#( deception: 18 to continue the act )

[tiza0925]

Hello! I'm new to this but have you ever thought about any of your favorite characters while they're in the act and you look down at a certain part and they're so big on you that it scares you but they're pretty sure it could fit.I don't know if you could write something like that, sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.

hellooo, absolutely love this prompt so much ty for this ♡

men that make it fit | 18+

warnings/tags: nsfw, afab/female!reader, size difference, fingering, pet names, praise kink, squirting, raw sex, implied multiple orgasms, large cocks ♡

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Big men who just cover your entire body with theirs when they’re on top of you. 

Guys who make you feel so small when you’re on their lap, their hands are so damn big that they can cover your entire waist, legs, and hands—practically engulfing you. 

Big men that just pin you to the mattress while making out with you, they’re so strong without needing to try, and you probably should feel scared by the difference in strengths but god—you feel so secure. 

And you know he’ll take care of you even if he can hurt you sometimes—never on purpose unless you want it—because of how massive he is. 

Guys who feel just a little bad when they hear you cry from them pushing their thick fingers inside you—stretching your poor cunt and making you leak all over his hand as he curls his fingers inside your plush walls, coaxing out a throbbing orgasm from you. 

“Such a sweet little thing for me,” You hear him murmur, watching as your face twists with pleasure, and he can see the slight worry in your eyes as he fucks you with his fingers. “My baby is taking me so well already.” 

But can you take his cock? 

Fuck—what if it’s too big? 

It must be—his fingers are already too much for you—his dick will be nearly impossible to fit inside you. 

“You think you can be good and take my cock?” You whine, feeling heady and muddy as he pins both of your hands above your head on the bed, while his other hand continues to twist and curl inside you, his thumb pressing and rubbing your swollen clit. “I want to feel my favourite pussy, sweetheart.” 

But you suck in a shaky breath, eyes wide and scared because you know you can’t fit all of him in, and he chuckles breathlessly as he kisses your lips so softly, making you melt against him. 

“Don’t be scared,” He kisses your cheek, then gives your trembling lower lip a gentle pull with his mouth, trying to get you relaxed as he strums his fingers through your sopping folds, his voice low and deceptively soothing. “I’ll be gentle with you, okay?” 

He always is—and that’s the thing. 

No matter how gentle he tries to be—he still ends up stretching you so wide that you think you might actually split in half, the sting of him inside you being too much that you cry sometimes.

He kisses you, and reassures you, hand running up and down your body to spread goosebumps all over your skin. 

Then he’s pushing his pants off to let his fat cock bounce free—it lands on your belly, all hot and heavy, and your breath hitches as electricity sparks through your body—and your heart rate doubles with every passing moment, just waiting for him to stuff you with his cock. 

“Relax for me,” He says while guiding his dick to slide between your plush pussy, letting your slick folds hug his length and coat them in juices as he rocks his hips—his cock head bumping against your clit every time his hips are flushed against yours. 

“You feel that, baby?” Your lashes flutter, your eyes half-lidded as he works you up, making your cunt pulse as he glides his heavy cock over it. “You’re gonna be so good and fit all of me, okay?” 

You gulp, but you still nod—because you want to be good for him. 

You want to feel him and make him feel good. 

And he watches you, focused, taking in every twitch of your features as he slowly pushes the head of his dick inside you—his eyes alight with heat when he sees the way your mouth pops open with a gasp, already feeling the intense stretch of him. 

“You’re okay, baby,” he shushes you, sliding his hands under your thighs to guide them around his waist, and you whine as you hook your arms around his neck, bringing him closer, sloppily kissing him as he waits for you to adjust. “You feel so tight already—fuck—”

He groans, his voice vibrating against you, and you begin to breathe heavily as he pushes his fat cock into you—making you feel every agonizing inch as your pussy struggles to swallow him whole. 

“I—“ Your sentence gets cut short as you choke, already feeling him in your lungs and he’s only halfway in, “I can’t—”

“You can,” One of his hands comes up to swipe a fallen tear on your cheek with his thumb, while his other hand pins you to the bed by the waist. “I know you can, baby, you always did before.”

Which is true—you always did but—

It’s just so fucking big—holy shit—

You bite your lip, and your eyes squeeze shut as you try your hardest to relax—your fluids being pushed out as he lodges his dick inside your warm, plush walls, causing a wet mess all over your thighs and bed. 

