip before pulling back. You give his cock a few firm pumps, letting him savor the pleasure before you engulf his length in your mouth. Your tongue swirls over the head, your lips working up and down his shaft. His breath hitches, his head tossing back as you suck him off. He bucks his hips upward, seeking more contact, but you hold him down firmly.

As you tease him, you hear his ragged breaths echo in the room. The tip of your tongue flicks over his sensitive spot, drawing a groan from him. His hips jerk erratically, trying to push deeper into your mouth. You slow down, taking him completely in your mouth, sucking him gently. His breathing becomes more labored, his hands gripping the sheets tightly.

Slowly, you pick up the pace, bobbing your head rhythmically. You feel him growing more rigid under your touch, his moans filling the air. As he nears his climax, you pull back, leaving just the tip of his cock in your mouth.

With a strangled cry, he comes in your mouth, his release pouring forth. You take his cum in your mouth and force his mouth open with your two fingers, letting the cum spill onto his tongue. He gasps, his eyes wide with shock and lust. Your hand cups his jaw, forcing him to swallows hastily, his gaze locked with yours.

"That's for pushing me too far," you murmur, a smirk playing on your lips. "Now, we'll see if you learn your lesson."

With a wicked smile, you peel off your panties, revealing your wetness to him. He watches hungrily, his eyes never leaving your pussy. You start grinding on him, rubbing against his spent cock. His hands tugging against the ropes. He moans softly, his voice indicating his need to be inside you.

His cock responds to your movements, hardening once more. You continue your slow, sensuous dance.

You increase the intensity of your thrusts, your clit grinding against his cock. His hips buck wildly, struggling against the restraints, but he remains trapped. You watch as his expression twists between pain and pleasure, his cheeks flushed. Sensing that he's about to climax again, you lean forward, hovering above him.

With a final press of your clit against his cock, you send him over the edge. Cum arcs upwards, splattering across his cheek, staining his handsome face. A low growl escapes his throat as he glares up at you, a mix of frustration and lust burning in his eyes. You laugh softly, leaning in to kiss him gently.

"I wonder how Utahime and Mei-Mei will react after seeing the strongest man so vulnerable under my feet," smirking, you lift one leg, placing your foot on his chest before bringing it down hard on his still-softening cock. He winces, but you can tell he enjoys the sensation. It brings his cock back to half-mast, and your eyes gleam with victory.

"Getting hard again? Insatiable" You tease, your toes lightly tracing the underside of his shaft. He grunts, nodding weakly.

"Shall I sent them a photo of you like this ?"

He shakes his head, a hint of fear in his eyes. "Don't...please," he whispers, his voice hoarse. You chuckle and climb off him, sitting beside him.

"Beg me", you grin evily.

He swallows hard, his eyes pleading. "Please, don't send it. Please, don't humiliate me like that."

You lean closer, his manly scent enveloping you. "Do you want me to stop here?"

His eyes flicker to your feet, then back to your face. "No, please, don't stop. I want to be inside you," he begs, desperation clear in his voice. You run your finger along his jaw

With a satisfied hum, you climb back on top of him, positioning yourself over his hardened cock.

As you slide down, you feel his cock stretch you, filling you completely. He lets out a low groan, his body trembling. Your nails dig into his chest, your movement deliberate and unhurried.

"Please, untie me..." he begs, his voice raspy.

You smirk, "no not till I cum."

He grits his teeth, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard. "Please, they hurt," he whispers, his voice filled with longing. You lean down, brushing your lips against his ear.

"Take the pain if you love me."

His breathing hitches, his eyes locked on yours. With a nod, he agrees. You pick up your pace, your body slamming against his. He strains against the ropes, his muscles bulging. You could see the effort in his face, feeling his need for release.

His thrusts become frantic, his cock hitting your g-spot with every movement. You cry out, your orgasm building rapidly. But just as you're about to reach the peak, he releases inside you. His cock pulses, spilling hot liquid deep within you. The feeling sends shockwaves through you, but you don't cum.

He pants heavily, his eyes watering, back arching and finally falling on the bed. "Sorry, I couldn't hold back..."

"I didn't get to cum, thanks to you asshole", you pout angrily at him.

His drool dripping down his chin; he calms himself down.

"Ride my face, sugar," he commands, his eyes begging for forgiveness.

You straddle his face, his tongue sliding through your folds, his eyes fixated on your pussy. He tastes himself mixed with your sweet nectar. You gasp, your hand tangling in his hair, guiding his tongue deeper.

"Swallow everything you find," you command, your hips rocking. He obeys, his tongue darting in and out, his nose taking in your scent. His eyes lock onto your slickened entrance, his gaze intense. You groan, your core tightening as he flicks his tongue against your clit. Suddenly, you explode, your orgasm washing over you. Wave after wave crashes through you, your body quivering. He sucks harder, swallowing every drop of your release.

Once you've calmed down, you slide off his face, collapsing next to him. You trace your fingers over his ropes, slowly undoing them. As he rubs his wrists, you wrap your arms around him.

"Thank you" he murmurs, his voice muffled against your chest.

"For what?" you question, your arms tightening.

"For driving me insane, for making me realize my feelings for you..."

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Love you"

He returns the gesture, hugging you tighter.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

Slowly, his breathing evens out, his muscles relaxing. A sense of peace washes over you, and soon, you drift off to sleep, too.

Together, secure in each other's arms, your bond strengthened, knowing that you both found something precious in each other - genuine love, affection, and connection. In the warmth of his embrace, you understand that sometimes, the most unexpected events can bring forth the most meaningful relationships.

[megistusdiary]

this idea literally just popped into my head after seeing some art on twitter but hear me out pls ok

reader grinding themselves down on alhaitham’s abs. that man is RIPPED -🔮

ALHAITHAM IS SO FINE. i need him so bad you don't even know. his drip marketing looks so mf good like 😇😇🙏

also i love love love this concept ty for putting it in my box, 🔮 anon ♡♡♡

warnings: dom!alhaitham and sub!gn anatomy/pronouns reader

ab grinding lol, degradation, no gendered terms used but you grind against him

alhaitham sat beside you, focused intently on his book, squinting at the pages in the low light. the lamp beside him was close to going out, flame flickering when a soft breeze blew into the room.

you were instead taking some time to rest, weary from your long week and desperate for some time to be with your lover.

though he wasn't the most physically affectionate, he knew exactly what you needed and would always deliver.

"you seem unfocused." alhaitham commented, not bothering to look up from his book.

ah, he caught you staring at him, cheeks warm as you returned to busying yourself with sketching in your notebook idly. "sorry, i didn't mean to stare. i just zoned out i guess."

"you've been staring at me like that all week." he paused to close his book will a short thud, placing it on the table next to him and turning to fully face you. "if you want something, just spit it out. i can't read your mind." alhaitham let a little smirk fall onto his face, leaning back against the chair. "yet, that is."

"well.." you trailed off, chewing on your inner cheek. your brain had been plagued with many...tempting dreams this week, each one waking you with an ache between your thighs that you had to take care of before leaving.

there was one specific scenario that seemed to be on repeat in your brain, and you couldn't help but ponder if alhaitham would be agreeable to experimentation.

"well?" he asked as you cleared your throat.

"it's kind of an odd ask. i don't want you to think i'm weird."

"despite what kaveh has filled your head with, i'm not the prude he believes me to be." he simply answered as you sighed.

"okay, well, you know- woah!" you gasped as alhaitham reached to drag you over onto his lap, settling your chest against his as your noses practically touched.

"do i have to coax it out of you, or can you spare me and use your words?"

your mouth felt dry, lips parting as alhaitham gripped your waist, letting you rest your thighs around his torso. it just so happened the way he sat you allowed you to grind yourself against his abdomen, feeling the definition through the layers of clothing as you bit your lip.

"you-" alhaitham cut himself off, watching your hips roll against him as the corner of his lips quirked up into an uncharacteristic grin. "you're really that desperate? rubbing yourself against me like some kind of animal?"

"i'm sorry, i just- this dream, i had a dream about you. and you told me to do this, and it felt so good, then-"

alhaitham silenced you by pressing your lips to his, moving his tongue into your mouth and allowing the kiss to grow sloppy. "the citizens of sumeru are finally allowed to have dreams and you spend them on grinding against my abdomen?" alhaitham arched an eyebrow as you hid your face into the crook of his neck, hot with shame.

"why do you need to imagine some shoddy version of me when you have me here?" he asked, using his own strength to roll your hips against him at his own pace.

"can i, can i please take them off?" you whined into his ear, breath hot against his skin as he nodded.

"lift your hips." he instructed you as you begrudgingly sat up to remove your pants. you went to settle back over him before he stopped you. "those too." he hooked a finger into the waist band of your undergarments, snapping it against you as you shivered, slowly peeling the fabric off.

your eyes widened as he lifted his shirt, revealing the blemish-fres expanse of skin to you, gesturing for you to come closer to him.

you hovered over his lap, feeling him collect slick from you and rub it over your sex, hearing you whimper and try to press your thighs closer.

"come on and get to it already." alhaitham snapped as you moved forward, pressing yourself against his abs and shivering at the contact. you squeezed his shoulders, finding a pleasurable rhythm to grind yourself against him with. you bit your lip as you focused on your hip movements, though some noises spilled out as you trembled against his form.

at some point, he grew bored of your pace, instead grabbing your waist and grinding you down harder and faster at the same time, feeling the slick spreading over his skin and watching you toss your head back, eyes fluttering shut.

"oh- that feels good-" you mumbled, thighs beginning to shake as he moved you in little circles letting you feel every dip and bump of his abs until you finally came, white liquid coating his skin and shirt as you fell against him.

you seemed boneless, enjoying the warm bliss of alhaitham's chest until you felt the tent in his pants prodding up against you.

"don't act like you're suddenly exhausted. let's recreate all those little dreams of yours, hm?"

[the-fiction-witch]

Bump

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet AF

I continued on my rounds checking my paperwork, as and when required popping in to anyone who wasn't urgent enough to come into the hospital. I checked on my way to the last house for the day, so I put my paperwork away and carried my bag with me, to the familiar deep blue front door, I fixed my jacket a little and swung the silver knocker a few times. The door swung open revealing young Elis Mayflower in her usual dress, "Ohh 'ello Dr Dawkins, we were expectin' you" She nodded and opened the door to let me in "Thank you, Elis," I nodded and took off my hat and jacket which Elis happily took "Where is she?" "Upstairs Doctor" She nodded I nodded and made my way up the stairs bag in hand. I headed down the hall past the paintings and small mostly unused rooms, until I stopped just before the last door.

The door was open a crack, light cascading from within, the sweet gentle sounds barely audible. I pushed open the door enough my body could slip inside, the well-polished wooden floor covered in dancing shadows from the fire, the flames in the fireplace danced and flickered sending the smell of oak wood and tyme across the room, the sound of the wood cracking and popping, the dark purple walls littered with almost too many paintings to even see the walls any longer, the window to the side shuttered up and then a curtain over it letting not a single bit of the harsh light from outside find its way, The various furniture littered the room.

The Main feature of the room, of course, the large wooden bed. With four tall wooden posts and a railing that normally hung purple curtains but they were missing today, the bed sheets were tossed into one corner of the bed, and sitting in it was the most perfect of sights.

Y/n sat in the bed, her back sat up but she had so many pillows between her and the headboard she must have been six inches from it if not more, her legs our straight, her hair free from any braids, and twisted, plaits or anything else, allowed to hang completely free with a slight kink to the hair where it so often lived plaided up and hidden below her hat. Her hair slightly in her face hiding it from me, she wore only a cotton shirt with long billowing sleeves that stopped just below her thigh, I thought for a moment I recognised it, as well as a pair of purple woollen socks that reached her knees with one white stripe around the top, her toes wiggling as they where warmed by the fire, her hands stroking her stomach, as she looked as if she was hiding a small barrel under her dress.

The small wooden and silver box on her table, the small silver ballerina twirling slowly as it paid her the music box song, the slight clicking and tinniness to the song as the music was plaid. And she sang with it, her voice gliding along the notes not loud enough for anyone beyond the door could hear her, as her hands stroked her stomach, tenderly, carefully, almost like she was afraid but loved all the same, her eyes on her enlarged belly and nothing else as if it and she were all that existed.

I couldn't hold back a smile, I must have looked an absolute picture, smiling so widely my cheeks hurt, red with blush to see her this way. I softly closed the door and took soft steps to lean my shoulder on the bedpost not enough to draw her attention, so I stood and watched for what could have been a thousand years, until her music box stopped and thus her song ended. "You're glowing," I spoke up, She jumped a little at my sudden words but she looked up with a sweet innocent smile, "Ohh, Hello Doctor Dawkins," She smiled, "I didn't hear you come in," "I didn't want to disturb your sweet song," I cooed unable to drag my eyes away from her just wanting to look at her a little while longer. She smiled "Aren't you going to examine me, doctor?" "Alright," I smiled moving to sit on her bed, I set my bag on the bed and opened it up to search through for what I needed. "How are you feeling?" "Much the same," She nodded leaning on her arms so I could touch her stomach, I checked her over as we spoke making sure everything was as it should be asking her short questions about how things were going and much of it was the same as last I saw her "So, When will it be?" She asked excitedly,

"Well, that's the question isn't it," I chuckled "I wish I could tell you, but unfortunately children are sort of a law unto themselves, when baby decides its time, then baby will come." I explained "You, I or anyone else doesn't have much of a say in it. But baby will let you know when it's time" I told her stroking her sweet cheek "Alright?" "Alright," she nodded, "I admit I am half tempted to get you a room at the hospital, just so you're close by," I told her, "I want to be here, where I'm comfortable." She said stroking her bump "Are you sure you don't want to be at the hospital?" "I'm sure," She nodded "Alright, as soon as you feel a contraction I want to know" I warn her, "I'll run all the way here if I have to." I winked "Can I? Please?" She pleads I smiled and got my stethoscope from my bag I gave the end a little warm with my hand before I tugged up her shirt just far enough to see her bare stomach, I put the other end to my ear and listened as I rested it on her skin, I shifted it across her skin until I found the best place to hear the rhythmic beating, for a moment I was frozen as I heard the gentle beats, each caused my own heart to swell and I had to fight back the tears "Here," I smiled and handed her the listening end and she happily put it to her ear and listened with the most excited smile I had ever seen a girl have,

She sniffled, tears slowly falling staring at her stomach as she listened "Hi Darling," She cooed and you could see the movement as the baby kicked, "You think he can hear me?" "Of course, he can, He can hear you talk to him, hear you sing to him, You're his mother, he loves you more than anyone will ever understand," I told her kissing her forehead, "Can he hear his daddy?" She asked as she took my hand and settled it on her stomach so I could feel him kick, "Of course, He can." I smiled giving her bump a sweet kiss "Hi little guy," I smiled as I rubbed my nose on her stomach and I gave her bump and our baby kisses. "It won't be long now, I'm sure of it." "Good, I don't want to be pregnant anymore Jack" She laughs returning my stethoscope to my bag,

"No?" "No. My feet are so swollen I can't wear shoes, I don't fit in any of my dresses anymore, I leak everywhere, I'm throwing up all the time, He's kicking me like I'm a football," She explained "It's not fun being pregnant Jack." "You said you liked it?" "I did when I was a couple of months and I had a cute little bump I could stroke as we walked through town." "You were adorable." I smiled thinking back to when she was newly pregnant, wandering around town with her little bump in her dress, I admit it made me feel very proud of myself. "And still are." "I'm as big as a ship Jack." she pouted, "They'll try to hollow me out and sail me to Africa," "You're a ship?" I chuckled, "ummmm" She nodded, "Well then, Permission to come aboard?" I smirked climbing over her to start kissing all over her face and neck which caused her giggle "Ohh yes a very beautiful ship, the most beautiful ship in the world, I shall have to steal her and sail the world single-handedly with her!" "Jack!" she laughed as she pushed me off her, "What's this anyway?" I glared tugging on her shirt, "I borrowed it," She giggled, "Borrowed?" "Well you've been working so much," she innocently smiled "We missed you." "I've missed you both too." I smiled, "But I need to do all this extra work, so I have lots of time off for when baby comes. I don't wanna be stuck up the hospital and leave you here with our little one, I wanna be here to help, and cuddle, and watch him grow. I don't wanna miss anything."

"Good, You can stay up all night when he cries then." "Ohh I know I will, I know what a trial it is trying to get you out of bed when you don't want to." "I don't like to be awoken," She pouts, "I just want this to be over." "Over?" I asked a little worried, "You know what I mean, I'm just… It's been a long nine months Jack, I'm tired." "I know you are," I smiled and kissed her lips "It won't be too much longer sweetheart."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Jack, Malleus: Beasts, us Both

Alright, TWST... you friggin' troll 😭 You got me good with those Jack frames... No wolf inspo reveal, I see how it is-- 😂

Because of the angle we're staring at the image from... that macaron Jack is holding looks like a massive GMO green grape… AM I JUST SEEING GRAPES EVERYWHERE BECAUSE OF R*LLO... This would mark the first Disney100 art with some notable changes (how he’s holding the macaron and the angle he’s bending at), most likely to make it look better for a card layout.

