#while still maintaining boundaries

[skinreflectsthesun]

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[phagodyke]

was just saying to my friend that since my period is due next weekend I probably won't be able to hang out bc it'll be difficult to walk from my room to the bathroom let alone like. to the station anyway just suddenly became aware that the continuous cramps I get in this stage of my cycle have been slowly increasing in intensity the last few hours so we may be on course for a week earlier start than usual. locking down all defenses rn......🚨🚨🚨🚨

[sapphic-squid]

The new off book episode shook me to my core, I really needed it

[dior-luxury]

Love your stories♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️ Could I request the female reader falling asleep on their boyfriends lap with the dorm leaders and vice dorm leaders + Floyd? Thank you.

In the Comfort of You

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] dorm leaders . vice dorm leaders + floyd

- [𝐩:𝐬] none

Note: Aww, this prompt is actually so cute are you kidding! I came back from my dance comp early so I celebrated by writing again! (*¯︶¯*)

Riddle Rosehearts

It was a quiet afternoon in Heartslabyul, the garden unusually still after a morning of chaos. The usual string of rules, order, and unexpected mushroom inspections had tired out even the strictest members. The sun filtered through the rose bushes, scattering golden flecks across the picnic blanket laid out under the gazebo. The breeze rustled the leaves above, and the faint smell of strawberry tarts lingered in the air.

Riddle sat upright, posture perfect, a book open in his lap. He was mid-sentence when he felt a shift beside him.

You, his girlfriend, had been curled up at his side for a while, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. But now, slowly, without a word, you repositioned yourself and laid your head fully in his lap.

He stiffened.

Rules. There were rules about propriety. About maintaining posture. About not being flustered in public—even if it was just you two in the garden. His brain fired through a checklist of what he should do. He should tell you to sit up. He should maintain boundaries.

But then he looked down.

Your face was peaceful, softened by sleep. A slight smile played on your lips, your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. One hand loosely held the hem of his jacket, as if even in sleep, you wanted to be close to him. You trusted him enough to rest like this. On him.

His heart stuttered.

Slowly, he placed the book aside and stared down at you, watching the way your lashes fluttered when the breeze tickled your cheeks. His hand hovered in the air for a long time—unsure—before he finally brushed your hair away from your forehead, his fingers trembling slightly.

He had always been taught discipline, order, and responsibility. But with you? He felt human. Vulnerable. Safe.

His fingers lingered in your hair, stroking it gently.

“…I suppose... one nap isn’t against the rules,” he murmured to himself.

He leaned back slightly, his other hand resting lightly across your back to make sure you didn’t roll off his lap. He felt warmth in his chest, unfamiliar and wonderful, like a sun blooming behind clouds. For once, Riddle Rosehearts didn't care about rules or appearances. Not when you looked so peaceful. Not when your presence filled his every thought.

And when you murmured his name softly in your sleep, like a prayer wrapped in trust?

He knew he'd never let anyone disturb this moment.

Not even the Queen of Hearts herself.

Trey Clover

The sun was setting over the Heartslabyul courtyard, painting the sky in sherbet hues. After a long day of baking sweets for the next unbirthday party, the scent of sugar and vanilla still clung to the air.

Trey had insisted on taking a break—dragging you out into the garden with a blanket and leftover tarts. You’d tried to protest, insisting you had homework, but he just smiled with that warm, steady patience of his and said, “You’ve earned a rest.”

You sat beside him, legs stretched out, chewing lazily on a berry tart as he leaned against a tree trunk. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and his glasses had slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose as he read aloud from a half-open cookbook. You didn’t understand why he found recipe books so relaxing, but his voice was calm, familiar, grounding.

Eventually, the warmth of the setting sun and the soft cadence of his words started to lull you into a haze. Without thinking, you scooted closer and laid your head in his lap.

Trey’s voice trailed off.

He looked down at you, blinking once, then again. The way you curled into him, unguarded, so effortlessly vulnerable—it made his chest ache in the sweetest way. He smiled, one hand coming up to adjust his glasses, the other instinctively brushing along your arm.

“You okay down there?” he asked softly.

No response.

Your breathing was slow and even, lips slightly parted as you drifted deeper into sleep. Your hand rested on his thigh, fingers barely curled like you were holding onto the moment.

He chuckled under his breath. “Guess that’s a yes.”

With infinite gentleness, Trey shifted the tart plate out of the way and used his free hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. He watched the way the sunlight danced on your skin, how your eyelashes cast little shadows across your cheeks.

He didn’t move for a long while. Didn’t read. Didn’t speak. He just sat there, a steady presence while you slept on his lap. His thumb brushed lazy, affectionate circles on your shoulder.

“I hope you know,” he said eventually, voice soft and low like a whisper in a dream, “I could sit like this forever.”

His heart beat slow and full. This wasn’t the chaos of the kitchen, or the madness of Heartslabyul. This was something simpler. Sweeter. Like a quiet lull after the storm.

He leaned down slightly, pressing a feather-light kiss to your temple.

“Sweet dreams, sugar.”

Leona Kingscholar

It was one of those scorching afternoons in the Savannaclaw lounge. The heat had chased most students into the shadows, and the usual clamor had died down to a low hum. Leona had claimed his favorite sun-drenched couch—stretched out with one arm behind his head, the other lazily flipping through a textbook he had no real intention of reading.

You were sitting next to him, legs curled under you, chatting idly for a bit before trailing off. He barely registered the silence at first—figured you were just zoning out. But then something shifted.

You moved closer.

His ears twitched.

Without a word, you leaned over and placed your head directly on his lap. Just—boop. Laid down. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Leona froze.

He looked down slowly, like he couldn’t believe what just happened. There you were, his girl, sleeping soundly across his lap. Lips parted slightly, cheek pressed against his thigh, hands tucked under your chin. Peaceful. Completely knocked out.

For a moment, Leona just stared.

And then—

“…Tch.” He clicked his tongue, but it lacked any real bite. “You’ve got some nerve.”

His hand hovered over you for a beat. He wanted to push you off, maybe grumble something about how he was supposed to be the lazy one, not you. But instead…

His fingers dipped into your hair.

It was light. Barely a touch. Just a lazy comb through your strands, again and again.

“Brat,” he murmured, but his voice was soft, like the desert wind at night. “You really just gonna sleep here without asking? On my lap?”

And yet he didn’t move.

Didn’t complain.

Didn’t breathe too loudly for fear of waking you.

His tail swished lazily across the floor, betraying the contentment he pretended he didn’t feel. The warmth of your body against him made his eyelids droop, but he stayed awake, keeping a silent vigil.

He wouldn’t admit it, not in a thousand years—but having you there, choosing him as your safe place to rest?

That meant more than all the crowns in the world.

He smirked, resting his head back.

“…Guess I’ll let you off this time.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie wasn’t used to having time off. Between errands for Leona, club stuff, side hustles, and dodging various school responsibilities, “relaxation” wasn’t exactly on his schedule. But today? For some miraculous reason? He had an open hour. So he dragged you out behind the Savannaclaw dorm where the sun was warm, the grass was soft, and there were no chores to do.

He was halfway through telling you about some weird thing he saw in the cafeteria (“Swear on my granny’s life, the mashed potatoes moved!”) when he realized you weren’t laughing anymore.

He turned his head to look—and there you were.

Head in his lap. Curled up like a cat in a sunbeam. Eyes closed. Asleep.

Ruggie blinked.

Once. Twice.

“…Huh?”

He looked around like this was some kind of prank. “Oi. Y/N?”

No response.

A soft snore.

Ruggie stared down at you, your face squished slightly against his thigh, your fingers loosely gripping his hoodie. He didn’t know what to do with his hands at first. He held them up in the air like you were fragile and he might break you by accident.

He whispered, “…You serious right now?”

His face was bright red. Full-on red as a beet. But his heart? Beating like crazy. Fast and full and warm in a way that made his chest ache.

He glanced down again.

And slowly, hesitantly, the corner of his mouth tugged into a grin.

“Heh… cute.”

Very carefully, he pulled his hoodie sleeve down and tucked it under your head like a makeshift pillow. Then he leaned back on his hands and looked up at the sky, his tail flicking lazily behind him.

“You better not start drooling on me,” he muttered—but there was no venom in it. Just affection.

He sat there quietly, keeping still even when his legs started to fall asleep. When you shifted a little and sighed in your sleep, he actually stopped breathing for a second.

Because no one ever really… relaxed around him like that. Not like this. Not since he was a kid in the slums of the Sunset Savanna. This—being someone’s safe place—was something new. Something precious.

And he’d fight anyone who tried to ruin it.

Even if he’d totally deny that later.

Azul Ashengrotto

The Lounge had closed for the night. The clink of glassware had faded, the last customer long gone, and the velvet curtains drawn tight. Everything was bathed in that dim oceanic glow Octavinelle was known for—deep blues and the shimmer of water against stone.

Azul had finally finished sorting through contracts, sighing in satisfaction as he slid the last document into its folder. You were already sitting on the plush couch in the VIP room, legs tucked to the side, watching him with a soft smile on your lips.

“Hard at work, as always,” you teased lightly.

Azul chuckled, brushing his bangs back. “You know how it is. A businessman’s time is never his own.”

“You’ve got time for me now though, right?”

He hesitated only for a moment. “Always.”

You patted the space next to you. He sat, slightly stiff as always—ever the perfect posture. But he relaxed once you leaned against his shoulder. You chatted for a bit, your voice slowly trailing off as the atmosphere quieted. Your head slipped downward, resting lightly against his arm at first… then lower… until suddenly, Azul felt a shift.

He looked down to find your head in his lap.

Asleep.

Breathing gently.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Azul froze. Completely. His hands hovered mid-air, his back went ramrod straight, and panic flickered in his mind like a school of darting fish.

What do I do? Is this allowed? Is she okay? What if she drools? What if Jade sees—oh seven seas—

He dared to look down at your face. Your eyelashes fluttered faintly. Your lips were parted slightly, your expression peaceful. Unburdened. Completely unafraid.

The kind of peace Azul never had in his own head.

He felt his throat tighten.

You trusted him—him, a calculating, manipulative, secret-wielding businessman enough to fall asleep on his lap.

“…You really are bold,” he whispered, voice breaking into a whisper. “But… I suppose I can’t blame you.”

Cautiously, as if worried he’d shatter the moment, Azul rested a hand against your shoulder and the other—so slowly—began to stroke your hair. The strands slipped through his fingers like sea silk. He watched you for what felt like hours, every so often brushing a strand out of your face or tracing the curve of your cheek with his thumb.

And for once… the silence wasn’t unnerving.

It was comforting.

“Maybe just a little longer,” he murmured.

When Jade poked his head in later to report something, his eyes landed on the scene. He raised a brow—but said nothing.

Azul simply met his gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips. For once, he didn’t care about appearances.

Not when you were in his arms.

Jade Leech

The rainforest in the botanical garden was dim, warm, and filled with the sounds of dripping water and the flutter of hidden wings. Jade loved bringing you here after long days—the two of you wandering between the glowing mushrooms and thick vines, talking about strange creatures and even stranger students.

That evening, you had been unusually quiet.

Tired.

He’d noticed. Of course he had. Jade noticed everything.

So, he suggested you rest.

You both sat on a stone bench nestled under an arch of glowing moss. The lights cast a soft green hue over the clearing. Jade had started telling you a story—some obscure tale about a deep-sea creature with a song that lured people into dreams.

And maybe it was his voice—smooth as silk, low and lulling—or maybe it was the way he ran his fingers lazily through the fern beside you, but soon…

Your head slipped gently into his lap.

And you didn’t move again.

Jade blinked once, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“…Oh my.”

Your face was tilted toward him, cheek resting on the fabric of his uniform pants. Your breathing was deep, peaceful. Your body, curled like a cat, radiated warmth into his legs. You made not even the faintest sound.

And Jade?

Jade was frozen—but not out of panic.

He was fascinated.

You trusted him enough to sleep here. On him. Fully vulnerable. Open. And you didn’t even seem to hesitate.

The corners of his lips curled upward into a smile—genuine and serene.

“Well,” he murmured, reaching out to gently brush your hair behind your ear, “you are more interesting than any mushroom I’ve ever encountered.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound blending into the soft symphony of the garden.

Jade’s hand lingered in your hair, slow and thoughtful. He studied the way you clutched the fabric of his jacket with one hand, like you were anchoring yourself to him. And slowly, his usually composed heart began to thrum, unfamiliar and full.

No one ever rested near him this way.

No one dared.

But you did.

“You’ve caught me off guard,” he whispered, almost reverently.

Not a trace of mischief in his tone—only awe.

He leaned down slightly, brushing a kiss to your temple with an elegant tenderness only someone like him could manage.

“I wonder what you’re dreaming of,” he said softly, his voice a promise. “Whatever it is… I hope I’m there.”

And he stayed perfectly still, watching over you like a sentinel in the jungle. Not because he had to—but because he wanted to.

Because you, in that moment, were the most precious thing in his world.

Floyd Leech

The tide was low in his mood today.

Everything felt boring. Club meetings dragged, the Lounge was quiet, and even scaring first-years didn’t give him the usual rush. He was sprawled out on one of the long couches in the Octavinelle dorm lounge, legs dangling off the side, one arm draped over his eyes.

You were with him, of course—his “Shrimpy.” His favorite toy. His favorite person.

Today, though, he wasn’t teasing you or playfully squeezing you until you squirmed. He was unusually quiet, lying still in a rare moment of calm. You sat beside him, chatting softly at first, your fingers absently tracing patterns into his arm.

But then… your voice faded.

Your hand stilled.

He peeked out from under his arm just in time to feel it—your weight shifting as you gently curled up beside him, resting your head right on his stomach. A warm, sleepy sigh left your lips.

And then nothing.

You were asleep.

At first, Floyd just blinked, his mismatched eyes wide with surprise. “Huh?”

He tilted his head forward, peering at you like a curious sea creature watching a pearl roll into its den.

“You really knocked out, huh?”

No answer. Just the sound of your soft breathing, face nestled into his hoodie, arms curled in like you were hugging a plush toy.

Floyd didn’t move.

Didn’t make a sound.

Instead… his grin slowly, slowly spread across his face.

“Eheh~ Shrimpy... you really are something else.”

He gently lifted his hand and let it fall over your back, his fingers splaying like seaweed, curling into the fabric of your shirt. He didn’t squeeze this time. No chaotic thrashing, no threats of “squeeeezin’ ya ‘til ya pop.” Just the weight of his hand, steady and warm, like he was grounding himself in you.

His tailing mood melted like drift ice under sun.

You chose him.

To rest on. To trust. To fall asleep on, even knowing how temperamental he could be.

That tugged at something deep. Something primal and tender. He could feel his heartbeat slow to match yours, lulled by the rhythm of your breath.

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” he murmured, voice unusually low and gentle. “If it were anybody else, I’d have chomped ‘em by now for touchin’ me like this.”

But he didn’t move. Not an inch.

He just laid there, arm wrapped around you, letting you use his body like a pillow made of seafoam and muscle.

And when you murmured his name in your sleep—barely audible, just a breath?

Floyd melted entirely.

His grin softened, his head tilted back.

“…Guess I’ll nap too, then. But if I drool on ya, it’s your fault~”

Kalim Al-asim

The palace-like halls of Scarabia were quiet in the golden haze of late afternoon. The sun poured through the arching windows, lighting the silken pillows in warm amber. It had been a long day—flying carpets, music practice, and Kalim pulling you into at least three spontaneous dance circles.

Now, you were both on the balcony, surrounded by flower pots and colorful lanterns swaying in the breeze. Kalim had been talking excitedly about a festival his family hosted once—a night where they lit a thousand paper lanterns and let them float into the sky.

You were curled beside him, resting against his side, nodding along as his hands animated every story.

But eventually… your replies stopped.

He glanced down mid-sentence to find you still. Eyes closed. Breathing soft.

Your head had somehow found its way into his lap, resting there like it belonged. Your hands tucked under your cheek, your face tilted up toward him like you were dreaming of the stars he’d just described.

Kalim’s eyes widened.

“Oh!”

He clapped a hand over his mouth immediately, realizing how loud he was about to be.

“She fell asleep,” he whispered to himself, awed.

He looked down at you like you were made of starlight and gold.

You trusted him. You felt safe with him. So safe, in fact, that you’d fallen asleep in his lap under the open sky.

His heart soared.

“Wow…” he breathed.

He reached out, ever so gently, brushing a lock of hair from your forehead, his fingers trembling just slightly. Not from nerves—Kalim was never shy—but from the sheer overwhelming joy of the moment.

He wanted to laugh, to cheer, to kiss your forehead a hundred times.

But he didn’t.

He sat still, barely breathing, his smile wide and wonder-filled.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, his voice full of love. “Like a dream.”

He looked up at the sky, watching the clouds drift by, and then down again at you. His fingers found yours, lacing them together gently.

Kalim’s world was fast, bright, full of noise and song. But this?

This was a quiet kind of joy.

One that filled his chest like sweet air and didn’t need to be shouted.

He leaned down, kissed the crown of your head, and rested his cheek gently against your hair.

“If I had a thousand stars,” he whispered, “I’d give them all to you.”

And there, under the setting sun, with the breeze carrying hints of jasmine and warmth, Kalim stayed absolutely still—just a boy in love, holding his world in his lap.

Jamil Viper

It was late—well past the quiet hours in Scarabia. The sun had long since dipped behind the dunes, and the dorm was bathed in a soft, warm glow from hanging lanterns. The courtyard had emptied after a long day of activities, and only the hush of wind through palm trees and the distant trickle of water from the fountain remained.

Jamil sat beneath the archway overlooking the open courtyard, dressed down in his lounge clothes—simple, dark, loose-fitting, no frills. His shoulders were slouched, rare for someone always so tightly wound. You were beside him, curled up with your legs tucked under you, slowly leaning more and more his way.

The conversation had started casually—stories about Kalim’s antics, about classes, about the endless list of responsibilities Jamil was juggling. But as you listened, your replies grew quieter, slower…

And before he could even finish a sentence, he felt it.

Your head, gentle and warm, settled right into his lap.

Jamil went completely still.

He looked down, blinking, utterly silent.

“…You fell asleep?”

He could hardly believe it. There you were—his girlfriend—just… sleeping on him like it was natural. No hesitation. No fear. Just soft breath against his stomach and one hand lightly curled in his hoodie.

And him?

He didn’t move a muscle.

Jamil wasn’t used to this kind of closeness without strings. He wasn’t used to someone resting on him, not needing anything, not demanding he do something, fix something, prove something.

You were just there.

Sleeping.

Trusting him.

He swallowed hard, his heartbeat loud in his ears. One of his hands hovered above your shoulder, hesitant, as if afraid touching you would wake you—or worse, make the moment disappear.

But then, with a quiet exhale, he let his hand fall gently into your hair.

Fingers threaded through the strands slowly. Carefully. Like you were made of delicate silk.

“Y/N…” he whispered, barely audible.

There was a softness in his eyes no one else ever got to see. He didn’t know if you could hear him in your sleep—but it didn’t matter.

“You really don’t know what you do to me.”

He leaned back against the pillar, staring up at the night sky, the stars peeking through the edges of the courtyard ceiling. For once, he allowed himself a moment of stillness. No planning. No scheming. No worrying about Kalim or school or a hundred responsibilities.

Just you.

Warm and trusting in his arms.

And Jamil—quiet, calm—stayed perfectly still, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he brushed his thumb over your temple.

“If this is a dream,” he whispered, “I don’t want to wake up.”

Vil Schoenheit

The dressing room was quiet.

For once.

The glow of vanity lights lined the mirror, casting golden halos over the room. Bottles, brushes, powders, everything meticulously organized in Vil’s space. You had been keeping him company after his rehearsal—watching him take off his stage makeup with gentle, practiced motions, each movement like part of a performance in itself.

You sat beside him on the plush velvet chaise, your posture proper at first, engaged in conversation. He was mid-rant about a classmate’s awful skincare routine (heaven help them), and you had smiled, eyes soft, head tilted just slightly.

And then…

You slumped sideways.

Right into his lap.

Vil’s breath hitched, and he looked down, mouth parted slightly in surprise.

You… fell asleep?

On him?

“Darling?” he said quietly, brushing his fingers against your shoulder. No response.

Your face was tilted toward him, cheek gently pressed against his thigh, lashes brushing the top of your cheek, lips parted just slightly. You looked so peaceful. So still.

So unaware of how tightly you’d gripped his heart in that moment.

Vil slowly exhaled, lowering his hand to rest on your back. His other hand—still elegant, still carrying the last remnants of lotion—hovered over your hair. And then, with featherlight grace, he began to smooth it back, careful not to disturb your rest.

“Sleeping on a chaise,” he murmured. “That’s hardly ideal posture.”

But his voice had no edge. No scolding. Just… gentle amusement.

Vil Schoenheit was used to control—his appearance, his schedule, his image. And yet, here you were, disrupting all of that with a single act of vulnerability. Trusting him with your body in its most unguarded state.

And it didn’t irritate him.

It moved him.

“This is… dangerous,” he whispered. “You lower my guard far too easily.”

He gazed at you for a long while, memorizing the curve of your face in the soft light. The way your hand rested atop his knee like it belonged there. The softness of your lips, the warmth of your breath.

Vil had been photographed a thousand times, posed beside the most beautiful people in the world.

But this?

This was the most beautiful moment he had ever been part of.

He gently tugged a silk throw blanket from the back of the chaise and draped it over your shoulders, careful not to shift your head. Then, leaning down, he pressed a kiss to your temple—soft, reverent, full of unspoken feeling.