You hold him as if you’re clinging onto dear life—taking all of him as he kisses you through it—until his hips finally press against your ass, his cock so deep that your limbs grow numb and you swear you can orgasm already. 

“There you go, sweetheart,” He purrs, waiting a moment as your pussy throbs around him, feeling abused and soaked, and he smiles down at you so achingly soft. “Taking me all like a good girl for me.” 

Then he pulls back—

“Oh god—” And you keen when he rocks his hips forward, sliding his cock along your walls, and he sets a pace of fucking you—getting you wet and your eyes to roll back as he becomes greedy with your pussy. 

“Look, baby,” He grunts, thrusting his cock in and out, his length coming out slick and creamy from your arousal, and he grips your face—fingers squishing your cheeks—to make you look down. “Look how well you’re taking me.” 

Your vision is foggy, you’re barely able to comprehend anything except for the dick inside your sore cunt, and you blink blearily as you try to look at what he wants you to see and—

Fuck.

You watch the way his cock disappears into your pussy, his girth forcing its way into you—and you let out a shaky breath at the way you’re taking it all in. 

Just like he said you would. 

“Told you I’ll make it fit, sweetheart, I always do,” You hear him murmur, and you force yourself to relax into a ragged breath as your limps melt into the mattress beneath you.

You feel like you’re being split in half as he fucks you over and over, bringing you higher and higher until you’re cumming all over him—gushing out liquid as you squirt on his cock with a wet moan, his name on your tongue—

And he takes good care of you throughout it all. His aftercare overwhelms you with cuddles of love and affirmation.

He loves you too much, anyway.

End.

Bokuto, Oikawa, Ushijima, Atsumu, Suna, Gojo, Choso, Sakusa, Geto, Sukuna, Nanami, Akaza, Oda, Kuroo, Hinata, plus any of your fav characters ♡

Masterpost

[mingi-s-dimples]

No Safe Haven - Jongho

“You're mine. Utterly, completely, mine.”

pairing: military general!jongho x captured fem!spy

genre: army/military au, 18+, filth, enemies to lovers

summary: you never thought infiltrating in his base would get you utterly destroyed and ruined in his office.. but he made sure to make you scream his name.

wc: 5.4k

warnings: military au, enemies to lovers, mean dom!jongho, bratty!reader, lots of cursing, lots of marking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, wrist restraint, lots of talking back tehehe, fingering with a glove, fingering in general, three rounds in total, desk sex, lip biting, biting, possessiveness, unprotected sex (boo use protection irl) completely consensual, for sure forgot something &&& will edit later.

Author's Note: HELLOOOO GUYSSS it's been a while since I've posted a fic of my own, of my own idea 🫣. I've been super into military attire and stuff these days because for uni I'm going to choose the military general medicine part not the citizen one 🤞 and I got pleeentyyyy of ideas to write just about thinking of the uniforms - ups (I'm a whore for this man I'm so sorry-). Anyways it's pure filth- enjoyy 😋🎀

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The battlefield had been bloody, ruthless. You had done everything you could to keep your cover intact, but in the end,

Jongho had caught you.

You had been sent to infiltrate his ranks, gather intel, and sabotage his forces from within. But the war general, known for his unshakable control and brutal tactics, saw through your deception from the very start. Now, you were his prisoner.

The heavy scent of leather, steel, and smoke filled the war tent where you knelt on the cold stone floor, arms bound behind your back. Your head remained high despite the tight ropes digging into your wrists, despite the oppressive weight of the man standing above you. Jongho hadn’t said a word yet, but his presence was enough to suffocate you.

Boots scraped against the floor as he circled you, slow and methodical, like a lion taking its time with a wounded prey. “I should have you executed,” he mused, voice deep, rich, unwavering. “That is the price of betrayal, after all.”

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “Then do it.”

His lips curled at your defiance, a smirk that was both amused and completely in control. "No," he murmured, crouching to your level. "Death is a mercy you don’t deserve."

Your breath hitched as he reached out, gloved fingers tracing the side of your face in a touch that was far too gentle, too intimate for an enemy.

“You infiltrated my army,” Jongho continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Lied to me. Manipulated my men. And yet… look at you. Still trying to act strong.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to break under his gaze. But then, his grip shifted—fingers tightening around your chin, forcing your head back until your neck was bared to him. His next words sent a shiver down your spine.