A Tale as Old as Time.

A young lion prince and his hornbill attendant were captured in a photo frame. With finger-like feathers, the bird had plucked a strand of fur from the large cat. He lacked amusement, beak poised in a manner that suggested a light telling-off. The cub, for his part, looked upset at the lecture.

That’s right, lions don’t grow their manes out until they’re older.

Jack sometimes forgot that—with his dorm leader prowling around, the most prominent image he had of a lion was that of Leona. Strong, cunning, and self-assured. Nothing like the prince in the painting.

“How cute,” a low voice drawled. “To think that Kingscholar too was once this small and helpless… Fufufu.”

Jack’s eyes cut to the tall, dark man next to him. With long limbs and regal horns protruding from his head, Malleus Draconia resembled a gazelle.

“It’s hard to imagine Leona-senpai like that,” Jack awkwardly confessed. “I met his nephew once, but that only took me more out of it. He was… energetic and bright.”

“Implying that Kingscholar is lacking in energy and a cheerful disposition?” Malleus smirked. “Ah, yes. Much change occurs between childhood and adulthood, some of it attributed to social influences. That child had best be cautious. Perhaps Kingscholar’s attitude will rub off on him, smothering that sunshine.”

“Leona-senpai has his good points too!” Jack blurted out. He didn’t catch himself in time—the words just came, a reverberating bark in the museum.

“Oh? You’re rather quick to defend him.”

The wolf beastman gasped and reeled himself back in. “Y-You don’t see it because you’re not in Savanaclaw, but I can tell… Leona-senpai cares about his students a lot. He’s looking out for us in his own way.”

“Such as when he attempted to have me trampled?” Malleus suggested, his tone quiet yet challenging. “I do so fondly remember that.”

“Urk!!” Jack’s ears flattened. “He does take it too far sometimes. I don’t agree with everything he does. The idea of doing everything you can to protect others, though… that’s something I can understand.”

"It is?”

The first year nodded firmly. “There are stories about wolves working together to chase off invaders who wandered into their snowy territory. Once, a wolf family even took in an orphaned kid. I have my own younger siblings to look after, too.”

“It appears as though you and your ancestors feel a strong sense of duty to your packs,” Malleus noted. Something akin to amusement danced in his eyes. It quickly flickered out, giving way to a deep melancholy. “Family… Hmm. I cannot say I can relate. I have no siblings to speak of. There is my grandmother, but she is my only living relative."

There was a shift—a small, imperceptible change in Jack's stoic face.

"... Sorry to hear that."

"Think nothing of it." Malleus waved a dismissive hand. "The circumstances are as they are. We cannot rewind the threads of fate, only weave new ones.

"Still, it is strange. I have not had the chance to meet my mother nor my father. They were already gone long before my hatching. I should feel no attachment to such strangers. Even so, I feel as though something is missing without them."

He gave a dark chuckle, curling fingers over his heart. "Perhaps there is a part of me that longs for that kind of a family, too."

Jack frowned. His chest throbbed with a dull pain.

“That's..."

Sad.

No brothers, no sisters. No parents, not even aunts or uncles or cousins. Just one big, empty castle, and the creature caged inside of it.

Pacing past ruined wings, furniture strewn about as if a mad beast had run through it in a frenzy. The space filled with loneliness, a hollow feeling that couldn't be fended off.

He shuffled his feet. Resolve slowly solidified. Jack reached for his voice.

"... I don't think you need to worry, Malleus-senpai. You still have people who care about you. Family isn’t all in the blood." Jack bashfully rubbed at the back of his neck, his eyes averted. "It's in the bonds too."

He gestured to the painting before them. "The lion prince lost his dad, the previous king. In grief, he ran away from home--but he still had friends that guided him when he was lost and scared. A warthog, a meerkat, a baboon, a hornbill, the lionesses in his pride. They all came together to show the prince he was loved and needed. Because of that, he was able to come home with his head held high."

Jack clenched a hand into a fist, offering a stiff smile. "Family's something that everyone has, one way or another. They're the ones who always have your back, blood or not.”

Malleus’s face momentarily lit up with surprise.

“My, I didn’t expect to hear such a motivational speech from you. I hear from Sebek that you’re quite standoffish.”

“D-Don’t get me wrong!!” he sputtered, face heating. “On any given day, I’d tackle things on my own. But doing that all the time is pointless.”

“Which is why you choose to follow Kingscholar’s leadership?” Malleus asked teasingly. “You seem to admire him a great deal and acknowledge him as the leader of your pack here at Night Raven College.”

“N-No!!” Jack snapped. “Th-There are just some things I’m not strong enough to do by myself, times when I have to team up with others for a common goal!! Until the day I have the strength to act completely on my own…!”

Malleus laughed softly, his lips lifting into a mysterious curve. "Be at ease, Howl. You needn’t be so defensive. I see your point with crystal clarity.”

“You… You do?”

“That is correct.” The dragon prince’s eyes creased. “You, who seeks strength, shall surely find it—and with that strength, you will not be daunted from protecting what is most precious to you, family and friends alike. You’ve helped me to realize the same. We are both the same kind of beast, fufu.”

Jack took one look at Malleus’s ominous smile and shuddered. It could have decimated the stars, wiping out all the light in the night sky in one fell swoop.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good thing…”

He glanced back at the painting of the lion prince and the hornbill advisor. The distress on the cub’s face suddenly resonated with him.

Jack groaned.

It looks like I still have a lot to learn.

[ghulehunknown]

Terzo x F!Reader

Day 3 of KINKTOBER is here! 🎃

**WARNING EXPLICIT - NSFW!**

Also available on AO3!

“Preparation is Key”

CW/Tags: nipple play, semi nudity, oral sex (blowjob), facial, light degradation, feminine reader, Terzo is in love with you teehee

Summary: Terzo has just been anointed as Papa and is leading a very special Black Mass sermon. Your duty is to give him a…helping hand.

Word Count: 1068

.

Terzo was leading Black Mass for the first time on his own tomorrow, and you’d been practicing your part for the sermon all week. Reading from the dark texts, kneeling, and some…other things.

Black Mass had consisted of Unholy Acts all month long; each week something more dark and twisted in the name of Lucifer. You hoped maybe, just maybe, that you’d be picked for next week too - the pleasures of cunnilingus. The ghouls had already performed the art of a threesome the previous week, with Sister Imperator speaking. As a Sister of Sin, you were honored to oblige and be part of this week’s depravity.

But right now was your turn to practice your art with him before Mass tomorrow evening. And you desired to please him so. Fucking. Much. You were kneeling on the marble floor of his office, eyes gazing upward as two clawed fingers found their way into your open mouth. You closed your eyes as you took them in, your tongue swirling around his leather gloves.

“Cara mia,” he whispered, grazing your cheek. Terzo unlaced the front of your bodice, revealing your breasts. Your nipples hardened in the cold air - or maybe it was just your nerves? Papa gently tugged your nipples, rolling them between his thumbs and index fingers. How could he be so cruel? He knew that drove you over the edge. You moaned quietly.

Terzo widened his eyes as a warning, stopped teasing you, and gave you a small clap on the cheek as your face flushed red. He tutted at you quietly, wagging a finger in your face. “None of that tomorrow, amore.”

You grabbed his waist and nuzzled into his crotch, teasing him.

“Puttana,” he half-laughed, before gathering composure again. He fell into old pattern and gently started grazing your face with his fingertips lovingly. Your heart skipped a beat whenever you felt his touch. He stopped and collected himself. “Oh merda, I cannot act like this tomorrow.”

You unbuckled Terzo’s trousers, hands shaking. “Like what?” you asked innocently as Papa traced your arm with his fingertip tenderly, giving you comfort. This wasn’t anything new to you; you’d given him pleasure many times before. But you never had an audience. And now he was Papa.

“Porca miseria! You must make me say it, Sorella? I cannot look like an old fool in love when I have a duty first as Papa. Sì, I am nervous as hell. There - happy?” He frowned, his hand on his hip.

You smiled. “So am I,” you said. Still looking up at him from your knees, you slipped the waistband of his black satin underwear over his hips and his cock bobbed over the edge.

You teased the head of his cock with your tongue; it glistened with precum in the dim flickering candlelight. He groaned, and tried to regain composure. “Oh cazzo,” he whispered. His eyelids fluttered as you began to take him whole. He grasped the back of your head and gently rocked you into him, moving rhythmically to your head bobbing up and down. He smelled like spearmint and cedar. He was also…bare? You sank deeper, and cupped his balls in one hand, the other grasping his firm ass. Yes, he was definitely waxed before this in preparation. The thought of your Papa, legs spread and yelling obscenities while getting his pubic hair removed almost made you giggle. No - no. You had to focus. You’d tease him about that later.

You and Terzo soon entwined, and you barely noticed your nerves from before. You looked up at him with nothing but love and adoration for your prince. You wanted to make him feel so fucking good, but you also didn’t want to outshine Papa in his moment tomorrow. His eyes were closed most of the way, but he caught your gaze. You fucking loved him, and he loved you.

You moved your mouth up and down on his shaft, trying to squat as daintily as you could, but you could feel your own cum slide down your thighs, turned on by Papa’s stifled moans. You began to use your hand to build up pressure with your tongue. He inhaled sharply. It was almost pathetic to see him so regal and composed. He moaned like an animal when it was just you two alone. “Amore! I need this whole fucking place to hear how wild you make me!” he would say exasperated when you would cup a hand to his mouth. This time he was silent, except for heavy breathing.

“Prendilo tutto in gola, mia principessa perfetta,” he guided you to hurry up. “Can’t have them thinking we’re in love, can we?” he said, chuckling lightly.

“Would that be so bad?” you asked with a smile, stroking him gently and kissing him down there.

“You would be seen as a distraction I’m afraid, mi amore. Maybe later, when I have been Papa for a while…” He started to lean down to kiss the top of your head, then straightened up.

You eyed him again and took him back in your mouth, still stroking him with your hand. You could tell he was close. You quickened your pace, taking him deeper in your throat, nearly choking. He gripped your ponytail tightly, guiding you. Suddenly - he pulled out and stroked himself once, twice, until his warm cum dripped all over your lips, down your chin, down your breasts.

You held your mouth open to clean off his tip, licking his delicious seed, craving more, craving his cock inside you. He gazed lovingly in your eyes, and held your chin in his gloved hand. “So good, amore,” he whispered. You wanted to kiss him and make him taste himself on your mouth, but you stayed kneeled as you knew you’d have to do during the sermon. You had never been intimate without kissing before and you missed his soft, painted lips on yours.

He quickly zipped and buckled his pants and looked at you, helping you back to your feet. “Thank you, sweet Sister. They’ll er - clean you off during the sermon tomorrow when I go back to the pulpit,” he continued, gesturing to his spilled seed all over your chest.

You smiled to yourself, pleased with doing your part well. And selfishly, you knew you were in for a treat back in your bedchambers. Because Terzo never took what he gave twice over.

Italian to English Translation

- Cara mia (my darling)

- Puttana (whore)

- Cazzo (fuck)

- merda (shit)

- Porca miseria! (For God’s sake!)

- Prendilo tutto in gola, mia principessa perfetta (take it all down your throat, my perfect princess

[cardierreh15]

Queenie’s Beehive

Happy Black History Month my Loves!!! Who do yall think this story is based off of?

***I do not give anyone permission to repost, translate or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Seducting Behavior/Dancing.

Pairings: Napoleon Solo x Queenie Covington(Black!OC)

Description: When Solo & Illya’s Leads point them in the direction of a club, Solo turns on his charm to get a word with the infamous Queenie Covington

Word Count: 4.1K

Song: Virgo’s Groove by Beyoncé , It’s A Man’s, Man’s, Man’s World by James Brown

Side Note(s): I changed the time to accommodate the story. I do not own or take credit for any of Beyoncé’s or James’ song ✨ Credit will always be theirs and theirs only 😊

The Beehive

Sacramento, California

February 5th, 1978

19:42 🐝

Napoleon looked down at the small brown business card. On the front in plain honey colored words were the address of the establishment. On the back was a beehive. That was it. Very minimalistic and straight to the point.

‘Interesting marketing strategy.’ Napoleon said as he passed the card over to his partner, Illya.

Illya took a moment to take in the small yet fine work of art. ‘Hmm.’ Before he handed it back.

Once their cab slowly came to a stop by the curb, the two gentlemen thanked their driver and stepped out of the car.

They were immediately met with a beautiful yellow LED lamp screwed into the building; showing across their skeptical glances. The lights were shaped into that of a beehive with tiny twinkling yellow lights, resembling bumble bees.

Beyond those doors, beneath that heavenly designed neon lamp lay the disco highlife of the century.

Awaited by the door were two Gods amongst men. So tall they could touch the roof if they wanted, and muscles that could break bones. To the left and right of them were two separate lines, damn near wrapped around the building that were guarded by red rope.

Illya began to worry.

‘We’ll never get inside.’ He said plainly.

‘Do you not have faith my friend?’ At the flick of his wrist and a twitch of his fingers, the tiny invitation appeared in Napoleon’s fingertips.

‘More magic?’

‘Someone’s gotta like it.’ He smirked and leaned in, ‘Here’s the plan. We go inside, we split up, we listen. Try not to look suspicious please.’

‘Suspicious?’ Illya scoffed, ‘The only person here suspicious here, is you cowboy.’ Pointing at his partner.

Napoleon made a face and looked down at his fit. He was in a plain gray suit with a matching waistcoat, and a white crispy dress shirt and black dress shoes; his usual attire.

‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’

Illya on the other hand, sort of fit the bill. With a brown leather jacket with a turtleneck beneath, dark colored slacks and brown dress shoes to match. Oh, and his signature gray beret sat atop his blonde head.

‘You look like you’ve come to work and not to have fun.’ He rolled his eyes at his unwarranted pun.

‘In all technicality—‘

‘Yes, I know now can we go inside please?’

‘Perhaps. Do you remember your alias?’

Illya rolled his eyes as he head fell back, ‘Yes. I am a migrant here for work. You are a Wall Street journalist looking to have a conversation with the legendary Queen of Disco.’

He had a little bitterness in his voice. Napoleon caught on to that fairly quickly.

‘If you’d like, we can always trade places?’

Illya made a face, ‘Trade places? I am afraid that wouldn’t work.’

‘And why not?’

‘Because…’ Illya stuck his hands in his pockets and turned away. ‘you’re too small.’

A scowl curled up on Napoleon’s face at the insult, wanted so dearly to call him a bunch of curse words but he just cleared his throat and followed his partner towards the bouncers.

Once the men stood in front of the bouncer, Napoleon handed him the card.

The bouncer eyed the card closely, turning it back to front then pulled out a skinny pen like contraption. He clicked it on and a purple light shined down on the brown sheet. Revealing a bumble bee and a +1.

His big brown eyes flickered up from the card to Napoleon then over at Illya which he sized skeptically.

‘Who’s this.’

‘Oh? This is a friend of mine. He’s never been to an American club.’

‘Is that right?’ The bouncer said as he clicked off his pen and tucked it in his breast pocket. ‘Well, this is the perfect place to pop that cherry. Enjoy fellas.’

Napoleon carefully took the card and placed it inside of his breast pocket, ‘Thank you.’ And both of the men walked into the club.

As the men walked in, they were blinded by the bright twinkling lights of the many disco balls that hang on the ceiling along with over a dozen strobe lights dancing across the club.

The place was bustling and busy like nothing they’ve ever seen!

Like a Beehive!

Napoleon gently bobbed his head to the music as his crazed blue eyes danced amongst the floor, watching as gorgeous women of all colors and sizes grind and move their hips upon the dance floor.

It appeared that this mission was the least of his worries but, who he was going to be sneaking out of here with. That was until Illya landed a smack against his chest, knocking him out of whatever silly daze he was entrapped in.

‘Ow!’

‘Stay focus, cowboy. We’ve come to do a job.’

‘Yeah but who said we couldn’t have fun?’

‘Not you. You get carried away. Try not to blow our cover.’ Illya added before walking away in his stern manner.

Napoleon rolled his eyes and reached in his pocket to activate his voice recorder. Then he made his way across the bar which wasn’t far from the entrance.

As he walked over to the bar, he gazed at the dancing patrons, greeting everyone who’d passed to see if he could spot this special lady.

When he stopped at the bar, he took notice of the bartender. A woman, standing at great height. Must’ve been those thigh high platform boots. She had her back turned, cleaning out some glasses. This way he could admire her as she did so.

She had a big, beautiful Afro and wore this leather black and yellow striped short dress that hugged and defined her curves. Maybe this was her?

He cleared his throat loudly, ‘Excuse me bartender!’

The woman looked over her shoulder halfway in a startle, before quickly placing the glass and rag down. She spun around to greet him, her Afro bouncing with each movement. She wore big golden hoop earrings that twinkled and shined everytime the lights danced in her direction.

