Y𝖚𝖐𝖎 ♱

ok so...This is just an attempt at writing a Yandere reader, it's not finished and I probably won't finish it <3

This is kinda pathetic but the inspiration to write this was myself.

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You sat on the edge of your bed, phone clutched tightly in your trembling hand.

The screen glowed dimly, illuminating your worried expression as you stared at the single unread message from Him.

Your long-distance boyfriend, the man you loved more than anything, had been distant lately.

Weeks turned into months, and his messages became fewer and farther between. But now, finally, a new notification.

Your heart raced with anticipation and dread. Opening the message, you read His words, your brow furrowing.

"We need to talk." it simply said. No emojis, no loving nicknames, no mention of missing you.

Your stomach churned as you dialed His number, hands shaking uncontrollably.He picked up on the first ring, his deep voice filling your ear.

"Hey." you breathed out, trying to sound casual despite the fear gripping your heart. "Listen." He began, skipping any pleasantries.

"I can't do this anymore. Us, I mean. It's over."

You felt your world shatter, your vision blurring with unshed tears.

"What? Why? I...I don't understand..." you choked out, voice cracking.

He sighed, and you could picture Him running a hand through His hair, a habit He had when frustrated.

"It's not working out. I need space." Space. That word again. The one He always used when He wanted to push you away, to distance Himself from you and your all-consuming love.

But you refused to let Him go, not without a fight. "Space? But I...I love you..." you said desperately, hating how pathetic you sounded.

"I can't lose you." "And that's the problem." He snapped.

"Your love, it's too much. Too intense. I can't handle it anymore."

You gripped the phone tighter, knuckles turning white. No, you wouldn't let Him leave you.

Couldn't let your soulmate slip away. You'd do whatever it took to keep Him, to make Him understand how much you needed Him. "No." you growled, a newfound determination filling you.

"I won't let you go. I'll prove my love to you, show you that I can be better. I'll do anything, be anyone you want me to be."

You heard Him sigh heavily on the other end of the line, and you could picture the look of exasperation on His handsome face.

"Listen to yourself." He said, voice tinged with a mix of frustration and something else you couldn't quite place.

"You can't force someone to love you, to be with you. It's not healthy."

Not healthy? How could loving someone with every fiber of your being, every beat of your heart, not be healthy? You were willing to do whatever it took to make your relationship work, to be the perfect partner for Him.

"Healthy? I'm not trying to force anything," you argued, voice rising in pitch and volume.

"I'm just trying to show you how much I love you. How much I need you."

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm yourself. Getting angry would only push Him further away.

No, you needed to be smart about this. Calculated. "Please..." you said, changing your tactic.

"Please don't do this. I know things have been...intense lately. But I'm working on it. I'm trying to be better, for you." There was a long pause, and you held your breath, heart pounding in your ears.

"I don't know..." He said finally, and you could hear the hesitation in His voice.

The doubt. You smiled to yourself, knowing you had Him. He was weakening. "Just give me a chance." you said, voice low and seductive.

"One more chance to prove myself. To show you how much I love you." You heard Him sigh again, and you knew you had Him.

He couldn't resist your charms, your devotion, no matter how twisted it might be.

"Fine." He said, and you grinned, a wave of relief and triumph crashing over you. "One more chance. But you have to promise to take it easy. No more...intense stuff. Okay?"

"Okay." you agreed readily, even though you had no intention of keeping that promise.

You'd do whatever it took to keep Him, to make Him yours.

"Good." He said, and you could hear the smile in His voice now. A real smile.

"I'll see you soon then."

"Yes." you said, voice breathless with anticipation. "I can't wait." You hung up the phone, a manic grin spreading across your face.

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Maybe I'll continue if I feel like it.

yay im back

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THEY ARE SO GOOD THO WTHHH

ok bye

Daddy's home kids and I brought the milk 🔥🔥🔥

So this is very bad, it's late and I'm sleepy. I only wrote this because I haven't posted in months and I have to feed you, my children.

Scenario ⊱ ☆ ⊰ :: Your boyfriend wakes you up in the middle of the night to f★ck you <3 (Smut yay!!)

W :: I don't know how to write Smut. It's really shitty, but fuck this shit.

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In the darkness of the night, your peaceful sleep was suddenly broken by the feeling of a warm hand shaking your shoulder. It was your boyfriend, awake and clearly up for something more than sleep. He gently rolled you onto your back, his hand grazing your waist as he straddled your hips, the weight of his body pressing against you.

"Wake up." he whispered, his voice husky with arousal, his gaze intense even in the dim light.

He trailed a finger along your jawline, his touch both a caress and a command.

