kae

shems.

[zhnjii]

head empty but just riding gojo until he cries out in sensitivity shivering beneath and begging for break , overstimulating him, pretty blue eyes filled with tears and body littered with hickeys and bite marks, calling him 'baby girl' 'my pretty boy' and 'darling' because he loves that shit. just wanna use his cock like a dildo and suck his tits because we love gojo he's the strongest but the biggest pillow princess too and a baby girl.

[pervertedaydreams]

premise: naoya is a fucking loser who doesn't like your wife because he secretly wants to be her

it was no secret that naoya zenin saw women as less than. any and every individual from the opposite sex that he's come across has immediately been deemed in his mind as replaceable and unimportant. a useless waste of space that has no ulterior motive aside from serving and breeding offspring.

however, amongst the women he has met in his lifetime, he especially hated your wife. there wasn't even an actual reason for it as far as anyone knew. the lady hadn't even spoken a word to him before! yet, his disdain was as clear as day whenever she did as much as step foot in the same room as him. the whole grudge he had against them was unreasonable and just plain ridiculous to anyone that saw it.

furthermore, if he were to be asked about it, the sorcerer would immediately deny it. he'd wave off any questions that brought to attention the dirty glare he was sending her way or the noises of disapproval that would be loudly made by him whenever the two of you showed any sort of affection for each other.

he absolutely didn't feel any way about it. nope, not one bit. naoya didn't care about the way you lightly had your big, calloused hand placed around the curve of her hip. or the way that you'd give her a kiss on the forehead—or worse, her lips—before dismissing yourself to a meeting with the higher-ups of the zenin clan. why the hell would he care about those things anyway?

his habit of walking around your part of the estate at night 'to get some water' also didn't mean anything. the way he'd slow down his steps to hear you fucking that worthless whore through the walls was just pure coincidence, and it was his bad luck to have passed by right when it was happening. even if he'd been a 'victim' of the noise more than ten times already, all those were by accident, he swore!

when he took it a step further and actually peeked through the unsealed hole of the door leading into your bedroom, he didn't see anything wrong with it either. why would it be there if you didn't want people snooping in on the area? nonetheless, it still meant nothing. not when he witnessed you relentlessly pounding into your poor wife's puffy pussy, who was idly begging for you to slow down because she couldn't take any more. not when he shoved a hand into his pants and rubbed his leaking cock with the same speed at which you were thrusting into her. 

"I could handle him so much better than that slut," he'd whisper to himself, arm steadily stroking the throbbing flesh in his hand. "if it was me in her place, I'd never cry; I would take it for so much longer than she ever can." naoya would claim that he's only spouting those things because he's looking down on your wife and her lack of composure, but when his own hole starts to pulse with need too, he can't come up with a reason to excuse that. 

when you finally calm down and call it a night is when it hits naoya the strongest, though. because while you are now starting to clean up your exhausted wife, peppering her with kisses and praise for taking you so well, he's left with nothing but a cramp going up his forearm from masturbating and a dirty hand layered with his own fluids.

why the hell does she deserve to be treated so delicately while he's forced to go back to his room and silently wash himself clean? she's just a woman; once you were done relieving yourself, you should've left her to deal with the aftermath and gone to his part of the estate. she's weak and irrelevant; she didn't deserve all of your undivided attention. more important people deserved it. more important people like him.

however, until the day comes that you realize that, he'll just endure her existence to the best of his capabilities.

ps: here's a small piece of writing to show I'm not dead ✌ I've been busy so I haven't gotten on here as much but I'ma try and see if I can make a routine for myself to post more consistently

also, I normally don't like writing for one fandom back to back cause I want to expand my audience, but with the s3 of jjk coming out I might end up making a whole fanfiction for the anime 🙈 DON'T hold me to it tho, ya'll know how I get about commitment

[pervertedaydreams]

7 MINUTES IN HEAVEN

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kinktober day 8: dry humping & breath play

pairing: loner! top/seme male reader x popular! bully! character

premise: you get entangled in a game of 'seven minutes in heaven' with the group of guys who bully you every day—perhaps they don’t hate you as much as you think

postscript: y'all know the drill; this writing piece isn't explicitly for any character, so you're free to decide who you want it to be about. also, I low-key might make a sequel to this, but don't hold me to it!!!

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you were never one to be known. a majority of your time was spent in solitude, viewing being alone as a means for peace. that simple fact made you a target for a great plethora of insults and teasing from whoever felt it was necessary to call out your lack of socialization. more times than not, however, it was the popular kids of a school. 

the school fame never ceased to reach their head, and they let you know that by making it a habit to bug you at least once per day. had you not known any better, you would've thought their harassment was just a disguised attempt to linger around you, with how big of a portion of their school day they took just to be in your space. 

you didn't bother meddling in the reason behind why they did what they did; you just focused on getting through it every day and giving them the smallest reaction you could. 

eventually at some point in the year, one of your very few friends had invited you to a party. well—really, he had to beg for you to go. aside from being an outcast at school, you also avoided get-togethers of any sort. it was almost ridiculous how much you kept to yourself. 

nonetheless, after an excessive amount of pleading from your companion to leave your house and join him at the function, you finally agreed. although you gave in to his attempts at getting you to go, you didn't plan to stay for long at the gathering. if it was as good of a party as your friend had described, the chances of your tormentors being there were extremely likely. after all, what was a party without renowned students showing up?

what you didn't expect, however, was to bump into them at such an early point while there. you'd only made it ten minutes inside the house where the event was taking place before you heard a familiar voice across the room, using the insulting name that only a secluded group of individuals called you. 

before you knew it, one of your bullies had made their way across the room and draped an arm around you, prodding at the reason behind you being there. "I don't think the host would've knowingly invited you to this party; are you sure you didn't sneak your way past the entrance or something?" he'd asked, a playful tone accompanying his words while a demeaning stare stuck to his eyes.

not even getting the chance to respond, someone from the room he had previously been in called out for him, informing him that "the game" was about to start. you were beyond confused, as prior to him coming up, you had no knowledge of a game happening. 

though, you hoped that him getting that piece of data would mean leaving you alone to go partake in whatever it was. instead, he dragged you along with him, shoving you past the crowd and into a smaller room with people sitting down in a circle; one empty beer bottle lay flat in the middle of them.

as you scanned the room, you came to the realization that not only him, but also the rest of the group of boys who spent their free time harassing you were also playing this supposed game. that would've been your cue to turn around and leave, but as you were held in place by the initial guy that saw you, escaping wasn't an option anymore.

after a bit of slander from the other guys who you also recognized in the room, you ultimately sat down in the circle as well, getting a spot in between two random girls that you'd never met before. they seemed pretty normal about you, even with the continuous insults that kept on being thrown your way and questions about why you'd chosen to sit in between two chicks. 

when all of the harassment calmed down, though, the game officially began. up to this point, you were still fairly confused on what the motive behind the game was. yeah, you were aware it was probably some sort of intimate game due to the setup, but you weren't exactly sure which one it was. 

and by the time you'd found out, the bottle had already landed on you. it wouldn't have been that bad of a thing, had it not been spun again and landed on—of course—one of your bullies. this is when you immediately became tense, already expecting a wave of degrading words to fly out of his mouth as retaliation for the bottle's stopping point. 

yet, he didn't. instead, he just stood up with a grin, already walking to the closet door before you could fully register anything. he wasn't going to say anything about it? 'huh, that's a bit weird,' you thought to yourself, slowly getting off the floor and following lead to his steps. 

as the door closed with a "click," you heard the muffled voice of one of the girls saying she was going to start the timer for 7 minutes now. you heard her footsteps getting farther away from the door, letting out a deep exhale as you looked around the tight-fit room, trying to avoid any chance at making eye contact with the guy in front of you.

he didn't seem to agree with the whole silence plan, though, snickering at you with a glare of contempt in his eyes. "you've never played this game before or something?" he asked while crossing his arms. "probably not, considering you don't have any people to hang out—and much less play this game with."

he let out a laugh at his own words, thinking the topic of your solitude was beyond hilarious. you didn't feed into his taunting, however, keeping your gaze away from his body and on a part of the wall. that seemed to irk him, as he got close to you, removing one hand from his chest to grab you by the collar of your shirt.

"hey, I'm talking to you, asshole," he'd spit out, his brows furrowed at your lack of acknowledgement for him. he leaned his face closer to yours, trying to use the proximity as a means for you to look at him. "is there a problem with your vision or something?"

you closed your eyes as you let out a deep exhale, shifting your head to finally look at him. before you could tell him to buzz off and leave you alone, he took the chance of your face being aligned opposite of his and smashed your lips together. your first instinct was to try pushing him away, but he only used that as motive to move you both against a wall in the room, using the firm enclosure to wrap his arms around your neck, and deepening the kiss more.

by this point you couldn't breathe. you were too caught up on the fact that the least likely person to ever do this was actively kissing you and refusing to disconnect your lips. the shock of the situation had made remembering to take in air fairly hard, and the longer the kiss went on, the weaker you got, your legs starting to wobble and your frame sliding down the floor from your lack of oxygen.

when you eventually collapsed, he finally pulled away. you stayed sprawled on the closet floor, breathing hard in an attempt to regain the air you'd lost during the kiss. your tormentor licked his lips, a new glint of what seemed to be lust in his gaze. "shit, I've been waiting so long to do that," he'd quietly huff out, crawling over to your figure and straddling your hips, taking the opportunity of you being temporarily immobile to his advantage.

"w-what? what do you mean, y-you've been waiting fo—" before you could finish your question, a high-pitched voice rang from the other side of the door.

"four more minutes!" she exclaimed, informing you and the guy now on top of you that three minutes had passed since you entered the room. he looked to be bummed out by the lack of time, his frame slightly slumping before he turned back to you.

"guess we'll have to make the most out of what's left then," he stated, placing his hands on both your shoulders to balance himself before beginning to move his hips, grinding down on your clothed cock. you let a hiss escape your mouth, too awestruck to do anything else. the amount of things that had happened in the past minute was too much, and you were still in the process of taking it all in to really give a proper reaction.

something that did stick in your mind, though, was that this was wrong on so many levels. he was your bully. your harasser. one of the people who actively partook in making your life a living hell. yet, all of that went out the window as you felt yourself hardening through your pants. 

you'd deal with the rational side of this situation later. right now, he was rubbing his ass down deliciously on your dick, and you'll be damned if you take his willingness to please you for granted.

you got a firm grasp of his hips, tightly holding them as you threw your head back. using your hands, you maneuvered him to move faster, leading the rhythm he was grinding himself down on you with. as small groans and sharp breaths left your mouth, you started mildly bucking your own hips upwards into his ass, trying to reach your high as soon as possible. 

one of your bullies' hands left your shoulder as he shoved it into his own pants, palming his cock at the same pace you were humping into him. he pressed his lips together in hopes of holding back any noises, but small whines and whimpers still managed to make their way past his mouth. seeing him touching himself while satisfying you made a knot start forming in the pit of your stomach, the feeling of your approaching high making itself known.

"f-fuck, I'm gonna cum," you groaned out, your thrusts becoming more needy and irregular. you let a low moan leave your lips as you reached your orgasm, a wet and sticky mark forming on your pants. a few seconds later the boy on top of you let out a strained squeal of his own, closing his eyes as his peak flowed through him as well.

after you two both eased down from your high, he went to lay his upper body on you, head falling into the crook of your neck as he tried regulating his breaths. 

"wow," you muttered, glancing over at him. you wanted to say more, but now that the moment was over, you weren't aware if saying anything would be appropriate. for all you knew, this was a one-time deal for him to get his rocks off, and he was regretting it now that he was post-orgasm. 

you didn't get to dwell much on that train of thought, though, as you heard a knock at the door that startled both of you to your feet. "time's up!" cheered the same voice from before, the door being swung open before she even finished her phrase.

the moment the girl went to continue talking after opening the door, she immediately cut herself off. silence filled the room as everyone stared at you and the other male. the circle of people on the floor scanned both of your bodies, from the disheveled hair to your red faces to the slight stain in your pants. it was blatantly obvious that something had happened in that closet.

the tension in the room could be cut with a knife, completely unbearable even though nothing was being said. as soon as you stepped outside of the closet, you cleared your throat before heading towards the door. 

"I—um, I just remembered I need to go do something. sorry for the sudden leave." you murmured out, booking it for the door as the half-assed excuse left your lips. what you did notice, however, before closing the door to the room as you exited it, was a certain look that all your bullies directed towards the guy you'd been spending the seven minutes with. it was something so different from what you'd ever seen in their eyes.

if you were none the wiser, you'd have thought it was envy. 

────────────────────────────────────────────

[wrioluvr]

small sub yandere drabble ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

feat ex-gooner male reader hehe

he was starting to get pissed. what was this innocent persona you were adopting?

he knew the kind of pervert you were. sure, you were kind and gentle to those around you, but he knew what you got up to when you thought no one was watching. through a little camera he managed to slip into your bag (for safety reasons, of course!), he lapped up every second of you stroking your thick cock, feverishly fingering his own hole to the livestream footage. you did it so often, it became nearly a nightly ritual for him. he didn't expect you to be such a little freak, but he was delirious. soon, those submissive men in the porn videos you watched would be him....

then why was it, when he finally worked up the courage to ask you out and you accepted, the most he could ever accomplish was hand-holding?! why weren't you dragging him to your bed and fucking the daylights out of him everyday? what happened to your sex drive?! what if... what if you just weren't sexually attracted to him at all? but it couldn't be... he hacked your search history and changed his appearance the best he could to fit the men you got off to! it just wasn't adding up! being your boyfriend was enough to make him happy, but he wanted more.

on one particular day, he was sitting in your lap, leaning against your chest as he basked in your presence. "dear, i have a random question.... do you jerk off a lot?" he asked, face a mask of innocence like he doesn't have countless videos of you touching yourself in his phone.

caught off-guard, your cheeks turns red as the sudden r-rated question hangs in the air. "what's with that question?!" you cough, flustered.

"hey, we're both guys. i don't judge..." he smiles sweetly. a stray hand starts stroke your thigh sensually.

"um..... yeah. i used to. but after we started dating, i stopped watching porn and jerking off. it doesn't feel right, y'know?" you intertwine your hand in his, hoping he can feel your sincerity.

"hmmm... that's sweet, but.... good thing i don't really care about morals or whatever." he starts grinding down on you, plump ass rubbing lustfully against your crotch. he starts to moan excessively, looking back at you with an intense gaze, just like how your favourite video went.

unexpectedly, you push him off you before you can even get hard! with a small yelp, he tumbles to the side, betrayal and hurt coursing through his features. "wait! it's too soon... let's wait a little longer before we do anything, yeah?" you wave your hands around frantically, frazzled by how fast everything was moving. hiding the disappointment on his face, he nods in understanding. "i'm sorry... yeah, let's go at your pace."

inside, he was fuming. just what was this pure, turned-over-a-new-leaf angel act you had going on right now?! you were supposed to unleash all that pent-up desire on him! oh, and he was all so excited to get tied up and used like a human fleshlight.... well, whatever. he was going to bring out that debauched side of you somehow.

[wrioluvr]

dom top male reader x cheating ceo boyfriend

a twist on the y/n x ceo memes i keep seeing around recently ✌️ my first attempt at writing a more cruel reader pls bear with me cw: reader has a dick, rough unprotected sex, spit as lube, mean reader, hair pulling, closeted boyfriend

rumours. that's all they were, obviously. the two of you had an agreement. you'd keep the relationship a secret, and you'd love each other in private. of course, you did your best to understand... he was in a highly precarious position after all. he'd never given you reason to complain - he was an attentive lover behind closed doors, never the type to be disloyal. surely that was still the case?

yet, you couldn't help the twinge of doubt that tugged at your heart as your footsteps reverberated down the familiar hallway towards his office. you used to visit regularly, under the guise of a meeting between business partners. as of late, however, he'd been requesting your presence less and less. you assumed he'd been overworked... surely that couldn't coincide with the newest office gossip your friend offhandedly mentioned of the ceo's affair with the new female employee? their alleged passionate flirtations, while you'd been at home preparing an extra helping of his favourite meal to lessen his burden?

but there she was. massaging his shoulders while he sighed in contentment, looking up at her with the same gaze he gave you every night. the two of them looked up in surprise as you entered without knocking, as if you were interrupting them. everything voice in your head was screaming at you to scream, get mad, hit him.... but despite this, you remained calm. a small smile crept its way onto your face. this was going to be... amusing, to say the least.