She flashed him this darling smile, with eyes brown as chocolate yet so bright with happiness and warmth. She was to die for!

‘What can I get for ya’ suga?’

Napoleon’s lips parted to speak but he all of a sudden felt shy. Truly unlike him. A burning heat rose to his cheeks, ‘Hi uh—‘ he looked at her chest which revealed her cleavage but her name tag rescued him from staring. ‘Flo… can I have scotch on the rocks please?’

‘You got it baby. Any particular kind?’

He stared up at the gorgeous brown skinned woman, almost disregarding the question— he cleared his throat and blinked hard once he realized he was staring again.

‘No— no,’ he chuckled, ‘Nothing in particular. How about you surprise me.’ He raised a brow, his own warming smile curling on his lips.

The two stared into one another’s eyes before a giggle left her lips, her dimples puncturing into her cheeks much deeper than before. ‘Alright na. You asked for it.’ She pushed off of the counter and started on his drink.

Napoleon smiled softly before he spun around halfway in his stool and began to gaze across the crowd. After a short moment, he spotted his partner standing off by the stage. Illya gave him a gentle nod of his head before Napoleon returned it in acknowledgment.

‘Here’s your drink, sugar.’

He quickly turned around and met the woman with another smile, ‘Thank you. How much do I owe ya?’

‘Nothin. It’s on the house.’

He raised a brow, ‘Is that so?’ That caught him by surprise really. He had been drugged in all different forms before, so taking a free drink always made him skeptical. ‘Am I like your 100th customer?’

‘No. I ain’t ever seen you here before, I wanted to welcome you here. People who wait outside those doors seldom get inside; just having a little shred of hope to even spend a second inside of this place.’

‘Hmm. Must be quite the place.’

‘You don’t think so?’ Flo asked, placing her hands on her hips.

‘Oh! Of course I think so. The women here are stunning.’ He gave her a quick size before straightening up, ‘Look. I refuse to drink this by myself. Lemme at least buy you one too?’

‘And drink on the job?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

A smirk was plastered on Flo’s face as she internally battled with herself.

‘Tik tok, love. I could practically hear the ice cracking.’ He teased, tapping the face of his watch with his index.

Flo inhaled deeply and rolled her eyes, ‘Alright, fine.’ Her southern draw had slightly peaked through, ‘Only cause you’re cute though.’

Napoleon smirked as she turned around where his smirk quickly faltered and he looked over his shoulder once again.

Once she was finished making her drink, she turned to face him and placed her glass down. ‘Alright—‘

‘Oh! One more thing sweetheart, could you pass me a straw?’

‘A straw?’ She raised a brow. ‘You don’t look like the kind of man that drinks his whiskey through a straw.’

‘Well there’s a lot you must learn about me baby.’

‘Alright then. Ask and you shall receive.’

While she was fulfilling her end of this bargain, Napoleon swiftly swapped their glasses before she could turn back around.

‘Here’s your straw. What should we toast to?’ She asked as she lifted up her glass.

‘Actually, I don’t need the straw… I just like to watch you work.’ He smirked as he wrapped her large hand around the glass that just seemed so miniscule in his palm.

Flo giggled rolling her eyes, ‘You flirt with all your bartenders like this?’

‘Oh dear no! I’m a one bartender kind of man. Actually, let’s toast to that. You being the most spectacular and gorgeous bartender that’s ever graced my presence.’

‘I can get down with that sugar.’ The woman winked as the both of them carefully clicked their glasses together.

Napoleon brought his drink to his lips slowly, watching Flo take a big swig out of hers before placing it down on the counter. No side effects hit her immediately… but perhaps they shall later.

As Napoleon embraced the welcoming warmth of his drink, he placed his glass down on the paper towel that she’d handled him. The space between them grew quiet for a second before he looked up at her. ‘What can you tell me about the person who owns this club?’

‘Who? Queenie? Why you wanna know?’

‘I’m a Wall Street Journalist. I’m looking to write an article about her success!’

Flo looked down at her watch and turned around to grab a rag and clean off her countertop. ‘Well, ion know if you can tell but… Queenie got her work cut out for her that’s for sho.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, her husband—‘

There it was. Exactly what he needed to further investigate.

‘Bought this place for her to solidify their marriage. I’ve been her friend for quite some time and never have I ever thought she would marry that grade A dickhead.’ Flo rolled her eyes.

‘Oh dear. What’s he like? How does he treat her?’

‘He worships the ground she walks on. But it often appears she couldn’t give less than a rats ass about him.’

‘Do you know how they met?’

‘She was singing in some lounge in Texas. That’s where we’re from.’

Napoleon was taking in all these minor details about this woman. He knew she would tell him everything he wanted to know… all she needed was a little motivation.

‘Right. And do you know what her husband does for work?’ He lacked the knowledge of that field, which was why he and Illya were here in the first place.

‘He owns a couple businesses as far as I know… i thought we were talking ‘bout Queenie though?’

Napoleon paused, ‘We are!’ He cleared his throat before taking a sip. He took notice of how she kept looking down at her watch, ‘Y’know the more you look at that thing—‘

‘“The slower time goes.” I know. But since you’re new here… it’s Friday Night.’ Her eyes glanced up at him.

‘Something special about Friday nights?’

Flo looked down at her watch one more time before a huge grin graced her face once more, ‘In fact… they are very special.’

Napoleon’s thick brows tugged into one as his face was written in incomprehensible confusion. Then, every light in the vicinity of the club shut off without warning. A few short squeals floated across the room in dismay.

Startled, Napoleon stood to his feet as he went into panic mode, afraid that he and Illya had been bested. His bright blue eyes fought desperately to adjust in the darkness. But in seconds, a sweet and groovy melody filled the air.

‘Baby, come overrrr.

Baby, come overrrr.

Baby, come over. Come be alone with me tonight.

Beehiiiive!!!’

A woman sang lewdly over the sound of the speakers.

‘Don’t be scared babies. Queen Bee won’t hurt you.’

Napoleon’s eyes had finally adjusted somewhat but he had yet to find Illya.

A big yellow spotlight shined on the stage revealing a band to the left and 3 back up singers who harmonized angelically. Three women with big poofy Afros donned with fresh flowers. They wore something similar to what Flo wore just instead of short dresses, they were flared pants; covered in black and yellow rhinestones.

They shined like stars on that stage.

Napoleon finally spotted Illya who hadn’t even left the spot.

‘All these emotions. It’s washing over me tonight.’

Once the room gained its groove back, Napoleon looked back to see that Flo had disappeared from her post.

He raised his brow in suspicion before he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Illya.

‘I saw you flirting with the bartender.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I was gathering intel.’

‘And?’

‘She knows just as much as we do.’ Napoleon sighed as they both turned to look at the charade.

That was until this huge disco ball began to slowly descend from the ceiling.

The two men's lips parted in disbelief.

Eventually, she was revealed standing on top of this gigantic ball. She had this beautiful smile plastered on her face as she greeted the crowd with alluring harmonizing.

She almost sounded like a siren; gracing the masses with her deathly hymns.

But when he saw her face, there was no way she could be something so sinister and evil. She was… ethereal. An angel in disguise of a woman who could snatch the soul from any man who dared looked in her direction.

Napoleon was stunned.

‘How are we doing tonight my worker bees?’ She grinned as the crowd beneath her cheered with blissful enthusiasm. ‘Yeeeeah!’ She laughed happily as she continued to scan the crowd.

‘That must be—‘

‘Queenie Covington.’ Napoleon felt like he couldn’t breathe. This was fan behavior! She was not what he’d imagined her to be.

Both of the men watched the woman carefully descend from the ball with the help of her security guards. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded down her back like sacred waterfalls. She wore a bedazzled tank top, matching bedazzled light denim shorts and high metallic silver fringed boots.

She shined brighter than any star they’d ever seen.

Baby come over, come be alone with me tonight.

All these emotions,

It’s rushing over me tonight— AH!

Ride it!

‘What is the plan now, cowboy?’ Illya asked.

‘What plan?’ Napoleon retorted.

‘You don’t have a plan.’

‘You think I knew she was doing an open mic tonight?!’ Napoleon huffed as his pink nose flared with aggravation, ‘We’ll figure it out.’

As Queenie began to croon over that melody once again, the flashing lights glowed into this magnificent yellow hue causing her glow light gold. Her eyes were closed as she allowed the music to embrace and be one with her soul. And when her hazel eyes fluttered back open, her eyes cut across the room towards the two men at the bar who seemed to be bickering at one another. Though, that didn’t take her out of her sensual groove.

‘Look after her performance, she may come to the bar to have a drink.’

‘And if she doesn’t?’

Napoleon inhaled deeply, holding it there as he tried to think of something. ‘Then we’ll do what we always do.’

Illya knew that specific plan and a lot of the time it involved them both getting damn near getting caught.

‘Oh no. Not this again.’

‘Not this again? What choice do we have? She’s the only lead that we have on him. We must exhaust all options.’

‘Sure. Whatever.’

Baby you can hit this, don’t be scared.

(Baby you can hit this, don’t be scared.)

It’s only gonna get you high!

Baby come over.

The boys watched in amazement as the woman swayed and rocked her hips as her own hands made love to her own thighs, belly and breasts.

Queenie cut her eyes back at the two gentlemen back at the bar once again; particularly the one in the suit. He surely stuck out like a sore thumb. And most of her folks here were regulars.

That star struck glare in his eyes was also very telling. She always did enjoy seeing men gawk over her. So with a smile and a wink, she began to moan her lyrics.

Don’t you leave. (me)

Don’t you leave.

So use me. (Use me)

Pursue me. (Pursue me)

Kiss me where you bruise me. (Bruise me)

Oooh weee—

Taste me, the fleshy part.

I scream so loud, I curse the stars!!!

Napoleon gulped hard, reaching in the collar of his dress shirt and tugged at it as he felt his temperature rising.

Illya glanced over at Napoleon and smirked as he took in this canon moment. ‘Has Casanova finally met his match?’

Without taking his eyes off of her, Napoleon groaned, ‘Shut up.’

As she adlibed and add those heavenly high and lows, the song had come to a beautiful close.

‘Thank you.’ She grinned happily as the audience blessed her with a healthy applause .

‘Thank you so much everyone for coming. Being able to perform in front of an energetic crowd is always a true blessing. Please, enjoy the rest of your night sugars and stay groovy.’

They gave her one more applause as she brought her hands together in prayer and bowed in their wake. She then swiftly turned around to speak to her back up singers.

Napoleon narrowed his eyes, taking note of the smiling group of women. It was nice to know that she and those that worked with and/or for her got along fairly well. Then, she excused herself and went backstage.

‘Did you enjoy the performance?’

The two gentlemen jumped at the sudden voice, one that was familiar to Napoleon alone. They turned around to see Flo standing there with a knowing smirk on her full lips.

‘Where did you go?’ Napoleon’s head fell to the side.

‘Oh. I help engineer those pretty lights and what have you. Just some techy junk.’ She smirked and glanced over at Illya. ‘Who’s your friend here?’

Well, the story seems to check out. Though, he didn’t know why she needed to be so suspenseful.

‘This is uh—‘

‘Alex—‘ Illya looked over at Napoleon before looking back ahead at the bartender. ‘My name is Alexsander.’

Napoleon looked back at Flo who gave them both a strange glare. ‘Alright, Alex…sander. Could I get you a drink, sweet baby?’

‘No ma’am. I’m actually here for work.’

‘Well I think we may have something open for security… you sure do fit the bill though.’ A smirk curled on her lips as her head fell to the side. She was checking Illya out.

Napoleon raised a brow with a smirk as the two began to converse with one another. It was about time Illya blew off some kind of steam.

‘Flo, hey.’

Napoleon watched her walk up to the bar and pull herself onto the empty seat beside him. Thee Queenie Covington. Their whole mission, sitting not even a whole foot away from him.

“You are not to sleep with Mrs. Covington under any circumstances, Solo.”

Well it was a good thing he didn’t make promises.

‘Give me the usual.’ She added.

When Flo’s and Illya’s conversation came to a close, he and Napoleon leaned into one another.

‘Just start casual conversation. Perhaps she’ll give us everything we need.’

‘Not to worry.’ He pulled away and turned halfway in his seat, ‘Excuse me, Miss. Queenie I am sorry for the intrusion but—‘

‘No autographs right now sugar.’ She said in a hurry as Flo placed her wine glass in front of her.

This is a man’s world! This is a man’s world!

‘I’m sorry Miss. Queenie I’m not here for an autograph. My name is Napoleon and I’m with the Wall Street Journal. I’d like to honor you in our newspaper.’

She had brought her wine up to her full lips and took a long sip. ‘Mmm! Napoleon? Like the little French dude? You don’t strike me as a “Napoleon”.’

‘What do I strike you as then?’

But it wouldn’t be nothing, nothing — without a woman or a girl.

‘Hmm…’ her head fell to the side as her pretty eyes roamed all over his handsome features.

She breathed him in and my what a breath of fresh air he was. The colors and the lights that danced across his face only seem to enhance the shadows and curvature of his jaw, making his face appear more masculine. Then, every once in a while a yellow light would flash over his eyes, causing them to glow like high beams.

‘I don’t know… maybe a “Henry” or a “David”. Definitely not a short little man with a God complex.’ She giggled, her full lips pulled back to reveal that dazzling smile once more.

He chuckled as his head fell in slight embarrassment. He should’ve changed his damn name.

‘You know I’ve heard that before.’

‘I bet you have.’ Queenie smirked as she took another sip from her glass, ‘So, what is it that I need from me, Napoleon?’

‘I just want to ask you a few questions if you have time?’

‘Yeah, I sup—‘

‘Mrs. Covington?!’ A tall lean male came rushing over to the bar, carefully pushing folks out of the way.

Goddammit.

Queenie rolled her eyes and turned around to meet the gentleman’s gaze, ‘Oh dear, what is it now? I’m in the middle of something!’

‘Yes but it’s your husband ma’am.’

‘Oh? Is the fool finally dying? I’m having a meeting.’

Napoleon took notice of how her mood quickly shifted from something light and fun to something else when her husband was brought up.

Her attitude was so fierce and sharp, you could see how it cut and tore through the gentleman’s ego. Napoleon found himself smirking a little.

‘It’s… it’s important ma’am. He demands your presence.’

She stared up at him for a long moment before letting out a deep breath through her nose and shook her head. ‘Fine. Please just— give me a second to finish my drink.’

The male in all black bowed his head and took a step back to give the woman privacy.

‘Mrs. Covington…’

‘Dear heavens, Mr. Napoleon I am so very sorry. You’ve come all this way to meet me and I have to leave.’ She sighed once again before knocking back the rest of her wine. She was gonna need it dealing with that god forsaken man.

As frustrated as Napoleon was, he couldn’t step out of character so he just gave her a gentle smile.

‘No need to apologize, Mrs. Covington. Perhaps another day? Are you free tomorrow afternoon?’

‘I should be. Maybe we can have brunch. Since this is my screw up, on me.’

‘Nooo, no ma’am. I won’t have it, it’s just a minor inconvenience—‘

‘Are you telling me no?’

The woman stared at him with eyes that searched his soul. Digging in every nook and cranny to figure out who he was.

And to her surprise, he didn’t buckle or break. He wasn’t like most men it appeared. His gaze remained on hers.

‘I’m telling you not to treat me. I don’t think it’s fair.’

‘Hmm.’ She hummed softly as she smirked and stood from her seat. ‘Alright. Meet me here tomorrow at 11:45am. Don’t be late.’

‘You lack faith in me Mrs. Covington.’

Queenie raised her brow and began to walk away, her slightly swaying hips making a statement. Then she paused and turned halfway to meet his gaze once again.

‘Oh and Sugar?’ She called out over the swelling of the music.

But it wouldn’t be nothing— nothing!! Without a woman or a girl.

He blinked and lifted his chin in response to her voice.

‘Call me Queenie.’

Random Tags: @ellethespaceunicorn @milknhonies @headcannonxgalore @xblackreader @xsapphirescrollsx @peternoonewantsthat @deandoesthingstome @peachyvulpixie

[adore-laur]

JOYRIDE

— corruption in tokyo brings two partners together again to seek retribution while also fulfilling their desires🚦

ハリー

Midnight in Tokyo. 

The city transforms into a neon jungle once the moon takes the stage. Illusionary indigo and hot pink advertisements scale the sides of skyscrapers, their vibrant pixels reflecting off the slick thoroughfares bestrewed with puddles. Cosmopolitan emporiums attract visitors like clusters of moths drawn to a flame, ranging from luxury retail stores to vintage boutiques that line the sidewalks. Many diverse eateries sit snug in the passageways, the limited seating where conversations are struck with writers and poets alike. Whimsical art sculptures placed in hidden spots showcase Japanese culture, and the expressive pieces greet tourists from around the world. 

It's an urban utopia straight out of a futuristic fantasy. 