“You’ll be the ruin of me, schatz,” he whispered. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Rook Hunt

The sun had long since begun its descent, draping the vast grounds of NRC in a golden veil. The lush gardens behind Pomefiore dorm basked in that soft honey light, petals curling gently like sleepy sighs, and even the breeze seemed to hush itself to a lullaby. Rook Hunt sat on a stone bench nestled beneath an arch of ivy and lavender, legs crossed with poetic elegance, one arm draped along the bench’s edge, the other cradling a small leather-bound book of Baudelaire’s poetry.

But he had not turned a page in fifteen minutes.

His gaze, normally so sharp and brimming with curiosity, had softened completely—locked onto you, his beloved, curled up in the safest of sanctuaries: his lap.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, of course. It had started with just leaning against him, the sun warming your back and his hand absentmindedly carding through your hair, twirling strands like golden thread between his fingers. His voice had been low, reciting French verses with a soft lilt, letting the words flutter into the air like butterflies. Somewhere between the cadence of his voice, the scent of lilacs, and the rise and fall of his breathing, sleep had stolen you away.

And Rook… was absolutely enchanted.

“Oh, mon ange…” he whispered, barely audible, his breath brushing against the crown of your head.

He didn’t dare move. His usually ever-restless energy was still for once—his stillness more reverent than any silence in the cathedral. Your cheek was resting just over his thigh, your arms folded like a child’s under your head. A soft sigh escaped your lips every now and then, the kind that melted straight into his chest.

It was an intimacy far beyond a stolen kiss or dramatic serenade. This was something quiet. Sacred.

Rook’s gloved fingers ghosted along your shoulder, his thumb brushing ever so lightly against the skin where your shirt had slipped a bit. He chuckled—quietly, tenderly.

“To inspire such trust… Such vulnerability…” He murmured in awe, gazing down at you like one might look at a painting in a gallery, overwhelmed by its beauty but unable to explain why. “Tu es ma muse éternelle.”

The soft flush on your cheeks, the way your lashes kissed your skin, the rhythm of your breath—all of it wove a spell around his heart. A predator by nature, he was always seeking, always hunting the next beautiful moment. But this? This stillness, this peace—this was the rarest prey of all.

Rook leaned back, head tilted toward the twilight sky.

He would sit here forever if it meant you could rest undisturbed. The hunt could wait.

Idia Shroud

The atmosphere in Idia’s room buzzed with low ambient synth music, neon lights tracing cyber-punk lines across the walls, bouncing off rows of figurines and glowing monitors. Ortho had exited the room a while ago, leaving behind a half-empty can of soda and a quiet “I’ll give you two some space, nii-san~” in a sing-song voice that had Idia practically overheating.

You were on the floor, curled in a sea of fuzzy blankets and oversized gaming pillows. Idia had set up your “chill zone,” as he nervously called it—stocked with snacks, manga, and an absurdly cute cat-shaped pillow that he had definitely not bought because it reminded him of the way you smiled.

You had climbed up into his gaming chair at some point, practically draping yourself across his lap, completely fearless. Idia had gone full system error—stiff as a board, hands twitching at his sides, a thousand inner alarms going off.

“Wha—Y-You can’t just—th-th-there’s a process! A sequence! L-like, at least two awkward movie nights before you just go full-on lap-mode!!”

But you hadn’t answered. Your breathing had slowed. Your body had gone warm and heavy.

You’d fallen asleep.

Idia’s heart skipped several beats. He actually had to check that he wasn’t hallucinating. A tiny puff of air escaped your lips, your cheek squished against his hoodie-clad thigh, and your hand, like it had a mind of its own, had curled around the hem of his sleeve.

He froze. Again.

Then slowly, as if afraid to wake a very fluffy, very delicate sleeping beast, he let himself breathe. Just a little.

His hand trembled as it hovered near your head. His fingers twitched like they were afraid to mess it up—you—the whole fragile image of this moment.

And then, very carefully, he let his hand settle into your hair.

“…This is… r-real, right?” he whispered, voice cracking mid-sentence. He bit down on a whimper, overwhelmed.

“She’s literally asleep. On me. Like, I’m not even an NPC in this cutscene. I’m the main questline now.”

A faint giggle threatened to bubble up, but he slapped a hand over his mouth.

Then the other part of his brain chimed in.

What if she wakes up and realizes it’s weird? What if she was just tired and it wasn’t a conscious choice? What if she thinks you’re a total loser for sitting there like a statue?

He shut his eyes tight.

No. No, for once, he wouldn’t self-destruct this moment. Not when it felt like he’d stepped into a rare hidden level that only unlocked when your affection for an NPC was maxed out.

He looked down at you again, marveling at the tiny breath of warmth rising and falling against him.

“You’re like… my safe point,” he mumbled into the dark, letting his fingers finally settle gently in your hair.

A small ping from his PC reminded him a new update had installed.

“Whatever, I already got the best patch.”

Malleus Draconia

It was a rare, quiet evening at Diasomnia. No thunder echoed from the mountains, no duties called for the crown prince, and no students dared interrupt the rare moment of peace Malleus found with you.

The courtyard behind the dormitory was bathed in moonlight, silver threads weaving between tall hedges and ancient statues. You’d been chatting beside him on a stone bench, your legs curled beneath you, fingers grazing his as you recounted a ridiculous tale Ace had told you during lunch. Malleus listened—his eyes never straying from your face, utterly enchanted by your every word. You were warm and brilliant, like the sun he’d always been curious about, and it was moments like this that made him feel closer to understanding it.

But the day had been long. Long classes, longer conversations, and the gentle lull of Malleus’s deep voice had slowly pulled you into the edges of slumber. One moment you were chuckling, your cheek in your palm, and the next… your head tilted gently against his thigh.

Malleus stiffened slightly—not in discomfort, but surprise.

He blinked down at you, your lashes fluttering, your lips parting slightly as your breathing evened out. His first instinct was stillness. Dragons, after all, are patient creatures. He gazed at your peaceful form, processing the trust it took for you to doze off like this—on him. Vulnerable. Soft.

“My treasure…” he whispered, voice low with reverence.

He gently adjusted his posture, making sure your head had a comfortable angle. One clawed hand hovered hesitantly in the air before slowly descending to stroke your hair, tender and cautious, like touching spun gold.

“Even in sleep, you are unafraid of me.” The words were not sad, but filled with quiet awe.

The warmth of your body against him, the subtle scent of your perfume, and the delicate rise and fall of your breath began to unravel something inside Malleus. A rare emotion—one that wrapped around his ancient heart like ivy. He had seen kingdoms rise and fall, yet here you were, the most precious thing he’d ever held, choosing to rest in his lap like he was your sanctuary.

As your hand twitched in your sleep, seeking his, Malleus smiled.

He laced your fingers together, holding you close.

“You will never know harm while I breathe,” he murmured, more promise than poetry.

He remained there, unmoving, for as long as you needed. Watching over you with all the devotion of a dragon guarding his hoard, his heart heavy with love and light.

Lilia Vanrouge

The music from the Lounge had died down hours ago, and yet the two of you lingered in the quiet common room of Diasomnia, curled up on an emerald velvet settee, bathed in candlelight.

You had been scrolling through photos on your phone, laughing at memories, while Lilia lounged beside you, arms spread over the back of the couch, looking for all the world like a retired general watching over his beloved court jester.

His teasing quips had slowed as the hour crept past midnight. You were curled sideways now, legs draped over his, head tucked against his shoulder.

And then… your body shifted slightly.

You sighed—a soft, exhausted exhale—and gently, instinctively, nestled your head into his lap. Your phone slid from your hand to the cushion with a muffled thud.

Lilia paused mid-sentence, blinking. Then he looked down.

“Well, well…” His voice was a whisper, touched with warmth and amusement. “You’ve gone and melted into my lap, little bat.”

There was no complaint in his tone. Only gentle adoration.

He shifted minutely, reaching for a throw blanket folded neatly over the back of the couch. With practiced ease, he draped it over your form, tucking it around your shoulders with a tenderness only centuries of experience could perfect.

As your cheek pressed against his thigh, he could feel the subtle hum of your breath through his clothes. He gently brushed your hair away from your face, taking a moment to admire your features—so soft, so trusting, so utterly you.

Lilia had lived longer than most stars, but never had he found a moment quite like this.

“A sight sweeter than sakura in spring,” he murmured, one gloved hand resting lightly atop your head.

He leaned back, gazing at the ceiling, his other hand lazily tracing invisible patterns against your arm beneath the blanket.

He thought of the countless battles he’d fought, the wars he’d survived, the heartbreaks endured. And yet this moment—this quiet, sleeping you—was what he found himself wanting to protect most of all.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly, “I’ll keep watch tonight, just as I always have. Even nightmares wouldn’t dare bother you while I’m here.”

A mischievous glint twinkled in his eyes, even as his voice remained soft.

“And if you drool on me, well… I suppose I’ll consider it a badge of honor.”

He chuckled lightly to himself, and resumed playing with your hair, humming a lullaby so old the stars had likely forgotten it. It was a melody sung once in ancient fae courts, now resurrected just for you.

Lilia, the eternal guardian, kept his silent vigil, heart full and content.

[acid-ixx]

before the bell rings (a loving family, an unpalatable desire spin-off)

ft. romatic yandere bruce wayne x gn reader x platonic yandere batfam.

— masterlist !

tw: slight nsfw. bruce watches and kisses you while you sleep. in no way, shape or form do i condone this behavior irl.

ihave a raging headache but i don't care because i love making spin-offs of my original series'. and now i've been thinking of something related to a loving family, an unpalatable desire where just like again &. again being the opposite of like him, in this current universe i'm writing about;

you're much too loved by your husband, bruce wayne.

there are eyes everywhere when you two have been into the first stages of your marriage. he may have proposed to you for the sake and promises of protection both your families agreed upon from when martha and thomas and alive— your relationship must've been purely transactional during your childhood; but in the process of knowing you better during the planning for your wedding, in the process of grief and accepting his parents' deaths, a broken childhood and cold glances—

bruce came to love the comfort and warmth you offered him.

the entire time he was convinced that your marriage will be all but a distant relationship all throughout planning for possible venues, cake designs, guests and attires; a task he chose to uphold for the sake of your preference of a picture perfect wedding and his reputation to keep in public.

it was all that, mere promises to maintain cordiality.

there would be no affectionate touches, or the need for intimacy during both your honeymoon stages. he respects your boundaries, and you do with his privacy. after the entire wedding, everything will return to normal; with the added fact that you'd simply be living in his mansion with no qualms to bother him whatsoever.

those were unsaid agreements that you yourself knew to abide by. you were never close with the man you'd be married with during childhood, after all. for him, you must've been a checklist for him to fulfill his parents' will; there was no love before or after his grief, not even when you'd attend the funeral and expressed your apologies for the loss— his eyebrows furrowing at your shorter form, but never quite looking at you.

younger you knew it was the protection that will be granted, and never the love you wanted, but you still held on to that flicker of hope that somehow, someday you'll eventually form an amicable bond with your soon-to-be husband.

yet to you, he was the only ticket way out of your abusive home life, one filled with not only coldness, but sharp glares from a mother who never wanted you and painful beatings from a father who criticizes his own child's every mistake, each hit more painful than the last.

as much as you desire something more homely from your soon to be husband, you've long since accepted that your life will never be filled with visceral love that eats you up, love whose hands tangle upon your hair not out of sheer hatred but desire, love whose strong arms raise you up in the air rather than raises itself up to hit you.

and as you both prepare for your wedding, an air of awkwardness and discomfort was expected. backs turned, never facing each other, your eyes never quite looking at his, and unwanted brushes of each other's bodies bumping into each other translates itself to tension and mere desire to get over the plans just as quickly.

bruce tells himself, it will all be over soon. this is necessary to keep up facades and earn more connections. he hasn't been as close with childhood friends after his parents' death, hence why he was too ruffled to properly communicate with his partner after years of isolation from peers. he knows you know to understand that fact.

you tell yourself that as much as your heart aches at the impending doom that you wouldn't be able to spend time with your husband as much after the entire fiasco of dealing with wedding arrangements, with wayne enterprises and hundreds of other duties to fulfill— you've nothing to do but embrace that mere fact.

so it was all that.

bruce will never love you as much as you force yourself to love each and every flawed part of him. the first steps of planning your marriage already reflected what would soon be the damning years of a loveless courtship.

love is painful, loving bruce will be painful. your heart will never flutter at the meaningless bouquet of flowers he'd gift you, or jewelry that was never your preference, all because you both knew it was a necessary farce to make things prettier on the outside. bruce can never learn to love again after the heartbreak of losing two of his loved ones.

all that.

yet the longer you two spend time in the same room in stuffy outfit fittings and bakeries whose warmth both your loves you thought would never quite reach— the more bruce notices the slight quirk of your lips every time he guessed your favorite color or design, the gleam in your eyes glowing brighter at him choosing what he thought would be the perfect confectionaries for reception, and the tiny claps and soft tugs at the cuffs of his sleeve the more he chooses to accommodate each and every preference of yours.

he starts to fall, not out of hindsight. he was never an obvious man, no.

but he fell in love, either way.

with your habits, the way your hands gesture your excitement, and the shy grin you show his way whenever he pursues physical affection to you in both private and public; with you melting into his once stiff chest and ridged shoulders, hands wrapped around your waist, head slowly nuzzling into the crown of your hair. sometimes he'd be brave enough to caress your hips and run his fingers through the flesh between your neck and shoulders.

every damn time he takes a newer risk, every time, you'd be left shocked, yet never pushing away at his ministration.

a surprise that rewires your perception of him in your mind— not less pleasant nonetheless.

he falls in love whenever his heart beats faster— a feeling he thought he'd never come across after years of hardened training— at the way you buzz every time he proposes you two go out on dates, at your unheard gasps whenever he actually gives you bouquets of your favorite flowers as gifts, at your incoherent mumbles as you two walk through the farmer's market with his body shielding you from stalking paparazzi's and countless of admires; your mouth forming words, brows furrowed, oblivious at bruce's unwavering gaze and arms ready to rest upon your shoulders as if he never once hesitated to touch you.

and he soon realizes that he begins to yearn sleeping in the same room as you. you still stay at your home at the time being, only to be housed at his right after your marriage— but bruce loses sleep all the same. at thoughts of what you would feel like all pressed up against him, the warmth that emanates off your body every time your arms would explore his chest, and how he'd wake up to your wide, intoxicating smile, calling him, bruce wayne, your husband as you caress him and tell him breakfast is ready.

he could picture you sitting beside him, your arms unknowingly on his thighs because you crave physical affection, your attention on both your children, chattering with them as if you were always their parent. he sees you scolding damian for sneaking food under the table for his, telling jason and tim off for arguing yet again, whilst dick laughs at his brother's clumsy way of eating with barbara rebuking his statements. you'll always be the first person cass would talk to about her ballet recitals, the one duke chides for advice about which club to choose, and steph's first choice every time she stumbles upon drama.

the entire atmosphere would be spontaneous. there could be small fights, little debates and sometimes even tension, yet they listen to you nevertheless. at your pretty voice giving them an earful altogether whilst bruce would worship you with his hungry eyes, forgetting the breakfast on his plate just to hold himself back from the urge to pepper kisses on you in front of the family.

the perfect dream, like a gomez to his morticia who admires every side of them. their beauty, their sadness, anger and flaws. you complete him, he only realizes at such a late time.

just as quick as he imagines those fantasies, bruce would find himself stalking through the confines of your family home as batman; confirming to himself your breathing patterns, the flutter of your eyes, soft mumbles, and your tight hold on one of your pillows, wishing it was him instead. there, he takes in the state of your room: the decor, your wallpapers, each and every trinkets and hobbies you've collected all over the years; and most importantly, just how small and confined your room is, yet cozy at the same time.

the manor would be your castle soon enough, and he promises that it would feel as homely as your previous room. he promises that you wouldn't be sleeping alone eventually. you'll be so loved... so cared for. he'll learn to properly love you, how to touch you in all the ways he could imagine, to kiss parts left neglected, to satiate the hunger watching you every damn time.

every night, he gains newer information about you as you sleep oblivious to the presence looming above you. every night, he notes the texture of your bedsheet, the blankets that hug at your body tightly, the pillows you drool on and the softness of your mattress.

he'd ruffle your hair, and begin to trudge closer and closer to you, to the point his confidence would be at an all time high and he'd be breathing the same pattern as you, body nearly pressed atop yours as his hands tangle itself upon your messy hair. bruce watches your skin bathe in the moonlight's glow, he admires the slow rise and fall of your chest and the delicious peaks of skin from the fabric that threatens to fall.

his desire only grows stronger, his willpower grows weaker all the same.

and at a time of momentary weakness, at the passion that drips off his body merely watching you, at the unsated hunger and moments of restricting himself from touching you too much during your times together— he kisses you while still sleeping, deeply and unregretful at his choice. devouring your lips, wishing he could instead feel his tongue pressing against yours, and licking at the drool that escapes from his relentless kisses. his hands would be on either side of your head, but his thighs pin your waist, heavy and unrelenting on moving from its position.

when he lets go, he laps at his lips for any remaining taste of you, hardwiring the memory into the deepest, most sinful parts of his brain, and admires your beauty from up close. bruce watches just how angelic you look sprawled atop a bed that soon would be big enough to fit two, he sees the smile slowly forming on your face, and the giggles that erupt all while you still remain asleep.

you must've been dreaming something pleasant. he hopes that it is him, he hopes that it would be him lavishing you in his love.

and he'll be coming back home right after pecking your lips and cheeks one last time, before leaving your room, to sleep in his bed all alone after a night of a passionate endeavor. he'll be dreaming of a night with you, every night with you in fact. of your pleasured closed-eyed smile in bed and arms that reach to wrap around his body like you do your pillows. he'll cover you like a blanket with his warmth, too.

and you'll always be in his mind, even as he wakes up every morning after another day of sleepless patrol, without you by his side, without your body pressed tightly against his, without the feeling of your plush skin on his scarred one, or the melody of your snores and flutter of your eyes at the light that hits it; bruce would never be satisfied.

in fact, he begins to crave for more as he touches his lips, remembers how easily pinned you are, how fitting your body is wrapped around his. he realizes that mere fantasies would only serve as distractions, he realizes that he needs the real thing.

soon, he'll invite you to the manor, all in his own accord, without hesitation or implications that it was all for mere planning.

there you would be, shy and modestly greeting his children. bruce notices the way your finger shivers, and the barely concealed smile that makes it way to your face when you finally meet your soon-to-be family, your soon-to-be children.

unaware, oblivious to the night he took your first-kiss. he knows it is your first kiss, you've written it in a journal of yours that you're saving it for whoever is your future husband— it's only right that he prides himself in the fact that he is your fiance.

he notices how well you fit in the manor, how you're such a perfect match to the neverending energy of adrenaline to fight and to patrol, acting as a mediator, a peacemaker to the hustle and bustle of spontaneous fights and arguments that alfred used to deal with alone. and his children—?

god, his children love you.

after first impressions, after you spend time coddling beside your fiance, talking to each and every one of them with a fond smile; acting as if they're all already your children without any second thoughts, never forcing yourself into their lives or invading private topics or inside jokes like the other suitors interested in bruce who visited; after you leave the manor despite their insistence that you stay—

all of them took it in their hands to help you both prepare for the wedding arrangements; damian made a comment to push for the wedding date to be way earlier. dick says he'd be in charge of the music, steph butts in saying she knows how to play the piano, cass opens up about performing a ballet piece during the wedding, duke suggests alfred should be handling the food, barbara says she has connections with entertainment factions, tim states matterof fact that he will be organizing the entire schedule, even jason insists on attending, just simply disguised amongst the background.

it would've been a marriage where it's only your side of the family who attend, an agreement you both settled for in the earlier stages of planning, but...

if the family loves you so much at just a first impression then...

bruce wayne loves his spouse even more.

and you, being the hopeless romantic you ever are, craving intimacy at such a young age from the lack of it, took the bait and fell into his controlling hold when you've still had the chance to back out.

after all, what is love without sacrifices?

soon enough, what once were lingering, unsure touches would be bruce holding you tightly against his chest like you two were puzzle pieces fit perfectly together. he was never the type to compliment through words, but every time you wear your favorite shade or those that matches his suit colors every time you both go out for outings, his bright blue, yet dull eyes would glimmer in the sunlight, taking in your entire form. he'll kiss you for what feels longer than half a minute, and sometimes even pin you down against the mahogany door of the office if it meant he was that pleased.

you love the attention, you bask at just how easy it is to love his children. even if their personalities contrast, even through the fights they sometimes have in front of you; none ever lash out at you for breaking it up, even the youngest, damian, who would always be the most violent amongst the siblings.

hell, he'd always be the most possessive, the most demanding of your attention for whenever you stray too close to his other siblings. always glaring, always picking up fights and insulting everyone, but never directing anything at you, even threatening to bite those who dare touch any gifts you give him.

yet you love them, either way, and you've come to love bruce, too. at the most unexpected of times, even. you love it when his touches linger a bit longer, you buzz with joy every time he'd hide your face from paparazzi and hold you tighter, never once letting a hand stray far away from your body, always having you in his arms just like how your perfect fantasies would always play in your head.

and even if you're still unaware of bruce's identity of being batman, the same hero you used to fear, you still insist on kissing bruce's scars that he always comes home with every night after patrol. you let yourself become a treasure he worships, you allow him to kiss you, defile you, and never once let you out alone anymore— your occasional manor visits before your marriage turned into countless of nights spent under a roof with people you thought you'd never be... that closely intimate with.

it is only before the wedding bell rings that bruce falls in love with you, and it would soon be after that you realize just how trapped you truly are.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: after this, i will return to hibernation. and if anybody asks, yes, superman wanting to smash you in this au is still canon. and yes, he will find a way to persuade you in smashing him.

taglist: @donnaaurelia, @prince-nikko, @neerathebrightstar (i hope u like this :))), @mr-celestial-writings, @glasscurrents, @sh4rk-k1d, @vellichor-and-hiraeth, @sammytheotakunerd.