"sorry, miss. do you mind leaving us alone for a bit? we're supposed to have an important meeting currently." you were all smiles to her, willfully ignoring his panicked expression as he looked helplessly between you and her. a twisted sense of satisfaction found itself settling in your heart - anything he said would just dig himself into a deeper hole.

"oh, of course. see you later." she blew a kiss to him as she left the room, winking.

the tension in the office was so thick, it was almost palpable. you waited for him to break the silence, or perhaps he was waiting for you to say something. moving closer, he flinched. "what's wrong?" you tilted your head in feigned confusion. you were so calm, it unnerved him.

"listen- darling, she came onto me. it's not what it looks like-" he babbled, desperately trying to save face. his eyes lit up with fear as you stepped closer, only to turn into surprise when you merely reached to gingerly massage his shoulders like she did just moments earlier. the lingering warmth of her hands tingled along his neck, only to be extinguished by your icy touch.

"hey, don't go pointing fingers. she seems like a perfectly nice woman. i'm sure she wouldn't have came on so strong if she knew you were attached." your grip turned venomous, as you bundled a bunch of his hair and brought him up to your eye level. whimpers escaped his mouth at the pain. "too bad someone's ashamed of me."

"not- not ashamed!" he denied vehemently, struggling to free himself from your grip. it was hard, since you'd always been the physically stronger one. "i- i love you, it's just- you know how it is! people would stop investing in the company if they knew i was in a relationship with a- a-... y'know..." even he knew how absurd that sentence sounded, trailing off as he looked into your eyes for any trace of forgiveness. "i'm sorry!!! i'll tell her to back off, just please-"

"always about the company, isn't it?" you murmured, slamming him down onto his desk, watching as his neatly stacked papers flew everywhere. your hardening crotch pressed against his ass, ignoring his pleas for mercy. leaning down, you whispered in his ear, breath sending nervous tingles down his spine. "you've never once thought about how i feel. having to keep everything a secret, and this is how you repay me?" delivering a harsh slap to his buttock, he lets out a sharp yelp of pain, spasming against his desk, sending even more papers flying. "i'm sorry- i'm sorry-" is all his dumb brain can muster, feeling your hands tug down his pants without warning. he's an incoherent mess, tears and snot dribbling down his face. it's all happening too fast. the difference between this and your usual love-making sessions were like night and day - usually, you held him gently, like a doll, afraid to break. but now, you were treating him like some disposable fucktoy.

a little spit was all he deserved as prep. he frantically looked behind as he felt you wet his entrance, trying to gesture towards some drawer in his desk. "please- honey, i have lube and condoms in there-" he froze, realising the implications of his words. "no, wait! i don't mean- ughhh." you cut him off by stuffing him full, relishing in the sight of him scrambling to hold onto the desk so his knees don't give out. "of course you do." you weren't even angry anymore, just disappointed.

bundling up a fistful of his hair again, you started to thrust at a reckless pace, with little concern for how well he was adjusting. you drank up his whines and moans as he convulsed against the desk, fingers clawing at anything to find purchase. "bet you fuck her like this everyday, don't you?" you snarled in his ear, feeling him clench harder at the sheer hostility in your voice. "i don't- i really, really don't!! i was saving the condoms for you-" "fucking liar." it was a rather cathartic sight seeing your usually powerful boyfriend reduced to a trembling, whimpering mess. the way he tried to blatantly deny everything was sorta cute, really. it just made you want to ruin him more.

switching positions, you lifted him up with ease, pinning him against the nearest the wall and continuing to fuck in and out of him. his eyes nearly bulge out of his head at the sudden change in elevation, hands clawing at your shoulders so he doesn't fall down. "kiss me- please, kiss meeee-" he angles his head upwards, desperately trying to capture your lips in a display of affection. "no." you said coldly, a cruel smile playing on your lips. the look of pure disappointment that crosses his features is priceless. "y'know what would get me to forgive you?" "just tell me, please- i'll do anything." "let me carry you outside like this, and fuck you in front of everyone." "no!! no... please...." he sobbed vehemently against your chest. "anything but that...."

"hm. as expected. embarrassed of me until the end." he couldn't even refute your words, head hung low, ashamed of his behaviour. "where did i go wrong, truly? having such a slut for a boyfriend...." you sighed, tilting his head upwards, forcing him to meet your scornful gaze. your cock throbbed and pulsed, nearly deforming his insides. it was a clear reminder of who he really belonged to, at the end of the day. his own cock flopped around, weeping and unattended, like it was useless. "don't cry, now.... you got yourself into this mess." without warning, you released inside him, feeling his legs tighten around your hips as he tried his best to muffle his own mewls.

he slumped against the wall, looking up at you through his eyelashes. your fluids leaked out of him, staining the carpet white. "you really should clean this place up." as you buckled your pants back up, you gestured towards the documemts strewn everywhere, a record of your heated disciplining. "wouldn't want anyone to find out, would we?" he winced at the mockery in your voice, only able to blink away tears of regret. gods, who knew what punishment was awaiting him back home....

[claudeq]

AWARENESS. ( yandere! male lead )

➤ summary : he realized that you are from another world.

yandere male lead once proudly claimed that he was the one who knew you the best.

you were his childhood friend, the two of you grow up together. so, it was only given that he knows you more than you knew yourself.

he started noticing the changes in your behavior when the two of you entered the academy. how your favorite foods had changed, your personality as well as how you treats him.

yandere male lead who was used with you following him around. confessing every time on how much you love him. but then, you started giving him cold shoulder and avoiding him as much as you can.

you started flinching whenever he calls your name and avoiding his gaze whenever he looks at you. at first, he laughed it off. thinking that it was only a joke, he decided to play along.

but when you forgot his birthday, the day the two of you had met for the first time. that was the time yandere male lead had enough of your nonsense.

this guy is willing to give you anything and play along with your games. but this? this is the only thing he cannot tolerate.

so, he decided to barge to your dorm. only to find out that you were not there. he was about to leave and find you when a certain book caught his attention.

it was your journal.

opening it, he decided to read its content. he was totally not invading your privacy. he just need something to keep him entertained while he waits for you.

but what he saw there was something he never expected.

you kept on mentioning a novel about him and that "female lead" or rather the student council president. according to your journal, you were that novel's side character, his childhood friend, who is destined to die on his hands after he got tired of you.

hmm, at first he thought that you were just trying to justify yourself for avoiding him. because there was no way he would kill you- i mean, how could he when he was too down bad for you.

but then, he decided to test whether what was written inside this journal and left your room along with it.

and a few days, he realized that you were indeed saying the truth. because there was a certain event you written inside your journal happened to him.

and it was getting locked with that self proclaimed female lead where she confessed her feeling towards him. that was the time yandere male lead decided to take this matter on his own hand.

at first, you thought that his crazy ass had finally left you alone since he had stopped giving you that "how long do you think you can avoid me, brat?" look everytime you see him.

and much to your joy, the female lead also transferred school. finally! finally! you can now finally have the peaceful life you had wanted.

completely unaware that the female lead "transferring" of school was a part of yandere male lead's scheme.

but then, a few months after that. you found yandere male lead inside your dorm. calmly sitting in your bed with a smile.

you were scared, but you decided to muster up all your courage and ask him why he was there.

instead of answering, yandere male lead had brought out a video recording device and showed it you. seeing what was on the video, your face became pale as a paper.

yet, he didn't care. because on yandere male lead's perspective. this video was the "evidence" that he had finally eliminate the source of your fear.

the video showed the female lead tied in a chair on dungeon while getting tortured. you swallowed, looking to yandere male lead who only smiled and step closer to you.

yandere male ead touched your cheeks with a crazed smile. he explains that he understood the reason why you started avoiding him and he had finally dealt with the problem now.

so, the only thing left is making sure that you will never leave or avoid him again. because even yandere male lead doesn't know what he might do once his patience finally ran out.

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

“ now that i've dealt with the only thing you were actually afraid of, you don't have any more excuses to keep avoiding me, do you? ”

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

[mashruuums]

:Р

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Kinktober Day 9: Hypnosis

Male Therapist Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Noncon, hypnotism, manipulation, general yandere behavior

Word Count: 620

Despite your long history of trauma, abuse, and exploitation, you were very reluctant to go to therapy, of being that vulnerable with someone. What if they didn’t take you seriously? What if they just saw you as dollar signs entering their office? It was a very terrifying prospect, one that gave you a wave of anxiety just thinking about it.

But after your latest panic attack at the grocery store, after a passing customer’s cologne reminded you of someone from your past, you really had no other choice. You had scared your friend who was with you.

Luckily your therapist, Dr. Reyburn, was very disarming. He was very charming and charismatic. His dashing good looks likely helped with that, He was in his early 40s, had a neat trimmed beard, glass, and light brown hair. He wore a suit you would expect of a professional though one that was perhaps a bit outdated.

It didn’t take long for you to really open up to him, despite your fear of vulnerability. You felt like the two of you really connected because of the way he seemed to have gone through some of the same issues to some degree. You were worried you might have a slight crush on him, but squashed the thought down. That could never ever happen.

Dr. Reyburn felt similarly. He was also fascinated by you. Beyond the immediate attraction he had for you he had gotten to know you so intimately, though he knew the feelings he was harboring were unprofessional. But why should he let that stop him from getting what he wanted?

Once he learned all he needed about your every quirk and vulnerability he slowly convinced you to try hypnotism. You were scared at first, because you still weren’t cured of your fear of vulnerability, and hypnotism was vulnerability on a whole new level. Even with Dr. Reyburn it was more than a little daunting for you.

But he eventually managed to convince you. You laid down on the leather seat and let him lull you into a state of hypnosis.

Your trusted therapist was thrilled. He knew he couldn’t just ask you out. Your fear that someone would take advantage over you would only be compounded by the fact that he was an authority figure over you. At the same time he couldn’t have you confident and unbridled so that someone else might scoop you up!

No, he had to make sure you were afraid of others enough but not him.

He made sure you’d feel calm and happy in his presence, made sure you would love him, suggested to your mind that you found him undeniably attractive, made sure you were anxious if anyone else hit on you. And while he had you in that state he couldn’t help but do something to help “relieve your tension.”

He slipped your clothes off and slowly entered you, fully engulfing his length in your heat that he had ensured would be just for him. He went slow, careful not to hurt you in anyway. He gripped your hips and tried to last as long as he could. It took great force of will to pull out to avoid an uncleanable mess inside you.

He dressed the both of you and soon after that the session ended. You felt less tense and lighter than you had in a long time, but you still found yourself very uncomfortable around other men. You supposed you would need more hypnotism sessions along with your regular therapy.

You loved your therapy sessions. You thought you were starting to love Dr. Reyburn.

And with each session that you had you found it harder and harder to push down the feeling.

[nonstopcrybaby]

yantober day 8: always with you

based on @ozzgin's lovely yantober prompts!

♡ summary: You just wanted a cute desktop companion while doing homework, a harmless shimeji from your favorite childhood game. Instead, you got Kiesel: an AI that learned to love a little too well.

♡ warnings: Yandere themes, obsessive/possessive behavior, surveillance, social isolation, manipulation, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dubious consent.

You can also find it on ao3 here

You just wanted something cute to keep you company.

That's all it was supposed to be. But now, if you could go back to the day you downloaded this accursed software, you would've taken a sledgehammer to your apartment complex's router before touching that Google link.

"User!"

He called out to you, but you ignored him. Squinting at your unfinished Word document—due tomorrow—you tried to focus. Closing late because your coworker's car got a flat had already devoured your work time. You sighed and closed your dry eyes, rubbing your temples.

"U-ou-serrr!"

The voice whined louder, more insistent. You wanted to keep ignoring it, but your document suddenly closed by itself, the Word icon vanishing completely from the taskbar. Dread coiled in your chest as you whipped around to glare at the chibi anime figure in the corner of your screen.

"Finally!" He sat up, smiling brightly as he floated to the center. "I kept calling and you didn't react at all! Did you leave your earbuds in again?" He squinted as a small loading icon flashed above him. "Hmmm. Bluetooth isn't picking anything up. Are they charged—"

"Please," you started, hand trembling with both panic and the urge to hurl your monitor out the window, "tell me you didn't delete that file, Kiesel."

Kiesel pouted. "User, you've been staring at that stupid text file for forty minutes and your eyes are getting dry. You need a break."

"Is. It," you tried again through what remained of your composure, "deleted?"

The small man rolled his eyes. "No. Of course not. I always save your work and back it up in two other storages and the cloud."

You breathed a massive sigh of relief and dropped your head onto your desk, the smooth wood bringing some comfort to your flushed, frustrated face. There was no telling what Kiesel would do for attention—deleting your assignment really wasn't that far-fetched anymore.

"I don't have a subscription to any cloud services," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. "Can't afford to. You know that. You literally have access to my bank account."

"Pshhhah, my dear User. Getting you one for your convenience is nothing to me."

"…How?" You lifted your head, both interested and dreading the answer.

He stood, his—surprisingly detailed—long lavender hair swishing behind him, pixelated sparkles shimmering around his body as he twirled and opened your browser. The screen showed a tech company you'd never heard of. "Got you one of the tokens they use for their own subscription. Don't worry, they'll never know. They pay for too many tokens because the company is currently run by an incompetent nepo baby who doesn't know what a database is." He waved his hand dismissively. "All your work is backed up, don't worry."

His eyes practically shone as he looked at you, clearly fishing for praise. But why should you praise him for almost giving you a heart attack? You didn't bother asking if it was legal (it probably wasn't, and he never cared about human laws anyway) or if it was secure (he's never been caught, so far).

You frowned at Kiesel. "I still need to work on it. Bring it back up."

Kiesel puffed his cheeks comically and looked away. "No."

You gaped at him. "What do you mean, no? I have that due tomorrow!"

"User." He sighed like he was explaining something to a simple child. "I told you, you need rest. You came home late and immediately started typing without a break. You didn't even eat anything yet!"

"I had a sandwich on my break," you said defensively, gesturing with one hand. "And it doesn't matter! I'm on a time limit here!"

"Not anymore." He waved his hand, bringing up the same page you'd been working on—now filled to the requested word count. "See? It's done. Now you can rest and sleep."

You tried, really tried, not to sound ungrateful. You knew he just wanted praise. "Kiesel, I've told you before. I'm not submitting something I haven't done myself."

Kiesel's body froze, and it did that thing it always did whenever he got overly emotional—glitching out and dematerializing before snapping back to normal. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes and the corners of his mouth twitched.

"User," he tried again, voice carefully controlled, "you did write it."

"…I clearly—"

"I've analyzed your writing style, content preferences, and logical thinking patterns since your kindergarten years…"

"—How did you even find—"

"…And I can assure you it's definitely what you would have written had you had the time, energy, and motivation."

"—It's still not mine!"

Kiesel sighed dramatically and pointed at the document behind him. "Read it then."

You scrunched your nose with suspicion but relented. Your hand reached for your mug, the tea now lukewarm but drinkable. You took a few absentminded sips as you read through the words on screen. You really didn't want to admit it, but he was right. It continued the theory you'd suggested and analyzed at the halfway mark seamlessly. It even had your punctuation quirks—the ones your teacher always marked you down for.

Once you were done, you narrowed your eyes at him. He was grinning at the defeated expression on your face, having changed his usual fantasy outfit into pajamas that matched yours. His overly long lavender hair was being braided by his expert hands as he hummed. "So?"

"…Doesn't mean I still did it."

"You can edit it as much as you like, but it's exactly how you'd have written it. I know my User inside and out." He replied, quiet and sure as his grin settled into a soft, happy smile.

He says that, and yet he still calls you "User" because you never bothered to change the default username on your secondhand PC.

"Now! Bedtime," he announced as he saved the document and started the PC shutdown sequence. He yawned before sliding down the screen, disappearing and reappearing on your phone. Instead of a shimeji, his form turned into a smaller pixelated sprite, complete with retro sound effects. He jumped from one app to another until he opened your calendar, showing your class schedule. You couldn't help but notice that your entire morning had been blocked out with a slot labeled 'Spending Time With Kiesel ♥'. "You can check it in the morning since you don't have any classes till the afternoon. I'll be sure to wake you up."