Digging deeper into the complex metropolis, right in the heart of the infamous Kabukicho District, is where nightlife is most vivacious. Foreigners flock to clubs and bars for ritzy entertainment and exuberant thrills. Alleyways conceal doorways to more private establishments, their explicit thresholds exposed by flickering arrows that guide those who dare to enter. It's sinfully atmospheric, the smell of smoke and sex lingering past the brick walls lit by dangling paper lanterns. 

The vicinity is two sides of the same coin. In the daytime, families wander through a maze of honorable restaurants and hotels, but at night, the devil comes out to play. Risqué signs lead to unlawful pleasure. Curtains cover hostess clubs of endless inebriation. Intimate shops are out in the open to pique the interest of innocents. 

However, on this rainy November night, Harry Styles seeks only one unholy cove. He doesn't need to be lured into it by silhouetted street hawkers. Ignoring them is easy when the red light just around the corner holds his true desire. 

As his polished dress shoes clack against the wet pavement, a black umbrella looming over his head, he fishes into his trouser pocket to snag a piece of chewing gum. He unwraps the aluminum, pops the green gum into his mouth, folds the rubbery substance using his tongue, stretches it between his two front teeth, and then bites down on it with his back molars. A refreshing burst of spearmint hits the back of his throat, crisp and cool. He begins whistling a catchy tune he heard on the metro subway the other day, the trill echoing off the narrow walls surrounding him. New graffiti on them catches his attention. Considering the city strictly prohibits street art, it's a rare find, so he admires the esoteric visuals before they're removed by patrolling police. 

Taking a sharp left, the top of Harry's shadow reaches his destination before he does. He stops in his tracks and breathes in the hazy air. Smoke seeps under the rusted garage door, and the muffled bass coming from inside is a straight injection into his veins. The Japanese script, emboldened by neon red, spells out the name of the strip club. 

ジョイライド 

JOYRIDE 

Guarded by a towering man in a black suit and maroon tie, it's the only barrier left. Luckily, Harry is well-versed when it comes to sneaking into elite establishments. He shakes his umbrella out, the droplets creating ripples in the asphalt pools beneath his feet. A step under the hipped awning saves his expensive clothing from becoming soaked. His long, houndstooth blazer of a dreary grey color and a dotted scarf wrapped once around his neck make him blend in nicely with the darkness. 

Harry clears his throat and politely bows to the daunting watchman. "Kobanwa," he greets, hiding the gum under his tongue out of courtesy. (Good evening.) 

"Kon'nichiwa," says the man with a reciprocated bow. "Anata no mōshide wa nanidesu ka?" (Hello. What is your offer?) 

Opening the breast pocket of his blazer, Harry plucks out three bills. He unfolds the creased paper one by one, revealing the printed face of an esteemed writer and a five-digit number representing a hefty amount of yen. His desire is worth significantly more, but he'll undoubtedly be spending the rest of what's tucked in his wallet for reasons that will never be publicly disclosed. 

"Sakura," Harry says with unwavering eye contact. 

He only needs to speak a single name for the man to challengingly stare back for three seconds. He then takes the yen and inspects it for possible counterfeit, his nimble fingers flipping the banknotes over with a particular procedure. After an anticipatory moment of crinkling sounds and drowned-out electronic music, he raps a rhythmic knock on the garage behind him. It instantly lifts with a grinding creak, the smoke releasing from underneath and crawling up Harry's legs like ivy on a brick wall. 

"Anata no norimono o tanoshinde kudasai." (Enjoy your ride.) 

Harry gives the man a fixed smile and then enters his paradise. Weeks of lousy business trips that required him to globetrot across continents have led to this. Tokyo always has something sensational in store for him. He comes back to the sleepless city time and time again for the unpredictability. 

Disappointment doesn't exist here — escapade does. 

The metal stairs leading to the underground club are grungy and steep, so Harry uses the shaft of his umbrella as a makeshift cane to traverse down the dilapidated steps. Every footfall ends in a squeak until he reaches the velvet carpet at the bottom. Thumping music loudens, the scent of cigarettes grows stronger, and the beat of his heart pounds faster in anticipation. 

Red curtains are suspended in front of him, and distant chatter that eclectically ranges from foreign to familiar dialect echoes from behind them. Harry sets his umbrella by the nearby coat rack, then takes his scarf and blazer off to hang them next to a pristine suit jacket. He takes a glimpse at his own suit. It's black cashmere with a contrasting white button-up underneath and a silk tie. He adjusts the collar, tugs on the lapels, and swiftly unclasps the single button. With a final ruffle of his flattened hair and a crack of his neck, he's ready for total immersion. 

Pushing the curtains aside, he crosses the threshold. There's no turning back now. 

The seductive ambiance immediately invades every one of his senses. There's red everywhere. The spacious room holds the key to subliminal distraction, from the ruby wallpaper to the vermillion leather booths. It's a sub-rosa room where players can have fun after dusk. Every soul that wanders in leaves with a newfangled perspective on the divine beauty of women. At least that's what Harry left with the first time he traipsed in as a fresh face from Europe, a wax-sealed invitation in his hesitant grasp. 

He wouldn't call himself a loyal customer, per se. He's not dependent on the half-empty glasses of Yamazaki malt whiskey presented to him on serving trays, only to be respectfully declined. Nor does he come for the puffed cigars and joints perched between persuasive fingertips and lips. 

No, it's the stage in his peripheral he floats toward. It's where his desire lies. 

His Sakura. 

She's on the round stage amid her nightly performance, one leg hooked around a silver pole protruding from the middle of the platform. A red spotlight shines down on her contorted body, her limbs reaching out like slender branches of a cherry blossom tree. Her long hair is snaked into six braids, four twisted up high and two tinier ones falling over her forehead. The audience of men, some standing close and some sitting in booths, piercingly whistle over the loud music while throwing wads of yen at her when she spins into an upside-down position with ease, gripping the pole using just her ankles. It gives everyone a full view of her leather bodysuit, the glossy black material with cutouts revealing peeks of smooth, brown skin. 

Harry stuffs a hand in his pocket and lingers at the back of the club where no one can pester him with invasive questions about his intentions. They don't understand. He's not here to 'get some,' as they often assume. Sure, he'll leave the place feeling satisfied, but they don't know he gets to take home the woman they're currently fawning over. 

Her pole dancing performance nears its end, with a final layer of smoke hovering over the circular platform. The mystique she exudes as she slides into an effortless split is tantalizing. Harry swallows thickly as his hand curls into a fist, every fiber of his being practically itching to be alone with her. He never grows tired of watching her, yet he's utterly addicted to what happens in their designated private room. 

The red spotlight switches to a bright white, and his Sakura smiles dazzlingly while collecting the bills thrown her way. Harry smirks and applauds, then pushes off the wall to give her his own special offering. This part seems to always occur in slow motion for him. His eyes are locked onto her as he waits until she catches his hypnotic gaze. He weaves through the crowd while chewing on his now flavorless gum, mumbling apologies when he bumps into people's drunken sways until he finally reaches the stage. Slightly opening his suit, he reaches into the interior breast pocket and pulls out a plucked cherry blossom. Technically speaking, he breaks the law every time he acquires the pink symbolism of human existence, but it's of little consequence to his morals. He has much worse crimes under his belt. 

Harry gently holds out the blossom amidst flying yen, a pastel pink delicacy in a sea of brown riches. The following moments play out like a scene in a movie. Time seems to freeze as he homes in on the sound of her high heels clicking closer. He steadily looks up, taking in her tall legs and heaving chest. She tucks a few yen in the tight seam of her bodysuit, then provides him with her undivided attention. 

"For me?" she mouths over the deafening music. 

His lips break into a wide smile at the sound of her euphonic voice he so longingly missed. "Always for you."

Bending down, she takes the cherry blossom from him and brings it under her nose. Her eyes flutter shut as she smells the fragrant flower. It's flattering that no matter how often she's received one, she still sticks it behind her ear like she does now. 

The surrounding men marvel over her, but they'll be distracted soon enough. Two more poles emerge from the stage, and a group of stripper girls come out to continue the regularly scheduled show. Harry doesn't lose focus on his Sakura, simply backing away slowly and jerking his head toward the VIP rooms. It's a drill he aims to follow through with zero problems arising. Almost everyone here is a stranger, so that means they cannot be trusted in the slightest. It's why he doesn't speak to them. If any outsiders find out about the dirty business he deals with on the side, it's a downhill slope into deep trouble. 

Harry stops at the opposite side of the room and faces another security guard, but this time, it's one he knows quite well. "Ryōji," he says while bowing. "O-genki desu ka?" (How are you?) 

Ryōji bows and withdraws a small gold key from one of the ten hooks behind him. "Okaeri nasai," he responds. (Welcome back.) 

Welcome back, indeed. Harry quickly glances around and then places a heavy hand on Ryōji's shoulder, leaning in so no one else can hear him. In English, he murmurs, "We've got another one out back. Do you think you can get some men to handle it before sunrise? I'll have the money sent to you by next week." 

The deep inhalation Ryōji takes always makes him nervous. A dreadful silence passes before he says, "Yes, sir. Any special instructions?" 

Harry gives him a friendly pat on the arm and takes the key. "Just the usual. She already took care of the hard part." 

"As you wish." 

With that, Harry gratefully nods and then walks into the back area, where several red doors, some open and some closed, present themselves in a semi-circular fashion. Steering to the right, he throws his gum away and goes to the door with a black '七' on it. 

Lucky number seven for a joyride in heaven. 

The room is a perfect size, with curtains hanging over the walls for a more intimate experience. Two velvet couches are placed on either side, and a table with glasses and a bottle of an unknown alcoholic drink sits nearby. And, of course, a red light emits from the low ceiling. 

Harry gets comfortable, tugging his pant legs and sitting on the plush couch. Precious time ticks by, the songs slowing into more sultry beats as he waits. He checks his diamond-encrusted wristwatch — it's half past midnight, yet he doesn't feel tired. Maybe it's the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Only the mysterious aura of Tokyo can bring him an electric charge like no other. 

At last, Desiree struts into the room and daintily falls sideways into his lap. Her stripper name is Sakura, but her real name is used when she's alone with him. She jumps right in and holds his scruffy cheek, kissing all over his face as the red lipstick she wears stamps evidence on his flushed skin. 

"I've missed you," she whispers in his ear. 

Harry holds her waist and rolls his hips for some relief. "It's all my fault, isn't it? I've been so busy." 

Desiree takes the key from him and quickly locks the door. When she returns, she straddles him and says, "You came back to me, though." 

He nips her neck, short and tender. "I got your text message and flew straight here." 

She grips his chin. "That message wasn't about seeing me." 

Harry swallows thickly, his throat suddenly parched. "We don't need to talk about that right now," he murmurs. 

"But it will be dealt with?" she asks, her eyebrows dipping with concern. 

"Yes, my love." 

"Okay." She gently passes her thumb over his eyelashes like they're pages of a well-loved book. "That's all I need to hear." 

Harry distracts himself from the dangerous subject by twirling one of her braids around his pointer finger. "I like it when you wear your hair like this, Desi. So pretty."

"Yeah?" 

"Mm-hmm. I've gone far too long without you." 

She begins loosening his tie. "Tell me what you need." 

Sifting through his brain, Harry contemplates his options. The club doesn't allow actual intercourse inside its perimeters, so there are limited, albeit creative, methods that are used. Desiree once told him that the strippers are given a manual of all the diverse ways they can please a customer. There was a specific one he heard her briefly mention in passing. At the time, he was too shy to ask for more details, so he went home and researched the term. Needless to say, it sounded worthwhile. 

"Can I have the... red light special? Is that what it's called?" 

Desiree smirks and remarks, "That's new. You've never asked for that before." 

He blushes with a lackadaisical shrug. "Sorry. Being edged just sounds really fuckin' good right now." 

"Why are you apologizing?" She pushes lightly on his chest so he can comfortably lean against the couch. "Relax. Let me take care of you." 

Harry couldn't possibly argue, especially when she doesn't waste any time and starts with a green light. Gripping his shoulders, she smoothly rocks into his body with quick movements. His hands knead her ass, the bodysuit bestowing the perfect amount of skin for him to grab. The tension in his muscles alleviates as she applies pressure to his growing bulge, every perpetual grind making him harder by the minute. His eyes and neck roll back, and he forgets why he was ever stressed hours prior and instead succumbs to the satisfying ache she provides him. 

"Oh, my God," Harry moans, spreading his legs further apart. "Fuck, Desi, you feel so good. I'm all yours." 

She bites her bottom lip and moves her hips counterclockwise. The switch has Harry gritting his teeth. Shuddering, he opens his mouth and pathetically whimpers while running his hands up her clenched thighs. He feels hot — sweaty, sticky, and salaciously hot. He's burning in a blitz of fiery passion. 

Yellow light is when Desiree slows down, still grinding swivels over his pelvis. The throbbing of his cock ceases, and the buildup disappears momentarily. Her back arches as she uses her height over him to palm him with her hand. Leisurely, she squeezes where the head of his cock is through his pants, and a sensitive tingle rushes down his spine as he bites down on his knuckles to suppress his pleading noises. 

"Does that feel nice?" she asks, kissing his slack jaw. 

Harry's face crumbles in submission. "I need to come. It feels so tight, I- I can't take it anymore." 

Red light. He knows he asked for it, but when she stops moving and stands before him, he reaches for her absent touch. "No, come back. C'mon, please. Stop playing around." 

She ignores him and kneels on the ground. With one finger, she trails it up his inner thigh until it reaches his covered cock. She fondles with the length of it, erotically squeezing in all the right places while looking at him with eyes of a rich brown color. He often dreams of her mouth puckered around it, wet lips and hollowed cheeks making him fall apart. 

Suddenly, his tie is removed, and Desiree holds it up. "Are you ready?" 

"I'm so close," Harry breathes out. Inhaling sharply through his nose, he adds, "You're so gorgeous, do you know that? Got me... shit, I'm absolutely aching for you." 

She stuffs the tie in his mouth and finally straddles him again, riding his thighs to bring him to his peak. His moans are muffled against the fabric as she gives him a lap dance, her body rolling to the R&B music from the distant speakers. 

It doesn't take long for Harry to come, a damp spot forming on his pants shortly after. Every part of his body feels light as he spits his tie out, breathing heavily. He really needed this. 

"Ready to leave this place?" he asks, touching himself until he's soft and able to walk.

Desiree kisses him, her tongue delving into his mouth, before nodding. "Are you taking me on another joyride?" 

Harry smirks and wipes off the lipstick stain she left on the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Full throttle, baby." 

                                          ——

                                      デザレイ 

The first thing Desiree sees when rounding the corner of the alleyway is a parked Kawasaki motorcycle. 

The rain has let up, only a light drizzle now falling from the starlit sky. People still pass by with umbrellas, minding their business. The lights outside are stimulating, with signs above casting fuchsia pink and Prussian blue hues over her and Harry's faces. The air reeks of gasoline and smoke, vehicles racing past to hop on the expressway. It's a city of nocturnal souls who get off on cheap thrills, and she couldn't help but get hooked on the appeal. Night crawling on a high-speed bike through the neon streets is the most thrilling adventure she can imagine. 

Harry rents out a different motorcycle every time he visits. When they first met, he told her he owned a marketing firm in London, so he had the money to afford such luxuries. The first time he walked into the club, she thought he would be like everyone else — a drunk and lonesome man needing attention. However, he was actually a man of innocence who stumbled upon an underground scene he wasn't expecting. She saw the intrigue in his eyes and taught him how her world worked. She let him choose what he desired without taking advantage of him. She trusted his intentions and let him see every side of her, saintly or sinful. 

Their journey leads to the eager way he's looking at her now, one gloved hand holding out a helmet and the other gripping the motorcycle's handlebar. 

"Ladies first," he says with a playful smile. 

Desiree tightens the belt on her blood-red leather coat and puts the helmet on. It rubs uncomfortably against her hair, but she's not one to place beauty above safety precautions. She then hikes a leg over the back seat, and Harry does the same motions while straddling the front seat and starting the engine. It rumbles to life when he squeezes the clutch, and he attractively revs the engine three times. 

"All good?" Harry calls out behind him, using the back of his shoe to kick up the kickstand. 

She wraps both arms around his waist and props her chin on his shoulder. "So good." 

Reaching back to squeeze her thigh, he speeds into the fast lane. For the next twenty minutes, the brisk wind blows in her ears, and the feeling of flying overtakes her entire body. She spreads her arms, and Tokyo comes alive just for her, blurry colors whooshing past as they accelerate through traffic on the winding expressway. They ride out of the district and towards Marunouchi, where the Shangri-La Hotel is located. With five stars and eleven floors of pure splendor, it's the best place to have a late-night rendezvous. 

When they eventually pull up to the hotel, a rectangular building made entirely of glass panes, Harry parks the motorcycle and kills the engine. Desiree carefully removes her helmet and fixes her hair the best she can. Her makeup feels tacky against her skin, but the cool air of an autumn night is refreshing. She looks over to see Harry do the same, his hair sticking up every which way. He sheepishly grins at her and rolls his eyes. 