[mandoalorian]

after hours [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: As Congressman Bucky Barnes' personal assistant, you've always maintained professionalism. But when a late-night work session turns intimate, boundaries blur, and hidden desires come to light.

Word Count: 2000

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content. employer x employee, hint of voyeurism, f recieving oral, fingering, just general filth, smidge of plot. there's enough here for a part 2 if it's what the people wanted.

Masterlist

congress & carnality masterlist

The glow of the city skyline filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Congressman Bucky Barnes’ office, casting long shadows over mahogany and leather. The soft hum of your laptop was the only sound filling the room, save for the occasional rustle of paper as you flipped through his notes.

It was well past midnight. The congressional building was deserted. Just you and him, working late—again.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders to ease the tension there. “You still with me, Congressman?” you teased, not looking up from your screen. The blue light was starting to hurt your eyes. 

“I’d be a damn fool to fall asleep while you’re talking.” His voice was low, rough with exhaustion. Or was it something else?

You finally glanced up—and nearly lost your train of thought.

Bucky had discarded his suit jacket hours ago, leaving him in just his crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. His tie was loosened, the top button undone, and his hair was slightly disheveled—probably from him running a hand through it out of frustration.

God, he looked good.

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to focus. “Sir, we need to go over your talking points for tomorrow’s press conference.”

Bucky sighed and leaned back in his chair, arms stretching behind his head. The movement made his shirt pull taut across his chest. “Can’t we take a break? And you know you can call me Bucky when we’re in private.”

“We’ve already taken three,” you pointed out, biting your lip, noting how all feelings of professionalism were lost on him right now. “At this rate, you’re going to wing it in front of the entire nation.”

He smirked. “Haven’t I charmed my way out of worse?”

You gave him a pointed look. “You’re not just a charming face, Barnes. You actually have to do your job.”

His smirk faltered, and something unreadable flickered across his face. “You always do that.”

Bucky’s gaze didn’t leave yours. His legs spread wide as he leaned forward in his chair, pressing his elbows into his dress pants and linking his fingers together. He displayed his usual stoic expression, the one that you struggled so much to read. 

You frowned. “Do what?”

His eyes searched yours, intense and unwavering. “You see me. Not just the congressman. Not the soldier. Just… me.”

Your breath hitched. You had no idea where this was coming from, but you weren’t sure you were ready for it.

“Bucky…”

“C’mere,” he murmured, his voice softer now.

You hesitated. The air between you felt heavier than before, thick with something unspoken. You’d spent so many nights like this—late hours, stolen glances, brushing fingers when he handed you a file. But neither of you had ever crossed that line.

This felt like the edge of it.

Still, you moved toward him, stopping just short of his desk. “What is it?”

He reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist before trailing up your arm in a slow, deliberate touch. “You work too damn hard,” he murmured, thumb brushing the inside of your wrist. “Always taking care of me. Who takes care of you?”

You let out a shaky breath. “You pay me to take care of you.”

“Hmph, s'pose I do.” His voice had dropped to something even lower, more dangerous.

You should pull away. You should remind him that this was not professional. But the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing grounding him—made your resolve crumble.

“Bucky…” Your voice was barely above a whisper now.

He stood slowly, stepping around the desk until he was right in front of you. Close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“If I cross this line,” he murmured, “I’m not going back.”

His words bit at your skin. Your pulse pounded in your ears. “Maybe I don’t want you to. Maybe I want you.”

His eyes darkened. That was all the permission he needed.

His lips were on yours before you could think, before you could breathe. The kiss was slow at first, almost hesitant—like he was waiting for you to push him away. But when you fisted your hands in his shirt and pulled him closer, he groaned and deepened the kiss, his hands landing on your waist, gripping like he’d been waiting years for this.

Heat coiled low in your stomach as he backed you against the edge of his desk, his thigh slotting between yours.

“This okay?” he rasped against your lips.

You nodded, breathless. “More than okay.”

His lips curled into a smirk before he kissed you again—this time with no hesitation, no restraint.

His movements were slow and controlled, like he had all the time in the world. He pulled you into his lap, hands palming at your waist before running up your chest and stopping at your face. He gazed into your eyes and for a moment, you felt your heart stop. 

“You drive me crazy,” Bucky breathes into admittance. “You know how long I’ve wanted to do this?”

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, and on impulse, you press a chaste kiss to the digit. Something primal ignites in Bucky, and he kisses you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging enough just to make him groan into your mouth. The sound sent a shockwave into you, heat pooling low into your stomach. Bucky’s lips left yours, only temporarily, as he trailed down your jaw, your throat, his breath warm as he took his time.

You gasped as his mouth found that one spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out ton taste your skin before he pressed a slow, open mouthed kiss there. 

“You’re always so put together,” he murmured, lips burshing against your pulse point. “So professional.”

His hands slid down your sides, slow and deliberate.

“Tell me to stop.” He whispered, coaxing you.

You couldn’t.

You’re only response was to pull him closer, tilting your head to give him more access. He groaned against your skin, his hands gripping your hips and pushing you up onto his desk, slotting himself between your legs.

Bucky ran his hand up your leg, stopping when he got to your upper thigh, when he started to feel the heat omit from your womanhood. You let out a gasp that you didn’t know you were holding when he suddenly removed his hand and pulled back just enough to look at you — really look at you. 

“Been wanting you like this for so damn long,” he admitted, voice rough with restraint. ��Look at you, all spread out on my desk.”

You feel your face flush with heat as his gaze racks your body. 

“Take me.” You sigh, and Bucky smirks, wasting no time and pushing up your pencil skirt so it bunches at your waist. He pulls your panties down, revealing your glistening folds to him.

“All this… for me?” Bucky asks, his voice dark, but the exasperation isn’t lost on you. He makes you feel small, at his mercy, as his broadness towers over you. 

Licking his lip, Bucky hums as he starts working his tongue at you, lapping at your clit and relishing your taste. Your fingernails scratch at the expensive wood table beneath you as your stomach coils with pleasure. The brassiness of his beard scratches at your skin, but it just turns you on even more. He’s good —no doubt had more experience than the average non-Super Soldier guy. His teeth teasingly graze at you, and just as you’re about to finish, he stops, pressing a kiss to your mound.

He brings his calloused fingers to your cunt and your body twitches at just the slighest of his touch. “Wait—“ you call out, and Bucky immediately freezes, stops what he is doing and looks at you with concern in his ocean eyes.

You reach out and grab his other arm, his Vibranium arm, and replace his flesh hand with that one. Bucky almost looks hesitant. “Are— are you sure?” His cheeks turn pink, and your heart wants to burst. 

God, he’s perfect.

“When I said I want you, I meant all of you.” You smile and press a kiss to his forehead.

Bucky slips his finger into your core, and you let out a moan, arching your back as it hits the spot. Bucky reacts to the moan and hums with contentment. “That’s my girl.”

The coldness of the metal sends shivers down your body, and you feel yourself clamp down on him. As he curled his finger inside of you, you catch a glimpse of his cock pressing against his light grey dress pants. You moan apologetically as you imagine it inside of you, and just then, Bucky pushes a second digit into you.

“Please— more— that’s so good—“ you breathe out, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Hear that?” Bucky murmured, returning his tongue back to your clit. “You beg so pretty for me.”

Your breath hitched as Bucky suddenly removed his fingers, and his metal hand ghosted over your hip, pinning you into the desk, exactly where he wanted you. 

“You keep— you tease,” you groan, chastising him almost. Bucky’s ice blue eyes seem to darken as his pupils blow. 

“Oh doll,” Bucky sighs. “Tell me what you want.”

This time, his flesh hand returns to your core and without warning, he pushes his three fingers inside of you as his thumb strategically circles your clit. “I like to feel you.” He mumbled, licking a white hot stripe down your neck. 

“I can’t— I’m close—“

Before you could finish your sentence, his finger closed around your most sensitive spot.

And then, a knock at the door. “Congressman? Your private jet is here.” 

Your entire body went rigid as you glanced over to see the silhouette of a man behind the frosted doors to Bucky’s office. Somehow, you'd totally forgotten that Bucky had plans to fly out tonight if he was going to make it to Tokyo for the conference in the morning. The man was only meters away from you both, and had no idea your boss was busy fucking you beyond belief. 

“Ah shit!” You cried, feeling yourself near the edge just as Bucky’s driver interrupted. But Bucky paid no attention.

“Be there in a minute.” He called back, his voice perfectly calm. 

And when he said a minute, he meant a minute. As if on cue, you fell apart, white-hot pleasure crashing over you and his hand muffling the desperate moan that threatened to escape your body as your body rifed and shook beneath him. 

Bucky groaned as he felt you unravel, his hands gripping your thighs as he licked you through, taking everything you gave him. By the time he pulled back, his lips were swollen, and his smirk was wicked.

“Think he heard you, sweetheart?” Bucky teased, pressing a lingering kiss to your inner thigh. 

You were too dazed to even glare at him.

But when he stood, smoothing his tie, his expression softened. He cupped your face, thumb brushing over your lips before kissing you slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. When he finally pulled away, he smirked.

“Looks like we got a plane to catch,” he announced. You dizzily pushed yourself up and hopped off his desk. “Better fix your skirt. Don’t want anyone knowing what I just did to you, do we?”

You swore you were going to kill him.

But first?

You were going to let him do it again.

[sunderwight]

Concept: Wei Wuxian and Hua Cheng as Luo Binghe's younger biological brothers, but it's like, a lot younger.

Like centuries on. TLJ's recovered from his mountain-flattening to the point where he has roughly the strength and capabilities of a decent human cultivator. The world has changed. The boundaries between the realms have gotten stronger, and the potency of demon blood based powers in the human realms have accordingly weakened. Lots of cultivators have ascended, and the current ranks of them are not nearly as impressive as they used to be. Luo Binghe and his husband have withdrawn into the demon realm to try and keep the peace and maintain stability, but TLJ doesn't feel such an obligation and prefers the human realms even when his power is a lot weaker there, so as the boundaries grow thicker, he just sort of sticks around on that side of the divide.

Eventually he takes on the persona of a wandering cultivator, observing the changes that various human sects and societies undergo. As true immortals become much more rare and the cultivation methods and philosophies change, TLJ starts taking on different personas every few hundred years, just to avoid becoming too conspicuous. He observes with interest as the various cultivation sects shift from meritocratic to dynastic inheritance, as the old sects either ascend too far from humanity or else fall into obscurity, while the new ones that take their place provide ample fodder for his soapy RPF stories and gossip mill. The boundaries between worlds become so thick that only beings of extreme strength can pass through, with the most prominent "demonic" forces in the human realms becoming resentful spirits and ghosts, although even so sometimes an item or creature still manages to chance upon a weak spot and cross over.

Beasts and cursed items that would once have been mere trifles for cultivators to deal with instead become major sources of conflict and nigh-indestructible foes. TLJ feels at times like he's watching insects wrestle with the consequences of someone carelessly discarding a piece of garbage in their path, fascinated by the lengths they must go to in order to deal with it, but then he too has his limits these days on how much he can even help (if he chooses to do so, which he doesn't always).

At one point he decides that he'd like to try living life more from the perspective of some of these barely-above-mortal level cultivators. Like choosing to play a game with extra handicaps on, just for the challenge of it. He takes on the identity of a new young cultivator, recently bereft of a master and looking to join one of the great sects, and takes on the name of Wei Changze. Striking up a friendship with the young master of the Jiang sect isn't difficult, and playing the role of servant and subordinate is pretty entertaining.

TLJ is not expecting to encounter one of Su Xiyan's reincarnations in the midst of all of this, but that's life for you.

The new Xiyan, Cangse Sanren, is a lot sweeter than the cold and cutting sugar daddy of days gone by. But she's still quite ruthless when she wants to be, and extremely talented, and she still falls into TLJ's orbit even when she has much more practical options at hand. How can he not fall in love all over again? Even when he thought she orchestrated his betrayal, he never fell completely out of love. He might be a jillion years old by now, but at heart he still wants his Xiyan to pamper and spoil him, and to return the favor as much as he possibly can.

TLJ's no saint. He's as greedy as any Heavenly Demon, especially when it comes to love. So he doesn't refrain from stealing his new Xiyan, Cangse, away from all rival suitors when the opportunity presents itself. When she gets pregnant, he becomes nervous about history somehow repeating itself. He sort of wishes she hadn't. But she's excited, and he never really got to experience this with her the first time. He's greedy for any and all experiences with her, in the end.

The baby is cute. TLJ likes him. This new son also takes after his mother, which is good too. He's not much like Zhuzhi Lang except for being a bit simplistic (because he's a baby) but TLJ feels a stirring in his heart strings not unlike the sentiments he once held for his poor doomed nephew, a stirring that grows in time to become genuine affection.

Intriguingly, this son of his doesn't show many signs of his heavenly demon heritage. It isn't potent enough to require a cradle seal. There are hints of it, here and there, but only to one who knows how to look for the signs of true demon blood. Which actually isn't all that surprising in the end, hybrids can turn out any number of ways. Still, TLJ feels confident that by the time he starts walking and talking, little A'Ying could survive on his own.

Humans tend to raise their children longer for that, though, and Cangse is very attached to their son. So TLJ is like, oh well, no need to cut the apron strings even if this third wheel stuff is dragging on a bit (Wei Ying is four). He's maybe even actively enjoying parenting! He's pretty sure he's improving at it as well, like he always makes sure his son has enough money to buy food before they leave him alone for a few weeks, even though the boy is big enough to hunt small game. Spoils him, really.

But of course, then tragedy strikes again. Despite being stronger than most stuff, TLJ is not nearly as powerful as he used to be, and he sometimes sucks at guesstimating the actual differential between him and some of the malicious ghosts out there. His attempt to satisfy Cange's ambitions and take on the Burial Mounds go disastrously, with Cangse once again dying on him, and TLJ ending up trapped in the resentful mire of the Burial Mounds, body nearly destroyed (again).

So he spends several years locked in a depression fugue state and also very slowly regenerating his destroyed parts, lost in memories and grief, eating a lot of dead humans (never his cuisine of choice, but he isn't rich on options) when one day some rancid little upstart throws down a corpse that isn't a corpse, and is also very familiar.

Why, it's Wei Ying! And he's basically a man now! TLJ's not sure exactly how much time has passed, but given how badly humans age these days, it's probably less than a century. Wei Ying is injured and having a rough time of it, it looks like his human cultivation has gone badly somehow, but he still has enough potency to his heavenly demon blood that he'd need to be dismembered and probably eaten before death would really stick. He's not entirely lucid, though, and the malicious ghosts in the Burial Mounds aren't helping.

TLJ figures, well, he is a father after all, and Cangse was so attached to their little dumpling. He'll help out! Just until the kid gets his legs back under him again. So as Wei Ying scrabbles in the dirt and writhes in torment against the dark energy of hostile ghosts, he also gets to hallucinate his father's half-rotted visage talking him through the basics of some demonic cultivation techniques that ought to help him crawl back out of this pit.

It's a good day when Wei Ying manages it. TLJ wishes him all the best, he truly does, and then he goes back to wallowing. For like five minutes (to him). Then somehow his clingy second son returns to the region, if not to his specific pit, and brings with him a gaggle of humans in varying states of distress and poor health. TLJ finds that the neighborhood has become noisy, but at least this noise involves some interesting news and gossip, and Wei Ying appears to be mastering some kind of hybrid ghost/demon cultivation technique that is pretty fascinating. Trust Cangse's son to be so creative! And he farms, too! Badly, but. Well. TLJ certainly can't throw stones, he's never once gotten the hang of gardening himself either. The only thing he's good at growing is parts of his own body, haha!

He's actually pretty upset when the human cultivators turn up and his son ends up getting torn apart and devoured by the backlash of his own innovations. TLJ briefly considers tearing himself out of his shallow not-grave to kill everyone involved, but that does sound like a lot of effort, and in his experience revenge just never works right anyway. So after a while he just crawls his way out more sedately, saves his energy and uses it to cross back over to the demon realm for a while.

He revisits his eldest son, and is like hmm this is how you decorate a palace? No no it's fine I guess. Where's Mobei Jun's little hamster man, has he written anything new lately? By which I mean in the past thousand or so years. Oh he has! Great! Also you had a younger brother for a while there. Yeah no he's dead now. But he did exist, I actually liked him, very creative boy. Shame about the angry mob.

To which Luo Binghe's response is basically some flavor of "I don't care" whereas Shen Qingqiu is genuinely distressed that Binghe had a brother and didn't even get to meet him.

TLJ hangs out for a while, reads through all of Airplane's latest works, recovers his strength, does some "bonding" side quests with Binghe courtesy of his son-in-law's meddling (doesn't really work), and then eventually decides to go back and see what's going on in the human realm again. He can't help it, he's just not really into demon culture that much, there are only so many years he can spend lounging around the place before he starts feeling itchy and recollecting every agonizing hour of youthful displeasure and boredom that defined his life as a prince.

Getting back to the human realm is even more difficult by the time he leaves again, though. The Heavens are being annoying about it. There are tiers of Heaven, of course, and lately the lowest tier (closest to earth) has been taking a fairly hard stance about keeping the realms apart. Probably because all those gods are still weak enough that even TLJ's failson could just smash them to pieces if so inclined, and the higher tiers have been consumed with their own celestial matters, so most of these junior gods haven't had much guidance and are convinced they are responsible for the order of the universe.

Imagine being less than a thousand years old, coming from the era where most cultivators don't even ascend anymore, and thinking you're hot shit just because you moved up a single rank in divinity. Whippernappers, all of them. TLJ would scold them but that sounds too much like hard work, and anyway they don't even know that he can listen in on their noisy little communication arrays and settle back with some popcorn to watch their dramas unfold. It's like his own personal television channel.

Though he doesn't let himself think directly about it too much, he is also on the lookout for another reincarnation of Xiyan. Things ending in tragedy twice can only make it more likely that they should go well the third time, right? Or, even if not... the tragedy might be tolerable, so long as there's a reprieve of togetherness beforehand again.

Alas, TLJ is not in luck for quite some time. In a moment of weakness he even settles for the pursuit of a spirited young commoner with a just-similar-enough kind of temperament to soothe the ache, before making him feel all the more unsatisfied in the aftermath. It's not that he imagines himself keeping faithful to a woman who has been dead (again) for ages and may or may not be reborn one day, it's more the feeling that having something near to the right thing is, in its way, even more unsatisfying than nothing.

Anyway, the young lady eventually tracks him down with news that she's pregnant, which TLJ supposes could plausibly be a result of their tryst. He gives her some money and tells her to contact him if the baby is weird, which does end up being the case (red eyes, clear demonic tendencies) so he provides some more compensation, at least until the kid is big enough to survive on his own. Then he just sort of peaces out to keep looking for Xiyan-Cangse Mark III, good luck to Third Son, it's not like this world is especially dangerous to a heavenly demon with blood that potent anyway.

Or rather, it shouldn't be, but plot twist: Third Son didn't get the regenerative abilities in the hybrid lottery. He dies on a battlefield. TLJ doesn't even hear about it, though he does eventually assume that the kid must have died because he's not hearing anything about a red-eyed conqueror or such after a few decades and that's unusual for Heavenly Demons. He's not too bothered in this instance, however, because he didn't let himself get attached this time. Smart of him. That whole Wei Ying business was just awful, he still thinks about it occasionally and he'd really rather move on.

Eventually a new ghost city crops up. TLJ doesn't think he'll find any version of Xiyan there, but he goes to check out the night life. Lo and behold, he finds himself spying a familiar face at the new gambling den, too. He's never heard of a Heavenly Demon becoming a ghost, but again, hybrids can be weird like that, and ghosts have filled a lot of the ecological niches left behind by the absence of demons. Ghost King, huh? Turns out Third Son is conquering his way across these piddly little realms. Good for him! Good for him. TLJ opts not to interfere. After all, he's not needed, the kid doesn't owe him anything, and he's mostly just in the city to collect gossip and enjoy the market. They get some interesting books.

He does cheer for this "Hua Cheng" when the kid beats a whole bunch of junior gods into the dirt. This must be the appeal of children's sports teams. The divine communication arrays start buzzing about this calamity, as the youths call it, and TLJ decides he's once again doing pretty good at this fatherhood business. Two interesting sons out of three isn't half bad!

The show gets even more entertaining when it turns out that Third Son has been carrying a candle for a particular disgraced god (Heavenly Demon romantic hyperfixation strikes again) and said god ascends once more, and this time there's all sorts of intrigue and plot twists in the heavenly court. It's so good that TLJ even goes to the effort of placing a call to the demon realms and magically livestreaming some of it to his son-in-law, who was so disappointed to miss seeing Wei Ying in action.

Unfortunately, the event he manages to livestream also features Hua Cheng dying. Whoops?

Well, it's a fittingly dramatic end to the story, even if his eldest son is pissed at him for upsetting his son-in-law with such things. His intentions were good!

As it happens, too, his divine livestreaming was a little more strongly broadcast than intended (well, he had to get it through the realms, that's not easy these days) and someone picked it up on the other side of the celestial divide as well. Specifically, one of the higher tiers of heaven. Which is how TLJ finds out that Wei Ying had actually come back from his first death, in a new body (smart kid!) and then subsequently hooked up with one of those Lan boys and ascended to godhood together.

