#[ it's just what he Does; what someone In His Status Should Do ]

[calamitascaesor]

Well Act IV of the event has been conquered, a nice little epilogue to finish everything off.

Spoilers for the whole event (Sunspray Summer Resort) and post quest dialogue.

Won't lie, wanted to grab the prize for ourselves after the events of Act III, but having Mualani give it to us isn't so bad. Recipes yay. Like how we took one last group photo, the Asha headband is really cute and Bennett did a thumbs up, oh yeah we're winning. Also Traveler I see you suggested to say "Lucky Star", they really can't deny that this event is about Bennett can they. The dinner was also nice, dude almost sleep straight up in a chair again, just like in Shadows Amidst Snowstorms, and the interactions between Chasca and Mualani are such a treat.

Mavuika and Bennett did meet, off-screen (whyyyyy), and she did give some explanation to what was going on in Act III. Entering a simulation that the Abyss made of the Mare Jivari is something I can buy, still don't quite get what's up with the constellation. We could hope for some answers on that in the future, although this act would have been the better time to do it in my opinion. Oh well, nothing much to do about that. Props to Mavuika though for actually recognizing that Bennett may have wanted to go to Mondstadt, I swear it was like Mualani and Chasca weren't considering it. And to no one's surprise, yeah he picked to go back to Mondstadt, yay. Bennett talking about both of his sets of parents warms my heart, and that shine in his eyes, such joy.

Bit of a tangent here, but what the heck do they mean there's the possibility that Bennett's bad luck would come back once he leaves Natlan? Everything beforehand was pointing towards this change being permanent. It was claimed to be due to Bennett not being connected to the Ley Lines, which should be fixed after he came back. It shouldn't be hard at all to get permission to leave again from the Wayob and/or Mavuika, especially with the former being one of the few to acknowledge that Bennett may have wanted to go back to Mondstadt. Venti said the hardest part of Bennett's life was over in Act III, and the description of his skin even ends off with the hope that the Bennett continues to have this change of luck. I really only see them going back on this due to going back to the status quo, which would honestly suck with how nice the event was treating him the entire time. On the bright side it's only a possibility and Bennett is fine with the chance of it coming back (being used to it does have its benefits). And he brings up about how all the kindness from people more than make up for it, such a positive guy.

I guess we won't get an answer until he shows up again in something that has Sunspray Summer Resort as a prerequisite, so for now I suppose it's up to player interpretation. I may love pain, but I like to hope his loss of bad luck is permanent. He deserves it.

Anyway, the ending of this act was more so on the Mare Jivari and Istaroth lore that Venti gave us.

First off, Venti just casually said how Istaroth gave him some of her powers. And even with only some of it, HE was the one who got the Mare Jivari disconnected from the time line. That sort of power is honestly quite scary, and it's only a part of what Istaroth is capable of doing. I also think it speaks to just how badly the Abyssal corruption was at the Mare Jivari, because not only did the corruption mess with time and had the chance of spreading but it also much have still been in that condition after Sanhaj denoted the miniature Night Kingdom that contributed to it becoming mostly ash. Crazy stuff. He alluded to someone else knowing how the Mare Jivari actually disappeared 20 to 30 years ago (these people and their refusal to give an exact date), though I'm not too sure who it could be. I don't think it's Citlali since she is the one who first told us this information and she didn't know. It could be Enjou since we know he has a quest related to the region, though I don't know if Venti knows about him.

Oh also it's straight up confirmed that all the Asha we see around the area are actually the souls of people who died at the Mare Jivari that merged with Monetoo. Fun, not scary to think about at all.

Mavuika and Venti did actually work together, not only for the Bennett thing but also for the other souls that were trapped there, very sweet. Separating the Mare Jivari from the time line was the lesser evil, but I wouldn't blame Venti for still feeling guilty about its effects too.

There is also once again, another callback to the Of Ballads and Brews event during this exchange, where Venti says it wasn't the first time he brought memories to people. He did the same thing during that event and it also included Razor getting to see a memory of his parents as well (wow, Bennett and Razor are similar in that regard, both orphans who's parents were adventurers). And just like last time, it also tired him out.

Venti also does talk about people having the freedom to make their own fates as his wish, which ties in nicely with what Bennett said about being an adventurer and making his own fate in Act III. He really does care so much about everyone.

As far as I know, only Bennett, Venti, and Mavuika had new post quest dialogue, with the rest being the same optional dialogue after Act III.

We get to ask Bennett about what he thought about the trip and he even gets a bit emotional again with how nice everyone's been. Literally calls it "true happiness". He got a bunch of gifts for everyone, shows that he's interacted with Diona before, and is close enough to Draff to think of getting him a gift as well. He also apparently does, at minimum, know about Mona, finally crumbs on how he knows other Mondstadt characters.

Venti and Mavuika were together, planning to do a drinking competition. Eventually they end up talking about banquets, with Venti suggesting a joint one between Natlan and Mondstadt. Please, please, Mondstadt and Natlan are peak. I need these characters to interact again.

Something I completely forgot to say when I was talking about Act III is how Bennett's backstory connects to the whole idea of Natlan fighting against the Abyss. Its shown a lot as you go through the Natlan Archon quest just how much the fight against the Abyss affects their daily lives, and despite not being raised in Natlan, Bennett's life was still very much shaped by it. It was after all from an Abyss attack that he was orphaned and eventually ended up in Mondstadt. I just think it's nice that his character still ties into such a big part of Natlan even without living there.

Overall, I really liked this event, and I'm so glad that it's going to be permanent. Have some mixed feelings on the lack of some answers at the end, but it was overall a fun time. Plus, never going to complain about getting some more Mare Jivari lore. It just felt like a real love letter to Bennett as a character, and getting to finally know about his origins is great. May we hopefully see this man happy again in the future.

[ammi-delta-document]

Fanfictiony Chapter 5 speculation concept because I Sure aint gonna write that into an actually fic:

I've imagined a few scenarios in which Ralsei's character growth could shine, but I recently came Up with one I really like.

What If

A. Ralsei and the final or the Secret Boss formed some sort of Connection through the Chapter before they became a boss Encounter

B. The Boss mirrors Ralsei in a way, so that once ralsei shares all of His troubles with them, they absorb it, growing bigger, and stronger in some way, perhaps even latching onto a stronger, equally insecure, perhaps even jelous entitity in Case of a final Boss, Wink Wink nudge nudge (of course that would suck for Kris, but we also sidelined toriel in Chapter 3 so ... Still would suck for Kris)

C. They end up Kidnapping Kris and Susie

I Imagine, though Ralsei wanting to believe the profecy can Change due to susie, through perhaps having to be around all of His negative emotions due to the boss, and because there is too much mental health struggles to get over in such a short amount of time, He probably is really lost at this point, Not knowing what to do and seeing himself as completely useless.

I Imagine that perhaps Noelle tagged along on this adventure sometime again, and that she also got to Show that she could basically do Ralsei's Job If she wanted aside from the profecy calling for a Prince in deepest dark.

She get's left behind with Ralsei as well.

When He tells her about feeling small, insignificant, and Just dragging the Team down, she actually can relate to how her childhood friendgroup dynamic used to be. That she was Always the small crybaby who everyone needed to Look after, but what Always gave her comfort was someone telling her that there was more underneath it all.

Even if other People can do what Ralsei can do now, combine everything He is able to do together and you get a grand unique snow Angel. There are things that make him him, He Just needs to search for them a bit.

But Noelle doesn't Tell him what it is, He gets to find that all on His own.

This Special ability could be Just straight Up an attack, but I think it would be important to Ralsei if he gets to expand something He came Up on His own, something that represents him more as a person.

I think He finally is able to "reach the inside" of His opponents through finally learning how to actually Deal and Help People heal from their problems, Like having an act that could very affectively put a "tried" status onto an enemy in a sense that they're able to Rest their mind (Not good at Videogame mechanics, so I'm Not gonna dwell in the aspects of Game balancing too much Here, but perhaps there is some Sort of new darkness/Nightmare related Status that this specific Action would be needed for to spare them or sth) and thus can be effectively spared/ pacified.

I think Ralsei should be able to defeat this Boss, which at that point is a huge reflection of His own issues by gently talking to them, and hugging it out for them to be spared/ purified.

That would be a pretty Ralsei Thing to do, and I think it would be good for him If He get's His own strengths affirmed a bit.

I Imagine He can also ask Susie after that to help him learn to Attack better in Case He needs it, but also because he wants to try Out more things.

To Put Noelle into an "inferno of jelousy" scenario with Ralsei. If this Boss is a reflection of him, then they might even have a fire attack, which Ralsei also could attack with.

And what does Fire and ice combined make?

I Imagine Noelle could Help Ralsei cooling down attacks with a gentle combined water Attack or something.

Yeah, anyways, that's it basically.

Like I Said, it's pretty fanfictiony and Last Time I tried that it didn't really result to anything, but it was fun to think about at least.

Giving Ralsei and Noelle Something to become Friends over maybe, and while I think we, as the Player would still call the shots in the battle, Ralsei probably would also have a little more agency in everything.

[anecdotist]

i could go on a whole rant about why dorian states so confidently and kindly that he's going to protect the inquisitor in the dark future they get thrown into, but to keep it short:

he was raised with responsibility to others at the forefront of his mind, and even if he's been a little shit in the past, that kind of duty was drilled into him and is so foundational that he probably doesn't realize it's there. the offer is 100% genuine, he means it absolutely, but it's also so much of a given for him that it really doesn't seem like a big deal to offer his protection because he's used to giving it anyway.

[shikiii-skadi]

A Leaf from Tomorrow

SUMMARY: you were just trying to get some food when you are suddenly faced with a child who is freezing the cafeteria. but the most surprising thing was that he called you mother and has an undeniable resemblance to both yourself and malleus.

PAIRING: malleus draconia x reader

WARNINGS: biological children are implied and the usage of mother

NAVIGATION: Twisted Wonderland Masterlist | Diasomnia Masterlist

It was time you put your foot down and stop your food from being stolen. Well, you didn't really put your foot down. You just told your friends that you would eat later in the cafeteria when they all went. It was a drastic measure, but you couldn't continue living like that.

Every time you, Deuce, Ace, and Grim ate together, you never got nearly enough food in your stomach, because Ace and Grim seemed to believe that your food was also their food. So now you were on your way to have lunch on your own. Hopefully, someone you knew is also still there. Otherwise, it will be super awkward to sit at a table with a bunch of strangers. It will make you self-conscious of how you eat...

But it seems you didn't need to worry about eating right now.

A group of students came frantically running from the cafeteria, nearly knocking you over in the process. You barely got out of the way in time by stepping between two statues in the hallway.

One of your fellow students seemed to have the same idea, because he squeezed himself beside you, so he could catch his breath for a moment.

"What is going on? Why is everyone running?" you asked him, seizing the opportunity to get answers without needing to possibly get involved in the chaos.

The unknown student took a few heavy breaths before answering. "An attack! Someone is freezing the cafeteria. I think some students even got frozen."

"What?" You were in disbelief that it was really that bad. "Are you sure it's not just a prank from a few mischievous students or ghosts?"

"I know what I saw. That definitely wasn't a prank!" the student said, clearly offended you’d even suggest it.

You turned to the entrance of the cafeteria when you felt the temperature in the hallway drop. You couldn't see anything from your place. But you could feel the pressure of magic in the air. It felt powerful. So it must be true what the student said. But there were only a handful of things that could charge the air with this amount of magic.

"Was it an Overblot?" you asked the student, now sharing his panic.

"I don't know. Do you think I stayed long enough to check?" he snapped at you, before his voice returned to a more civilized tone. "I don't think I saw blot ink or a phantom anywhere... But does it even matter? We should get outta here and let someone else deal with whatever is in the cafeteria."

The student didn't wait for you and instead sprinted off. You wanted to follow, but stopped when you suddenly heard what sounded like the hysterical cry of a child.

Your breath hitched as the temperature dipped again, cold nipping at your cheeks and frosting the edges of the hallway tiles. The crack of ice spreading echoed faintly from the cafeteria doors. And then that cry came again.

Who would bring a child to Night Raven College? And why would they be alone?

The impulse to run warred with your instincts. But something about the sound rooted you in place. A chill that had nothing to do with ice crept up your spine.

So once again, throwing any sense of self-preservation out the window, you decided to investigate the cafeteria.

As you approached the entrance, a thin layer of ice curled and crept across the floor beneath your feet. The temperature was dropping as if the air itself recoiled with sadness.

And then you saw it.

The cafeteria doors were open, hanging slightly ajar, frost spiderwebbing from their hinges. The cafeteria was a frozen winter scene. Tables were rimmed with rime. Plates of forgotten lunches sat frozen mid-bite. Students who hadn’t escaped in time were partially encased in thick magical ice. Thankfully, it didn't seem like they were injured. They are just trapped.

And in the center of it all, curled up and trembling within a growing circle of frost, was a boy.

He couldn’t have been older than five or six. His hands covered his face as sobs wracked his tiny frame. You were struck by the sight of such a young child in this place. A child who seemed so out of place amidst the suffering he unintentionally caused.

The ice creeped outward with each of his hiccupping sobs, the magic surging with raw, unchecked emotion. His hair shared the same color as yours. Small horns peeked out from beneath the tousled locks. They were curved, and unmistakably draconic.

Your breath hitched.

Horns.

The resemblance to Malleus was impossible to ignore. Not just the horns, but also the gentle curve of the boy’s brow, and the elegant bone structure of his tear-stained face. But there was something in his eyes, when he finally looked up at you. They were wide, watery, and impossibly green. But lacking the sharp edge Malleus would have had. The boy's eyes were softer and his nose cute. That hit deeper.

Not like Malleus. Like... you.

You looked at the boy in silence for a few moments, not sure what to say. "Eh... Are you hurt?" you asked eventually your tone of voice awkward, as you tried to smile reassuringly at him.

The boy's big, round eyes were staring at you. He blinked a few times. "M-mother...?"

Huh?

Before you could ask or clarify anything, the boy ran toward you and launched himself into your arms. His tiny frame seemed to hide an impossible strength, because you felt like he would actually snap your spine if he hugged you any tighter. "Mother!!"

You were as frozen in place as the unfortunate students, who didn't get away in time. You didn't know how to handle this situation. You were pretty sure you didn't spawn a child in your time in Twisted Wonderland. The only thing coming close to a child you took care of was your ever-hungry cat-weasel companion. Certainly not a real breathing kid.

Despite your inexperience with children, you could tell that explaining to this traumatized, and very much powerful little boy, that you can't be his mother, wasn't a smart idea. So you just told yourself that he just called every woman 'mother'. That's something children do, right?

You patted the boys back in hopes his crushing grip on you would loosen at least a little. "There, there. Everything is fine."

Well, actually, nothing was fine, but you also needed the reassurance of your own words.

You gently pried his arms away enough to kneel down in front of him. "Can you tell me what happened here?"

"Everything was different and strange. Not like home. I was here, and there were so many people and-" His words were interrupted by a wrenching sob. "I was scared, and I didn’t mean to! I just wanted you, but-b-but you weren’t there, and then everyone started running and they yelled at me, and, and-"

As the coldness in the air heightens again, you rub the boy's shoulders gently, despite feeling slightly panicked that he might freeze the entire school. "It's fine. It's fine. You were just scared. No one will get angry with you," you smiled at him. "Do you maybe know a way to fix this?"

He shook his head. "No. Father always does."

"Well, it's not that important anyway. The Headmage will figure something out... Probably," you say when you saw his face twisting with guilt. Although you could feel the stare of a frozen student nearby, who definitely does not agree with you.

The boy nodded at your words.

You paused. You didn’t even know his name. Just calling him 'boy' is certainly weird. "Say, do you remember your name?"

He looked at you in silence before suddenly beginning to cry again, leaving you very confused. "Why are you acting like you don’t know me? I don’t like this game!"

Someone seemed to be sensitive. While you had no experiments with children, Grim certainly taught you how to deal with sudden mood swings and tantrums. Although using tuna as a distraction probably won't work.

"But how can I be sure you are the real you and not a spy, if you won't tell me the right answer?" you replied playfully, poking his stomach. "So? What's your name?"

He giggled when you poked him and stopped crying. "You are being silly, Mother," he said. "My name is Maledor, of course!"

You nodded, as if you knew that as well. Hoping that he didn't turn the tables on you to test you, and said the wrong name. But certainly a child wouldn't do that, right?

"Aha! Maledor. That’s a perfectly real name. You’re clear. No spy here."

You think about what you should do next. Seeing that no help or rescue had come in all this time, you could assume that none of the students who got away actually told the staff. You shouldn’t be surprised by that. After all, this was a school full of self-centered and mischievous students.

You couldn’t leave Maledor alone. And you had little faith that going to Crowley for help would do anything. He would end up dumping the work on you anyway, so you might as well search for a solution on your own, before Ramshackle gets a new member. 

By Maledor's pointy ears and little horns, it wasn’t hard to tell that he must be a fae. So, going to Diasomnia is probably the best course of action. Maybe someone there knew who this little boy belonged to. And maybe Malleus or Lilia can defreeze the cafeteria. 

You took Maledor by the hand as you led him to the Diasomnia Dorm. Every so often, his grip would tighten, like he was making sure you wouldn’t suddenly disappear. As soon as you went through the mirror and arrived on the bridge that led to the castle, which was the dorm, you could feel Maledor visibly relaxing.

"This is better! I like it here. It looks like home," he said with a cheerful voice. Seemed like you did good by bringing him here. 

Right when you were about to enter the dorm, Sebek suddenly crossed your path. His sharp eyes fell upon Maledor. "Human! Why do you have a fae child with you?!" he demanded. Then somehow jumped to: "Have you kidnapped him?! Hand over the child at once!"

"When do you think I kidnapped a magical fae child, from its magical parents?" you shot back. "Do you think I walked to Briar Valley and back in an afternoon?"

Sebek didn’t listen to your words to hung up on the idea that you kidnapped a child. Like that wasn’t something faes usually did to humans, right?

"I said hand over the child!" he shouted, before trying to grab Maledor.

You didn’t know why, but a sudden protective streak came over you, and you stepped in front of Maledor, blocking Sebeks' hand. "Don’t just grab a child!"

Sebek recoiled, shock flickering across his face at your boldness. "Are you impeding one of Lord Malleus' loyal knights, human?"

Sebek tried to grab Maledor again, not listening to you. Maledor, on the other hand, obviously did not want to be grabbed by Sebek and was hiding further behind you, grabbing your jacket. "Mother, I don’t want to go…!"

When Maledor said that, Sebek paused. "M-Mother..?" he repeated, shocked. For a second, you think Sebek might actually let you explain the situation, but he immediately began shouting again. "How dare you steal away a fae child and then confuse it so much?! What wicked human trickery have you used?!"

You grit your teeth, trying hard not to let Sebek's ear-splitting accusations break your patience or your eardrums. "I didn’t do anything to him! And can you not yell? You’re scaring him."  You glance at Maledor, who is now peeking nervously from behind your leg, clutching your jacket tightly. 

Sebek falters only a split-second before putting himself between you and the entryway. This standoff would be comical if it weren’t so tense. "I will not allow a potential kidnapper entrance to Prince Malleus’s domain!"

"Look, I didn’t kidnap anyone," you said. "He appeared in the cafeteria, scared, and accidentally froze half the room. I thought someone in Diasomnia might recognize him or help fix the mess."

Sebek’s eyes darted from you to Maledor and back. "You expect me to take the word of a human? Of Night Raven’s resident troublemaker?"

Sebek's next rant was kept short when suddenly Lilia appeared swinging between the two of you. You screamed. Then Sebek screamed. And Maledor giggled. 

Lilia landed lightly between you and Sebek, his eyes glinting mischievously as always, although there was a subtle alertness there. "My, my. Such excitement at the gates! Am I crashing a secret meeting?" he laughed.

You tried to catch your breath. How did Lilia always manage to appear exactly when you least expected it? "Lilia! Don’t sneak up like that," you gasped, half-laughing but mostly frazzled.

Sebek, who was embarrassed for also screaming, now tried to act as if he didn’t. "L-Lilia! The Prefect has procured a fae child and refuses to answer for it!"

"Oh? My, what an adorable little visitor we have…" Lilia said, studying Maledor’s face with recognition. He seemed to be delighted by Maledor. 

"Uncle Lilia!" Maledor said, before coming out from behind you. 

"Uncle?" you repeated, flabbergasted as you watched Maledor and Lilia interact as if they were long-lost family. "Do you know Maledor, Lilia?"

Lilia’s smile widened, a spark of mischief glittering in his eyes as he knelt down to Maledor’s level. "Of course I know this one," he said. "It’s been some time since we’ve had such a precious visitor from, shall we say, afar."

Maledor’s worry seemed to melt under Lilia’s reassurance. "Uncle Lilia, where’s Father?" he sniffled, rubbing at his eyes. "Everything’s scary and cold."

You blinked, looking between the two of them, feeling very much like you’d accidentally walked into someone else’s family reunion in the middle of things. "Wait, you really do know him?" you asked Lilia, carefully keeping your voice level. 

Meanwhile, Sebek had gone uncharacteristically quiet, torn between his usual outrage and a suspicion that something much bigger than an abduction was happening.

Lilia stood up. His gaze softened as he addressed Maledor. "Don’t worry, Maledor. Your father is very busy today, as are all great kings-in-training. Why don’t you stay with your-" Lilia’s eyes danced over to you, and the corners of his mouth twitched as if privately amused by some secret. "beloved caretaker for now? I’m sure they’ll keep you safe."

Sebek straightened, suspicion not quite dispelled. "Are you certain, Sir, that the Prefect has not enchanted this child into believing-"

"Sebek," Lilia interjected. "Surely you would not accuse our dear Prefect of such underhanded magic?"

Sebek’s mouth opened and closed, before he replied. "I…I would never dare suggest you are incapable of seeing through such tricks, Sir! But this situation is most unusual. We must consider the safety of Prince Malleus. And yet the Prefect is still refusing to offer a proper explanation!"

Sebek puffed out his chest but glanced uneasily at Maledor, who peeked from behind you, still clutching your jacket. Despite his horns and emerald eyes, Maledor looked anything but menacing. Nevertheless, Sebek clung to the role of vigilant sentinel.

You took a deep breath, trying not to get annoyed. "I already told you that I found Maledor in the cafeteria, scared and alone. I don’t know anything else. And anyway, if he were out to get Malleus, freezing the cafeteria wouldn’t exactly be subtle, right? And who would send a child in the first place?"

Sebek seemed ready to continue his barrage of suspicions, but Lilia only chuckled. He bent down, gently patting Maledor’s shoulder while casting a reassuring glance your way. "I think what we all need right now is some warmth and a calm mind. The hallway is no place for important discussions or guests. Why not bring our little visitor and the prefect inside? Come, let’s have tea. We can sort out facts and fancies over something sweet, hm?"

Maledor’s eyes brightened at the mention of sweets. He nodded, tugging lightly at your sleeve as if afraid you’d vanish again. 

All of you headed inside. When Lilia offered to brew the tea and bring some sweets, you immediately volunteered to do it instead. After all, the first rule to surviving a visit to Diasomnia was: Never eat or drink something Lilia made. 

"I’ll handle the tea," you say quickly before Lilia’s hand can get anywhere near the kettle. Your voice is a bit brighter than usual, and you offer a smile to Lilia that’s ninety percent nerves and ten percent sincere gratitude.

"Oh, are you sure? I was hoping to try a new blend…" Lilia said.

"I insist," you reply, perhaps more quickly than you mean to. "It’s the least I can do after all the chaos."

After returning to the lounge room with the tea and sweets, you all sit down. Maledor is quick to take a seat beside you, while Lilia has to urge Sebek to sit down as well instead of standing guard by the windows. 

Steam rose from the cups you carefully poured. Maledor watched you, swinging his little feet under the chair, his misery momentarily forgotten in anticipation of sweets.

As you sit down as well, Maledor asked. "Can I take a cookie, Mother?"

The repeated use of the title 'mother' still caught you off guard every time, as did Maledor asking you if he was allowed to eat a cookie. You nodded eventually. "Yeah, sure."

Maledor’s face lit up as you granted him permission. He snatched a cookie with both hands and promptly stuffed half of it into his mouth, crumbs dotting his cheeks as he beamed triumphantly.

"Say, Maledor," Lilia began, tone filled with curiosity. "it must have been quite an adventure to find yourself here, hm? Do you remember anything? Anything at all about how you arrived at the cafeteria, or where you were before?"

Maledor looked down, chewing his cookie with squirrel-like intensity. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he swung his legs and frowned in concentration. "I… I was in the castle. Not this one… my home. Father was teaching me magic because I wanted to be big! Like him. And then…There was this bright green light, all swirly. It was so pretty, but it got really loud and windy. I called for you." he looked up at you. "But I couldn’t find you or Father, and then I was here. It was scary. I didn’t like it. I just wanted to go home."

You picked up a napkin when you saw that Maledor had finished eating. You cleaned his chocolate-covered fingers and mouth. To which Maledor reacted with a 'Thank you, mother,' after you were done. 

Sebek, in the meantime, asked. "Who is your father? Can you say his name?"

Maledor brightened, as if relieved to be asked something simple. "My Father is Malleus! Malleus Draconia."

You barely had time to process Maledor’s answer before the tea caught in your throat, a cough sputtering out of you in disbelief. You blinked hard, as if somehow the world would flicker and correct itself. Instead, the bright-eyed boy just looked up at you, awaiting your response with absolute trust.

Lilia’s eyes sparkled with a private, knowing delight, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched the chaos unfold with all the satisfaction of someone who had seen the punchline coming a mile away.

Sebek, on the other hand, was completely stunned. The rigid guard posture dissolved into total shock. His mouth dropped open, then snapped shut in a series of fishlike gasps. He gripped his teacup so tightly it threatened to snap in half. He blinked, then searched Maledor’s face. His gaze darted between the delicate, unmistakable horns and those deep, green eyes. For a second, you wondered if Sebek was about to faint. "Malleus… Draconia?" he finally choked out. "Impossible! The Young Master has no offspring! There must be a mistake. Some… imposter trickery!"

"Wait, wait," you managed, gesturing rapidly between Maledor and Sebek. "Hold on, Maledor. You said your father is Malleus Draconia. You mean, the Malleus? Diasomnia’s Malleus? Tall, horns, kind of brooding, makes storms when he’s in a mood: Malleus?"

Maledor blinked up at you. His head cocked with innocent confusion, as if he couldn’t comprehend why you were asking something so obvious. "Of course, Father is Malleus Draconia!" he said, the words sounding so simple, so certain, as if you’d just asked him whether he liked cookies. "You know that, Mother… Why are you pretending?"

You sat, frozen in your seat, Maledor’s certainty striking through you more powerfully than any ice he could have summoned. Your brain scrambled wildly for any logical explanation. Was this a trick? A dream? Did the world flip upside down when you weren’t looking?

"IMPOSSIBLE!" Sebek barked, jumping up so quickly his chair almost fell. "You must be mistaken! The Young Master does not have, could not have, a child without telling his loyal knights!" He pointed a finger at you. "And you, Prefect! What have you done to this child?!"

"I swear, I’m not lying!" you answered, finally finding your voice. "I didn’t do anything to Maledor. He called me mother from the start. Before I even knew his name!"

Sebek, torn between devotion and confusion, snapped. "This cannot be! The Young Master would never keep such secrets. And…" His mind worked frantically. "The time makes no sense! My Liege and the Prefect… you… are not even married!"

You flushed, mortified and indignant. "Excuse you! We’re not anything." You glanced at Maledor, lowering your voice. "Not like that. Just friends, really."

Lilia clapped his hands softly, his voice clear and sure in the commotion. "No need for dramatics. You know, Sebek, sometimes the wind brings secrets from times yet to come. Briar Valley holds many old mysteries, does it not?"

Sebek bristled, trying to regain composure. "Sir Lilia, with all respect, how can we trust-"

Lilia cut him off with a gentle but authoritative voice. "Sebek, look at the child." Lilia turned to Maledor. "You were frightened, weren’t you? Do you remember any enchantments or trickery? Did anyone put strange ideas in your head?"

Maledor shook his head. "No. I just wanted Mother. And Father." He glanced sidewise at you, hope flickering in his green eyes. "I’m not lying. I promise."

Lilia patted his shoulder. "Of course you’re not. Sometimes things happen that even us grown-ups do not immediately understand. Time, magic, fate. I think our little prince here is simply… lost between stories."

"But what does that mean, Lilia?" you asked for clarification, not being able to wrap your head around this situation. "Is Maledor truly Malleus... And my…" You didn't finish your sentence with 'child'. It just sounded too weird. 

"Sometimes, the river of time chooses curious eddies," Lilia mused with a gentle smile. "A leaf from tomorrow might find itself drifting among the branches of today. If it’s not a trick, not a spell, and not a child’s tale, perhaps we must accept that sometimes, the world permits a riddle to live before its answer."