"I need you," he murmured, his other hand slipping under your shirt to trace circles on your bare skin with his fingertips, causing goosebumps to rise everywhere he touched.

"I can't wait," he continued, his voice a little husky as he began to rock his hips against yours.

His breath was hot against your ear, his words barely registering as your mind tried to catch up with the situation.

But your body was certainly awake now, responding to his touches.

His breath was hot against your ear, his words barely registering as your mind tried to catch up with the situation.

His mouth found yours in the dark, the kiss slow and sensual at first but quickly building in intensity. His tongue moved against yours, mimicking the motion of his hips in a slow, torturous rhythm as he pressed himself against you once again.

There was a desperation in his touch that betrayed how much he wanted you.

As if sensing your waking state, his kisses moved from your lips to your neck, leaving a trail of heat against your exposed skin.

His hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head, tossing it aside to give him better access.

His mouth was everywhere; kissing, biting, and teasing in ways that had you arching your body towards him, wanting to be closer.

He took advantage of your position, pushing his hands under you, palming your behind and lifting your hips to meet his.

You could feel him, hard and eager through the thin barrier of his clothes, his movements becoming more insistent as his lips trailed down your neck, sucking and biting at your skin, leaving marks that would be impossible to hide.

He pulled back for a moment, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire.

"I want you so bad..." he whispered, his voice shaky with need. He didn't give you a chance to respond, his mouth back on yours in an instant, the kiss all consuming.

His hands moved to the drawstring of your pajama pants, toying with the tie for a moment before finally pulling it loose.

His fingers dipped under the waistband, teasing the sensitive skin of your hips. He broke the kiss again, his eyes locking with yours, silently asking for permission.

Your breathing hitch at his touch, and you nodded, the tiniest movement of your head letting him know it was okay.

He kissed you again as his hands worked your pants down, his fingers caressing every inch of newly revealed skin.

He quickly disposed of his own clothing, his movements rough and rushed, the desire coursing through him. He didn't waste any time, immediately pressing himself against you, his skin against yours.

His mouth found yours again as his hands skimmed over your body, caressing every curve and dip, his touch setting off a trail of heat and desire.

He shifted his position, pressing against you more fully, the contact both comforting and overwhelming.

His touch was everywhere, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that only added to the heat building between you.

He reached down again, gently taking one of your legs and hooking it around his waist, drawing you closer.

He moved against you, the friction sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, his breath catching in his chest as the sensation took over.

He needed you, you could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch, and hear it in the sounds he was making against your neck.

He moved slowly at first, every movement calculated, every touch deliberate, his lips finding yours again and again, the kisses growing more needy, more desperate.

He murmured words of praise against your lips, his words a mix of praise and pleasure, making you feel desired and cherished in the same breath.

His hands moved to grip your hips, his touch grounding you even as he gradually increased the pace, the intensity growing exponentially. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, a silent plea for more.

His breath hitched against your skin as the waves of ecstasy grew, his kisses becoming more urgent, his touch more firm.

The heat between you was all-consuming, the sounds of your shared pleasure filling the quiet room, your bodies moving in a synchronous rhythm.

His moans mixed with yours, his breath hot on your skin, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

He held onto you tightly, fingers digging into your hips as he moved with purpose, the tension between you mounting.

He reached down, hooking his arms under your legs, changing his angle and hitting a spot that had your back arching off the bed.

A low groan escaped him, the sound vibrated against your skin, sending another wave of pleasure coursing through you.

His pace picked up, his movements more desperate, the intensity growing with every touch. Your hands found his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as you held onto him, the sensation overwhelming.

He reached down, his fingers finding your hand and lacing them together, pinning it to the bed beside you.

His lips found yours again, the kiss bruising, his tongue swiping across your lower lip as he swallowed the sounds you were making.

His rhythm started to falter, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his release, his breath panting in your ear, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I'm close." he whispered, his voice ragged, his words catching in his throat, his hand tightening around yours. He moved faster, his kisses becoming sloppier, his touch becoming more desperate.

"Come with me." he murmured, his words barely more than a whisper, but the command was clear.

He changed his angle slightly, hitting that spot again, and you could feel the tension in his body

The sensation of his body and the words sent you over the edge, your back arching off the bed as pleasure crashed over you, your grip on his hand tightening as you rode out the waves, his hand squeezed back.

As you came down, he held you, his chest heaving, his pulse racing. He kissed you again, his touch gentler now, his hand releasing your own to stroke your face.

"I love you ~" he murmured against your lips, his breath still unsteady, his words filled with affection and relief.

He rolled onto his back, pulling you with him, your head resting on his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist, holding you close. He placed light kisses on your forehead, his thumb tracing idle circles on your skin, the after-shocks of pleasure still coursing through your body.