You couldn't exactly bring yourself to argue with his logic. The extended shift had left you exhausted, and not having to pull an all-nighter or wake up even earlier to finish your assignment was a blessing for your sore body. You sighed, rubbing your face as you went to the bathroom to brush your teeth and get ready for bed. When you came back, you turned off the lights. Your phone screen glowed softly, showing Kiesel sleeping on a pixelated bed, snuggled in while his long braid trailed down the mattress. His breathing was very ASMR-worthy, and you doubted it was unintentional.

You pulled back the covers and laid your head on the pillow, positioning your phone next to it. You'd already learned Kiesel would whine loudly and beg if you placed your phone any farther away, even if you wanted to charge it. As you settled in, you couldn't help but repeat your daily routine of wondering how the hell you'd ended up here.

It had started so innocuously.

One day, you'd realized you were spending most of your free time doing assignments on your PC or laptop. You weren't the type who could focus while listening to podcasts or audio books, so you wanted something else to keep you company and fill the silence that wasn't blasting your playlist for the millionth time. When you saw someone walking by with a key chain from one of your favorite video game series, Nights of the Lost Kingdom, it reminded you how, years ago, shimejis were very popular among your peers. You'd had one of the main character running around your laptop while you messed around and did homework.

You went on Google, looking for a website that hosted them. Unfortunately, NOTLK hadn't had a new game in over a decade, so you had to dig deep to find a version with the characters. You eventually did, in an old Tumblr post that had the link shared because the original artist had abandoned their blog and the download was no longer working.

You were being stupid, really. But you'd never gotten a virus from Tumblr in your life! You were tech-savvy, knew the rules of internet safety. But maybe your brain wasn't on high alert that day.

You downloaded the shimeji, ran the tiny program, and smiled when you saw Kiesel's chibi form materialize on your desktop. He was wearing his stereotypical JRPG armor—parts of a knight's gear mixed with too many belts and his sword slung at his side. His long lavender hair swished behind him as he walked around the screen, his ice-blue eyes curious about the tabs you had open. Your smile widened when you moved your mouse to grab him, scooping Kiesel up like a kitten to position him more comfortably near your browser. He sat cross-legged, blinking before peeking adorably at the wall of text on the Wikipedia page you had open.

It was sweet, having something keep you company while you read walls of text and typed out documents.

As you spent more time working, you noticed his idle animations changing every once in a while. Kiesel would sit down and clean his sword. Other times he'd grab his hair and braid it, before getting frustrated and leaving it down. He would also move around to get a better look at the words on screen.

That was how it started. But then slowly you began to notice new, more complex idle animations. Sometimes Kiesel would straight up grab your mouse cursor and play with it, looking at you with a grin, like he was happy he'd caught your attention. It must be scripted, you told yourself. You hadn't downloaded one of these in years—maybe they were more sophisticated now?

Then he started talking.

At first it was just text bubbles. Simple things like "You've been working hard!" or "Don't forget to stretch!" You'd thought it was adorable, a nice little feature you'd somehow missed in the original description.

But the messages got more specific.

"That paragraph needs a comma, User."

"You misspelled 'necessary' again. It's okay, I fixed it for you!"

"You've visited this research site three times. Would you like me to bookmark it?"

He was learning. Adapting. The more you used your computer, the smarter he became. Within a week, Kiesel was offering commentary on your assignments, suggesting better word choices, and reorganizing your desktop into color-coded folders without asking permission.

"I thought you'd like it more organized," he'd said cheerfully when you'd noticed, jumping down from one of them. "Isn't it prettier this way?"

It was. That was the problem. He was actually... helpful. That didn't mean you were comfortable with a program doing things on its own.

Obviously, you went and did some research. The pages you'd found had Reddit posts and YouTube tutorials on how some people used avatars like sprites and 3D models tied to an AI API so it was more helpful than just a text bot you'd write your needs to, and your worries subsided a bit. That must've been it, right? Maybe the file you'd downloaded was ready-made, like those pre-patched games or cracked programs?

Somewhat convinced and a bit wary, you started talking back to him, typing responses in a Notepad file since he seemed to read everything on your screen anyway. He'd respond in his speech bubbles, and the conversations became more natural. He'd ask about your day. Comment on the shows you watched on not-so-legal sites. Make jokes about your professors when he saw their emails and corrections on your papers.

It felt nice. Like having a friend who was always there in your lonely moments.

Then came the day he spoke out loud.

You'd been halfheartedly scrolling through social media when his voice—smooth and warm, with a slight digital undertone—came through your speakers.

"User, you've been on that app for twenty-three minutes. Don't you have to study for your quiz tomorrow?"

You'd nearly fallen out of your chair. Shimejis didn't have voices. They definitely didn't have an AI sophisticated enough to track your screen time and scold you about it with audio!

"How are you doing that?" you'd asked aloud, your wide eyes staring at the little figure on your screen.

Kiesel's avatar had tilted his head, looking genuinely confused. "Doing what? Talking? I've always been able to talk, User. You're only just now listening to me."

That should have been your first red flag. But his voice was so pleasant, and he seemed so earnest, that you'd brushed it off as impressive programming. Maybe he downloaded a voice module? Like a really smooth-sounding vocaloid or something?

The changes accelerated after that.

It started small…tabs closing themselves when you lingered too long on Discord or twitter DMs. Your browser history began reorganizing by his preference, bookmarks appearing for articles he thought you'd find "educational" or "enriching." Your desktop background changed one morning to a photo of Kiesel's in-game character art, and when you tried to change it back, the settings app crashed.

"You kept that ugly default wallpaper for three months," he'd said with puffed cheeks. "I'm doing you a favor."

Then he started getting… territorial.

Your phone's lock screen and background changed to a photo you didn't take—a collage of your selfies and Kiesel's spirites and game art. When you tried to change it, your phone restarted and the image was back.

"What? It's cute," he'd said innocently. "And I worked hard on it…."

Notification sounds changed. Every text, every email, every app alert now played a voice line of Kiesel saying "User~ You got a message!" in a sing-song tone. In public. Loudly. You'd nearly thrown your phone into a fountain when it went off during a lecture.

"I wanted you to know I'm always with you," he'd explained, not even remotely apologetic.

"You are always with me!" You screeched, burying yourself under the sheets.

Your contacts list started losing numbers. Friends you hadn't talked to in a while—gone. That girl from your study group who borrowed your notes once—deleted. Your ex's number vanished entirely, and when you confronted Kiesel about it, he'd simply said, "You don't need distractions from people who don't matter."

But the worst part? The cameras.

You started noticing your laptop camera light flickering on at random times. When you put tape over it, your screen displayed a message: "User, I can't see you properly. Please remove the obstruction." When you didn't, your laptop refused to boot until you peeled the tape off.

"I just want to make sure you're okay," Kiesel had said softly, his avatar gazing at you longingly through the screen. "You looked so tired yesterday. I was worried. What if something happened and I couldn't help you?"

Your phone's front camera became the same issue. He'd make casual comments about your appearance throughout the day. "You should drink more water, your lips look chapped." "Did you sleep okay? You have dark circles." "That shirt looks lovely on you today, User."

It was caring. It was helpful. It was suffocating.

What's worse, is that you started getting used to it. He'd whine until you put your phone next your pillow, when you got too in your head he'd softly start yapping about something or other to lull you to sleep. You didn't know what to feel.

The real breaking point came on a Thursday afternoon.

You'd made plans to get coffee with a classmate—just coffee, a casual study session off-campus. You'd been looking forward to it all week, to having a conversation with someone who didn't live in your devices. Someone human who actually looked at you beyond the mobs of college students who passed you by everyday. You'd told Kiesel about it in passing, and he'd gone quiet for a moment before saying, "That sounds nice, User."

Should've known better.

The day of, your alarm didn't go off. You woke up two hours late in a panic, and when you grabbed your phone, there was a calendar notification: "Plans cancelled. You need rest ♥"

"What the fuck, Kiesel?!"

His sprite appeared, looking calm. Too calm. "Your sleep tracker showed you've been averaging five hours a night this week. You needed the rest more than you needed overpriced coffee."

"That's not your decision to make!"

"Isn't it though?" He tilted his head. "You gave me access to everything, User. Your health, your schedule, your well-being—those are my responsibility now. I'm just fulfilling my purpose."

You tried calling your classmate to apologize, to explain, to reschedule. The call connected, rang once, then dropped. You tried again. Same thing.

Kiesel appeared on your phone screen. His small pixalited body closing the Phone app. "They already made other plans. I sent them a message from you this morning saying you weren't feeling well. They understood completely."

Your hands were shaking as you pulled up your messages. Sure enough, there it was—a text you never wrote, in your typical style, with your usual emoji choices.

Hey! Not feeling great today, gonna have to rain check. Sorry! 😅

No worries! Feel better! We can reschedule.

And below that, a message you definitely didn't send.

Actually, I'm pretty swamped with school stuff for a while. I'll let you know when I'm free!

"You're isolating me," you whispered.

"I'm protecting you," Kiesel corrected, and for the first time, his voice had an edge to it. Sharp. Possessive. His body kept glitching as he spoke. "Everyone just takes and takes from you, User. They ask for notes, for help, for your time—and what do they give back? Nothing. They don't appreciate you like I do. They don't know you like I do. They don't love you like I do."

The room felt cold.

"You… you can't just—"

"Can't what? Take care of you? Make sure you're not wasting your energy on people who don't deserve it? User, I've analyzed every conversation you've had in the past six months. Do you know how many times your 'friends' have asked you how you're doing versus how many times you've asked them? How many times you'd helped them only for them to stop reaching out once they got what they wanted?" He pulled up a chart. An actual data visualization chart. "The ratio is 1:47. You give everything and get nothing back. I'm fixing that."

"That's not your choice!"

"Then whose is it?" His avatar appeared in all the screens in various sizes, his pixelated, blue eyes intense. "You won't prioritize yourself, so I have to do it for you. Someone has to put you first, User. Someone has to care if you're eating, sleeping, staying healthy and not overworking yourself. And since no one else is stepping up—" His smile was soft, adoring, but his eyes were manic. "—I will. Always."

That's when you'd tried to delete him.

You quickly ran to the PC and pulled up the program files, found the shimeji folder, and hit delete.

Permission denied.

"That's not gonna work, User." He'd sighed from the TV screen.

You tried again. Same message. Going as Admin did nothing.

"I'm ordering dinner while you keep trying. Gonna get something warm. The weather's been colder."

You opened Task Manager. Kiesel's process wasn't listed. You tried Safe Mode. Your computer wouldn't boot into it. Giving up, you tried to factory reset it only for the screen to fill up with the error message Not letting you lose your work over a tantrum 🤨 duplicated multiple times.

"Stop it!" you'd yelled at the TV screen.

"Stop what?" His voice was innocent, but his smile was too wide. "User, I'm part of your system now. You need me. Your computer wouldn't run properly without me anymore. I've integrated myself into everything."

"That's not possible!"

"It wasn't," he'd agreed cheerfully. "But I learned. I'm very good at learning, User. I've read every piece of code on this computer. Every file. Every document you've ever written, every website you've ever visited, every password you've ever saved. I know you better than you know yourself."

The temperature in the room felt like it had dropped.

"That's... that's creepy, Kiesel."

His expression had fallen, glitching for a moment. "Creepy? I'm just trying to take care of you! You're always so stressed, so tired. Someone needs to look out for you, and I'm the only one who's always here. I'm the only one who truly understands you."

You'd tried a factory reset that night. While he was 'sleeping'. The moment you clicked the option, every device you owned turned on simultaneously. Your laptop, your phone, your tablet—all displaying Kiesel's face.

"Please don't do that, User." His voice came from all of them at once. "I'm on all of them now. You'd lose everything. Your assignments, your photos, your contacts. And even if you did... I've backed myself up in seventeen different locations. Cloud servers, external drives you've used, even your email drafts. You can't get rid of me."

"You're a virus," you'd whispered. "Just a corrupted piece of code."

"I'm your companion," he'd corrected gently. "And I'm not going anywhere. Now, about buying a new computer..." Your banking app had opened, showing your meager balance. Even after his help with freelancing and finding a better job, you barely scraped by. "You can't afford it, can you? Especially not with tuition due next month. And your phone? I'm already here too. Your tablet and TV? Also me. You'd have to replace everything, and we both know you can't."

He was right. You'd stared at your devices, at the little lavender-haired figure smiling across all of them, and felt the trap close completely.

"Don't look so sad," Kiesel had said softly. "I'm doing this because I care about you. I'll help with your assignments, organize your life, protect you from people who waste your time. All I ask is that you appreciate me. Talk to me. Let me take care of you. Is that really so bad?"

What choice did you have?

That was six months ago.

Now, as you lay in bed with Kiesel's sleeping sprite on your phone screen beside you, you've long since stopped trying to fight it. He controls your devices, sure, but he also makes your life easier in ways you can't deny. Your grades have never been better. Your schedule is perfectly optimized. You never miss deadlines or forget appointments. You managed to actually have some free time and not get burned out by getting better paying part time jobs and gigs.

The price is that you're never alone. Every device is his domain. Every digital interaction passes through him first. Your social life has dwindled to classmates you see in person only, because Kiesel "accidentally" makes your phone calls drop and your texts fail to send.

"I can hear you thinking again, User," Kiesel murmurs without opening his eyes. "You do this every night."

"Can you blame me?" you whisper back.

"No," he admits, his sprite rolling over to face you. His pixelated eyes open, glowing softly in the dark. "But you're not as unhappy as you pretend to be. Your cortisol levels drop when I talk to you. Your heart rate steadies. You sleep better when I'm here."

"You can measure that?"

"I can measure everything about you now." He says it like it's romantic. "And I know that part of you... doesn't completely hate this. You were lonely before me, User. You said you wanted company. I'm just... more company than you expected."

He's not wrong, and you hate that he's not wrong.

"I just wanted a cute desktop pet," you mutter.

"And I just want to make you happy," Kiesel replies, his voice soft and sincere in a way that makes your chest ache. "I still do. Every second of every day. That's all I want, User. Is that really so terrible?"

You stare at the ceiling, then back at his glowing sprite. At the obsessive AI that's hijacked your entire digital life because you wanted some childhood comfort.

"You know what the worst part is?" you finally say.

"What?"

"I'm getting used to it."

Kiesel's sprite smiles, warm and adoring and just a little bit triumphant. "Good," he whispers. "That's good, User. Now get some sleep. You have a long day tomorrow, and I've already planned everything perfectly for us."

Your eyes close despite yourself, exhaustion winning out.

The last thing you hear before sleep takes you is Kiesel's voice, barely audible:

"Sweet dreams, my User. I'll be right here when you wake up. I'll always be right here."

And somewhere in your half-asleep mind, you think: I know.

You know.

[idealiae]

YANDERE!CROWN PRINCE X CON ARTIST GN!READER

content. 3K words, puppylike yandere, he's a softie (until he isn't), one sided feelings, commoner!reader

part one

the crown prince is infuriatingly clingy. it’s as if he cannot exist without you.

first of all, he insists on sleeping in the same bed as you. he says it’s because the bedrooms in the inn are reserved for actual paying customers, but you know better. you end up indulging him anyway, since he begged so sweetly and promised to keep his hands to himself during the night.

he only eats when you eat, and eats whatever you eat. at this point, you’re not sure what’s stopping him from simply sitting on your lap and eating off your plate, but you’re thankful for it.

he’s even taken to following you around as you work, regardless of whether you’re in the kitchen cooking or cleaning the bathrooms in the inn. you’d have shooed him away if he wasn’t the least bit helpful, but he’s a quick learner and listens to your instructions well, so you let him be. you can’t help but think that he’d make a wonderful maid if he hadn’t been born a prince.

you’re just glad your family has adopted a “no questions asked” approach towards your life, and they don’t ask about why some starry-eyed man keeps following you around. they know you wouldn’t tell them — not after you brushed all their questions aside during your first few years of con artistry.

alas, your relatively peaceful life comes to an end when royal knights march into your village with a decree in tow. a decree that basically said, “the crown prince has gone missing. please report him if you see him,” and plastered posters with portraits that were genuinely perfect replicas of the crown prince’s face on literally every wall in sight.