You stared, mouth poised between laughter and a plea for sanity. "Are you saying… he’s from the future?" The words felt ridiculous as they left your lips.

Lilia shrugged lightly. "Magic has never cared much for clocks or calendars. Wouldn’t be the first time something important arrived a little ahead of schedule."

While you were still trying to wrap your head around this, Sebek seemed to accept Lilias' words in a split second.  "My Lieges…" Sebek’s voice faltered, then swelled with fervor. "My Liege's heir! Of course! There can be no other explanation befitting Prince Malleus’s unparalleled greatness! Only Prince Malleus, scion of the glorious Draconia line, could sire such a prodigy! Such strength, such majesty, even at such a young age. Freezing the entire cafeteria! Behold, the testament of our great lord’s power!"

"You are the proof of Prince Malleus’s supremacy. Even time itself cannot contain his legacy!" he gushed. "A scion born of unmatched power and noble heritage! To think, I am in the presence of my Liege's heir -his magnificent progeny!"

"Forgive me, young prince!" He dropped to one knee before Maledor, completely ignoring you now, and offered a bow so deep it was a miracle he didn’t hit his head on the floor. "Forgive me for doubting your identity for even a second. I, Sebek Zigvolt, am at your service, just like I am at your glorious father's service!"

Sebek’s 180-degree turn gave you mental whiplash. Two minutes ago, he was about to lock you up for kidnapping a child. And now he was praising Maledor as if he was the second coming of Jesus. And anyway, where was your praise? After all, if Maledor was yours and Malleus's child, you had also contributed half to this cute little boy.

No, on a second thought, you'd rather not be the subject of Sebek’s loud and lavish praise. You were still in denial about all of this. Honestly, you were just surprised by Sebek’s sudden turn. Like, wasn’t he super concerned that Malleus and you weren’t even married a second ago? As if Sebek thinks children could only be conceived if their parents really love each other and wish for one. He was so innocent. 

"This must be announced at once! The other knights deserve to weep at this glory. Everyone in Diasomnia needs to know. No, the entire College must know. Briar Valley must be informed. And the Young Master!"

Sebek’s words left you even more mortified than the entire situation already did. You are vaguely wishing the frosted cafeteria had swallowed you whole. You couldn’t face Malleus right now. What were you supposed to say? You rather die than face that embarrassment. 

"No! We can’t tell anyone! Especially not Malleus," you interrupted in a voice that could rival Sebeks, before clearing your throat and continuing in a normal voice. "What I mean is, how are we going to explain this? Like, no one is going to believe that a child just showed up from the future, right? They will think Malleus had a secret love child or something."

"I can’t keep the Young Master in the dark about his own flesh and blood. It is my knightly duty to inform him about everything that is happening in his absence!"

Sebek, as always, did not listen, and Lilia was just enjoying the drama for now. In a burst of desperation, you grabbed a cupcake and threw it across the table at Sebek. He stood there, utterly stunned. A thick glob of icing clung to his cheek and crumbs slided down his jacket. He blinked, still processing your audacious cupcake attack. Meanwhile, Maledor, not understanding anything, laughed at that.

"Seems like you can’t go to Malleus now. You wouldn’t stand before your Liege covered in icing, right?" you said, trying to buy time.

"H-How dare you assault one of Prince Malleus’s loyal knights with pastries, human!" he barked. 

The feeling that you brought the situation under control immediately vanished when the door opened. There, calmly and tall, stood the regal figure of Malleus, as if the universe liked seeing your misery. Those sharp green eyes found you immediately and lingered for a breath before shifting to Maledor.

"Father!" Maledor’s cry rang bright and clear. His little legs scrambed down from the chair. He rushed to Malleus with unerring speed, arms stretched wide open.

Malleus knelt smoothly. His regal composure melting enough to open his arms and receive the child -his child- into a gentle embrace. "So it was you I sensed. A presence so like my own, yet unlike any I have felt before."

Heat flooded your face as the initial shock passed. Your first instinct was to bolt from sheer embarrassment. Somehow, you managed to find your voice. "You’re not surprised, Malleus?"

"Surprised?" he repeated "No, not at all. I recognized the resonance of my own magic the moment Maledor appeared." He regarded you calmly. "You seem greatly unsettled. Is it so shocking to you?"

"I mean, yeah! Everyone would be shocked," you replied honestly.

"You truly cannot feel it?" Malleus asekd. "Even now, the air shimmers with our blood intertwined. A melody only you and I could create."

You thought about his words for a moment. Putting it like that, you suppose you did feel something. Although definitely not as clear as Malleus did. "Still, shouldn’t we be more concerned?"

"Concern is natural. But you underestimate the strength of the Draconia blood. And your own as well. Our child would never be so easily lost to time without reason. He will return," Malleus said, voice absolute. "The magic that called him here is already unraveling."

"So the problem will fix itself?" you question. That sounded like better circumstances than most problems you have run into in Twisted Wonderland. "Everything will go back to normal soon?"

Malleus nodded. "Yes. This visit, while precious, is unintended. The magic that summoned him here is unstable and will not last much longer. The world has its ways of correcting itself."

Some of the tension in your chest loosened at his certainty.

Lilia, barely restraining a wide grin, chimed in. "It seems time itself favors your union, hmm?"

Your face went hot again, just as your flustered heart was about to calm down a little. "Y-You can’t just say something like that out of nowhere…!" you stuttered. Your voice sounded more like a nervous squeak. 

"But it's a wonderful thing, isn't it?" Lilia replied. Beneath his light tone, you could sense the sincerity in his eyes. Like a guardian who is relieved to see his forsterling in good hands. 

Malleus regarded Lilia for a moment, then turned back to you, his emerald gaze gentle but searching. "Does it trouble you?" he asked. "If such a future would come to pass would it be so unwelcome?"

Despite your flustered state it didn’t take long for you to shook your head. "No… It wouldn't be unwelcome."

Maledor, oblivious to the tension and simply happy to be near both his parents, studied your face. He shuffled over from Malleus’s embrace and returned to your side, hugging you tightly enough to drive the air from your lungs. "Your face is all red, Mother! When Sebek gets red he gets loud. When Mother gets red she gets quiet," he commented, which made you only more flustered. "I think ice cream makes everything better. Can we eat ice cream?"

You softly pinch Maledor's cheek. "I think someone already had enough sugar for a day with all the cookies and cupcakes."

Maledor’s smile faltered for half a second, his wide eyes shimmering with a betrayed kind of innocence that only a child could muster. Then, with all the cunning of someone who’d clearly inherited far too much of Malleus’s intelligence and dramatic tendencies, he turned slowly toward his father.

Malleus tilted his head. His expression was calm and unreadable. Maledor’s lip trembled just enough to be convincing. "Father..." he began, voice so heart-wrenchingly sweet it could’ve earned him ten free sundaes anywhere in Twisted Wonderland. "Mother said no to ice cream."

The underlying message was clear: Mother rejected me. Only you can right this cruel injustice, Father.

"A most tragic betrayal," Malleus said solemnly. "To be denied joy by one’s own mother. This is indeed a grievous matter."

"Are you siding with him?" you asked, eyes darting from dragon fae to dragon fae. "He’s a little sugar gremlin who just weaponized his cuteness!"

"I am merely acknowledging his diplomatic tact," Malleus replied with a perfectly neutral expression, though the slight twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement. He patted Maledor’s hair, then gently guided him back to your side. "A future prince must know how to plead his case with grace and strategic flair."

"Don’t encourage him," you grumbled, though your lips tugged up in spite of yourself. This entire situation defied logic and physics, maybe even sanity, but somehow... it wasn't as terrifying as it first seemed, not with the way Malleus stood beside you like an unwavering anchor in a storm, and how Maledor leaned against you like he had always belonged there.

"He encourages me," Maledor beamed up at his father.

"I do," Malleus agreed without hesitation.

"I manipulate Mother."

"You do," Malleus affirmed with serene approval.

"You are literally both saying the scheme out loud while I’m right here!" you pointed out. "You’re not supposed to straight-up say it’s manipulation!"

"Don’t worry, Father. Mother always forgives you when you hug her from behind. You do that a lot in the future," Maledor said to comfort Malleus after seeing your grumpy reaction.

Your soul nearly left your body.

Malleus blinked. Then turned to look at you intensely.

You snapped your head toward the child in horror. "Maledor!"

"What?" he asked, blinking up at you with wide, guileless eyes. "It’s true. When you get all ‘grumpy-grumbly’ and tell Father to leave you alone, Father just hugs you from behind, really slow and gentle, and you get all red and mutter something like, 'You know I can’t stay mad at you.'"

"Slow and gentle, you say," Malleus repeated. His expression was thoughtful, as if he was memorizing every word Maledor said. "Hmm. So gentle physical affection dissolves your irritation. I will need to remember that approach."

"That is not the takeaway here!" you interrupted.

"I am merely collecting useful knowledge of what pleases my future consort," Malleus responded smoothly. With almost academic intrigue. "Maledor’s insights are quite enlightening."

Sebek’s complexion was caught somewhere between ghostly pale and tomato red. "Y-Young Prince! This is hardly appropriate information to share in a public setting!"

Maledor blinked at Sebek, completely unbothered. "But Sebek, you said it’s a knight’s duty to speak the truth and uphold honor. I’m just being helpful."

"Yes, but there are degrees of helpfulness...! Some truths are best kept private, especially when discussing the... the subtle... the-" Sebek finally broke eye contact and wheezed, "hugging techniques."

"I agree! We should just stop talking about this," you agreed, hoping the embarrassment would be over now, but then something came to your mind. "No, wait. It is only fair if you also share embarrassing things about Malle- Eh, your Father, Maledor."

Sebek, still recovering from the previous exchange, audibly gasped. "Y-young prince! The Young Master is above embarrassment!"

"No, he’s not," you said flatly.

"Well, Mother says it’s fair," Maledor chirped. "So. When you’re not around, Father gets really weird."

"Weird?" Malleus repeated. His tone remained level, but one graceful brow arched inquisitively.

"Mhmm. Sometimes he just stands in the hallway. Just... standing. Staring out a window. All dramatic and sad," Maledor said before adding brightly. "Oh, and when you come back, even if it’s just from the bathroom, he teleports to your side and says 'Ah, as I suspected, the world only feels whole in your presence again.'"

Malleus remained unshaken, which somehow made it worse. "There is no shame in expressing adoration," he said. "Is it so strange, to long for the presence of the one who stirs your soul?"

Somehow, your idea backfired on you. Not only was Malleus not the least bothered by Maledor's revelations, you are even more flustered now. You didn’t even know what to say, but thankfully Maledor filled the silence again. 

"And one time. Mother kissed Father’s cheek right before a council meeting, and he smiled the whole time. The old scary ministers freaked out and thought Father was about to declare war because he never smiles like that during council."

"Alright, that's enough glimpses into the future!" you interrupted hastily, cutting off any further soul-exposing anecdotes. "Didn’t you say you wanted ice cream, Maledor?"

"Yes, ice cream!" Maledor shouted excitedly. 

"If it pleases the young prince, I shall fetch the finest ice cream the college kitchens offer," Sebek declared utterly serious, though his face was still visibly red from the "inappropriate" things Maledor revealed. 

Lilia, who looked like he was thriving in this chaos, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. "This might be the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in a hundred years. And I fought a manticore while wearing a tutu once."

"...Why?" you couldn’t help asking.

"There was a wager. Long story." He winked.

You just accepted what Lilia said without further questions. In a room together with your future child, that just appeared out of thin air, Lilia might still be the biggest enigma. 

You all find your seats at the table again. It didn’t take long for Sebek to arrive with the ice cream. Maledor’s eyes sparkled as he eyed the huge bowl full of brightly-colored ice cream that you placed in front of him. Despite his eagerness, he still waited quietly until you gave him permission to begin eating. Seated beside him, Malleus also seemed to enjoy his bowl of ice cream with quiet contentment. You had the suspicion that he also wanted one from the beginning. 

As you also began eating your ice cream, you began to really process what was happening. Does this encounter mean that your future was now predestined? Does this mean you will stay in Twisted Wonderland and never find a way back home to your world? Will you become the consort of one of the most powerful mages in the whole world, reigning beside him? They were all worthy, existential questions, but one in particular rose above the rest in your mind. 

"Wait. Isn’t it a thing that dragon faes hatch from eggs? So… does that mean I'm going to lay an egg someday? Or is this a seahorse type of situation, and Malleus will lay the egg?"

The room was silent for a moment, but before anyone could answer that very crucial question, Sebek raised his voice. "Seahorse? How dare you compare the Great Malleus Draconia with an unremarkable creature such as a seahorse?!"

While a new round of chaos broke out on the table, Silver probably just woke up wondering why Sebek never came to wake him up for his guard duty. And the frozen students are till waiting for help.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: NSFW, dubcon, bathroom sex, bullying, overall just really filthy smut, virgin insert, virginity loss, somewhat dom reader, somewhat bully reader, somewhat yandere reader

♡ FEM reader

You look like one of those girls that never smiles. Like, if he were to take that empty seat next to you in the lecture hall, you’d scowl with stink eyes and then proceed to fully ignore him. Yeah, a real bitch. That's what you look like—scary. He bets all your socials are filled with the same picture—the same deadpanned pouty face over and over, every single one with hundreds of likes and comments saying “Wow, babe!” followed by a dozen emojis from besties and horny admirers. Selfies in the mirror, showing off skin in your tight tops and short skirts—similar to the outfit you’re wearing now. Captions saying, “You can look, but you could never touch.” Yeah, he bets you’re a real attention whore. And the worst part is that you’re not even overselling, either. You’re gorgeous—even with that sour look on your face, he’d pay cold, hard-earned cash in exchange for a pair of your worn panties.

Yeah, there’s no way he’d dare sit next to you. He’s already sweating bullets just thinking about it. Even though you’re one in a million similar girls who wouldn’t give him the time of day, he's still one in a million loser incels who would do anything for it. And that’s the cold reality.

Even if he’d like to get just a whiff of your sweet perfume, he can’t. The status quo forbids it. He’s afraid the jocks will smell fresh blood in the water the moment he does, then swarm him in a matter of seconds, circling before tearing him to shreds. They’d beat him to a pulp in the bathroom, smash his head in over the sink—piss in the toilet, then flush it down with his bloodied face—and he’d have to walk reeking of it all the way home.

So, no—he really can’t sit next to you. 

But no other seats are available, and the lecture is starting soon… 

Why did absolutely everyone decide to show up today?

Oh fuck it, this isn’t high school. College bullies surely don’t bother with petty cases like this, right? They’re all about their frat initiations and rivalries to have enough spare time to beat him up over improper seating. Oh, but what if you’re one of their girlfriends—you’ll tell on him, and then he’ll definitely be beaten up, maybe even killed.

No. He’s overthinking—like always. No one is that mean. If you don’t like him sitting there, you’ll just tell him. And he’ll move. No harm done. Right? He’s not sitting in the stairwell when there’s a perfectly good and empty seat right there, right? Is he?

Yes. Yes, he is. 

“Hey, if you’re looking for a seat, this one’s empty,” a sweet voice calls out over his inner monologue, making him clutch the strap of his bookbag tighter with a flinch of his entire rigid body—his eyes peeled as he looked around to try and find the source of the sound even though he knew where it had come from. It’s as if the possibility of your voice sounding like anything aside from a she-demon was out of the question. But no, it is you. 

But there’s no way you’re talking to him, so he looks around again—there must be someone else in need of the seat aside from him. But then, why are you looking right at him? Are you pulling some type of prank? Are you really that cruel? You’re probably filming him or something—live-streaming—the chat’s blaring with ew, what a creep and omg, uggo alert right about now. He should just go home before the jocks, along with the rest of the internet, can get him.

“Are you okay?” you ask—but no, he must be hearing you wrong—there’s just no way, even though you’re looking right at him. “I think it’s starting soon—you should probably sit.”

It’s as if his fight or flight response is broken because he does the exact opposite of either—as if on autopilot, sitting down in a rush against his better judgment.

The lecture starts shortly, solidifying his choice, but he can’t pay attention. No, he needs to keep his guard up. Any second now, someone’s going to do a drive-by and throw a milkshake at him or something vile of the like, and you’ll have filmed it all even though he can’t spot you holding a phone—and then the entire hall would burst into laughter at his expense.

“Pst—” A soft whisper comes from next to him, from between the gloss of your pretty lips. You smell like candy and fruit, and it makes his gut tighten—both from anxiety and something more shameful. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a pen I could borrow? Mine’s all out’a ink.”

You give him an awkward smile, and he very nearly runs away. But no, he’s glued to the seat—with nervously wrecked hands shaking as he bends for his bag and unzips it, reaching for his pencil case painfully slow as if disarming some type of bomb. Redoing the same when he opens the case and rummages for a viable pen he could offer.

When he hands it to you, he’s almost sure you plan to stab him with it. But you do no such thing.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver!” You cheer instead, beaming with a much brighter smile than before. “I owe you!”

His ears ring with your praise. Blushing beat red as he rips away from your gaze—still unable to focus on what the professor is preaching—not when from out of the corner of his eye, he can see you sucking on his pen like a lollypop—or something else not so innocent.

Oh, he’d been so wrong.

So, so, so very wrong.

You do smile. You smile a lot, actually. You just have one of those faces that rests bitchy. But still, bubbly airhead or not, a girl like you still shouldn't be seen with a loser like him. It’s social suicide. And still, you’re on your knees before him in a dirty little bathroom stall—the same dirty bathroom stall he feared getting a swirlie, scraping the walls with his nails to try and thwart his assailants—only, now clutching the walls for a much different reason, holding on for his mortal soul as you seek to suck it out of his fat throbbing cock.

You want to repay him—you’d said—for the pencil. He hadn't understood why you’d winked at him before you’d all but dragged him off and flung him inside the men’s bathroom, having his very life flash before his eyes.

You both make the sloppiest sounds as you make an utter mess on and of him, making him cry on all fronts—cock weeping with thick pearly beads of pre while his eyes well up with tears down his flushed face, all sweaty with panic and bliss. 

The moans springing from his chest are virginal and raw and sweet music to your ears, panting for you like a puppy—you’re sure they can hear him out in the hallway when passing by. One of his hands clasps itself on top of his mouth, holding tightly to keep it all within—eyes shut and brows cinched. And yet, he makes no effort to shove you off—hips left jerking and jittering in response to your refined technique where you take him deeply, all the way down to the base, hallowing your cheeks, throttling him with your throat as your tongue wipes his creamy slit clean.

It’s painfully clear he’s never experienced anything like it, but that’s what turns you on the most. Sick as you are, you could suck him dry and savor every drop of him, knowing you’re the first ever to get a taste. But no, by now, your pussy’s so soaked you feel yourself dripping past the soggy lace of your panties, running down your soft thighs in waste.

He’s misty-eyed when you pull off with an ever-cruel pop—a sick mix of relief and sorrow warping his chest, feeling conflicted by the pulse making him think he’s on the verge of a heart attack if you continue—and another strumming his cock, making him think he’s going to keel over and die if you leave him unfinished.

Even so, he’s in a state of complete shell shock as you mount him on top of the toilet seat he’s melting against. Chest heaving, watching you as you lift your skirt up and peal your slick underwear to the side for him to lay his bleary swiveled eyes on your bared and dripping pussy.

“I love nice guys like you—” you moan, pouring the honeyed words down his throat as you ghost his parted lips with your spit-slicked ones, straddling his lap and shimmying ever closer until your tits squish against his chest. “They make me so wet, I lose all self-control.” 

He gulps in your shadow, looking up at you for mercy—cock twitching painfully between your thighs as your wrap your hand around his base real snug, giving him a nice tug as you line him up with your needy heat—making him all but squeal beneath you.

Your other hand makes its way into his hair, braiding your fingers within the locks to hold him steady—gently pulling his head back while leering down at him like caught prey. Playing with him just so, teasing him with your words, all in your sultry voice, making his head spin hot with a fever, “You’ll be a good boy and fuck me, won’t you? Pretty please?”

His breaths are heavy and wet, coming out shaky with his instant answer, “Y-yes—” all weak in a pathetic whimper that almost has you cum too soon.

“You’re so nice~ thank you,” you croon against his lips, kissing him sloppily with your tongue in his mouth as you shift your hips and start lowering your sopping cunt down upon his seeking length, taking him in with greedy ease, eagerly gripping his soft cockhead like a toy in a claw machine.

“Fhu—fuck—” he stutters under his breath, whinging before planting his teeth into his lip to keep it at bay—feeling like putty beneath you, sweaty and heavy and dumb, eagerly wanting all which you sought to give him—only more flushed at your mean undertones as you play with him like food on a silver platter.

You sling your arms around his neck and push your chest harder against him, moaning all too brazenly, “Oh! Fuck yes—that’s so good,” you sing while slowly taking him in further. “A nice guy with a big bad bully’s dick is the best!” 

He whines in return as his inches get eaten—each devoured one by one until his tip kneads into the mouth of your womb.

Sighing happily, you kiss his cheek and put your lips right at his ear with another wanton whimper, “You fill me up so so good.” Roosting on the size, thighs resting flush against his, feeling all giddy as it stretches you out oh-so-nicely. “Such a good toy-cock for me,” keening at the way it twitches inside you, pulsing in response to your tight walls, clenching it in ways it’s never before felt.

His eyes are already rolling back into his skull once you start lolling your hips—riding him, but keeping him deep at all times—lifting just enough for it to pull out only a little before sinking back down, making it settle into that perfect needy little spot inside you that makes your whole body shiver in delight.

“Mmh,” You suck his ear lobe, releasing it with a soft bite, before smiling down at him and his sweat-pilled expression. Cooing at him, “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

He can’t even answer with words anymore, only giving a dumb mewl as he nods his head. But, of course, you’re already well aware.

“Mmh—” your eyes gleam with delight, giving his lap a mean ride, leaving him all but breathless, before asking, “D’you like it, virgin boy? ‘You like my pussy? Like the way it milks your chubby cock for your cum?”

He nods again, even more eagerly this time—looking downright pathetic in every sense of the word.

“Do you want to?” you offer to his desperation, feeling as though he’s falling apart at your fingertips, needing you to hold him together. “I’ll let you since you’re such a sweet guy—” you tease while clenching his cock, making it impossible to want anything else no matter the consequence. “In exchange for a favor, of course.”

He couldn’t care less what the favor was—way beyond willing to pay any price you ask of him as he finally makes a move and grabs your hips with a strength you hadn’t thought he had the balls to perform, planting you down firmly and holding you with such need as his hips jitter and stutter—resting his cheek on your shoulder in drool and tears with a lovesick groan leaving him as he fills your pussy up with his creamy spend.

His whole body shakes—spasming in cute little aftershocks as he clutches onto your body, hugging you tightly.

You respond in kind, cuddling him and kissing the top of his head. “That was so warm and filling—what a good boy—you did so well,” you murmur ever-sweetly while petting his head, combing through his sweaty locks with your long glitter-pink nails—keeping your voice saccharine. “Did you enjoy yourself, hm? Your first time cumming in pussy instead of your dirty ol’ sock?”

You pick his face up—cupping his sloppy jaw in both palms—his eyes half-mast and glazed as you nose-kiss him with a smile on your face.

“You loved it, didn’t you? Silly virgin boy…”

Your cunt tingles at the sight of him—wrecked beauty, sweaty and undone. You feel his cock unswell inside you and decide to lift off and release him—letting it flop out and splat on his tummy in a puddle of slick.

“Look,” you fuss, holding his face in direction of it. “You made such a pretty mess—isn’t it lovely?”

Your pussy is left glistening and puffy, still wanting and waiting for its final hurrah. Your breath turns headier and so does your voice, now with a new darkness to it as  you whisper, “Time for that favor, sweet boy.” 

He blinks dumbly, impossibly hopeless, wrapped so tightly around your pinky it’s pitiful. Of course, you take advantage—guiding his head to level with your cunt. 

“Open wide, tongue out flat.”

He obeys wordlessly. And oh god it makes your gut stir viscously—watching his tongue loll free between parted lips.

Your voice flares with bliss at the sight, shy of unhinged, as you giggle breathily, “That’s right—taste the pretty mess you made.”

He’s pushed face-first, trapped between your thighs with his jaw like an open cup beneath you, tonguing the mixed slick from your slit and slurping it all up without shame.

And fuck—it feels so good, you lose even more of your mind while tugging him even closer—all but pulling him off the toilet seat, making him kneel down on the floor instead. And still, he makes no effort to escape, but the opposite—seeking to go deeper into your cunt, crying into you as he laps up every last drop of yours and his arousal—making your thighs quake around him, grinding down against his mouth, onto his eager tongue, having it pet your clit over and over until you also come to the same sudden stumbling halt.

“Yes—yes! Oh, fuck! I’m gonna—it’s coming—”

And there it goes, ripping along your loins, surging from your lower belly. With both your hands tangled harshly in his hair, he’s not going anywhere, lips locked with yours as it starts pouring.

You’re squirting on him—hot and hard—on his tongue, inside his mouth, down his throat, in his belly. You’re squirting on him and he’s drinking it, he realizes—but even so, he isn’t able to stop. Instead, he unwinds his jaw even wider, digs his tongue deeper, and accepts every drop of the warm stream as it drenches his face and splashes down his collar and shoulders, utterly soaking his shirt, making in see-through as it clings to his chest like a second skin.

You’ve closed your eyes and thrown your head back, basking in every last little twitch of your body as you relieve yourself all over his face.

Finally, after a moment, you let go of his hair and step back—feeling refreshed and happy with your work—seeing the poor loser sit before the toilet, all drenched and exhausted with his limp cock spent and messy, looking like a beautiful wreck.

You smile, pulling your panties back in place, and you skirt down again before unlocking the stall and opening the door, only looking back at him for a moment, tapping your nail at a few matching pink scribbles written on the wall. “Here’s my number and address if you wanna have more fun." And then you leave, just like that. "Bye-bye~”

♡ BNHA – Amajiki, Deku, Shigaraki, Shinso ♡ JJK – Yuuta, Choso, Nanami ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Kenma ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Isagi ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Sakura, Nirei

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[sageofunknownwisdom]

Respectfully getting on my hands and knees to beg for more Alpha!Phainon... Alpha!Phainon trying to not crash out after realizing his Omega!Partner went into heat earlier then expected when he was on a days long mission, all the they are back home and suffering without him... HHEUE3H3HEHEHE....I understand if not, but figured I should at least try and ask!!

anon, yes. just yes. idk how yall be thinking of godly plots like this…im gonna try to do your request justice. Also reader uses she/her pronouns and has an afab body…IM NGL, i wrote most of this during class, which is crazy because if they peeked even a lil over my 0% brightness screen, they woulda seen nasty ass smut. 4k words i believe who knows, around 60% is just smut....

uhhh warnings: sexxing with alpha husband phainon or wtv…uhhh badly written smut. also hes kinda pathetic, cause i cant help it, he gotta be a lil pathetic okay. he begs to knot you!! isnt that great!! mediocre writing in general but i still tried to follow the general tumblr way of writing. he cant stop running his mouth during sex, hes so dumb. OMEGAVERSE N SHI

it's not like you to be needy.

you pride yourself in being independent, in being able to do things by yourself, even when others look down on you for being an omega. your quiet confidence is something phainon admires, one of the many reasons he's so enamored with you.

although he does have to admit that, sometimes, your independence bothers him. phainon is not a selfish man, quite the opposite actually. he's often considered selfless and altruistic, a manner befitting of his status as a chrysos heir and inheritor of the worldbearing coreflame.

but chrysos heir or not, it doesn't mean phainon is free from selfish thoughts. he wishes you'd depend on him a little more. tell him to come home even if he's miles away, all because you miss him. ask him to carry you back home even if your feet are perfectly fine. make him do all unnecessary chores like your personal housekeeper.

it's a little self indulgent fantasy of his to suddenly leave in the middle of a meeting. only to smirk and say ‘sorry, my wife wants me to come home because she's lonely,” when asked as to where he's suddenly going. (what a dork, aglaea would glare and tell him to sit his ass back down)

he's strong, always been aware of it since he was a kid. he takes good care of his body, makes sure he can carry you with one arm alone. phainon's physique isn't just for show, (maybe a little for just for you) there's real power behind it, one that keeps away other potential suitors and has more than enough stamina for other activities.

so won't you rely on him a little more? make him feel wanted, needed, and irreplaceable. phainon wants that, to be someone you could never leave, an irreplaceable part of your life.

curse him all you want but in the end, he's still a man. phainon can't help it, it's what his inner voice tells him in quiet whispers, it wants you satiated and pampered in all ways possible. it growls and struggles against his heart, telling him to act more and properly mold you into his.

phainon could never and would never act upon these urges. even when his eyes are hazed, plunged into the deepest pit of his rut– he keeps those dark instincts at bay. he loves everything about you, would never dare take a piece of what makes you and shape it to his liking, he considers it sacrilegious.

however, when a letter was handed to him during a particularly long expedition, phainon has never felt more eager to act on those urges.