"Let’s see how long that fire lasts, little spy. Because make no mistake…" His lips brushed dangerously close to your ear. "I will enjoy watching you burn."

Your pulse was hammering, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Not when he looked at you like he already owned you.

He was too close—too much, too commanding, too intense. His breath fanned over your lips, his fingers still resting just under your chin, as if he were deciding whether to stroke or break.

You hated how easily he made you react. How his voice settled into your bones, how the weight of his gaze made your stomach tighten. So you did the only thing that made sense.

You spat in his face.

The moment the spit landed, a slow, dangerous silence settled between you.

Jongho didn’t move. Didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t react at all for a long, agonizing moment.

His head tilted as he slowly dragged his tongue across his teeth. His fingers flexed at his sides before he reached up and wiped the spit off his cheek with the back of his glove, watching you like a predator who had just decided to play with its food.

"You're fucking bold, aren't you?"

You barely had time to breathe before his hand shot out and wrapped around your throat.

Not crushing. Not yet. But firm, a warning.

His hand tightened around your throat, firm enough to keep you still, to remind you that he was the one in control here.

You should have been terrified. Any sane person would be. But you weren’t.

Not when his pupils were blown wide, Not when his breath came out ragged and heavy like he was barely holding himself back.

"You just don’t fucking know when to stop, do you?" his hand hovered in the air almost like he'd hit you, but he didn't. He backed off in a second.

Despite the way his dominance wrapped around you like a vice, despite the way his grip sent a heat spiraling through your core, you still smirked.

"You wanted to slap me," you murmured, your voice smooth, taunting. "But you didn’t."

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something darker in his eyes. Something almost feral.

"You really don’t know who the fuck you’re talking to.”

And then—his grip flexed, not enough to choke, but enough to steal your breath for half a second.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice dropping to something dark and commanding.

"I should throw you to my men," he murmured, his breath scorching against your skin. "Let them deal with you, break you the way traitors deserve."

A shiver rocketed down your spine.

"But you won’t," you breathed. "Because I belong to you, don’t I?"

The words tasted dangerous, but they weren’t a surrender. They were a challenge.

Jongho stilled and chuckled.

"See, that’s the thing," he muttered. His grip on your throat loosened just enough for his thumb to press against your bottom lip. "You talk like you have a choice."

His thumb dragged down, pulling your lip slightly—teasing, testing, owning.

"You think you can keep fighting me?" he scoffed. "That you can keep pretending you’re not fucking shaking for me?"

Your lips parted to spit something back, but you never got the chance.

Because he kissed you. And fuck, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a war, a claim, a punishment.

His lips crashed onto yours, hot and demanding, swallowing your gasp as his fingers tangled in your hair. Then—he yanked your head back.

A sharp pull, just enough to make you arch into him, just enough to make you fucking feel it.

The kiss was messy, deep, raw. His tongue brushed against yours, then forced its way in, taking, stealing, consuming.

You hated how easily he made you respond. How your body melted into him despite the fire in your veins.

His teeth sank into your lower lip, sharp, punishing, enough to draw a gasp from deep in your throat.

Jongho groaned, deep and wrecked, his dominance dripping from every touch, every movement.

"Fuck," he muttered against your lips, his breath ragged. His fingers tightened in your hair, keeping you close, keeping you right where he wanted you. Then, just as suddenly, he ripped himself away.

Your chest heaved, your lips tingling, swollen, fucking ruined. His forehead pressed to yours, his breathing uneven, heavy.

"I’ve wanted to fucking ruin you since the moment I found out you infiltrated my base."

Your stomach flipped violently. Jongho’s voice was rough, pure gravel, pure torment.

"I should have had you killed." His lips brushed against your jaw, your cheek, your ear. His grip on your hip tightened, pulling you flush against him. "But I didn't."

Your breath came in short, quick bursts.

"Why?" you whispered, and you hated how breathless you sounded.

His smirk was pure sin. "Because I wanted to be the one to break you," he murmured. "Wanted to see you fall apart under me, wanted to hear you fucking beg."

Your nails dug into your palms, the last remnants of your resistance hanging by a thread.

He tilted his head, his nose barely brushing yours. "I hate how much I want you," he murmured. “And I fucking love it at the same time."

The air between you was scorching, suffocating, dangerous.

"Tell me, little spy," he murmured. His lips ghosted over yours, his words dripping in dominance.