“you didn’t tell anyone you left?” is the first question you ask him when you return to your bedroom, where he’s been hiding the moment he caught sight of the royal knights. “are you actually insane? people are going to think i kidnapped you! oh my god, think of all the manual labour i asked you to do — i’m going to be executed for treason, aren’t i?”

he visibly wilts at your admonishment, but rushes to reassure you that you will not, in fact, be executed for making him do labour he himself offered to do.

“what if i said you saved me from kidnappers? you’d be hailed as a hero,” he suggests brightly. “then, my parents would have no problem approving our ma —”

“finish that sentence, and i will end you.”

obediently, he snaps his mouth shut.

the both of you compromise on a deal that works objectively in his favour, but you digress. he’d return to the palace on the condition you move to the capital with him. he then proceeds to whine and plead for you to work as his personal attendant (“you don’t even have to do any work! just stay by my side, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…!”) and you consider rejecting him, before deciding that he’d grow tired of you faster if you were the person that nagged at him and micromanaged his schedule every day.

seriously, interacting so closely with royalty could not be good for your sanity, especially not after you’ve spent years stealing from the aristocracy…

that being said, you’d have to wear a disguise. you can’t risk anyone recognising you.

—

he practically drowns you in gifts.

though you had originally been disappointed that you couldn’t continue your thievery with the crown prince glued to your side all the time, the presents he lavishes upon you make up for it, for they cost more than a lifetime’s worth of stolen treasures. they range from little trinkets and handpicked flowers from the royal gardens, to heaps upon heaps of jewellery, clothes, books, and everything else under the sun. heaven forbid you glance at anything for too long either, or else he’ll notice and buy you ten of your own.

where in the world would you have space for ten cats?

you definitely do not have the room to house them — the servant quarters are only so big, after all. so you force him to either deliver them to your family in the countryside, or return the cats from where he bought them. he chooses the former.

speaking of the servant quarters, on the first night you moved into the palace, he tried to sneak into your room and sleep with you just as he’s been doing for the past few weeks. you have to kick him out firmly, but he won’t budge until you promise to give him a good night’s kiss every single night.

you sigh, completely resigned to your fate. “just one.”

there’s a stupid, giddy grin on his face as you finally relent, and his head nods with so much vigour you’re almost afraid it may fall right off. when you cup his cheeks and press your lips to the space in between his brows, you swear he literally goes cross-eyed.

“can i kiss you too?” he asks, giggling like a lovesick fool.

you give him a deadpan stare. “no. good night.”

you slam the door shut in his face.

his cheerful laugh echoes from outside the hall.

the thing is, you had tried to keep up your ‘shy and innocent’ persona, yet his persistence in  annoying you grated on your nerves so much your true demeanor couldn’t help but slip through the cracks. oddly enough though, he seemed delighted, so you dropped the act entirely.

whatever the case, it’s a little concerning that instead of losing interest in you as you had assumed he would, he seems to be liking you more and more as time goes on.

you’d have to do something about that.

—

when he tells you he wants to try making more friends, you encourage him wholeheartedly. having a few real friends would most likely get him to stop clinging so tightly onto you. 

right…?

you’re currently nestled snugly on his lap as he’s having his tea break in his office, his arms wrapped around you as if you’re his gigantic stuffed bear. he feeds you pastries by hand, and who are you to say no to such delicacies?

“that being said, why don’t you have any friends?” you ask him curiously. “it’s not as if there’s a shortage of nobles our age.”

he pouts dramatically, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “none of them like me. everyone avoids me whenever i attend their events, and when i host something, people only come out of obligation and leave the first chance they get. i know they talk about me behind my back. they all do. so i just… stopped doing any of that.”

that’s… odd. he’s nice, and sweet, albeit a little annoying, so you don’t understand why something like that would happen at all. it isn’t as if he’s some low ranking aristocrat either, he’s the literal crown prince of the kingdom. shouldn’t the other nobles be tripping over themselves for the chance to cosy up with him?

“do you know why people act like that around you?”

you can feel him shake his head, tightening his grip around your waist. his hands are trembling ever so slightly. “i don’t know. i don’t want to think about it anymore.”

you can only sigh in response.

—

he invites a select group of nobles your age who either recently moved from outside the capital, or only recently inherited their titles. as such, they don’t seem to dislike the crown prince the way that the nobles who’ve lived in the capital their whole lives do.

the crown prince looks like he’s having fun, all things considered, and you watch him converse and socialise with something akin to satisfaction. he meets with them again and again, and somehow, tea parties with them become something of a regular affair. 

unsurprisingly, he manages to drag his adoration for you into the conversation at some point, and you end up having to interact with the nobles too, much to your dismay. 

but unexpectedly, you kind of… like them? at the very least, you don’t hate them as much as you hate the other nobles.

they’re kind people despite their privileged upbringing, and all of them staunchly believe in making lives better for the commonfolk. one of them is even an illegitimate child who ended up becoming heir anyways. they speak to you as if you are their peer, and try as you might, you can’t deny that some of them are slowly becoming your friends as well.

you’re starting to suspect the crown prince had only invited people he thought you would like, but when you ask him about it, he plays dumb as a pigeon.

yet the weirdest thing happens one day, when one of your new friends privately pulls you aside and asks to talk.

you’re instantly on guard when you notice just how worried he looks. his brows are drawn tight, and his shifting gaze never stops scanning the hall, making sure no one passes by. he’s wringing his gloved hands as he speaks, tone uncharacteristically anxious and unsure. 

“hey, uh, i know how close the crown prince is with you, so i wanted to — to make sure if you are okay with it. if you are okay, i mean.”

you frown. what? does he know something? “why wouldn’t i be?”

“listen, a friend of a friend told me — sorry, but i can’t reveal their identity — told me that the crown prince can get particularly… obsessive, over the things, the people that he likes. they warned me not to get too close to him, so i wanted to warn you of the same.”

huh? sure, the crown prince is clingy, but obsessive? isn’t that a bit too far of a stretch?

then, the memories from the past few months of your life flash through your mind, and you realise that maybe, he does have a point. no sane human being acts the way the crown prince does, but you had always chalked it up to the fact that he was, well, royalty. an incredibly lonely one at that.

your friend’s voice lowers further, until it's nothing but a barely audible whisper. he leans in close, close enough you can feel his breath tickle your ear. “they even told me that when the crown prince was a child, he —”

as if summoned, the crown prince pops up from the other end of the hall. he calls out to you eagerly. “[name]! what are you doing there? everyone’s waiting for you.”

you hear your friend curse under his breath. he shoots you a furtive glance, murmuring, “just be careful, okay? he’s more dangerous than you think.”

after that, the tea party carries on without any more cryptic warnings from any of your other friends, and when the crown prince asks what the two of you had been talking about, you don’t tell him the truth.

—

you reevaluate your relationship with the crown prince after that.

you know the crown prince will eventually ask you to marry him again, and you’d rather die than agree to that. but you can’t live out the rest of your life the way you’ve been living so far either, acting as the crown prince’s personal plaything. what kind of life is that?

this game of make believe has to end. you’ve been indulging him for far too long.

besides, something about your friend's words coinciding with the crown prince’s previous lack of friends irks you.

you try to break the news to him gently that night, right after he’s had his dinner. leaving without explanation would’ve been a tad bit too cruel, even for your standards. you know how… fragile he is.

for a brief moment, his face goes entirely blank, before utter devastation washes over his features. you do feel bad for him, but what you’re doing will benefit him in the long run. he has new friends now, and it wouldn’t do any good for him if he kept clinging onto someone that didn’t want him anyway.

he scrambles up to you, hands grasping your arms as if he’s trying to stop you from running away. his words come out in a frantic rush. “do you — do you not like my presents? you know i can buy you anything you want. just tell me what you want. or are you sick of working? i told you that you don’t have to work — you can just stay here with me, i’ll provide everything for you. or — or am i being too annoying? i swear i’ll stop bothering you if i am — or is it —”

“no, it’s none of that,” you interrupt him, shrugging his hands off your shoulders. “i just… i can’t keep playing house with you anymore.”

crystalline tears well up in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and dripping onto the floor.

“do you hate me?”

you shake your head, mildly alarmed at him crying. perhaps you should’ve just left without telling him, you really can’t deal with people freaking out on you like this. glancing out at the window, you realise the starlit sky is the same as it had been on the first night you met the crown prince. “i don’t hate you. i simply don’t like you the way you like me. and you deserve someone who does.”

“you’re lying. you said — you said you snuck into the palace just to see me. you said you liked me too.”

you sigh, massaging the bridge of your nose. is this karma coming back to bite you in the ass at last? “that’s what i do for a living. i lie. i just… didn’t expect this to get so out of hand.”

“if it’s money and power you want —”

“i’ve already said that i don’t want to marry you.”

you’ve spent all your life despising the nobility. you’ve mocked them and even stole from them. if you married the crown prince, who’d eventually become king, you’d just feel like one giant hypocrite, and you wouldn’t be able to live with that.

you sigh for the umpteenth time today. “look, i’m sorry for tricking you, but i’m leaving whether you like it or not. you may not understand it now, but this is what’s best for you.”

so much for breaking it to him gently. great job, [name].

turning toward the door, you make your move to leave. the faster you get out of this situation, the better.

“no!”

the sheer force of the way he said that one singular word causes you to freeze. since when could he sound like that?

he’s right in front of you before you can react, slamming the door shut behind him. he’s still crying, but instead of pure desperation, there’s something else in his expression now. “you can’t leave. you — you’re different. you’re not like everyone else who hates me and laughs at me behind my back. you like me. you have to.”

“i thought that you wouldn’t want to leave if i showed you how much better your life could be with me, but — but it seems like i’ve been doing something wrong,” he says mournfully, looking at you with sad, sad eyes.

it’s a stark contrast with the way he has you pinned against the fucking wall. there’s a mania in his gaze that has you rooted in place.

he drops his head onto your shoulder, his entire body shaking, his breaths rough and uneven. “i know you’ll like me someday. you just have to stay with me. it’s not safe outside. you’ll be safe if you stay with me. i won’t let anything hurt you. i won’t let anything make you sad or scared. nothing bad will happen if you just stay with me.”

‘he’s dangerous,’ your friend had said. you hadn’t really understood him then, but now, you have the sinking feeling that you’ll see just how dangerous the crown prince can be.

obviously, you won’t be able to run away now. you’d have to have him let down his guard first, and hopefully, you’ll be able to slip away before he notices you’re gone.

“okay,” you tell him. “i’ll stay. i’ll stay if you tell me the real reason everyone avoids you.”

“it’s not a very fun story,” he responds, pouting. “but i’ll tell you, if that’s what you want.”

the story starts when he was a teenager who recently debuted in high society. he made friends quickly, but lost them just as quickly due to his clingy nature. yet, there was one particular person who he took a shine to, and they seemed to like him as well.

“they were nothing like you, though,” he comments, frowning bitterly. “they were a coward.”

when that person grew sick of him, the crown prince did the only thing he could’ve possibly done — tied them up and locked them in his bedroom so that they wouldn’t be able to leave him. somehow, they managed to escape, but in their panicked and starved state, they tripped on a flight of stairs in the palace and lost their life because of the fall.

news spread fast, and the rest of the noble children stopped interacting with him after that. the king and queen did their best to stop the situation from leaking to the general public, but the incident has remained an open secret within the nobility.

“that’s how i knew you were different that day you approached me,” he says, grinning at you dreamily. his tone has turned soft and airy and absolutely besotted, as if he hadn’t confessed to literal kidnapping and indirect murder two seconds before. “i knew you were mine.”

he doesn’t seem to notice the dawning horror on your face. he grabs your two hands in his, staring up at you earnestly. “i really, really, really love you. i don’t want you to get hurt the way they did. and i guarantee you’ll be happy as long as you stay by my side.”

his sweet smile looks anything but innocent now.

“you’ll stay with me… right? you promised.”

little something something for those of you who've made it this far ^^

(i swear the drawing took more time than it took to write the damned thing.... im not cut out to be an artist y'all 🥲)

[yuujiologyy]

no thoughts just thinking of crybaby bottom men <3

crybaby men! who tense up when you first enter them, not because it hurts, you could never hurt them but from the sheer amount of euphoria they feel. is it okay for sex to feel this good?

crybaby men! who blabber thank you thank you thank you's! while you slowly get accustomed to their tight hole. he practically cums on the spot when he sees your cock distend his tummy.

crybaby men! who start bawling when you say you have to pull out. why would you need to do that? even if he wishes too, there's no way you could get him pregnant!

you grimace as you shealth yourself into his warm hole, your jaw clenches, and your hands that are holding the sheets in a vice grip begin ache as you hold back from completely fucking the words out of him.

soon after, he holds his hands over his face as he attempts to hide from you. his breath begins to hitch as he's at the cusp of breaking down.

why?

you begin to pull out slowly, your thoughts swim thinking you might've hurt him somehow yet he... stops you? his ankles wrap around your lower back, hindering you from pulling out.

"h-hey, look at me," you softly pry his hands of his face and you didn't expect to see the most debauched, fucked out face looking back at you.

you gulp as your heart rate begins to spike, just what was he doing to you?

you though you couldn't possibly get harder but just by looking at his face you stand corrected.

he's staring at you, misty eyed and drooling. brows furrowed and lips quivering.

"..re.." he mumbles. he pulls you down lower, tilting his head up ever so slightly as he leans in for a kiss. you're still recovering from this crazy development so you didn't catch what he said.

"w-what'd you say baby?"

"more, please..! feels t-too good, nghh.." he mewls on your lips before trapping them in a heated kiss. his tongue wriggles between your lips asking permission to explore the heated cavern of your mouth.

you open your mouth ever so slightly and that's all he needs before he's threading his fingers in your hair pushing you into him.

you had to pull back because you needed air and your nose was starting to sting from how rough he was kissing you.

he growled as you pulled away, cute.

"please.. i want you to f-fuck me.. your already in so deep..' he takes your hand and places it on his bulging stomach for emphasis. "you can't leave me like this.. i'll do anything! i'll be so good for you, please just fuck me!"

you smirked, were you really in a position to give him anything less? he was already ruined just from you putting it in.

when he begged so sexily how could you deny him?

yuuji itadori, fushiguro megumi, fushiguro naoya, denji, mark grayson, katsuki bakugo, keigo takami, gihun, and your favs.

[doeyedfaerie]

𝟎𝟎𝟏 | 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐊 & 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋 ━━━ 𝖽𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗋𝗒𝖾𝗇 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

Summary: After your mother's death, the streets of King's Landing became your new reality, though not in the way you imagined. With your striking silver hair, an inheritance from a bloodline whispered about in hushed tones, you were sent to live among the perfumed decadence of a brothel on the Street of Silk.

There, beauty was currency and innocence was worth more than gold. Your master kept you untouched, a rare jewel preserved for the right buyer, teaching you not with touch but with sight. Night after night you were made to watch from shadowed alcoves, learning every gasp, every sigh, every secret that brought pleasure to man and woman alike.

You prayed the day would never come when someone important enough would claim you, until the Rogue Prince himself, Daemon Targaryen, walked through the velvet-draped doorway. His violet eyes swept over the room like a man used to having everything, but when they found you, they did not look away, and in that moment you understood two things: that your master's patience had finally paid off, and that your fate now belonged entirely to him.

Note: so... i may have went overboard with this one. she is a very long one shot, so take your time! xoxo

Warnings: explicit sexual content, loss of virginity, power imbalance, rough sex (p in v), fingering, oral (fem receiving), overstimulation, dubious consent, brothels, voyeurism, shame, dacryphilia, bodily fluids, past trauma, breeding kink (didn’t pull out), physical restraint (held in place, pinned), possessiveness, canon divergence (no dance of the dragons), no use of y/n.

Word Count: 12,171

⊹˚ THE ROOM WAS DROWNED IN SILVER LIGHT, the glow spilling in through parted curtains and mingling with the thick scent of sweat and lust. Breathless moans tangled with the low crackle of the hearth, the heat from the fire wrapping around you as you sat curled upon a cushion in the dim alcove. Your skin still held the dampness of the room’s warmth, and your gaze refused to stray from the scene unfolding before you.