“careful, just try and focus on your breathing.”

you weren't sure if that was hyacine or anaxagoras, it's hard to tell with the throbbing headache. this was the absolute worst fever you've ever had in your life, the tips of your hands and feet freezing; your torso felt like it was on fire.

you don't know whether to take the blanket off or cocoon yourself within it. you can feel tiny needles stabbing your abdomen, the unbearable pain making you curl further in yourself.

it's your body's way of throwing a tantrum because it was way too spoiled. much too used to being pampered and doted on during your heat cycles, the moment you woke up to your underwear soaked with slick and that familiar citrus scent nowhere near…you immediately teared up, calling hyacine while trying not to trip over your words.

but this one was particularly hard. even hyacine, who is usually unaffected by scents due to being a beta, staggered a bit as she neared you. anaxagoras tried his best to look neutral, but you could tell from his scent that he was bothered.

needless to say, she was immediately at your doorstep with anaxagoras. they've both been a stable pillar for you, even before you made things official with phainon. they know exactly what you need to get through your heats.

“i know bonded omegas get hit much worse but this is just ridiculous.” anaxa sighs, holding a handkerchief to his nose. despite being an omega himself, he can't help but shudder. hyacine frowns, trying her best to make sure you feel comfortable.

your scent was slowly turning bitter as time went on, obviously trying to say: ‘you're not him, go away.’

the pain in your abdomen was becoming unbearable, all you could think of was phainon; his warmth, his embrace, his soft kisses, and his fat knot filling you up, warming your insides with his spend.

you needed him now.

hyacine looks at your pained expression, “don't worry, professor anaxa sent him a letter before we went here.” she rubs your back in comforting circles.

anaxa huffs, sitting on the sofa's armchair where you're currently curled in. “knowing him, he's likely to be rushing here as we speak.” anaxa's minty scent comforts you a little, alleviating some of the pain.

meanwhile, phainon is reeling from shock. body rigid as he rereads the letter over and over. he knew something was off before he left three days ago; your face a little warmer, nearly feverish and you had clung to him like a leech, marking him with your scent then pretending as if you didn't know what he was talking about when he asked you if something was wrong.

phainon knows—memorized it even—your heat cycles. his own rut syncing with yours from time to time. he was always prepared for it, the whole reason phainon took on the mission was so he'd have one big contribution before disappearing for a week and a half.

aglaea gave him a knowing look when he stepped into her office that day, merely smirking before handing him the details of the mission.

it was fairly easy, looking out for any refugees and patrol borders affected by the black tide. but there was an odd pit of dread pooling in his stomach, as if he'd forgotten something important. it made him incessantly itch, his instincts frazzled. his scent turns oppressive the further he gets away from okhema, and by association: you.

the other warriors acted as if they were walking on eggshells, not wanting to piss him off any further but also intrigued as to why phainon, a man known for his composure and kindness, suddenly became so aggressive and curt.

phainon now realized the cause of his recklessness, epiphany coming in the form of a letter. call him whipped all you can but he's already rushing his way out the tent, giving rigid final orders before running towards okhema in an inhumane speed. no other modes of transportation could ever be faster than his own legs (except for cipher's) and the other chrysos heirs could attest to that.

honestly, phainon reeally wants to break something.

he's not a particularly violent person, never, at least not outwardly. too used to keeping his anger in check, dousing the blazing fire with thoughts of you until it simmers down to something small, a quiet warmth that could never be truly purged from his body.

there's very few that could turn that small fire into something uncontrollable, scorching anything it touches– and it's you. you fuel his rage as much as you temper it. it's both a blessing and a curse, you hold so much power over him that you getting hurt would make his head spin, blood rushing to his ears as he zeroes in on you and whatever's hurt you.

anaxagoras made the letter extremely detailed, well he wouldn't be the anaxagoras without telling the full truth, no? he wrote about extreme abdominal pains and you passing out every ten minutes, only to wake up crying and sulking because ‘he's still not here!’. anaxa doesn't call you childish, it's common behavior amongst omegas, one that he understands too well.

imagine how phainon felt reading that letter, spoiler: felt like he just disappointed his parents in heaven.

he's a natural-born provider. it's his love language, he gains fulfillment from pampering and giving you what you want. sure, phainon admits he spoils you, but it's what you deserve. aeons know how hard he is to deal with, always clinging to you, annoying the hell out of you when he's bored and in need of attention. at the very least, you deserve to be taken care of for dealing with someone like him.

so if he needs to run even when his legs are aching, then he will. the letter was written two days ago, anaxagoras being meticulous, always writes the date on the upper left despite it being an informal one. which means you've been suffering all by yourself for two whole days. phainon can't have that, even letting you suffer for a minute when he could do something about it was unthinkable for someone like him.

he reaches your (not so) humble house in record speed, bumping into everyone on the way. he doesn't give a rats ass whether it was a vendor or even a titan, maybe he'd care if it weren't for the fact that his beloved wife is bed-ridden, likely near death (he's being dramatic).

you did feel like dying though, not literally but enough pain to make you dig your nails in your own skin.

he sees hyacinthia and anaxagoras waiting for him by the door. hyacine waves at him, urging him to hurry up.

“please tell me how she's do-” phainon was cut off by anaxa, his sharp voice cutting through the conversation. “go in, now. we do not have time to waste. the faster you get to her, the better.”

the professor then turns his heel, briskly walking past phainon. hyacine nods at phainon before quickly following, “take care!” she calls out.

phainon shouts a ‘thank you’ before running to the door.

your scent is bitter, clearly distressed. it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand, he's never smelled such a harrowing scent from you before.

it makes his hand shake in panic, darting his head around to look for you.

phainon finds you in a really bad shape. you've cocooned yourself under a blanket, there's a faint smell of calming oils and medicine. he can hear your pained cries, it breaks his heart to see you like this. it makes him wince every time you ket out a sharp cry, the sound rattling in his ribcage.

an obvious sign of his unintentional negligence, he should've done better.

he steps closer to your form, tapping on your shoulder (or what he assumes to be your shoulder). it makes you turn around abruptly with an angered expression, snarling. you were about to shout at him to go away but then realized who it truly was.

phainon cradles your head, engulfing your face with his hands. “oh baby, im here now.” he murmurs, giving light pecks all over your face. “did i take too long? ‘m sorry.”

you let out a small sniffle, eyes heavy with tears. phainon feels his heart ache, instinct screaming at him to hold you close and do everything in his power to stop those tears from falling. he moves a few loose strands of hair on your cheek, pressing a soft kiss on your warm forehead.

“i'm here. i'm not going anywhere.” phainon lets his scent waft around you, trying to ease you into a more comfortable state.

you unroll the blanket from your body, arms circling around phainon's neck. you're burying yourself in his chest at this point, tears wetting his undershirt. phainon then slides his arms under your knees, gently lifting you up.

you dissociate the whole time he's carrying you and by the time you're fully conscious, you're settled on the bed; your arms still holding his head as he nuzzles further in your neck. “phainon?” you croak out, feeling your voice wobble.

phainon hushes you, lifting his head to look at your tearful face. he hugs you tighter, pulling you close to tuck you under his chin. you sniffle, “i'm sorry, i know you're busy-” before you could finish, he presses his lips against yours.

heavy, deep, and nearly devouring your mouth. your chest is flush against his while his hands are pressing your head forward, you can't help but let out a moan.

you tug at the lapels of his clothes as you feel yourself getting lightheaded from the lack of air. he groans, deepening the kiss one last time before pulling back. a small string of drool connects your lips before breaking, and you feel yourself flush, hazy eyes looking up at him in need.

phainon licks his lips, his thumb swiping away at yours. “beautiful.” he croons, eyes turning into crescents with how wide he's grinning. “so beautiful,” phainon dives his head to your neck, nibbling and licking. “i'm such a lucky man…”

his hands wander around your body, squeezing your waist and caressing your lower back. you seem to forget the fact that your panties are absolutely soaked with slick right now, and the scent you give off is driving him crazy.

phainon didn't want to ruin the sweet moment but he felt his pants tighten as soon as he entered your home and, oh, aeons was he fumbling to control himself from shoving your head down the sofa while he takes you.

you deserve better than that, someone like you should be worshipped and gently eased into pleasure. phainon would first cut off his own dick before he ever makes you uncomfortable during sex.

“let me take care of you,” phainon sighs to your skin, “please?”

the way he says it makes your eyes water, chest tight from the amount of love and adoration you have for this man. you don't think you'll ever deserve him, his love so deep that it could pierce through the core of amphoreus and even past that.

you simply nod, voicing your permission. phainon finally faces you, the molten gold pupils nearly double in size. oh he's definitely gone now, just the way you like it.

“thank you.”

such words shouldn't affect you like this but really, if a man so big and strong yet soo pretty thanked you for letting him fuck you then anyone would get wet within seconds. especially if it's a man like phainon, your lovely husband who'd pluck the stars out and place them in your hands if you asked.

( if you told him you wanted him to stay, he would. mission, people, and everyone else be damned. if his wife wants it, then she will get it. )

next thing you know, you're fully bare and his torso is in full display, clothes strewn across the room. wet, desperate kisses are pressed all over your chest and collarbone. you're just as gone as him now, purely moving using your base instinct.

it's obvious from your arched back and the slowly growing puddle of slick on the sheets that there's not a single thought running through your head but getting bred. phainon can only whimper when you direct his face to your weeping cunt.

within seconds, he's sucking and licking at your folds like his life depended on it. messy and desperate. if you were in a more conscious state of mind, you would've been embarrassed but right now, your instincts are screaming at you to be filled with your husband's cum until it takes.

phainon eats you out so well that your legs are shaking from pleasure. it doesn't help that he's whimpering and moaning just as much as you. “mmh, haah, pretty.” he murmurs against your heat, the lower half of his face covered in your juices.

he looks at you, dazed, through his long lashes, and sucks hard on your clit. you mewl, back arching in mind-numbing pleasure, you nearly clamp your thighs on his head but can't due to his strong hands prying them open.

“stay still,” a low warning, it makes your omegan instincts jump with glee. caressing the insides of your thighs, he inserts a finger into you, slowly stretching you out as he continues to lick and suck on your nub.

you bite your lip, sweat dripping down your back as you grind down on his tongue. curse him and his amazing oral skills, he always has you beat in this category.

“that's it…” phainon groans, fingers pumping faster as he laps at your quivering cunt. your juices spray everywhere the more he slides his thick finger in and out but he doesn't seem to care even if it's getting in his hair. “so fucking wet and pretty.”

ah, you're gonna cum. hard.

“phainon! ph-” you moan, repeatedly chanting his name. it's likely the only thing left in your brain right now. just a bit more, you want it so bad. you roll your hips, desperately wanting to cum.

phainon pinches your clit, his fingers reaching so deep that you sob. a deep shudder running down your spine as your body seizes, a broken cry leaving your lips.

your cunt gushes all over him, his face smeared with your juices. he wipes it off with the back of his hand before licking it clean, making a show of swallowing it down as he locks eyes with you.

“feels good, mmh, baby?” phainon asks, breathless. his pelvis touching your clit from how deep he is. “fuck, this pretty cunt was made for me.”

you shudder at that, phainon has talked so filthy during sex. with such an angelic face, you hadn't expected it. but gods did it make your pussy ache when he calls you his, when he praises you for taking his cock like a good little wife.

you're a mess at this point, face flushed and hair tousled as you leak copious amounts of slick. phainon isn't doing well either, his face and neck blushed with a hue of yellow.

the lights from above casts a shadow on his face and phainon looks absolutely divine.

“you're so pretty,” you mumble, more to yourself.

phainon chuckles, deep and rumbling. “i'm pretty?” you choke as he suddenly draws out and slams himself back in, your cunt clenching on his thick cock. “i think you've got it backwards.” leaning forward, he smears the trail of drool on your lips, messing your lewd face even more.

“my wife looks stunning under me,” he licks his thumb clean of your drool, savoring the taste of you. “it's turning my head all mushy…” he rasps, bright blue eyes turning dark with desire.

you whine at him, “you made me come on your face two times, don't i deserve a break?”

phainon sighs, running a hand through his sweat-slicked hair before dragging you by your knees, and hiking a leg up his shoulder. “that's too bad, you're gonna have to give me more.” he presses down on your stomach, “look at how loud your cunt is, i'm sure she doesn't mind.”

damn him and his glib tongue.

phainon grits his teeth, slamming his cock straight into that spongy little spot that makes you go dumb from pleasure every time. you mewl, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head.

“shit, that's a good fucking girl.” he rasps, a wide grin forming on his face as he takes you like his only purpose is to make sure you won't be able to even stand by the time he's done.

honestly fuck him and his fat dick, why is everything about your husband so big? his heart, his hands, and even his body engulfs your whole form. every time he calls you tiny, you gawk at him— you're not tiny, he's just ridiculously big.

your pussy feels so full, and it flutters at every harsh thrust your husband gives you. hips hammering into you as if phainon wants your tight cunt to remember who it belongs to. “c'mere,” phainon leans forward, holding your wrists to his neck, all while still thrusting into your wet cunt. “hold onto me, keep me close. ‘m gonna knot you, pretty.”

“you want that, right?” you do, you want it so bad. but you can't speak, can only choke on your own moans like a whore. you're deep into your heat now, barely conscious.

luckily for you, your pussy clenching is enough of an answer for him. phainon chuckles, “atta girl.”

the bed is creaking so loudly, headboard repeatedly hitting the wall. there's reddish bruising on your thighs from how tightly phainon's holding you, and your neck looks like mosquitos had a buffet on it. harsh sounds of his skin on yours and the scent of pheromones and sex permeate through the room.

phainon whispers sweet nothings into your ear while you hold onto his neck for dear life. the bedsheets are soaked in cum and drool. you can barely think, can barely hear yourself as your sweet cunt gushes around your husband's cock, silently pleading to be knotted.

you can tell he's close from the way his dick twitches inside of you. you moan at a particularly harsh thrust, going cross eyed, “phai, i'm so close. please, please, please.” you bury your head into his chest, body shuddering.

phainon wordlessly obliges. his hands snaking between your bodies to lovingly rub your clit, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck– so good, feels so good,” you feel hot tears streaming down your face, “i'm gonna cum-” phainon licks the tears from your face, leaving small kisses as he does.

your vision blurs, arching into him as you squirt all over his lower half. phainon grunts, slipping himself out as he continues to rub your pussy raw. your toes curl, thighs shaking from your orgasm.

“we're not done yet,” phainon scoffs, voice rough and low.

your husband is a sight to behold, abs glistening with your juices and sweat dripping from his neck. you can admire him for hours, you get distracted every time he's shirtless too.

you were so distracted that you didn't realize yourself being held up, his hands digging into your hips. phainon is kneeling on the bed now, holding you above his cock like you weigh nothing. you're as heavy as a feather to someone like him.

next thing you know, you're being speared on his dick.

you're barely breathing, body rigid as it tries to register being overstimulated like this. you should be used to it by now, aeons know how many marathon sex you've had during his ruts. you try to wriggle yourself free but it only makes him go deeper.

you give up, clinging to him instead, loosely wrapping your legs on his waist and holding onto his shoulders for support. phainon grunts, head buried in your neck as he nips at the scent gland. “sorry, baby. just need to breed you, yeah?” phainon huffs, inhaling your scent before lifting you by the hip and pushing you back down.

you scream, “too much, baby. ‘s too much! i can't take it all.”

phainon doesn't seem to hear you at all, too busy making out with your neck. he sets a brutal pace for you, your legs trembling as he rocks you up and down his fat cock. his fingers dig in your hips, leaving bruises that you'll scold him for tomorrow.

your cunt twitches, spasming as you approach another orgasm. you miiight genuinely be dying, tears flowing down in big droplets as you moan his name. “i'm going crazy, shit.” phainon's desperate voice brings you some clarity.

“phai, together- please! knot me, mmh.” you don't know what you're saying but it sounds just as desperate as phainon's soft whines.

“i'm gonna fill you soo good and you're gonna take it.” phainon murmurs against your skin. his lips crash into yours, and he kisses you like a damn dog. slobbering all over your mouth as he whines and moans. his hips are jack hammering into your wet cunt, you swear you could feel him in your stomach with how deep he's going.

“fuck yes, gonna knot you,” phainon grunts, cock twitching. “you're gonna let me, right?”

you're trying to answer but each harsh thrust knocks the wind out of you. phainon whines at your lack of response, eyes drooping as rests his forehead against yours. “please. i need it, i need you.”

“mmh, ngh!” it was supposed to be a ‘yes, phainon. anything for you.’ but he isn't exactly giving you a chance to respond.

“please, please, please, please,” phainon begs, the veins on his neck prominent as he flushes a deep gold. “gonna give you pups, breed you so good.”

“you'd love that.” phainon answers for you while you nod dumbly, letting him do whatever he wants. “get you so full, turn you to a mommy, yeah?” you're pretty sure he's gone dumb as well, spouting lovesick nonsense.

spritz of cum and sweat go everywhere everytime you get lowered onto his cock. you should be disgusted but all it does is make you moan louder, omegan instincts going haywire from getting dicked down so good by your mate.

you're full on sobbing now, so deliciously close to release. phainon's close too, you can tell since he went from grunts and moans to whining about needing to put a baby in you.

phainon sucks in a breath, “i'm, fuuck, need to knot you,”

his molten gold pupils are blown wide, staring at you with something so primal that it made you shiver. you gulp, “need you.” cunt twitching in response to the overwhelming scent of his pheromones.

phainon gasps, fucking into you even harder (you did NOT know that was possible). he's whimpering in your ears, “love you s'much. i fucking love you and this messy cunt,” he emphasizes it with a particularly deep thrust.

it's so perverted. a real shame you could care less right now with how much you're drooling, head lolling to the side as your husbands fucks your tight cunt loose, the stretch felt so addictive. no thoughts, just the need to get your womb filled with cum and being pampered by your mate.

your legs barely cling to him anymore, body numb from pleasure. if not for the firm grip he has on the back of your head and hips, you'd have surely fallen back on the mattress.

you let out a long drawn moan, pussy fluttering as your thighs shake like a newborn fawn. phainon short-circuits, drawing back before pushing in deep, knot flaring as he fills you to the brim. with how much he's cumming, you should be prepared to experience morning sickness after your heat.

phainon is delirious, still trying to rock his hips despite not being able to because of the knot locking you together. “thank you, thank you, thank you, haah…” he's clinging to you with so much strength, cumming so hard he's shaking.

he's whimpering, desperately trying to move his hips, “fuuuck, s- s'too muuch…” he throws his head back, his fingers tangled in your hair as he pulls hard. “cumming…”

yeah, he's still cumming. it takes a couple more seconds before you feel it stop. your cunt so full of his cum that it warms you up from the inside.

“phai, you're pulling on my hair too hard.”

phainon looks back at you, dazed. “ah?” he lightens his grip, still half conscious. “sorry, hun.”

you give a light peck to his cheek, “it's okay. you were feeling good, i understand.”

your husband hums, eyes boring into yours. “did you feel good?”

“i did, you made me feel really good. thank you for taking care of me, phai.” you smile at him, stroking his cheek with your palm.

phainon leans into your warmth, kissing your palm as he looks at you through his lashes. his gaze is reverent, like you're a miracle and he's just some sinful mortal who managed to catch your attention.

sometimes, he feels scared. what if it's all just a dream? and your warmth is just a delusion. he's scared to wake up, find you gone, and he's back into that same old routine— shouldering the weight of the world by his lonesome, nearly breaking his will as he endures.

phainon would truly go insane if that happens. he doesn't like to think about it, a world without you by his side, is it even worth saving?

“you should be kissing me right now. not daydreaming about other things.” you pout, dramatically sighing.

your husband merely grins, “you're right. i'm sorry, was just thinkin’ about how good your cunt feels right now.”

your flustered face makes him laugh, sitting down properly and bringing you down with him. you flick his forehead, “don't say perverted stuff like that!”

phainon raises a brow at that, “i literally just told you i'd fuck a baby in you. get used to it.”

“it's not the same!”

“i'm serious about it though,” phainon confesses, resting his head on your shoulder. “that letter scared me, you know?”

you stop, lips pursed together. you thought you could handle your heat alone, you really didn't want to bother him during such an important mission. holding your husband back is something you never ever want to do, unintentionally or not.

“i didn't want to bother you or hold you back.” you mutter, a guilty expression etched on your face.

phainon lifts his head, “never. you have never and will never bother me or hold me back.” he presses his lips into yours, soft and loving. he cups your face like you're porcelain, scared that you'll break.

“it's okay to rely on me. i want you to rely on me,” phainon's eyes burn with a promise or maybe a threat, you're not sure.

“i will.”

“although...” phainon cards his fingers through your hair, “i could just get you all swollen with my pups. you're sure to rely on me then.” you can feel his knot slowly going down yet he's still hard.

ah, he's definitely not letting it go. you'll have to be punished for making him worry.

“think you can handle a few more rounds for me?”

[higuysetc]

Okay I haven’t seen anyone actually talk about this scene from S1E2 as Byler evidence but I think it’s so telling and honestly insane

In this scene, El asks the boys what a “friend” is and they explain it to her. They tell her and it’s wholesome. Then Lucas performs a spit swear with Dustin and it’s funny. This conversation was just leading up to a funny bit between the two! Right?

Wrong. Oh my god, WRONG.

I was like actually kicking myself when I realised I missed this detail not just on the first watch but on the second as well.

(I should have put a trigger warning in earlier but I didn’t so I’m editing it in now- TW for: homophobia, attempted suicide, bullying, reference to the AIDS crisis)

“Friend?”

“Yeah, friend: Will?”

El doesn’t understand what a friend is so Lucas gives the example of Will.

“What… is friend?”

“Is she serious?”

Dustin shrugs

“Um… A friend is someone—”

“—Is someone that you’d do anything for”

Lucas specifically referred to Will in his example of a friend. When El asks him to expand on their bond, he struggles to elaborate and seems exasperated with her questions. Dustin isn’t much better. He doesn’t seem to care much for answering her and they both chalk it up to the weirdo being weird.

Before Lucas can even begin his clumsy explanation, Mike jumps in with

“—Is someone that you’d do anything for”

Which is. Wow. He says it so simply, so bluntly, so instantly and he looks overjoyed at the opportunity to talk about his loyalty to not just Will specifically but also the rest of his friends.

And, bless him, he’s literally bouncing on the spot when he says it. This scene is adorable but it’s also kind of heartbreaking, especially when you take into account when Mike tried to end his life at Sattler Quarry to save Dustin’s baby teeth.

He would literally do anything for his friends. This isn’t hyperbole, this is Mike being excited to show El, his new friend, that he’s loyal and protective. He’s not exaggerating when he’s saying he would do anything because friends don’t lie.

And the rest of his friends know this. When Mike is about to jump, Dustin begs him not to because he knows Mike and he knows just how important loyalty and being a protector to his friends is to him.

But the way he says this:

“Someone you would do anything for” It’s like he’s beaming with pride for his friends. He’s ecstatic at the idea of calling them his friends and being able to be there for them, to protect them, and is proud of them for just being themselves.

Obviously, this could include the entire party, especially with how it relates to Dustin and Mike ‘protecting him’ at Sattler Quarry.

But the fact that Dustin immediately follows this up with:

“You lend them your cool stuff like comic books and trading cards”

Okay so maybe we are still talking specifically about Will. In the first episode, Will and Dustin race and Will, the snarky little shit (affectionate), declares that Dustin owes him a comic. This is. This is a pretty blatant reference to Will and Dustin’s friendship.

What he says is also a lot tamer than Mike’s declaration of undying loyalty which reflects Dustin and Will’s friendship vs Mike and Will’s status as besties for the resties. Quite literally.

Besties for the resties.

We should also take into account the fact that Mike most likely didn’t just jump off the cliff only to save Dustin’s baby teeth after seeing the person he would do anything for’s limp body being pulled out of the water. He would do anything for them both.

But the fact that in some sick alternate universe Will Byers was found dead in the quarry and 12-year-old Mike’s body was found there days later should be enough evidence to be honest.

And if El hadn’t have found Mike and Dustin when she did, this would have been their reality. And Mike knew this was an almost certainty, unaware that he would be saved, and he jumped anyways.

And how does that look? In a conservative small town where no major crime ever happens, the adults spread rumours of a 12-year-old Will Byers being hate crimed for being gay after going missing instead of having any compassion towards him or his family because of this child’s supposed sexuality. His body is found not long after he goes missing and within days, the boy he was rumoured to be so close with jumps in after him and dies.

And let’s be honest, Will most likely didn’t get this much shit for his alleged queerness because he liked art or was quieter than most. He may have gotten picked on at school but for his parents to pick up on this? Lonnie was a bastard which is standard I guess. Common knowledge. Like the quarry meaning certain death thing. We knew that. Maybe he just gave him a hard time because he didn’t like baseball (Insert coded heart-to-heart with Jonathan and Will destroying Castle Byers with a baseball bat because he thought his feelings towards Mike were childish).

But for Joyce to bring this up to Hop instead of omitting both slurs and just leaving it at “he’s a sensitive kid” or just her most relentless “find him”s? For her to avoid the question when Hop asks whether or not Will is gay? Huh.

Most probably, he was really- suspiciously- close with a male friend. A male best friend. A little too close and a little too affectionate and for a little longer than is normal for boys to be so close with each other. Maybe this best friend even thinks that befriending Will was “the best thing he’s ever done”.

Mike was willing to die. That’s not fucking normal.

His best friend went missing and bear in mind Mike had little to no evidence that Will was alive at this point. He was presumed dead. Mike was 12 years old when he tried to kill himself. You can’t just chalk this up to trying to save Dustin’s baby teeth.

“You make that jump from this height, that water turns into cement. Hits you like a ton of bricks, break every damn bone in your body.” -Hopper

Mike understood that he was going to die. Outside the fact that it’s common sense and probably common knowledge in a small town, where he’s probably been warned by parents and teachers not to play too close to the quarry, it’s basic physics. He’s a physics nerd. He knew that he would die and he still went through with it.

The fact that they emphasise just how brutal Mike’s end would have been by having Hopper stand there and explain in graphic detail what would happen if someone fell over the edge? And then they send the point home further by having Mike weigh his options for a good while before making the decision to ignore Dustin’s pleas and ,I don’t know, any will that he has left to live? Is insane. No pun intended.

I don’t think I will ever get over the quarry scene. Mike jumps off to ‘save’ Dustin and possibly to join Will, out of love and out of loyalty, but also out of lonliness. Fucking insane. Especially with how that would have looked in a conservative town during the AIDS crisis, if El hadn’t interfered. And how Dustin must have felt after he begged Mike to stay alive for him and saw Mike actively ignore him and try to sacrifice himself to save him.

So yeah. Mike would do anything for them both, to a concerning degree.

But back to S1E2, El asked what a friend was. Lucas hesitated. Mike excitedly said some deep shit. Dustin followed up with something more lighthearted but still painful (lowkey imagining how he must’ve felt after failing to get Will home safe, and then later get Mike not to jump) and—

“—And they never break a promise”

Mike when I catch you Mike.

What promise could Mike be referencing here? Friends don’t lie, perhaps? Yes. That. That’s like the only option at this point, I fear.

And we’re back to Mike specifically describing his relationship with Will. How do I figure this? It’s established right off the bat.

S1E1- Will chucks the die somewhere and he rolls lower than thirteen. Lucas tells him it doesn’t count if Mike doesn’t see it. Lucas is willing to lie. Lucas is willing to break the promise. Mike is specifically referring to his relationship to Will here.

“It was a seven.”

“Huh?”

“The roll: it was a seven. The Demogorgon. It got me. See you tomorrow.”

Will dgaf about winning the campaign if it means lying to Mike. He would never break his promise. (Do not bring up the Season 4 painting right now istg this is pre-the-puberty-amplifying-internalised-homophobia-thing (and also I could go on a whole rant about what Will meant by “ripping of the band aid” there so lmk if you guys would be interested in that))

Immediately, within the first eight minutes of the first episode of the first season of Stranger Things, it is established that Mike and Will do not fucking lie to each other no matter what and they have a bond much stronger with each other than with the other two boys.

What did Will say again?

✅ The roll was a seven.

✅ The demogorgon got him.

❌ He will see Mike the next day.

Oh. Okay. That’s not like. Blatant foreshadowing or anything. This might be a reach but I feel like the fact that Will never lies to Mike but told him that he would see him tomorrow, then went missing, may have amplified Mike’s desire to find him faster or at least served as a way to communicate to the audience that Mike and Will hold their promises dearly and if Will says he’ll see Mike tomorrow, Mike will do everything in his power to see him as soon as possible and this is made further tragic by his attempt to join him at the bottom of the quarry.