After reuniting, Hua Cheng also proves resilient to the whole dying business, and so TLJ decides to make things up to Shen Qingqiu by organizing a family reunion.

His efforts initially garner interest from Wei Ying, coldness from Lan Wangji, glacial indifference from Hua Cheng, and some very cautious encouragement from Xie Lian (his sons all have impeccable taste in men), before the reunion finally happens and the gates of hell spring wide to bring forth the ultimate evil (Luo Binghe) and his better half, armed with some delicious banquet dishes and gifts for Shen Qingqiu's new brothers-in-law.

[pathologicalreid]

with your hands tied | s.r.

in which you and Spencer try something new in bed, with a hands off approach (for you, at least)

margotober

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: super very much established relationship, explicit consent, bondage (w/ rope), sensory deprivation, softdom!spencer, sub!reader, there is a clear safe word, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex, praise kink, lowkey voice kink, aftercare word count: 3.77k a/n: writing the content warnings for smut is always a humbling experience. anyways, welcome to kinktober.

“You’re too tense,” Spencer murmurs against your neck, continuing to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses along your bare skin.

You part your lips as he sucks gently just below your collarbone, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough for your brain to go fuzzy. “Am not,” you counter, leaning your head to the side in an attempt to give him a broader surface area.

He hums against your skin, sending vibrations through the entirety of your body as he leaves one more kiss before pulling away to look at you. You were propped up in his lap as if you were on display—but only for him. “You know the rules,” he says, a light warning in his voice telling you that your plans might change.

Nodding, you hold your hand up to list off the big three, “Open communication, deep breathing, and trust in your partner.”

“Do you trust me?” He asks, reaching his hand up and sweeping some of your hair behind your shoulder, keeping his other hand stable on your waist.

Realistically, you wouldn’t have asked him to do this with you if you didn’t trust him. “Yes,” the answer comes easily to you as anticipation thrums through your body.

Spencer squeezes your waist reassuringly, using the pressure to garner more of your attention, “Your heart is racing. Take a deep breath for me, angel,” he instructs.

You’d approached him two weeks ago and asked if he would be willing to tie you up. You knew he liked to be the one in control, you knew he liked to show you new things, but you hadn’t anticipated him being so willing. Taking a deep breath, you seek his reassurance, “Will you walk me through it again?”

He hums in confirmation, gently sliding you off of his lap, he uses his hands to guide you to the mattress. There’s no force in his actions, barely touching you with his fingertips until your head hits the pillow. Tentatively, he takes both of your hands in his before crossing your wrists over one another and bringing them above your head, using one hand to secure your wrists while dragging the other down your side, “Once you’re ready, I’ll bring your hands up here, and I’ll tie your wrists together.”

Spencer previously explained that he wouldn’t use handcuffs on you, citing it as a personal boundary that he wouldn’t cross. He had given you a few binding options, and you chose a lavender rope. It was soft enough to avoid irritating your skin but had enough grip that a knot wouldn’t come undone the moment you tugged on the restraints. You take another deep breath.

“It won’t be too tight,” he continues, “but it’ll be enough to severely limit your range of motion.” Spencer releases his grip on your wrists but maintains his position hovering above you. “At its core, bondage is sensory deprivation. I’m taking away your sense of touch.”

You nod, confirming your understanding as you lift your hands, placing them on either one of his shoulders, “I’m giving it up to you.”

He smiles softly down at you, obviously pleased with the level of trust you’re displaying toward him. “Your heart is still racing,” he observes quietly, leaning down and kissing both of your cheeks.

Raising your eyebrows, your face warms at his observation, “I’m horny, of course my heart is racing.”

“C’mere,” he hums, dragging you back into his lap and holding your face in his hands, “What’s our safe word?”

Settling your knees on either side of his hips, you return your hands to their previous station, “Cactus.” The remarkably unoriginal word was inspired by the plant that was currently resting on your coffee table.

Spencer moves his hands, skimming his palms up and down your bare arms, “What happens if you use the safe word?”

“Full stop,” you answer dutifully, “You stop everything, and the rope gets cut.” Despite its pretty color, Spencer told you not to get attached to the binding – he’d hold no issue with grabbing the shears from your bedside table.

“What happens if I use the safe word?” His intent was for the question to be a challenge, but you know his boundaries as well as you know your own.

Shifting on his lap, you easily recall the discussion from last night, “Full stop. If you can’t release me, I can try to undo the knot on my own.”

He nods in silent confirmation before hooking his finger beneath your chin, getting you to make eye contact with him, “Are you going to try to undo the knot on your own otherwise?”

“No,” you breathe. It was for your own safety more than anything else—if you were to try to undo the knot on your own, you’d risk hurting yourself, but to Spencer, it was a trust thing. If you want him to untie you all you need to do is ask.

Dropping his hands, Spencer slips them beneath the cotton of your t-shirt, skimming his palms over your bare torso and leaving goosebumps in their wake, “Good girl.”

Your breathing hitches at his praise, unable to decide if you want to focus on his words or the way his hands are slowly making their way toward the band of your bra. Tentatively, you poke your head forward to kiss him, wanting to make sure you’re both moving at the same pace.

While you have a slight height advantage from your perch on his lap, he tips his head back so that your lips can connect, satisfying an itch that you were desperate to scratch. Spencer’s lips were always soft in a way that was unfair to the rest of the world population. You consider yourself lucky that you have them at your disposal, working against your own as he slips a hand beneath the fabric of your bra.

When your lips part at the sensation of him gently palming your breast, Spencer wastes no time in deepening the kiss, maintaining control even from his place beneath you. You whimper slightly as he pulls away, moving his hands to tug your t-shirt over your head before fiddling with the clasp of your bra.

You watch as a switch flips in his brain, pupils dilating with lust as he studies the vision of you in front of him. It didn’t matter that you’d been naked in front of him hundreds of times by now, Spencer always made you feel just as special as the first time.

Spencer reaches his hand to the side of your neck, letting his forearm rest on the slope of your breast as he takes you in, “You’re so pretty,” he coos, “My pretty girl.”

Sighing as a direct result of his words, you thumb the hem of his t-shirt, signaling to him that you want to level out the playing field before it becomes rigged in his favor. Silently, he complies, lifting his arms above his head so you can toss the fabric next to yours on the floor.

You lean forward, taking pleasure in the way your skin sits against his, the push of your breasts on his chest. Ignoring the slight tremble in your hands, you run your palms over his chest, admiring the dips and curves of his torso—taking in every part of him before he binds your arms over your head. “It’s alright to be a little nervous,” he assures you, dropping a soft kiss to your bare shoulder.

Swallowing thickly, a thought crosses your mind, “I can… Can I use my mouth on you?”

“No,” he answers almost instantly, “It’s not about me today. It’s about you.”

His response surprises you, “I just want to make sure you feel good too. If I can’t use my hands to touch you, then I want to make sure you find this uh…” you search for the right word, “Fulfilling?”

Spencer chuckles lightly, the vibrations from his chest emanating through your body like an electric current, “Trust me, I’ll find this plenty fulfilling.”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you wonder if he’ll catch onto your hesitation—your desperation to be able to reciprocate your impending pleasure, but his double entendre doesn’t go over your head.

“Baby,” the softness of the pet name relaxes your shoulders, “Do you think I don’t find pleasure in sex with you?”

You shrug helplessly, “I just know you like it when I touch you.” Your hands in his hair. Shallow scratches along his shoulder blades.

Holding your chin between his index and his thumb, he guides your eyes to meet his own, “I’m going to fuck you, and while your arms are bound above your head, I’ll get a full look at the way you writhe beneath me.”

Butterflies swarm in your lower belly at his words, you have to hold back from panting in his lap.

“Fucking you is my pleasure,” he tells you, holding your face in place. “Watching you squirm below me,” he trails a finger from his free hand down your torso before letting it rest on the waistband of your shorts. “The way your cunt clenches around my cock and flutters after you come around me,” his voice deepens with want.

A pathetic moan escapes your lips at his words, causing you to clasp a hand over your mouth.

Spencer snatches your hand away, “Don’t do that. I want to hear all of the pretty little noises you make. I want you to tell me if you want me deeper or slower. I want to hear you.”

Nodding quickly, you feel more and more of your composure slip away as the damp sensation in your underwear grows. “Okay,” you breathe, keeping your eyes on his as you slide off of his lap.

He stands up, making quick work of his sweatpants before propping himself back up on the bed. Of your own volition, you lean back, letting your legs fall open as he climbs over you. You keep your eyes on him, minding the way his body moves above you, the way his cock peeks out from the waistband of his boxers.

From the moment his lips reach yours again, you know you’re a goner. Lifting your head from the pillows in order to tug at his bottom lip with your teeth, you savor the way he groans into your mouth.

In response, Spencer takes both of your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours one at a time and pinning them at either side of your head. He settles his hips in between yours, adding a torturous pressure at your core.

Slowly, your hips grind up into him, it’s a mainly reactive response—your body needs the friction, the relief. Ending your kiss, a low whine bubbles in your throat, “Do you think you’re ready?”

With your hands already pinned to the bed, you let your head bob in confirmation, “Yes.”

Your eyes follow his movements as he kneels between your legs, grabbing the rope from your nightstand before taking your wrists and crossing them one over the other. “It’s soft,” you observe about the material, you’d never actually put it on your wrists before, only touching it in the store with your fingertips.

“That’s why we picked this one,” Spencer reminds you; he had been the one to encourage a softer material, wanting to protect your skin from a rough, fibrous rope. “Tug on it,” he says, leaning back and inspecting the knot.

Tugging on your binds, all you’re capable of doing is pulling your body higher on the bed, and you yelp when Spencer grips your hips and pulls you back down to him. “It works,” you squeak, suddenly conscious of how you’re splayed out for him.

He hums lowly, the soft, sensual sound causing your hips to buck, “Good,” he murmurs, “Take a deep breath for me.”

You comply, blowing air out of your nostrils as he rests his head in the crook of your neck, leaving timid kisses down the column of your throat, an exorbitantly shy action for someone who had bound you to the bed.

His head continues to make its way down your body, leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses across your breasts, “You’re too tense,” he tells you, an echo of himself.

Mindfully, you take a deep breath, sinking your body into the mattress and looking down at him, the saliva on your chest shining in the lamplight—he was going to be the death of you. “I don’t know what to do with myself,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to do anything, baby,” he reminds you gently, “Let go. Let yourself feel it.” His thumb gently rubs circles over your hip bone, bunching up the fabric of your shorts beneath his fingerprints.

You look down at him, lying down between your legs, resting his cheek on the inside of your thigh. The lovelorn look in his eyes causes your chest to tighten, and you gasp at the sensation, your face warming as you remind yourself that he hasn’t even touched you yet.

Spencer hooks his fingers on the elastic of both your shorts and your underwear, pulling any remaining fabric off of your body with a deftness that threatens to take your breath away. “You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, nearly licking his lips at the sight of your wetness. “My pretty, pretty girl,” he continues, pressing tender kisses up your thigh, inching closer and closer to your core.

Peeling your eyes away, you can’t bear to watch the way he peers at you through his eyelashes as he lowers his mouth to your aching cunt. “Spence,” you breathe at the sensation of his tongue licking a broad stripe through your folds and pressing a gentle kiss to your clit.

He bows his head, snaking his arms around your thighs to hold them open, stopping you from closing your legs, and without the use of your arms and your legs, you’re defenseless against his relentless movements. His tongue peeking out of his mouth just enough to tease where you’re most sensitive, kitten licking your clit until you’re panting beneath him, desperate to lift your hips from the mattress, in need of more—so much more.

You pull on your restraints, and he doesn’t stop his movements. Instead, he changes the placement of his hands, using one to massage your thigh while the other finds a home between your legs, his index finger teasing your entrance. A pathetic whine escapes from your throat as you get one step closer to the relief that you so desperately need and the relocation of his hands allows you to rotate your hips, meeting his knuckles when his finger sinks into you with ease.

“So wet,” he whispers, coming up for air and reveling in the way your mouth gapes as he adds a second finger, “So wet for me, darling girl.”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod in acknowledgment as his head drops again, puckering his lips to gently suck on your clit as his fingers work their way in and out of you. The crude, wet sounds emanating from your pussy second in volume only to the breathy moans that continue to slip through your lips.

You imagine yourself reaching your hands down, weaving your fingers through his curls, and tugging on the tendrils in encouragement, but you recall his request to hear you. Since you can’t touch him, you gasp, a small knot forming in your lower belly as he continues thrusting his fingers in and out, “Oh, god,” you choke, looking down to see his hair falling in front of his forehead. “Spence,” you whimper, eyes screwing shut as you beg for your orgasm.

A curse slips from your lips while your back arches off of the mattress, the sheet sticking to your sweat-coated skin as your orgasm washes over you, sending volts of electricity through every extremity until you come down. Vaguely aware of how his fingers continue to move inside of you, the two phalanges curling in a way that makes you shudder.

Spencer tenderly shifts your body up, relieving some of the strain on your shoulders which had become a secondary concern while he had his head between your legs.

You pant helplessly at him, “Ah, ’s too much,” you tell him, walls clenching around his idle fingers as the aftershocks of your orgasm begin to ebb.

Immediately, he withdraws his fingers and brings both of his hands up, mindful not to get his slick-covered hand near your hair, “How are you doing?”

The check-in doesn’t come as a surprise to you, and he wouldn’t do anything until he manages to wrangle an answer out of you. His brown eyes study you with a sensual curiosity as your breathing balances out, switching from the breathlessness of your peak to the gasps of desperation as you find yourself wanting more. “Good,” you answer, “That was so— fuck.”

There was something to say about the effects that losing your sense of touch had on sex, the inability to distract yourself by touching Spencer kindly forcing you to focus on nothing else but how he was making you feel. Leaving you to absorb pleasure percutaneously—this was the kind of sex people start wars over. “Do you want more?”

“Please,” you respond, maybe a tad too quickly.

His responding chuckle does horrible things to your psyche, the butterflies in your stomach coming out of their brief hibernation to flutter through your insides, “What do you want, darling?”

You sigh, “You. I want you, baby, please.”

Spencer hums in response, ducking his head to leave slow, intentional kisses on your chest, enveloping your nipple in his mouth while he brings a hand up to even out the sensation on your chest. Releasing you with a wet pop, he looks up at you with lust-blown pupils, “You have me,” he assures you. “I’m right here, where do you want me?”

Embarrassingly, a high-pitched whine makes its way past your lips—he was going to make you beg for it, and you were going to do it. “In me,” your plea comes out faster than you can control, “Please fuck me, please please.”

He groans in response, “Your fucking manners are going to be the death of me,” he tells you, moving to slip his underwear off, leaving absolutely nothing in between you as he rests his cock in between your folds. “Such a good girl,” he coos.

It didn’t help that you were beginning to feel like you were going insane, waiting for him to finally slide inside of you, “Please,” you add for good measure, the butterflies in your stomach spinning as he moves his hand out of your line of sight, tapping the tip against your swollen clit before finally breaching your entrance.

With an almost startling gentleness, Spencer cranes his head down to press a kiss to your lips. Using his tongue to part your lips, kissing you deeply, you can taste yourself on him, the sensation causing a ripple effect, your walls clenching around his shaft as he sheathes himself inside of you. “I love you,” he mutters against your lips, pulling out of you as he starts to find a rhythm.

“I— ah,” you cry out when he snaps his hips into yours, “I love you too,” you breathe, your eyelids fluttering as he seemingly finds his rhythm.

Spencer takes your thigh in one hand, pushing it up to spread you wider for him as you meet his eyes, the steady rhythm eliciting nothing but a metronome of ah, ah, ahs out of you.

Dropping his head in the crook of your neck, your boyfriend moves his free hand to play with your clit, his thumb circling around the sensitive nub as he continues to fuck you. He moans into your ear, causing your hips to involuntarily lift from the mattress, meeting his thrusts as they start to grow messy.

“’m gonna come,” you tell him, leaning your head back as the rubber band in your abdomen snaps, the pulsing of your cunt only driving him closer and closer to his own orgasm.

His hips stutter against yours, the pacing that he had so perfectly set leaving as he loses himself, hot cum painting your insides as he slows to a complete stop, letting your leg fall to the side as he pulls out of you.

A low keening sound slides from your throat as Spencer skims his hand up your side, “Spence,” you mumble, relaxing into his gentle touches.

He hums against your skin, making his way up until he’s fully sitting next to you, reaching over your head to release your arms from their silken prison. Tenderly, he takes your wrists in his hands, bringing them down gradually so that you can have time to adjust. “Are you alright?”

Spencer’s voice was a very welcome sound, his thumbs gently kneading at the indent marks on your wrists. Your head bobs in response, reaching out for him to help you sit up. The dull ache in your shoulders gave you reason to lean into him, your back against his chest while his nimble fingers found a place on your bare skin, continuing their earlier motions, this time on your shoulders.

Reaching out a hand, you grab the top sheet and pull it snugly to your torso, “Cold?” Spencer asks, his voice no more than a whisper, he presses his lips to your shoulder. “Come on, angel, words,” he beckons, the movement of his lips on your skin causing goosebumps to form.

“Cold,” you confirm, the high of your orgasms vacating your body, leaving you dependent on Spencer for body heat.

Spencer kisses the crook of your neck, “Why don’t we get cleaned up and reconvene on the couch? We’ll watch a movie,” he offers thoughtfully. “We can order in for dinner,” he says, taking advantage of your pliant state and rocking back and forth.

You sigh in his arms, “Can I pick the movie?”

“If you let me pick dinner,” he replies, pulling a throw blanket from the end of the bed and laying it over your lap. “Are you still cold?” He murmurs, a tinge of concern creeping into his voice.

Shaking your head, you adjust yourself in his arms, the tingling in your shoulders beginning to subside, “I’m lukewarm now,” you offer, smiling dazedly up at him, “I’m okay.”

He presses a soft kiss to your hairline, “You did so well,” he praises, his words threatening to melt you.

“So,” you begin, “We’re keeping the rope?”

[delilahsturniolo]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ after teasing chris in public, he makes you face the consequences . . .

you find yourself seated next to chris at a fancy restaurant, his brothers sitting across from you both at the table. the flickering candlelight casts a warm glow on his chiseled features, and you can't resist the urge to tease him, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

as you lean back in your chair, giving him a perfect view of your cleavage, you run your hand on his thigh, moving closer to his crotch each time. he shoots you a warning look, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, but you just grin and continue your antics. "what? like what you see?" you purr, your voice low and seductive as you run your tongue along your plump lower lip. chris shifts in his seat, clearly trying to maintain his composure, but you can see the desire burning in his eyes.

you continue to tease him throughout dinner, running your hands along your own curves, biting your lip, and making suggestive comments. "so wet for you right now.." you whisper, your voice barely audible over the clinking of silverware and low murmur of conversation around you. "no panties on either.” you wink. thank god nick and matt were caught up in their own conversation.

chris grows more and more irritated with each passing moment, his jaw clenched tightly as he tries to focus on his food. but you can see the tent forming in his pants, the evidence of his arousal. finally, as you reach over to trace your finger along his arm, he grabs your wrist tightly, his fingers digging into your skin. he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, "stop. now."

but the thrill of pushing his buttons is too strong, and you can't resist the urge to defy him. you lean back, a defiant smile on your face. with a low growl, chris leans over and wraps his hand around your thigh, squeezing tightly. he slides his hand up, his fingers brushing against your folds. you gasp, your eyes widening as you realize what he's doing. “oh, you think this shit’s funny, huh?” chris scoffs lowly.

he leans in close once again, his voice a low warning in your ear. "keep quiet, don’t want anyone to hear how pathetic you are, right mama?" he commands, his fingers sliding beneath your panties to stroke your clit. you bite your lip hard, trying to stifle a moan as he begins to rub you in slow, deliberate circles.

you can feel the heat building between your legs, your body responding to his touch despite the public setting. he continues to edge you, his fingers never quite giving you the friction you need to come. you squirm in your seat, trying to remain still while his fingers work magic on your body. you can feel the pressure building, your thighs trembling as you try to hold back your moans.

finally, with one last stroke against your clit, chris pulls his hand away, leaving you panting and desperate for release. he leans back in his seat, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watches you try to compose yourself, he just left you wet and needy. you glare at him, your body still humming with need, but you know better than to push him further. for now, you'll have to wait until you're alone to finish what he started. but the thought of him taking control, of pushing your boundaries, sends a shiver down your spine.

© delilahsturniolo

💌: thank you @luvs4matt for the idea!!! 🤍

[astrogossipp]

saturn notes. 🪬

Disclaimer. these observations do not have to resonate with everyone and everything, all expressed in this post is based on personal experience and research.