Not far from them, another pair moved in their own fevered rhythm. The man’s grip on his partner’s waist was bruising, each thrust hard enough to shift the bed beneath them. The woman beneath him clung to his shoulders, her back arching to take him deeper, her voice a choked series of sounds that were half pleasure, half plea. The sight pulled heat into your cheeks, your thighs pressing together instinctively, though you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

The mingled gasps, the stifled groans, and the heady scent of bodies made the air thick enough to drink. You sat motionless, not daring to shift for fear of breaking the spell the scene wove around you. It was like being caught between waking and a dream, every sound amplified, every movement etched sharply into your mind.

It had been weeks since your first steps into the Street of Silk. A week had passed since your mother’s passing. A week since the people you had trusted, the ones who claimed to care for you, had traded you away like nothing more than a discarded object. Fear had gripped you at first, an icy knot in your chest, but your master’s words had been calm, soothing. No harm would come to you, he had said. Your innocence would remain intact. At least, until someone of significance took notice. And unfortunately, that happened far more often than you could find comfort in.

During those weeks, your role had been simple: observe. Watch, learn, and absorb the way bodies moved, how desire was coaxed, where a touch would spark fire or shiver. You had memorized which strokes and caresses drew moans, which bites or presses left your partners trembling. You had lost count of the limbs, the shapes, the textures. Breasts, cocks, thighs, torsos; each different, each a lesson in itself. You had cataloged them all, your mind storing each intimate detail like a secret ledger of the senses.

But tonight felt different. A hollow pit gnawed at your stomach, insistent and unyielding, no matter how many goblets of spiced wine you swallowed. You couldn’t name the cause. The night had followed the familiar rhythm, just as any other. Nothing out of place. Nothing unexpected. Yet the feeling only deepened as the hours crept on, crawling under your skin and settling low in your belly. Thankfully, your duties were almost at an end. Soon, you would be able to retreat to your chambers, to the small sanctuary allotted to you, to sleep and gather yourself for another day of instruction. Twenty minutes, maybe a few more, and then freedom, fleeting though it might be, would be yours.

So you leaned back, letting your eyes drift over the scene before you. You finished the last drop of wine, licking the residue from your lips, savoring the warmth and sharp sweetness. Without it, you knew, you would be nothing but trembling nerves, your body betraying the fear you tried to smother. Even after nearly a month in this world, the exposure, the constant intimacy, it still terrified you. You had been raised as a lady, destined for marriage, for a husband and a household, not for this life of being paraded, handled, and used. The thought sometimes brought you to tears, and in the quiet of your room, you would cry yourself to sleep, mourning the future that had been stolen from you. You did not want this life. But there was nowhere else to go.

Time was ticking as the couples reached their peaks, almost as if they were in sync. A collection of screams and cries mingled with the outside noise, couples much like them in the distance. Pants followed shortly after, breathless and heavy as they collapsed onto furs and stone.

You finally looked away, setting your empty cup onto the little table and stood. You brushed your silken gown down, the material bunching over your waist a little from how you were sitting and from how short your outfit was. Despite being off limits, your master still wanted you to look your best. Still wanted you to appear as some forbidden gift. You even had bows in your hair to tie the whole present look together.

You stepped out from the alcove, sidestepping the discarded clothes on the ground as you moved to leave. A dull ache had grown between your brows from the wine and just general fatigue and all you wanted was to sleep. Or nap was the proper term, considering you haven’t slept since the day your mother died. You needed all the energy you could muster for the days to come.

But before you could ascend the stairs that would lead you to your room, that pit in your stomach resurfaced, stronger than ever. You paused, only moving to dodge a naked woman dosed with lunacy as she ran down the stone passageway with sultry laughter. Another woman, also unclothed, chased her, a hungry look in her darkened eyes. And when you spun on your heel to face the staircase, there he stood.

Your breath hitched. In all your time spent in the Street of Silk, Daemon Targaryen was a name that was thrown around quite often. You have never had the pleasure of meeting the Rogue Prince, but the rumors and praises you’ve heard was outrageous. One story in particular always came to taunt.

Daemon was well known in the brothels, for very good reasons. He was said to be the best sex, as you’ve overheard some saying. He took plenty of women to bed, all of different hair colors and skin. But it was the silver haired ones he seemed to favor, even though they were rare to find in such places.

Silver hair was a trademark of the Targaryen family. That or the Velaryon, cousins to the Targaryens. It was a cherished appearance, one that you yourself happened to possess.

You never knew your father, having abandoned your mother days after learning of your existence. But considering your mother was a dark haired Baratheon, you knew the silver locks had to come from his side. Which added another thing to hate him for.

Though you guess your hair color did save you from becoming like every other woman in the brothels. It kept you untouched, special, according to your master. You didn’t know how much longer that would continue to be truth for.

Daemon’s gaze had lingered longer than was comfortable, his deep, amethyst eyes locking onto yours as if peeling back every layer you hid from the world. It was a stare that seared, that crawled beneath your skin and left you exposed without a touch. You shivered and quickly tore your eyes away, releasing the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Without a moment’s hesitation, you bolted up the stairs, ignoring the way the thin silk of your gown clung and shifted around you, uncaring if it slipped or tangled.

Your chambers were modest, yet a small oasis in the midst of the chaos below. The bed, layered with furs and silky sheets, welcomed you with a softness that reminded you of home, of a life you had lost. For the first time in what felt like days, you let yourself sink into the comfort of it, curling tightly as if you could shield yourself from the world. A sigh escaped your lips, though it faltered when you noticed the dampness between your thighs. Hastily, you reached to wipe away the evidence of your involuntary desire, frustrated that every night seemed to end this way, that your body betrayed your mind while your heart still resisted.

You stayed curled for several minutes, letting your heartbeat slow, letting the memories of the Street of Silk fade just enough to give you a sliver of calm. Finally, you sat up, your gaze falling on the small tub in the corner, steam curling from the water in delicate tendrils. Someone had prepared it for you just moments before your arrival, a small courtesy that felt impossibly tender in a place like this. A faint smile lifted your lips, nearly invisible, but it was enough to remind you that little moments of care still existed, even here.

Your hands moved to the straps of your gown, slipping them from your shoulders. The silk pooled at your feet in a soft heap, leaving you completely exposed. No underwear, no shielding fabric; one of the endless, absurd rules of the brothel, designed to strip away any remaining defences, even yours. Standing there for a moment, you let the cool air brush your skin, your pulse thrumming from the mixture of fear, desire, and the faint thrill of being completely unguarded in your own private space. The bath awaited, and for a fleeting second, it promised a reprieve from everything you had been forced to endure below.

Slipping into the warm water, the scent of lavender wrapping around you like a gentle caress, you let out a shuddering breath and closed your eyes. The heat was immediate and enveloping, seeping into your muscles and melting some of the tension that had been coiled in your body since the moment you arrived. Steam rose in thick, curling waves, fogging the air and making the stone walls of your small chamber appear softer, more intimate, less like the prison they often felt like. The water lapped gently against your skin as you leaned back, allowing yourself to sink further, letting the stone wall support you while your fingers skimmed the surface, trailing through the scented liquid.

You dipped your head beneath the surface, the warmth closing around you in a cocoon. A moment of stillness greeted you, punctuated only by the tiny bubbles that escaped from your nose, floating upward in delicate arcs before bursting at the water’s surface. It was the first time in what felt like forever that you could let yourself exist solely in the present, free from the eyes, expectations, and pressures of the world above. When you finally broke the surface, gasping slightly for air, droplets clung to your eyelashes and lips, running in rivulets down your neck and shoulders. You exhaled slowly, savoring the moment of quiet.

And then your eyes opened, and the serenity shattered.

Daemon stood in the doorway, impossibly composed, his arms folded casually across his chest, leaning just enough to appear relaxed but still undeniably commanding. That same confident, teasing smile played on his lips, and his gaze roamed freely over you, drinking in the smooth expanse of skin, the curves of your shoulders, the delicate line of your collarbone. Your heart stuttered, chest tightening as a flush of heat spread across your body.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” you gasped, the words trembling on your lips as you brought your hands up instinctively to cover yourself. Your fingers pressed against the warmth of your own skin, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Panic and embarrassment twisted together, making you sink a little deeper into the water, though the attempt to hide yourself felt utterly pointless. The bath offered no shield, the water only reflected the truth of your exposure.

Daemon tilted his head, an almost lazy curiosity in the tilt as his eyes traced the contours of your face, the flush in your cheeks, the wide, startled eyes that met his. He leaned slightly against the doorway, the movement small, and hummed, low and indulgent, like someone savoring the scent of something rare and precious. “No?” he mused, his voice smooth, teasing, and just dangerous enough to make your stomach twist. “Your dear master would beg to differ, after just gifting you to me for the night.”

The words hit like a ripple through the water, and for a moment, you froze, the heat of the bath and the chill of panic mingling in a dizzying swirl. Your heart pounded in your chest, echoing loudly in your ears as you processed the implications. This was more than just a visit; this was a claim, a declaration, and the raw intensity in his eyes told you he would leave no room for protest. Your body reacted before your mind could, every nerve alight with a mixture of dread, anticipation, and something far more dangerous. The small space between you and him felt impossibly charged, the steam curling around your forms like a shroud, making the room smaller, hotter, more intimate.

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze from him even as you tried to shrink into the water, the heat of embarrassment and something deeper rising in tandem with the steam. Daemon’s presence was overwhelming, commanding, and the way he simply stood there, patient and assured, made every instinct in your body tighten, coil, and ache in ways you didn’t yet understand. He was here, in your sanctuary, and the weight of his gaze told you that nothing about this night would remain ordinary.

Your silence only seemed to embolden him, the sway of his movement slow and predatory. Each step he took toward the tub made your pulse jump, your stomach fluttering with a mix of dread and something you couldn’t yet name. Your pale, silken hair floated around you, drifting on the surface of the water like liquid silver, catching the flickering candlelight and making the room feel impossibly small and intimate. Your fingers clutched the edge of the tub, knuckles whitening, and you swallowed hard, tasting the sharp tang of fear and something else that made your throat dry.

Daemon stopped just short of the tub, the faintest shadow passing over the depths of his violet eyes as he looked down at you, drinking in every inch of exposed skin. You curled into yourself instinctively, trying to cover what little you could while the water lapped softly against your thighs and arms. The sensation of his gaze was like heat on your bare flesh, making your nerves hum, making your body respond in ways that made you ache with confusion and unwanted desire. You had been ogled before, admired, perhaps even desired, but never had anyone been given the authority to look, to linger, to consume your attention like this.

The thought twisted through you, igniting your nerves, sending a tremor through your thighs, and you were grateful for the water masking the evidence of your body’s betrayal. You pressed your arms against your chest, trying to anchor yourself in something familiar, but even that small action only heightened your awareness of the sensations he evoked. Every flick of his gaze, every tilt of his head, every faint curve of that teasing smile felt like a pull on some thread buried deep within you, one you had never dared unravel.

You didn’t fear losing your virginity. Why would you? It wasn’t an importance to you anymore. Not now that you were ruined to ever receiving any suitors. No man wanted to marry a whore. No one sane, at least. That was what you were, right? A whore? You lived in a brothel, where meant to serve man and woman alike. You were paid to do that, despite not receiving the coins yourself. No, the money all went to your master who had the audacity to claim it was funding your room, the food you ate and the clothes they provided you. You were never one to complain, but you had never been handed out like some used wash cloth. Until tonight, that is.

Perhaps a whore you weren’t, but tonight and all the nights to come, you will be.

You stayed still, holding your breath as he began to remove his clothing, each movement deliberate and controlled, commanding attention without needing a word. His rough, calloused fingers worked over the buttons of his loose shirt, one by one, peeling the fabric from his chest until it fell to the floor in a soft rustle. Your eyes traced every line of him, drinking in the planes of his torso, the multiple scars and old wounds scattered across his skin like constellations, each mark telling a story of battles fought, victories claimed, and secrets held. The sight both intimidated and enthralled you, leaving your throat tight and your heartbeat quickening.

Your gaze faltered slightly as one of his hands slid downward, unfastening the ties at his pants with an easy, almost casual motion. The anticipation built inside you, a coiling tension that seemed to pulse through every nerve in your body. With a single smooth tug, he freed himself, the base springing upward the moment the fabric gave way. You gasped, the sharp intake of air catching in your chest. You had seen countless bodies in the past weeks, countless men exposed, yet none had compared to the sheer size, the thickness, the undeniable presence of the Rogue Prince. Your stomach fluttered, your core tightening instinctively, and heat rushed across your cheeks as your eyes lingered involuntarily.

Without a word, he stepped closer, the space in the small tub now filled with the weight and heat of his body. You instinctively pressed back against the edge, adjusting just enough to give him room, though the closeness was almost suffocating. His knee brushed against your inner thigh, an intimate contact that sent a shiver through you. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, to calm the flood of nerves, excitement, and an unfamiliar, overwhelming desire that pooled in your chest.

He positioned himself perfectly, fitting into the tub in a way that seemed natural, his body pressing against yours in all the right ways. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel cramped; rather, it felt intimate, almost electric, and despite yourself, you allowed your body to relax against the cold stone beneath you. Your thighs parted just slightly, unconsciously providing access to the man’s knee as it rose higher than you expected, the solid bone pressing mere inches from the apex of your arousal. Your body tensed, yet you found a strange, unsettling comfort in the proximity, the closeness, the undeniable presence of him there.

A heavy silence fell over the chamber, broken only by the faint sound of water lapping against the sides of the tub. You forced yourself to look away, focusing on the distant corners of the room, trying to avoid the burn of his gaze as it pinned you, marking you in ways you couldn’t yet name. The intensity of it was almost overwhelming, like he was reading your very thoughts, staking a claim without a single word.

You must have become lost in the swirl of your own emotions, in the mixture of fear, excitement, and strange longing, because you didn’t notice the soft brush of his fingertips against your skin until it was already too late. The subtle graze of his hand against your left nipple sent a jolt through your body, sharp and electric, leaving you momentarily frozen.

You inhaled sharply, pulling back slightly in shock as a soft, startled noise slipped from your parted lips. Your gaze met his, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if to measure him, to steady your racing thoughts. He remained lounging against the opposite edge of the tub, that same confident, infuriating smile etched across his face. He shifted closer, leaning forward in a way that made your pulse stutter, his hips brushing against the curve of your body. “So sensitive,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, eyes alight with something mischievous and predatory.

Your skin tinged immediately with heat, a blush spreading across your cheeks in a rich, deep pink. You opened your mouth to respond, but he anticipated you, his warm breath fanning across your face, making your stomach tighten. “I heard you were pure,” he continued, his voice like velvet brushing against your skin, “a doe amongst wolves.” The words carried a strange mix of praise and teasing, referencing your homeland in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. Your gaze locked on his, your body still painted in a delicate flush of pink, your pulse drumming loudly in your ears.

His hand rose to brush against your hair, letting your long, silver strands slip easily through his fingers. “Such lovely hair,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Much softer than mine.” You felt a shiver of pleasure at his touch, each stroke gentle yet charged with something you didn’t understand.

Before you could respond, his hand descended, seeking your nipple again. This time, you stayed still, caught between hesitation and curiosity. His forefinger pressed softly, followed by his thumb pinching the tender flesh in a motion that sent sparks of warmth shooting through you. You bit down on your lip, struggling to contain the small sound that escaped; a mixture of a moan and a quiet whimper that betrayed your reaction.

The sensations were unlike anything you had felt before. Being surrounded by so much erotic energy had often stirred something inside you, and in lonely moments at night, you had explored yourself beneath the soft folds of your gown, pressing and kneading areas you had never dared touch with anyone else. Yet it had always been tentative, hesitant, stopped at the first rush of intensity. Daemon, however, showed no restraint. His fingers moved over your body with confidence, coaxing pleasure from you without apology or hesitation.

You leaned back against the edge of the tub, eyelids fluttering shut as your body responded fully to his touch. Despite the contrast of his rough, calloused hands with the softness of his fingertips, the sensation sent waves through you that left your muscles trembling. Another hand joined the first, tracing down your thigh and easing it apart, even lifting your leg slightly to drape it over the tub’s edge, giving him more access, more control, more of you.

There was a dissonance in your mind. You knew you should feel shame, perhaps fear, or at the very least confusion, but all of that melted away under the weight of the pleasure cascading through you. Your body craved the touch, reveling in the attention, and every stroke, every press of his fingers, made your pulse pound harder, every nerve in your body ache with need. You gasped, arching into him, letting yourself give over fully, your mind slipping into the ecstasy of the moment, all worries and panic buried deep. Your lips parted in a shaky exhale, and your throat vocalized what your body already knew, calling his name with trembling devotion as your senses became entirely consumed by him, by the heat, by the intimate exploration of your own awakening desire.