Maybe a reach. I’m confident about everything else though so who gaf. Let a girl have fun.

“—Especially when there’s spit.”

“Spit?”

“A spit swear means—Puh—you never break your word. Its a bond”

Comic relief for all the devastated re-watchers, classic. This scene definitely wasn’t intended to be sad but I’m a sap, I fear. Plus the absurdity of Lucas’ spit swear and how seriously he talks about it contrasts how bubbly Mike is when he talks about promises when he is the one who holds loyalty so dearly that he is willing to give up his life for it.

Oh my god, I’ve just had a thunker of a thought. It’s. Oh my god. I’ve had a revelation. But it’s 5 am and I’ve been trying to put my thoughts into words for like a good couple of hours now so. It’s to do with the spit swear thing and how it relates to Mike’s asexual treatment of El until Will’s disappearance. Oh my god. Stay with me. It sounds like such a reach and it may well be but I genuinely unironically think I’m onto something here. Especially with how comedically Lucas’ bits are played out compared to Mike’s. Holy shit. Aaand it’s nearly 6 am. Well. I’ll edit this for basic grammar mistakes later, it's fine.

Okay, I’m gonna end this part here so just let me know if you guys want a part 2 and I’ll tag some lucky individuals in it maybe.

Also let me know if colour coding the characters’ names was too jarring or something? I feel like it helped me get through writing this monstrosity but low-key idk how the rest of everyone will feel sooo just lmk :)

Edit: Drafting up Part 2 rn if you want a tag then just reblog this post

[kyseya]

Yandere beast

This inspired by Beauty & the Beast.

————————————————

Yandere prince who has everything one could desire. He is royalty after all. There is nothing he cannot have and he is used to it being that way; the king and queen had spoilt him to no end.

Yandere prince who is mean and selfish. He treats everyone at the palace like dirt. He doesn’t even seem to carry much respect for his own parents. No, they’re used to give into his whims. The servants are all laughed at by him, he does not care when he sees the tears running down their faces at the cruel comments. His biggest talent may just be wickedness.

Yandere prince who does have one person he actually likes: you. You are the one exception. As the child of a servant, you too, were subjected to his bullying in the beginning. The people always had one of two reactions to him, either they stayed down and wept, or they started fuming. Both options were equally funny to the spoiled prince. However you surprised him, because you did neither. Whenever he was mean to you, you took it in silence before asking about his day. This bewildered him to no end. Why would you ask such things? It didn’t make sense. The more he bullied you though, the more intrigued he became. You were always kind, no matter the person; even to him. It was after that he decided he loved that about you.

Yandere prince who opened the door to a stranger. It was a heavy storm that night. If anyone were to be caught in it they would surely not survive. The stranger asked for shelter, and as payment the prince would receive a single rose. This made him scoff. The audacity some had. He turned them away as fast as they had come. Unfortunately for him this was no ordinary human. The stranger revealed themselves to be a magician. They told him they saw no love in his heart and therefore he should be punished for his cruelty.

That night his life changed for ever; now he was a monster. He sprouted fur all over his body, his nose grew into a long snout and a tail with spikes protruded from his lower back.

Yandere beast who has lost all his beauty. He was nothing other than hideous. Such a creature should surely be hidden out of sight. Not only did he lose his appearance that night, he also lost his status. The king and queen were horrified at his new form. This turn of event was not what they prepared for. Disgusted with him they sent him to a dreary little castle on the country side where no one would ever lay eyes on him.

Filled with despair he wallowed in shame; for his appearance and his situation. The only thing that could break the curse was if he learned to love someone and earn their love in return. Clearly, his parents did not believe the curse could be lifted, which was the reason they sent him away. They couldn’t have him at court anymore after all. Perhaps they were also glad to be rid of him once and for all.

Yandere beast who was all alone in his castle. He was left without servant or any gold. He was not used to a life without luxury. He thought he’d be alone forever and waste into nothingness, but he was surprised by you once more. You had come to the castle and chose to work there. When you’d told the king and queen of your decision they could not fathom why you would do such a thing when you were under no obligation to do it. You knew how horrible the prince was to all your colleagues, but you saw that underneath all that pride was an insecure young boy who wanted attention. It was not an excuse for his behaviour though. Still, your kindhearted nature made you want to help him.

Yandere beast who is elated with your presence. Now that he has company he is not as pessimistic. He always had a soft spot for you but now the fondness has turned into a full blown obsession. He loves you so much! When no one else was there for him and his life got turned into shamble, you stood by his side- willingly too! You weren’t frightened by his hideous form, no, you held his hand and stroked his snout without a care in the world. You were clearly the one to break the curse!

Yandere beast who does everything to make you fall for him and love him just as much as he loves you. Are you hungry? Good, because his transformation made him a great hunter! Are you in the mood for deer or rabbits? This monstrous prince can offer you a lot more than any normal prince or commoner human. No one can protect you as well as he can; his strength and sharp senses is the one upside to the curse. When the two of you marry, he’ll get back his title and whisk you away to a new castle. This one will be filled with the luxuries he bathed in before, and you’ll be forced to swim in them too whether you want to or not.

Could you ever love this beast?

[p1astr81]

very random but could you do one where reader is a ferrari heiress and her and oscar have a secret thing going on and they try to see each other during race weekends (with some fluff please)

This was a bit angstier than I anticipated 🙈

Y/n Ferrari. A name that carried status wherever she went. A name that came with expectations.

One of those expectations being to not fraternize with the enemy. Which was easy.

Until he came along.

Sauntering into the paddock with his stupid floppy hair looking like a prince that just walked out of a Disney movie. And his ridiculous laugh that sparked humor in other people even when nothing was funny. And his chiseled face like it was crafted by michaelangelo himself.

It all started as genuine hatred between you two, kicking off after he nearly crashed Charles out.

“Touch one of my drivers again and I swear to you Piastri-“

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know the trust fund princess ran the team.”

You scoffed. “Are you the pot or the kettle?”

“What?”

“I’m calling you a hypocrite.”

But it slowly turned into a playful banter.

“Where’s the princess off to this time?” He called out to you as you passed him as he was exiting his hospitality.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Prince Charming?”

His brows raised at the new nickname. “Calling me handsome now?”

“No you idiot. I’m making fun of your ridiculous hair.”

“What? Should I cut it then?”

“Absolutely not.” You looked horrified at the idea.

A smirk curled his lips. “Ah, so you like it then?”

“Ha! Only in your dreams would I ever like anything about you.” You didn’t let him get another word in, walking off too quickly.

And then the banter slowly turned into tension.

“That dress is going to have a lot of eyes on you.” Oscar commented, taking note of your bright red sun dress with a low v-neck.

You hummed. “Eyes like yours?”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

“Saying I look good?”

Oscar shook his head. “Whatever the Ferrari princess wants.”

And the tension soon transitioned into a restrained pining.

Your paths crossed after taking the grid photos for the 2025 season. “Your hair looks… slightly more put together today than it usually does.”

He felt like an object of study under your gaze. “Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.” He chuckled.

“I think it was.” A pause, then, “It looks good.”

Oscar froze. Then swallowed, and found his words again. “Did someone put you up to this? Charles? Lewis? Was it Ollie? Are you feeling okay?”

You laughed. A genuine laugh. “No, no one put me up to this, and yes I’m feeling okay.” You laughed again.

Fucking hell, Oscar enjoyed that sound. It made him feel like he was walking on clouds. This was dangerous. “Okay,” he started and wavered. “Thanks.” He muttered.

You took note of the blush on his cheeks, but you didn’t mention it. You sure as hell made sure to get him flustered every time you saw him, though.

And then the pining turned into… something. A situation of sorts.

You rushed into his room in the hospitality, tearing the hood off your head.

He was on you in seconds. Hands wrapped around your waist and his lips devoured yours. “Did anyone see you?” He rasped into your mouth.

“No, I don’t think so.” You confirmed in a whisper.

His hands slipped under your hoodie and he tore it over your head. He paused, caught off guard by the low-cut shirt. “God, you’re unbelievable.”

You grinned, shoving his shoulder. “Ah, c’mon charming it’s just a bit of cleavage don’t lose your head.”

He ignored your teasing, picking you up by the waist and carrying you over to the small sofa. He let you fly from his arms and you hit the cushions with a dull plop. He kissed the exposed swell of your breasts, sucking on the skin.

“Quit! Someone will see there!” You yelled in hurried whispers, and gave his head a small push.

He pulled back, gazing up at you with a dazed look in his eyes. “Good. Maybe then everyone else will stop trying to make moves on you.”

He dipped his head again, but before his lips could attack your chest-

knock, knock, knock. “Osc! Do you still have my charger?!” Lando shouted from the other side of the door.

Oscar’s eyes went wide, as did yours. You both swapped glances between each other and the door.

Say something, you mouthed.

“Uh, yeah.” He hesitated. You wanted to face palm yourself.

“Great! can I have it back?”

He looked to you in panic. You gave him a look that basically said, ‘this is your problem now’.

“Uh, yeah.” He grabbed the white cord while you did your best to hide.

He opened the door just enough to poke an arm out.

“What’s that about?” Lando asked in reference to the cracked door. “You got a girl in there or something?”

“No!” He answered far too quickly. “I’m, uh, I’m naked.” He covered.

You heard lando laugh. “Alright, mate.”

You both let out sighs of relief when the door clicked closed.

“You’re helpless under pressure if it’s not out on the track.” You shook your head.

And when he asked you out, options for a date location were very limited.

“I didn’t know where to go that we wouldn’t be seen so…” he gestured to the homemade full-course meal laid out on his dining room table.

You smiled. “I didn’t know you could cook, charming.” You took the chair he pulled out for you.

He shook his head. “That damn nickname.” He muttered, sitting across from you.

“You don’t like it? I think it suits you.”

“I know, because of my hair.”

You tilted your head at him. “Well, that is a factor.” You conceded. “But I think your pretty face lives up to the name too.”

His face flushed immediately, and he let out a nervous laugh. “Didn’t you say you’d only call me handsome in my dreams? Am I dreaming now?”

You shook your head. “Maybe you’ve hexed me.”

After that, it became official. Now both of you were concerned with not getting caught.

Singapore was scorching hot. Even inside the lobby of the Hilton as you tried to collect more towels for your room.

As you waited at the front desk, you felt a hand slide across your back. Not a lot of pressure to the touch, just… there. You jumped, ready to fight, but you gasped when you caught the eyes of the perpetrator. “Oscar! I didn’t know you were staying here!” You cheered in hushed tones, glancing around for prying eyes.

He looked just as happy to see you. “I could say the same.” He laughed. “What floor?”

“Five.” You answered.

“Two.”

You let the silence float between you. “I could-”

“Yes.” He anticipated your proposal. He had since the moment he caught you. He was just waiting for you to say it.

You smirked at his eager reply. “I’ll take my towels back to my room and I’ll see you then? Just text me your room number.”

Oscar nodded as the lady came back with three towels in her hands. You gave Oscar a small smile as you parted.

Too focused on you, he’d forgotten the reason he came down to the lobby in the first place. Awkwardly, he shuffled from the front desk and to the elevators.

Shit. His room was a mess.

He frantically threw things in his suit case and shoved stuff in the closet. Three hurried knocks landed on the door just as he zipped the suitcase closed.

“Hey,” he greeted, red in the face and slightly panting from all the running around. He waved you into the room.

Finally alone, you stand to your tip toes and place a sweet kiss on his cheek.

It wasn’t enough for him. He held your face in his hands, capturing your lips in his. It wasn’t hungry nor hurried, but a tender reminder that you belonged to each other.

“I’ve missed you so much.” You confessed with a soft exhale.

“You just saw me earlier?” He wasn’t stupid. He knows what you meant by that.

You shook your head, taking his hand and leading him to the bed. You kicked off your shoes and stepped from your leggings. You went for his suitcase and unzipped it, ignoring his protests. “I know you, Os. I know you’re not this clean.” You chuckled, gesturing to the spotless floors.

Plucking one of his shirts from his suitcase, you took off your own shirt and replaced it with his. The covers of the bed welcomed you, as did the embrace of his arms. You snuggled your head into his chest. “This. This is how I’ve missed you.”

The next weekend you attended was Abu Dhabi. Safe to say, you were both having intense withdrawals.

Oscar more than you.

You stared at the messages, guilt pricking your skin. Your sweet Oscar. Cast to the side because of your own fears.

After qualifying had long passed, you sought him out. The paddock was relatively empty by then, only the few stragglers of team personnel. Your hospitalities being right next to each other’s was certainly an advantage, one you used to its full extent. You sat outside, scouting for Oscar. You jumped up when you spotted him, quick feet making your way over before he could spot you.

When you reached him, your fingers closed around his wrist and dragged him between the buildings and around the back. There were no cameras. No people. Just solitude.

He looked drained from the day. “I’m sorry.” You blurted. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?” You took hold of his hands. “I’m just so afraid of him breaking us up.” You shook your head.

Oscar pulled you to him, wrapping his arms around you. He held your head against his chest. “Of course I know that.” He stroked your hair. Dull nails scratched your head. “Like you said, there’ll be a time.”

You pulled back enough to see his face. “I want it to be soon. Like maybe during break?” You suggested. “You’re right. I don’t want to keep living in secret.”

“What?” He panicked. “I don’t want to force you to do this if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head repeatedly. “No I want to do this.” Your eyes darted around, and then, “actually I want to do this now.”

“Wait what?”

Oscar didn’t get a response, you were already dragging him.

“No, wait. Like right now?” He panicked.

“Yes.”

Jesus, he was about to die and he only gets thirty seconds to prepare.

Hand in hand, he trailed behind you as the cool air from the Ferrari hospitality welcomed you. Your father was there, talking with Charles. He had yet to see you.

“Papa?” You called, standing in front of him.

He turned, brows furrowing when he saw Oscar. And then his eyes went wide when he saw your interlocked hands.

“I’m dating Oscar. And I’m happy. He makes me happy. And I know he’s not Italian or a Ferrari driver, but I think being with someone who makes me happy is better than both of those.” You rambled in English, ensuring Oscar would understand.

Your father looked between the two of you. The silence stretched, making Oscar more nervous by the second.

And then Charles started laughing.

“I know. Everyone has known for months. You guys aren’t as sneaky as you think you are.” Your dad spoke, clapping Oscar on the shoulder and squeezing him. “I’m just happy it was him and none of the others.” He smiled.

Oscar let out a heavy sigh of relief, earning a laugh from your dad.

[dreamer-milore]

—I Think My Husband Is Sick...

CONTEXT • You think something is severely wrong with your arranged-marriage husband. You decide to note his symptoms and make a conclusion out of it.

FEATURING • Gojo Satoru

You found yourself in an arranged marriage with the strongest sorcerer of modern times, SATORU GOJO.

It all started with an alliance with your clan and the Gojo clan. Your clan was prominent and strong, one with a lineage of powerful people, ranging from sorcerers to swordmen, and even politicians. In order to strengthen the alliance, a marriage between the two clans should take place. Obviously, they picked you, the disciplined, and diligent eldest daughter of your clan head. It was quite contradictory to the man you're set to marry, Satoru Gojo. And although he was the pride and glory of the Gojo clan, his personality and attitude are quite...

Questionable for someone of his status.

Nevertheless, the marriage was still made.

Which brings you here, nine months later. You and Satoru have agreed to mind your own businesses. You be the good and diligent wife, who handles both yours and Gojo's clan, while he will continue to be Satoru Gojo, and do what he usually does as the strongest sorcerer.

That is, until he started acting strange this past week. Is he ill? Maybe he used up too much cursed energy? But that can't be it, he's the wielder of the Six Eyes Technique. Or perhaps it was because of a foe? Hardly ever possible.

You conclude that he's ill, and that he's hiding it from you. Worry started to set in to your mind. You were afraid to be scolded by your clan if ever you falter once in being the picture-perfect wife you were meant to be. It'd be a bad hit to your clan's reputation, and you most certainly wouldn't want that.

You decided to write down all the symptoms of this sickness of his into a notebook of yours. Here was what you found.

Symptom No. 1: He's a lot more present than usual.

Since Satoru was the 'strongest sorcerer,' you understand why he's not always home. There are times where he would only come home once or twice a week. And if he's really busy, the times he comes back home in a month are countable by the fingers in one hand. He's always here and there, in another country, or even in a completely foreign continent altogether.

But lately, Satoru has been coming home almost everyday this week.

Which surprises you.

You were at your bed, minding your own business, when the housekeeper, Yoshida, enters.

"(Name)-san, Gojo-san is at the front gate."

You jolted into a sitting position. "Since when?" you asked in a shocked tone.

"Just now."

You swiftly went to your bedroom window, which has a clear view of the front gate of your house.

Surprise, surprise, your husband is standing there, and as soon as he notices you, he waves at you with a bag of designer clothes in one hand.

Didn't Igichi-san say your husband will be on a business trip???

Symptom No. 2: He never says your name.

Saying your name had become something Satoru rarely did. Rather, he would call you by terms of affections/endearments.

It all started when he visited the Jujutsu High School in Kyoto. The one that included a collaboration event.

Since then, your name has been replaced by the terms dear, dearest, dearly beloved, darling, love, honey, sweetheart, and sometimes even wifey. (But the usual one he calls you is either dear or love).

You wonder why the sudden change, and what made him behave in such a way.

"Yo, Utahime, can I ask you something?" a certain white-haired man with a blindfold asks.

"What is it this time, Gojo?" Utahime irritably replies. "This better be worth my time."

"I need advice..."

"Speak up."

"How can a husband be sweet?" Gojo asks, his tone remaining casual. But Utahime knows there's something more to it.

"Well, do you call your wife by her name?"

"Yeah."

She scoffs. "You're a failure of a husband. Call her with affectionate terms, idiot. Most women like that.

"Gojo takes in a sharp breath at the insult. But he supposes she's right. "Okie-doke. I'll start doing that."

Symptom No. 3: He's more talkative than usual.

Back then, Satoru only said necessary things, like where his business trip would be, how long it's gonna last for, and stuff like that.

But lately, he has added more details to the things he says to you.

It's detailed descriptions and grandeur elaborations of his day that take up your dinner time together.

Sometimes, he tells you the most simplest of things imaginable. Like how an elderly woman gave him extra sweets when he frequently bought from her store.

He had even started to tell you stories about his own students, and people in his life, past or present.

"I have this student, his name is Megumi Fushiguro. He's actually the son of Toji," Satoru says one supper, munching on sushi handmade by you.

"Toji? As in, the one you fought back at high school?" you ask as you added more sushi on his platter. (Somehow, Satoru's heart does a little flip at that, how attentive and such a good wife you are. That's how he fell in love with you. And yes, he told you about Toji.)

"Yeah! That man was one heck of a foe. Strong and speedy."

"Does Megumi know about Toji?" you let curiosity get the better of you.

"Nah. He didn't wanna know. Kid's estranged from his own father. But I did tell him that I was the one who killed his father, though. Didn't wanna leave that detail untold."

"Oh, alright. I guess that makes sense."

Symptom No. 4: He's been more touchy with you.

At the very start of your marriage together, Satoru barely touched you.

And so did you, because of his Infinity, so you can't really get into close proximity with him. You never really minded it, you can understand how Satoru needs to keep his guard up. (Considering how he got stabbed in the back by Toji, you can't really blame him.)

So his Infinity was a natural occurrence to you.

Until it wasn't.

Because lately, you noticed how your husband hasn't activated his Infinity once around you.

It's like he's deliberately disactivating it just to get some kind of skinship with you. In other words, he wants to touch you.

Satoru really wants to hold your hand.

Because not once in the nine months you've been married had he ever held your hand.

But when he brushes his finger against yours while the two of you walk side by side, you retract your hand and keep it to you.

He feels his heart thump faster at that.

Perhaps he really is a failure of a husband.

But that didn't mean he's giving up.

As soon as the two of you were going to cross a road, he finally, finally, took your hand and held it in his.

"Do you want to get some ice cream, love? I spotted one just at the other side of the street," he says as he gripped your hand a little too tightly. Just to make sure you won't pull back this time.

You stared at him in confusion, but remained in silence. (He may seem calm but he's overjoyed.)

Symptom No. 5: He's been requiring more of your attention.

The Satoru you used to know always kept you at arm's length, never fully trusting or committing himself to you.

But now, here we are with his strange, new hobbies.

Yesterday, he asked you out for dinner. No big deal, just some supper at a high priced restaurant. But now? He's asking you to come along with him abroad, to France, to Paris. And ever since he first held your hand, he always has his hands on you, one way or another. And if you retract, or keep your attention away from him? Be prepared to be met with a pouted, sad-looking Satoru because he feels betrayed at your actions.

You two were walking around Paris, hand in hand, side by side. (What a development you two made).

A beautiful lady caught your eye, and you couldn't help but gaze in awe. You didn't even notice how Satoru was basically shooting daggers at that lady.

Why are you looking away? Eyes on him! And him only!

He clears his throat, before bringing a hand to your chin to tilt it his way. Your noses are jnches away from each other.

"Eyes on me, dear," he says.

You were slightly flustered at his behavior. You didn't know he'd been keeping a really good eye on you. "Sorry about that, Satoru."

"It's okay. I was just going to ask if you wanted to visit the Eiffel Tower with me. I rented the whole place," he casually says, with a huge grin on his face (directed at you, by the way.) His hold in your hand tightens.

He did what????

"Satoru, wait, what? You rented the whole place???" You stare at him dumbfounded.

"Yup! Just for you and me (but primarily you), love."

Symptom No. 6: He kisses you.

This one was weird, for you at least. Since his Infinity was a natural occurrence to you, you don't get to touch him, and he doesn't get to touch you. Same as Symptom #4.

Except, this one is more intimate. Something you never expected him to do, because you two are just in an arranged marriage. Nothing more, nothing less.

Until he started acting like there was something more.

The first time he kissed you, it completely caught you off guard, so you didn't know what to do. He rarely did it, you presume it's because he didn't want to unease you, or bring discomfort to you. (But more because he's shy and flustered from the first time.)

Nowadays, it has started increasing in frequency, and boldness, if you know what I mean.

It was morning, and Satoru was going out for a business trip. Even so, he didn't want to leave, he wanted to stay at home, in your arms, reveling in the warmth and comfort it brings him.

But now that's all daydream and such. He's the strongest sorcerer, and he's a teacher at the same time. Of course he has work to do.

At that moment, a thought crosses his mind.

"Satoru, do you have everything you need?" You approach him at the front gate, where his car and driver are waiting.

"Yeah, I do," he answers with a smile.

"Good luck on your trip, Satoru. Be safe and take care," you bid him farewell.

"Wait, there's one more thing I need."

"What is it?"

Satoru drops his luggage onto the floor, brings his hands to your cheeks, and kisses you on the lips. A passionate, intimate, long, like-there's-no-tomorrow kind of kiss.

By the time he pulls back, you were gasping for air. "There. I have everything I need, dear," he says with a satisfied grin.

Symptom No. 7: He's moody.

If you would describe Satoru, it would probably go like this: chill, laidback, playful, prideful, comical, childish, but still caring and considerate to a certain degree.

But the word moody never came to your mind. Because in truth, you don't believe he is. Or so you thought in the nine months you were married.

You never thought he could be moody, let alone appear to be, or have mood swings, like women having trouble with their hormones.

It was an unbelievable sight to behold.

You were at the Gojo Clan's estate, handling work you were given to. It's mostly your role as Satoru's wife. It was quite serene (if you could even call it that), and uneventful.

Until your husband bursted through the meeting room where you were going to present to the clan's heads about a certain report.

The door to the meeting room flung open loudly, enough for people to whip their heads.

"Where the fuck is my wife?" he yelled out, anger and impatience lacing his usually calm and playful demeanor. It was like a sudden, drastic shift in temperature.

He searched everywhere for you, and when he found out you were at his clan's estate, he was fuming. Even more so when they refused to let him see you.

One member sat up from his seat and in a reprimanding voice, said, "Gojo Satoru, it is very rude and impolite for you to barge in here unannounced. Ms. (Name) is currently—"

"Mrs.," Satoru corrected through gritted teeth. His eyes were raging with fury.

"She's married to me, I'm married to her. So where's my wife, (insert guy's name)?"

"She's here to fulfill the tasks of the family—"

"Tasks?" Satoru exasperatedly says. "What tasks?" He clenches his fists. "The only 'tasks' my wife has is those concerning me. Because she's with me. Not of this family." He walks closer to that man, his footsteps heavy with every step. "So you have absolutely no right to just take her away from me."

"Your wife just went out for a bit, so please wait a—"

"Satoru?" Your familiar voice cut through the tension as you entered the meeting room.

Within 0.000000000001 seconds (faster than a Black Flash, apparently) Satoru's demeanor shifts from a hostile one (who looked like he was on the verge of killing someone), to a much more docile one.

"Honneeyyyy!" Satoru's eyes light up, a smile plastered on his face. He was quick to run up to you.

"Satoru, what are you doing here?" you asked, mildly confused.

He takes your arms and interloops it with his. "Come on now, dearest. Let's get you home."

"Huh? But I have work to do—" you cut yourself off upon seeing the sad, almost hurt expression on his face. "Satoru?"

(He's literally right there. And he even made the effort to barge into your clan's estate asking around for you. Can you at least not drown yourself in work?)

"The Gojo Clan had decided to call off whatever it was they were doing. You're free to take a day off. With me," he mumbles the last part.

The supposed Gojo clan was about to stand up to protest, but Satoru shushed them with only a glare.

"So, shall we take our leave?" he looks at you, expectantly.

"Sure."

Satoru smiles triumphantly.

Symptom No. 8: He slept with you (and will continue to do so in the future)

The first and only time you two slept on the same bed was the night of your marriage. Then after that, you two had been sleeping in your own beds, in your own rooms. Your room is just across his, and you never dared to enter his room before.

He might be your husband on paper, but even then, he was still a stranger to you. So every night, on days where he's home, you just give him a goodnight, then enter your own room.

And you've liked that routine. Only that, one day, you never knew it'll change.

Satoru entered the house, clearly drunk. You had no idea how he even managed to walk in that state.

"Darling~!" he waves to you, his voice childish as ever, yet it also carries the same excitement a child can exude.

"Satoru?" you say, with panic overriding your mind, rushing to his side. "What happened to y—"

You were immediately cut off when Satoru threw himself at you, his heavy weight weighing you down. And to be met with a barrage of kisses to your face? Truly unexpected, but not surprising, at this point.

"Why do you never call me 'love' or 'hubby'???" he whined with a pout, his blue eyes staring back at you.

You sigh. "Love, let's get you upstairs."

Immediately, when you said the pet name, his eyes brighten, and his lips curl upwards into a beaming smile. "Okie-doke!"

After that, you walked him to his room, where he plopped down the bed, seeming exhausted. You went to your room, too, shortly after. But for barely ten minutes, you hear banging on your door.

"Wifey…!!!" Satoru slurs over with his words, but his determination is unwavering.

You open the door, only for Satoru to throw himself to you again.

"Wifey, please, please, please let me sleep with you," he whines yet again, throwing a small tantrum like a child.

"Satoru, you have your own bed," you reason, attempting to guide him away back to his room. But the man stubbornly refuses, and continues to mutter words of pleads.

Eventually, you let him do as he please, and he pushed you both down your bed. If only you knew the fate that awaits you, you would have never done what you did.

Because for the rest of the night, Satoru was clinging onto you like a beartrap to its prey. He had his arms wrapped around your frame, with his leg thrown over you as well, and his face buried in the crook of your neck.

The worse part was that you couldn't even leave bed.

"Please, stay, love," he would beg of you. And you couldn't help but allow it.

Symptom No. 9: He hates it when other guys get near you

Satoru is chill and laid-back. Rarely does he ever outwardly express anger or hostility. But lately, it seems that you've been mistaken.

Whenever you go for work, he would always ask you to stay away from guys as much as possible. You dismiss it as him trying to preserve his reputation, but his subtle animosity for other men being near your proximity makes you think that's not all it is to it.

(One time you were having a conversation with this guy you met, and Satoru's grip on your waist was quite tight. Afterwards, behind closed doors, he peppered you in kisses. Just to cool off, y'know?)

It has come to the point where he constantly asks you who you're texting in your phone. Consequently, he's also asked for your password to all his socials. He talked to you about how he wanted you to be honest with him, and how he wanted for transparency.

Honestly, you didn't mind. You willingly gave him all your passwords. And told him straight in the eye that you're loyal to him and only him. That makes him feel things.

"Uhm… Dear?" he calls out to you. "What is it, Satoru?" You glance up from the book you were reading. He shows you your phone. "Who's Christopher?" He walks up to you and sits beside you on the couch. "Just curious." You glance at your phone. Seems like he really is checking through all your contacts. "That's a guy who used to crush on me back in high school. I got in touch with him because his brother got married to my coworker." You tapped Christopher's contact. "You can read through all of my messages if you'd like." Satoru was taken aback. "Really? All of them?" "All of them, Satoru. I have nothing to hide from you."