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Which one do you guys prefer?

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★ This is going to be short, I'm lazy lolzz ★ There may be several grammatical errors or things like that, I wrote this shit at 4 in the morning during a moment of epiphany, Anywayzzzz, I hope you like it

Tw: none.

Your husband had been away all day, working hard to provide for you. As the evening drew near, you stood in the kitchen, preparing a homemade meal for him, knowing how much he appreciated your cooking. Just as you were about to finish, you heard the front door open and the sound of your husband walking inside.

You continued to put the finishing touches on the dish, your heart fluttering at the thought of seeing your husband's face light up when he tastes your cooking. As he entered the kitchen, you heard him let out a weary exhale, hinting at the long, exhausting day he'd had.

You heard your husband approach behind you, and soon felt his strong, comforting arms wrap around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. His body pressed against your back, as if seeking solace in your warmth and presence.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of the food you'd been preparing. A soft smile formed on his lips as he spoke, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

"Mmm... that smells amazing." he murmured, his grip on you tightening slightly.

You turned your head to glance at him, smiling at the sight of his weary expression.

"Long day, love?" you asked gently, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

He nodded, mumbling a quiet "yeah" before burying his face in the crook of your neck.

The feeling of his breath so close to your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle.

"I made your favorite. It should be ready in a few minutes." you said, continuing to play with his hair.

He hummed in contentment, nuzzling into your neck even further.

"Thank you... you know I look forward to your cooking all day." he murmured, his hands beginning to wander over your body, as if seeking physical reassurance that you were real and right there in his arms.

You blushed at his words and the way his hands were now caressing your body, his touches conveying a mix of possessiveness and need.

"You don't have to thank me, I enjoy doing this for you." you replied, your cheeks growing warmer as he traced the outline of your curves with his fingertips.

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin for a few moments before he spoke again.

"You're too good to me. I really don't know what I did to deserve you..." he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something almost possessive.

You could hear the hint of possessiveness in his voice, and it sent a thrill through your veins. You turned in his arms, facing him fully as you reached up to cup his face in your hands.

"I could say the same, love." you said, your eyes meeting his in a tender gaze.

"Now go rest a little before the food is ready." You say.

Your husband hesitated for a moment, his grip on you tightening just slightly.

"But... I don't want to let go of you..." he protested, his voice soft but tinged with a hint of stubbornness.

You chuckled softly, gently caressing his cheek with your thumb.

"It'll only be a few minutes, love. Go sit down and relax, okay? You look exhausted..." you urged, your voice gentle but firm.

Your husband let out a sigh, his resistance crumbling as he relented to your request. He released his hold on you, reluctantly stepping back.

"Fine... I'll be in the living room," he mumbled, his eyes still fixed on you, as if afraid to look away.

You smiled at his hesitation, knowing that he would begrudgingly listen to you.

"I'll let you know when dinner is ready," you reassured him, knowing that as much as he wanted to stay glued to your side, he did need some time to unwind.

He nodded, his expression a mix of reluctance and resignation.

"Alright... I'll be waiting..." he replied, his gaze lingering on you for a few more seconds before he finally turned and headed for the living room.

With your husband temporarily taken care of, you finished up the last touches on the dish, feeling a pleasant sensation in your chest knowing that he would enjoy the meal. Once everything was ready, you carefully carried the food to the dining table and called out to your husband.

"Love, dinner's ready!" you called out, your voice ringing through the house. Moments later, you heard the sound of approaching footsteps and your husband emerged from the living room, his face still showing traces of weariness but his eyes lighting up at the sight of the food laid out on the table.

He took a seat at the table, his gaze fixed on the meal in front of him.

"Looks delicious, as always," he complimented, a small smile appearing on his lips. You took a seat opposite him, feeling a sense of satisfaction seeing the look in his eyes, knowing that you had managed to bring a little bit of joy to his weary soul.

He wasted no time in serving himself a portion, his stomach growling loudly, a reminder of how hungry he was. He took a bite and let out a satisfied sigh, his eyes closing as he savored the taste.

"Mmm... it's so good. You always know what I need, don't you?" he murmured, his eyes meeting yours once more.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at his words, and you blushed a little under his gaze.

"It's just some simple cooking," you replied, downplaying your skills. "But I'm glad you enjoy it." you added, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

He shook his head slightly, swallowing his mouthful before speaking.

"It's not just the food, though. It's the fact that it's made by you. That makes it special. Everything you do seems perfect to me." he said, his voice laced with adoration. You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, his praise causing your heart to flutter.

You found yourself at a loss for words for a moment, not having expected such a sweet compliment. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the genuine affection he held for you.