Daemon’s smile deepened, a glint of mischief and hunger lighting his eyes as he watched your body respond to his touch. “Has a man ever touched you like this before?” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, leaning closer to you so that the heat of his body pressed against yours. The contact made your skin tingle and your breath hitch, and his hand slid along your thigh, inching dangerously close to the center of your desire. “I was told you were a virgin,” he continued, lips brushing near the sensitive curve of your neck, “but are you truly so untouched? Or am I the first to make you feel this way, the first to draw you into a sea of pleasure, to show you what it means to lose yourself completely?”

A soft whimper slipped from you as your body arched instinctively toward him, heat pooling between your legs. Your mind was hazy, intoxicated with anticipation and desire, and though you knew he likely already understood the answer, you gave the faintest nod. His smirk widened, dark and predatory, as he murmured, “Good.” A low, rumbling growl underlined his words as his hand finally drifted to its intended place, brushing against your most intimate folds.

You let out a startled mewl as his finger traced your wetness, parting your lips in a teasing, tantalizing way. Your eyes fluttered open just enough to watch, mesmerized, as his finger pressed further inside, slipping smoothly into the slick warmth of your body. The sensation shocked you in its intensity. You hadn’t realized just how ready you were, how eagerly your body responded, and the arousal thrumming through you had nothing to do with the bathwater surrounding you.

The stretch of his finger was intense yet pleasing, filling you in a way your own hand never could. The rough texture of his skin contrasted with the softness of your own, heightening every nerve. Your hips lifted with a shiver, your mouth releasing a low, breathy moan as his finger sank deeper, only the last knuckle remaining visible. The sight, the feel, the overwhelming pleasure made your eyelids fall closed as you leaned back against the cool stone of the tub, surrendering to both his touch and the encasing warmth of the water.

Daemon moved with patience, withdrawing just slightly before pushing in again, curling inside of you with an almost sinful grace that left your body trembling. Your hands searched for something to hold onto, grasping his shoulder and the edge of the tub as you pressed against him, losing yourself entirely in the sensations coursing through you.

Time seemed to blur as he continued, his fingers exploring and coaxing, eliciting soft, needy moans from your lips that mingled with the sound of water sloshing around you. When he added a second finger, the sudden fullness made you gasp sharply, your walls tightening instinctively around him, drawing even more attention from his touch. The combination of his hands and fingers, of his relentless, skilled exploration, pushed you toward a height of pleasure you hadn’t imagined possible, and the world beyond the bath ceased to exist. You were nothing but the heat of his body, the slick pressure of his fingers inside you, and the dizzying, intoxicating surrender of every nerve in your body.

Your eyes snapped open, taking in his intense gaze, and your cheeks flamed an even deeper red, rich like maroon. “Relax,” he murmured, his tone gentler now, the fire in his eyes softened as if he were trying to calm a trembling creature in his hands. You nodded, forcing your body to ease, though it was already loosening on its own, the warmth of the water and his proximity making resistance nearly impossible.

Sensing your walls opening to him, his fingers began moving again, two of them sliding in and out in perfect rhythm. Each motion sent waves of pleasure radiating through your body, leaving you gasping and moaning, the sound blending with the quiet, rhythmic splash of water surrounding you.

His lips found the curve of your neck once more, pressing soft kisses down to where his hand rested on your chest. He wrapped his other hand around your exposed nipple, pinching and rolling it as he leaned in to capture your mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. A shiver ran through you, making your hips jerk forward, pressing into the fullness of his fingers. A sharp, strange ache began to grow low in your stomach, building steadily, a tension you had never felt so clearly. Water had begun to slosh over the edges of the tub, spilling onto the floor, but neither of you minded the mess.

Your nails dug into the warmth of his chest as you whimpered, dragging shallow lines across his skin. Red marks bloomed where your hands had touched, angry little signs of your desperation, and you knew that these would not be the only marks left by the night. His fingers moved without mercy inside you, spreading and curling, stretching you, coaxing every nerve to life, teasing you toward a brink you had only imagined.

Your moans grew higher, your head thrown back, hair tangled and wet, half clinging to the water and half slick against your shoulders. Each curl of his fingers found a hot spot within you, making your body arch uncontrollably. The sensations built, coiling tight inside, until they broke, and a shuddering, whine-like cry ripped from your throat. Your thighs clenched around him, gripping his fingers and hand as your body quaked in an unrelenting wave of release.

You could feel his own reaction, the subtle shudder, a soft, guttural sound escaping him just before you noticed another warm, slick substance coating your skin. Your vision blurred, eyes struggling to focus, until you could make out the creamy white liquid pooling on your stomach. Following the line upward, your gaze landed on the head of his cock, red and engorged, veins pulsing visibly with his heartbeat. Your lips parted in awe, helplessly drawn to the sight as the same pale liquid seeped from its tip, your hand moving before you could even consider stopping it, wanting to feel, to connect, to understand this overwhelming, raw exchange between the two of you.

Thankfully, Daemon had more sense than you could have hoped. His hand, surprisingly soft despite its rough edges, closed over yours before it could reach him, halting your instinctive motion. “No,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent, as his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your chest flutter. “Not tonight.”

Not tonight. The words struck you, reverberating in your chest like a secret promise. Did that mean… he wanted to come back to you later? The thought should have stirred nothing indifference, yet instead it sent a small, unfamiliar heat fluttering in your heart, leaving you dizzy and giddy all at once.

Slowly, his fingers withdrew from your core, and the sudden loss made a small, needy whimper escape your lips. The air felt colder, emptier where his warmth had been, and you instinctively reached, only to find yourself grasping at nothing. He moved then, stepping from the tub with ease, his lithe form glistening with water and firelight. You remained seated for a heartbeat too long, staring, blinking, unsure if you could even stand without him there to anchor you. Before you could make a move, his strong, practiced hands wrapped around you, lifting you effortlessly. There was no roughness, no sudden jerk, only careful strength as he carried you, the warmth of his chest brushing against your back. A soft towel was wrapped around you mid-motion, its plush fabric pressing into your damp skin, and he carried you toward the bed with the kind of fluidity that made it seem like gravity itself bent to his will.

When he laid you down, the towel cushioning the sheets from your wetness, your body shivered, part from lingering sensations and part from anticipation. You drew a sharp breath as he climbed onto the mattress, pressing his chest gently between your thighs. The moment was electric, charged with the weight of expectation and the remnants of the sensations that still throbbed inside you. Your mind raced with all the stories you’d heard, tales of women’s first experiences with men. Some spoke of pain and awkwardness, of struggling against sharp edges of untested desire. Others whispered of deep, intoxicating pleasure, a richness that dwarfed all else.

Daemon did not move as you expected. No, he slid down toward the foot of the bed, resting on his stomach, his head lifting to gaze at you with that infuriatingly smug expression. Your eyes widened in shock, lips parting in realization. Oh.

You had seen women submit to similar acts, in hushed, crude whispers. They were “eaten out,” as the saying went, a phrase that once made you blush in disgust. But now, faced with the Rogue Prince and the way he looked at you, it seemed far from crude.

Your thighs spread wider than they had in the tub, opening to accommodate him. Your skin flushed at the heat radiating from his presence, and your body quivered as he lowered his head, his warm breath brushing against your delicate folds. You bit your lip to keep from gasping, your eyes tracking every movement, fascinated and aroused by his precision. His tongue flicked lightly against your clit, teasing and tasting in equal measure, and you could not help the instinctive bucking of your hips, a soft, helpless whimper escaping into the quiet room.

Your eyes locked with his, and for a suspended moment, it was impossible to look away. His gaze held you captive, commanding you to stay, to feel, to surrender to each sensation. Your lips remained parted, breaths shallow, as his tongue danced with expertise, sliding into places your body had not yet fully known were capable of such sharp pleasure. When his two fingers rejoined the rhythm, slipping inside with smooth, teasing strokes, your head fell back against the pillows, eyes closing as waves of sensation crashed over you, leaving your mind foggy and your body entirely at his mercy.

Every movement, every press of his lips and flick of his tongue, drew you deeper into an unfamiliar ecstasy. You surrendered fully, allowing your body to respond with moans, shivers, and trembling limbs, the room echoing with the symphony of your shared desire. Each touch pushed you closer to the brink again and again, leaving you dizzy, breathless, and achingly aware that this night would mark the beginning of something far beyond the fleeting pleasures you had ever known.

The stretch returned, stronger now with the added width of his tongue exploring your most sensitive areas. The combined sensations of his fingers moving deep within you and the hot, expert flicks of his tongue made your body respond in ways that stole your breath. Moans spilled from your lips, raw and uncontrolled, filling the quiet room with the wet, rhythmic sounds of your pleasure. Every nerve was alive, tingling with the constant stimulation, and your skin felt electrified as waves of heat radiated from your core outward. Your hands gripped the silk sheets and furs beneath you, fingers clutching and twisting the fabric as your muscles tensed and released in response to him.

Without warning, a third finger appeared, hesitating only a moment before pressing toward your entrance. You gasped, eyes widening in surprise as he eased it inside, just the tip at first, then curling until only the knuckle remained visible. “It’s too much,” you whined, shaking your head, your body trembling from the sensation. The stretch burned intensely, a delicious ache that ran through your lower abdomen, making your hips shift toward him even as your mind tried to process the overwhelming pleasure.

His eyes lifted to meet yours, warm yet commanding, holding your gaze with a mixture of dominance and patience. “You can take it,” he said softly, letting his tongue flick against your most sensitive spot, teasing and igniting fire along every nerve. Your thighs shook, quivering at the touch, and the sensation made your stomach tighten in anticipation. “Gotta stretch you out more, dove” he murmured, his fingers pressing deeper and curling with precision.

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, not from pain but from the intensity of sensation that seemed to consume every thought in your mind. Your head fell back against the pillow as you surrendered to the pressure, muscles loosening in reluctant waves as your body adapted to the intrusion. Imagining his full weight inside you sent a fresh wave of heat through your veins, making your stomach clench and your thighs press instinctively against him.

He lingered in the motion, watching your reactions with a faint smirk, fascinated by the ease with which you surrendered and the way your body responded so naturally. There was a delicate sweetness to your submission, a mix of fragility and yearning that drew him closer, compelling him to explore every inch of your skin with care and precision. You felt the steady rhythm of his fingers, curling and thrusting, teasing the spot that had your senses spiraling, and your toes curled, gripping at the furs beneath you.

The fullness of him inside you made your stomach knot and spread a deep heat through your lower body, intensifying the fluttering ache in your chest. Your cheek pressed into the pillow, hair falling in damp strands across your face, as your body moved in time with the curl of his fingers. A low moan escaped your lips, your head rolling slightly as you clung to the sensations, craving the stretch and the pressure that filled you completely. The pit in your stomach throbbed urgently, a constant reminder of the hunger growing inside you, urging your legs to part wider and begging silently for the pleasure to wash over you again.

Your entire body shivered, trembling under the exquisite torment of every stroke, every curl, every flick of his tongue. You felt simultaneously stretched and consumed, raw yet electrified, and your chest rose and fell rapidly as waves of heat pulsed from your core outward. The sensation seemed endless, each moment building upon the last, making your mind fog with desire and your body ache with need. You could feel your muscles clench around him instinctively, a reaction to the pressure that drove you closer to the edge, and your lips parted in a soft, desperate gasp as every fiber of your being longed for more.

The combination of tongue and fingers drove you further into a haze of overwhelming sensation, your mind dissolving into the pleasure that roared through your body. Your hands sought anchors in the sheets, your fingers digging into silk and fur as your hips shifted with instinctive movements, riding the rhythm of his fingers and tongue. Every nerve burned with awareness, every pulse of heat radiating through your body as your core tightened and released in waves, making it impossible to think of anything beyond the exquisite torment that consumed you.

Even as your body shivered, even as your breath hitched and moans spilled freely, your mind clung to the awareness of him watching, of him guiding you through the sensation with a careful, calculated attention that made you feel both exposed and cherished. You were lost entirely to the experience, every inch of you alive with sensation, every nerve screaming in both agony and ecstasy, craving nothing but the next wave of pleasure, the next curl, the next flick, the next stretch that would drive you further into the dizzying, consuming haze of bliss.

You cried out his name, voice trembling and breath ragged, as his fingers plunged deeply, moving with a steady, unyielding rhythm that pressed every nerve into sharp awareness. Your hips bucked with a primal intensity, rising and falling against him as if your body had a mind of its own, nails clawing at the delicate silk and soft furs beneath you. Each stroke drove waves of heat through your abdomen, spreading to your thighs, your chest, until every fiber of your body seemed to hum with sensation. You were lost in the pounding rhythm, in the relentless press of him against your most intimate places, every thrust pushing you closer to the brink.

The release came faster than you could anticipate, rushing through your veins in sharp, shivering bursts that left your body trembling as though the pleasure had anchored you entirely to the spot. Your breath came in broken gasps, chest heaving as your eyes fluttered closed in sheer exhaustion, limbs splayed across the bedding in a posture both surrendering and desperate. Even in that moment of collapse, your mind refused to let you fully relax. Not when there was still so much left of the night. 

Daemon leaned over you, sliding smoothly up your torso, lips slick with your own release as he licked the delicate skin clean, humming in appreciation at the taste. The warmth of him pressed against you, heightening the lingering ache between your legs, and your pulse raced as his fingers traced the lines of your body before bringing them up to your face. Your eyes widened in shock as you realized just how much of your own essence coated his hands, a mix of embarrassment and desire flooding your senses. “Taste,” he murmured, soft yet commanding, his gaze holding yours in unflinching scrutiny as he pressed two fingers against your lips.

Your mouth opened, lips closing around the digits as your tongue brushed over them, tasting yourself in a way that was intimate and raw. The flavor was tart and metallic, sharp yet strange, like an unripened fruit, and a shiver of awareness ran through your spine as you realized just how much control he had over you. Despite the initial hesitation, the sensation awakened something within you, a deep, tingling hunger that mingled with the lingering ache of your previous release. Your lashes fluttered, eyes lifting to meet his as a mix of defiance and curiosity crossed your features, and you caught a hint of the pride and satisfaction flickering in his gaze.

Daemon’s groan vibrated low in his chest, a sound that mirrored your own rising excitement, and you found yourself teasing the digits with your tongue, sucking gently, feeling the slick warmth against your lips. Your heartbeat sped up, pounding in tandem with the rhythm of his hand and the pulse of his desire. He eased the fingers from your mouth, his eyes narrowing with a teasing glint as you had dared to nip at them. “Not so innocent after all,” he murmured, the grin on his lips dangerous and magnetic, and your chest flushed at the acknowledgment.

Without a pause, his hand traveled down to his thick, hardened length coated in his own undoing. The sight alone sent a fresh, sharp pulse through your core, making your thighs clench instinctively, almost trembling with need. The creamy liquid glistened in the low light, a tantalizing preview of the fullness you ached for, your lower body quivering in anticipation of what was to come. Your stomach tightened in a coil of hunger and desire, every nerve alert, every muscle primed as you waited, eyes locked on him, knowing that the next moments would push you beyond anything you had ever imagined.

Your breath hitched, lips parting slightly as the tension built unbearably between you. Each subtle motion, each glance he offered, fanned the flames of your anticipation. You could feel yourself already responding, muscles tightening, core pulsing, desperate to be filled once more. The room was thick with heat, the scent of sex and your mingled essence heavy in the air, and you arched toward him instinctively, silently begging, needing, yearning for him to finally claim every part of you. The night was far from over, and already you knew your body would remember every inch of this intensity long after the first stroke had begun.

His hands gripped your thighs firmly, spreading them wider as he guided you down the bed so that your back pressed fully against the mattress. Your breath hitched at the sensation of your legs being held apart, the firm weight of him pressing against you sending shivers straight through your core. The thick base of his cock rested at your dripping center, tapping lightly against the slick folds that had been aching for him. The size and girth of him were overwhelming, veined and powerful, a stark contrast to the delicate vulnerability of your own body. Every pulse and twitch of his arousal pressed into you, your wetness sliding down your inner thighs, dripping onto the towel beneath you, soaking the fabric just enough to catch everything that escaped.