Satoru smiles, giddy. "Okie-doke." After an hour of comfortable silence, Satoru turns to you. "I don't like Christopher. He keeps flirting with you nonstop. Can you not talk to him anymore?" He pouts. And you laugh. "Sure."

You reread all the symptoms your husband has displayed, and made one damning conclusion that concerns you. He's acting more like an actual husband. You took this long to realize??? (It's like kidnapping someone only to realize they're actually enjoying the predicament they found themselves in. It's an analogy for your marriage.) But yeah, you're screwed.

As you immersed yourself in the notebook of your findings, you failed to realize your husband standing right behind you. You only realized once a pair of arms enveloped your waist, pulling you in an embrace. Satoru's chin lies onto your shoulders.

"Whatcha readin', honey?" he asks in his usual smooth voice.

You flinch, and close the book on reflex. "Nothing. Just reading through an old diary of mine from when I was younger," you lie. "Anyways, should I cook dinner for us? It's getting quite late."

You can feel him smile on your shoulder. "No worries. I already reserved a table for us at a restaurant."

"Oh, that's settled then."

"Can we get matching clothes?" he suddenly asks. He kisses your exposed neck. He nips at it, playfully. You flinch yet again at his actions, as a dust of pink spreads on your cheeks. But you can't help but hold back a laugh at his antics.

"Anything you say, Satoru."

"Then that's settled," he says as he places more feather-light kisses on your neck that sends tingles down your spine. You giggle more at his actions, and Satoru can't help but fall harder for you.

What you didn't know, was that your husband has already read through that notebook of yours. He finds it endearing and saddening all at the same time. But no worries. He'll think of a dozen more 'symptoms' to sweep you off your feet. And for you to finally acknowledge and treat his illness reciprocate his feelings.

a/n: I made this a while back, been sitting in my notes app :) also, thank you very much for the dividers, @uzmacchiato! I really wanted to try using dividers for the first time, and you're design caught my eye ♥️

[lexawritex]

—the maid

★ karina yu, the yu family’s precious gem, the only daughter, married to a man she once believed was the one for her. now she suffers a one sided marriage, imprisoned in her cold mansion. when hope seem to have disappeared, one young maid enters her life. karina x fem!reader 7.3k wc ⚠️ adult content, smut, dom!reader, fingering, cunnilingus, swearing, violence, lee jae wook

karina remembers it very clearly.

how bright and colorful her life was when she met her husband, mark. she loved him and he loved her. that was enough. 

or so she thought. 

because just a week after their wedding, that bright, colorful life began to fade into something dull and lifeless. his heart turned stone cold, and his eyes no longer held the warmth she once knew. he was no longer the man she had fallen in love with.

but when they went out to parties or social gatherings, he slips into the role of a loving husband. a skillful performance that masked the coldness beneath. and the moment they were away from prying eyes, the act vanished like a switch being flipped. behaving like strangers.

karina understood why. it was painfully clear. he hadn’t married her—he married her money, and he never even put any effort in hiding it.

so now she’s trapped inside her cold fortress, broken down by someone who doesn’t even spare her a glance, emotionally and mentally bruised.

-

karina lifted her head up upon hearing the sound of door opening. she paused from her painting session and watch as an elderly woman walked in carrying a tray.

it was the head maid, donna.

"where's the young maid?" karina asks.

donna placed the tray and turned to face karina.

"she was pregnant, she resigned." karina nodded, resuming on her painting.

"but the new one should start this evening."

karina hums, "make sure she's well debriefed." 

donna nodded before leaving the room.

karina looks at her painting. a dull mixture of gray and blue. symbolising the mental situation she is in.

a few rooms away from karina’s, you stood before the head maid, donna. her expression was stern as she went over the house rules and your chores.

you stood still, hands clasped in front of you, fingers picking at the small scab on your knuckle.

“you will start this evening. miss karina needs her tea whenever she goes out on the balcony. i assume you know how to make tea?” she asked, eyes fixed on you expectantly.

you nodded, offering a small smile.

“yes, i do.”

“good.”

after explaining your duties, she handed you a uniform—a black dress that stopped just above your knees, with white cuffs and collar, and an apron trimmed with frilly edges.

you wore it and smiled at your reflection in the mirror before being called to the kitchen.

the clock struck 9 pm, the time karina does her nightly stay on the balcony, so you began preparing her tea. you made sure to ask the chef how she liked it—better safe than sorry. you’d learned the hard way in previous jobs, when messing up meant getting scolded or worse.

carrying the tray, you passed by karina’s husband, jae wook. you greeted him quietly, but he didn’t even spare you a glance, walking past like you were invisible.

“what a dick.” you muttered under your breath.

reaching the balcony, you saw a woman in a black silk robe that looked like it cost more than your entire paycheck.

you gently knocked on the glass door, quietly announcing your presence.

karina shifted, turning her head to the side, revealing a profile so breathtaking it stole your breath away.

she looked like a statue in a museum. every feature perfectly carved by gods and goddesses.

“i said, put it down on the table.”

a firm voice snapped you out of your trance.

you flinched and hurried to place the tray on the glass table.

‘great job, yn.' you muttered to yourself.

afterwards, you stood at a respectful distance—not too close to invade her space, but close enough for her to call on you if she needed anything.

a week had passed and you observed many things in the mansion.

karina and jae wook barely interacted. scratch that—jae wook ignores her completely, no matter how many times she tried to reach out. you couldn’t help but pity her. it was painfully clear how much she loved him, how desperate she was just to get a sliver of attention, a single sign that he cared.

then came jae wook’s suspicious habits—coming home late at night, often drunk, sometimes smelling like he’d smoked half a pack of cigarettes. you could tell he was hiding something. something painfully obvious. an affair.

men often smoke to cover the scent of perfume, and jae wook’s constant cigarette smell every time he walked through the door gave him away.

it made you feel sorry for karina, seeing how badly he treated her, how little she deserved it.

you felt it was unfair for her. though you have not known the woman enough, but you felt like she deserved better.

“yn." donna called.

you looked up. “yes, madam?”

donna called another maid over and nodded toward you. the maid smiled and took over the dishes.

“karina asked for you.”

you nodded, dried your hands, and headed toward karina’s room.

you knocked softly before entering. inside, karina sat on a stool with her back to you, facing a large canvas.

her head turned, eyes meeting yours briefly before she looked back at the painting.

“you asked for me, miss?”

karina hummed. “i wanted to ask your opinion.”

she stood and stepped away from the canvas, inviting you to look at her work.

the painting was a swirl of blues and grays, strokes scattered seemingly at random. to most, it might look empty and plain, but art was a language of feeling—and this piece spoke volumes about what karina carried inside.

“everyone else said it looks empty." she said quietly.

“it is empty.” you agreed.

karina’s eyes searched yours, unreadable.

“but it perfectly captures the artist’s feelings—an empty chaos.” you added.

she let out a soft, faint chuckle. for you, it was a moment that felt like life itself.

the sound seemed to tickle you. you wanted to hear it again.

“finally. someone who understands.” she said, settling back onto the stool.

you looked at her face—once so blank, now softened with a hint of relief and amusement. her eyes sparkled with a new glint of interest as they met yours.

“what’s your name?” she asked.

“yn, miss.”

“yn... yn...” she repeated, as if testing the sound.

you liked how it rolled off her tongue, how her voice softened when she said your name. suddenly, you found yourself liking your name more than ever before.

the next day, she called for you again.

you stood by the door, close enough for her to feel your presence as she sat at the vanity desk, brushing her long black hair.

“do you enjoy art, yn?” she asked, eyes meeting yours through the mirror.

“i do. it fascinates me how people express themselves in so many different ways.” you answered.

karina hummed in agreement.

“art is... very interesting. it helps me destress when things get too hectic to handle.” she said softly.

then she paused and turned to face you.

“do you paint?” she asked.

you shook your head. “unfortunately, i wasn’t gifted with the talent for it.”

karina chuckled, the sound once again pleasing to your ears. the fact that you had sparked it made you feel unexpectedly warm.

“how unfortunate. i would have asked you to paint with me.” she said, turning back to the mirror.

then she paused again, looking at you through the reflection.

“be my muse.”

you froze, eyes wide, mouth hanging open before you could find the words.

“pardon?”

“be my muse. since you can’t paint.” karina said casually.

she stood up and walked to the spot where she usually painted. grabbing an empty canvas from the corner of the room, she settled it on the easel.

you remained frozen in place, like a statue, watching her prepare.

karina glanced at you, raising an eyebrow.

“do i have to drag you myself?” she asked.

you snapped out of it and quickly moved to where she wanted you to stand.

“there. perfect. don’t move.” she said, sitting on the stool.

you stood still for the entire afternoon. though it was uncomfortable and unpleasant, the way her eyes lingered on you made it worthwhile. you liked how she studied your features, how her gaze held you. you enjoyed the attention more than you expected.

the moon hung high when karina finally finished. you let out a sigh of relief, grateful to finally move. you reached out to peek at the painting, but karina held up a hand to stop you.

you looked at her, curious.

“i’ll show you tomorrow.” she said softly.

you nodded and left her room.

karina watched the door close behind you before turning back to the painting. she took one last look, then stood and walked toward the bathroom.

jae wook arrived late. again. as he entered the mansion, he spotted karina sitting on the couch, watching a show. hearing his footsteps, she looked up and stood, eyes widening. 

she followed him as he made his way to his office.

“you’re late. again.” she said quietly.

“i’m tired, karina. not now.” jae wook replied curtly.

“you smell like cigarette. you smoke now?” she asked, nose wrinkling at the stench.

jae wook sighed, turning to face her. his eyes were dark, dull—not the ones she once loved.

“can you just leave me alone, karina? i don’t want you up my ass every single second!” he snapped, turning his back on her.

karina’s eyes glistened with tears. she bit her lip, trying to hold back a sob. without another word, she turned and hurried out of his office, running to her room.

you saw it all—the sadness in her eyes, the weight on her face. no, you didn’t like it. she didn’t deserve this.

you stared at the closed door of jae wook’s office before padding back to your room. face shadowed with something dark.

the next morning came and you were met with a calm karina. her face peaceful like she hadn't just cried over jae wook last night.

"good morning, miss karina." 

her eyes landed on you, the stare giving a tingling feeling on your skin.

"good morning, yn." she greets back. your heart raced at her response. that was a first. she usually just hums or nods whenever you greet her.

"are you curious to see that painting?" she asks and you nodded, excited to see how you look like in her perspective.

karina flips the canvas so it's facing you and the second your eyes landed on it, you were speechless. frozen on the spot, eyes marvelling at the art before you.

"miss karina?" you managed to call out.

"hmm?" she hums, looking at your face. interest swimming in her eyes as she takes in your fascinated expression.

"am i looking at a mirror right now?" you asked but what answered you was a beautiful melody.

karina laughed. she laughed. albeit short, it was soft, angelic, something that came from heaven. you wanted to hear it again.

your eyes tore off the canvas as you look at her, enchanted by her laugh.

there, a small smile rested on her lips. you made her smile. you made her laugh. you couldn't be prouder.

"what do you think?" she finally asks.

you look back at the painting. you were looking at yourself. a portrait of you so beautifully painted, your features perfectly captured.

"miss karina, this is breathtaking! you really are blessed with such talent!" you exclaimed, stepping closer to examine the painting.

karina felt her lips twitch upward upon hearing your words. something unfamiliar swelled in her heart, it made her happy, seen, recognized, acknowledged.

she rests a hand on where her heart is, unsettled with such unfamiliar feeling.

your eyes caught it, a smile carved your lips.

"you should be proud, miss karina." you said.

karina blinks, looking at her work.

"i feel weird." she says.

"that's pride, miss karina. be proud of what you made." 

those words never left karina’s mind. even when she was in the shower where she usually thinks of the past, your words echoed repeatedly. 

it had been so long since she's heard genuine kind words. she almost forgot how it felt to be seen. and for the first time, she felt free, not chasing for jae wook’s attention.

and all of it was because of you. a young maid that was supposed to be just another person. but you became someone in her life.

maybe someone she can learn to trust.

-

you laid on your back, eyes staring at ceiling. paint peeling off, a thin carpet of dust on it and cobwebs decorating the corners.

your mind flashed back to walking past expensive vases, paintings, small sculptures and handcrafted wall decorations. all of it looked very pricey. the yu family really are filthy rich.

your eyes glimmered at the thought of having your hands on it.

 after all, it was your main intent in getting this job.

it was easy. rich people tend to get lonely and sad very easily. you get them to trust you, break their walls down, take their treasures and then disappear. 

but karina.

you couldn't imagine doing such thing to karina. 

she wasn't just any rich person with a treasure. for you, she was the treasure herself. a neglected one. 

you remembered seeing her face for the first time. you felt like looking at a statue in a museum. the way her tears looked like pearls when she cried, or when you caught yourself staring at her smooth skin that looked like she bathed herself in milk.

her melodic voice that sounded like a siren's song and an angel's instrument. and lastly, her hands. those hands. skillful, blessed with talent.

oh, she was more than just treasure and it's driving you insane. she's driving you insane and you might just become obsessed.

one night, on your way to your room, you saw karina sitting in the living room. a show played on the tv, but she didn’t pay attention to it. instead, she stared down at her phone, waiting for a notification to light up the screen.

your blood boiled. she was clearly waiting for jae wook.

again.

you walked over to her.

“miss karina?” you called softly.

she looked up, meeting your gaze.

“oh, yn. heading to sleep?” you nodded, eyes fixed on her.

“how about you, miss? aren’t you going to sleep?”

karina shook her head.

“i’m waiting for jae wook." she said, and your stomach twisted.

you almost scoffed, but held it in.

“but it’ll be late when he arrives. will you be okay?”

“i will, don’t worry. you should sleep, yn.” with a helpless nod, you left and walked to your room.

but sleep wouldn’t come.

you tossed and turned on the hard mattress, your mind racing. why did karina still care for that man? jae wook didn’t deserve her. he didn’t deserve such a treasure.

then you heard it—faint voices. a man’s voice, loud and angry.

you sprang to your feet, pressing your ear against the door.

“i told you it’s nothing!”

jae wook yelled, anger bubbling beneath his words. karina scoffed, refusing to believe him.

“i’m not stupid, jae wook. that’s a hickey!” she snapped back, eyes locked on the red mark barely hidden on his neck.

he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, jaw clenched tight as he bit back the words threatening to escape.

“i had a rough day, karina. don’t start." he said, then stormed past her, his footsteps heavy and angry.

karina stayed rooted in place, eyes cast downward, until the sharp slam of a door made her flinch.

her fists clenched tightly as tears welled up in her eyes. she padded down to her room, slamming the door shut behind her as she slid down with her back against it, sitting on the cold tiled floor, letting her emotions spill free.

she hugged her knees, resting her head on her arms, trying to muffle her sobs.

then a faint knock echoed through the room. she paused.

“miss karina?”

it was your voice.

karina wiped at her tears with one hand while the other shuffled to open the door.

when the door opened, she was met with your worried face.

“miss karina? are you okay? i heard the doors slamming and thought something happened.” you said softly, your voice gentle.

you saw her red, swollen eyes, the faint traces of tears still glistening. her lips, chapped and red from crying, looked almost too tender.

karina closed the door behind you and then wrapped you in a tight hug, burying her face in your shoulder as her body trembled with muffled sobs.

you stood frozen for a moment, unsure what to do.

then your hands moved—one patting a slow, comforting rhythm on her back, the other gently stroking her hair.

karina’s grip tightened, but you didn’t pull away. not when the woman you were beginning to care for was seeking comfort in your arms.

when her body stopped trembling and her breathing calmed, you lifted her in her arms. she was surprisingly light, making it easy for you to tuck her in bed. 

you left her room as quiet as you can after making sure karina was comfortably asleep. taking one last look at her now peaceful face, you closed the door softly. 

walking back to your room, you paused just outside jae wook’s office, eyeing the closed door before resuming your way to your room.

-

karina sat by the glass doors leading to the pool, staring at the water as her mind drifted. jae wook had left before she could even talk to him. she had just learned from the driver that he’d gone out of town for a business trip.

she didn’t believe it.

her eyes followed the moon’s reflection dancing on the water’s surface. then she looked up as donna passed by and called her.

“please call yn.”

donna nodded and hurried off to fetch you.

you rushed over as soon as donna told you karina had requested you.

karina looked at you, a small smile gracing her lips when she saw you.

“i feel like taking a swim tonight.” she said, standing up.

“i’ll go prepare your swimsuit." you said, turning to leave, but karina stopped you.

“no need.” she slid open the glass door and stepped outside.

you watched her helplessly before following.

then, without warning, she slipped off her silk robe, letting it fall to the ground.

your eyes widened at the sight, cheeks flushing, ears probably turning red.

karina wore a black silk nightgown that stopped just mid-thigh. her milk-like skin glowing softly under the moonlight.

you quickly looked away, your mouth suddenly dry from the unexpected sight.

then you heard a splash. you glanced back—and immediately wished you hadn’t.

karina emerged from the water, wet hair slicked back, the nightgown clinging to her figure.

her eyes met yours, and your breath hitched, feeling as if you’d been caught staring. you couldn’t help it.

“come join me.” she said, pulling you out of your trance.

“pardon?” you asked, voice barely steady.

you watched karina step out of the pool, your eyes unconsciously drifting down to her curvaceous figure.

suddenly, she was standing close to you.

“come join me. it’d be boring if it’s just me swimming.” karina said, her voice a low, breathy whisper.

your heart pounded wildly.

“b-but i don’t have a swimsuit.”

karina chuckled, trailing a wet finger along your shoulder.

“and i’m not wearing one, right? come on.”

her hands found your shoulders, turning you around so your back faced her. then you felt the zipper being pulled down. you swallowed hard.

the faint vibrations of the zipper sliding down sent a shiver through you. it stopped just above your lower back.

“join me, yn." she said, this time firm.

you let out a soft “yes.” shrugging your dress off and letting it fall down. now left in your underwear, you felt your skin burn under karina’s intense gaze.

you turned to face her, noticing how her eyes avoided yours. the feeling of being naked under her stare was almost overwhelming.

then her eyes lifted to meet yours again. you almost flinched.

“you’ve got a nice body." she commented, sending your senses into chaos.

then she dove into the pool, the splash pulling you back to reality. karina emerged from the water and called out to you.

you stepped forward and jumped in.

a small smile curved karina’s lips watching you jump in. she swam to you as you emerged to the surface.

“can you swim, yn?” she asked.

you looked at her and nodded.

“race you to the other side then.” she said, her voice playful before she turned and pushed off, swimming ahead.

your eyes widened, a smile spreading across your lips. you chased after her and in the end, karina won.

she rested her arms on the ledge, folding it to lay her head down. you settled beside her, back against the ledge, arms supporting you.

karina watched you closely, studying your side profile, your eyes, nose, and lips. her gaze lingered longer on it before rising to meet your eyes again.

“thank you, yn. for last night." she said softly.

you smiled warmly.

“it’s no problem, miss karina.”

she hummed.

“just call me karina.”

you looked into her eyes and were met with a gaze that held something different—something that made your stomach warm with a quiet flutter.

“ok, karina.” the name felt unfamiliar on your tongue, yet oddly satisfying.

then followed a comfortable silence, filled only by the faint chorus of crickets and the occasional song of distant birds.

karina broke the silence.

“have you ever felt trapped, yn?”

you met her gaze, noticing the solemn expression painting her face—a face marked by love and loss.

“betrayed?” she added softly.

you paused, thinking.

“at some point, i might have.” you answered quietly.

“did you get out?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

your mind flashed back to the dark memories you had long grown numb to recalling.

“i did.”

karina looked at you, the intensity in her eyes twisting something deep inside you.

“i don’t want to feel trapped anymore...”

your lips parted, heart pounding fiercely. her words sounded like a plea—a desperate request, a silent call for help. like she was reaching out, hoping you could pull her from the depths of her misery.

karina’s eyes locked onto yours, dark and almost pleading, as if she saw something in you that could save her.

“will you help me, yn?”

then she closed the distance between you, her hands resting firmly on your shoulders, gripping as if anchoring herself to you.

you drowned in her gaze, and you let yourself gladly sink into it.

“if you let me...” you whispered, your hands sliding to her waist, pulling her close.

“there’s no turning back.” you finished, voice low and steady.

karina’s arms snaked around your neck, drawing you in. your lips crashed together, moving hungrily, a desperate hunger shared between two souls seeking solace.

your arms tightened around her, drawing a soft sigh from karina. seizing the moment, you deepened the kiss, your tongue gently exploring hers. she pulled you impossibly closer, her warmth a tender contrast against the chill of the night air.

karina knew it was wrong—to kiss someone who was supposed to be working for her. but she couldn’t help it. it felt right. you felt right.

you were the only one who truly saw her. so how could she let the one person who finally acknowledged her slip away from her grasp?

-

you dropped the cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it under your shoe, exhaling the smoke slowly.

you took a day off, using the excuse of family matters. donna didn’t hesitate to let you go. karina, however, hesitated.

karina. 

after that night by the pool, everything between you two had shifted. you weren’t just maid and mistress anymore. no, you were something more. at least, that’s what you hoped.

your eyes landed on an open duffel bag, thick wads of cash spilling out—money from a previous job. 

a job not so different from this one.

a job where you worked as a maid, befriended a rich, broken soul, broke down their walls, earned their trust... only to steal their treasures one day.

a skill you’d perfected. it was easy. you’d done it many times.

so why were you hesitating now?

you told yourself not to get attached. but here you are—heart racing wildly whenever karina looked your way, blood boiling whenever her husband was near.

you wanted to deny it. deny the fact that you were starting to care, to feel, to be obsessed.

but the kiss muddled everything.

and the look karina gave you? priceless. no amount of money could ever replace the pleasure it brought. you wanted to see it again. you wanted to see her again.

-

karina lay on her bed, restless.

she wasn’t used to you being gone. or maybe she’d grown to love your presence.

her lips still tingled from the memory of your kiss. it had freed her, made her feel, for once, truly free—as if it had pulled her out of the darkness.

and maybe she let her thoughts run too wild.

because her mind was now replaying the image of you from that night—clad only in your underwear, water clinging to your skin. how your hands had touched her so right. it had felt so right.

without realizing it, karina’s hand slowly slid between her thighs, fingers brushing against her warm, clothed core—throbbing, aching to be touched.

she closed her eyes, letting herself imagine it was your hands exploring her instead.

a soft sigh escaped her lips as her fingers slipped beneath her panties. her middle finger traced along her slick, sending waves of pleasure rippling through her body.

she moaned softly, circling her clit, picturing your face—looking at her with lust and possessiveness.

then she slipped a finger inside, pumping it slowly before adding another. karina’s moans grew louder, her voice thick with need.

she didn’t even realize she was whispering your name.

the thought of you made her wetter, her body aching as she pumped her fingers deeper.

 oh, how badly she wanted it to be you.

karina now stood before the bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection, thoughts running. water dripped from her face, strands of hair sticking on her face. 

the sound of her phone ringing pulled her out of her thoughts. she takes one last look of herself before walking out of the bathroom.

she answers it upon seeing her father’s name.

"have you seen the news?"

her heart dropped.

karina struggled getting a word out as her hands gripped the phone tight. she rushes to her tablet, opening it. 

she searched up her name and immediately, articles about jae wook being involved in an affair spilled out. all of which were recently posted.

karina almost dropped her phone.

"what a disgrace to our name!" he father hissed on the other end.

she flinched upon hearing his words, heart hammering in her chest.

"fix this mess." was all he said before hanging up.

karina finally breathes, heavily, before her short breathes became ragged. rage quickly bubbled in her as she threw the table across the room, smashing into pieces upon contact.

she screams, an angry screams. her hands grabbed the nearest object and hauled it across the room. same followed the others, expensive objects flying across the room.

you heard the commotion upon arriving. donna looked at you, worry painting her face. the sounds were coming from karina’s room.

you rushed to her room, footsteps echoing as you basically ran.

you opened the door and ducked when you see something flying past you.

karina’s eyes met yours. she froze, a vase in her hand.

"karina?" you called out, walking slowky towards her.

her eyes red from crying, tears painting her skin, and her lips trembling as ragged breaths come out.

as you neared, karina broke down, dropping the vase slowly before falling on her knees. you catched her, wrapping your arms around her figure.

she quickly curled into you, arms tight around you, hands gripping your jacket, tight, like she didn’t want to let you go.

her body trembled against you, broken sobs coming out muffled. your hand stroked her hair, attempting to soothe her. 

you felt her pull away. you loosened your arms around her and met her bloodshot eyes, puffy and wet with tears.

"i knew he was cheating...i..i just didn't think it'd hurt so much seeing it." she says, voice raspy.

your hands reached to cradle her face, thumbs wiping the tears rolling down.

"i loved him...i really did..." she adds, voice breaking at the end.

you pull her into a hug in which she accepts, her arms coiling around your neck. you could feel her warm breath tickling your skin. 

when karina calmed down, you brought her a cup of warm tea. you set it on the table beside her as she sat on the edge of the bed.

she watched you, noticing that you weren't wearing your maid uniform. you probably ran straight to her room upon arriving from a day off. 

that touched her heart.

you offered a small smile at her before walking to the bathroom and coming out with cotton, bandages and alcohol.

you kneeled in front of her, looking up at her.

"can i?" you ask, voice soft.

karina almost stopped breathing at the sight before nodding wordlessly.

you looked down at the wound on her leg, most probably from the glass pieces. gently, you held her leg, pulling it near before dabbing on the wound with cotton.

you hear her hiss as the alcohol seeped into the small wound. you muttered a soft apology, touch so gentle, it almost felt like a feather brushing on her.

after appling a bandage on it, you looked up at her and gestured for her hands. 

she lifted it to her lap and saw the small cuts and blood that she failed to notice.

you immediately worked on it, cleaning the blood and putting on bandages. after working on it, you cleaned the used cottons and stood up.

"thank you, yn." karina says.

you meet her eyes. soft orbs shining as they met yours.

your eyes slightly curved as you offered a smile.

"no problem, karina."

karina’s eyes landed on the mess behind you, a sigh escaping her lips. she looks down at the cuts on her hand that were now bandages. her skin tingling as the feeling of your gentle touch lingered.

she heard shuffling and looked up to you removing your jacket, revealing you in a white tank top and unexpectedly toned arms.

karina’s throat bobbed. lips slightly parted.

she had not expected her young maid to have such....package. she didn’t even notice it when you got in the pool with her. or maybe because the lighting in her room was much brighter than in the pool, making your muscles stand out.

upon realizing she was checking you out, she looked away and reached for the warn cup of tea, bringing it to her lips and taking a sip.

she turns her eyes back at you who was now crouching and picking up the broken pieces of objects, plastic in hand. 

you cleaned the mess. hands carefully picking up the shards of glass and the broken furniture pieces. 

what a waste of money. you thought as you shoved broken expensive objects in the trash bag. 

after clearing the bigger pieces, you took a broom and sweeped the smaller pieces. you worked hard. you could feel the sweat start gathering in your denim pants and the occasional drop of sweat from your face.

karina noticed that. your skin covered with the thin sheet of sweat. not just on your face, but on your arms that she couldn't help but look at. mouth going dry as the muscles flexed whenever you moved.

after making sure there were no more broken pieces on the floor left, you let yourself breathe as you leaned against the wall. your hand reaching for your top, gripping it and fanning yourself with it.

karina watched, she couldn't help it.

you noticed and stopped.

"i'm sorry, it was hot." you apologized, dropping your hands.

she shook her head, "it's ok...i should be sorry for making such a mess." 

"thank you again, yn." she follows.

you smiled once again. you turned to grab your jacket hung on a chair, preparing to leave.

karina didn't miss the way your biceps popped out as your arms folded. she bit her lip, stomach pooling with something warm. 

her thighs squeezed, a sigh coming out at the pressure. she couldn't help it. you looked so irresistible in your clothes. 

"yn?" she called.

you look at her. you didn’t miss the way how her voice nearly trembled at the end.

karina crawls out of the bed and slowly walks to you without breaking eye contact. her eyes hazy, clouded with something you’ve seen before. 

you didn’t even notice how close she was now.

karina lifted a hand and ran it over your sweat-slick arms, fingers tracing over your faint muscles. her touch warm, inviting and dangerous.

your eyes dropped to her mouth and watched it move as she spoke.