"Saturn in the birth chart symbolises how an individual faces challenges, handles responsibilities and works towards their growth. Saturn also represents long term achievements and what you get later in your life after some struggle."

masterlist🐈‍⬛

🪬 aries saturn

Individuals with Saturn in Aries tend to be cautious and reserved, often avoiding risks due to a fear of failure and rejection. They may experience health issues related to circulation, kidneys, and frequent headaches. These individuals often assume significant responsibilities early in life, leading to considerable anxiety when asserting their rights and seeking control over situations. Anger can be a challenge for them, and developing self-reliance is crucial for their success. In their youth, they may struggle with self-expression and managing their emotions, such as anger, and may have a fear of various things, including heights or medical procedures. However, as they mature, they often become more courageous and open, overcoming their initial fears and becoming more confident in expressing themselves. Saturn's placement in Aries can create inner tension and conflict, making it difficult for these individuals to fully trust their abilities and leading to a solitary nature. They may prefer working independently over collaborating with others, which can sometimes hinder their professional growth. Over time, they can evolve into effective leaders, though they may still retain a preference for working alone. Their self-perception often leads them to take on more work than necessary, driven by a sense of responsibility and the desire to be seen as capable. This self-sacrificing attitude can lead to stress and headaches. A key lesson for them is to assert their own goals, embrace self-discipline, and practice self-love. Their focus on personal achievement may obstruct teamwork, and they might encounter difficulties in relationships and marriage due to their strong-willed nature. When Saturn is poorly aspected, these individuals may face significant obstacles and conflicts, which can strain their social connections and personal relationships. They might also experience impatience and frustration, leading to potential destructive behaviors if not managed well. Despite these challenges, they are often determined and capable, with a strong drive for success and a keen ability to handle creative and organizational tasks. To thrive, they need to balance their ambition with patience and learn to work harmoniously with others. While their intense focus and drive can lead to significant accomplishments, they should be cautious not to let their impatience and tendency towards self-centeredness undermine their efforts. Engaging in physical activities can help manage stress and maintain emotional balance.

🪬 taurus saturn

Individuals with Saturn in Taurus tend to exhibit traits such as possessiveness, loyalty, jealousy, stubbornness, and discipline. They possess notable endurance and are willing to exert substantial effort to achieve their goals. A profound need for emotional and financial security characterizes them, and they approach decisions with careful consideration, avoiding impulsiveness. Practical management of finances is crucial for them. Health issues may include problems with the throat, speech, and possible headaches. In their early years, they may struggle with expressing their worth and fear financial instability. They might have difficulty enjoying luxuries or feeling valued, which can lead to feelings of inadequacy. As they mature, they often find ways to appreciate financial stability and personal value. They set strict boundaries for themselves and tend to be frugal, spending only on necessities. Saturn's influence in Taurus can lead to a heightened sense of insecurity regarding finances and possessions. These individuals may have experienced financial instability in their upbringing, contributing to their cautious approach toward wealth. They are hardworking, patient, and disciplined, often demonstrating a strong work ethic and methodical realism. A negative aspect of this placement may involve extreme caution, jealousy, and materialistic tendencies, potentially leading to difficulties in relationships and a rigid attitude towards wealth. Despite this, individuals with Saturn in Taurus can also exhibit significant resilience, patience, and a pragmatic approach to life. They may become wise and reliable, showing exceptional endurance and dedication to their goals.Positive development of this placement can foster artistic interests and a balanced perspective on security. However, they should be cautious of becoming overly materialistic or isolating themselves. Building personal security and understanding true values are essential for their overall well-being. Their methodical and disciplined approach to work often leads to long-term success, though they should guard against overemphasizing material concerns at the expense of personal happiness and flexibility.

🪬 gemini saturn

Individuals with Saturn in Gemini are characterized by a rational, organized, and often emotionally detached demeanor. Early in life, they may face challenges in communication and education, leading to doubts about their abilities. Despite their constant stream of new ideas, they may hesitate to venture into unfamiliar territory. They generally excel in analytical fields such as mathematics and science but struggle with social interactions and public speaking. Feelings of isolation and nervous tension may also be prevalent. Health concerns can include issues with the lungs and throat. This placement of Saturn enhances practicality, fostering logical thinking and effective problem-solving skills. Saturn's position in Gemini, being in its triplicity, supports intellectual pursuits and allows for quick comprehension and organizational abilities. Individuals with this placement are often drawn to intellectually stimulating professions, communication, and writing. However, if Saturn forms challenging aspects, particularly with Mercury or the Ascendant, it can exacerbate difficulties in communication, potentially leading to speech impediments or a reduced adaptability. There might also be a tendency to feel undervalued or naive, impacting social interactions. Despite these challenges, Saturn in Gemini can yield significant intellectual strengths, including a keen ability to retain information and a propensity for deep thinking. Overcoming fears related to social interactions can lead to success in communication, writing, and speaking. These individuals need to cultivate self-confidence and trust in their intuition. They often find fulfillment in fields that involve science, physics, mathematics, or engineering. While their flexibility and quick intellectual grasp are assets, they should avoid becoming overly fixated on minor details at the expense of the bigger picture. In their career and personal development, these individuals might excel in roles that require problem-solving and analytical skills, such as research or teaching. They should manage their workload carefully to avoid burnout and ensure they maintain a balance between their intellectual pursuits and personal well-being. With appropriate discipline and methodical thinking, they can achieve significant success and find pleasure in continuous learning and problem-solving.

🪬 cancer saturn

Individuals with Saturn in Cancer often require affirmation of their worth and affection. They may become preoccupied with compensating for a lack of love experienced in childhood. These individuals might struggle to express their emotions openly and may grapple with feelings of guilt regarding past actions. Overcoming emotional insecurities and old traumas is crucial for their success. They tend to manage challenging situations effectively but must learn to address their emotional wounds and practice empathy and responsibility. Health issues related to the chest, breasts, and stomach can arise, and these individuals may find it difficult to let go of significant emotional experiences. Although Saturn's placement in Cancer can be challenging, it offers an opportunity for learning to process and release emotions healthily. These individuals might experience mood swings and fear of abandonment, leading to withdrawal from close relationships and potential difficulties in showing warmth. In relationships, they may struggle to express their feelings, which can lead to feelings of loneliness or being unloved. Their fears of abandonment and concerns about the future are prominent. If Saturn is adversely aspected, heightened sensitivity and isolation from family may occur. However, these individuals have the potential to provide emotional security in partnerships, family, and their careers. Saturn in Cancer may result in internal conflict between personal goals and emotional struggles, leading to anxiety and difficulties. They often display persistence and diligence but may face challenges related to emotional vulnerability and material security. Negative aspects of this placement can lead to procrastination, blame-shifting, and isolation, while positive development fosters conscientiousness, resilience, and a strong sense of duty. These individuals might be inclined toward managing domestic environments and may show an interest in real estate or applied arts. They can experience deep dissatisfaction and emotional sensitivity combined with external reserve and strength. Balancing discipline with emotional expression is essential, and they may struggle with detachment from material possessions. Understanding and addressing these internal and external challenges is crucial for their personal growth and stability.

🪬 leo saturn

Individuals with Saturn in Leo possess significant creative potential but may struggle to express it fully. They are often admired and loved, though they tend to avoid the spotlight and may adopt a guarded demeanor to protect their emotions. Their cautious and reserved nature is coupled with a strong will, but feelings of inadequacy can undermine their efforts. To thrive, they need to work on their self-esteem, creativity, and ability to balance humility with their personal ambitions. These individuals may face health issues related to the heart, spine, and back. Early in life, they might have felt a lack of recognition and approval, which can make them overly concerned with others' opinions during their younger years. However, as they mature, they have the capacity to develop a robust sense of self that is less affected by external validation. In their professional lives, they are driven towards success and may achieve considerable recognition due to their dedication and exceptional work ethic. Despite their pride, their insecurities can limit their opportunities. They may feel that they matured too quickly, missing out on a carefree youth, and this can impact their approach to relationships and self-expression. Saturn's placement in Leo, associated with strong ego traits, may lead them to either embrace humility or struggle with self-centeredness. Their drive for success is intense, often focusing on gaining power and respect. While they can be reliable and warm, their ambition can sometimes overshadow the needs and interests of others. These individuals may find themselves preoccupied with their appearance and strive for personal excellence in their careers and finances. They often have a deep well of inner strength and talent but may struggle to fully realize their potential. They might find it challenging to express their creativity and self-identity, leading to a feeling of unrealized potential. Their desire for recognition can lead them to push their children or others to achieve, possibly as a way to compensate for their own perceived failures. They show a strong interest in creative endeavors and the development of skills, though they may sometimes overextend themselves in these pursuits. To succeed, they should focus on promoting others' talents and practice humility, avoiding a dictatorial approach and recognizing the value of patience and support in nurturing creativity and success.

🪬 virgo saturn

Individuals with Saturn in Virgo are known for their observant, responsible, and practical nature. They may experience learning difficulties and nervous issues, and they often possess a highly critical self-view. These individuals excel in research and strategic thinking but may underestimate their own abilities. A strong preference for routine and order characterizes their lives. A key lesson for them is to understand that perfection is not a prerequisite for success. They should focus on distinguishing what is truly important and cease excessive self-criticism. Health issues may be linked to the abdominal area, particularly the small intestine. In childhood, they might have been preoccupied with others' opinions and sensitive to criticism, leading to hurt feelings. Over time, they may learn to trust their own judgment more. Their challenge lies in maintaining a balance between self-care and daily responsibilities, and embracing self-belief. While these individuals often strive for perfection and may fear making mistakes, they can benefit from avoiding overwork and excessive concern over minor issues. Their analytical and organizational skills are notable, though they may struggle with personal relationships and emotional expression. Their intellectual focus can sometimes overshadow their emotional needs. This placement may be less favorable for love and marriage due to a tendency to neglect emotional aspects in favor of intellectual pursuits. Individuals with Saturn in Virgo might excel in careers that require deep analysis, such as psychology or therapy. They exhibit a strong sense of duty, responsibility, and a critical approach to new challenges. Their professional demeanor is often serious and reserved, earning them a reputation for reliability. In extreme cases, this placement can lead to an excessive focus on details, resulting in psychological strain and dissatisfaction. Outside of work, they might feel a sense of uselessness or boredom if not engaged in meaningful activities. A stable and orderly environment is essential for their well-being. They are often perceived as disciplined, ethical, and hardworking, with a strong inclination towards practical and analytical tasks.

🪬 libra saturn

Individuals with Saturn in Libra exhibit diplomatic and fair qualities, often preferring cooperation to competition. They may struggle with feelings of inferiority and a fear of rejection, leading them to avoid those who show interest in them. This can impact their relationships, as they desire solid connections but might not always adhere to the standards they set for themselves. Achieving a balance between affection and discipline is crucial for them. These individuals are typically responsible and serious about their commitments but may find decision-making, especially in relationships, challenging. They are known for their diplomatic nature, tact, and balanced judgment, making them well-suited for roles that require fairness and cooperation, such as in legal professions. Health concerns may include issues with the kidneys, intestines, and back. Those with Saturn in Libra often marry later in life or choose partners who are older. When Saturn is positively aspected, these individuals may attain positions of wealth due to their cooperative abilities. However, adverse aspects can lead to selfish behavior, which may harm their reputation. Their sensitivity to external influences makes them adept mediators. They tend to regulate their emotional lives with reason, though negative aspects of Saturn can result in critical attitudes and emotional detachment. Their pursuit of perfection might lead to high demands in relationships and a potentially outdated view of marriage. They may also feel that they will never find a partner who meets their standards. Individuals with this placement often excel in artistic or creative endeavors, achieving great success if they are organized, reliable, and tactful in their professions. They are particularly anxious about chaos or unpleasantness and might become frustrated with others who do not share their perspective. They are inclined to say yes even when they wish to decline, which can be a weakness. Learning to set boundaries and say no to those who do not appreciate their qualities is important for their well-being. Saturn in Libra benefits from the harmonious influence of Venus, its ruling planet, enhancing their determination and reliability. Despite their many strengths, these individuals must work diligently to maintain successful relationships. They are generally capable of attracting impressive people and are skilled at drawing out the right information, leaving others feeling valued. Women with Saturn in Libra often become more graceful and dignified, maintaining their principles with steadfastness. They are generous and sociable, driven by a desire to connect with diverse people. When they find a partner who values their innovative spirit, they can offer unconditional love and full affection. However, patience is essential to avoid toxic relationships. Learning to let go of relationships that are not right is a key area for personal growth. Their curiosity and logical approach to understanding things are notable, although they may also exhibit harshness and volatility.

🪬 scorpio saturn

Individuals with Saturn in Scorpio are characterized by traits such as intensity, passion, determination, and a strong will. They often demand much from themselves and others, driven by a deep reservoir of energy and willpower. Despite their resilience, they can struggle with jealousy, impatience, and a desire for control, which may stem from challenging early life experiences where they felt powerless or misunderstood. Health issues related to the reproductive system and intestinal obstructions are possible concerns for those with this placement. Emotionally, they may battle with feelings of being unseen and unappreciated, which can lead to struggles with letting others take control. The intense journey of self-discovery and seeking purpose is a hallmark of this placement, transforming their life experiences profoundly. Saturn in Scorpio individuals are often seen as secretive and difficult to understand due to their reserved nature. They must confront negative traits like stubbornness, resentment, and ruthlessness. Learning to manage these intense emotions and desires is crucial, as is developing trust and recognizing the good in others. The path can be fraught with conflict and hardship, especially if Saturn is poorly aspected, leading to resentment and a lack of self-control. Despite these challenges, these individuals possess remarkable perseverance and a strong will, making them highly capable of achieving their goals. Their intense nature means they approach everything with great passion and determination, often thriving on overcoming obstacles. However, the pursuit of material success can have negative consequences if not balanced with emotional health. Their natural inclination to deeply understand and heal makes them excellent listeners and potential counselors or metaphysical practitioners. They must learn to face their fears and let go of what no longer serves them, recognizing the impermanence of life. This journey involves significant personal growth and transformation, enabling them to tap into an internal source of power that can be channeled positively. In relationships, both men and women with Saturn in Scorpio tend to be possessive and deeply committed, struggling with jealousy and the fear of betrayal. They may keep their true feelings and insecurities hidden, striving for mental discipline and self-control. This placement can lead to great personal and financial success if they can learn to manage their intense emotions and desires effectively. Ultimately, embracing their unique path and overcoming insecurities is vital for those with Saturn in Scorpio, allowing them to achieve their true dreams and desires in life.

🪬 sagittarius saturn

Individuals with Saturn in Sagittarius are often drawn to travel and learning. Many of them, having missed out on formal education, pursue self-teaching. They can become disenchanted with traditional authority, often relying on their intuition to guide them. This placement can manifest in open honesty or, conversely, in carelessness, rebellion, and indecisiveness. Their philosophical or religious views may be rigid, necessitating a thorough testing of their theories. Health concerns for these individuals may include muscle issues, hip problems, sciatica, and liver conditions. Early life for Saturn in Sagittarius natives may be marked by a lack of joy and difficulty in finding life's meaning, leading to a sense of unfulfillment. However, their willingness to share knowledge is a notable strength. Over time, they find happiness in various aspects of life and often become more radiant than others. They tend to have strong philosophical and religious interests, which can influence their career choices. This placement endows individuals with popularity due to their tolerance and open-mindedness. Negatively, they can be cynical, dogmatic, and insincere. They require proof before believing in anything, and they relish adventures and challenges. Fear of losing freedom makes them wary of commitments, and Saturn teaches them through experiences where their freedom is restricted. They may lack endurance and consistency in their goals but have a strong desire for recognition, sometimes leading to hasty actions with negative outcomes. Spiritual maturity typically arrives later in life, often through meditation and self-reflection. Saturn in Sagittarius individuals have a penchant for teaching and spiritual literature, seeking peaceful environments for growth. They are constantly accumulating knowledge and aim for mastery in their endeavors. Their intense focus and passion for learning are beneficial if balanced with experiencing life around them. Careers in education, personal coaching, or religious leadership suit them well. Their dependability and loyalty make them valued friends, and with maturity, they develop diplomacy that aids their progress. Challenges associated with this placement foster growth through persistence and hard work. Their optimism in the face of setbacks is a key asset, helping them navigate difficult times and enjoy the good ones. They are eager to understand the spiritual purpose of life and connect with like-minded individuals. In love, they prioritize their partner's happiness and enjoy planning surprises. Their quest for knowledge and wisdom is relentless, and they approach their work with passion and energy. These individuals are highly intellectual, preferring to master one subject before moving on to the next. They speak their minds fearlessly, which can challenge relationship expectations. However, they may be inflexible in their existential beliefs, requiring substantial proof to change their views. The best romantic partners for them are those who provide comfort and uplift them, understanding their need for exploration. Regular exercise, a consistent sleep routine, and mindful relationship choices can enhance their well-being. Recognizing anxiety and struggles as opportunities for growth is crucial for finding fulfillment. They must be cautious of tendencies towards excessive ambition, cynicism, or sarcasm, especially in relationships.

🪬 capricorn saturn

Individuals with Saturn in Capricorn are characterized by their ambition, fairness, and impartiality. They possess a strong sense of duty and have a deep-seated fear of their efforts going unrecognized. These individuals seldom take time to relax, instead, they are charming and persistent in pursuing their goals and feel a compelling need to control their environment. This placement often leads to a relentless work ethic, primarily for the benefit of others, with a significant emphasis on financial security and self-sufficiency. They easily take on responsibility, often doubting that others can meet their high standards. Health concerns for Saturn in Capricorn natives may include issues with the skeleton, knees, and skin. During childhood, they may have felt a lack of parental presence, particularly from their father. These individuals take their responsibilities seriously and place great value on planning. They often had many chores and adult responsibilities as children, leading them to mature faster than their peers. The weight of life's burdens can feel heavy, as if they are carrying the world on their shoulders, but they typically achieve significant goals and enjoy successful careers later in life. Women with this placement often shine brightly and exude natural confidence, attracting others with their charisma. They feel the burden of commitment and responsibility deeply, maintaining extremely high standards for themselves and others. This can stem from distant or challenging relationships with their fathers. Saturn in Capricorn individuals tend to be reserved, serious, and sometimes cold or selfish. They may struggle with melancholy and pessimism, showing little interest in distractions, pleasures, or marriage. Instead, they pursue serious goals with great consistency, striving for respected positions through excellent performance. Balancing work and leisure can be challenging, and feelings of loneliness or inadequacy may drive them to work excessively. Their strong desire for power and success can lead to selfishness. However, this period is an opportunity to balance needs and wants, finding self-fulfillment. These individuals are encouraged to express gratitude to those who support their journey, recognizing their own strengths and weaknesses. Those born with Saturn in Capricorn exhibit enormous discipline and personal strength when they are fully engaged in their pursuits. They excel in resource management and strategic planning, thriving when their personal goals align with those around them. Overcoming resentment or jealousy, especially concerning status or wealth, is crucial. They seek respect and serious recognition from peers, often aspiring to become authorities themselves. Success, for Saturn in Capricorn individuals, is understood to require effort and diligence. Planning for the future, building strong foundations, and hard work are essential themes. Their dependable and hardworking nature, coupled with tenacity, propels them far in life, despite a constant awareness of the potential for failure. The burden of commitment and responsibility often leads to high standards for themselves and others. Childhood experiences of distant parental relationships contribute to their serious and sometimes cold demeanor. Despite a tendency towards melancholy and pessimism, they remain focused on achieving their goals through consistent effort. Balancing work with relaxation is crucial to avoid loneliness and inadequacy. The drive for power and success can manifest as selfishness, but recognizing and addressing these tendencies can lead to a fulfilling and successful life.

🪬 aquarius saturn

Individuals with Saturn in Aquarius are innovative and original yet maintain a conservative approach. They often perceive the future as challenging and work diligently to better society. They require a platform to express their ideas and face the challenge of growing through openness and fairness. Success demands a tolerant and unbiased public attitude. While they need structure, they embrace unconventionality and may struggle to form friendships. Admitting their feelings and developing intuition and independent thinking are essential for their growth. Maintaining the health of their circulatory and nervous systems, as well as their heart, is important. During early childhood, these individuals may have felt like outsiders, unaccepted by society or friend groups, possibly due to their intelligence. They have a natural ability to identify people who can help drive change. As natural leaders, others often rely on them, and they build strong foundations that benefit both themselves and their communities. However, they may experience difficulties with friendships and feel they do not fit in, preferring to be selective about their associations. Letting go of control and trusting the universe can help them realize their dreams and learn from others. They might be intrigued by the forbidden. Although generally people-friendly and sympathetic, understanding others' needs can be challenging. Learning tolerance and practicing forgiveness are crucial. They employ order, organization, discipline, and tact in unconventional ways, and their ability to see things from a new perspective is a strength. However, they can be serious, impersonal, distant, and overly scientific. Negatively, they can be bossy, cold, and prone to anger when faced with opposition. Overcoming the fear of failure is vital to achieving their dreams. Saturn in Aquarius individuals are flexible, justice-loving, compassionate, and service-oriented. They have a strong desire to lead and guide others. This placement endows them with a powerful concentration, working hard for personal and communal betterment. They are impartial, considering all sides before making rational decisions, but can be socially isolated due to pride. There may be tendencies toward addiction. For success, they must adopt a tolerant, impartial public attitude and develop intuition and original thinking. Applying these skills practically enhances their happiness. They can appear cold in relationships, always seeking truth and understanding the broader picture. Loyalty is a hallmark in friendships, and maintaining a good social status is crucial. A well-aspected Saturn brings high concentration, strong intellect, and initial success, often through innovative ideas and social reforms. Conversely, a poorly aspected Saturn can lead to egoism and spiritual arrogance. Tolerance and forgiveness are necessary for inner peace. Generally, Saturn in Aquarius individuals can foresee environmental impacts, enabling quick decision-making. They are effective leaders, known and loved by others, and exhibit persistence and patience. They find success in psychology, sociology, journalism, invention, and literature. They must overcome intellectual and spiritual arrogance, consistently developing selflessness.