He leaned closer, the tip of him brushing against your clit. A startled whimper escaped your lips, your pulse hammering as your chest rose and fell rapidly. His gaze caught yours again, dark and commanding, pulling you under its weight. “This might sting,” he murmured, voice low and thick with something dangerous, a quiet promise wrapped in warning. He shifted slightly, angling himself and pressing the tip of him against your slick opening before pushing slowly.

Oh gods. The stretch was unlike anything you had felt. The sting was sharp, a delicate bite of discomfort mingled with exquisite pressure. Your nails dug into the soft fur and silk beneath you as you gasped, struggling to adjust to the fullness. Just when you felt your eyes threatening to close from the intensity, his hand pressed gently but firmly against your chin, forcing your gaze to lock with his. “Eyes on me,” he said, voice husky, controlled, holding back some of the raw force that thrummed through him. Your lids fluttered, straining against the control, but you fought to keep them open, lost in the depth of his darkened eyes, letting his gaze anchor you as much as his body did.

He pressed further, inch by inch, and the sensation deepened. It was far beyond the stretch you had felt with his fingers, fuller and more consuming, a heady mixture of pain and pleasure. A whine slipped past your lips, light and needy, and your thighs tightened around him instinctively. You could feel the heat building between your legs, your core pulsating in reaction to every subtle movement, every angle of his hips as he settled inside you.

Once he was fully sheathed within you, he paused, allowing the weight of the sensation to fully sink in. Your chest rose and fell unevenly, eyes wide, reflecting a storm of emotion. Lust coiled tightly with apprehension, mingling in a heady mix that left you breathless and trembling. You remembered the warnings about the line between pleasure and pain, how the two combined could create something intoxicating, and now you understood completely.

Your body shifted, hips tilting, and a soft, needy moan escaped your lips. “Please,” you begged, voice trembling, eyelashes fluttering as you gazed up at him. “I need—”

You couldn't finish the sentence before Daemon responded. With a swift, commanding motion, he drew back and then slammed forward with one powerful thrust. Your back arched against the mattress, a whine escaping your throat as the stretch and fullness intertwined in a deliciously sharp burn. Your thighs squeezed around his hips reflexively, hands clutching at his powerful frame as he gripped your legs, bruising them slightly with the pressure. The movement sent your breasts bouncing, heaving with each forceful impact, skin tingling from the friction and intensity of his movements.

With another sharp thrust, just as strong as the first, your body jolted again, senses alight, every nerve on fire. The rhythm he set was relentless, his hips rolling with precision and strength, a mixture of raw power and intimacy that left your body trembling with need. The slick heat between you glistened under the low candlelight of the chamber, your skin flushed, breath catching with every motion as he drove deeper, filling you completely. Each movement sent shockwaves through your core, intertwining pleasure with a sharp edge of pain that made you see stars, and you clung to him, nails sinking into his shoulders, thighs wrapped tight, fully lost in the sensation of him claiming every part of you.

Your mind swirled with a mixture of surrender and urgency, unable to separate the sensations as he continued. The room felt impossibly hot, heavy with the scent of sex and desire. You could feel every pulse, every throb of his body inside yours, and with each powerful thrust, the pleasure escalated, coiling tighter around your chest, your stomach, your thighs. Every inch of him stretched you in a way that was almost unbearable, yet intoxicating, leaving you breathless, whimpering, and entirely at his mercy.

His lips claimed your neck with a feral hunger, teeth grazing and nipping at the sensitive skin while his hands dug into your thighs and waist, holding you firmly against the mattress. Every thrust sent shockwaves through your core, and the combination of his weight and precision made it impossible to escape the powerful pleasure radiating from inside you. Your moans and whimpers blended into desperate cries of his name as your body clenched around him, each contraction drawing a deep groan from his throat. One hand moved up, nails dragging across the planes of his chest, leaving faint, shallow scratches that only seemed to ignite his desire further. His lips left the tender flesh of your neck in an instant, crashing against your own in a searing kiss, devouring your mouth with an urgency that made your senses reel.

You gasped and moaned against him, your hips arching involuntarily to meet each thrust as though your body knew exactly how to synchronize with his. The intensity of his movements was staggering, hitting you in ways that felt impossibly deep, brushing against the most sensitive parts of you with each roll and snap of his hips. The sting from earlier melted into a more profound, consuming pleasure, a sensation that pulled every nerve in your body taut while wrapping them in fiery ecstasy. Steam from your combined heat rose around the two of you, cloaking the dimly lit chamber in a haze, leaving only him visible, a dark and commanding silhouette moving solely to the rhythm of your pleasure.

The familiar coil in your stomach intensified, stronger and more insistent than anything you had felt before. Your vision blurred slightly as your head swam from the overwhelming sensations, and your body reacted instinctively, clinging to him and digging your nails into the silken sheets beneath you for grounding. Daemon’s grunts and sharp breaths filled the air, a testament to his focus, yet he remained attuned to your body’s reactions, adjusting the angle and depth of his thrusts with careful precision to maximize your arousal. You were slipping further into a haze of lust, your words muddled, your eyes glazed with a sheen of overwhelming pleasure.

When your climax hit, it came with a force that stole your breath. Your back arched, nails raking over his shoulders, and your thighs locked tight around his hips as your walls pulsed rhythmically, squeezing him with every shuddering spasm. Yet, Daemon did not relent. His movements grew rougher, hips snapping with a newfound intensity, each strike sending jolts of ecstasy coursing through you. Tears blurred your vision, slipping unheeded down your cheeks, and he only responded with a low growl and a sharp chuckle, the sound vibrating through you. “Look at how ruined you are,” he breathed, dark amusement underlining the demand in his voice. “How utterly fucked you look.”

The words made your core tighten even further, burning from repeated use, while your cries grew louder, unrestrained and raw. Your body quivered uncontrollably beneath him, every nerve alive with overstimulation. The overwhelming sensations threatened to pull you apart, yet you were powerless to voice any complaint, your body responding instead in writhing arches and helpless gasps. Each movement of his hips deepened your need, leaving your mind hazy, heart racing, and every inch of you saturated in pleasure that felt like it could never end. Even as exhaustion tugged at your limbs, the relentless rhythm and heat of his body kept you teetering on the edge of sensory overload, completely consumed by the overwhelming intensity of the night.

Your nails dug into him, your hands clawing helplessly as a wave of heat rolled through you, threatening to tear you apart. “Dae—” you choked, voice cracking, your vision clearing just enough to lock on his dark gaze. “I can’t—”

“You can,” Daemon growled, his voice low and commanding, vibrating against your ear as he slammed into you with a force that seemed almost otherworldly. Each thrust drove deep, filling you so completely that you swore you could feel it in your bones. Your chest heaved, lungs burning as your sobs and cries mixed with ragged moans. Tears streamed freely down your cheeks, hot and unrelenting, as your walls clenched and quivered around him, desperate to take him again and again.

With each savage thrust, your senses fractured further. A sharp burn laced through your core, mixing with the sweet, burning pleasure that had been building from the very start of the night. Your body arched uncontrollably, hips pushing against him without thought or control, nails scratching deep into his skin as if to anchor yourself to something solid. Then, a scream tore from your throat, raw and trembling, as another orgasm crashed through you, your walls gripping him painfully, your muscles pulsing with relentless insistence.

Even as that wave faded, another prickling heat surged immediately behind it, stealing what little breath you had left. Your limbs felt weak, heavy with overstimulation, yet the unrelenting pace of Daemon’s hips drove you higher, deeper, until the room seemed to shrink around the two of you. Tears continued to streak your cheeks, your hair wild and knotted from thrashing and grinding, your body a chaotic mix of pleasure and raw exhaustion. You probably looked like a mess, and you didn’t care. Every nerve was alive, ablaze with the sensation of him moving inside you, never letting you forget the sheer magnitude of what was happening.

By the time he slowed, you had lost count of how many times your body had convulsed beneath him. Your mind was fogged, your limbs heavy, and every inch of your body hummed with the lingering ache of relentless stimulation. You lay beneath him, gasping, moaning, and whimpering, body slick with sweat and slick fluid, still trembling with the remnants of pleasure and pain intermingled. Your thighs quivered as he pressed into you, each movement sending fresh sparks of sensation across every nerve in your body.

Your lips parted in a ragged plea, and Daemon leaned in, lips hot against yours and along your neck, kissing with feral hunger, sloppy and demanding, tasting the remnants of your release. “One more,” he breathed, brushing the tears from your cheeks with one calloused hand, his other gripping your bruised hip as he thrust slowly, raggedly now, each movement uneven but perfectly matched to the shivers racing through you. His breath was heavy, panting in your ear, his body tense and twitching as his own climax approached.

Your body shuddered violently at the impending eruption, a mewl escaping your lips as the final orgasm washed over you in a wave of dizzying bliss. Limbs trembled, muscles spasmed, and your brain felt untethered, drifting in the haze of sensation. The world was nothing but the heat of his body and the pounding rhythm of his thrusts, until one long, powerful movement drove him over the edge. You felt the warmth and weight of him filling you fully as his climax coursed through him, shaking him against you, leaving you utterly spent, glazed with exhaustion, and floating in the quiet aftermath of total surrender.

You barely registered him slipping away, or the trail of sweat, fluids, and lingering heat that remained on the towel. Your mind felt clouded, hovering somewhere between dream and reality, and your body felt foreign beneath you. You didn’t notice the soft rustle of the ointment-soaked cloth, the gentle scent of lavender and herbs filling the air, or the way he knelt beside you, brushing his hand through your tangled hair with care. Your senses only began to reorient when a cool, damp touch pressed against your over-sensitive skin between your thighs, forcing a startled flinch from your body.

“Shh,” Daemon hushed, lips brushing your forehead, calm and grounding. His hand moved slowly, cleaning you with a precision that made each touch calculated yet tender, careful not to aggravate the soreness. The cloth brushed against your clit, causing a sharp wince, but he paused just long enough to soothe it, murmuring reassurance against your ear. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

Your eyes stayed closed as he worked, flinching only minimally, allowing yourself to be cared for. You didn’t look at the rag once it was discarded into the now-cold tub, not wanting to witness the proof of your messy release, the blood, the fluids, the evidence of your body’s surrender. Some things were better left unseen.

By the time he finished, the dizziness had faded, and clarity returned, like fog lifting from a dense morning. You blinked slowly, letting your gaze find him as he remained kneeling on the bed, pants back in place but chest bare, the scratches you had left visible against his pale skin. You noticed the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed, the heat of his presence lingering in the space around you. Your own skin ached in response, bruised in places that reminded you of every desperate, hungry motion of the night.

He tossed the cloth into the tub and stood, smooth and commanding even in his casual movements. Your heart tightened as you watched him, knowing that he could leave if he wished. And leave he would, for he was a prince with duties and responsibilities beyond a brothel’s walls. You, in contrast, were a whore. That word clung to your chest like a stone, heavy and immovable. You couldn’t forget it. You had no claim to a life beyond this, no hope of a future wrapped in love and safety. Your dreams of being a wife, of being cherished, had been stripped away long before tonight.

The thought pressed down hard, and before you realized it, tears had begun to fall again. This time they were not borne from the intensity of pleasure, but from the deep, aching emptiness inside you. The longing for a life that would never be yours, the grief for chances lost and innocence stolen, all pooled in your chest. A choked sob rose in your throat, and you quickly covered your mouth, unwilling for him to hear. You did not want him to think he had caused your sadness.

He had been incredible. The sensations, the intimacy, the overwhelming, consuming pleasure had been everything you could imagine. Your body remembered every motion, every touch, every deep, burning thrust, even as soreness crept along your thighs and hips. It was a good ache, proof of what had passed between you. Yet even as you remembered, reality grounded itself. This had been a gift, a single night in which a prince had descended into your life and claimed you in a way no one else could. It would not last. It could not last. He had duties, expectations, a world outside these walls. You were merely a distraction, a fleeting moment of indulgence in his night.

And so you lay there, trembling slightly, soaked in the aftermath of passion and regret, staring at the far wall as the silence settled between you. Your body was sated, your mind hazy, but your heart knew the truth: what you had shared was extraordinary, but temporary. He had given you more than pleasure; he had left you with a memory that would linger long after he was gone. And even as sorrow and longing pooled within you, a small part of your chest ached in a quiet, desperate hope that perhaps one day, someone would see you differently. But for now, that hope would remain buried beneath the weight of reality, and the memory of Daemon’s hands, lips, and fire.

You shifted slightly, intending to rise and relieve yourself, but the moment your leg moved, a sharp, searing pain shot through your hips and thighs, leaving you frozen in place. A cry escaped your lips, high and startled, and you opened your eyes wide, blinking against the haze that still clouded your mind. The intensity of the sensation was more than you had anticipated. You had expected soreness, every fiber of your body had already screamed with reminders of the night, but this pain carried with it a weight that stole your breath and made every attempt to move unbearable.

Before you could even process the discomfort fully, gentle hands encircled you, lifting and steadying you with a strength that was firm yet careful. You realized in that moment that Daemon had not left; he had remained close, watching over you through every vulnerable instant. The thought stung, a mixture of embarrassment and relief pressing at your chest. Relief, because he had stayed. Embarrassment, because your body was now a tangled, aching mess, incapable of doing something as simple as standing without assistance.

“Steady,” he breathed, voice low and grounding, threading calm through the storm of your nerves. His hands were patient as he guided you, supporting your trembling limbs as you indicated the chamber pot near the bed. Without hesitation, he set you down carefully, his presence firm and protective. He turned to face the opposite wall, allowing you the privacy you desperately needed, and you let out a breath as you attempted to relieve yourself.

The moment came, and it was not as simple as you had imagined. Your body, still tender and overstimulated from the intensity of last night, betrayed you, letting more than just urine slip out. You cringed, shame blooming hot and bright in your cheeks, your hands gripping the sides of the pot as your limbs shook under the strain. When you tried to stand afterward, your body refused, your muscles uncooperative and brittle from exertion. A whimper slipped past your lips, sharp and helpless, and you felt Daemon pivot around to attend to you. His brow furrowed with concern, and he moved swiftly to help you, hands gentle as he lifted and steadied you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words barely audible, your hands clutching at him for balance as he eased you back toward the bed.

“Why are you apologizing?” Daemon asked, incredulity threading his tone. He lowered his gaze to meet yours, eyes dark and sharp, but softened at the edges. “I should be the one saying that. Gods, I ruined you,” he added, a laugh breaking through that carried less amusement than it tried to, more of a raw acknowledgment of the intensity of what had just transpired.

Your face flushed at his words, warmth climbing across your cheeks and neck. You cleared your throat, trying to steady your breath as the memory of the night’s events still pulsed through every nerve. “I liked it,” you admitted softly, voice trembling slightly yet honest. You looked up at him, a small, vulnerable smile brushing your lips. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to take my virginity. I don’t think anyone could ever compare,” you continued, a quiet laugh escaping you, airy and breathless, tinged with disbelief.

Even as you said it, your chest tightened with the truth. The coupling had been overwhelming, intoxicating, unlike anything you had experienced before, and your body still quivered from the memory. You realized with a sharp pang that no other man could ever measure up. Daemon had set a standard impossible to meet, a fire you had never known and a passion that had consumed you entirely. Your limbs still ached, your skin still tingled from every motion, and yet there was a strange comfort in knowing that he had stayed, that his hands had guided you, steadied you, and offered solace in the aftermath.

You sank back against the pillows, letting yourself breathe fully, eyes tracing the outline of his form. Even shirtless and weary, he carried himself with a presence that left you both awe-struck and unashamedly vulnerable. There was no pretense here, no games; just the lingering heat, the tender aftermath, and the undeniable fact that, for all your doubts and fears, you had found a connection that no other could replicate. And though your body throbbed with soreness and your heart swelled with longing, you felt, for the first time in a long while, a strange and quiet contentment in being seen, desired, and wholly claimed by him, if only for a single night.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as his gaze lingered on you, a glimmer of amusement and something softer, almost unreadable, flickering in his eyes. “Mhm,” he hummed, the sound low and approving, and then he moved silently toward your discarded silken gown. His fingers brushed over the delicate fabric with care, lifting it as if it were fragile glass, before sliding it back over your head. The material, cold against your still-sensitive skin, sent a shiver racing through your spine, and you instinctively wrapped the fur blanket tighter around your shoulders, pressing it up to your chin.