“i need you.” 

your breath catches, looking at her with wide eyes, caught off guard by her words.

you stammer out a reply, “w-what?” 

karina said nothing. instead, she drags her hand to your neck, wrapping her fingers around it and pulls you close, her lips ghosting over your ear. warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

she whispers, “i fucking need you.” 

then without warning, she crashes her lips against yours. 

your body stiffened, eyes wide with shock at her display of raw emotions. 

her lips pressed against yours, pulling you out of your trance. you closed your eyes, surrendering to the emotions you once wanted to bury, letting it take control. 

your hands snaked to karina’s hips, gripping it firmly as if to ground yourself, while hers curled around your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. mouths moving in a heated dance, each fighting for dominance. 

your hands slid to her thighs, lifting her effortlessly as her legs wrapped tightly around you, never breaking the kiss. step by step, you carried her to the bed, lowering her gently onto the soft mattress.

her arms found your neck almost immediately, pulling you into a hungry, demanding kiss. with your knees planted firmly on either side of her, you hovered above her, the heat between you crackling with unspoken desire. 

you pull away slightly, catching your breath. your eyes met, each clouded with lust, need and something more, something unspoken.

"stay..." karina whispers, eyes shining with plea.

you pressed your lips against hers, and karina welcomed it, tightening her hold around you as if afraid you might disappear.

your lips traveled down to her jaw, leaving wet kisses as you traced a path to her neck, sucking and nipping gently at the  skin.

pulling back, you met her eyes, silently asking for her consent.

karina sat up and slowly lifted her nightgown off, revealing her bare skin. you marveled at her, your eyes wandering but your body remaining still. she smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction.

you were only taken out of your stupor when she held your chin, you hadn’t even noticed that she leaned closer.

"you will do anything for me, right yn?" she asks, voice soft like a whisper.

you felt entranced, held captive by her gaze. without even thinking about it, you spoke.

"anything..." 

karina smiled, then pulled you with her as she fell back onto the bed, your lips crashing together in a heated kiss.

you pulled away briefly and quickly latched onto her nipple, swirling your tongue around the bud while your hand played with the other.

karina spilled out breathy moans, your name falling from her lips like a chant, filled with need and longing.

karina let her hand comb through your hair, pulling you closer and occasionally fisting your hair. you moaned softly, the vibrations sending shivers across her skin.

you released with a soft pop before turning your attention to the other side, your tongue warm against karina’s skin. she sighed blissfully, her breath heaving with pleasure.

when you felt you’d given enough attention to her chest, you kissed your way down her stomach to her abdomen, where your fingers played teasingly with the hem of her underwear.

your face ghosted over her clothed core, pressing a gentle kiss on the fabric, already feeling her wetness beneath. karina whined, pushing into you, but you held a firm hand on her thigh, squeezing it as a warning.

then you stuck your tongue out, dragging a long, slow lick over her clothed clit. karina moaned loudly, hands gripping the sheets as her legs twitched uncontrollably from the pleasure.

"yn fuck!" 

you glanced up at karina, her face painted in pure pleasure—eyebrows furrowed, eyes half-lidded, lips red and swollen from your kisses and from how hard she’d bitten down to hold back her cries.

you dragged your tongue over her again, slower this time, your gaze never leaving her face. the way her features contorted in bliss was intoxicating—a sight you wanted to memorize.

without another moment’s hesitation, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of her panties and slid them down her legs, tossing them aside. then you leaned in, latching onto her clit with your lips.

karina’s whole body jolted at the sensation, a loud, guttural moan ripping from her throat as your tongue worked her with hungry devotion. her hands found your hair again, desperate and trembling, holding you close as her hips bucked up, chasing every wave of pleasure you gave her.

the air was thick with her scent, with the sound of her need, with the electric connection that pulsed between you both—making every touch, every moan, feel like something neither of you would ever forget.

while your tongue played circles on her clit, you slid a finger in karina, taking out a gasp from her then followed with a moan. you pumped it slowly, her slick making it easy to slide in and out. 

you slipped in another finger, gradually picking up your pace. karina's grip on the sheets tightened with her knuckles turning white. moans spilling out of her mouth endlessly.

while your hand worked magic in her, your mouth was still latched on her clit, circling your tongue on the bud and occasionally sucking it, overwhelming karina with pleasure. so much so, her legs would twitch and close in around you.

you rest your free hand on her thigh, holding it down when you felt her climax coming. her moans becoming louder and breaths coming out ragged, her stomach tensed as she nears her release.

"fuck! don't stop!" karina moans, her hand landing on your hair to grip it.

when she came with a loud moan, releasing her juices, you didn’t stop. you couldn’t. not when you've had a taste of her. she was so addicting.

you maintained your pace, pumping your fingers in her until she reached her second climax. you couldn’t care less if you injured your hand.

karina almost screamed as she came for the second time, legs shaking and eyes rolled back. 

you slowed down to help her ride her. orgasm. after, you pulled out your fingers and brought then to your lips, sucking her juices whilst looking at her in the eye.

releasing your fingers with a pop, you leaned back to her pussy, drenched in her release. you lapped up her juice, sucking her dry and clean before you left kisses from her abdomen up to her neck.

karina brought her hand to your neck and pull you in for a kiss, tasting herself in your lips.

“only in your touch do i feel so free.” karina whispered as you slowly pulled away.

her words tugged at something deep inside you—a raw, aching part of your soul that longed to protect, to heal, to be the reason she felt that freedom.

"then let me be your freedom." you whispered back.

karina looks at you with those eyes. the ones that looked at you like you hung the stars. 

"will you do anything for me?" she asks, voice soft.

you grabbed her hand that was wrapped around your neck and brought it to your lips, pressing a soft kiss on it.

with your eyes not leaving hers, you answered.

"everything."

-

karina’s words echoed in your mind, her image lingering far longer than you expected. you didn’t mind—it only fueled your determination.

you sat in the rental car, eyes fixed on the building ahead. the clock struck 9 p.m., and jae wook was supposed to emerge from his “work.”

then the doors slid open.

your gaze landed on a man, unmistakably jae wook, holding a woman in his arms, clearly not a friend.

they got into a car and drove off. you followed from a distance, your mind clouded with hatred and anger.

he was the reason karina felt trapped, hurt, and suffering.

this moment sharpened your resolve to protect her, to be the one who could finally set her free.

you soon reached an empty stretch of highway. streetlamps flickered weakly, and barely a building stood nearby. it was the perfect chance.

you stepped on the gas, speeding up until your car deliberately bumped into jae wook’s sports car.

their vehicle slowed, pulling over to the side, and you followed close behind.

jae wook climbed out, eyes narrowing as he inspected the damage. then he stormed over and knocked aggressively on your window.

you rolled it down and stepped out. his voice was loud, sharp as a bark.

“are you fucking blind?! can’t you see how wide the road is?!”

you met his gaze, your face blank but your eyes burning with dark intensity. he faltered, almost thrown off by the look you gave him.

then he froze—recognition dawning. you were the maid.

he stammered something, but you didn’t give him the chance.

your fist connected hard with his gut, knocking the breath out of him. your hands grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his face against your car with a sickening crack that echoed through the night.

a car door slammed nearby, and you looked up to see the woman stepping out, eyes wide in shock, mouth opening to scream. you didn’t let her.

let’s just say they got dealt with that night.

-

karina woke up the next day, her body heavy and muscles sore, especially in the places that still tingled with last night’s touch. her throat felt dry, and she immediately reached for the glass of water on her nightstand, gulping it down in one thirsty swallow.

she lifted the blankets and caught sight of her naked body, the warmth of the morning light casting soft shadows across her skin. memories of last night surged through her mind—every kiss, every touch, every whispered word.

a stupid, satisfied smile slowly crept onto her lips as she reminisced.

the door opened and you came in carrying a tray of food, a gentle smile softening your features as your eyes met hers.

karina smiled back, watching as you laid the tray carefully on the table. you moved to her closet and picked out a light dress.

“eat first, then bathe.” you said, handing her the dress.

karina hummed in response, slipping into the dress. she crawled out of bed and sat at the table, digging into the food you brought her.

you watched her, your heart lightened now that the burden was gone. she was free.

karina was free.

she reached for her phone and unlocked it.

the sudden clatter of utensils dropping echoed through the room, followed by a sharp gasp.

her hands trembled as she read the breaking news:

“jae wook and mistress found dead in car crash.”

[yeyinde]

when your need grows teeth | John Price x f!Reader

John's the type of man to lock his jaws around what's his, preferring instead to ruin things, puncture it full of holes, and litter it with scars, rather than let it go. It starts when you ask him to pick up your birth control—like dangling a piece of bloody meat in front of a starving dog.  Of course he's going to take a bite.  He thinks you ought to have known this by now. 

SMUT 18+ | gratuitous smut; HEAVY breeding kink, breeding; Dom!John Price; p-in-v sex, unsafe sex; rough sex; mentions of spanking; mutual manipulation; this is roughly 10k of John Plotting and fucking you; John is: unhinged, obsessive, possessive, and Scheming. mentions of birth control tampering but nothing is followed through. No. He’s going to knock you up the old-fashioned way—by making you beg for it.

AO3 MIRROR

John has always had this desire—this awful, instinctual drive in the back of his head to knock someone up. Get them fat, swollen with his child. His. 

And maybe that's the crux of it. Possession. To have something of the most rooted kind. To irrevocably change someone—their anatomy, their body, the chemistry in their brain, their status in life from them (single no dependents) to mother (mother of his child), their very atoms—and create life from the combined parts. 

It's this almost fantastical beast, this unreachable dream for him. 

It's his Shangri-la. His castle in Spain. 

He's not under any disillusionment that this idea of fatherhood, of parenthood, is slightly skewed. That most men who want children don't feel this overwhelmingly greedy desire to fundamentally alter someone in such an irreversible way. It's not quite ownership, but it's the same ilk. A bastardised, unwanted child of it. 

And it's not just this idea of claimation—to forever be the father of their child, even if neither of them stays together; a piece of him will always be there, parasitic, no matter what—but something deeper. Something a bit less—egregious. 

This is, and always has been, about yearning. 

John's the type of man to lock his jaws around what's his, preferring instead to ruin things, puncture it full of holes, and litter it with scars, rather than to let it go. 

Marriage, he finds, is breakable. Divorce, separation. He's always on his worst behaviour in the initial stages of dating, so it's never something he has to entertain since no one ever sticks around long enough for it to be on the table, much less the menu, but the idea of it—of signing papers, of hashing out the split, of being known as ex-husband—leaves a bitter tang between his teeth. It won't do. He needs permanence. Perpetuity. 

Nothing says forever quite like a child, does it? 

And sure—he’s aware that countermeasures exist: custody orders, sole custody, shared; allotted visitations; divisional lines in this new age that keep the parents from ever interacting—but while you can get divorced, you can't unmake a child, can you?

The child would never write him out, either. 

Where deadbeats exist, it's important to note that their counterparts do, too. The ones like him who will gouge their eyes out of their skulls before they ever let what happened to them growing up trickle down and impact their child, polluting the pool. 

Simply put: John Price knows he'd be the best dad there is because he's stubborn that way. 

It helps, he supposes, that he really only has so much love to give out to the world, and greedily, he stashed the entirety of it away in a box to give to his would-be wife and their child. An overwhelming deluge that promises happiness should it ever be unlocked. Pandora's box, perhaps—down to the very essence because if John Price were to ever love someone, then it's probably in their best interest to run from it, this gaping, needy chasm. 

Not that it would ever be a possibility, of course—he’s much too good at compartmentalisation, in taking out his anger, his viciousness, on the ugly world he drenches himself in, the one his hands have a tangible cause and effect principle in place that will forever feed that starving beast inside of him.

Ergo—he’s a staunch supporter of the theory: happy wife, happy life. Though where those men think in a box stuffed full of emotional intimacy, flowers, chocolate, maintaining love, all-consuming and enduring, he takes it to extremes that would have them cowering a little bit. Maybe a lot.  

But that's fine. He only has to make sure his family is happy. No one else matters, save a select few who have a seat at his table during Sunday dinners. 

The rest, though? Spare parts. 

(The ice-cold resolve in those two words is apodictic, brass bound, and he's sure if his higher-ups knew about it, well—

His chest candy would be a hole in the ground. Put the rabid dog down before it has a chance to bite.)

But that all-consuming, devouring, obsessive love he has to give, that begs to be let free, is the reason why it's so tightly leashed. Locked up in a box. Untouchable. Inaccessible. 

It's why he isn't married. 

Ghost once asked him why the women he dated were older. Much older. Menopausal (always). And he'd said something to the effect of it being his type. Older women who wouldn't cower away from the acrid burn of him, who wouldn't hurt their delicate little hands on his gritty surface. 

But the real reason is because he knows better. 

He's a starving dog, and it's just bad form to dangle a piece of meat in front of it. Especially when the hand holding it is his own. 

Don't bite the hand that feeds you, and all. 

(The keen look in Ghost's eyes told him that, perhaps, the man already knew the reason when he asked, and was just satiating himself with kinship—the dark, awful look on Simon's ugly mug after the dredging the underbelly of Price’s rotten, mouldering mudfloor of things unsaid spoke volumes. 

They'd both nodded. Content, then. And promptly ordered a shot of whisky to drown the salivation, the hunger, from clogging their throats. Killing the urge to bite.

A pair of packless, stray dogs.)

But then he found you, and all his careful planning, all his distance, blew up in his face. 

It's always been on his mind since then. Lingering in his periphery—this fevered, tantalising vision of you, round and swollen with his child. 

It's unattainable, of course. A fantasy. 

Though, this—you throwing up in the washroom of his penthouse, undoubtedly knocked up by his machinations—is probably because he kept that desire too close to where he hides his questionable mortality, the one that allows him to throw innocent people to their deaths, and send mothers and fathers to an early grave just so he can rip his fists apart on their bastard offspring in his own brand of catharsis that always bites back when they grow up, hankering for revenge. 

He's always been good at snatching dreams out of the air, clenching them tight in his fists. Taming chimerical wants, whims, until they were docile, domesticated. Making realities out of fiction. 

And really—he’s just not a good man.

He thought you'd have known this by now.

He remembers the first time he growled the words into your ear as he came, your cunt clenching around him like a vice. Desperate for it, he teased after, fingers fucking into your sloppy, leaking hole. Pushing his spend back into you. Half-drunk on the taste of you still clinging to his beard, but mostly just mesmerised by the sight of you—pretty pussy all ruined, swollen from the vicious, hateful pounding he gave it, and dipping with his cum like a faucet. 

(It pissed him off—still does, really—when you waste it like this.)

Gonna fill you up, he snarled, low and wrecked. Gonna make it take—

It was a fantasy. Still is. But the way it took root in the garden of your bedroom, like it belonged—native flora, he thinks, a touch mad with it—had something ugly, oil slick, rearing up from that untouchable place in his head. 

He could really blame you for it—and does. The way your ankles locked tight around his thighs, hands reaching, grabbing at his waist, clawing at his asscheeks to press him in deeper, deeper still, as he came inside of you, cock lodged right against your plug, had that untameable beast cocking its head in consideration after you danced too close to it, waking it from his long, restful slumber. 

You wanted it. Ached for it. He could feel it in the way your walls tightened around him, practically starving for it. Your pretty, glossy eyes rolling back into your head. Drool running down your chin. A litany of pleas spilled from your kiss-bruised lips, begging him for it. Please, John. Please. Please—

Who was he to deny you? 

Even if you made a big, flustered show of waving it off—not something I've ever imagined for myself, you know? and–and your lifestyle, what you do—is something like that even possible for us?—he saw how it curled around your shoulders, dipping its silver tongue into your ear. Germinating. 

He let it. Encouraged it. 

“Something to talk about later,” he indulged, reaching over for a cigar just to smother the urge to breed you stupid. To tie you to his bedposts and keep you full until your belly was swelling with more than just the absurd volume of his seed he pumped inside of you. 

And, oh—

The uneasy smile on your face reeked of disappointment. 

Fuck. Fuck—

John went to the washroom after that, heart pounding out of his chest, and jabbed the lit end of his cigar into his thigh to kill the fever in his veins. To rewrite the desperate, ugly howling in his head with pain instead. 

It worked. Works—

Until you came to him, all watery-eyed and worried, and told him to please, please stop falling asleep with a lit cigar because you think you might just go mad if you lost him to a cigarette fire. And doesn't he see how silly it is, these burns look so bad, John, and I worry—

His teeth ached. He smiled, but it felt like a grimace. A dog holding back the instinct to bare its teeth. 

“Sure, love,” he'd said, and started taking out his anger on your cunt instead, fucking you deep, and stupid. Getting you all cockdrunk, and hungry for the dream that spoiled so badly in the back of his head, he's sure a proper man would call it a nightmare. “Anything you want.”

(Brassbound. Apodictic. You know that, he knows you know that, so imagine his surprise when you come to him, all soft and tender, and ask him to pick up your birth control as if he hadn't spent the better part of two years grumbling every fucking time you took it and wasn't on the verge of tossing the damn bottle out the window, and fucking you until it took—

But—you do know that, don't you? 

Well, then. Whatever his lady wants, right? Right.)

“Can you stop by the pharmacy on your way home tonight?”

He hums, fiddling with the belt of his slacks in front of the mirror. “Sure, love. You feelin’ sick?” 

“No,” you murmur, sliding behind him on your way to the washroom, wearing nothing but a towel tucked under your arms. “I need my refill. For birth control.” 

His hands still. A gnarled, rotted tendril curls over the edge of the cesspool, murky, ink black water splashing all over the place. “Oh, yeah? Still taking that, hm?”

You fluster. Hands waving, chock full of nervous, emotive energy you can't seem to shake off. “Well—yes. I mean, obviously.”

And he'd leave it there, let the spillage dry on the hot pavement, if you hadn't glanced back at him, all damp keenness, slightly skittish, and asked, feather-soft and utterly fragile, “right?” 

Right? A question, he notes. Not a statement. 

He licks his teeth. Tastes something rancid in the gaps. 

“Mm. I suppose so.” He leaves it vague, but drenches it in the heavy weight of his disappointment. Anchors dragging it down. You flit around the space like a house-locked bird, slamming into the walls and ceiling as you try—blind and panicked—to find an escape. Any escape. 

He finds the whole thing utterly charming. Especially when you realise he pitched himself in front of the only exit, thick, heavy hands curled around his belt, cock outlined against his slacks, already thickened, drooling in his pants. 

There's gasp—wet, and sharp—as you take him in. The liquid of his eyes as his want bleeds out of his skull. The flush on his cheeks, the twitch of his cock at the mere mention of you not taking your silly little pills. 

John lets it sit for a moment, taking in greedy lungfuls of your unease as you glance everywhere but at him, as if looking in his direction, breathing in this toxic miasma will give you a contact high. Infectious. Gnarled. 

The little seed that started germinating blooms. 

He fights back the urge to grin, all teeth. Madness staining them black. 

“It's—it’s on—” and fuck, he's never seen you so unsure before, this nervous. You handle him like a wrangler, wrassling his brutish dominance until it's putty in your hands, splitting his head into pieces and galvanising the madness inside until it's scripture for you to peek at whenever you need guidance, insight into him, his essence, his being. 

Your dyadic has always been built on permeance. 

John doesn't think there's a single person alive who understands him as much as you do. The only person who seems content to gorge yourself on his rotted marrow like it was a delicacy. 

Seeing you like this rents his resolve in two. 

“It's the pharmacy near the, uh, the school. The kindergarten.” 

He chokes on a groan, and thinks he tears something in his throat with the strain of keeping it down. There's blood, ash, in the back of his throat.

“Alright, love. I'll pick it up.” 

You smell it, and shiver. 

It's giving meat to a starving dog, and saying, dog, don't take a bite. 

And so, of course he does. 

John picks up your prescription, tossing it in the passenger seat like it personally offended him. And it has. Does. It's what's standing in the way between what he wants, what he craves, and there's a distinct thrum of irritation welling inside of him. One that started when he had to bark out your name at the counter earlier, and the pharmacist looked at him, and calmly, kindly, explained what it was he was picking up. 

Make sure she takes them once a day. Preferably at the same time. This brand of oral contraceptive can be taken with or without food—

Fuck off, he thought—thinks, even now, glowering into the tinted window of the pharmacy. 

He grips the steering wheel tight until his scarred knuckles bleach white under the strain, and sits in the parking lot, staring, unseeingly, at the shops. Pensive. Thoughtful. It gnarls over his expression until he's the picture of that grizzly-like intensity you often accuse him of. All furrowed brows and a pinched, angry twist to his lips. 

There's a series of complex equations running laps in his head. He's no stranger to this process, needing to make life or death decisions in less time it takes someone to snap their fingers, or tentatively stammer out his title. 

This one is more linear than the rest. One plus one, so to speak. But the weight of it is profound. Heavier, even, than deciding between the success of his mission and the life of an innocent bystander. 

(But he thinks he's just selfish like that.)

In his head, he debates the ethics of replacing all of these silly little tablets that stand in his way with sugar pills. 

It would be the quickest path to the end, but the risk-reward ratio ebbs and flows the more he considers things without the miasmic influence of that abomination throwing itself at the walls of its enclosure, howling in an endless cacophony of do it, do itdoit—

A better man wouldn't even have such a temptation. He supposes that's what you deserve, but he already had this particular crisis a few months after he met you, and realised that the things he wanted to do to you would undoubtedly put him on a list. Slapped so hard with a restraining order, his ears would still be buzzing. 

That something about you made his jowls twinge, and his teeth ache, and no amount of stay away from her, Price; she deserves better than you was going to keep his dirty hands from curling around your throat, leaving soot-stains on your skin in the shape of his fingerprints. Brandishing ownership in burst blood vessels; a pretty collar for you to wear because as much as you like to pretend otherwise—

You're a dog just like him. 

In any case, he's the best choice for you. The only one who'd burn the world just to keep you warm, and that's what you really need. Protection. 

And fuck—you toy with that particular urge that has always been etched in fine lines within the walls of bones; dipping your fingers into it, and spreading it over the apples of your cheek. Everything about you prickles along his hindbrain. Renders him from a modern man with modern ideals to an animal who can only speak in growls, snarls; pure primalism, all instinct. 

You're made for each other down to the bone. He's sure he could split your head apart and find that your cranial sutures are perfectly mirrored. Made in the same image: you were grown from his missing rib, and he always meant to be cradled in the brackets of your thighs. 

So, crisis of worthiness aside—because there are none, not anymore—he plots. Plans. Schemes. But his machinations keep catching on the soft fibrils of your wants. 

John doesn't know what he'd do if you changed your mind. 

(Or, rather, he does but that's another madness to unravel with his personal therapist.)

It's with this—the slight brandishing of his uncertainty in your certainty—that he gives up the idea, pocketing it for a later date, and drives home, back to you. 

He doesn't toss the bag on the counter, but sets it up perfectly, placing it as close to the edge where the bin sits under it. All it would take is a breath of wind for it to fall into the trash. 

That doesn't happen, though. You stare at the white, crinkled package for a moment as he sips on his tea, quietly contemplative. With your expression hidden from him, he has no idea what might be going through that pretty head of yours. Disappointment, he can only hope. And then you're reaching for it, fingers gripping the bag tightly in your fist. He hears the paper crumble. It sparks something inside his chest. A bloom of hope that you might just throw it out. Toss it in the bin—

You turn to him instead, knuckles white. 

“Thanks,” you say, and the matter is dropped. 

He goes to tuck that want back where it escaped, leaving slick trails of putrefying rot behind, but—

John peeks in the vanity later that evening, but where he expects to see the little rectangular package sitting in its usual spot between his aftershave and the mouthwash, he finds nothing. Just an empty spot on the ledge, spotlit by the lack of dust. A clean square of white paint, undisturbed. 

His jaw twinges. He wonders if you're hiding it from him, keeping it safe from his machinations, but then he finds it shoved in the drawer with his shaving kit, and the box of condoms he bought when you'd first started dating (for show, naturally—John had no intentions of using them and learned persuasion was your Achilles heel; that and you tended to get a little glossy-eyed whenever he growled filth in your ear, the smell of your cunt heavy on his breath). 

The package is crinkled like you squeezed it tight in your little fist before you tossed it in. 

You're always meticulous in the way you put things in their places. Even the junk drawer is organised, all neat. 

This speaks volumes, but he's not quite sure what it says. They are still here, though. Accessible. One is missing from the pack. It dampens his mood. 

He picks up his toothbrush, and runs through those calculations again to see how he can convince you to skip the one you're meant to take tomorrow. And the next day, and the next, and the next—

He stays awake as you sleep beside him, looking into how many days you can miss before your brand of birth control stops being effective. 

Seven pills in a row. 

He files it away, lost in thought. 

The next morning, he leaves his phone open on the bedside table with the article pulled up. He kisses you awake before he leaves to shower, humming something soft under his breath. 

When he returns, he finds you sitting up in bed with your knees drawn to your chest. There's something pensive about the look on your face. Paper soft, as though it would all blow away at a mere whisper. 

You regard him almost cooly but something raw, fractured splits over the ravine. A waterfall of midnight black sludge rains down. 

(He wonders if it tastes of the same rot, the same madness, as the basin of the untouched recesses of his head—)

“I'm working late tonight,” you murmur after a measured beat, and he can't place your tone. ���Maybe we can watch a movie when I get home.” 

John nods, and your eyes drop, scaling down his bare, broad chest as he breathes in the flint staining the air. Your gaze is white-hot when it bludgeons into him, feverish. 

It doesn't take much beckoning at all to have him crawling toward you, towel ripped from his hips and thrown somewhere in the aether. 

As he steals the madness from your tongue, his eyes flicker to the phone still sitting on the table. It looks perfectly untouched. The screen is off. 

That, too, he files away. 

John comes to the succinct conclusion that the only means he has in his arsenal to get what he wants—legally, and somewhat morally, anyway—is persuasion. 

There's no recourse if he can water that burgeoning plant inside of you, make it seem like this is something you want, too. A family. With him. 

(Only him.)

He knows that you see things quite similarly to him. Wherein love is desire. Desire is hunger. And there's nothing more profound to you than to eat the person you love alive. Consumption of every part—the good, the beautiful, the bad, the ugly, and the rotted: skin, fat, muscles, blood, and bones. All of it. 

So, even if somewhere down the road you think you hate him for this, it'll be fine. He'll just consume that, too. 

John Price is a tenacious man. Stubborn. 

(Bullish, he hears around the barracks. Fuckin’ stubborn prick, too.)

It helps that this line of work is perfectly suited for such a peremptory drive to the finish line, no matter the cost. Utilitarian to a fault, despite his rather recalcitrant disposition. It's how he gets his way more often than not. Brutish dominance. Loutish suppression. 

But a near reckless, suicidal loyalty that attracts the sort of beasts this line of work needs. 

But that's work, not this. Not trying to convince you, his sugar-sweet (and viciously diabolical) lover, to bear the burden of giving him a family because society says it's uncouth (and illegal, morally reprehensible, villainous) for him to chain you to his bed to keep the darker parts of himself that want to rip into anyone who had the pleasure—pleasure that no longer belongs to them—of looking at you. 

That's all for him. 

(Nasty old bastard.) 

And, of course, because he's ready. Everything clicks. Locks into place. There's no one else out there for him. 

Really, though—it's your fault for prodding that beast in the first place. For letting inside your house, your bed. For thinking it could be tamed. And so. You should accept responsibility for it. 

(Nasty, nasty—)

But just as much as you know him, he knows you. You'll give him a litany of reasons why this shouldn't happen, and none of them will be because this isn't what you want. It'll be filled with reasons why you think he doesn't. 

And that simply won't do. 

So, he plots. Plans. 

The thing is. No one ever taught him how to hold things in his hands without crushing it. 

He doesn't think he can be delicate. Gentle. There's no way to gently nudge you into this. No. 

He'll convince you to yield the same way a tsunami convinces a house to move out of the way. 

Buried to the hilt in your cunt, he growls gospels into your ear about this beautiful Shangri-la, this sprawling castle he has in Spain until you're clenching down around him tight, conditioning your body to come at the thought of swelling with his child. About letting his seed take root, letting him knock you up. 

It's a crass image that he spits into your head—fuck you until it takes, love; breed this pretty cunt every day until you're fat and swollen—serves as the positive reinforcement to his classical conditioning. He'll turn you into one of Pavlov's mutts, salivating at the sound of him groaning into your ear as he fills your pussy up to the brim. He'll reshape you, change your wants until you only come around his cock when he's spitting his release against the plug of your womb. 

And when you make to get up, letting all his spend slip from your sloppy cunt to take your pill, he pulls you closer under the guise of wanting to feel your body on his, murmuring diabolical compromises he has no intention of letting you see through. 

“Later,” he rasps, pulling you closer. His mouth slots across your temple. “Just take it later, sweetheart. Later.”

“But—”

“It’ll be fine.” 

And, as if you'd been waiting for that reassurance, you melt into his hands, wet putty. 

(you take the bloody pill later, and he adds that to his mental calendar, adjusting the maths. He supposes he’ll just have to try harder next time.)