"Hurry up," Desiree says through chattering teeth. She bounces on her heels, feeling the ache travel from her ankles to the tips of her toes. 

"All right, all right," Harry mumbles jokingly, holding his hand out. "I'll have a word with Raijin about the inadequate weather." 

"Studying Japanese deities, are we?" 

Interlocking her numb fingers with his, they head inside the lavish lobby and take the elevator to the seventh floor. The ride is quiet, and exhaustion finally catches up to them. After six beeps, a more prolonged one sounds, and the doors slide open. They walk down the narrow hallway to the back, where the suites are located. Harry swipes his key card and twists the door handle to go inside, Desiree following closely. 

The suite is as tidy and stylish as one would expect from a businessman staying there. Two designer-brand suitcases are stacked in the corner by the running air conditioner. A housekeeper must have cleaned and organized his belongings. Crisp white sheets on the king bed look quintessential for bundling up in. 

Desiree removes her heels and flops on the firm mattress. She blearily watches Harry open the mini fridge by the door, hearing the clink of beer bottles. Her assumption proves correct when one is thrown beside her, yet her body has no energy left to open the cap and drink the bitter liquid. 

Harry takes off his suit jacket and button up, then sits against the headboard and spreads his legs on either side of her sprawled-out body. He takes a swig of beer, his jawline sharp and his throat bobbing. His bare torso, decorated with tattoos, looks like the perfect pillow, so Desiree shimmies upwards to lay her head on his abdomen. She listens to his subtle breathing.

"So, how'd you kill him?" 

Well, that's one way to initiate a conversation. Desiree snaps her eyes to his, staring at him a little funny due to her position. "Katana," she answers casually. "Quick and easy." 

He hums, sets his beer on the nightstand, and then delicately untangles her two front braids. "Made a mess, huh? Ryōji's men won't be too happy about that." 

She fidgets with one of her loose acrylic nails. "They've dealt with worse cleanups." 

She knew what she was getting into when she decided to work in Tokyo's Red Light District. There's no way to sugarcoat what goes down in the alleyways. It doesn't feel like a crime to her if she's getting rid of the bad guys. It's justified in her mind. 

Harry moves his hands to undo her bigger braids. "I know," he says softly, "but it's getting riskier. And more expensive on my end." 

Sighing, Desiree replies, "Asphyxiation is so boring, though. I like my swords." 

"Desi, I'm serious." He tilts her head to look at her straight on. "It worries me when you do those types of killings, and I'm not here to handle the outcome. What if something were to go wrong?" 

She frowns. "We're a team. You flew out to me without hesitation when I told you my plan." 

"Yes, but you act on impulse sometimes," he says, putting her elastic ponytail around his wrist. "I can't always do that with my job. You're lucky I was available." 

"So, you only came to help with the repercussions? Not to see me?" 

"You know that's not true. If it was, I'd be on a plane back to London right now instead of spending the night with you in Tokyo." 

"Just making sure," she says with a hidden undertone of insecurity. 

Once all six braids are out, her hair frizzy and free, Desiree sits up and takes her suffocating coat off. Underneath, she has a more comfortable outfit that she changed into before leaving the club. She internally debates whether she wants to go through the hassle of taking everything off, but before she can thoroughly weigh her options, Harry reaches over to open the nightstand drawer, pulling out something crinkly.

"I, uh, bought some makeup wipes," he explains while fidgeting with the package. "I didn't know what brand you use, but it's coconut, and I know you like coconut rum. There's no correlation, but it's the thought that counts, right?" 

Desiree is speechless for a moment. This is the first time he's done something like that. "Th-thanks. Can you help me take it off?" she suggests quietly. 

"'Course. Scoot over." 

She takes one side of the bed and sits cross-legged in front of Harry as he plucks a wipe. He folds it into a compact square four times and then hovers it over her face. His gaze wanders a bit before he starts gently swiping under her eyes. 

He speaks up again once the air conditioner clicks off. "Can I ask, pray tell, why you killed him?" 

Desiree breathes out a laugh. "Funny," she says as he scrubs the pigmented blush off her cheeks. "I remember when you couldn't even stomach asking me that question. Now you do all the dirty side work." 

Harry shrugs. "You're a bad influence." 

Sage advice from two people who dabble in reincarnating as a more sadistic Bonnie and Clyde: It's remarkably more fun to have a loyal partner in crime than to be a lone outlaw. 

"Let's see," she muses with a dramatic flair. "His name was... fuck if I know. All I was told was that he was a gang member who lured young girls in and brainwashed them into committing crimes around Shinjuku for money worth jack squat." 

"Jesus. What about the other gang members?" he asks, wiping her smeared lipstick off. 

"I'm not too worried about them. They would never suspect a stripper at Joyride killed one of their own. They'll probably assume it was another gang's doing." 

"That's a relief." Harry yawns and tosses the dirtied makeup wipe into the nearby garbage. "All right, I've had enough of killer talk. Shall we get some sleep?" 

Desiree grins tiredly and touches the smoothness of her bare face. "We shall. My body aches." 

Stripping takes a toll on her joints and muscles, especially since she incorporates performance art into her dancing. Untreated strains and torn ligaments have been left in the past due to years of training, but residual pain still lingers each night when she steps off the stage. 

Once they're comfortable under the sheets, Desiree curls into Harry's warm chest. "When do I have you until?" she asks reluctantly. 

He wraps an arm over her back and says, "Tomorrow night." 

She recounts all the times he's had to catch a red-eye flight immediately after they would arrive at the hotel. Tonight, she's lucky she gets him a little longer than usual. 

"It's better than nothing." 

Harry scrunches her hair and leaves a long kiss on her temple. "You can always come back to Europe with me," he murmurs. The scent of beer wafting in his breath is mouth-watering. 

Desiree shakes her head solemnly. "I can't. I belong here." 

"I understand." She feels him smile before kissing her head once more. "A cherry blossom should stay in Japan, right?" 

"Very clever." She closes her eyes. There's an elongated pause of internal reflection before she continues. "Listen, I don't want you to feel trapped. I don't want you to feel like I'm using you." 

Harry rubs the sore muscles around her shoulder blades. "I don't feel that way. I chose to get involved with how you live your life. If I'm being honest, I quite enjoy the danger of it." 

It's easy for him to say when he only has to deal with the business side of it. A pipeline of recruitment occurred where Shyla loosely hired Harry to hire men who would dispose of the dead bodies she threw in the dumpster behind the club. No one dares to roam that haunted alleyway, which makes it the most adequate place to safely hide a killing. Then, he pays them handsomely in cash for successfully completing the treacherous deed. 

Desiree cups his cheek and whispers, "Please... just tell me if it ever gets too much and you want out. I'll find someone else." 

"It's never too much when your intentions are good." 

It's not enough. His safety is her top priority. 

"Tell me to stop, and I will," she says sternly. "Give me the red light, and I'll go to Europe with you. You can show me Buckingham Palace and that stupid clock—" 

"Desi," Harry interrupts with a thumb against her parted lips. "I will tell you if it gets to that point, okay?" 

She takes his large hand and holds onto it like it's the last time she'll ever touch his skin. "Promise me." 

"Yakusoku." (Promise.) 

His spoken oath doesn't mend the problem she has with herself. There's a constant battle whenever she thinks too deeply about what she participates in. She questions whether it was a mistake getting involved in cover-up assassinations and bringing Harry into it. He used to be innocent. Someone who discovered the darker side of Tokyo and is now stuck in the whirlwind of her immoral faults. Did she make him into a brand-new person? A monster? One that knows her crimes and prevents them from becoming exposed? 

Is it wrong that she fell for him in the process? 

She can never tell him. No, that would complicate things beyond the boundary lines she drew for herself long before she met him. There are too many risks when feelings are a factor — risks of turning on each other if there are relationship issues. Then there's the plain and straightforward risk of barely seeing each other in person. It's all too poisonous of a pool to dip her feet into. Her guard is up, and it's not coming down for anything or anyone. 

However, as Desiree drifts into a dreamland, she realizes her guard is lower whenever Harry is around. With his fingers soothingly scratching up and down her aching spine, she doesn't feel the uncertainty that always clouds her mind when he's not beside her. It clears when she awakes to the smell of brewing coffee and room service breakfast on a cart before she can even open her eyes. It gnaws at her boarded-up heart until the pieces chip away. What's left is a vulnerable girl who seeks refuge but can't leave a place of fortune and frisson. She's a moon in broad daylight. 

Does she want to be saved? Or does the red light call her name for a reason? 

——

[twogyuu]

We Can Just Dance to This

Pairing: Lee Chan x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff(?), angst(?), dirty dancing!au, summer love, good girl gone bad(but Chan's not a bad guy?)

Warnings: I mean . . . it's a dirty dancing!au so mildly suggestive but no explicit smut

WC: ~1.7k

A/N: This has been sitting in the WIP pile for who knows how long and the thousands of bulletpoints I added to this document went nowhere 😀

Originally inspired by the movie, Dirty Dancing and Dance To This by Troye Sivan ft. Ariana Grande. Happy reading 💙

. . . .

He didn’t belong in this town. 

He didn’t belong in this family resort. 

This wasn’t the dance studio he dreamed of: a musty cabin built over thirty years ago tucked away on a hill in the woods. The interior was redesigned to mimic a poor excuse of a studio. Mirrors lined one wall, though over the years they were stained with oily fingerprints from the young children of the guests who came by for lessons. The large screen windows revealed too much of the intimacy and vulnerability that came with the art. Dirt tracked from climbing the dusty stone stairs filled the grit of the floor tiles and flies were starting to get stuck in the bright overhead lights above. It was a shame that the resort was most popular in the summer – the age old fan hardly cooled anyone off these days. 

Lee Chan did, however, belong on the dance floor. 

He deserved to be in the spotlight on some big stage in LA or New York City. 

Somewhere, along side a pop star or shining under the spotlight himself.

You decided this was certain as you watched him expertly move his body to the Normani���s ‘Motivation’ from the corner of the resort dance studio. It was almost as if the music emanated from his core and flowed through his limbs to his finger tips. You were in utter awe of how he paid attention to every detail of his move, from the way his feet were positioned in a perfect crisscross to the point of his fingers. 

“It lasts longer if you take a picture,” Chan chuckled breathlessly as he made his way towards you. He kneeled and settled in a spot in front of you. 

You were so lost in him, you didn’t even notice the change in pace of the song – an entirely new one playing at that. You ignored the way your cheeks heated up, handing him over a water bottle that he hastily gulped down. You tucked your knees into your chest, resting your chin atop them as you peered at him quietly. His bangs were stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat rolled down the side of his face. You didn’t want to, but you did take note of the way his veins bulge along his arms.

“You’re good,” you mumbled. 

He stopped mid-drink and side eyed you, frowning. “You’ve been watching all this time and it’s just good?”

“I mean,” you shrugged, “It’s not like I know much about dance . . . you looked skilled?”

Silence, then a beat. 

Chan leaned forward on his hands, his head tilted slightly and a playful smile tugging at the right corner of his lip. 

“What are we gonna do with you, baby?” he teased in a low voice. You could feel his breath grazing across your cheek.

You froze. 

Baby.

The nickname felt different coming from him. 

You didn’t know how to reply, so you didn’t, simply shrinking back. 

He stayed like this a while longer; you, internally squirming under his gaze. You hoped your demeanor was stoic and didn’t show the way a simple lazy look from him could stir so much in you. 

After a moment, Chan slid back. He gave you one last look before getting up and making his way to the speaker set up. He swiped at his phone connected to by the AUX cord, ceasing Jason Derulo’s falsetto in ‘Want To Want Me’, replacing it with the electronic piano of ‘Versace on the Floor’ by Bruno Mars. 

You furrowed your brows in confusion as he sauntered over, one hand tucked in the pocket of his baggy sweatpants that hung loosely around his hips. His smile had spread into a grin as the strumming of the guitar and percussion began. 

Chan extended a hand in your direction. Dumbfounded, your gaze flickering from his hand to his face and back.  

“Dance with me,” he asked. “Let’s see what you can do.”

The longer you hesitated, his confidence began to falter like a middle school boy being rejected by his crush. Chan gulped as he felt his throat constrict – the last thing he wanted to do was make things awkward between you and him. After all, you had to see each other all summer and there weren’t many places to hide around here. Even if he hadn’t danced with you yet, he could’ve sworn, there was chemistry, at the very least a spark between you and him. You wouldn’t be here otherwise, right?

Finally, you gingerly placed your hand in his and pushed yourself off the floor. He released a small breath of relief, eyes examining your fingers settled in his. He chortled softly at your baby pink painted nails – chipped and outgrown. It was fitting for you for some reason. 

“I don’t actually know what to do,” you said anxiously. 

“Wait,” Chan held out a hand to you. 

Great – you already fucked up and you haven’t even started. 

“You should take off your sneakers,” he pointed at them. 

“Why?” 

“So you don’t step on my feet,” he peered down at his sock-covered toes. 

“Fair, I guess.”

“Relax,” he told you, noting how stiff you were. Chan led you to the center and positioned your hands: one on his shoulder, the other resting his own hand. “Just follow along, hm?”

“Easier said than done,” you grumbled. 

The hairs along your spine pricked up when you felt the warmth of his hand settle on the small of your back. 

“We’ll start with a simple square waltz,” Chan explained. “I step back, you step forward, then to the right – so on and so forth to make a square.”

You looked up, trying your best to memorize the steps. 

The first few times, you stumbled. He was right to make you take off your shoes. Even looking at your feet, you stepped on his toes a few times, apologizing profusely, while the dancer just laughed and reassured you.

“Relax,” Chan said again, “Feel the music and move with it. Let it guide you.”

You peered up from the ground and caught his gaze, his eyes amused and warm. He nodded at you encouragingly and stepped forward. Instinctively, you stepped back. 

“Good,” he chuckled. 

 After a few rectangles and triangles, you were finally starting to get the hang of it. Though the Bruno Mars song had faded into ‘Night Changes’ by One Direction, you were able to keep up with the faster beat. A feeling of accomplishment filled your chest at this, eliciting an excited smile on your face. 

“Cute,” Chan said softly. 

You looked at him in surprise.

“What?” he asked teasingly. 

“Nothing,” you muttered. You looked behind him, met with the reflection of you and him moving in sync in the mirror. The steps were simple, but you with him . . . looked right. 

Feeling something funny in your chest, you looked out through the screen windows, clearing your throat loudly. 

“Didn’t take you for a Directioner?” you commented. 

“It’s a nice song,” Chan offered. You shivered at the way his lips grazed against your ear. 

“Noted – Lee Chan, directioner.”

He rolled his eyes, chortling at the tease. 

“Wanna take this a step further?” Chan challenged.

“Is this payback for making fun of you?”

“You could say so,” he shrugged, pulling back to look at you. “I’ll spin you and then twirl you out.”

“Don’t let go?” you said immediately. The irrational fear of him letting you go and the momentum of the spin taking you crashing into something overtaking you. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Chan didn’t warn you, letting go of your waist and raising his hand for you to rotate under. The rest was a blur, the room turning white as the colors mixed together and you felt your forearms stretch. 

Before you knew it, you were enveloped back in his arms – though closer than before, your chests flushed against one another. You could feel the rise and fall of his every breath; perhaps even the beat of his heart, and it was fast. The music seemed to have faded and it was only the mix of his and your heavy breathing.

If his eyes were warm before, they were swarming with something else now – you couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Curiosity overtaking you, you reached up and swept his bangs out of his eyes, fingers lingering in his locks to no avail. His dark orbs scanned over your face, flickering from your own eyes to your lips. He looked a little too long – enough for  you to know what was on his mind as much as your own. 

You felt his hand wrap around your wrist, his other gripping around your waist. The press of each finger seeping warmth into your skin, though this time, you were less anxious as you were lost in him. 

In fact, you almost welcomed it. 

Chan leaned in, hesitantly pressing his lips against your own plush ones as if to test the water first. When you kissed back, you could feel him relax, almost falling into you as you stumbled back to steady yourself and him. He smiled into the kiss, his hand coming up to adjust your neck for better access to your lips. 

The seconds melted into minutes, minutes suddenly into infinite. 

When you felt him pull away, you opened your eyes slowly, one after another. Chan breathing shallowly, a silly, tight smile stretched across his face as he tried to hold in his laughter. 

He wasn’t laughing at you, but rather out of joy. 

Lips swollen, you sucked in your bottom lip in between your teeth, a faint taste of his mint gum lingering. 

“You’re not completely hopeless,” he muttered, breaking the silence in an attempt to tease you. However, it didn’t feel as such. 

You scoffed and pressed a hand against his chest, silently asking him to let you go after ruining the moment. 

But he didn’t. 

In fact, he only pulled you closer. 

How about it, baby?” Chan asked. “Help me out for the summer?”

You looked back at him. 