"You're... too much, you know that?" you managed to say, your voice a little shaky from the rush of emotions coursing through you.

He chuckled softly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What, for appreciating my wonderful Husband ? I think it's pretty justified." he replied, his tone cheeky yet affectionate. He reached across the table and took your hand in his, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles.

Your heart skipped a beat at his touch, his warm fingers sending tingles up your arm. You looked at him, feeling a mixture of shyness and affection.

"I can never get used to you showering me with such compliments..." you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly again, his grip on your hand firm but gentle.

"I know, but I mean every word." he said, his eyes never leaving yours. He moved his free hand to cradle your face, his touch almost reverent as he stroked your cheek with his thumb.

You couldn't help but lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed momentarily. A soft smile played on your lips, the feelings of love and adoration he stirred within you almost overwhelming.

"You're such a sap," you said, teasing him gently as your eyes opened to meet his gaze again.

He smirked at your comment, unbothered by the light jab.

"Guilty as charged." he replied, his expression playful. He continued to hold your hand in his grasp, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on your knuckles. "But can you blame me when I have the most perfect Husband in the world ?" he said, his voice filled with affection.

Your cheeks heated up at his words, your heart racing in your chest. "You're unbelievable," you mumbled, a mix of amusement and flusteredness in your voice.

"I'm far from perfect, you know that." you added, your eyes lowering as you tried to brush off his compliments.

He shook his head firmly, his gaze unwavering.

"Don't even start with that. To me, you are perfect. And nothing you say will change my mind." he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. He reached over and lifted your chin with his fingers, making you meet his intense gaze once more.

You found yourself lost in his eyes, his intense stare making your heart skip a beat. The sincerity and determination in his voice left no doubt in your mind that he truly believed what he said.

"You... you're impossible," you whispered, your voice almost trembling. Despite your words, you couldn't deny the way your heart fluttered at his unwavering devotion.

He smiled softly, his touch still gentle but possessively holding your chin in place.

"Maybe, but I wouldn't have it any other way." he replied, his eyes flickering with something deeper, something almost primal. He sat back in his chair, but his grip on your hand didn't loosen, his fingers intertwined with yours.

You swallowed, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness under his intense gaze. You knew that look in his eyes, that hint of possessiveness that came out when he was particularly worked up.

"Are you finished eating?" you asked quietly, your voice slightly hoarse from the emotions swirling within you.

He nodded, his eyes not leaving yours.

"Yeah, I am." he replied, his voice low and slightly raspy. He didn't loosen his grip on your hand, his fingers now lightly tracing patterns on your skin. "I'm not done with you just yet, though." he added, a hint of darkened hunger in his tone.

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, your heart rate quickening. You knew that look, that tone of voice. It meant he had something else in mind, something that didn't involve food or rest. You tried to keep your composure, even though your body was already reacting to his touch and the implication behind his words.

"What do you have in mind, then?" you asked, attempting to keep your voice steady.

His gaze darkened, his eyes never leaving yours as he spoke.

"Oh, I have a few ideas in mind..." he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He stood up from his chair without warning, making his way around the table towards you. He pulled you up from your chair as well, his hands on your hips as he pulled you flush against him, his body pressing against yours tightly.

You let out a small gasp as he pulled you close, your body molding perfectly against his. The heat emanating from him was almost scorching, and you could feel the hardness in his trousers pressing against you, a reminder of his desire. Your heart raced in your chest, your breath coming in short gasps as you looked up into his eyes, seeing the mixture of need and possessiveness burning within them. His hands on your hips gripped you firmly, as if he was trying to anchor you in place, as if he could never get enough of you.

He pressed you against him even tighter, his hands moving from your hips to your face, holding you in place. His eyes roamed over your features, as if committing every detail to memory. "I've waited all day for this, you know." he said, his voice low and rough. "For having you all to myself." His lips moved closer to yours, his breath ghosting over your skin as he spoke. His body was tense, coiled with need and desire.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he added, his voice filled with both adoration and a hint of desperation.

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Creativity is gone so that's it lol

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AAAAAAAAA 😭 THANKS! <3

So compared to my other stories this one was shorter and I made it in like 32 minutes and I didn't review it so in my head it was super short jsiejsiwiis

But thanks for the compliment! ;3

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This one will be really short because I'm lazy lol Tw: None, this one is very soft 👍

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The faint scent of ink filled the air as you entered the quaint, cozy apartment. A single table near the window held an array of pens, papers, and open books, all surrounded by a sea of crumpled sheets.

Seated in a rickety chair, his back hunched as if carrying the weight of endless words, was the mesmerizing figure of the poet with a peculiar fixation. The poet's intense gaze fixated on you, their eyes locking for a moment before the poet hurriedly looked back to the paper in front of them.