"Are you still going to pretend you don’t want this?"

And for the first time… You didn’t have an answer.

The silence between you was thick, suffocating, stretched to its very limit.

Jongho was still so fucking close, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide, his entire body coiled like a predator ready to strike. Then—he snapped.

With a low, wrecked curse, he yanked you forward, his grip like iron around your wrist. Before you could react, he lifted you up effortlessly, manhandling you like you were nothing, your back colliding with the small desk in the room.

His body followed—towering, overwhelming, consuming. And then, he shoved you back.

One palm wrapped around your throat, the other sliding up your waist, fingers digging in, staking his claim as your spine hit the cold wall behind you.

Jongho’s breathing was wrecked, his expression nothing short of feral.

"You really fucking love pushing me, don’t you?" he muttered, his lips crashing onto yours before you had the chance to respond.

This kiss was pure fucking destruction.

Hot. Messy. Feral.

He wasn’t kissing you—he was taking you.

His tongue pushed in, deep and demanding, licking into your mouth like he had something to prove. Like he wanted to ruin the way you tasted.

He swallowed the gasp you let out when his fingers tightened around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin.

"Fuck," he groaned against your lips, his hips pressing flush against yours, his grip tightening on your waist.

His thumb brushed up, pressing against your jaw, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

And god—his eyes.

Dark. Wild. Possessive.

"I swear to fucking god," he muttered, his voice low, dripping in dominance, "if you don’t tell me you want this, I’ll stop right now."

You licked your lips, still dazed, still burning from the way he kissed you.

He waited. Just a breath. Just a second. Then—you smirked.

"Stop?" you echoed, your voice syrupy sweet, teasing, testing. “You won’t."

Jongho’s jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard his teeth grind.

His grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging into your flesh, grounding himself.

"You really wanna play this damn game, don’t you?" he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, his breath scorching hot.

You tilted your head, batting your lashes. "I don’t know what you mean, General," you taunted. "I thought you were going to stop."

Something in him snapped at your words. "Fuck," he cursed, low and sharp and fucking wrecked.

Then, he kissed you again—harder, deeper, with even less patience.

His hand slid down from your throat, down your chest, gripping your waist, your thigh, spreading you open for him.

"Tell me you want this," he muttered, his lips dragging down your jaw, your throat, biting, sucking, leaving his mark.

His teeth scraped against your skin, his breath scorching hot against the bruises he left behind.

You inhaled sharply, every inch of you burning, every nerve alight with him.

Then, just to test him one last time, you murmured—so fucking soft, so fucking bratty—

"Make me."

Jongho groaned, deep and wrecked, his hand tightening on your waist like he was seconds away from breaking you completely.

"Oh, you have no fucking idea what you just asked for.”

His lips were relentless. They left no space untouched, trailing down from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your throat—biting, sucking, marking. He wasn’t just kissing you. He was ruining you.

The first sharp bite to your neck ripped a whine from your lips, your head tilting back as pleasure and pain mingled in a dizzying haze.

And just as you sucked in another breath— His hand wrapped around your throat. Not tight. Not yet. Just enough to remind you who the fuck was in control.

"Shut up," he muttered, his grip flexing, silencing the sound still stuck in your throat.

Your nails dug into the edge of the desk, knuckles white, body burning.

His other hand—hot, rough, possessive—slid up your waist, finding the torn fabric of your blouse.

Jongho exhaled sharply at the sight of your black lace bra, his breath coming out heavier, rougher, his restraint hanging by a fucking thread.

"God damn.." he muttered under his breath, his hands splaying over your ribs, thumbs brushing just under your breasts.

Then—his mouth was on you again.

His lips latched onto the swell of your chest, kissing, licking, then—Biting.

The first mark sent a jolt straight between your legs, a soft whimper slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Jongho groaned against your skin, his hands gripping your waist harder, his desperation slipping through the cracks.

His hat—that goddamn general’s cap he always wore like a crown—finally tumbled off, landing somewhere on the floor.

And god, that sight alone—his dark, tousled hair finally exposed, his head buried against your chest, his body pushing you further into the desk—It was almost too much.

And yet—you couldn’t resist pushing him further. You chuckled, low, teasing, amused by his sheer fucking desperation.

"You’re pathetic," you murmured, your voice dripping in mockery.

Jongho stilled and laughed.