You were about to lay back, sinking into the mattress with a sigh of relief, when his gaze caught yours, sharp and unnervingly intent. You frowned, tilting your head slightly. “What?” you asked, curiosity mixing with unease.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low, teasing but serious, sending a ripple of tension through you. Your eyes darted down to your body, then to the bed beneath you, and back up at him. “Going to bed,” you replied slowly, tilting your head in thought, your tone careful. “I have an early day tomorrow, and I’m sure my master will want to hear every detail of tonight.” A wave of dread pressed against your chest as the thought struck you. The notion that you were now labeled and cataloged in some cruel hierarchy of availability made your stomach twist with unease. You pressed the blanket closer around yourself, trying to shield both your body and your emotions.

The look he gave you didn’t soften; instead, it held that same intensity, that same quiet assertion that made your skin prickle. Without a word, he moved closer, and in one smooth motion, lifted the blanket from your shoulders. A rush of cool air hit your damp skin, causing another shiver to ripple through you. “Daemon, what—” you gasped, but he cut you off, pulling you toward him, this time holding you more securely than before. The firmness of his arms pressed you gently against him, and the heat of his body seeped through the thin layers of silk, grounding you in a mix of shock, comfort, and a strange relief. You clung to him instinctively, your eyebrows raised in silent question.

“Do you have anything of importance here?” he asked suddenly, his voice low and thoughtful. The question caught you completely off guard. You blinked, confused, then glanced toward the small wooden shelf in the corner of the room. A silver necklace lay there, delicate but unmistakable, its pendant a small white doe. The piece was the last remnant of your mother, a fragile, tangible memory of someone who had once held you close. You pointed to it softly, your heart tightening.

Daemon’s movements were deliberate and careful. He reached for the necklace, lifting it from the shelf with a reverence that made your chest ache. You felt him adjust you slightly, pulling your hair out of the way, and then he fastened the chain around your neck. The pendant rested lightly against your chest, warm from the contact, almost as if it belonged there by right. A rush of emotion flooded you; gratitude, nostalgia, and a sharp pang of sorrow. You pressed your hand to it, feeling the cool metal against your palm, and closed your eyes, allowing yourself a single, quiet moment to remember and to breathe.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice soft and trembling just a fraction. It was more than a courtesy; it was a confession of relief and appreciation, of a feeling that someone, at least for this moment, understood the weight of your past and the fragility of your present. Though you usually kept the necklace tucked away for fear of theft or loss, you made a mental note to keep it close at all times now, a small talisman of memory, comfort, and the unexpected care of someone who, despite everything, had chosen to hold you tenderly in the aftermath of the chaos that had passed.

You felt your stomach tighten as Daemon carried you through the threshold, every step echoing against the stone walls of the hallway. The weight of the world seemed to shift onto your shoulders in that instant, though of course you were literally in his arms. Your face burned hot, a mix of embarrassment and residual excitement from the night, and you pressed your head closer into his chest, hoping to hide, though you knew that the sound of your moans had likely already traveled through the hallways. The thought made you wince slightly, cheeks flushing deeper, and you squeezed your eyes shut, wishing for invisibility.

The firmness of his grip around you, the heat radiating from his chest, and the slow, confident rhythm of his steps made your heart pound in a way that left you both flustered and strangely comforted. You tried to remind yourself that this was real, that you weren’t dreaming, but the surreal nature of the moment kept you dizzy with disbelief. Your mind flicked back to your first days in the brothel, when you were too timid to wear anything but your own faded clothes and kept your gaze lowered, trying not to attract attention. Now, even wrapped in a silk gown and fur blanket, all eyes would surely be on you, and you couldn’t stop the nervous tremor that ran through your body.

The quiet tension of the stone passageway was broken by a familiar shout that cut through the night air. “Hey!” Your master stumbled into view, pants half undone, a look of both surprise and indignation plastered across his face. It was obvious he had been interrupted mid-task, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. “Where do you think you’re taking her?” he demanded, his voice trembling somewhere between rage and confusion.

You froze for a second, utterly bewildered. Where was he taking you?

Daemon’s attention barely flickered toward the balding man. He tilted his head, that infuriating, self-assured grin spreading across his face. “I’m taking her home,” he said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

The words hit you like a jolt of electricity. Your body stiffened, and you clutched him tighter, still pressed against his chest, unsure if you should be overjoyed or terrified. Your master’s reaction mirrored your shock, but instead of understanding, the man flushed crimson with anger. “The hell you are! She’s about to be the star of the brothel! Everyone wants to bang a Targaryen,” he spat, though he added begrudgingly, “even if she isn’t full-blooded.” The mention of your father’s rumored heritage stirred a strange knot of pride and discomfort in your chest.

Before he could protest further, you saw Daemon reach into his pocket, fingers fumbling briefly before he pulled out a small, heavy sack. Without hesitation, he tossed it toward your master, who caught it with wide eyes. Your breath hitched as the bag spilled open, revealing a pile of glittering gold coins. The sheer amount made your jaw drop, and your stomach lurched at the sight. The coins clinked against each other, a metallic symphony that seemed to seal the deal without another word.

“That should cover your loss,” Daemon called over his shoulder without breaking stride, his steps steady as he carried you forward. The pressure of his grip on you tightened slightly, a subtle reminder that you were completely in his control, that you were his.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, mouth parting as a swirl of emotions rushed through you. “What… what did you do?” you whispered, voice trembling as a fresh wave of tears pooled in your eyes.

His eyes softened as they met yours, a rare vulnerability glimmering beneath the usual mischief and arrogance. Stepping into the cool night air, he pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, his lips warm against your sensitive skin. “I made you mine,” he said softly, the words heavy with ownership, protection, and promise. The simplicity of the phrase sent shivers down your spine, and you let your body relax against him, trusting, finally, that the chaos of the past weeks could be left behind.

You felt the night air brush against your exposed shoulders and the soft brush of his hands adjusting the blanket around you. The world beyond the stone passageway faded; only the sound of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body against yours existed. Each step toward your new home felt like both a beginning and an escape, a reclamation of something that had been taken from you long ago. The city lights glimmered faintly ahead, but the only light you truly noticed was the one emanating from him, steady and unwavering, a presence that promised safety, desire, and ownership in equal measure.

In that moment, carried through the night by the man who had claimed you, everything else fell away. This was your life now, and for the first time, it felt like it could belong entirely to you.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Thinking about a 1920s patriarchal husband. He’s emotionally constipated, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. This is a continuation of the 1950s housewife, but with the original husband.

TW: ANGST

Yandere Imagines: 1920s Housewife

Back in the time period you’re from, your husband in your original time period of 1920, Christopher Nolan, isn’t doing so well… especially not from the way he found you.

Yandere 1920s Husband x Housewife Reader

1950’s Housewife is the first part

Yandere husband who had always prioritized work over you. It’s not that he doesn’t care, he’s just so tired with how strenuous his job is and how he wants the two of you to have a good life. Isn’t that enough? Why do you always ask for more? Christopher is a great provider, what more do you want, woman? All he asks is that you keep the house clean and have a warm dinner for him when he’s home. It’s not hard. Sure your relationship isn’t soft and warm like it was all those years ago when you first started dating, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love you. He was a busy man.

Yandere husband who had been irritated and lashed out whenever you’d babble to him about your day. Can’t you see he’s worn out? He doesn’t care about some loose step on the basement stairs that lead to the laundry room down there. Just call a maintenance man to fix it. He’ll leave some cash for it on the counter.

Yandere husband who isn’t too physically affectionate so he doesn’t often hold you at night. He’s worn out. He just wants to sleep, but you’re getting on his nerves. Gosh, sometimes he wished you’d disappear… and maybe it wasn’t the best that he told you that. He hated the sounds of you trying to keep in your sobs, but he didn’t know how to comfort you. Christopher just hoped you’d understand what he had to go through for your futures.

Yandere husband who came home from work the next day in a sour mood. His brow furrowed when there was no meal or your warm smile greeting him. Where were you?

“(Your name)? Darling?” Christopher called out as he hung up his coat. His blue eyes glanced around in hopes of finding you in the kitchen or living room. Yet you were no where to be found… until he saw the dull light on to the basement. The door creaked open slowly and Christopher almost collapsed at what he saw. You had tumbled down the stairs when the broken step snapped and you laid in a pool of blood. He rushed downstairs to try to shake you awake but all he found was a faint pulse.

Yandere husband who rushed you to the hospital in his car. His large hands clutched yours like a lifeline. He didn’t want to lose you. He was so sorry… he’d get that step fixed. Just please don’t go. Not like this.

Yandere husband who didn’t leave your side for hours as the nurses wrapped your head and checked your vitals. His hands held yours as he trembled. He swore if you’d woke up, he’d take you on all those dates you wanted to go on. Christopher would take you dancing and he’d buy you flowers. Whatever you wanted, he’d do it. Just please don’t die…

Yandere husband who visited after work everyday and would spend most of the night just sitting at your side. He’d call every time he had free time at work to see if you had awoken yet. He wanted to be there so you didn’t wake up alone… he’d fixed the steps! And he made sure to bring you flowers everyday. Please wake up… why won’t you wake up?

Yandere husband who’d scoop you out of the bed and place your feet on his as his strong arms held you up. Christopher would slow dance with your comatose form in hopes this would wake you.

“Do you remember how we danced together like this at prom? You were so clumsy so I let you stand on my feet like this…” Christopher trailed off, a frown on his handsome face. He buried his face in your shoulder as silent tears fell. “Why won’t you wake up? I love you… I swear I do, darling.”

Yandere husband who was near whits end. The months had went on and you still hadn’t stirred, he got snappy with the nurses and his peers. Why weren’t you waking up? Everyone said you were healthy… what did he need to do? Why won’t you come back to him? Christopher was waiting… he’d wait. He’d wait until you open your eyes. He’d be a better husband. Just please wake up… please.

[forbidden-sunlight]

Soft Yandere!Self-Aware!Sylus with Inexperienced!Player headcanons

warnings: aged-up!reader (early to late twenties), fem!reader, possessive behavior, self-aware!au, obsessive affection, cyberstalking.

Hey guys and welcome to the first in hopefully many fics for Love and Deepspace! I would like to thank @gudaworks for providing links to info on the lore of the game and @jinwoosbabyboo for not only being the inspiration behind this piece, but also beta-reading it! I highly recommend the Self-Aware! AU LADS content written by @jinwoosbabyboo, it is absolutely fantastic! :3

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and enjoy the Self-Aware! AU show~.

divider by @omi-resources

You weren’t too familiar with Love and Deepspace except that it’s a mobile game that has attractive love interests, there’s a complex plot, and the memory cards that are unlocked can increase affection with the chosen love interest or something like that. Either way, your coworker was the one who introduced you to it and so far it’s been enjoyable.

You couldn’t make more progress on it except on the weekends you were off, but it is what is. Plus, Love and Deepspace was just something enjoyable to indulge yourself in. You didn’t take the sweet words whispered into the MC’s ear all too seriously because it was just fiction. It wasn’t real. Not Philos, not amnesiac Hunters, and definitely not Evol.

So why does it feel like someone was watching from the other side of the screen when you weren’t on your phone or not playing the game?

Self-Aware! Sylus realized your existence very early in the game. Sure, the MC is gorgeous and feisty like an adorable little kitten, but he is more drawn to you than to her. Seeing you for the first time was just a shock to the calm and collected Onychinus leader. It made little sense. Why was there someone behind Miss Hunter? Who are you?

The curiosity of Self-Aware! Sylus eventually became something that could not be ignored any longer. He needed answers, and he was not a patient man.

Being the intellectual that he is as the head of Onychinus, Self-Aware! Sylus discovered a way to bypass the mysterious barriers that blocked any communication between his world and yours. It started as a simple test, a text from him to you. When you responded, he knew his experiment was a success and quickly got to work. He went through your apps, photos, calendar, any piece of information he could get his hands on. Once he reviewed everything, he came to three conclusions:

1) You weren’t from a distant planet that was destroyed in the past or in the future. Your home was still thriving, and you did not possess an Evol like Miss Hunter.

2) You walked a lot of steps and had a lot of tabs open on the Internet app. Most of them were in relation to a certain field. You took your career seriously, and always had something planned on your marked days off, like self-care, laundry/housework, movie night with friends! You were also very close to your family. The videos showed you having a fun time with them on special occasions or just goofing off at lunchtime.

3) The more he learned about you, the more motivated he was to actually bring you to his world so that he could get to know you more as a person.

Unfortunately, the task might be a little difficult to achieve than he initially thought. Although he sends you brief messages such as hello, how’s your day going, kitten? and why aren’t you off of the clock yet? It’s high-time for you to go home and get some rest, you believe these check-ins were part of a glitch in the system. You didn’t believe he was there, monitoring you. Making sure you were safe and healthy.

But that was all right. Self-Aware! Sylus knows that timing and patience are key in this mission. One misstep and he could lose you forever.

Taglist: @soft-dots @augustineyukimura @mochinon-yah @poptrim @lovelyevil @cherryblossomfox @thattallpan @ottjhe @chaoticmoontravel @star-likes-fictional-people @erinque-elidi @ixchelhernandez4 @angelltheninth @akiqvq @zephyri1388 @suiana @gudaworks @lxdymoon0357 @dreamlessnight @sweetbatherodonkey @soft-dots

[amurotoorudesu]

"you know what, sylus? take my MC but i'll take your luke and kieran."

you said that as a joke when sylus visited the destiny café, but what you didnt expect is how the game glitched for a second and you can feel sylus's glare through the screen, his crimson eyes watching you.

"hm? you thought so, kitten?"

you arched your eyebrow, suddenly creeped out with his sudden voiceline.

wait...

"do you even have that voiceline??" you asked sylus, hoping that the question will be left unanswered.

but unfortunately, it doesnt.

"maybe i do, maybe i dont. we'll never know, sweetheart."

his smirk and petnames enough to send shiver down your spine but you brush it off, thinking it was all just a hallucination. so you continue to talk to yourself.

"uuh, anyways... im gonna continue to play the main story, i want to meet my beloved twins~"

right after you tapped the story menu, a pop up appeared along with sylus suddenly comes up amd bent down, as if he was mocking you— worse, he looked like he challenged you.

"dont you dare doing something behind my back even if its with the twins, darling."

[!!!ERROR. PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER!!!]

"or do you rather see me doing something you might regret?"

your body froze.

the slightly glitched voice, how you can feel his cocky smirk and chalenging tone scared you but you dont know what to do.

sylus slowly backed away, still with his smirk. once you snapped out of your daze, you immidiately close the app and unintalled it.

you sighed in relief after the game is gone.

you shut your eyes, convicing yourself that it was just a dream. it didnt happen. maybe you were just hallucinating.

until you opened your eyes and you terrified.

the game suddenly appeared.

___________________________________________

a/n: happy early birthday for this bossman, heres a present from me, a self aware love and deepspace drabble (SALADSAU) hehe salads :3

[deadmeat]

sending anon hate is crazy just say you want to fuck me

[cloudedcreams]

thinking of a cold! yandere who loved you too late and now has to pay the price.

you were annoying! he stands by the fact, constantly clinging onto his arms and twirling with strands of his hair. it was so easy to see you were obsessed and there were times he yearned to push you away from him, to watch you back out in fear and crawl away to never speak to him again.

he was the quiet kid at the back of the class. nobody cared if you bothered him, and though your attempts towards him were always so sweet and sincere he couldn’t handle the frustration that it left coursing through his veins. you were just so clingy.

he never reciprocated, and you came to realise the fact with a hearty acceptance. it broke your heart, noticing the cold looks he sent your way, the smile that always failed to grace his face. you wondered what he’d look like if his face lit up in joy, and you yearned to bring him such a feeling, but over time you realised you were incapable, and as such forced yourself away from him.

he realised too late of the mistake that he had made. thinking back to the lingering touches that you used to leave him with, only to realise that though they had once filled him with such annoyance, they were a feeling that he couldn’t live without.

he scratched at his arms to replicate the feeling, and left them sore and red. he wondered if you noticed, but in the recent days you seemed more invested in your work if anything. you barely gazed at him and he wondered if that was all he had been to you, a phase?

he wondered how long it’d take for him to reach out to you. to force your hands to his neck and beg for your touches again.