🪬 pisces saturn

Individuals with Saturn in Pisces tend to see the negative side of things and feel a strong compulsion to help others. They often struggle with examining and accepting their past, which is essential for their growth. Building self-confidence is a critical task for them. They need to avoid getting overly involved in others' problems, reduce defensiveness, and trust their intuition. Health concerns may include issues with their feet and lymphatic system. In early childhood, these individuals often felt unnoticed and unappreciated, with their talents going unrecognized. They may have faced false accusations and frequent injustices, leading to a sense of isolation. Living in their own world was a common escape from harsh realities. Over time, they develop a stronger connection with their subconscious, though they may still grapple with past issues. Their vivid imagination can enhance their writing skills. However, their tendency to take things personally often results in self-imposed isolation and self-pity. With Saturn in Pisces, setting boundaries and maintaining discipline can be challenging. Everyday life may sometimes feel overwhelming and disorganized, leading to feelings of being lost. These individuals are intuitive, empathetic, sensitive, imaginative, and self-sacrificing. As practical idealists, they might take life too seriously, believing current problems stem from past actions. They may find fulfillment working behind the scenes, such as in research or institutions. Prone to indecision and moodiness, they often react emotionally to negative situations and people. If they perceive failure or unfair treatment, it can lead to depression. Developing confidence in the future and letting go of the past are crucial. Sharing their experiences can facilitate soul growth. Letting others in can help overcome feelings of guilt, self-doubt, and anxiety, leading to a more fulfilling life. They have a strong affinity for creative fields like art or spirituality and are likely to pursue careers in these areas. Despite appearing confident, they may secretly lack self-assurance and seek a bright future. To improve their well-being, they should clear their minds, go with the flow, and avoid restlessness, defensiveness, and overthinking. Establishing a regular sleep routine is beneficial, as sleep problems are common. Their advice is often valuable, and they understand that soul awakening is a gradual process. Women with this placement may prefer quiet, introspective activities over social gatherings. These individuals are spiritual and may get lost in daydreams. They should stop blaming themselves and avoid negative energy. While they are empathetic towards others, they often lack self-awareness and undervalue themselves. They can achieve success in literature, scientific research, or metaphysics but may have a tendency toward depression, chronic illnesses, and mental disorders. Though some may be escapists, Saturn in Pisces individuals are idealistic and compassionate. They recognize the world's problems and believe they can help. They might experience deep fears of abandonment but will find joy in their own company. Such individuals often feel the need for support and may appear unreliable and emotionally isolated. With positive development, they become conscientious, sympathetic, understanding, and kind-hearted. Despite their loyalty and tolerance, their contributions may go unrecognized. Their profound feelings and intellectual inspiration drive a need for complete self-surrender. They often live a life marked by loneliness, dreams, and unfulfilled hopes. Patience, reserve, and shyness are common traits, and there may be risks of alcoholism, drug addiction, or fascination with magic and ecstasy.

this post was created by @astrogossipp on tumblr <3 if reposting my work please give credits

[neigepomme]

Hi there! I just joined the LADS fandom a few weeks ago and am enjoying it a lot! My favorites are Xavier and Caleb, but the other boys are great too! I love reading everyone’s adaptations of them!

I was curious as to if you were taking requests right now! If you’re not, feel free to disregard this!

I was hoping I could get headcanons for each other the boys with a s/o who enjoys quality time with them, but is big on having their alone time too?

I see a lot of headcanons for them being extremely attached to their s/o (Caleb lol), but what would they do or how would they handle their s/o needing time to themselves alone, to recharge their social battery?

Again, don’t feel pressured to write them if you aren’t taking request! Thank you so much!!!

HIII WELCOME WELCOME!!! omg this topic is so real my social battery is unfortunately very easily depleted so i get it..

˙ ✩°˖ 💫 with xavier

⋆ xavier himself needs his own time to recharge in the form of naps, so when you let him know that you need some time apart to recharge? he most definitely gets it. being neighbors and all, he hopes you know that you can come by and let him know when you're up to interact though — but if you need a longer amount of time to recharge? he just sends over messages narrating what he's up to and letting you know that there's no pressure if you're not feeling up to reply back.

˙ ✩°˖ ☃️ with zayne

⋆ zayne's not the most extroverted either, especially after most days where he's exhausted from hospital shifts, so he understands that your alone time (and his) is important to maintain the relationship healthy. however, he does like basking in your presence so he suggests that you stay together but in different rooms or stay out of each other's way. there's something especially comforting about preparing a cup of tea and a plate of sweets for you, and deliver it to you in his living room, while he indulges in a book in his study. the most contact he'll do when you're having alone time is kiss your forehead before leaving the room to occupy himself with something else.

— "zayne ?"

— "just some food to keep you happy. i'll be upstairs if you need me."

and with a press of his lips to your forehead, he's gone but still within reach.

˙ ✩°˖ 🐟 with rafayel

⋆ rafayel.. takes it a bit harder. it took him years to find you, and even now that you're dating, it's still hard to fully wrap his head around it — he wouldn't do anything to push your boundaries though. instead, he settles for pouting a bit when you mention being unavailable so that you can recharge. he also complains about thomas and his daily life in your messages, but he always does it with the intent to make you laugh rather than to pressure you into answering. however, don't be too shocked when he comes across as more whiny and sulky in those texts.. it's his way to cope...

˙ ✩°˖ 🐦‍⬛ with sylus

⋆ sylus is similar to zayne, albeit a bit more chatty if that makes sense? he completely understands your need for alone time, but he does prefer it when you spend it in his manor rather than at your apartment, so far away from him. if you do insist on recharging at your own place, you'll most definitely get some deliveries that include your favorite lunch meal from your favorite cafe, or a bouquet of your favorite flowers. sylus has no issue with you taking time to yourself, but he hopes you'll let him indulge in spoiling you on your day off. he will let you know that he misses you through brief messages amidst flowers.

˙ ✩°˖ ✈️ with caleb

⋆ caleb is a mix of all of the guys!! having grown up together and whatnot, he's fully aware of your habits, including you taking time off to relax and be by yourself. besides, he lives quite far from you already, so it's not like he isn't used to not being able to see you. however, after starting to date, it's a bit different? caleb likes to stick by you, but not in a way that's bothersome, instead settling for a voice call where the both of you are muted — he enjoys the comfort of knowing you're relaxing and recharging on the other end of the line, even without hearing your voice. don't be too surprised if you get a food delivery around lunch time, sent to you by a mysterious "mr. big apple" though!

[totalswag]

Heyy!! Hope you’ve been great! I have a request…….💌💌

How about Drew and popstar!reader do like a super hot Calvin Klein ad together, and launch a collab with the line. xx

calvin klien collab ⎯ DREW STARKEY!

authors note i've been doing great thank you for asking lovie!! ugh I enjoyed writing this and coming up with some good ideas heheh. i hope we get to see drew on an ad one day (he would look so good). since i usually write about singer!reader x drew being in a relationship, i wanted to write something that doesn't involve them together, more so meeting for the first time.

taglist ✎ ̼ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

masterlist

summary in which you and drew starkey are collaborating in a hot calvin klien photoshoot for the first time.

warning(s) high tension, flirting, bodies touching, y/n and drew being the hottest people on the planet.

Being asked to be involved in a Calvin Klein photoshoot was a complete dream come true. You've always wanted to be one of those women, and now you are able to say you are. When you got the news from your manager you were filled with loads of emotions.

What no one was expecting⎯Drew Starkey and Y/N Y/N featured on Calvin Klein together. After the announcement, everyone was going wild over the news. No one would've thought to two most upcoming talented people in the industry in a photoshoot together.

The room is alive with the low buzz of cameras clicking, stylists altering clothes, and the subtle smell of expensive cologne and body oil hanging in the air. The buzzing of music playing in the background set the mood for the shoot.

Meeting Drew for the first time felt unreal. He was so generous, kind, and understanding of boundaries. He told you, "anytime you feel uncomfortable please let me know."

That made you trust him during the entire process.

"Thank you for coming, my name is Andrew, and I will be your photographer for the shoot," he says while shaking your hands; "for this shoot, we want it to be super hot as the company quoted." 

You and Drew are standing in front of a full-length mirror, bodies inches apart, wearing nothing but the sleek, minimalist Calvin Klein underwear that has already been dubbed the year's best campaign⎯and it hasn't been launched yet.

"Lean in a little more," the Andrew says.

Drew tilts his head, grinning slightly as he approaches. His fingers ghost over your waist, not quite touching but close enough to feel the warmth of his skin through the dense tension in the room. Your pulse quickens. His gaze drifts down to your lips for just a second too long. The camera flashes, recording the moment in real time.

When you put your palm on Drew's bare chest for the following shot, you'll notice how hard he swallows. His skin is warm, and his muscles feel taut when you touch them. You're supposed to be playing a role⎯selling desire, closeness, and the effortless Calvin Klein fantasy⎯but neither of you knows where the performance ends and reality begins.

As you two pull away the tension between you two is still lingering in the air. Drew's usual playful smirk soften into something unreadable. This is all supposed to be professional.

The second part of the shoot arrives. Drew is lying on his back in jeans, with you on top of him in jeans and a jean jacket. Drew's right leg was sitting up, while his left leg laid down. You rested your head on his bare chest, peering into the camera.

Andrew clicks many times in a matter of seconds, prompting you both to change positions. Drew was directed to place his left hand on your waist beneath the jean jacket, and you were asked to lift your upper body while maintaining eye contact.

His piercing blue eyes on you and yours on him. Chills going down your spine. Everything in your body was on fire.

Once the third portion of the photoshoot came to an end, Drew and you were sent back to your dressing rooms to get back into your normal clothing then come out to look over the pictures.

Pictures came out perfect.

"That one has to be my favorite" you say, referring to the picture of Drew sitting behind you, left hand on your waist, head on your shoulder. You sit between his legs, lean back against his chest, and wrap your arms tenderly around his head. You both look sexy and badass. 

Drew and you walked out together with your managers trailing behind you two keeping good distance. You laughed at something he said about filming for Queer when he nearly fell.

"It was really nice getting the chance to work with you, Y/N," Drew admits. "Maybe we should hang out sometime?" Could I get your phone number?

"You're a great person to work with Drew and I would like that, I'm free this Friday if you aren't busy?" You suggest, smiling sweetly.

He chuckles before gazing at his feet, reaching into his pocket for his phone, and handing it to you.

"Perfect, see you soon, Y/N" Drew says, pulling you in for a hug.

"See ya!"

It's been four days since the shoot and your fans have been eager. Calvin Klien teased viewers with behind-the-scenes footage prior to the release of the entire campaign.

One of the clips shows Drew casually tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear in between shoots. Another angle captures the way he murmurs something to you right before a shoot, causing you to giggle softly—an intimate, unscripted moment that only heightens the tension.

Fans on all sorts of social media apps were going crazy. The edits of the clips were being posted. Your phone was blowing up from texts and calls from your closest circle over the campaign ad.

fan88: They didn't have to go this hard for a Calvin Klein ad, but here we are 😳

fan15: i can take them both all at once btw

fan22: so you're telling me this their first time meeting???

fan11: I CAN’T DO THIS. WHY DO THEY LOOK LIKE THEY’RE ABOUT TO DEVOUR EACH OTHER!!! 😫

drew starkey: i think we just broke the internet

drew starkey: i'm about to pick you up too

⎯⎯ my taglist! 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account

@rosezza @chenslucy @whorelaud @rafeyslamb @mymultiveres @runningfrom2am @drewsephrry @drewizz @diqldrunks @starkeyvhs @percysley @francislovergirl @sukuna-wafiu @skyslowalking @kneelarmhstrung @inthelibrarybtw @lilumz-blog @lovingsturniolo @xoxosblogsblog @darkacademictrash @claudiamoscatoo @starkeysturniolo @ratgirlcunt @eddxemxnson @rafespreciosa @yanna2coolz @raewontgoaway @definitelynotdomanique @isabellaxlilah @inlovewrafe @minyoon23 @stevesxwhore @skywalker0809 @yesshewrites1 @acidfeens @stxrzyn @sfotiegiuls @babypoguelife @dolletebun @stoned-writer @drewstxrky @kiiyomei @bxmaaa @pwertiies @6r4cie @ifwfratboychris @sjmalfoy19 @drewrry @outerbanksloverp4l @thesunflowersociety @drewwhor @my-name-is-baby @sparklyananas

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Codependent Characters

Codependency

The state of being mutually reliant (e.g., a relationship between two individuals who are emotionally dependent on one another).

A dysfunctional relationship pattern in which an individual is psychologically dependent on (or controlled by) a person who has a substance use or non-substance-related disorder (e.g., alcohol use disorder, gambling disorder).

Signs of Codependency

Some things found to correlate with codependency include (Marks et al., 2012):

Low self-esteem

Low levels of narcissism

Familial dysfunction

Depression

Anxiety

Stress

Low emotional expressivity

Other signs of codependency (Lancer, 2016; Mental Health America, n.d.):

Having a hard time saying no

Having poor boundaries

Showing emotional reactivity

Feeling compelled to take care of people

Having a need for control, especially over others

Having trouble communicating honestly

Fixating on mistakes

Feeling a need to be liked by everyone

Feeling a need to always be in a relationship

Denying one’s own needs, thoughts, and feelings

Having intimacy issues

Confusing love and pity

Displaying fear of abandonment

Differentiate between a Healthy & a Codependent Relationship

In a healthy relationship, both individuals have a sense of autonomy and independence. Both are able to maintain their own identities while still being connected to their partner.

While in a codependent relationship, one person may sacrifice their own needs and wants in order to please their partner, or they may become overly enmeshed and lose a sense of self.

Additionally, in a codependent relationship, there is often an imbalance of power, with one person being overly controlling or dominant.

Overcoming Codependency

Research has been conducted into group, individual, and family therapy modalities for overcoming codependency, with one systematic review showing a significant reduction in symptoms when long-term post-intervention follow-ups were conducted (Abadi et al., 2015).

The main emphasis of these various treatment modalities is on altering how the codependent person views themselves and their relationships.

This can involve interventions with various (or numerous) goals:

Building Self-Esteem. Low self-esteem is a well-established symptom of codependency (Cermak, 1986; Whitfield, 1991). Building the codependent person’s self-esteem is a main focus of many counseling interventions, with evidence supporting their efficacy (Abadi et al., 2015).

Improving Boundary Setting. Weak or unclear boundaries are another reason codependent people are often willing to compromise their personal needs and happiness to satisfy a partner. Interventions aimed at building self-awareness, self-expression, and communication skills can help an individual’s ability to set and enforce healthy boundaries (Abadi et al., 2015).

Encouraging Self Care. Boundary-setting is just one form of self-care. People with codependent tendencies can also benefit from learning to prioritize their self-care, needs, and happiness before taking care of others (Beattie, 2008).

Originally, “the term ‘codependent’ described persons living with, or in a relationship with an addicted person” (Lampis et al., 2017).

A psychological construct involving an unhealthy relationship that people might share with those closest to them.

It was originally thought to involve families of substance abuse but has since grown to include other types of dysfunctional relationships.

Modern understandings of codependency: “a specific relationship addiction characterized by preoccupation and extreme dependence—emotional, social and sometimes physical—on another person” (Lampis et al., 2017).

The concept of codependency does still apply to families with substance abuse issues but is also used to refer to other situations too.

The main consequence of codependency is that “[c]odependents, busy taking care of others, forget to take care of themselves, resulting in a disturbance of identity development” (Knudson & Terrell, 2012).

To sum up, codependency is a psychological concept that refers to people who feel extreme amounts of dependence on certain loved ones in their lives, and feel responsible for the feelings and actions of those loved ones.

Codependency is not recognized as a distinct personality disorder by the DSM-5.

That said, research shows that while codependency does overlap with other personality disorders, it appears to constitute a distinct psychological construct. The best way to learn about codependency is to review some signs of codependency (examples above).

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[ashtheketchum]

●NSFW AoT Headcanons●

A/N: It's surprising that I've watched Attack on Titan four times and still haven't written anything proper about it. But there's a first time for everything, right?

Warnings: +18 CONTENT, GN.Reader, breeding kink, biting, hickeys, nicknames (baby, brat etc.), public sex, everyone is aged up!

________________________________

Eren Yeager (S. 1-3) (his personality not age!):

He would whimper the first time, but always denies it

"I didn't whimper! Shut up!"

Missionary is his favorite position because it allows him to examine your face and body

He's desperate to know how you feel (even though he can usually tell from your expression)

He overlooks hickeys on your neck while making out

Eren Yeager (S. 4):

Big fan of doggy style. If missionary doesn't work or he's not in the mood for it, he wants to take you from behind

Growls softly in your ear or sighs loudly

Most of the time, he holds your hips or waist and constantly pulls you back against him

Instead of just giving hickeys, he also bites your skin, marking you

Your legs go numb after just one round with him

Armin Arlert:

Soft babyboy

He always makes sure you feel comfortable and good before even thinking about his own well-being

Kisses you gently while he penetrates you

Either holds your hands or caresses your sides

Missionary or cowgirl/cowboy works wonders on him!

He usually maintains eye contact with you, especially when you're about to come!

👏Compliments👏over👏and👏over👏again👏

He blushes with every other movement you make

Whimpers during sex or says your name over and over again

Usually hugs you tightly when he comes

Jean Kirschtein (loml):

Acts like a sex pro but is super shy when it comes to it

He's uncomfortable looking you in the eyes at first, but after a few seconds, he can't look away

Big fan of you riding him because he gets such a full view of your body

Gets called horse for a reason, if ykyk

His eyes keep rolling back when he thrusts into you

Moan his name if you want him to go crazy

He's very possessive, so he'll mark you wherever he can (once your entire neck was covered in hickeys)

"God, baby~…! You feel like heaven, what the hell!?" Get used to lines like that

Breeding kink!

Will accommodate any request you have. Be it to slow down or speed up, or to go harder or softer. If you ask him, he'll do it

Levi Ackerman:

Even though he's into cleanliness, he's dirty in bed

Not necessarily the typical kind of dirty (spitting, etc.), but I hope yk what I mean-

Would spank you, pinch you, and bite you

Office sex is the only option with him

Most of the time, he pushes you over his desk and takes you from behind

Pulls your hair hard or covers your mouth

Growls softly in your ear and maybe throws in an insult or two

Kisses you very rarely, sometimes not at all

But he cleans everything up thoroughly when you're done

Sometimes he also wants you to give him a blowjob while he works on documents

Erwin Smith:

Office sex, just like with Levi

Be well stretched, because this man wants to try all kinds of positions with you

Like against the wall, with your legs on his shoulders

Would only have sex with you if you were in a formal relationship

You don't have sex often, but when you do, it's intense and lasts a long time

Always asks you before he even wants to undress you

Moves slowly but hard, usually going in as deep as he can

Sometimes he caresses your cheek when he sees you're really enjoying it

Even though he loves missionary, he also likes to see you on top

Constantly compliments you and tells you how good you make him feel

Porco Galliard (loml pt.2):

Ass Lover

He grabs your ass when he fucks you hard and always has his hand on your lower back when you go somewhere

He also likes to slap it or sometimes kiss it

Is it known that his favorite position is doggy style or reverse cowgirl/cowboy?

Is horny 24/4 and can hardly keep his hands off you

But he remains respectful and doesn't cross any of your boundaries

Sometimes makes teasing comments to make you blush

Sometimes pushes your face into the pillow if you're too loud for him

Bites your shoulder hard when it gets too much for him

Usually likes it fast and hard

[kaira-diaries]

No Rest for the Wicked:

Warnings: (SMUT!)(VIOLENCE!)

Pairing: fem!reader x frontman

Word Count: 9.7k

Summary: In-ho is a meticulous frontman who thrives on precision, discipline, and control. Every move is calculated, every moment accounted for—until she arrives. Hired out of necessity, the young woman is his complete opposite. She thrives on chaos, taking pleasure in breaking every rule and every plan he sets. Worst of all, she seems to take delight in driving him to the edge of his patience. Their partnership is a volatile clash like oil and water. She teases, taunts, and tests every boundary, while In-ho struggles to maintain his composure. But as their friction builds and the stakes rise, the dangerous line between loathing and longing begins to blur.

A/N: luv luv luvvv this one. Happy reading!!

Masterlist <-

____________________

You glanced at your wristwatch, the sleek silver face reflecting the dim overhead light. The seconds ticked away with maddening precision, each passing moment amplifying the knot of irritation in your chest. She was late—incredibly late.

Your fingers twitched, curling into tight fists as you fought to keep your composure. The air around you seemed heavier, the muffled chatter from the other side of the room doing little to distract from the growing tension. Across the table, the host offered you a reassuring nod, his attempt at easing your affliction falling painfully short.

It wasn't just her tardiness that got on your nerves. It was her audacity, her knack for stretching the limits of your patience like a bowstring ready to snap. She wasn't just inconsiderate—no, that would be too simple. She was deliberate calculated in her chaos, and she knew exactly how to press every button you had.

And that knowledge? That smug, unspoken certainty she carried? It was infuriating.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, the faintest tremor in your jaw betraying the effort it took to remain calm. The chair beside you was still empty, her absence an almost tangible presence, lingering like a challenge she'd thrown down just to see how far you'd bend before breaking.

Her very presence was a thorn lodged deep under your skin, impossible to ignore and maddening in its persistence. She never listened to you—never. If you asked her to go left, she'd veer right with a smirk that seemed designed solely to test your patience. Worse still, she didn't just disregard your requests—she actively defied them, as if rebellion were her favorite pastime.

And yet, somehow, inexplicably, the games never faltered. The flow remained seamless, like clockwork ticking away in perfect rhythm, even as she derailed every plan you meticulously crafted. It was a mystery that gnawed at the edges of your mind—a puzzle that only served to deepen your frustration.

She was impulsive, reckless to a fault, charging ahead without a second thought. Her voice carried over everyone else's, bold and unapologetically loud, as if daring the world to silence her. Every question she asked felt less like a search for understanding and more like a challenge, a way to undermine your authority with a simple raise of her brow.

But what truly stoked the fire of your irritation was the way the host looked at her—admired her.