Then, with zero warning, he sank his teeth into the curve of your breast. Not gentle. Not sweet. A punishment.

A small cry tore from your throat, but his hand tightened on your neck, keeping it trapped, keeping it his.

"You think this is funny, huh?" he muttered, his breath scorching against the bruises he left.

You grinned, breathless, wrecked, but still teasing.

"Yeah," you whispered, your lashes fluttering as you met his gaze.

Jongho exhaled sharply, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen, damp with you.

"God, you just don’t fucking stop," he muttered, his hands tightening on your waist, holding you in place.

"Then maybe," he continued, his lips trailing up your chest, your throat, back to your mouth,

“I should shut you up myself."

You licked your lips, still tasting him, still feeling the way his hands had claimed every inch of you.

And yet—he still hadn’t ruined you. Not completely. So you did what you did best. You pushed him further.

"You keep talking about ruining me," you murmured, tilting your head, voice syrupy sweet, taunting.

Jongho’s fingers twitched on your waist, his jaw clenching.

You smirked. "When are you actually gonna do it?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience snapping like a thin thread. Then—his hand was on your throat again. Tighter. Unyielding. His grip forced your head back against the wall, your body completely at his mercy.

"You wanna be ruined, huh?" he muttered, his voice low, dripping in danger.

You barely had time to breathe before he pushed forward, pressing his lips to your ear.

"You wanna be destroyed, hm?" he whispered, his voice a promise.

Your breath hitched, your body betraying you before your mind could catch up.

Jongho felt it. He fucking felt it.

"Let's see.. I wanna make you beg," he muttered, his hand sliding lower, his grip on your throat loosening just enough to let you breathe.

His lips dragged down your jaw, back to your throat, biting, licking, marking you deeper.

"I wanna hear you scream my name," he continued, his words scorching hot against your skin.

You sucked in a breath, your nails digging into the edge of the desk as his hands traveled lower, claiming, consuming.

"I wanna make you cry, cry for my mercy" he whispered, his teeth grazing your pulse. “But you won't get any.”

A small sound—something between a moan and a gasp—slipped past your lips.

He groaned, wrecked at the sound of you.

Jongho’s grip on your waist tightened, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"You really have no idea what you’ve done," he murmured, his gaze burning into yours.

"You really don’t fucking know how long I’ve waited for this."

His fingers dragged along your thigh, teasing, tormenting, pushing you closer to the edge without even touching you properly.

"You don’t get it, do you?" he whispered.

"You’re mine now."

His grip tightened on your jaw, his mouth hovering just above yours.

"And I’m gonna fucking destroy your pretty little pussy.”

He was looong gone.

The moment he yanked off his thick army jacket, revealing the sheer strength beneath—the broad chest, the cut muscles, the battle-worn scars beneath his black shirt—your breath caught in your throat.

And when he reached for your blouse, tearing it away to finally reveal the toned body that came with being a spy, his eyes darkened.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his gaze drinking you in, raw and hungry.

You should have been embarrassed. Should have felt exposed.

But instead? You liked it.

You liked the way his eyes devoured you whole. Liked the way his breath hitched as he took in every inch of you.

And god, his personality? That commanding, ruthless dominance?

It was everything you wanted. Everything you needed.

Maybe it was because of your career, the way you were trained to fight, to defy, to challenge the most dangerous of men.

Or maybe—you just liked men who knew how to fucking take.

Jongho’s fingers moved to your pants, unfastening them with zero hesitation. With one sharp tug, they were gone, pooling at your ankles, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

And that’s when he saw them.

The scars.

Faint. Barely there. Memories of fights, of battles you survived.

Jongho stilled. Not in hesitation. Not in pity. In pure, raw admiration. Then—he lowered himself. Dropped to his knees. And he pressed his lips to the first scar. Then another. And another. Each one kissed, licked, marked.

Your breath shuddered, your head tilting back against the wall, your thighs trembling beneath his hands.

You wanted to touch him.

Wanted to tangle your fingers in his thick, black hair, yank him closer, make him stay there forever. But you couldn’t. Your hands were still tied.

Jongho exhaled sharply against your skin, his hands tightening on your thighs.

"You’re fucking perfect," he muttered, his lips brushing over the inside of your leg, his voice deep, reverent, utterly wrecked.

Then—he lifted his head. And that look?

That ravenous, all-consuming, predatory stare?