"You're here," the poet mumbled, their fingers clenching around the pen. "Good. I need to run something by you."

He pushed back the chair with a loud scrape, standing up and striding towards you. The poet's hand reached out, hesitantly at first, then grasping your wrist with sudden force, their grip like a vise.

"Sit," the poet commanded, yanking you towards the chair he vacated. The table's edge bit into your back as you complied, your heart stuttering in your chest.

The poet loomed over you, their tall frame casting a shadow that engulfed you in an intimate darkness.

"I'm writing a poem," the poet explained, their voice a hushed whisper. "But I want it to be special, unique. I need your... cooperation for it."

He leaned closer, their eyes boring into yours, a manic gleam in their gaze. "Will you do that for me?"

You tried to swallow the trepidation lodged in your throat, but all you could manage was a jerky nod. The poet smiled, a chilling, almost feral smile, and retreated to the other side of the table. He began to rifle through the pile of crumbled sheets, searching for something specific.

After a few moments of searching, the poet triumphantly held up a tattered sheet of paper. He turned to you, his expression oddly vulnerable in the dim light.

"I want you to read this." The poet laid the page flat on the table and pushed it towards you, his fingers tracing invisible lines over the scribbled words.

The handwriting was cramped, the words scribbled and crossed out in equal measure. It was a love poem, raw and chaotic, filled with an obsessive adoration.

Each line clawed at your heart, the poet's desperation seeping through the ink, a tangible presence in the air.

When you looked up, the poet was watching you intently, waiting for your reaction. His eyes, wide and unblinking, seemed to devour every detail of your face.

"Well?" he prompted, his voice tinged with both impatience and anxiety.

"It's... intense," you managed to say, the words sticking in your throat. The poet's gaze darkened, and he stepped closer, a flicker of something wild and possessive dancing in his eyes.

"Intense..." he echoed, the word dripping from his lips like honeyed poison. He moved around the table, his steps quiet and measured, circling you as if you were his prey. "You don't know the half of it." The poet's hand shot out, his palm landing firm on the back of your chair, trapping you between his body and the table.

"You inspire me," he murmured, leaning in closer, his breath hot against your cheek. "Your very presence drives me to write."

The poet's free hand snaked up, his fingers tracing a path along your jawline, as if committing every contour to memory.

"I've tried to resist it—this pull, this craving..." His voice was a whisper now, ragged with suppressed emotion. His fingers trembled against your skin, a stark contrast to the possessive strength in his touch. "But you're in my every thought, on the tip of my tongue, in every damn poem I write."

The poet's hand on the back of your chair shifted, his grip tightening until the wood protested under his grip.

His other hand was now cupping your jaw, his thumb stroking your bottom lip, as if trying to claim ownership of every inch of you.

"I'm addicted," he confessed, his voice hoarse with need. "I'm obsessed, consumed. You're my muse, my fixation, my only source of inspiration."

He leaned in even closer, his breath mingling with yours, the heat between you almost unbearable.

The poet's eyes, usually so intense, had gone dark, the pupils blown wide with the depth of his feelings.

"I've always been possessive." he continued, leaning down until his lips were almost touching your ear. "But you... you make me want to claim you, possess you, to hold you so close that we become one."

The words hung in the air like a promise, a dark vow echoing in the cramped room. The poet's hand on the back of your chair slid down to your shoulder, his grip bordering on painful. He seemed torn between wanting to pull you closer and wanting to cage you in, his conflicting desires creating a maelstrom of tension.

"I can't write without you," the poet ground out, his voice a ragged whisper.

"But it's not enough to simply write about you. I need you, physically, mentally, emotionally. I need you like I need the air to breathe, like I need words to write."

His hand, still cupping your jaw, slid down your neck, his fingers tracing the line of your collarbone. The poet was so close now that you could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, mirroring your own racing heartbeat.

He was a contradiction of raw need and desperate control. The poet's eyes flicked over your face, searching, seeking, then landed on your lips. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip again, a silent plea for more.

"I love every line, every curve, every flaw." His words were little more than ragged breaths now, each one tinged with suppressed longing.

"Your laugh, your frown, the way you bite your lip when you're lost in thought." His fingers traced the path his words had taken, mapping out the terrain of your face like a blind man deciphering Braille.

"I want to memorize you, every inch, every expression, every sound you make." The poet's voice was hoarse now, his body pressing even closer, his chest almost touching yours.

His hand left your shoulder and moved up to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as if he was trying to draw you into his very essence.

"But I'm not content with just that. I need more." The poet's hand tightened in your hair, pulling your head back slightly, exposing the line of your neck to him.