The easy way he laughed at her quips, the way his eyes lit up when she spoke, as though she were some indispensable force of nature. It was because of him that she was here in the first place. If it were up to you, she wouldn't have lasted a single day.

Your fingers itched with suppressed rage as you watched her enter from across the room, all audacity, moving through the space like she owned it as she leaned against the wall beside you. If you had your way, you'd silence her smug grin permanently. Snap her neck in one clean motion and finally restore the order she so gleefully disrupted.

But you didn't.

You couldn't.

And that, more than anything, made you despise her all the more.

"You're late," you said, your tone clipped and icy, each word measured to convey your displeasure.

"No, you're early," she countered, her voice light and teasing. The smooth, carved white mask tilted up toward you, the faintest reflection of the room's dim light glinting off its polished surface. Her snicker followed, a soft, mocking sound that seemed to echo in the silence she'd created.

"Typical. Always trying to show off like a teacher's pet." She snapped.

"Early?" you shot back, rolling your eyes under your mask. "No, you're just late. Again. Not that I'm surprised—being on time would require you to actually care about something other than yourself."

She let out a dramatic gasp, clutching her chest like you'd mortally wounded her. "Oh no, I've disappointed the hall monitor! What ever will I do?" Her snicker was sharp, slicing through the room like a needle poking at your patience.

"Yeah, laugh it up," you muttered, crossing your arms. "You wouldn't last five minutes if someone actually called you out on your bullshit."

"And yet here I am," she countered, taking a step closer. Her voice dropped into a mock-serious whisper. "Still standing. Still better than you at literally everything. Weird how that works, huh?"

You scoffed, leaning forward slightly. "Better at what? Being an obnoxious pain in the ass."

"Careful," she interrupted, wagging a gloved finger in your direction. "Your big words might scare someone. Not me, obviously, but someone."

"Big words?" you snapped. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot I was dealing with an immature brat."

"Better an immature brat than a boring old stick-in-the-mud," she quipped, the smirk practically audible in her tone.

"Stick-in-the-mud?" you repeated, incredulous. "Says the person who can't handle basic responsibilities without making it a disaster."

"Doing something doesn't mean running around and breaking everything just because you can," you shot back, your voice rising slightly.

"And hiding behind rules doesn't make you noble," she snapped, her tone sharper now. "It just makes you boring. And scared."

"Scared?" you hissed, leaning down until your masked face was level with hers. "You don't even know what fear looks like. But keep this up, and I'll gladly show you."

"That's enough," the host calls out, his voice calm but firm. His eyes held yours for a moment, a silent command to back down. "She's here now, and that's what matters."

Your fists clenched at your sides, the urge to argue bubbling just beneath the surface. Instead, you exhaled sharply through your nose, shifting your gaze from the host back to her. She tilted her head slightly as if daring you to say more.

It took every ounce of restraint you had to stay silent as you took your seat.

As she sat down, the host cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Alright, let's get started. As you all know, the next round of games is fast approaching. We've received feedback from the VIPS, and there's been a proposal to adjust the contract terms for the contestants."

Your pen hovered over your notes as the host continued. "The new terms suggest that we raise the stakes, increasing the reward but also the risks. This is meant to incentivize more dramatic gameplay."

"Riskier how?" she interjected, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.

The host barely blinked. "Higher physical and mental demands. Greater challenges, fewer safeguards. It's meant to create... heightened tension for the VIPS."

You frowned, straightening in your seat. "That sounds reckless," you said, your tone sharp. "We're already walking a fine line. This could jeopardize the structure of the games."

"Oh, come on," she drawled, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, her mask catching the dim light. "You're always so uptight about the 'structure.' Maybe a little disarray is exactly what the games need."

Your pen pressed harder against the paper than necessary, the sound of the tip scraping echoing faintly in the room. "Disarray undermines everything we've built. The games operate on discipline and order. Anything less is unacceptable."

She let out a low laugh, a sound that made the hair on the back of your neck bristle. "Unacceptable to you, maybe. But isn't the whole point to keep the VIPS on the edge of their seats? You can't do that if everything runs like one of your precious schedules."

Your grip on the pen tightened as you shot her a glare beneath the mask. "It's that 'precious schedule' that ensures the games run smoothly. Without it, this entire operation would collapse."

She tilted her head, her fingers tapping idly on the table. "Or maybe you're just afraid of losing control. Letting things get a little messy might show you're not as indispensable as you think."

The tension in the room was strangling now, the host glancing between the two of you before raising a hand. "Alright, that's enough," he said, his voice firm but calm. "We're here to discuss the proposal, not argue over personal philosophies."

You leaned back in your chair, exhaling sharply as you forced yourself to look away from her. But even without meeting her eyes, you could feel the weight of her gaze, the amusement radiating from her like heat.

The host continued, detailing the proposed changes, but you barely heard him. Every word she'd said replayed in your mind, each one an irritating barb lodged under your skin.

By the time the meeting ended, your patience was threadbare. And as she passed by you on her way out, she murmured just loud enough for you to hear, "You should try relaxing sometime. It might save you a wrinkle or two."

The sound of her laughter lingered in the air long after she'd disappeared, mocking and maddening.

_____________________

A week had passed, and In-ho had been conspicuously absent.

You smirked to yourself, the corner of your mouth curling upward as you imagined him pacing somewhere, fuming, probably off whining to the host about how intolerable you were. The thought was almost enough to make you laugh out loud.

Let him complain. Let him stew. You couldn't care less.

You weren't about to be another one of his obedient little soldiers, marching in perfect formation at the snap of his fingers. No, you were his equal, and that fact grated on him more than anything else. You weren't some pawn on his neatly arranged chessboard, and you sure as hell weren't going to roll over like some well-trained dog every time he barked an order.

No, you'd made it your personal mission to shatter that illusion of control he clung to so tightly. To remind him that not everyone in this damn place would cower under his glare or scramble to meet his impossible standards.

Pissing In-ho off wasn't just a habit—it was an art form. A beautifully destructive symphony of defiance, played out in every smirk, every pointed question, every subtle act of rebellion. And with every crack in his composure, every flash of irritation you coaxed out of him, you felt a flicker of satisfaction.

If In-ho couldn't handle you, that was his problem.

Fresh from the shower, you felt the lingering warmth of the water still clinging to your skin as you moved to the mirror. The steam hung in the air, curling in soft tendrils around you, but your focus was sharp. You reached for your outfit—a pair of pristine white trousers tailored to perfection, sliding them on with ease. The fabric was smooth and cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the flush of heat still fading from your body.

Next came the matching top, its clean lines and minimalist design fitting like a tight second skin, a hint of cleavage showing. The mirror reflected the symmetry of your ensemble, stark and crisp, a blank slate ready for the chaos to come.

Today marked the start of the games, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't buzzing with anticipation. Excitement simmered beneath the surface, an energy you couldn't suppress even if you wanted to. The stillness of the off-season always wore on you, like an endless monotony threatening to smother. But this—this was different. The games brought life, unpredictability, and tension to this place. They brought purpose.

Your fingers worked through your hair with practiced precision, brushing out the loose curls that tumbled just past your shoulders. Each strand gleamed under the soft light, catching faint golden hues as they settled into place. You reached for your mask—the final touch.

The smooth, flawless surface was cold in your hands as you raised it to your face, adjusting the fit until it sat perfectly. Its pale white sheen concealed everything, leaving only your sharp gaze visible through the narrow slits.

The games were about to begin, and with them, the thrilling chaos you craved. The air seemed to vibrate with possibility as you turned away from the mirror, your footsteps light but purposeful into the hallway. You grabbed your heels, throwing them on when the elevator slid open, and out stepped In-ho.

You rolled your eyes beneath your mask, the gesture hidden but no less satisfying, as you leaned back against the cool wall. Sliding one foot into a sleek white heel, then the other, you caught the distinct sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps echoing down the hallway. Your head tilted, curiosity piqued as you glanced up. His walk was brisk, almost aggressive, his movements radiating irritation with every stomp.

A grin tugged at the corner of your lips. Perfect opportunity.

Straightening, you smoothed your trousers with exaggerated calm and crossed your arms, planting yourself squarely in his path. "What's your deal?" you asked, your tone dripping with feigned innocence, though the amusement was hard to miss.

He didn't so much as slow down, brushing past you like you were an irritating fly buzzing too close to his ear. His silence only made your grin widen. You turned to watch him stride into the lounge, catching the moment he ripped off his mask with an almost violent flourish and tossed it onto the sofa.

Without missing a beat, he stalked to the nearby bar, pulling out a pristine glass and filling it halfway with whiskey in one smooth motion. His hand tightened around the bottle for a moment before he set it down with a sharp clink.

"I don't have the energy for you right now," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, as he raised the glass to his lips.

You clutched your chest dramatically, letting out a mock gasp. "Too bad." Pushing off the wall, you strolled into the room after him, your heels clicking against the floor with an infuriating rhythm.

"You know me, In-ho. I thrive on inconvenient timing."

He shot you a sidelong glare, but it only spurred you on. You leaned against the edge of the bar, propping your chin on your hand as you stared up at him, unbothered by his simmering irritation.

"What's got you so grumpy, hmm?" you teased, your voice lilting like you were speaking to a child throwing a tantrum. "Did someone spill coffee on one of your precious schedules? Or maybe a player wasn't sufficiently terrified yet?"

His jaw tightened, the muscles working as he downed another sip of whiskey, refusing to look at you.

You couldn't help but smirk. "Silent treatment? Really? Come on, In-ho, you can do better than that. Don't tell me I've already worn you out."

He set the glass down with a deliberate thud, finally turning to face you, his eyes dark and sharp. "Do you ever stop talking?"

"Not when I'm having this much fun," you quipped, batting your lashes beneath the mask. "And you, my friend, are very entertaining right now."

His exasperated sigh only made you grin wider.

In-ho's hand hovered over his glass, his fingers tightening briefly before releasing. He stared at you for a long moment, his jaw ticking as if he were debating whether to engage or ignore you entirely.

"You know," he began, his tone flat and dripping with mock thoughtfulness, "if you put half as much effort into your job as you do into being a nuisance, this place might actually run smoother."

You let out a soft laugh, pushing off the bar to stand closer, just enough to invade his space.

"Oh, but where's the fun in that? Besides," you said, tilting your head, "I'm pretty sure this place would collapse under the weight of your ego without me around to balance it out."

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might actually snap back. Instead, he grabbed his glass and took another slow sip, his eyes narrowing over the rim as he watched you.

"And here I thought you were just here to waste my time," he muttered, his voice low and edged with sarcasm.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," you shot back, circling him with deliberate steps, your heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that mirrored your teasing tone. "Wasting your time implies you have something better to do."

"I do," he said, his voice sharper now as he turned to follow your movements, his eyes tracking you like a predator.

You stopped just behind him, leaning in close enough that your breath brushed against his ear. "If you say it's running the games, I might actually die of boredom."

He spun to face you, stepping closer, and suddenly, the space between you felt almost too small. His dark eyes bore into yours through the slits of your mask, the tension crackling. Before you could register his movement, he grabbed the edges of your mask with one swift motion. His fingers were rough, impatient, as he yanked it off your face, throwing it on the couch with a force that made you stumble back slightly.

"Is this all just a joke to you?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

You met his gaze evenly, your grin fading just slightly as the weight of his intensity pressed against you. "Of course not," you said, your tone softer but still laced with defiance. "But I'm not going to let this place suck the life out of me, either. Someone has to keep things interesting."

"Interesting," he repeated, the word almost a growl. "Is that what you call constantly testing my patience?"

"Mm-hmm," you hummed, a smirk returning to your lips as you took a deliberate step closer. Now, the two of you were nearly chest to chest, and the air between you was thick with something unstated.

But then—chime.

The sound of your wristwatch ringing out broke the silence, cutting through the tension. You glanced down at the sleek, minimalist face, the chime reminding you of the ever-pressing duties waiting for you. The games were about to begin, and you had no time to waste.

"Looks like playtime's over," you said with a small sigh. You could see the frustration in In-ho's face, the way his jaw tightened with each passing second, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction.

"Don't worry," you added, voice sweet with irony, "you'll have plenty of time to stew while I'm running the show."

As you reached your mask on the couch beside his, you paused, then turned back to face him. You could almost see the annoyance simmering in his eyes, his grip tightening around the whiskey glass.

"Just a word of advice, In-ho," you said, stepping a little closer, your tone suddenly shifting to something colder, sharper. "Next time you decide to rip off my mask…" You took a slow, deliberate step toward him, your voice low, "Make sure you're ready for what comes after. Because I promise you, you won't like it."

For a moment, the two of you locked eyes, the silent tension thick enough to strangle the air between you.

You gave him a final, knowing smile—this one devoid of the usual amusement. "Don't test me again."

The air between you and In-ho crackled with a challenge, but just as you turned to leave, In-ho's voice stopped you.

"Is that supposed to scare me?" he asked, his tone colder than before, the edge in his voice unmistakable.

You paused mid-step, a smirk curling at the corner of your lips as you slowly turned back to face him. His eyes were narrowed, but there was something new in them—a flicker of defiance, something that suggested he wasn't backing down so easily.

"You seem awfully confident for someone who doesn't know what they're up against," he continued, his words slow and deliberate, each one measured, like he was trying to work out the exact right thing to say. "You think I'm fearful of a tiny little bitch like you?"

You raised an eyebrow, stepping a fraction closer, the space between you now charged with a dangerous sort of energy. "Oh, In-ho," you said, voice light and airy, but there was something deadly lurking behind it. "I'm not trying to scare you. I'm just threatening you. There's a difference."

You took another step forward, the space between you both shrinking, until you were standing far too close—close enough to feel the heat of his body radiating against yours. His eyes locked on yours, dark and simmering with something raw, something dangerous. Without warning, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a force that made you gasp, yanking you forward into him.

The suddenness of his movement left you breathless, and before you could process it, you found yourself pressed against him, chest to chest. The strength of his hold on you was unwavering, his fingers digging into your skin as if he was holding you there, forcing you to feel every ounce of his power.

"You think I won't do what it takes to put you in your place?" In-ho growled, his voice low, rough with barely contained fury. His breath, tinged with the sharp scent of whiskey, brushed against your lips, making your pulse quicken in spite of yourself. "Because I will."

"Don't ever threaten. Me. Again," he said, his voice laced with cold venom, each word deliberate, each syllable a promise of something darker to come if you crossed him again. He pushed you off him and turned back to his bar for another drink.

_________________

The first game was successful.

You stood tall in the control room, ordering the guards with ease as players began to drop like flies, unveiling the victors of Red Light, Green Light.

Shifting your weight between your heels, you couldn't help but replay the confrontation with In-ho earlier. His threat still lingered in your mind, but there was no real fear. You knew exactly what would happen if he laid a hand on you—the host would have his ass, and that made you untouchable. It was almost amusing, the way he thought he could assert dominance over you, but you knew better.

As the game room emptied and the familiar hum of quiet descended, you decided to retire for the night—until your walkie-talkie rung to life, pulling you back into the present.

You answered immediately, the sound of your voice cutting through the tension in the air.

"What."

"There's an intruder somewhere in the facility."

A rush of adrenaline shot through you, the word intruder sparking something dangerous in the pit of your stomach. Your body went rigid, anticipation flooding your veins like wildfire. This wasn't just any ordinary situation—this was chaos, and you thrived on it.

"We found a police ID on the south side of the island," the voice continued, the urgency clear, "and a dead guard on the lower level."

You bit your lip, a wicked smile curving at the corners of your mouth as anger mixed with something else—a thrilling excitement. This was exactly what you'd been waiting for. The tension, the unknown—everything about this screamed hunt.

"I'll meet you on the lower level," you responded, your tone sharp, like a knife waiting to strike.

"No need; the boss is down here with us, he's handling it."

A scoff escaped you before you could stop it, and you rolled your eyes as you muttered, "Is he, though?" The idea of In-ho trying to handle this alone, trying to assert his control—it was almost laughable. This was the kind of mess you relished, and there was no way you were going to let him take all the fun.

Your pulse quickened, the thrill of the chase making your heart beat faster. You couldn't help it—the thought of an intruder, someone bold enough to cause trouble on your island, made every cell in your body buzz with energy. You were practically vibrating with anticipation.

Without missing a beat, you ordered three guards to accompany you to the lower levels. Your voice was steady, but there was an undeniable edge to it now, sharp with the excitement of what was to come.

You didn't turn away from the path you'd set. In-ho could sulk all he wanted—he'd never keep you from what you wanted. This wasn't just an intrusion; it was the chaos you craved. And there was no way you were going to sit back and let him deal with it.

"Let's see how this goes," you muttered under your breath, a grin spreading across your face as you turned toward the elevator, the sound of your heels echoing with purpose. You couldn't wait to dive into the chaos, and you were going to enjoy every second of it.

With your mask snug against your face, you stood in the elevator, the steady hum of the descent filling the silence around you. The weight of the moment settled in, a charged anticipation hanging in the air as you glanced over at your three guards. They were tense, waiting for your command, ready for anything, but you could tell there was hesitation in behind their masks.

"There's an intruder in the facility," you stated flatly, your voice cutting through the air like a knife. Your tone brooked no argument, no questions. You were in control now, and they knew it.

You met their gazes one by one, masks hard and unwavering. "I want you to find him. Immediately."

You didn't wait for a response, your hand instinctively moving to your belt. You drew your pistol with a fluid, practiced motion, the weight of the gun in your hand grounding you further in the moment. You turned slowly, locking eyes with each of your men, the tension thickening with every passing second.

"Your other boss," you continued, your voice taking on a dangerous edge, "will try to shut me down on this. But you listen to me." You paused, letting the words settle, watching their masks carefully for any sign of doubt. "You listen to me, and only me."

"You understand?" you asked, your tone low but commanding, making it clear that any refusal wasn't an option.

The guards nodded in unison, their resolve solidifying, and you felt a quiet thrill run through you. They were on your side now. It wasn't just about finding the intruder anymore; it was about asserting your control, staking your claim over this situation, and making sure no one—especially In-ho—could stand in your way.

As the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, the guards quickly split off, and you stalked down the hallway with a purposeful stride. Your heels clicked sharply against the floor, the rhythmic sound echoing down the corridor, as if marking the arrival of something—or someone—undeniable. Your mask kept your expression hidden, but the challenge was clear in the way you held yourself.

You could feel In-ho's presence before you saw him. The moment you laid eyes on him crouched over the body, surrounded by six of his ever-loyal guards, a familiar irritation stirred in you. His stoic figure, his posture always so composed and controlled, was as irritating as ever.

The guards parted with military precision, saluting you as you approached, but you didn't spare them a glance. Your focus was entirely on him—the one who always thought he had it all figured out, the one who couldn't stand the fact that you didn't take his orders lying down.

"Really?" you said, your voice cutting through the tension, dripping with sarcasm. Your mask didn't soften the bite of your words, and you could sense the flicker of frustration in his eyes. "Trying to send your message through an underling to keep me out of this?"

In-ho's eyes narrowed, and the way his hands tightened into fists at his sides was enough to show how much your words were riling him up. His mask didn't hide the intensity of his gaze—if anything, it only made his irritation more palpable, the way his body seemed to vibrate with barely contained annoyance.

He stood slowly, his movements precise, and as he straightened to his full height, the weight of his glare bore down on you.

"Get back upstairs," he said, his voice low and sharp, like a blade barely missing its mark. The command in his tone was unmistakable, but you didn't flinch. If anything, you leaned in closer, making the air between you thick with challenge.

Without hesitation, you crossed your arms over your chest, your mask hiding the smirk that played at your lips. "Are you forgetting something?" you asked, your voice dripping with the kind of defiance that made it clear this was no ordinary confrontation. "I'm your equal. I'm just as capable, if not more, of handling this shit."

You let the words hang in the air, the quiet simmering tension growing as In-ho's grip on his composure seemed to loosen. His jaw clenched harder, and you could almost feel the heat radiating off him as he fought to keep his cool. But that slight shift—just a crack in his carefully maintained mask—was everything to you.

Without a word, he raised a hand, signaling the guards to step back. They hesitated for a split second before following his command, moving to the sides of the hallway, leaving you two alone in the tense silence.

In-ho's mask never left yours as the guards disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.

He exhaled sharply, as if trying to steady himself, but his irritation was practically crackling in the air. "You think you can handle this better than me?" His voice was a low growl, now tinged with genuine annoyance, his mask never leaving yours. "Do you even know what you're dealing with?"

The thrill of it made your pulse quicken, the mask hiding the grin that was now fully on your face. You had him exactly where you wanted him—flustered, irritated, and not in control.

"Guess I'll find out," you said with an almost playful tilt of your head, taking a step closer, relishing in how much he wanted to throw you out of this.

In-ho took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the distance between you both. His posture was rigid, every muscle taut, his mask a barrier that did little to hide the fury brewing beneath the surface. You didn't step back; if anything, you stood taller, a deliberate challenge in your stance, as if daring him to take it further. He reached, gripping your wrist like earlier, but the strength of it nearly took your breath away this time.

"You think you can just do whatever you want, don't you?" His voice was lower now, more dangerous. The frustration in his tone was almost palpable, every word clipped and sharp. "You think you're above this, above me?"

You tilted your head, your mask hiding the satisfaction curling at the corner of your lips. The sight of him like this—the normally composed, always in control In-ho, now visibly rattled—was just the reaction you wanted.

"You're not above me," you countered, your voice calm, but there was a taunting edge to it. "If you think I'm going to bow down just because you're playing boss in front of your little army, you're sorely mistaken."