It sent a violent shudder through your entire body.

Jongho didn't even bother taking off his gloves.

His breath was ragged, heavy, dripping in hunger as he pushed himself back up, towering over you again.

His gloved fingers—rough, calloused, strong—trailed from your breasts, grazing over your tight, sensitive skin, dragging lower, lower—

Until he reached the soaked fabric of your panties, barely covering what was his.

He exhaled sharply, his hot breath hitting your face as his lips brushed over yours, teasing, taunting.

"You’re dripping," he murmured, his voice a low, filthy rasp.

His fingers pressed against you, teasing the soaked material, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made your thighs tremble.

You whined, hips twitching.

"Mhm, you want it," he muttered, his tone dark, knowing, dripping in dominance.

He didn’t ask. He knew.

You glared at him, refusing to answer, refusing to give him what he wanted. So, he took it.

With one sharp, impatient tug, your panties were gone—ripped off like they were nothing.

And then—his fingers were on you. Bare, exposed, nowhere to hide.

A choked moan escaped your lips the second his fingers slid through your slick folds, gathering everything you were giving him.

Jongho let out a low, pleased sound, his jaw tightening.

"You’re fucking soaked," he muttered, almost to himself, almost like he was losing control just from feeling how wrecked you already were.

And then—he pushed in.

One finger, thick, gloved, sliding into your cunt with ease, filling you up in ways that made your breath hitch.

You clenched around him instinctively, a sharp moan escaping before you could stop it.

Jongho cursed under his breath.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, his forehead pressing against yours as he shoved in another finger, stretching you open, preparing you.

He didn’t ease you in. Didn’t tease. Didn’t wait. He destroyed. His fingers pounded into you, rough, deep, deliberate. Thrusting. Stretching. Curling just right.

Every drag, every push, every pump had your legs trembling, your breath hitching, your body shaking.

You moaned again, louder, a desperate sound that only spurred him on.

"That’s it," he muttered, his lips grazing your ear, his fingers moving faster, deeper.

"Let me hear you."

His free hand gripped your waist, holding you still as you writhed under his touch, helpless, wrecked, desperate for more.

He thrust his fingers harder, deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over and over until—

A strangled moan tore from your throat, your body clenching, tightening, shattering.

Jongho groaned, watching as you came undone around his fingers.

"Good fucking girl," he murmured, his lips trailing down your jaw, over your pulse, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat.

And then—he yanked his fingers out, his gloved hand covered in your slick.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he brought them to your lips.

"Open."

Your breath hitched. But you did.

And the second your tongue met the taste of yourself on his fingers, Jongho groaned—deep, guttural, wrecked.

"Fuck," he muttered, his jaw clenching.

Then—his hands were on his belt. Unbuckling. Unzipping. Freeing himself.

"You took my fingers so fucking well," he murmured, his voice a promise, dark and deadly and drenched in filth.

"Now—"

He grabbed your hips, dragging you to the very edge of the desk, lining himself up against your still-twitching entrance.

"Let’s see how well you take my cock."

Jongho didn't waste a second. His hands went to his belt—quick, precise, impatient.

The metal clinked as he unfastened it, and then—his pants dropped, pooling at his ankles, leaving him in nothing but his tight black briefs.

Your breath hitched.You could already see it.

The outline. The size. The sheer thickness. And then—his briefs went next. Fuck. He was big. Thick, long, heavy, the tip leaking with proof of just how much he fucking wanted you. And the look on his face? Ravenous. Starved. Like he was going to eat you alive.

Then—his teeth clenched around his gloves.

One by one, he yanked them off with nothing but his fucking mouth, his sharp canines digging into the fabric, his jaw tightening.

The sight? Sinful. Dangerous. Absolutely lethal. And the second they were off—he grabbed you. Spread your thighs wide open, lined himself up, and—

Slid right the fuck in.

One, brutal, devastating thrust. Every inch. Every single inch, buried deep inside you.

Your back arched off the desk, a broken moan ripping from your lips as he filled you completely, stretching you wide, making you take him.

A deep, low, animalistic sound escaped his chest, his hands gripping your waist so tightly it was borderline bruising.

"Tight as fuck," he hissed, his jaw clenching as he bottomed out, the head of his cock pressing against the very deepest part of you.