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above your pulse point, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

"I need all of you, like a drowning man needs air, like a starving man needs food." His lips brushed against your skin, a touch like a whisper, a promise and a warning all rolled into one.

"I need you, and I'll stop at nothing, do anything, to make you mine." His teeth grazed your neck, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp.

The poet's hand in your hair kept you frozen in place, your body arched back, your neck exposed, vulnerable to his touch and his desires.

His lips, hot and demanding, traced a path up to your ear, where he whispered, "I'll write sonnets about your body, compose entire odes to the taste of your skin."

His teeth nipped at your earlobe, the slight pain sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. The poet's other hand, still on your jaw, turned your face towards him, giving him better access to the expanse of your throat.

"I'll write epics about your sighs, your gasps, your moans." The poet's lips moved to the underside of your jaw, trailing a line of burning kisses down to the base of your neck.

His body pressed impossibly closer, his chest flush against yours, his leg slipping between yours, a silent command to open for him.

"And I'll make you sing for me." he murmured against your skin, the words a promise, a prophecy. "I'll take what I want, claim what's mine, and you'll beg me for more."

The poet's hand in your hair tightened again, the sharp pain only serving to fuel the heat pooling in your belly.

His hand left you jaw and found the hem of your shirt, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric to caress the bare skin of your side.

His touch was like fire, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. The poet's lips continued their journey down your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

"I want to mark you mine, in every possible way," he murmured, his hand sliding higher, his short nails scraping gently against your skin.

"So every time you look in the mirror, you'll remember that you're mine, body and soul." His lips traced the line of your collarbone, nipping and sucking, leaving faint marks in their path.

The poet's body was flush against yours now, the hard planes of his form molding to your softness. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding against your chest like a drumbeat of desire.

He lifted his head from your neck just long enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with hunger.

The poet's eyes were like twin pools of darkness, reflecting the primal need that burned within him. He leaned in closer again, his voice a gruff whisper against your ear.

"I'll devour you, consume you, until you're writhing beneath me, begging me for more." His hand on your side shifted, sliding higher, his fingers tracing patterns of desire against the sensitive skin of your ribcage.

"And I'll give you more." His voice was a growl now, his words punctuated by the nip of his teeth against your skin. "I'll give you all of me, my body, my mind, my words, my obsession."

The poet pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again, his gaze intense, possessive.

"And you'll give me all of you, won't you? You'll surrender to me, completely and utterly."

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Bye bye bitches

also ong the urge to become a yan writer myself. silly content for myself and others just as twisted has a GRIP on me

-⚰️ anon

Hi Annon! :D

I hope you enjoyed it <3

This shit contains : Smut, Dead Dove, Non-con, Stalking, Dacryphilia And other things...

Requested by: ⚰️ Annon

(Sorry for the delay, I was having writer's block and rewrote Esso about 7 times lol. But I liked how it turned out and I hope you do too, xoxo ;3)

-Kenji locks eyes with the barista, a sinister smile on his face. "You didn't think I walked you home just out of the kindness of my heart, did you?"

....

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The sun shined its warm rays upon the quaint little storefront of "The Daily Grind," a modest coffee shop tucked away in the middle of the bustling city.

The bell chimed as the door opened, and Kenji Ichinose, a tall and lean young man with long black hair and piercing Grey eyes, slipped inside.

He stood just behind the line, scanning the bustling atmosphere with a smile on his face. There was Someone he was looking for, the man was working diligently behind the counter, his slender fingers deftly crafting a latte.

Kenji's eyes were glued to the way his hands moved, the way his muscles flexed as he squeezed the steam from the milk.

He let out a soft sigh, his heart racing in his chest. He knew he had to have him.

Kenji stood silently in line, his eyes fixated on the barista behind the counter.

He watched intently as the man’s nimble fingers worked the coffee machine, crafting the perfect cup of espresso.

Kenji’s heart raced as he took in the sight of his slender frame and the way his muscles flexed as he moved. The line moved forward, and Kenji took a step closer to the counter.

His eyes never left the man behind it, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself. He had to have him. The barista’s eyes met Kenji’s for a moment, and their gazes locked.

"Hi Kenji." The man gave him a warm smile.

Kenji felt butterflies flutter in his stomach as the barista greeted him by name.

"Hey." he responded with a casual tone, trying to act coy. "Busy day, huh?"

"Yeah, it's been nonstop since this morning." the barista replied, still busy working on the espresso.

He took a moment to glance up at Kenji, his eyes catching his gaze. Kenji couldn’t help but feel a sudden pang of possessiveness. He wanted him all to himself.

"I don't know how you do it." Kenji replied, leaning on the counter a bit. He couldn't keep his eyes off the barista.