Playfulness? 

Maybe that’s what it was in his eyes – or lust?

“I . . . don’t see why not.”

You were interested, to say the least, and for once, you wanted to take the leap of faith.

Take a chance on him.

Take a chance on yourself.

Perhaps, you could become something more than the sweet and obedient 'baby' everyone else knew and adored.

[bramble-scramble]

No one knew exactly how long these mangled corpses were stuck there rotting.

They were discovered after many of Paletteville's villagers complained of a unbearable stench that leaked from underneath the bridge. The authorities arrived to investigate with almost everyone crowding around the scene. Some watched from afar, others dared to venture closer only to be stopped and turned back. A few discreetly took pictures on their phones. This morbid spectacle aroused such disturbing tension all throughout the area. It was bad enough already that Palette Prime was infamous for its bad luck, thanks to their poet for a warden, but now...

Words could not describe the sheer horror that was found once the authorities realized that the bodies were stitched together and hung up right underneath the wooden planks of the bridge. Such a sight made the squeamish sick, resulting in many cases of vomiting and fainting spells.

It was later revealed that four victims were identified, despite them being partially skinned, dismembered, and disemboweled. The victims were widely known to Paletteville to the point of adoration. One was a football player, two were beloved socialites, and the last was a judge. Not a single person could figure out why someone would go after such wonderful citizens. The investigation continued. Bloodstained golden cords pierced their flesh and fat and muscle, tying them into this grotesque, meaty banner that stretched from one end to another. Right below this display was a gathering of rocks, all colored in a deep red and positioned into a small circle that was just big enough for one to sit inside.

---

Woodrow woke up in his bathtub, his naked body motionlessly floating in filthy water. His eyes adjusted; his ears rang as his head throbbed. His senses slowly came to him as he lifted his arms up to pull himself up.

Then he froze.

...

It's just a hallucination. It has to be. There's no way any of this is real. He has done this before. They're only temporary. That's it.

Just temporary.

The poet closed his eyes and held in a deep breath. His chest felt like it was about to burst. Chills ran up his spine, intensified by the coolness of the bathwater, and he let out a exhale. Another deep breath in, and another long exhale...

Nothing changed.

Woodrow choked and gasped, finally crawling out of the bathtub and crashing down onto the cold hard tile floor. His breathing was now sporadic with a terror unimaginable, leaving him panicking like a newborn lost in the woods. Tears streamed down his face as he silently wailed in terrible realization. His body curled in a futile attempt to make itself warm.

There was silence.

...

And then the light flickered.

The fur on his back stood straight up. Woodrow shut his eyes.

He suddenly melted as a gentle, loving caress presses against his cheek.

"Please... no more tears. You did exceptionally well, my dearest poet. Soon all shall know what art truly is."

I know it's gonna be good when I open my notifications and see "No one knows how long these mangled corpses..." from you lol

Actually I read this last night and woke up still thinking about it. Your writing gives me chills and sticks in my brain as usual!

This is a less wholesome take on Phantom-possession, I take it? I like how Phandrow can be too extremely corny romantic art-dorks waxing poetic about each other and frolicking gaily through the woods forever, OR it could be a literally tortured artist pushed to his limits, and his supernatural boyfriend who is no stranger to lusting for revenge and could entice him to embrace his darker side and innate capacity for destruction. This ship is everything, mmhmm mhhhmmmmmmm

One thing is true regardless of AU, and the relative horror thereof: that when Phantom touches Woodrow he will forget all his suffering and figuratively turn into a puddle. Doesn't matter how many times it's happened or how long they have been together.

[dramamelon]

It's here! Transformers Big Bang Fic Reveal

This is just the first four chapters, the rest will go up over the weekend to spread it a bit. (We're lookin' at 51k and change... 😂)

SUMMARY: Nickel has a secret: she carries Kaon's still-living spark with her, saved only moments before its last flickers faded. When the stars align and give her the means to revive him, she takes her chance and sets into motion yet another wild and crazy ride for the crew of the Lost Light.

Chapters: 1-4 available now! Rating: T Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: Gen, Multi Relationships: Kaon & Nickel, Kaon & Blades Characters: Kaon, Nickel, Blades, First Aid, Blaster, Minimus Ambus, Megatron, Anode, Lug, Lost Light Crew, The Scavengers Additional Tags: Transformers Big Bang 2023, Minimal editing, Post-Transformers: Lost Light 25, The good ending, Post-Canon Fix-It, Fix-It for MTMTE #52, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Resurrection, Friendship/Love, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Relationships, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Memory Loss, Enemies to Friends, Emotional Baggage, Kindness, Robogore, Alcohol, Recreational Drug Use (very briefly)

The wonderful art was done by @flayyr! (I'll reblog when it's up!)

@tf-bigbang

[elentarial]

my friend @goschatewabn, here is your gift for @ainursecretsanta

I loved your prompt “trying to understand the Incarnates and differing moral/ethical codes”

Please enjoy some Eönwë/Arafinwe/Gil-Galad below the cut

They're going to touch; Eönwë can see it. Eönwë knows it.

They're going to touch, and it's going to be more than the touch of friends, and it's going to be more than the touch of brothers-in-arms. It's going to be more than any touch Eönwë has ever given to another, and it's going to tear Eönwë's heart out, and it's going to rip his honor to shreds, but he cannot look away.

He will not look away.

They are both bare from the waist up, their breeches slung low, color riding high in their damp skin. Gil-Galad knows his way around a body for death and love both, and the way he touches Arafinwë frames him like art in Eönwë's eyes. It's a caress, along tight sinew, and hard, flat muscle, and it makes Arafinwë crash like the tide - Eönwë can see the blue ocean in his eyes ebb in and out with every blink, every flicker of his tawny lashes against his pale cheeks.

Arafinwë's hands are sure and rough and astringent like herbs. Eönwë knows the smell and firmness of his skin from when Arafinwë plays the role of healer among his captains. The hands of a king are said to be the hands of a healer, but Eönwë often forgoes any offers from Arafinwë. Those hands conjure up too many filthy apparitions, and Eönwë must not be distracted from his task. The Host of the Valar cannot afford to fail. 

Now, those hands hold Gil-Galad by his elbows the same way Arafinwë holds his bridled horse by the reins to control it. Gil-Galad sprawls his fingers over Arafinwë's hip bones as Arafinwë leans closer and reels him in.

They are kissing now, and Eönwë digs his fingers into the arms of his chair; he will bleed  from the beds of his nails before he blinks before he allows himself to acknowledge before he lets his lips part on the panting gasp of air that writhes in his lungs.

Gil-Galad's mouth parts easily for Arafinwë, but he doesn't stay passive. He pulls Arafinwë closer and slides his hands up Arafinwë's sleek back until he can cradle Arafinwë's head in his hands. It makes Arafinwë tighten up and take what he's given, pulling a moan from his throat that sounds almost unwilling.

"Come," Gil-Galad murmurs against Arafinwë's damp skin, "Let him hear you. Let him see how much you want this," and Arafinwë's eyes shudder closed. "Let him know ," Gil-Galad says, and Arafinwë makes a sound so wanting, so dark, that Eönwë wishes everything and everyone far away so that he could put his own hand on his cock without fear of repercussion, of shame.

His eyes slip closed, and he cannot help but let out a breathy moan, swept away.

"Herald," Gil-Galad says, and Eönwë's eyes snap open again only to light on Gil-Galad on his knees, drawing Arafinwë's trousers down slowly, decadently, like the slide of dark blue cloth over Arafinwë's knees is somehow beautiful. The sight of Gil-Galad looking up at Arafinwë and Arafinwë looking down, and their lust akin to desperate worship passing between them, will reduce Eönwë to nothing.

His fingers ache from their grip on the chair, from not being in contact, from not touching . He feels every place that the laces of his clothes constrict his skin, reminding him that he's trapped -in his armor, in his role as herald of the Valar, in his own propriety. Gil-Galad's trousers have fallen low enough to reveal the curve of his arse, and Arafinwë is naked save for the shackles of his clothing, loose around his ankles. As Eönwë watches, Gil-Galad opens again for Arafinwë, only this time for his cock - his mouth is hungry, arrogant, and eloquent as it takes Arafinwë in.

Arafinwë's spine bows and noises like this are destroying him, and he welcomes it, just rounded beautiful syllables of nonsense. Eönwë thinks he can ride this out and look away (his wings flutter nervously) until Arafinwë's hand fists in Gil-Galad's dark hair and draws his head back so that they look at each other again. The way their eyes meet, and the thin dribble of saliva that connects them from Gil-Galad's mouth to where Arafinwë is hard - the ties that bind them are so strong.

"Eönwë," Arafinwë breathes as Gil-Galad draws him down to the floor so they can kneel together. "Eönwë, look at me." His voice is barely more than a breathless whisper.

Eönwë does as he's told and stares hard at the scene before him as Arafinwë pushes Gil-Galad back onto the skin rug. "This isn't something you have to hide from," Arafinwë rasps, and as he unfastens Gil-Galad's trousers, Gil-Galad reaches into his pocket and produces a bottle. His eyes are unfocused with every curl of Arafinwë's fingers on his body, but he doesn't need focus - Arafinwë has enough of that, sloppy and warm though it is.

Gil-Galad nude is pink-brown and lush-looking, darker than Arafinwë, flushing red on contact. Arafinwë eases one of his legs up into a tight bend, foot flat on the floor, and reaches between them with fingertips slicked with whatever Gil-Galad's bottle contained. 

"This isn't something you must hide from," Arafinwë repeats. "This is something you can have. Watch me, Eönwë," he bites his lip and presses his fingers home. Gil-Galad's body roils under his attention; his face turns to Eönwë, mouth a hungry wet space, his eyes deep, dark, and disbelieving.

"Please," Gil-Galad says, loud and crackling, and Eönwë doesn't know who he's pleading with. Arafinwë does - he kneels in the spread of Gil-Galad's thighs, pulls them together, and aligns himself carefully but quickly. " Please ."

"He's ready for me," Arafinwë says and starts to lean forwards and in. "He's done this before; he likes it -" Arafinwë's face flushes beautifully - Gil-Galad's is wrecked.

Eönwë will not; he  will not try to guess how that feels. He will not put himself in that sordid dream; he will not want this. There are claw marks on the wooden arms of his chair where he has scored deep in his determination. He will wash his clothes himself rather than let Arafinwë or the others see his weakness in sweat marks and the stains on the inside of his small clothes where his cock rubs, already damp and only getting wetter in dripping pulses.

"- but when you do this to me, I'll be tighter, you'll have to go slower, Eönwë, you'll have to be soft with me. I - I haven't, before -"

"Please," Gil-Galad says again, interrupts, and it's Eönwë he's begging now, "Eönwë, it has to be both of us." Arafinwë's beyond talking now, his body making slapping noises, groans, twisted breaths, but no words. Gil-Galad levers himself up, arching like a cat and trying to drag himself closer. "Eönwë, he needs  you -"

Eönwë is the weakest of the maiar at that moment, but he could never ignore a plea. His shirt he tears, his trousers and small clothes he drops as he stands, and the rug bunches under his knees as he grabs the bottle that had fallen to the side. Arafinwë is rutting now, sunk between Gil-Galad's legs and hardly moving except for the shuddering rolling of his hips.

The bottle is full of oil. Eönwë almost fumbles it, but Gil-Galad's hand comes up to catch it. "Steady," the younger high king says in a voice that is anything but. "You will know what to do." He pushes himself up, and Arafinwë slips out, hissing as he does so. Arafinwë drops to all fours pliantly, his head hung low between his shoulders, and Gil-Galad gentles him with a hand on his jaw and one in his hair, soft kisses to his eyelids and the corners of his mouth.

Eönwë wants to watch the intimacy between the elves longer, but more than that, he burns to give Arafinwë what he desires, and Arafinwë, with his back bowed and his legs spread, is telling him what that is. So Eönwë wets his fingers and begins.

At some point, one finger sliding becomes two pushing, three begging. Arafinwë's voice has returned, and his words have been lost again in the mire. Eönwë looks up to see Gil-Galad's hands tangled in Arafinwë's golden hair, drawing Arafinwë's mouth up and down his cock slowly.

Gil-Galad's eyes are butter-soft, fire-warmed when he says, "Now, Eönwë." Eönwë kneels up and finds his way home.

Arafinwë's body is a vice, is a vise - it corrupts him, holds him firm, and sinks into the sin of it, the surety and the surrender, gives himself to it. His own actions become a hazy mirage, something he cannot track because he has this glorious heat, and it has become all he can feel.

He and Gil-Galad have Arafinwë between them, the shortest distance there has ever been between them, connecting them like a line. Arafinwë and Eönwë fit like a weld fixing a break between halves rather than connecting two wholes. 

One by one: Gil-Galad, then Arafinwë, then Eönwë, they spend themselves, and Gil-Galad's release drips from Arafinwë's mouth like honey from the comb. Arafinwë spits himself on Eönwë and comes to completion with a sobbing cry and a twisting, desperate motion like he has to push himself yet further. Gil-Galad holds him up with stiff fingers and soft kisses until Eönwë loses himself in Arafinwë's body.

And he is lost. Perhaps he will never be able to return home unchanged after all that has trespassed, but he has the two high kings to guide him. Eönwë is the weakest of maiar. But Eönwë does not have to be alone any longer.

[darkstar225]

Twice's 10th member learns from the unnies how to use makeup

A/N: Heyyy, I'm trying to make up for the time I'm gone lol! Sry for taking so long to post :D I hope that the anon who gave me this idea on Tumblr likes it!

The request: Heeyy i want to request when Y/n joined Twice, she was still very young and didn't understand many things, especially makeup. so the members taught Y/n how to use makeup.

PS: Tysm for everyone who reads what I write, I hope I can bring a smile to your faces every time I post! I'd like to thank whoever sent me this idea 'cause I loved to write it <3

__________________________________________________________

The fluorescent lights in the dressing room flickered overhead as the door swung open, revealing the youthful silhouette of Y/N, the newest addition to TWICE. At just 16, she exuded an air of innocence that contrasted sharply with the glamorous world of K-pop. The members, in various stages of makeup application, turned to welcome her.

Nayeon - Baby, you made it! 

Nayeon, the oldest of the group, chirped with a warm smile. Jihyo and Jeongyeon flanked her, the trio often referred to as 3MIX, the motherly figures of the group.

YN - Hi, unnies! 

Greeted the younger girl with a nervous smile playing on her lips. She shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of the seasoned idols, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights of fame.

Jihyo stepped forward, her eyes filled with a gentle understanding. 

Jihyo - Don't worry, love. We were all nervous when we started. Come, have a seat. We'll help you with your makeup.

The other members looked up from their mirrors, their eyes curious and welcoming. Momo, Sana, Mina, Dahyun, Chaeyoung, and Tzuyu, each with their unique personalities, were quick to embrace Y/N as their newest member. It was a sisterhood, and they were determined to make her feel at home.

Nayeon gestured to the vacant chair in front of the mirror. 

Nayeon - Alright, first things first. Do you have any makeup on right now?

The maknae sheepishly shook her head, her cheeks tinted pink. 

Y/N - I didn't want to mess it up before coming here.

Nayeon - Smart move. But today, you'll learn the magic of makeup, the TWICE way! *chuckling*

The members gathered around Y/N, their makeup bags sprawled across the table like a colourful palette. Jihyo, being the leader and the most experienced, took charge.

Jihyo - Let's start with the basics. *pulls out a foundation and shows it to Y/N* 

Jihyo - This is like the canvas for your art. It evens out your skin tone.

As 3MIX began their tutorial, the others chimed in with tips and tricks. Momo, known for her striking eye makeup, demonstrated the perfect technique for eyeshadow application. Sana, the queen of aegyo, gave lessons on blushing techniques that enhanced one's charm. Mina, with her elegant style, shared the secret of a subtle yet captivating lip colour.

The youngest watched with wide eyes, absorbing every piece of information like a sponge. She had never been particularly interested in makeup before, but under the guidance of her new sisters, it became an art form she wanted to master.

Throughout the session, the atmosphere shifted from a lesson to a bonding experience. Tzuyu, the youngest before Y/N's arrival, took a special interest in teaching her the nuances of makeup with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Tzuyu - See, it's all about the angle! 

Tzuyu explained, holding the eyeliner with the precision of a surgeon. (not my case lol)

Tzuyu - A slight flick at the end, and voila! You've got killer eyes.

Y/N tried to mimic the motion, but her hand trembled slightly. Dahyun, as the group's energizer, playfully nudged her.

Dahyun - Don't worry, little sis. It takes practice, and we're here to help you every step of the way.

As the makeup session progressed, laughter and teasing filled the room. Y/N felt a warmth spreading through her, a sense of belonging she hadn't anticipated. The members weren't just teaching her makeup, they were weaving her into TWICE's sisterhood.

Jeongyeon took a step back to observe Y/N's progress. 

Jeongyeon - You're doing great, sweetie. Soon, you'll be a pro like the rest of us.