John's desire for you is overwhelming, all-encompassing, and he schemes around his wandering hands, bullying into your messy cunt only moments before your alarm is meant to go off, reminding you to take your pill, reinforcing that irritating little wall that keeps his come from reaching your womb. 

It goes off, but he hardly hears it over the roaring in his ears, the sweet, sweet litany of moans that slip out, staining the pillow with your pleasure. He just keeps fucking you through it, growling mindlessly into your ears about how badly he wants to come inside of you. His warnings, threats, about how close he is intertwining with your desperate begging for him to come, come inside me, John is the most beautiful harmonisation he'd ever heard, and it sews itself into his marrow, polluting the ugliness inside with a new, fresh hell for him to torture himself with. That delicious pleasure-pain that drives him mad—

He fills you up, palm pressed taut to your lower belly as he spits his virile release deep into your cunt. He can feel the heavy outline of his cock against your skin, stuffed full of him, and it's this—the way he moulds your body around him, cock visible through your flesh—that makes his eyes roll back into his head. Makes the urge to fuck, to breed, to claim bludgeon into him, shattering reason, logic. He wants to change you, irrevocably. Forever. To mar you with his touch, his essence. 

“Mine,” he chokes out, ugly and raw. It's a mangled mess in his throat. A threat. “All fucking mine, aren't you, love? All mine—”

His words seem to throw you into another climax, cunt clenching greedily down around him as he softens inside of you, plugging you up. You liked that, he notes, purs. The notion brands itself across his resolve, reshaping it into something that would make anyone else recoil in fear, disgust. 

But you preen at this creature that bares its fangs at you, snaps wicked teeth against your jugular. Fingers threading through its hair, shushing it, soothing it, as you pull it back into your embrace, head tucked against your chest. You lull it into complacency with the heavy thud of your heart, your sweet, earthy scent. 

What a pair, he thinks, and clamps his hands around your wrist when you murmur something about taking your pill now. Need to take it before it gets too late, John—

He makes his move, distracts you with his mouth, his tongue. 

“Just take it after,” he murmurs into your pussy, thighs bracketing around his head. His hands pull your waist down, pressing you harder against his mouth. “Later, love. It'll be fine—”

“But, John—”

The protest dies, turns to ash, when he grunts, sealing his lips around your clit, bullying it with the rasping press of tongue until you're arching your back, riding his face. Thoughts of your silly pill are gone, swallowed by him as you gush, drenching his mouth in your slick. 

And after, when you make to get up again, he pulls you close instead, voice curling around you like smoke when he tells you to take it after. 

“No, love. Stay in bed with me,” he peppers kisses to your cheek, your jaw, chin, sweetening his words, and folds you into the tight embrace of his arms. “Take it in the morning. It'll be fine to miss a day.”

You level him with something that shadows the ravines in your gaze with pure, unadulterated scepticism, but as he scouts the canyons, the valleys, the pretty craters that make up the composite of your eyes, he finds no discernible trace of wariness, uncertainty. The terse line in his shoulders ease. 

But while fossicking around he unearths something else. Something a bit more enigmatic, calculative, than doubt. Equivocal, slippery, it runs from him when he tries to give chase, tucking itself back into the harsh tenebrous that shades the landscape. 

He hums, wanting to ask, but you sigh in quasi-acquiescence, and burrow deeper into his embrace. 

“Fine,” you huff, but he tastes a purring sense of satisfaction in the air. “I'll take it tomorrow instead.” 

“Good girl.” The praise slips out, low and gritty, perfumed with his heavy greed. 

You shiver against him. The hitch in your throat is quiet in the bedroom, but to him, it sounds like a gunshot. 

John keeps meticulous track of the empty pill slots, and notes with a sticky, resinous sense of glee that the numbers are becoming muddled, skewed. Later becomes tomorrow, and your soft acquiesce has days skipped. Missed. 

You can't double up, you huff to him, mournfully slinking into the bed. It's nearly one in the morning. Technically, a brand new day. I absolutely have to take it tomorrow, John. Make sure you remind me—

There's something pointed in your tone. Something oil-slick. He nods, bites back a grin. 

“Sure,” he pulls you close, breathes in the sweet, loamy scent of you—sweat and sex and the lingering remnants of your perfume, your soap—and lets it stain his lungs. “I can do that.” 

You say nothing at all when he doesn't bring it up until well past midnight the next day, offering little more than an exasperated groan, and a huffy roll of your eyes, as if this was just a missed dinner with friends and not a life-changing misstep. 

(The beast purrs. He places his hand over his chest, and feels the rumble under his skin.)

“Need to be more responsible than this, John,” you say, squirming in his hold to try and rush to the washroom to take that pesky little pill. 

“Sorry, love,” he offers, and means none of it. Clings tighter to you. “Got a bit carried away today, is all.” 

“It's not your fault—” something curls out from a dark crevasse when you look at him. “I've been so—off lately, you know? Must be the new batch. Maybe I should call my doctor.” 

He stills. Body tensing, coiling. John tries to speak, but the words are ash on his tongue. He clears his throat. 

“Could stop taking it.” 

It crackles in the air. Hangs heavy like a stormcloud. 

You blink, stunned. But it's artificial, hollow. Pulled from a wicker basket where you keep all your different skins. 

“You mean—what? Stop it all together—?”

You flit in the space once more, but it's less of an injured bird searching for an escape, he realises suddenly, and more of—

A boomslang. 

One rearing up, searching for the perfect place to strike. 

Wishful thinking, though, because you're flustered and skittish once more, a small prey animal he isn't sure what he wants to do the most—sink his teeth into you, tear you into pieces, and devour you whole, or hide you away from the world. 

“I can look for something else in the meantime,” you sound shy, hesitant, and it prickles across his skin. “But we'd need to be careful, you know. Otherwise you might actually get me pregnant.”

He tries to swallow his groan. Chokes on it instead. 

“Sure, sure—” he hacks into his palm. “Of course, love. We'll be safe. I'll pull out—”

Naturally, he doesn't. Makes no effort to even try despite promising you he is. 

“Not my fault your pussy won't let go of me, love,” he grumbles, hand cupping your weeping sex in his palm. The heat of you is searing. Blistering. He thinks he could happily melt inside of it for the rest of his life, and leans down to whisper his devotion into your come-slicked folds, the bitter tang of you, of him, admixing on his tongue. An elixir he could drown in. 

You huff at him after, all glossy-eyed and sex-drunk, and tell him to please try harder, John, I'll have to get plan b tomorrow—

You don't, but the threat of it, the possibility, lingers in the back of his mind, souring his thoughts. 

Next time, and I'll have to, John, you say, featherlight, lips pressed against the head of his cock. A warning, a goddamn tease—

His voice is strained, pinched. “Of course, love,” and he guides your mouth back to his cock, letting the matter fall into pieces when you suck on the sensitive head, tongue licking, coy and kittenish, over his frenulum. 

It's only later, when watches you swallow down his come, that the beast slinks out of the shadows, pocketing the fragments. 

You're off birth control—barely any scheming words of whispered concern needed—but the idea of you taking a little pill to wipe away his efforts has him pulling back. Recalibrating his plans. 

He decides on a different route to the same end. 

Damnation at your own hand. 

John, for his credit, does begin to pull out after that—albeit, with a great deal of agonised reluctance—and instead comes all over your pretty face. 

With thick ropes of his pearlescent spend dripping down the apples of your heated cheeks, he doesn't think he's ever seen a sight more beautiful than this. 

And one with more opportunity.

Slowly, he swipes at it with his thumb and then promptly brings it down, hard, on your clit. You flinch, mewling at the overstimulation, and the threat he brings so close to your raw, unprotected sex. It's dangerous. This thin line he dances along could snap at any moment. Could rain hellfire and fury over his broad shoulders, unmake all the progress he'd steadily built up. 

He walks the precipice, anyway. He pulls his hand away, and brings two fingers up to curve over your cheeks. His thumb, stained with your slick and his come, slides across your bottom lip. 

The pout you give him—all wet-eyed lachrymose—has his spent cock twitching against his sticky thigh. “Fuck, love. Gonna send me to an early grave if you keep starin’ at me like that.” 

“You're cracked,” you slur around his thumb. In retaliation, he digs it into your tongue, and preens—full of nasty, gnarled satisfaction—when your eyes flutter, rolling into the back of your head at the taste. 

With this brief distraction, he drops his come-stained fingers to your mound, and rubs along the swollen rim of your hole. Just touching, pressing. A tease, a whisper. 

You tense. “John—” it's muffled around his thumb, and he isn't sure if it's a warning or a plea. 

He pushes the tips in, barely to the first knuckle, and just pets around your rim. 

It's a battle of wills, now. “No more than this,” he promises, and the undercurrent of his threat rents the air. Makes you bristle. 

You always loved a challenge—especially coming from him. 

“Just the tip?” You tease, spittle running down your chin. Your eyes are dark—midnight skies, ink black—and he's struck by the afterimage of himself in those pools. Made in the same image. 

He grunts, slides into the first knuckle, and scissors them apart. 

“John—” it's breathless. Your teeth spear his thumb, tight around his bone. He wants nothing more than to have you bite down hard, scar his bones with the gnawed meteors of your desire. Your desperation. “Fuck—please—”

You give in so prettily, and he barely has a moment to think about how quick it's been when you angle your hips, hand falling to grip his wrist tight as you slide down his fingers, all the way to the last knuckle. 

You clench around him like a vice. A pretty bow. He fucks you with his fingers, meeting your shallow thrusts with ones of his own, slamming viciously into your pussy as he coos adorations into your ear. 

With his other hand, he reaches down and fists himself over your bare mound, pressing the tip against your clit where it weeps prespend over your flesh. His thumb sweeps across what spills out, dragging it back down to your sopping hole, pushing it inside. 

It's probably not enough to reach your womb, to get you pregnant, but he clings to that tantalising fantasy as he drills his fingers into you until you come, breathlessly begging him to fuck you harder, to fill you up—

He isn't even fucking you with his cock, and you still beg him for it. 

John pushes the tip into your slit, fingers still buried deep inside of your throbbing pussy, and groans with the force of his release. It makes him dizzy, almost nauseous with it, filling his head with nothing but the sweet, wounded sound of your moans filling the room, and the wet squelch of his fingers pulling out of you. 

When he catches the threads of cognisance in his fingers once more, he leans back on his haunches, chest heaving, and brands the messy sight of your pussy fluttering, clenching around nothing, as his spend drips down your slit, over your hole, and pools in the sheets below. 

He's not sure if heaven exists, but he knows the sight of you, breathless and whimpering on his bed, is the closest a man like him will ever come to seeing it. 

The push-pull of this little game stretches on. 

Price likes to see just how far he toe the line before you're whimpering into the sheets, telling him don't, John, don't come inside me, I'm not anything, John—and he's ripping himself away from the tight clutch of your wet, hot cunt, and coming all over you.

The illicit tease of barely pulling out in time, and then scooping up the mess he makes on your face, your breasts, your belly, your ass, lower back, thighs, and spooning it into your pussy until it's a fixture in your bedroom ritual. 

And maybe it's the threat of it all, of playing such a dangerous game, seems to cudgel under his skin the most, ripping apart the thin veneer of that man he once pretended to be—righteous and good—shedding it off with each hiccupped gasp you make when he presses his come-slicked fingers inside of you, murmuring guttural words of affection in the shape of impish mockery (want it bad, don't you, sweet thing; so fuckin’ greedy for it, love—). 

He likes it the most when he can fuck you stupid on his fingers. Cockdrunk, and come-starved (because you are, of course; he hasn't come inside of your cunt in weeks, and doesn't miss the mournfully pitiful whines you give when he pulls out, depriving you of the pleasure of feeling him come inside you), you're too blissed out, swimming in pleasure, to think about what he's doing. 

In fact, he doesn't really give you much of a chance to think at all. 

The next few weeks are filled with him fucking you each night brutally, viciously, snarling low in your ear about how bad he wants to come in you, stuff you full, and then keep you plugged up all night with his cock that it takes, and then pulling out right before, committing the sight of your betrayed expression to memory where it'll sit like a trophy when you finally break. 

You make an appointment with your gynaecologist, and circle the date on his calendar. 

John notes it down. Tucks it away. 

And then he amps up the pressure.

John's fingers root behind your knees, pushing your thighs apart as he settles between them. His gaze drills into your bare cunt, slick and wet, and so ready for him. Eager for it. 

He'd counted the days, and knows that if there's ever the absolute worst time to have unprotected sex, to come inside of you, is now. 

Which, of course, means he has to. The clause in that is ironclad. Apodictic. 

“Bit dangerous,” he rasps, and lifts your leg up, resting your ankle on his shoulder. You fluster beneath him, panting and pretty, and fuck—he’s not pulling out of your pussy tonight at all. “Should I pull out?” 

It's a tease. A test. 

He reaches down as he says the words, gripping his cock and bringing it down against your wet heat. The bare, blunt head of his cocks slaps against your clit, and you arch, keening. Nails bite into the thick muscles of his biceps, and he leans into the sharp sting. Letting it ground him. Centre him. 

This will be your cacoëthes. 

He's been depriving you for weeks, and John knows that you're wanting for it. Desperate. The little twitches your hips give, as if begging him to fill you up, are proof enough of how much you want this. 

This. The dream he dripped into your ears, hot oil congealing over your frontal lobe; infectious and thick. You can try to chisel it off, but the pollution is already damning. Ruining. 

You want this. He wears the axiom like armour. 

And you beg for it—eyes shaded in gut wrenchingly beautiful lachrymose—and John snuffles closer, inching the weeping head of his cock into your tight, warm heat. 

The sight of splitting you open is something he never grows tired of. Something that, without fail, makes his balls ache. His chest thrum. Blood turns to ichor. To wine. He's drunk on the contrast made between you—a garish chiaroscuro of your pretty pussy, soft and sickly sweet—almost nauseatingly so—swallowing down the fat, girthy length of his cock. The thick streams of veins running along the flushed, heavy shaft against your puffy, soft folds is almost hideous. Sinful. He can't equate it to anything else except corruption. The horrific beast sullying the princess. 

And fuck—

The thought alone makes him throb. 

He's sullied you plenty, he reckons, and yet you always look so sweet. Especially now, when your rim is stretched taut around the thick of him, pussy squeezing, clenching around him in a vice, as if you weren't sure to push him out or pull him deeper. 

John decides for you. Opting instead to push your knees down to your chest, nearly brushing your ears, and follows with the bulk of his body until he feels your breath rush out of your lungs. You struggle for a moment, gasping wetly into his ear as his weight—every bearish pound of it—rests on you in the perfect mating press. Your bite into his biceps, keening prettily into his ear as he bullies the full length of his cock into you. Spears you open. Splits you apart. 

He can feel you gush around him, drenching his groin and thighs with your slick. 

Like this—chest to chest, forced to breathe in the same air, the same madness—he likes to just stare at you, taking in the heat simmering under your skin, the sweat beading along your temple, the pinch in your brow as you struggle to adjust to the sheer width of him cudgelling you open. A battering ram you're forced to make room for. 

He takes it all in, each flicker of emotion, each heaving gasp. Burns it into his memory. Lets it soften the iron around his heart. Keeps it there, nestled in the cradle of his limited love, held aloft by indelicate, bearish hands. This sweet thing. 

He can't wait to ruin it. 

If these weeks leading up to this were lovemaking, fucking, then this, this, is mating. Animalistic. Primal. He pushes in as deep as he can, until the tip kisses the ripened seal of your womb, and grinds his hips cruelly into the cradle of your thighs. 

Your nails leave bloodied indents in his flesh. A scar he'll proudly bear the mark of. A tattoo of the time when he turned you into something new. 

His balls are soaked. The sheets, too. He mocks you for it, a rasping growl lodged deep in his throat, taunting you about how fucking wet you are for him. How badly you need it. 

“Gotta plug you up, hm?” He grunts, and sets a pace that serves only to accentuate the sloppy, messy squelch of your cunt. 

His cock pistoning into you, alternating between deep, full thrusts that knock the air from your lungs, and heavy, slow plunges meant to badger the blunt head of his cock against your walls. 

You seem to like it best when he shifts his weight between each thigh, content to just grind into you. Make you feel every inch of him. You cling to him, yowling in his ear about how good it feels, how much you love this, love his cock—

The thick bed of wry, umber curls on his chest, stomach, and groin grow slick with sweat from the intensity of it all, from the shared heat. Pressed tight against you, he feels every quiver. Every flinch. Each moan is made known in a slight reverberation across his skin before he hears it. 

Drenched in sweat, glued to you as he fucks you into the mattress, John feels very much like the beast making a house out of a twisted whim in his head. Feverish, sick, he drives into you with the single minded goal of filling that home up with three. Then four. Five—

As many as you'll let him.

And he almost loses himself to that thought alone. Dancing sugar plums that make his balls tighten. He stems the flood by pulling out of you, letting his heavy cock slap against your sticky, soaked cunt as he heaves into your hairline, sucking in the heady loam, the humus, of your scent. 

The whimper you make when he pulls out of you sounds like a wounded animal, and the noise tickles across his hindbrain. His jaw aches. He bites down on a snarl as you thrash against him, mindless with the need to have him inside of you. It brings a nasty, vicious curl to the ends of his mouth, and he doesn't even bother trying to tamper it down. John lifts his head and lets you see his foaming muzzle, drooling with thick globes of saliva. 

“Stay still,” he growls, low and dangerous. It's as much of a warning as it is a command, and the way you react, tensing, coiling tight—the flash of unease. Shock. And then the need. Achy, heavy. He feels it against his jugular when you shiver, moaning his name into the space between you where it reeks of desperation. 

To soften the submissive tremble in your jaw—and maybe to temper down the challenging talons sharpening in your gaze—he nuzzles his cheek against yours, peppers wet kisses to your skin. He licks across your jaw, bites down on your flesh. 

He tastes salt and sin on your skin. 

(His eyes roll so far back into his skull he thinks he might get lost.)

“Gonna cum on your pretty cunt if you don't stop squirming, love.” 

And John loves you most for your waspish intelligence—the ire smouldering in your throat. The way you bite back just as hard, never afraid to bear teeth when he snarls. He doesn't think he could ever love someone too soft—not without tearing them to pieces. To shreds. 

But you wear plush, tender conchoidal skin over jagged, rough obsidian. He'll ruin himself if he ever tries to rip you apart. 

Like this, though—you melt. 

All that keen, vicious intelligence snuffed out. His scheming Cleopatra tamed on his cock. 

Your heels dig into the back of his thighs, urging him closer to your sex. “Come on, John, just fuck me, fuck me already—”

(Tamed, though, perhaps being a misnomer.)

He huffs into your neck. “Impatient little quean.”

It gets him a sharp bite to the tip of his ear, and the floor roars so loudly in his veins, he gets dizzy from it. 

“Fuck—”

He's pressing back into you again, into your warm, tight heat, and it's nirvana kissing his nerves. Liquifying his spine. He rolls into you with a weighted groan, buried to the hilt once more. 

But even with the respite, he knows he won't last. 

John needs you fucked stupid, docile and soft just for him, and sets out to do just that. Pounding into you with a spiteful twist of his hips that he knows will leave you a little sore, and tender tomorrow. But the idea of spreading your puffy, achy folds apart and soothing the slight hurt with his tongue for hours until you're sobbing into the cushions quells any hesitation that rears, begging him to slow down. 

Go easy on your pretty cunt.

(As if.)

John batters into you until your eyes glaze over, and your chin, cheeks, smear with drool. Until the challenge in midnight black melts into submission. Docile, and malleable. Perfect for him to mould. Shape. 

Reshape.

He glues to you, touch starved and tactile, and basks in the liquid heat that blooms from deep within you. 

“Gonna cum soon,” he snarls, broken by the heave in his chest as he fucks into you, starved. “Gotta pull out, love—”

You're gripping him tighter, anchoring him to your body. You haven't come yet. Something he dangles in front of you like a threat. 

He watches the slow crawl of realisation crest over your messy face, and thinks he falls just a little bit more in love with you at the sight of your little pout. 

Loves, even more, the way it breaks apart when he pounds into you harder, viciously, watching drool dribble off your chin, and reason leak from your ears—

“Please, John—” the sound of your whimpering has him grunting, head dizzy with the saccharine sweet taste of it on his tongue. “Please, please—come inside me. I–I want you to–to fill me up—”

“Yeah?” He taunts, mean and breathless. “Want me to come inside your sloppy cunt? Dangerous, ain't it? Jus’ might take, sweet thing. Is that what you want?”

You're howling a litany of sin into his ear, desperation drenches each clamour of his name, each orison uttered, begging him to come, to fill you up, and then—

“Fuck—I want it so bad—” his head is filled with static. Whitenoise. “Want it to take, John—”

He comes inside of you, cock pulsing so hard it feels like a sob. Filling you up. Wishing on all the stars that it takes—

As a reward for your good behaviour, he spreads you out over the sheets, and growls his approval into your sopping pussy, drenching himself with the taste, the smell, of you, promising to wear it like a perfume so everyone knows how good you are for him. Him, alone. 

(His, his, his—)

When you come, you nearly smother him, and he thinks he sees a glimpse of nirvana in baby soft yellow before he's pulled back by your shaking hands brushing the hair off his sweat-slicked forehead. 

“Are you okay, John—”

He rolls you under him, fucking into your drenched pussy like a man starved. That tantalising vision glues itself to his hindbrain, so close he can scent the fresh dew of fresh milk, and warm bread in his nose. Feel the bump of your stomach. 

He's almost angry about it, about being ripped away from that dream, and takes his aggression out on your sloppy, leaking cunt. The way his come trickles out, staining the mattress below and the back of your thighs has him growling darkly into your nape. 

“Keep it in,” he snarls, words sharpened on the whetstone of his need. “Keep it all inside, love.” 

“Ah, John, John—” something falls from your split-slicked lips, and his fingers bite into your hips. Punishment for the slurred backtalk. 

“I'll spank your ass if any of it leaks out—”

It does. Of course it does. 

He bends you over his knee, and slaps his broad, rough palm over each cheek ten times before deliriously shoving two thick fingers into your sloppy cunt, stuffing his come back inside your tender, swollen hole, rough and mean, as you howl, squirming in his lap about how you promise you'll be good next time, John, please—I'll keep it all in, I swear, I—

“You fuckin’ better, love.” He groans, and thinks about cumming on your messy face, all slick with sweat, and drool, but decides against it. A waste, he thinks, and leans over you to shove the thick, twisting length of his angry cock inside you to the hilt just spit his release against your seal once more. 

“That was…” You're still panting against his chest, eyes dazed, and body laxed. Melted wax over his chest. “Intense,” you settle on after a beat. 

There's a hiccup in your breath when he hums, chest rumbling with the sound. 

“Mm, but you liked it, didn't you?”

Of course you did. Of course. The evidence of it is drying, tacky and slick, on his groin, his thighs. 

You burrow into his side, peeking at him from over the thick bed of wry curls that clot over his chest. “You're fucking me like you haven't in years, John. Makes me wonder if you have an agenda.”

He considers your words. The weight of them. Wonders just how much you've clued into, but huffs when he catches the same look in your eyes as the one reflected in his own.

Cheeky little—

“Can't I just want to fuck you? Not everything has to be about schemes, love.” 

The oil of his lies, the sticky resin of his evasion makes you huff into his skin.

In all his meticulous planning, he'd picked up several books on this particular topic, and scoured every available, reputable, site he could find. John knows what to look out for by now, and keeps a keen eye on you—one that very quickly dips into obsessiveness, but you're kind enough to call it overbearing. 

Jesus Christ, John, why are you asking me how many times I pissed today? 

He just needs to wait things out. 

But rather irritatingly, he's called away overseas for the next week. 

Ah, well. He'll have to try harder next time. 

He arrives in Heathrow mid-morning, and follows Laswell into the office. There's a mountain of reports to fill out—things that, rather irritatingly, require his signature—and resolves to spend the rest of the day hunched over at his desk, even though there's an itch in the back of his skull demanding he go home. 

It is always like this, though—both the post-mission ritual of banal paperwork that seems almost comical considering what he'd just done, and the undeniable urge to flee back into the sanctuary of your shared home. 

His bones ache for it. 

Laswell huffs when he lingers by the exit, and he swallows a groan. 

While he was away, you'd been silent. Moreso than usual. 

Where he'd have expected an update on what was going on—the mundanity of your life that he clings to when the beast in his head whets its talons a little too sharp, digs into a little too deep—you’ve gone silent. Not radio. Not completely. But the information you give is sparse. Cagey.

You don't tell him about the visit to the gynaecologist, offering nothing but a quiet hum into the receiver, all blase and nonchalant, and a simple, equivocal: “good.” 

He tucks it away, lets the matter drop. 

If he timed things correctly—barring your impish prevarication aside—then something will begin to show soon. You would have mentioned something. Some nominal change to your physical well-being, but when pried, pressed, you huff. 

“I'm good, John. When are you coming home, anyway?”

He raps his knuckles on his desk, still smarting from the punches he'd thrown recklessly this past week, too keyed up to let his anger simmer instead of boil, and thinks. About you. About this. 

A week isn't a lot of time—he’s been called away for months in the past—but this feels like it's lingering. Time stretched and distorted. Elongated. And a part of him feels chipped, fractured after touchdown. 

It wasn't as if this particular assignment was any more, or less, dangerous than the ones he went on before. If anything, it was comparatively mild. Muted. He honed into his training, and did his goddamn job. And yet—

Yet. 

You lived in the spaces he occupied. The air he breathed. The water he drank. 

He brought you with him, something he's never, ever, done before. Perched pretty on his shoulder, he heard your voice in his head with every step he took, every radio call. 

But it was hallucinatory. Chimerical. You weren't there, you were here, but the problem lies in the lack of a divide that usually bifurcates the world into two fractions: his job and you.

It eats at him. 

He brought you where he's never taken anyone before. Never let them in. 

His thoughts were asunder. Pulled in all directions, but the centre was always you. His compass pointing north. He wants you. Needs you. His whole being has been recalibrated with the needle aimed toward you. 

An alert on his phone shakes him from his reverie. 

He reaches for it, slides his hand across the lockbar. The notification pops up. A message from his bank. 

His card—the one he gave you, the one you've used all of once to buy a chocolate bar when he gruffly, surely, complained about you not spending his money—has been used. 

Curious now, he opens his app, eyes scanning the threadbare purchases—all mostly interest fees and service charges, bar one. It was recently used at a drugstore for under twenty dollars. 

He doesn't know what this means, what you're playing at. He makes to text you, but he gets an email next. 

Thank you for your purchase; here is your e-receipt. 

His heart does something strange in his chest. Turns in on itself. Goes all askew. 

Not only are you using his card, you're using his account, too. He clicks it, eyes scanning through the purchases (only two), and blinks. 

A card, and—

His want takes the shape of a hand, presses against his jugular. 

—a pregnancy test. 

He knew when he started this game that this was, of course, the inevitable outcome, but having it here, right in front of him—in that sneaky, noncommittal way you always do things; behind his back, and in the dark, like you enjoy watching him try and sniff out the truth—has his belly knotting up. Churning. 

A pregnancy test. 

Fuck—

(and out of all the ways to tell him, you cheeky little—)

He's up out of his chair before he's even aware that he's standing. 

“Laswell,” he gets out, and can't be sure how his voice is so measured when his head is being shredded into pieces. “I'm out for the rest of the day. This whole bloody week, too—”

“Something bad happen?” 

His hands shake when he pulls his jacket on, slips his car keys into his hands. “No. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm going to be a father. A bloody dad—”

It's on that sentiment when his voice breaks. Shatters. He clears his throat, blinks furiously. Fuck. Fuck. It's happening—

Shangri-la sits in his fist, taking the shape of an e-mailed receipt. 

In his periphery, he sees Simon's head come up. Watching him. Measured. 

Laswell, too, eyes him with a degree of wariness. He supposes to them this means the end of everything. 

She breathes in. “Tuscany would be my choice.”

“Oh?” He tears his eyes away from the screen, gracing her with a steady, unflinching look. “Was thinking something a bit more local. Liverpool.”

It gets a scoff, one full of disgust. “She'll divorce you within the year.” 

“I'm having a baby, Laswell. Not getting married.”

“Oh, no?” It's a challenge. “I seem to recall something about someone being a proper gentleman, or was that just the lie you told your unofficial missus?”

“We'll get married. That's not up for debate—” an intern makes an alarmed face, like perhaps it ought to be. Had he not been holding nirvana in his hand, he might be a bit more cautious with his madness. Too bloody bad. “Wherever she wants—Tuscany, Udaipur, fucking Siberia. I don't care. What I’m a bit more concerned with is my expectant wife.” 

“Soon-to-be,” she volleys, just because she knows it's the sort of thing that will itch under his skin. 

“Already is, Laswell.” He gripes, flat. “Or damn near close to it.” 

“If she knows what's good for her, she'll say no.”

“Lucky me, then, that she doesn't.” 