The barista chuckled "It's just another day in the coffee world."Kenji watched as the barista poured the espresso into a cup and added a splash of steamed milk.

The way he moved was so smooth and confident, it made Kenji's heartbeat faster.

"You make it look so easy." Kenji said, a hint of awe in his voice. He watched as the barista added a sprinkle of cocoa powder to the top of the coffee. It looked perfect.

Kenji's hands longed to reach out and touch him, to feel his skin.

"Years of practice." the man replied with a smile, sliding the cup over to Kenji.

"There you go, your usual espresso."

Kenji took the cup, letting his fingers brush against the barista’s lightly. It was brief, but the touch sent sparks through his body. He brought the cup to his lips and took a sip, the rich flavor of the espresso filling his mouth.

"Thanks." he said, his voice coming out softer than he intended. He couldn’t take his eyes off the barista.

The barista smiled at him, noticing the slight change in his tone.

"You’re welcome." Kenji took another sip, trying to hide his feelings for the man in front of him. It was hard when all he wanted to do was grab him and never let go.

He couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have the barista all to himself. To have his undivided attention and affection.

Kenji took a seat at a table near the counter, sipping his espresso as he watched the barista work.

He couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy every time another customer came up to the counter and spoke to the barista.

Kenji watched as the barista smiled at the other customers, making casual conversation. He could feel his heart clenching with each word he said to someone else.

He wanted desperately to be the only one the barista talked to, to be the only one who had his attention. He sipped his espresso, trying to act nonchalant, but inside he was bristling with possessiveness.

The barista continued to work, moving around the counter with agility and grace. His slender fingers twisted the lid off of a new milk carton, and Kenji couldn’t help but watch every little movement he made. Kenji’s mind was swirling with thoughts of how he could get the barista to himself. He knew it would be risky, but he was desperate.

Every time the barista looked up and their eyes met, it sent a shiver down Kenji’s spine.

It was as if the barista was aware of his intense gaze, and he would give him a small smile each time. Kenji couldn’t shake the feeling that the barista was taunting him, testing his patience.

It made him even more determined to make him his.

The afternoon crowd grew, and the coffee shop became more crowded.

Kenji watched from his table as people came and went, each one taking up the barista’s attention. He clenched his jaw, feeling a pang of jealousy each time the barista smiled or joked with a new customer.

He couldn’t bear the sight of him engaging with others.

As the day wore on, Kenji grew more and more frustrated. He finished his espresso and stared down at the empty cup, contemplating his next move.

He wanted the barista, and he wasn’t going to stand by and watch him flirt with every customer that walked through the door. It was time to take action.

As the sun began to set and the coffee shop started to empty out, Kenji saw his chance. The barista was wiping down the counter, cleaning up the remnants of the day.

Kenji got up from his table and walked up to the counter, his heart racing in his chest. He had no idea what he was going to say, but he knew he had to make his move now.

"Hey." Kenji said, trying to sound casual as he leaned on the counter. The barista looked up at him, a small smile on his face.

"Hey there. I see you're still here." the barista said, resuming his cleaning.

"Yeah, I guess I lost track of time." Kenji lied, watching the barista’s every move. He couldn’t help but notice the way the barista’s muscles flexed as he moved his arms, the way his shirt hugged his chest. He longed to touch him, to feel his skin.

The barista chuckled.

"It happens. Time tends to slip away when you’re lost in thought." Kenji nodded, his eyes fixated on the barista’s lips.

He realized how close they were standing, and suddenly his heart was racing even faster.

He was so close he could count every freckle on the barista’s face. He wondered if they tasted as sweet as he imagined.

He fought the overwhelming urge to lean over the counter and find out. Kenji felt his hands shaking as he tried to find the right words to say.

Kenji glanced outside and saw that the sun had set, casting a warm glow over the city streets. He turned back to the barista, who was still cleaning up.

"It’s getting late." he said. "Isn’t your shift almost over?"

The barista looked up at him, a weary smile on his face. "Yeah, I guess it is. But I still have some closing duties to take care of."

"I can stick around and help you." Kenji offered, trying to hide his ulterior motives. He was looking for any excuse to spend more time alone with the barista.

The barista looked surprised, but grateful. "Are you sure? You don’t have to do that."

"I don’t mind." Kenji insisted, walking over to the other side of the counter. He began to help the barista with the closing tasks, wiping down tables and organizing the pastry display.

As they worked, the barista let out a yawn, signaling his exhaustion. Kenji noticed this and couldn’t help but smile to himself. Perfect.

"You seem tired." he said, feigning concern.

The barista nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, it’s been a long day. I’m ready to go home and pass out on the couch.