Y/N beamed with a newfound confidence radiating from her. The reflective surface of the mirror now showed not just a girl learning makeup but a young woman blossoming into the vibrant world of K-pop.

As the finishing touches were applied, Jihyo looked at the clock. 

Jihyo - Alright girls, time to get dressed and hit the stage. *kisses Y/N's forehead*

The room buzzed with energy as the members gathered their belongings and headed towards the wardrobe area. Y/N, now adorned with the signature TWICE makeup, felt a surge of excitement coursing through her veins.

The first performance as an official member of TWICE awaited her.

The backstage area was a whirlwind of activity as stylists adjusted costumes, managers checked schedules, and the members exchanged last-minute words of encouragement. The youngest stood amidst the chaos, taking it all in with wide eyes.

Nayeon approached her, a glint of pride in her eyes. 

Nayeon - You ready for this, lovebug?

Y/N nodded, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling within her. 

Y/N - I think so, unnie. 

Nayeon placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. 

Nayeon - You've got us, remember? We're a family. Now let's go out there and shine.

The familiar melody of their latest hit filled the air as the members gathered on stage. The crowd erupted in cheers, the sea of fans eagerly anticipating TWICE's performance. Y/N, sandwiched between Tzuyu and Dahyun, took a deep breath.

As the music started, the synchronized dance moves kicked in, and the members sang in perfect harmony. Y/N, initially nervous, found her rhythm and merged seamlessly into the performance. The stage lights bathed them in a kaleidoscope of colours, and the audience's cheers fueled their energy.

Midway through the performance, Y/N caught the eye of Jihyo, who winked and gave her a thumbs-up. The encouragement rippled through the group, and TWICE's sunshine felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

The performance reached its climax, and the members struck their final pose. The crowd erupted in applause, and Y/N couldn't help but smile, a sense of accomplishment washing over her.

As they exited the stage, the members exchanged high-fives and hugs. Jihyo pulled her newest child into a tight embrace.

Jihyo - You did amazing, our little star. Welcome to TWICE.

The other members joined in, creating a group hug that encapsulated the bond they had forged in the makeup room just hours ago.

From that day forward, Y/N wasn't just the newest member of TWICE. She was a cherished part of a sisterhood that went beyond the glitz and glamour of the stage. The lessons in makeup had been a gateway into a world where mentorship, laughter, and support were the true foundations of their unity.

And as they prepared for the next adventure, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the colourful journey that lay ahead, grateful for the sisters who had embraced her and the magic of makeup that had brought them all together.

And this made her have one thought:

I'll always love my dear unnies.

A/N: I'm sorry for any errors. English is not my first language. Pls, let me know if there is something wrong, ty for reading <3

[blueberrypancakesworld]

This fluffy One-shot comes again from This beautiful art from @timethehobo. I hope you and every reader likes it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mistletoe

warning : fluff , kissing

Curator x fem reader

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door in the darkness appeared before her and she reached for it unerringly. As soon as she opened it, she smelled the old scent of past centuries. She already knew the pictures hanging on the wall. She had been in the rooms too often. The carpet as old as ever showed her the way to the main room. The room where the man who made her heart beat faster was waiting.

The man who was so much more than just a storyteller. He had so many names and would visit everyone at a certain point. Some would call him Death. But she called him the Curator. Carefully knocking on the door and holding the small plant in her hand tighter. ,,Come in" came the muffled voice behind the wood before she pushed the handle down slightly and stepped into the room. The large office revealed itself to her, the fireplace was lit, the fire crackled slightly, the windows covered by curtains gave the whole a pleasant atmosphere and the candles that flickered sporadically offered a little comfort.

For him, however, they were nothing more than everything transient almost unimportant objects like dust that formed and could simply be wiped away. But even if this applied to everything, it did not apply to the human woman. He heard her increased heartbeat and briefly worry flared in his eyes as he looked up from his book and gave her a slight smile. Before he looked at her more closely. Her chest rose and fell slightly faster. Nervousness. Her eyes went from his eyes to his lips to his hands before they looked almost hurriedly to the fireplace. Admiration. And she held something in her hands but what ?

It was nothing alive it filled neither warmth nor a beat but what was it then? She took a few more steps into the room before she went to the fireplace to warm herself. ,,You know, it's Christmas again," she said and he heard the slight smirk. Putting his notes aside, he rose and walked over to her. ,,Again? Mhhh time goes by so fast " he said and in his eyes the fire of the fireplace was reflected. ,,Do you still have it?" she asked and turned to him.

A brief smile came to his lips as he reached into his pocket. The silver pen flashed in the light before he placed it on the mantel. ,,Of course, my dear, I've only used it since then," he admitted, pleased to see the smile grow on her lips. His gaze went to the fireplace, but just as he was about to go back to his desk to get some wine, he felt something warm. Astonished, he looked at his hand. The warm hand of his beloved had laid on his cold one. A strange feeling which he had not felt for hundreds of years. Warm human contact.

Otherwise everything was always so cold, but with her he seemed to feel even the warmth of the fireplace. ,,Do you know what we humans have mistletoe for?" she asked softly as if she was afraid of being heard. Of course he knew, but when he felt her heart beating faster and how nervous she was, he shook his head slightly. ,,No, I'm afraid not, my dear," he replied, gently stroking her hand.

Taking the mistletoe from behind her back and placing it over the two of them on the fireplace, she said nervously, ,,I'll-I'll show it to you". Patiently closing his eyes, he leaned forward slightly before feeling her warm lips on his cheek. A kiss.

A gesture of love as he knew a small bonding from human to human. A symbol of affection and love. And something like warmth flooded his body. ,,A truly lovely tradition?" he purred, his hands stroking hers. ,,There is more," she answered, and redness spread over her cheeks and ears. ,,I would love to meet them all" before he leaned forward slightly and gave her a kiss on the lips with his cold lips. Death kissed the only thing he would ever love. His lovely, beautiful gentle heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[jujitto]

. . . . . . . 보는 사람의 눈  ★  𝖾 𝗒 𝖾 𝗈 𝖿 𝗍 𝗁 𝖾 𝖻 𝖾 𝗁 𝗈 𝗅 𝖽 𝖾 𝗋

wc ! 𝟦.𝟧𝗄

content warning ! 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾!

synopsis ! 𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗐. 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀. 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗍, 𝖺 𝗀𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗍.

“Do you come here often?” A light smile played on your lips as you turned to face the mysterious stranger who had just uttered those words. The dimly lit gallery seemed to embrace an air of curiosity as they exchanged glances. “Is that how you introduce yourself to a lady?” Y/N's playful response caught the mysterious stranger off guard, but a grin spread across their face, revealing a hint of charm.

Bowing and taking Y/N's hand, the mysterious stranger placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles, a gesture reminiscent of another era. "Forgive me. But I couldn't help but see you captivated by this piece of art every time you visit this gallery.” Y/N raised an eyebrow as she looked at the art piece and back to the stranger, a smile settling upon her lips. “Do you always like to watch people?”

The mysterious stranger chuckled softly, their eyes still fixed on Y/N's face. "Only when they have a sparkle in their eyes like yours," they replied, their voice low and smooth. "It's hard not to be intrigued by someone so clearly passionate about art."

Y/N's cheeks warmed slightly, appreciating the compliment but not wanting to reveal too much. "Well, I do have a fondness for art," she admitted coyly. "But I must say, I'm more intrigued by the enigmatic stranger who seems to have taken an interest in observing my visits."

The stranger's grin deepened, their charm becoming even more pronounced. “So what draws you to this specific art piece?” The stranger asked as Y/N looked at the art piece like she always did. “Maybe I’m not interested in the art but rather its creator. Have you ever thought about that?“ The stranger’s eyes looked at the painting as a brief smile made its way upon their lips.

“Do you happen to know its creator?” Y/N yet again smiled eyeing the stranger from the corner of her eye. “Not quite but I’m hoping too.” The stranger playfully replied, "Ah, a mystery within a mystery. How intriguing." They leaned in closer, their voice barely above a whisper. "The creator would like to get to know you as well."

With a glint of playful determination in her eyes, Y/N leaned in closer to the stranger, matching their whispered tone. "And what makes you think that?” The gallery hummed with the hushed conversations of other patrons, the mysterious stranger's eyes locked onto Y/N's, holding her gaze intently. "Let's just say I know more than I let on," they replied mysteriously.

Y/N couldn't help but be intrigued by the stranger’s words. “Well, then, Mr. Mysterious, perhaps you should share some of your secrets with me," she teased a a hint of mischief in her voice. The stranger couldn't help but let out a soft laugh as they leaned closer, their breath mingling with Y/N's. "Ah, secrets are meant to be revealed in due time," they said, their tone seductive and alluring. "But I promise, there's much more to me than meets the eye."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she felt the tantalizing proximity of the stranger. "Well, I do enjoy a good mystery," she replied, a playful glint in her eyes. "Perhaps I'll indulge in uncovering yours." Y/N's heart was pounding in her chest.

The stranger's eyes flickered to Y/N's lips for a fleeting moment, their gaze smoldering before they stepped back, their smile never fading. "You know," they murmured, "I don't think I've introduced myself."

Y/N tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips. "And are you planning to rectify that oversight, Mr. Mysterious?" she inquired with a raised eyebrow, clearly enjoying the teasing banter between them.

The stranger's grin widened, their eyes holding a mix of amusement and intrigue. "Call me Seonghwa," they finally revealed, their voice velvety smooth. "Park Seonghwa"

Y/N's eyes twinkled as she extended her hand toward Seonghwa. “Ah, the creator himself.” As Seonghwa shook Y/N's hand, a playful glint remained in his eyes. "You caught me," he admitted with a chuckle. "But I must confess, I was drawn to your enchanting presence long before I learned of your admiration for my work." Y/N couldn't help but tilt her head to the side as she looked at him, a smirk on her face. “And why is that?” she inquired playfully.

Seonghwa's lips curled into a slight smirk. "There's just something about the way you look at the artworks, as if they speak to you. It intrigues me."

Y/N couldn't help but warm slightly at Seonghwa's words. "I find it relaxing," she confessed as Seonghwa tilted his head curiously. "I often come to the gallery to escape from the outside world, if only for a little while. I just need to feel connected to something. It's how I find solace. It helps me relax and I can't help but be drawn to the paintings, especially those that have been exhibited in this gallery." Seonghwa's eyes twinkled as he leaned in closer to Y/N. "It's why I chose to showcase this exhibit here," he murmured. "I hope you won't be disappointed."

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of Seonghwa's impossibly handsome face. "I doubt I will be," she replied, unable to hide the amusement in her voice. "As long as you have no other surprises in store for me," she added playfully."I promise I'm not that devious..." Seonghwa prompted.

"Y/N," Y/N replied as she realized she never shared her name. "Y/N Y/L/N." Seonghwa chuckled softly. "Ah, and here I was thinking I had missed out on some divine secret name," he mused, "but I've found it instead."

Y/N felt her heart flutter at Seonghwa's words, his compliments coming more easily now. "And why would you think you missed out on a divine name?" she inquired, feeling her cheeks warm again.

"Because, Y/N," Seonghwa whispered as he leaned closer to her, "Your name is beautiful enough to be worthy of a divine spirit." Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat, the intimate words spoken by the mysterious stranger hitting a chord within her heart.

"I guess I'll have to thank my parents for giving me an divine name then," Y/N murmured, unable to hide the giddiness in her voice.

"Mmm," Seonghwa hummed in agreement, his eyes flickering over her face before locking on hers once again. "You are very welcome, Y/N," he purred, the sound making her heart skip another beat.

As Y/N and Seonghwa gazed into each other's eyes, they heard the sound of footsteps approaching. "Ah, I'm sorry to interrupt, sir," an attendant spoke, a hint of nervousness in their tone. "But you have a guest who is demanding to see you."

Seonghwa let out a sigh. "Of course I do," he replied in a slightly exasperated tone. "I'm sorry to cut our conversation short, Y/N, but I'm afraid I need to deal with this... interruption. Will you still be in the gallery when the exhibit ends?"

Y/N's eyes lit up as she nodded, her smile wide. "I'll be waiting for you," she said, her voice laced with promise. A smirk played on Seonghwa's lips as he nodded. "Excellent," he replied. "Then I shall see you at the end of the exhibit, Y/N."

Y/N watched Seonghwa make his way over to the reception area, and a sense of elation took over her. It was clear that there was something more to Seonghwa than she could have anticipated, and she was definitely intrigued.

The exhibit lasted well into the night, and as it came to a close, Y/N was the last person in the gallery. She stood in front of Seonghwa's most recent installation, an abstract work entitled "Unspoken Dreams."

Y/N's heart raced in her chest as she heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching. She turned her head and saw Seonghwa coming toward her.

As Seonghwa approached her, Y/N couldn't help but smile. "You found me."

Seonghwa chuckled as he took in the sight of Y/N. "I promised I would, didn't I?" he replied. "So, was it worth waiting?"

"It was," Y/N replied, her eyes shining with excitement. "You know, when you first mentioned your exhibit, I had my reservations, but your work is truly impressive. You've really captured the essence of what I feel when I look at art," Y/N admitted with a chuckle. "You must have spent a lot of time on this exhibit, but I can see it paid off."

Seonghwa nodded, his smile soft and content. "Thank you, Y/N," he said in a hushed tone. "I appreciate your feedback. But I can see you have questions."

"Oh, you have no idea," Y/N replied playfully, her eyes glimmering with curiosity. "I'd love to hear your thoughts on each piece."

Seonghwa let out a soft laugh, his eyes filled with warmth. "I'll answer any question you have, but first, I think you deserve something for waiting for me."

Y/N felt warmth creep onto her cheeks, the sincerity in Seonghwa's voice sending a tingling sensation through her. "Are you offering to buy me a drink?"

"Only if that's what you want," Seonghwa replied. "Though I don't know how well I could compete with your mysterious stranger who left you here waiting all night." A grin settled on Y/N's lips as she tilted her head, her eyes filled with amusement. "Well, he did mention he'd be back, but it appears he's late."Seonghwa arched a curious eyebrow. "He did?" he inquired.

"He did," Y/N replied with a soft giggle. "And I'm curious to see what he has to offer." Seonghwa smirked at Y/N's playful tone. "Well, Y/N," he murmured, "it seems we have some time to kill." Y/N's eyes met Seonghwa's, the intimacy of his words taking hold of her heart.

"Perhaps you could tell me more about yourself," Y/N suggested, hoping that Seonghwa would accept her invitation. "I'd like to get to know you better." Seonghwa's grin widened. "Of course," he said, "I'd love to tell you about myself, but I must warn you. You might not like what you hear."

Y/N shook her head, her eyes filled with intrigue. "I don't know," she replied coyly, "I think I'm interested to hear all about you." Seonghwa chuckled as he held out his arm for Y/N. "Then perhaps we should begin with a drink," he suggested. "Would that be alright with you?"

Y/N tilted her head playfully, her fingers lightly brushing against Seonghwa's arm as she linked hers with his. "A drink sounds like the perfect way to start unraveling the mysteries, don't you think?"

They left the gallery together, the night air crisp and refreshing after spending hours surrounded by art. As they walked down the dimly lit streets, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and suspense. Seonghwa led her to a cozy little cafe tucked away in a corner, away from the bustling city noise.

As they entered the cafe, the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped them. Seonghwa led Y/N to a corner booth where they settled in comfortably, their hands brushing against each other as they adjusted themselves.

A smile played on Y/N's lips as she glanced around the cozy space. "This place is charming," she commented, her eyes meeting Seonghwa's. "So, Mr. Mysterious, what's your drink of choice?"

Seonghwa chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving Y/N's face. "I believe a cup of americano, would do just fine," he replied, his voice smooth and inviting. "And you?"

Y/N tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I think I'll go for a tea," she said, her tone playful. "I've always found it to be a delightful blend of boldness and sweetness."

Seonghwa's smile deepened as he signaled to the waiter, placing their orders. As they waited for their drinks to arrive, the air around them seemed to crackle with anticipation. Y/N leaned back against the plush booth, her fingers tapping the table absentmindedly.

"I have to admit," Y/N began, breaking the silence, "your introduction in the gallery was quite unconventional. Not many people have the courage to approach a stranger like that."

Seonghwa's lips curved into a thoughtful smile. "I suppose I was drawn to your presence," he confessed, his gaze never wavering from Y/N's. "There was an energy about you that captivated me, and I couldn't resist the urge to engage."

Y/N's cheeks warmed at Seonghwa's words, her heart fluttering at his honesty. "Well, I'm certainly glad you did," she replied, her voice soft. "It's not every day that one meets an enigmatic artist who also happens to be a charismatic conversationalist."

Seonghwa chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. "I'll take that as a compliment, Y/N," he said, his tone teasing. "But I have to admit, there's more to me than meets the eye."