Lucky him, indeed. 

On his way out, Ghost utters a heated congratulations to him, and John can see his gaze is absent. Turned inward, mind whirring. Reeling. He can hear the gears grind from where he stands, and if the ink-black madness in his lieutenant’s drifting, pensive eyes means much of anything, then John sends a silent hail mary to whatever unlucky person was misfortune enough to unleash the muzzle on that particular dog. 

Well. It's not really his problem. Until it is. Until it becomes one. But since it's not something that'll impact him in the next five minutes, he tucks it away. “Thanks.” 

He doesn't linger. Doesn't, really, even remember the ride home, head buzzing with thoughts that keep twisting around themselves, driving him mental. Things like, is it real? what if you were joking. what you weren't? 

Oh, fuck—

You better not be. 

But you wouldn't. You're conniving and wily, but you're not cruel. 

This is happening, then. 

You've been playing house with matches inside of a tinderbox. He shouldn't be surprised when it all goes up in flames, in smoke, but as he walks through the door, and glimpses the pregnancy test perched innocently on the counter beside a card—congrats, daddy (and the caricature of a man in a pinstripe suit nearly makes him gag)—he feels all the maligned pieces inside of crack. 

It shifts—

You walk out, hand cupped protectively over your lower belly. Eyes gleaming like a wild cat crouched low in the tussocks surrounding the savannah, watching him an eager sense of anticipation, excitement, and just the slightest edge of what he can only imagine the unfortunate mate of a black widow sees before it's consumed. Spare parts. 

It thrums inside of him. Ignites this wicker basket he calls a heart until it's cinder. Ash. Soot. He breathes it in. Tastes you on his tongue. 

John doesn't have the words. Can't think beyond the steady brag of his burning heart. 

His. His.

—and then it all falls into place. 

Yours.

He dotes on you with an almost unhinged devotion, murmuring stilted, gruff words of muted affection into the shallow bump on your belly. Ones that you, politely, pretend not to hear. 

A new bedtime ritual, one he adheres to with an almost obsessive need. 

Until it becomes too much. 

“Go and get my prenatal vitamins from the washroom, please. I just need five minutes without you smothering me, you stupid bear of a man.”

“You love it,” he grumbles, but acquiesces, giving your small, barely there bump a pat. “I'll be back soon.”

“Oh, no… please take your time.” 

Despite the prickle in your tongue, your eyes are soft. Warm. Melting him just a little more. 

John pulls away, and doesn't even pretend the reluctance to be apart is feigned. 

“It's in the drawer,” you call, voice stretched. Echoing. “Next to your shaving cream.” 

He pulls the drawer open, scanning the contents briefly, before finding the purple bottle in the back. Why you chose here of all places to put the bloody things—

His knuckles knock against the old box of condoms, tipping it over. There's a strange rattle as it falls, and his brows furrow at the noise. 

Curiously, he reaches for it. Shakes it as he picks it up. The same sounds spill out. He pops the flap of the box open, peering inside, and—

A gruff chuckle crackles in his throat. 

Inside the old box of condoms—the ones he never bothered to throw out, or use—is an accumulation of all the pills you'd meant to take. 

His jowls ache. He rubs at his jaw with his hand, and feels the skittish patter of his heart thudding out of his skin. Madness in his veins. 

John closes the drawer with his knee, and then tosses the box of condoms in the bin, leaving it for you to find later when you're inevitably wracked by another wave of morning sickness. A little shred of vindication for this little game you made him play. 

Though he supposes turn-about is fair play, and the number of pills in the box is less than the months he spent scheming for this vision of his.  

In the back of his head, the beast purrs.

“Do we need to play these games again for the next one,” he rasps. “Or can I just fuck you until it takes.” 

You blink at him, wide and owlish. Full of faux innocence as you coax the beast out of hiding. “I don't know what you're talking about, John.” 

More games, then. He thinks he might crack open your ribcage and rest his weary head on the frantic beat of your heart. 

“Mm, don't know what I'd do without you,” he says, guns aching. He reaches for the pack of gum (no smoking around the baby or you'd toss him off the balcony), and pops a spearmint into his mouth. “Might live longer, I reckon, but—”

Your elbow digs into his side. “You sure about that?”

He just kisses your crown in response, and places his heavy, scarred hand over the curve of your belly. The beast inside purrs, content for now. Satiated. 

When he looks into your midnight eyes, he finds your own beast slumbering away. 

A match made in a tinderbox, he guesses, and kisses you until you're dizzy. His very own Shangri-la sitting pretty inside his bed, nestled in the castle in Spain you helped him build.

Will help him fill. 

[lets-try-some-writing]

A more humorous concept.

Cybertronians, despite being non-organic in origin, do in fact have to shed their bulky outer armor every now and then. Old plates get brittle or otherwise damaged over time, and while rather energon consuming to regrow, sometimes it just has to happen, especially if rust or other nasty stuff has gotten into it. The missing plates regrow in relatively short order and the shedding only occurs after sufficient damage it taken or once every few vorns or so. Sometimes, the plates can even be removed by a medic with a quick visit if they are loose enough. The only problem with this? Everyone experiences something a little different.

Poor Ratchet suffers from what amounts to alien chickenpox. In order to get all his old armor off, he claws at it like there's no tomorrow. He will die before being caught trying to drag himself along the ground or rubbing himself up against various textured surfaces to get old armor off, but it has happened. It still happens when he's pretty sure he's alone. Optimus was there to watch Ratchet roll around on the Archive carpet many times.

Arcee is lucky in that all her old armor tends to drop within a few hours, but without it, she can't regulate her internal temperature very well. To compensate, she practically turns into a space heater as her systems kick into overdrive. The kids can't touch her without getting burned and the team are left yelping whenever she touches them when they aren't prepared for it.

Bulkhead is forced to endure losing his plates agonizingly slowly. He'll lose a plate, a new one will grow in. He's in a near never ending state of shedding. And so, much to Miko's horror, he'll just lose pieces sometimes. He's not all that concerned since the shedding, while continuous, is so slow. But the humans? It still startles them to hear an ominous THUNK out of nowhere and see a chunk of metal on the ground.

Ultra Magnus, much to his chagrin, turns into a beacon every time he sheds. His already vibrant colors come in even brighter as new armor grows into place. And so for a few weeks, he looks like an exotic fruit of neon blue, bright red, and blinding silver. Sunglasses are required.

Wheeljack likes to say he never sheds, but when he does, he recharges like the DEAD. Growing in new armor is very biologically taxing, and rather than suffering from other side effects, Wheeljack just takes a really long nap. He'll recharge for days at a time, getting up only to raid the fridge and then pass back out again until his armor is back where it should be. The humans have no clue he sheds armor because of this. But Bulkhead knows. He's been the one paying for Wheeljack's shed time groceries since before the war.

Smokescreen has only shed a handful of times, and all those times he was usually instructed to keep out of the way since he was in danger of being skewered without his armor. So now, whenever he sheds, despite experiencing no negative side effects, he instinctually goes to hide somewhere dark and safe until his armor grows back in. This has led to several incidents of someone screaming like a little girl as a spindly Smokescreen capitalizes on his status to scare people whenever they turn on the lights.

Bumblebee doesn't necessarily suffer whenever he sheds old armor, but he's just uncomfortable to look at. The scout tends to look like a plucked chicken whenever he loses his armor, and due to the weight shift when he losses so much mass, he hunches over oddly. In total, he looks a bit ghoulish and it actually hurts the team to witness, so usually he's given a few days off to get himself in order.

Optimus is in a similar boat to Ultra Magnus and Bumblebee on the rare occasion he sheds old armor. He always gives Ratchet a scare by going entirely grey about a week before the shed actually begins. He loses any and all color in affected areas and then proceeds to lose exactly all his armor within a few hours. Then he's left looking like a gangly half grown youngling due to the length of his arms and legs compared to the rest of his body. Megatron never ceases to mock him whenever it happens, but when Optimus's armor comes back in, his shoulders always come in bigger and sharper than before, a fact Megatron despises.

[cece693]

Can We Kill Her? (Jasper Whitlock x M! Vamp Reader)

This is a short thing I wrote before focusing on the next parts of Velvet Ring. It's not my best work (in my opinion), but it's fun. Hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Jasper really needs to be given an award for not killing the human, Bella Swan, for encroaching on what's his.

tags: jealous Jasper, petty Jasper, Edward is dumb, Bella bashing, The Cullens are no help, Rosalie is cool, Bella is obsessed with the wrong brother

Jasper's hands clenched into fists, the tension rippling through his body like a coiled spring ready to snap. His amber eyes burned with a dark intensity as he stood by the car, watching Bella Swan hover around you like a fucking mosquito. The human girl had no idea what kind of fire she was playing with, and Jasper wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his composure.

"I’ll kill her, I swear I’ll fucking kill her." he muttered under his breath, his Southern drawl sharper than usual, laced with venom. His eyes narrowed into slits as Bella smiled shyly up at you. This wasn’t the first time, and it was becoming increasingly clear that she had no intention of giving up. She was delusional, Jasper thought. There was no other explanation for her behavior. The girl believed she had a chance with you. As if you would want an appetizer when you already had a whole ass buffet. (Rosalie was really rubbing off on the soldier; his confidence and bluntness even scared him sometimes.)

"Jasper," Talking about his 'twin', Rosalie wore a smug smirk, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her arm as she leaned against the car, unbothered. "She’s not worth the effort. Do you really believe M/N would be unfateful, much less with her? I will kill him myself if that ever happens." Despite the playfulness in her words, Jasper knew she was being reassuring in her own way, showing that she cared about you both.

Alice, who usually would intervene whenever someone bad mouthed the human, remained silent. Her eyes were fixed on Bella, a rare flicker of disapproval crossing her face. The future she had seen didn’t include Bella vying for your affections, and it unnerved her to no end. But, honestly, whatever included Bella Swan was irritating in itself.

Edward, on the other hand, stood like a statue, glowering. He was seething—his plan to play the hero had spectacularly backfired. Saving Bella from being crushed by that van hadn’t worked as he’d hoped. Instead of falling into his arms, Bella had transferred all her admiration, her obsession, onto you. This caused quite a rift in your non-existent relationship: it wasn't your fault Bella thought you were better than him, that just spoke to how Edward should change himself to attract a mate.

"Bella, stop." Your voice caused the rest of the Cullen siblings to look in your direction. "I tried to be nice, but perhaps I need to be blunt. I don't like you that way. However, you know who does?—Edward. My obnoxious, melodramatic..."

“Is he really trying to be a wingman while insulting you, Edward?” Emmett’s booming voice interrupted with a chuckle, and he shot you a grin, clearly amused by the unexpected turn of events. “Damn, that’s harsh, but at least he’s being honest.”

“Emmett, shut up!” Edward’s hiss was sharp, his patience fraying by the second.

Bella looked at you as if you just revealed you killed her father; face downcast, eyes brimming with tears. You didn't like it one bit. It was as if she didn't listen to what you were saying. Was she deaf?—why did God curse him with these good looks and personality? "Okay, look. I'm sorry, but I had to get that out there. I hope you take my advice, though. Perhaps a dinner at our house might help you see Edward in a new light."

At your words, Bella's mood visibly brightened. Now it was up to your brother Edward to do the rest. Leaving the human standing there, you returned to your siblings, who all had a range of angry, amused, and jealous expressions. But none mattered more than Jasper, whose fury made you feel gooey inside. "Babe," you whispered, "Don't give me that face. I'm just helping Edward finally get his head out of his ass and make a move."

"Does that also include you being on that said date and fucking her because our dear virgin brother is scared? This is not helping, this is just pushing her delusion further." Jasper glared at you, crossing his arms so as not to allow you to wrap yourself around him.

"Jasper, I think you're overreacting—"

"Really?! You know what. Fine, go play hero. But no sex for a month." You stood there, stunned, as the words sank in. A whole month? Jasper wasn’t bluffing, and you knew it. His cold, distant gaze as he settled into the back seat made that abundantly clear. Emmett’s booming laughter only made it worse, the sound grating against your nerves.

“Jasper, wait.” you called, but he didn’t even turn his head. Instead, he closed the car door with a loud thud, shutting himself away in an impenetrable wall of silence.

“Man, he’s really pissed,” Emmett teased, giving you a friendly slap on the shoulder that nearly knocked you off balance. “A whole month, huh? That’s rough, dude. Should’ve just told Bella to take a hike.”

“Yeah, thanks for the advice, Emmett.” you muttered sarcastically, throwing him a dirty look as he continued to snicker. You didn’t need his commentary right now, not when Jasper’s anger was already weighing so heavily on your chest.

You took a deep breath, pushing down the swirl of frustration and anxiety. There was no turning back now. This whole mess was your own doing, and the only way out was to see it through to the end. With a sigh, you opened the car door and slid into the driver's seat, casting a sideways glance at Jasper, who sat stiffly in the back, his arms crossed and his expression resolutely turned away.

The drive home was painfully silent. Jasper didn’t say a word, didn’t even look at you. His silence was worse than any argument, every second dragging out like an eternity. When you finally pulled up to the house, he got out of the car, slammed the door behind him, and headed inside without waiting for you.

Bella didn't waste time inviting herself to their home the next day. Edward picked her up, leaving you to deal with the tension between you and Jasper. The silent treatment from your husband was torture. You thrived off attention and affection, so even if it seemed exaggerated to others, you did feel like you were dying...again.

When Bella arrived, dressed in that blue dress that looked far too formal for a simple dinner, you felt your unease grow. Her eyes were glued to you the second she stepped through the door, blatantly forgetting about Edward, who was beside her, helping place her sweater on the coat rack. “Bella,” you said, forcing a polite smile. “I’m glad you could make it.”

She smiled, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes as she stepped closer. “Thanks for inviting me, M/N. I’m really happy to be here.”

“Of course,” you replied, trying not to wince at the clear undertone in her words. She was still holding on to that fantasy, just as Jasper had feared. You needed to put an end to it—and quickly. "I hope Edward will continue with the house tour. After all, he's the most excited about your company."

Bella nodded furiously, but it was clear she was just agreeing with you for the sake of it. Sighing, you motioned for the couple to head to the kitchen where the rest of the Cullens were preparing dinner. Bella conversed amicably with Esme, who was all too eager to meet this human who managed to steal her son's heart, but Carlisle's greeting was clipped. It's clear who knew more about the current tension and disapproved of Edward's love interest.

"And finally, we have Jasper, M/N's fiance." Edward finished, sighing when Bella's face fell.

"But I thought—"

"Well, you thought wrong." Jasper hissed, eyes narrowed at the human as he pushed himself from the corner of the room. He stood beside M/N, his hand wrapping around the slightly (taller/shorter) man.

"Jasper." Esme sternly said.

"No, I'm tired of watching how she throws herself at my soon-to-be husband. M/N has been pretty clear that he's not interested, yet Bella continues to push. Have some fucking respect for yourself."

"But you two are so young to be getting married—" Was Bella's only response to Jasper's statement, causing half of the room to roll their eyes. Now it was just sad and pathetic.

"Bella, we've been together for some time now. Do you really believe we would be making such a decision if we weren't sure?" It was M/N who replied, snuggling the cold body of his husband. Oh, how he missed this. "Now, with that out of the way, I believe Edward would be thrilled to continue with the tour."

[wonderjanga]

Cults Galore

Cults. If the JL had a nickel for every cult dedicated to Marvel they’ve found, they’d have two nickels. Don’t get them wrong, it’s not a lot, but it’s still concerning.

Aquaman, Green Lantern, and Marvel were sent to an alien planet. They needed to establish peaceful contact with the people there. That was the goal. So why? Why in the Gods’ names are the people here all tatted up with lightning bolts suspiciously similar to Marvel’s. Why are they calling Marvel Thavma? And most importantly, why are the three being lead to some type of shrine?

Hal: “Hey uh… I’m sorry to ask, but what does this shrine you told us about have to do with the treaty you need to sign?”

Alien Leader: “They are sacred grounds.”

Hal: “Okay…?”

Alien Leader: *continued to lead them until they came upon a bunch of people petrified into stone. The people were placed in a circle, in the middle was a grand shrine*

Aquaman: “What’s with all the statues?”

Alien Leader: “Statues- ah yes. The statues.” *looks to Marvel* “We’ve all kept them preserved just for you. Just in case that of off chance you decided to grace us with your presence again. And would you look at that? It paid off.”

Marvel: *awkwardly smiles at the Alien leader*

Alien Leader: *looks back ahead*

Marvel: *elbows Aquaman and starts speak in Atlantean* “This guy’s creepy.”

Aquaman: *responds in Atlantean* “I know.”

Hal: “What’d you guys say?”

Marvel: *switches back to English* “We’ll tell you when we get back to the ship.”

*awkward silence of following the Alien Leader*

Aquaman: “So… The statues. You make em or something?”

Alien Leader: “No no no. They’re all soldiers of the people who used to oppress our kind. They were petrified by our very lord themself during the uprising.” *looks over to Marvel* “Do tell me you remember?”

Marvel: *searches though memories and finds out a previous champion had done all of this* “I do.” *looks literally anywhere but Hal and Arthur*

Hal and Aquaman: *immediately share a look*

Later…

Marvel, Hal, and Arthur: *all at a burger joint eating in civvies*

Arthur: “I don’t get it. How do you just fail to mention that you petrified an entire army?”

Marvel: *shrugs* “I kinda forgot.”

Hal: “How do you just forget that? Also, you guys never told me about what you guys were saying. Are you guys gonna spill the beans now or what?”

Marvel: “What are you talking about?”

Hal: “When you elbowed Arthur?”

Marvel: “Ohhhh that.”

Arthur: “We were just talking about how the guy was creepy.”

Hal: *nods head* “True dat. True dat.”

Then there was the second cult. This one’s human though, don’t worry. This cult was found by Marvel, Batman and Robin.

Marvel: “I thought you just said this was just a cult. Not a cult for me.” *looking around at the various tapestries with his lightning bolt symbol*

Robin!Damian: “What makes you think it’s for you?”

Marvel: *gestures to the lightning bolt on his chest, then to the other lightning bolts on the decor of the place*

Batman: “They were worshiping someone named Keraunos.”

Robin!Damian: “And unless your name is Keraunos, it’s not for you.”

Marvel: “I’ll have you know it’s actually one of my names.” *walks until he stops in front of a fountain*

Robin: “You can’t be serious. Why would they worship you of all people? There’s hardly anything of value to worship in the first place.” *follows after him and stops near the fountain too*

Marvel: “Should I be offended by that?” *looks down at the water* “Geez, were they drinking electricity charged water? Normal humans cannot do that.”

Batman: *also walks over and kneels down slightly to read a plaque* “This plaque says the water was blessed by you.”

Marvel: “Uuuhhhh… No it isn’t.” *sticks a finger into the water* “This is just normal electricity.”

Robin: *tries to stick his own finger in*

Batman: *swats Damian’s hand away* “Regardless, what’s causing the electricity?”

Marvel: *puts some of his own lightning into the water*

Batman, Robin, Marvel: *hear something short fuse and look to see something off to the side smoking*

Marvel: “Probably that.”

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞.

Synopsis: What I think Alastors wife would be like, if he had one of course.

Warnings: mentions of blood, pinning, harassment?, Alastor being himself, not in a specific time period but at some point shifts to hell? Let me know if anyone is interested in a part two!!

Navigation!! // Masterlist!! // Serendipity Writes (event)

Alastors wife probably didnt like him at first, and that’s a guarantee. He likes a challenge, but Alastor also likes being liked by people. It fills his ego, makes him feel good about himself. He likes to watch people stumble and fall but quite literally cracks under the pressure of doing just that when it comes to winning you over. Chances were he was constantly trying to figure you out, for two reasons. One, being that he didn’t understand how you couldn’t like him. I mean come on, look at him! He’s got the charm, the manners, the style and the class, the status. What more could you want? The second reason being, the more you denied him, the more he took it as a challenge, the more he wanted you.

Well, surprise surprise, you dont like people with an image to keep up; and to his dismay, that’s exactly what he does. He projects an image. One he refuses to change, and even after marrying you, still doesn’t drop the image, but starts to become more real and honest with himself.

“People who project an image of themselves to others are just trying to fool themselves into being someone they aren’t.” Was what you told him.

Alastor had also asked you out multiple times before you finally said yes. Everyone knows Alastor is very picky with the people he chooses to surround himself with. Everyone he associates with is either there to serve him, or to provide him with something, even if they’re unaware of it. Which only made you trust him less. What purpose did you serve him? What if one day he found you no longer useful and tossed you to the side? Well what were you to do then?

Denying him proved to be a challenge in itself, seeing that he’s quite literally everywhere all at once.

He’d try cheap tricks first. Buying you gifts, constantly showing up at your doorstep with a bouquet of flowers or a stuffed animal. One time he even got you a whole gift basket of your favorite treats. How sweet~ if it was actually about you and not him just trying to patch up his ego. Well at least that was what you thought on the matter.

If that didnt work he’d resort to going ghost. After all, people only miss you when you’re gone right? Well not in this case. He had left you alone physically, at least to your knowledge, but he had still kept a close watch on you. Why, he just knew it would bother you that he suddenly stopped! Until he overheard you speaking with a friend about how happy you were to finally get some peace and quiet. Well that simply wouldn’t do. After all, you should always make an impact, and what kind of impact would he be leaving on you if you went back to your old boring life? No no that just wont do dear.

He’ll start showing back up at your doorstep, taking you on surprise outing to force you to spend time with him. He’ll take you on a walk around a nearby park, a restaurant one day, the picture show the next. He has a long list of places to take you, so you’ll never go to the same place twice! Get your dancing shoes because he’s gonna take you out to the town for the night, after all the city never sleeps! This is when he becomes less forceful, but more of a decent calm. He begins to listen more when you speak, and you actually begin to care about what he’s saying, what a shock!

It’s almost like a switch flips after your outings. He’ll take you to an orchestra show, snickering to himself when he sees your eyes begin to water as the show closes out. He’ll force you to hold onto his arm as he walks you across the street on a rainy night, making sure you don’t slip or trip on the wet pavement. If you ever do, he’ll try his best to catch you and if he doesn’t? Oh what a nightmare, it seems he’s fallen too! For you that is~

You two begin to feel closer, not only physically but emotionally. He gets you to open up about your personal struggles, and in turn, he’ll share some of his own, but not too much. He doesn’t allow himself to be fully and completely vulnerable with you, not yet. But he does try his best to sympathize with you when you share your piece of mind with him. He feels accomplished to know this part of you, and his ego is the last thing on his mind anymore, but instead you take up all the space.

He doesn’t use pet names for you, not cute ones anyway. He’ll call you his devilish belladonna, especially if you love flowers. His creepy spider Lillie. He’ll often speak in the ‘language of flowers’, and will educate you on it if you don’t know so you know exactly what he’s talking about.

He’s the type of person to correct people in public to make them feel stupid, but he never does that with you. Instead he’ll wait until it’s just the two of you and tell you jokingly how wrong you were. You’ll get upset because he let you look like a fool, but in his mind he’s just protecting your feelings. If anyone else corrects you, they’ll have their mouth sewn shut that’s for sure!

He never gets you the same bouquet of flowers. They’re always different, and every week or so you have a new one. He keeps a separate batch for himself so he knows when to get you another. That being said he also makes the bouquets himself, he does not buy them for you already made.

When you finally take Alastor up on his offer to court you properly, he is over the moon about it! Finally, you seem to be coming to your senses dear! Though you quickly follow that comment up with a “Let the blood rush to your head first.” He just bats his lashes at you with a smile. You always know how to make him feel so loved!

Gets very jealous very easily. If he sees you laughing with someone that isn’t him, he’ll size them up before deciding if they’re a threat or not. Heaven forbid anyone actually put their hands on you and uh oh! Limb of the floor someone come get it!

His possessive nature is rooted in abandonment, and thus being said, he has deep attachment issues to you. You are never out of his sight when you two begin dating, and you’re hardly ever far from him in general. You two dress similarly too, especially if you’re from the same era. He’ll switch up your wardrobe slowly so it complements his.

He isn’t one for strong PDA unless he feels like he needs too or just has a strong want too. Usually it’s an arm around your waist, or you hanging onto his arm loosely. The most he’ll ever really do is a kiss on the back of your hand or to your temple. That being said, he’s like this for various reasons.

One, he has a lot of enemies, which means that not not only does that put you in danger, but if you’re also a powerful overlord, it puts him at risk too, though he doesn’t care much about that part.

Second, he doesn’t like physical contact much, and though he always makes an exception for you, he has his image and pristine reputation to keep up. Which you extremely dislike but tolerate because it’s Alastor and if he hasn’t changed much in centuries, nothings going to change ever.

Alastor is very very fond of you, whether you believe it or not. Your fiery attitude has him whipped more than he likes to admit. He’ll joke with other sinners that he’d sacrifice you to save himself but you both know that isn’t true, his nervous ticks prove it to be false, if you do say so yourself.

He’s very fidgety. He’ll tug a piece of your clothing or twirl a strand of your hair between his claws. If you claim he’s messing up your hair he’ll cast a tornado of shadows around you to fuck it up even more, and then smiling at you lovingly when you threaten to cut his ears off because you can’t tell if they’re his hair or just furry ass ears. You always give him a good laugh.

Other sinners are actually convinced you both hate each other, but turf wars on the news show that you two are the most in love when you’re wreaking havoc on innocent sinners for no possible reason other than the fact you two had an argument and the best way to settle it? Dancing in the rain, which actually isn’t rain, just blood falling from the sky because you like to kill people for fun.

“My darling looks the best in red if I do say so myself! Especially if she’s dressed by another’s remains, oh the beauty!”

Alastor has and will continue to get in his feelings about you and his mother getting along so well. He loves you both to pieces, so seeing his two favorite people together makes his dead heart swell with joy.

He’ll ask you to accompany him to the tailors, he values your opinion more than others so you often make adjustments to his suit and he’s just like ‘Whatever she says that’s what’s going on the suit.’ You also make him your personal dressing doll, trying different patterns and styles on him for fun. Alastor is a true skinny jeans hater and he will die on that hill, again. He really appreciates the 60’s style, but prefers to stick to his own decade.

He will take you out hunting with him, and the two of you share breakfast together with the fresh meat you’ve caught. He only gets the best quality for you because he refuses to have you two ‘eating like chums’. A restaurant tried to lie to the two of you, saying their meat was high quality and fresh. Alastor killed everyone in it and you two shared remains like a true power couple. Hells finest of course. ;)

He’s very critical of picking out jewelry for you. Hunting for the perfect ring for you took him ages, mainly because he knew exactly what he wanted but no jeweler had what he wanted all in one ring. So instead he forces them to make him a custom one. Torn limbs and bloody parts later, you have the ring that Alastor worked so hard to give you. He proposes to you Extermination day, claiming he’d love to spend another year in hell with you before the angels come to rip you two apart from each other. It was such a sweet day, at least to you it was.

The type of relationship where he plays the piano and you sing. He loves when you sing and will gush about you to anyone in sight even if he doesn’t know them.

Is very needy in private. He’s a stage 10000 clinger, and will stick to you like his life depends on it, but will be damned if anyone catches him. You don’t tell anyone about it, you like the private life.

You two have cook offs all the time. You make the hotel staff judge, and ultimately Niffty is the tie breaker because she’s brutally honest. Once she told Alastor he should stay out of the kitchen because women were better at it for a reason… harsh!

He was fine though, he got her back by ridding the hotel of bugs. He knows she likes chasing them around and for that she sobbed at his feet for ten minutes asking him to bring them back. It didn’t take much actually, Sir Pentious brought them back on his own, much to Charlies dismay.

He loves to read with you. You two often read a book and once you both finish you have a tea session over it. It starts off being about the book and then somehow shifts to just gossiping and talking shit about the other overlords, except for Rosie, we love Rosie in this household.

Speaking of, Rosie is usually where you get your clothes from. She’s a sweetheart when she isn’t picking pieces of muscle from her teeth, that sharp smile is a killer! She loves to talk about Alastor with you, and usually she’s where you go after you two have had an argument. You’re also her personal Barbie doll. She puts you in outfits and she and Alastor judge over them. Nine times out of ten you leave her boutique with a new wardrobe every time.

Now let’s talk about Vox.

Honestly the whole reason Vox knows about you is probably because he was digging through Alastors shit. But when he sees you? Oh lord, this man is HOOKED.

He doesn’t even know how Alastor managed to get you entangled with him. He finds out about you when you and Alastor aren’t dating yet, and he basically jumps at his chance to try to be with you.

Vox will forever consider you the one that got away, you can’t change my mind.

Alastor has proven time and time again that he’s basically better than Vox. He took a seven year back, came on the radio one day and boom all his viewers were back. In Alastors mind there’s no competition, just Vox being obsessed with the fact Alastor said no.

Valentino uses it against Vox all the time, and it will always make Vox buffer.