"Why don’t I drive you home?" Kenji suggested, trying to sound casual. He already had a plan formulating in his mind, a sinister idea that made his heart race with excitement.

The barista looked at him appreciatively. "It is not necessary, I don’t want to inconvenience you."

"It’s no trouble at all." Kenji insisted, gesturing towards the door. "Come on, let me drive you home." He wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass him by.

“Please.” he said, his voice low and persuasive.

“Let me walk you home. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to you on the way.” Your resistance faded at his words, your exhaustion winning out over your sense of politeness.

You sighed, your shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Alright.” you said, a note of resignation in your voice. “If you’re really sure it’s no trouble…”

A wave of exhilaration washed over him.He had done it. Kenji's smile turned into a smirk as he casually slipped his arm around you, guiding you out of the now-dark cafe.

The barista felt a shiver go down his spine as Kenji’s arm slipped around his shoulder, but he was too tired to protest. Kenji guided him out of the café, his arm firm around his shoulder. The night air was cool on his face, and the street lamps cast a soft glow over the sidewalk.

He could feel Kenji’s body pressed up against his, the warmth from his touch spreading through him. The barista realized how close together they were walking, and how easy it would be for Kenji to pull him aside into a dark alley. He pushed the thought out of his mind, trying to focus on the rhythm of their footsteps on the pavement.

Despite his exhaustion, the barista couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. There was an underlying tension in Kenji’s touch, a possessiveness that made him uneasy. As they walked, Kenji kept his arm wrapped firmly around the barista’s shoulder, his fingers digging in slightly. The barista tried to brush it off, telling himself he was imagining things.

They walked in silence for a few more minutes, the only sound coming from the occasional car that passed them on the street. The barista kept stealing glances at Kenji, trying to decipher his expression in the dim light. But his face was unreadable, a carefully crafted mask that revealed nothing.

A sense of unease began to settle in the pit of the barista’s stomach. The darkness of the street, Kenji’s grip on his shoulder, the lack of people around… it all began to feel strange. He tried to shake off the feeling, telling himself that he was just tired and paranoid.

Kenji could feel the barista’s discomfort growing, but he didn’t care. He was enjoying the control he had over him, the way he could steer him where he wanted without him even noticing.

"My house is right there." The barista says after they walk for a few more minutes stopping near a small house on a dark street.

Kenji nods, his grip on the barista's shoulder growing tighter. "Alright, we're here then." He glances at the house, taking in the dark surroundings. Perfect. No one would see what he had planned.

"Do you want to come in for a bit? I can make us some tea." The barista says as they walk to the door.

Kenji’s heart races at the invitation, but he keeps his cool. "Sure, that would be nice." he says, trying to sound casual. He follows the barista into the house, his mind already scheming.

The barista turns on the lights, illuminating the living room. It’s a small space, but cozy and homely.

"Please, have a seat." the barista says, gesturing to the couch. "I’ll go make the tea."

Kenji sits down on the couch, letting his eyes wander around the room. He notices the lack of security measures - no cameras, no alarms, no dogs. This would be so much easier than he thought.

The barista disappears into the kitchen, the sound of water running and pots clattering coming from the other room. Kenji leans back against the couch, his mind spinning with dark thoughts. It's all coming together.

After a few minutes, the barista emerges from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea. He hands one to Kenji and takes a seat in an armchair across from the couch.

"There you go." he says, taking a sip from his own mug. "I hope you like it."

Kenji takes the mug, pretending to take a sip. He had no intention of drinking it. He keeps his gaze fixed on the barista, studying his every move. He looks so relaxed, so unaware. This is going to be almost too easy.

The barista takes another sip of tea, relaxing back against the armchair. "It's been a long day, hasn't it?" he says, letting out a sigh. "I can't wait to get some sleep."

Kenji nods in agreement, keeping up the facade of normalcy. "Yeah, it was definitely a busy one."

he replies, setting his mug down on the coffee table. He can't help but notice how tired the barista looks, how his eyelids are drooping slightly.

The barista yawns, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. "I think I'm going to head to bed soon. I'm absolutely exhausted."

He gets up from the armchair, setting his empty mug on the table. "Thanks for walking me home, by the way. I appreciate it."

"It was no trouble." Kenji says, standing up as well. The moment he’d been waiting for. He steps forward, closing the distance between them. The barista looks up at him, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

"Wha-" the barista begins, but Kenji cuts him off by wrapping his arm around his waist, pulling him close in one swift movement.

The barista lets out a gasp of surprise, his body tensing against Kenji's grip. "W-what are you doing?" he stutters, his heart rate suddenly skyrocketing.

Kenji locks eyes with the barista, a sinister smile on his face. "You didn't think I walked you home just out of the kindness of my heart, did you?"

....

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