Y/N leaned in, her gaze steady. "I'm listening," she murmured, her curiosity piqued. Before Seonghwa could respond, their drinks arrived, and the waiter set them down on the table. The fragrant aroma of coffee and tea filled the air, adding to the cozy atmosphere of the cafe. Y/N took a sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving Seonghwa's.

Y/N found herself studying Seonghwa's features more closely. His dark hair, his expressive eyes, and the way he carried himself with a mix of confidence and charm all seemed to fuel her curiosity further.

As Seonghwa took a sip of his americano, his eyes locked onto Y/N's gaze, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You have a way of making someone feel truly seen," he remarked, his voice sincere. "It's as if you have a knack for unraveling layers, much like an artist does with their work."

Y/N chuckled softly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. "Perhaps I have a talent for appreciating the hidden depths in people," she mused. "After all, isn't that what art is all about? Finding meaning and beauty beneath the surface."

Seonghwa nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "You have a way with words, Y/N," he said, his tone genuine. "It's no wonder you're drawn to art. Your perspective adds a unique richness to the experience."

Y/N's cheeks tinged with a faint blush, her heart fluttering at Seonghwa's compliments. "You know how to charm a lady, Seonghwa," she replied, her voice tinged with playful amusement.

Seonghwa leaned back, his eyes never leaving Y/N's face. "It's easy to be genuine when you're in the presence of someone who sparks genuine interest," he admitted, his words carrying a hint of vulnerability. "But let's not focus on me for now. I want to know more about you." Y/N chuckled softly, “But didn't we come here to uncover the mysteries of your life, Mr. Mysterious?" She teased, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Seonghwa's grin was infectious, his playful demeanor matching hers. "Touché, Y/N," he replied with a chuckle. "But I believe a good conversation goes both ways. Besides, I'm more than willing to share if you're willing to listen."

Y/N leaned in, her gaze fixed on Seonghwa's. "Alright then," she said, her voice gentle. "Ask me anything you'd like to know."

Seonghwa's eyes sparkled with intrigue. "Very well," he began, his tone thoughtful. "What led you to discover your love for art? What led you to discover the gallery and the solace it brings you?"

Y/N's expression softened as she recalled the journey that had led her to the world of art. "It's funny, really," she began, a nostalgic smile tugging at her lips. "I used to visit this small, tucked-away gallery with my grandmother when I was a child. She was an artist herself and those visits were like magical adventures for me."

Seonghwa leaned in, captivated by Y/N's story. "Go on," he urged, his eyes locked onto hers, his genuine curiosity shining through.

Y/N's voice took on a dreamy quality as she continued, "My grandmother used to tell me stories about the paintings, bringing them to life with her words. It was like stepping into different worlds, each brushstroke holding a piece of someone's heart and soul. I think that's when I truly fell in love with art, it's one of the reasons why I travel. To see the world for what it truly is, a piece of art. She's one of the reasons why I have come to Korea in the first place. I know her wish was for me to be happy. And that's what I am by continuing to explore and appreciate the beauty around me."

Y/N couldn't help but smile at the memories as she took a sip of her tea glancing at Seonghwa and noticing a distant look in his eyes. Reaching her hand across the table, she gently touched his hand, bringing him back to the present moment. "I'm sorry, did I bore you with my story?" she asked with a teasing grin.

Seonghwa's gaze shifted from his thoughts to Y/N, a warm smile returning to his lips. "Not at all," he replied softly, his fingers intertwining with hers. Seonghwa's fingers tightened around Y/N's hand, his eyes locking onto hers with a newfound intensity. "Far from boring.” The warmth of Seonghwa's touch sent a shiver down Y/N's spine, his gaze holding her captive as she finally realized they were still holding hands. “Enough about me for now," Y/N said with a playful glint in her eyes, "it's only fair that you share a bit about yourself, Mr. Mysterious. After all, you've been the enigmatic focus of our conversation."

Seonghwa chuckled softly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of Y/N's hand. "Very well," he began, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "I hadn't actually gotten into art that many years ago. Art had never truly been a part of my life until the day I stumbled upon an old, abandoned warehouse in the heart of the city."

Y/N leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "An old warehouse?" she repeated, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "That doesn't sound like the usual place to discover a passion for art."

Seonghwa's gaze grew distant for a moment as he recalled the memory. "It was a rather unexpected turn of events," he admitted. "I was wandering through the city, lost in thought, when I happened to spot a flicker of color in the corner of my eye. Curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to investigate."

Y/N's eyes twinkled with intrigue. "And what did you find?" she asked, her voice soft. Seonghwa's lips curled into a wistful smile. "I found a hidden gem," he replied. "The warehouse was filled with forgotten artworks, pieces that had been discarded and left to gather dust. There was a melancholic beauty to the place, as if the art itself held stories waiting to be told."

Y/N's expression softened as she listened to Seonghwa's story. "It sounds like you discovered a treasure trove of hidden emotions," she remarked. "What did you do with those artworks?"

Seonghwa's fingers traced the rim of his coffee cup as he continued. "I started restoring them," he said. "It became a labor of love, a way for me to breathe life back into those forgotten pieces. And as I worked on each painting, I found myself drawn into the world of art. It was as if I had uncovered a long-lost part of myself."

Y/N's eyes held a mixture of admiration and understanding. "It's amazing how art can connect us to our own emotions and experiences," she said, her voice gentle. "It's like each stroke of a brush can reveal a piece of our soul."

Seonghwa nodded in agreement, his gaze steady on Y/N's face. "Exactly," he murmured. "Art has a way of transcending time and space, allowing us to communicate our innermost thoughts and feelings without words."

Y/N's fingers intertwined with Seonghwa's again, their connection growing stronger with each shared moment. "And what about your decision to exhibit your work?" she asked. "What inspired you to showcase your art to the world?"

As Seonghwa took another sip of his americano, his gaze remained fixed on Y/N's. "After spending countless hours restoring those forgotten artworks, I realized that each piece held a story that deserved to be heard," he began. "There was so much emotion and history woven into those paintings, and I felt a responsibility to give them a voice once again."

Y/N's eyes gleamed with intrigue as she leaned in, captivated by Seonghwa's words. "So, you decided to share those stories through your own creations?" she inquired, her voice soft.

Seonghwa nodded, his expression determined. "Exactly," he replied. "I began creating my own art, drawing inspiration from those restored pieces and infusing my own emotions into each brushstroke. It was a way for me to honor the past while also expressing myself in the present."

Seonghwa's gaze held a mix of vulnerability and pride as he spoke. "I wanted my art to be a bridge between the past and the present, a way for people to connect with the emotions and stories that had been buried within those forgotten paintings."

Y/N's heart swelled with admiration as she listened to Seonghwa's journey. "It's a beautiful way to pay homage to the art that came before, while also creating something uniquely your own," she said, her voice filled with appreciation.

Seonghwa's smile was genuine and heartfelt. "Thank you, Y/N," he replied. "I've poured my heart and soul into each piece, hoping that they resonate with others in some way."

Y/N's fingers squeezed Seonghwa's hand gently. "I have no doubt that your art will touch the hearts of many," she said, her eyes locked onto his. "Your passion and dedication shine through in every brushstroke."

Seonghwa's cheeks tinged with a faint blush, the sincerity of Y/N's words clearly affecting him. "I'm honored to hear you say that," he admitted, his voice soft.

Their conversation flowed seamlessly as they continued to share stories and experiences, each revelation deepening the connection between them. The cafe seemed to fade into the background as they delved into their shared love for art, their dreams, and the moments that had shaped their lives.

"Y/N," Seonghwa said softly, his voice drawing her attention. "There's something I want to share with you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, beautifully crafted key.

Y/N's eyes widened with curiosity as she looked at the key. "What's this?" she asked, her gaze flickering between Seonghwa and the key.

Seonghwa's smile was warm and genuine. "It's a key to the warehouse where it all began," he explained. "I want to show you the place that ignited my passion for art, the place where hidden treasures and forgotten emotions came to life."

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat at Seonghwa's offer. "You want to share that part of your world with me?" she asked, her voice soft. Seonghwa nodded, his eyes holding a mixture of hope and vulnerability. "Yes," he replied. "Only if you want to, of course?"

Y/N's gaze locked onto Seonghwa's, her heart pounding in her chest. "I'd be honored," she said, her voice filled with sincerity. "To explore the birthplace of your passion and the stories it holds would be a privilege."

Seonghwa's smile was radiant as he placed the key in Y/N's hand. "Then it's a date," he said, his voice laced with excitement. Y/N's fingers closed around the key, their warmth spreading through her as she met Seonghwa's gaze. "A date it is," she replied, her heart brimming with anticipation.

As the night grew late and the cafe began to empty, Seonghwa and Y/N found themselves lost in their own little world. Their connection had deepened through shared stories, laughter, and moments of vulnerability. The bond between them felt natural and genuine, as if they had known each other for far longer than just a single evening.

With a reluctant smile, Seonghwa glanced at his watch, realizing that time had slipped away unnoticed. "It's getting late," he remarked, his tone regretful. "I'm afraid our evening of conversation will have to come to an end."

Y/N's expression mirrored Seonghwa's sentiment, though her eyes still sparkled with the magic of the night. "Yes, I suppose the cafe staff would like to close up," she replied with a playful grin. "But I've enjoyed every moment of our conversation."

Seonghwa's fingers brushed against Y/N's as he reached for his wallet. "Allow me," he offered, a warm smile on his lips.

Y/N chuckled softly, her heart warmed by Seonghwa's kindness. "Thank you, Seonghwa," she said, her voice sincere. "It's been a truly memorable evening."

As Seonghwa settled the bill, the two of them rose from their seats and made their way outside. The night air was cool and refreshing, a stark contrast to the warmth they had felt inside the cafe. Seonghwa's hand found its way to the small of Y/N's back, guiding her gently as they walked down the dimly lit streets.

As they strolled side by side, their conversation continued effortlessly. Eventually, they found themselves standing in front of the gallery once again, the dim lights illuminating the artworks from within as they stood near her car. Y/N glanced at Seonghwa, her gaze soft and appreciative. "Thank you for tonight," she said, her voice tinged with gratitude. "For sharing your art, your stories, and a piece of your world with me."

Seonghwa's smile was warm and genuine as he met Y/N's gaze. "The pleasure was mine," he replied, his tone sincere. "I'm grateful to have met someone who not only appreciates art but also understands the emotions and stories it carries."

Y/N's fingers intertwined with Seonghwa's, their connection stronger than ever. "I'm looking forward to exploring the warehouse with you," she said, her voice filled with anticipation. "To continue unraveling the mysteries of your world."

Seonghwa's eyes held a mix of excitement and affection as he leaned in, his lips brushing against Y/N's cheek in a gentle kiss. "Until then," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin.

Y/N's heart raced at the intimate gesture, her cheeks warming as she met Seonghwa's gaze. "Until then," she echoed softly, her fingers tightening around his hand.

With a final lingering smile, Seonghwa reluctantly let go of Y/N's hand. "Take care, Y/N," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "I'll be in touch about our little adventure."

Y/N watched as Seonghwa turned to leave, her heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. As she turned away from the gallery, she couldn't help but think that sometimes, the most extraordinary stories begin with the simplest of introductions.

[mrsscarletmalfoy]

The Dark Arts Teacher - Tom Riddle x reader

Chapter One

The corridor was dimly lit, casting eerie shadows across the cold stone walls. Symbols and runes etched into the surface, giving off an air of mystery and danger. Y/n L/n made her way slowly down the narrow passage, her heart racing in anticipation. She couldn't believe it - after years of trying to find information about the Dark Arts, finally, someone had taken notice. And not just anyone either, but Tom Riddle - the most mysterious and confident student at Hogwarts.

Rumors swirled around him like smoke; some claimed he was involved in dark magic, others insisted he was merely playing a part. But one thing was certain, he was different from everyone else.

As Y/n turned the corner, there he stood, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flickered over her before landing on the small leather-bound book tucked under her arm. "Interested in the Dark Arts?" he asked casually, raising an eyebrow.

Y/n felt her cheeks heat up at his sudden appearance out of nowhere. "Um, yeah..." she stammered, feeling embarrassed yet strangely excited by his attention. "I recently purchased this book on the subject," she continued, holding up the small volume for him to see.

Tom smiled widely, revealing straight white teeth that seemed to glow in the dim light. "Excellent choice," he said approvingly.

"It's rare to come across someone with such keen interests these days." Y/n felt her heart skip a beat at his words. Was he flirting with her? She couldn't be sure, but she found herself growing more intrigued by the moment. "Perhaps you would like to join me in studying it sometime?" he offered casually, his voice dropping low enough to send shivers down her spine.

Without thinking, Y/n nodded eagerly.

It wasn't every day that someone as enigmatic as Tom Riddle showed any sort of interest in her. She followed him through the corridor, her heart pounding in her chest. What could he possibly teach her about the Dark Arts?

They arrived at a small hidden alcove tucked away behind a heavy curtain. Torches flickered on the walls, casting an orange glow over everything. Tom gestured towards two wooden chairs placed facing each other. "Please, take a seat," he said politely, taking his own chair opposite hers.

She watched as he carefully opened the small book and began leafing through the pages, his finger running over the delicate script. "This is quite a rare volume indeed," he remarked, turning it so she could see the elaborate cover embossed with gold lettering. "Not many people know about these sorts of books anymore."

Y/n felt a thrill go through her at his words. There was something undeniably sexy about the way he spoke - almost as if he were confiding a deep secret. She sat forward, eager to hear more.

Tom explained how the book contained ancient spells and incantations that were no longer taught at Hogwarts. It was said that only a select few wizards knew of their existence - powerful sorcerers who guarded their secrets jealously. Y/n listened intently, her eyes wide with wonder. Could she really learn such things? Would she become one of them?

Tom paused for a moment, looking deeply into her eyes. "Are you ready for this?" he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

Y/n couldn't help but shiver at his nearness - she could feel the warmth radiating off him despite the chilly air surrounding them. "This knowledge is dangerous, child," he warned heavily. "Once you begin down this path, there's no going back."

Despite her nervousness, Y/n found herself utterly captivated by Tom's words. They seemed to carry an unspoken power that resonated deep within her soul. She nodded earnestly, determined to follow wherever he led.

Tom closed his eyes, focusing intensely on the task ahead. When he opened them again, they seemed to glow brightly in the candlelight. "Begin with this spell," he said softly, pointing to a page near the front of the book.

Y/n repeated the words aloud, watching as tiny sparks of light danced between her fingers. Her heart raced with excitement as she felt the magic coursing through her veins. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before - powerful and intoxicating all at once.

Tom closed his eyes, focusing intensely on the task ahead. When he opened them again, they seemed to glow brightly in the candlelight. "Begin with this spell," he said softly, pointing to a page near the front of the book. Y/n repeated the words aloud, watching as tiny sparks of light danced between her fingers. Her heart raced with excitement as she felt the magic coursing through her veins. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before - powerful and intoxicating all at once.

As the room filled with the heady scent of burning sage, Y/n couldn't help but glance furtively at Tom, her curiosity mixed with a newfound sense of adventure. The intensity of their connection sent electric charges through her body, leaving her weak in the knees. Despite her initial fears, she sensed a strange comfort in knowing that she was not alone on this journey into the unknown.

The sound of crackling fire echoed through the chamber, bathing their faces in warm amber light.

As Tom guided Y/n through various steps of the spell, he held her hand, his skin sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. Each passing second brought them closer together, their chemistry tangible even in the midst of magical study.

Y/n found herself lost in Tom's intense gaze, unable to look away from those mesmerizing emerald pools. Every touch from his hands upon hers sent her heart racing wildly. This must be what love feels like, she thought, a shiver running down her spine.

The intensity of their connection seemed to defy logic – it felt like the very air in the room was electrified. The passion in his eyes spoke volumes about his genuine desire to guide her further into the realms of darkness. Although unsure of where this journey would lead them, Y/n couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope blossoming within her – a hope fueled by curiosity and the thrilling prospect of exploring the unknown.

In silence, the pair continued practicing the arcane craft until late into the night.

Though Y/n struggled to keep pace with Tom's advanced understanding of the spells, his patient tutelage helped her progress quickly. As the hours passed, the room grew steadily colder, but neither of them paid much attention to the discomfort. Instead, they focused entirely on the forbidden secrets they were discovering together.

Lost in the depths of their study, Y/n became entranced by the beauty of the magical symbols etched onto the old parchment. The elegant calligraphy evoked a sense of history and wonder that captured her imagination.

When the sun starting peaking through the windows, Y/n streatched. Tom looked at her with hunger in his gaze. "Let's be done so we can both get some sleep before classes. Let's come back to it tomorrow?" Tom asked. 

Y/n nodded sleepily. "Sure. See you later, then," She said as she started to exit the door. 

Tom grabbed her wrist, causing an electric current to run through her. She looked at him through lidded eyes. "Yes?" She inquired.

"Don't forget your book," He spoke, handing it to her. 

"Oh, thank you!" Y/n exclaimed, grabbing the book and finally walking back to her dorm. She felt that she would not be able to sleep after that encounter.