The air between you was thick with anger and something else—something raw. In-ho's grip on your wrist was unrelenting, his fingers like iron around your skin, but you weren't backing down. You matched his intensity, glaring up at him through your mask, your heart pounding with adrenaline and the thrill of the confrontation.

"You think I'll just bow down because you tell me to?" you repeated, your voice cutting through the tension.

In-ho's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing with growing frustration. "You don't have a choice," he hissed, pulling you forward.

Your free hand shot out before you even thought, slapping his hand away, pushing him back with a force that surprised even you. He stumbled slightly but didn't give up. He was quick—too quick. His fist shot out, grazing your cheek just enough to leave a sting. You stumbled back. The impact fired something inside of you, a spark of rage and something deeper, something darker.

Slipping your mask off, you dropped it to the ground and wiped your cheek with a gloved hand, feeling the heat of his blow still linger on your skin, but the anger that burned through you now was far more potent than any pain.

"Is that how it's going to be?" you asked, your voice dangerously calm, a wicked grin pulling at your lips. "You want to hit me, In-ho?"

Without waiting for a response, you lunged forward, swinging a fist of your own aimed at his chest. He sidestepped just in time, but you were already moving again, quicker than before, aiming for his midsection this time. The force of your punch collided with his ribs, and you felt the sharp crack of contact. He grunted but didn't falter.

He responded almost instantly, his body lunging at yours with the full force of his weight, knocking you back into the metal wall with a sharp thud. Pain shot through your body, but you were too filled with adrenaline to let it slow you down. You twisted, slipping from his grasp with a quick maneuver, spinning around to land another kick to his side.

In-ho grunted in surprise, his mask knocked off from the fall, but he was on his feet in an instant, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and something else—something you couldn't quite place. He grabbed you by the shoulders, slamming you back against the wall again, his grip tightening with a force that made your breath catch in your throat.

"You think I'm going to let you walk all over me?" he growled, his face dangerously close to yours. His body was pressed against yours, and you could feel every muscle in his frame, the heat radiating off him like fire.

"You think I'm going to let you control me?" you growled back, your breath quick and uneven from the physicality of the fight.

"Maybe," he growled, leaning in just slightly, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "Maybe it's time someone did."

You didn't let him finish. Your free hand shot up, grabbing the back of his neck, pulling him down to you with force. And then, without warning, your lips met in a clash of heat and need. The kiss was urgent, desperate—his mouth pressed against yours with the same force that had defined the entire fight, as though he was trying to prove something, to break something.

For a moment, you were both just fire—raw and uncontrolled. His lips moved against yours with hunger, and you responded in kind, your hand sliding into his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as your bodies collided again. The air between you crackled, the tension from the fight now blending with something far more electric.

His grip on your wrist loosened as his arm slid around your waist, pulling you in tighter. His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your jaw, opening you up to his intensity as his tongue slipped in. You felt like you were burning, like the storm between you both had finally reached its crescendo, consuming you entirely.

And then it came. A sharp, static-filled crack from the walkie-talkie clipped to your belt, followed by a voice.

"Boss," the voice buzzed through, loud and jarring. "We've found the intruder. West sector, lower levels. Do you copy?"

The words broke through the haze like a bucket of cold water. You stiffened, your grip in his hair faltering as reality came crashing back.

His lips hovered a fraction of an inch from yours, his breathing ragged, his eyes burning with an intensity that matched your own. For a second, he didn't move, his hand still cradling your jaw, his arm still holding you close, as though refusing to let go of the moment you'd just shared.

The walkie buzzed again, more insistent this time. "Boss? Are you there? We need confirmation."

With a frustrated sigh, you pulled back, breaking the connection between you. Your hand dropped from his hair, and you took a step away, trying to catch your breath and steady your racing heart.

"Of course," you muttered under your breath, your fingers fumbling for the walkie at your side. You didn't look at him, couldn't, not yet. Not when the heat of the kiss was still burning on your lips.

"Copy that," you said into the device, your voice sharper than intended.

"Hold position. I'm on my way."

The walkie crackled one last time with an acknowledgment, and you clipped it back to your belt. The silence between you and him was deafening now, the air still charged but different—strained, unresolved.

When you finally dared to glance up, his eyes were locked on you, dark and unreadable. His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself, his jaw tightening instead.

"We'll finish this later," you said, your tone steadier than you felt. Without waiting for his response, you turned on your heel, grabbed your mask, and strode toward the door, forcing yourself not to look back.

You fully expected him to pull you back, bark at you to leave it, to stay and deal with whatever this was between you. But he didn't.

He stayed silent, his hands falling away from you as you turned to leave. The absence of his touch was jarring, a stark contrast to the way he'd just held you—like he couldn't let go. But now, he stood rooted in place, his breathing heavy in the quiet room.

It threw you off. You'd been ready for the fight, for the inevitable argument, for him to try and stop you. But this? This unnerved you more than anything he could have said.

You paused just before the door and glanced back at him. He hadn't moved, his head tilted slightly downward, his expression unreadable.

"You're not going to stop me?" you asked, your voice quieter than you intended, but still cutting through the charged air between you.

For a moment, he didn't respond. Then, slowly, he raised his head, his dark eyes meeting yours. There was something there—something raw, simmering just beneath the surface.

"No," he said finally, his voice low and steady, though it carried a weight that made your chest tighten. "You want to deal with it? Go. But don't expect me to chase after you when it all goes to hell."

His words hit harder than you expected, the finality of them slicing through you. You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off, taking a step closer, his tone dark and biting.

"And it will go to hell," he added. "Because that's what always happens when you rush into things without thinking."

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I don't need you to save me."

"Good," he shot back, his voice sharp as a whip. "Because I'm not going to."

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, the tension between you stretching tighter and tighter. Then you turned away slipping through the hallway past the guards.

"Prick," you muttered as your heels clicked down the hall.

___________________

The intruder was good; you'd give him that much.

He'd slipped into the facility undetected, maneuvering through the complicated halls with unnerving precision. Evidently, he'd been here for a while—long enough to collect a damning amount of evidence. His phone, now in your hand, held a treasure trove of incriminating photos and notes. The glow of its cracked screen illuminated your face as you scrolled through files, each one a threat to everything you'd built.

Your lips pressed into a hard line as you let the device dangle from your fingertips. Then, with a flick of your wrist, you tossed it to the floor. The loud crack of glass shattering beneath your heel as you ground it into the tiles sent a satisfying echo through the room. No one would ever see what was on that phone.

The intruder was gone now. Permanently. You'd made sure of it. There had been no interrogation, no attempt to extract information. You didn't need to. You knew how this worked. Getting into this place was hard enough; leaving it required either your permission or In-ho's. The man had known what he was walking into—a one-way trip. And you weren't in the mood to waste time entertaining his courage or stupidity.

With the mess handled, you stepped away from the remnants of the phone, brushing your hands together as if physically ridding yourself of the situation. Your eyes drifted to the wine bottle sitting on the sleek marble countertop, its deep red label almost matching the liquid within. The temptation was too strong to resist. You reached for the bottle, the cold glass a welcome contrast to the heat still simmering beneath your skin.

Pouring a generous glass, you watched as the dark wine swirled, the rich aroma wafting up to meet you. You raised it to your lips and drank deeply, the warmth of the alcohol sliding down your throat and settling in your chest. You left the bottle on the counter, an unspoken promise to return for more.

The kitchen was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. You hadn't checked the time, but you knew it was late. That alone brought some relief. The night hours always felt safer, quieter—a time to think without the weight of others' gazes on you.

Still, your thoughts weren't entirely your own tonight.

They were tethered to him.

In-ho.

The memory of what happened earlier flared to life, unbidden but vivid. The fight had been vicious, brutal. Every punch, every shout, every glare had been like a spark thrown onto dry kindling. And then... the kiss. It had been as fiery as the fight itself, urgent and unrelenting. The taste of him still lingered on your lips, a ghost that refused to leave.

You exhaled sharply, frustrated with yourself. The memory shouldn't have this much power over you, but it did. It wasn't just the kiss—it was everything. The heat of the confrontation, the way he challenged you, pushed you, matched you in a way no one else dared. Your fingers twitched at your side, itching with a restless energy that made your skin buzz. You wanted—no, needed—to exorcise this feeling, to take control of it before it consumed you.

Scoffing, you tossed back the rest of the wine, the empty glass clinking against the countertop as you set it down. The alcohol burned, but it wasn't enough to dull the flame still smoldering inside you.

In the silence that followed, you ran a hand through your hair, your fingers catching on the tangles left from the day's chaos. The nervous edge crept back in, settling at the base of your spine. Seeing him again—soon, inevitably—wasn't something you were sure you were ready for. You knew it would happen. It always did. But this time, you weren't sure what would happen when it did.

The faint creaking of the door was all the warning you had. The sound of it opening and closing, followed by the unmistakable rhythm of his footsteps, sent a ripple through the stillness of the room. Each step grew louder, closer, until they stopped just outside the doorway.

Your hand moved instinctively, fingers curling around the neck of the wine bottle. You poured another glass, the liquid glugging softly against the still air. You didn't look up, but you knew it was him—his presence was unmistakable, a gravity that pulled every nerve in your body taut.

When he turned the corner, his dark eyes locked on you immediately. He stopped just inside the room, his shoulders set, his expression unreadable except for the slight downturn of his lips—a quiet, simmering disappointment that made your chest tighten for reasons you didn't care to analyze.

"Oh, don't be so disappointed," you said, raising the glass to your lips without breaking eye contact. The wine slid down your throat, smooth and warming, though it did little to calm the buzzing tension. "Last I checked, this is a shared space."

He exhaled sharply, not quite a sigh, but close enough to make his displeasure clear. His head tilted slightly, his eyes scanning you, taking in every detail of your stance, your expression, the faint stain of red wine on your lips.

"Funny. You treat it like it's yours half the time."

You turned to face him fully, setting the wine glass down with a deliberate clink. "I wasn't aware we were keeping score. Should I start tallying how often you leave your messes for someone else to clean up?"

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his boots clicking softly against the polished floor. His presence filled the room, the air around you thickening as the distance between you shrank. "If you're going to keep tabs, at least be honest about it," he said, his voice dropping slightly, each word deliberate and weighted. "You're just mad I'm here. Admit it."

"Mad?" You scoffed, crossing your arms as you leaned casually against the counter. "Hardly. If anything, I'm amused. I didn't realize I had you so pressed that you'd come stalking in here to… what? Scold me? Intimidate me?"

Something flickered in his eyes, a spark of challenge, of something darker and more dangerous. He took another step closer, close enough now that you could feel the faint heat of him even with the air between you.

"I'm not here to scold you," he said, his voice quieter now but no less intense. "If I wanted to intimidate you, you'd already be shaking."

Your heart skipped, but you kept your expression cool, your body still leaning against the counter as though his proximity didn't send a thrill racing down your spine. "You think I scare that easily?" you shot back, your tone sharper now, daring him to push further.

His lips curved, not quite a smile, but something far more dangerous. "No," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "I think you like the game too much to ever back down."

He was close now, so close that you could see the tension in his jaw, the slight flare of his nostrils as he breathed. His eyes burned into yours, the unspoken challenge between you crackling like static electricity. You tilted your head, a devious smile flashing, "Ain't no rest for the wicked, hmm?" Raising your glass, you toasted to it.

For a moment, the room felt like it was teetering on the edge of something—risky, thrilling, inevitable. His eyes flicked to your lips, just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to send a pulse of heat through you.

"Careful," he murmured his voice barely above a whisper, the words brushing against your skin like a caress. "You're pushing me to see just how far you'll go."

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening, but you didn't flinch, didn't falter. Instead, you held his gaze, your voice steady despite the thunderous racing of your heart. "Try me."

He didn't respond—not with words. Instead, his hand came up, fingers brushing against the edge of your jaw, his touch impossibly light but searing all the same. He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes searching yours for just a moment longer.

And then his lips were on yours, claiming them with a fierce, unrelenting intensity that stole the air from your lungs. The kiss wasn't gentle—it was raw, consuming, a continuation of every unspoken argument and unresolved tension between you. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his grip firm, possessive.

You responded in kind, your fingers tangling in his shirt as you pulled him closer, the taste of wine still lingering on your tongue. The fire between you burned hotter, brighter, threatening to consume you both as the room around you seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you in its wake.

With a sudden, forceful grip on the back of your thighs, he lifted you effortlessly onto the counter. You gasped in shock, the quick motion catching you off guard, your glass slipping from your hand and spilling behind you. The red wine spread across the smooth marble like blood—dark, rich, and staining the space between you both.

You didn't have time to think, not when you were already nudging him closer, your legs urging him forward with a quiet insistence. He obeyed immediately, his body pressing against yours with a low grunt of approval. His hands slid beneath your blouse, the fabric brushing against your skin as his fingers traced slow, deliberate paths up your back.

The sensation was overwhelming, sending a sharp tingle through every nerve as his calloused hands scraped lightly against the soft, sensitive skin of your lower back. Each touch, each rough movement, stoked a growing heat inside you, the slight sting of his touch mingling with the electric thrill of it. The pain was sweet, almost intoxicating, and you couldn't help but arch into him, chasing that delicious burn.

His hand shot up to your hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands. His grip possessive. The sudden pressure at the base of your neck sent a shiver down your spine as he tilted your head to expose the sensitive skin. You didn't resist. Instead, you leaned into him, the invitation clear. He nuzzled into your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he inhaled deeply, pulling in your scent like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

He moaned low in his chest, the sound dark and desperate. "You drive me fucking crazy," he murmured, his voice rough with need. His lips brushed against the curve of your neck as his hands gripped your shoulders, pulling you impossibly closer. Your hands found their way to the solid muscle of his back, digging into him, desperate to feel him press even harder into you.

"Always pushing my buttons," he whispered against your skin, his lips grazing the spot behind your ear. The kiss was brief but hot, his breath leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

His fingers traced down the curve of your collarbone, each touch a slow burn. Then he pressed a kiss to the birthmark just beneath your neck, the softness of his lips sending a wave of heat through you.

A smile tugged at your lips, your voice breathless but teasing. "Kee—keep it interesting," you murmured, the words barely escaping as you leaned into him, your body alive with the need for him, the intensity of the moment.

The smile that curled at the corner of his lips was dark, knowing. "You always make it interesting," he breathed, his grip tightening as his lips found the curve of your jaw, kissing, nipping, tasting, as if he were unable to get enough of you.

"In-ho," you whispered, your voice trembling with need, each syllable thick with desire as his hands worked deftly to unbutton your shirt.

He paused for a moment, his breath heavy against the tension in the air, his voice a low, guttural murmur that sent shivers down your spine. "What do you need?" he asked, the words slipping from his lips with a quiet, possessive urgency. "Tell me."

The soft fabric of your white blouse fell to the floor with a soft rustle, and the moment it did, he took a step back, his eyes scanning your body as though he were a starving man and you were the feast.

His gaze lingered on the red lace beneath, the intricate pattern teasing, daring him to reveal more. The heat in his eyes was palpable, intense, and it made your pulse race, your skin burning under the weight of his stare.

You looked up at him, your chest rising and falling with each labored breath, your body aching, yearning for him. The intensity between you was suffocating, the hunger in both of you undeniable.

You didn't need to speak it, but the words slipped from your mouth anyway, low and filled with need, each one wrapped in a desperate ache. "Fuck me," you whispered, the plea slipping out with a rawness that left no room for doubt.

His room was tidy, the faint scent of wood and something rich lingering in the air, but you barely registered the details as he tossed you onto the soft sheets of his bed. The coolness of the fabric met your back, but it was quickly forgotten when he moved to pin you exactly where he wanted you.

Before he could settle into the position, however, you swiftly hooked your leg around his, using the momentum to flip him onto his back. You wasted no time, straddling him with a predatory smirk as you climbed on top, the feeling of power surging through you.

In an instant, you tore his shirt from his body, the fabric ripping free with a satisfying sound. You didn't care where it landed—only that it was gone, leaving him exposed beneath you. His chest rose and fell with quickened breath as you dragged your hands up and down his muscles. He shot you a look that was a mixture of surprise and challenge.

Protesting, he sat up quickly, attempting to regain control, but you were already wrestling him back down, your hands gripping his shoulders, pressing him firmly into the mattress. You could feel his strength beneath you, the tension in his body as he fought for dominance—but you weren't letting him win this time.

Your finger trailed slowly across the sharp line of his jaw, the motion deliberate and teasing, a soft caress that contradicted the fire of the moment. You leaned down, your lips just a whisper away from his ear as you purred, "I'm in control, though."

The words hung in the air, a follow-up to your plea in the kitchen. It wasn't a request—it was a declaration. You were taking the reins now, and he could either follow, or feel the consequences.

You worked at his pants, undoing the leather belt and pulling it free. He rested an arm behind his head, propping up to watch with a sly smirk.

You ignored it; Ignored him with only one goal in mind.

As his pants found their place on the floor, followed by yours, your hand slipped beneath the remaining black fabric that hugged his waist to grab him in your hand. The soft touch of your hand released a moan from him, making your gaze snap to his.

You sneered with an idea, crawling up to him, your hair dangling.

After how many times he's pissed you off today, the least you could do is make him beg.

Make him plead for you to suck his cock.

Before you could get a word out, he grabbed at your waist, throwing you beside him on the bed, finding his place between your thighs with a strong grip on your jaw.

"I don't think so." He expressed with a firm tone, catching onto your intended vision of him.

You huffed, "You suck the joy out of everything, I-" Three fingers pushed into you before you could finish. They were thick and felt delectable as they curled into that perfect spot, making you mewl. "God, you're wet." He praised as you threw your head back against the silk pillow, his hand finding a home around your neck, squeezing gently. He rested his head on your collarbone as he worked into you with purpose.

Everything about this was savory; everything.

But you wanted that command, that control, for the right reasons.

Not to stir the pot. Not to spite him.

No, tonight, you only wanted to be the reason for his release.

You pushed against him with all your might, your hands pressing against his chest, trying to create the space you needed. But he wasn't budging, not an inch—his body like stone, solid and unyielding. You could feel the tension in every muscle of his frame, the resistance in his eyes, as though he knew exactly what you were trying to do, knew that if he gave you even a small amount of control, you'd take far more.

Confusion then flickers in his eyes, as he goes still from the look you give him.

You held a genuine countenance, alluding that you weren't playing your provoking games anymore.

You were sincere in your efforts.

With that, the tension leaves his body. You take the opportunity, sitting up to resume your original position, and his hands slide around your hips, ripping the lace from your body, following suit with your bra, leaving you completely bare before him. Leaving you vulnerable above him.

His palms cup your breasts, squeezing and tugging as you line yourself up to him, sinking down in one move. He filled you with ease as your moans sounded in perfect harmony together.

His lips were parted, eyes closed as you began to move, setting a snappy pace. You whined at the feeling as he slipped in and out. "God you feel good," He taunted with a huff, "If only we'd fought each other earlier." You gasped as he hit the sweet spot inside you, making you writhe. Noticing your reaction, his hands guided you in perfect sync as he hit that spot again and again.

"Fuck, I-I thin-" He shot up, wrapping his right arm around you, his other steadying him on the bed, He hissed, "fuck, me too". He attached his lips to one of your breasts, "Cum for me," he whispered, a palm flat against your lower back, pulling you in more, as your releases shattered through the two of you. Crying out, you held him there as he practically whined against you. Your grip on him was like iron, as your release left you breathless.

Remaining as you were, he pulled back slightly, his gaze lifting to meet yours. There was something softer now, something that had shifted in the quiet space between breaths.

Your hands instinctively cradled his cheeks, the touch tender. Your nose brushed against his, a gentle graze. The warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, the quiet, steady rhythm of his breath—this was the calm after the storm.

Neither of you spoke, the silence hanging in the air like a promise, like an unspoken understanding that everything had changed.

Time had slowed. It was just the two of you, the world outside forgotten, lost in the quiet intimacy of the space you'd created. No more tension, no more walls. Just the softness of the moment, the closeness, and the link that had been forged between you.

[sunderwight]

Had a thought of the first time Shen Qingqiu does Binghe's hair, it's while Binghe is still a disciple.

It's nothing untoward! His mind hasn't even remotely touched upon that direction of intimacy yet. It's just that Binghe, though matured beyond his years by all the trauma and quite capable of handling many things, is still a teenager. When he's new to living in the bamboo house, he immediately starts taking on too much and trying too hard to do everything perfectly. Even with his protagonist cheats, he gets overwhelmed.

Shen Qingqiu knows how diligent Luo Binghe is about maintaining his appearance. Even when he was being cruelly neglected and sleeping in the wood shed, he did his best to look as presentable as he could manage. So when, one morning, Luo Binghe almost rushes out the door with his hair still in disarray, having gotten distracted by one set of tasks to the point of neglecting another, Shen Qingqiu stops him before he can leave.

With the habit of an older brother, Shen Qingqiu deftly catches up Luo Binghe's long hair and ties it into a ponytail for him, before shooing him back to his business. It's only afterwards that it hits him that doing Luo Binghe's hair for him might have crossed one of those carefully maintained boundaries between master and disciple, but after a minute, he shrugs it off. Old habits die hard, and if Binghe takes any offense, at least it will be mitigated by not having Ming Fan or any of the other disciples scold him for an unkempt appearance (which they definitely would have done, had they caught him).

Meanwhile Luo Binghe is standing frozen outside of the house, having stopped exactly where his legs failed him after Shen Qingqiu's shooing. He no longer remembers what he was hurrying to go do. Or why. His face feels like it's on fire. He's pretty sure that Shen Qingqiu just used one of his own personal hair ties to do up Luo Binghe's hair. His scalp is still tingling. Help him.