You clenched around him—hard. Jongho cursed under his breath. And then, when his gaze flickered to your face—

When he saw the way your lashes fluttered, the way your lips trembled, the way your eyes glazed over with unshed tears from the sheer stretch of him—

His expression darkened. And his cock fucking twitched inside you.

"Look at you," he muttered, his voice husky, sinful, absolutely wrecked.

"You gonna cry for me, sweetheart?"

His thumb wiped away a stray tear that slipped down your cheek.

"Yeah," he murmured, his lips grazing yours, his fingers gripping your thighs.

"You will."

Then—he moved. And ruined you. Hard. Deep. Merciless. His thrusts were brutal. Animalistic. Completely unhinged.

Your body fucking bounced with every snap of his hips, every shove, every relentless drive of his cock inside you.

"Taking it so fucking well," he muttered, his jaw clenched, his nails digging into your skin.

Deep. So deep. So goddamn good.

Your moans turned to whimpers, your whimpers turned to broken cries.

His fingers tightened on your waist, his thrusts turning sharp, rough, pure devastation.

"That’s it," he muttered, his voice a low, dark rasp.

"Fucking take it."

And you did. Every inch. Every thrust. Every ounce of filthy, reckless, dominating pleasure he gave you. You loved it. Fucking loved it.

And Jongho?

He was going to make sure you never forgot it.

Jongho’s grip on your waist tightened—bruising, possessive, unrelenting.

His pace grew harder. Deeper. More powerful.

Each thrust sent you reeling, your body rocking with the sheer force of him, the desk beneath you creaking under the weight of it all.

Then—his hand slid to your back. A sharp tug. A forceful pull. He dragged you closer, forcing you to take him even deeper. A wrecked cry left your lips. You cursed. You whined. You moaned.

Low, deep, almost feral—his voice drenched in raw satisfaction.

"You feel that?" he rasped, his fingers digging into your skin, his breath warm against your ear.

"Every inch of me inside you, just how I’ve fucking wanted—"

His head fell forward, a growl vibrating in his chest. He was close.

And then—his next words sent a full-body shudder down your spine.

"Gonna fill you up, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice hoarse, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, desperate.

"Gonna fuckin’ ruin you."

And then—he did.

He buried himself deep, filling you up, holding you there, making you take everything he gave you.

You gasped, your body clenching around him, your mind spinning, your breath hitched—

But Jongho wasn’t done. Not even close.

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. His fingers brushed up your spine—slow, teasing, dangerous.

Then, in one swift, powerful motion—he flipped you over.

You barely had time to gasp before he dragged you to the edge of the desk, forcing your chest against the cold wood.

And then—his hand wrapped around your face. A firm push.

Your cheek met the surface, your breath hitching as he leaned over you, his weight pressing into your back, keeping you exactly where he wanted.

"Not done with you," he murmured, his tone dangerously low.

"Not even fucking close."

Then— a yank.

His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to make your eyes meet his. And his gaze? Dark. Feral. Completely wrecked.

"Look at me," he muttered, his grip tightening, his breath ragged.

"Watch me while I fucking destroy you."

And then—he did exactly that.

Jongho’s grip on your hair tightened, forcing your gaze onto his. His hips snapped forward—ruthless, punishing, relentless. Harder. Deeper. Unyielding.

Every thrust was a claim, a vow, a promise to ruin you beyond repair.

The desk beneath you creaked, your body jolting with every devastating movement.

"You feel that?" he rasped, his voice dripping with dominance, his tone laced with pure, unfiltered possession.

"Feel how deep I am? How I’m making you take it?"

Your breath hitched, your body tightening, the coil in your stomach winding dangerously close to snapping.

Jongho noticed. Of course he did. He smirked—dark, knowing. And then—he stopped. Pulled out.

Your body screamed in protest, the pleasure that had built up to a near-breaking point now cruelly ripped away.

A strangled noise left your lips. "You—"

"You think you get to come?" Jongho cut you off, his hand gripping your hip, forcing you still beneath him.

"You think I’ll let you have it that easily?"

Then—he was inside you again. Filling you up in a single, brutal thrust, dragging you back to the edge— And stopping. Again.

"Fuck—" you gasped, your hands clenching into fists behind your back, your legs trembling.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"Not until I hear you," he murmured, his grip tightening, his voice deep, wicked.

"You want to come, sweetheart?" His breath ghosted over your ear, his hips rolling into you with slow, deliberate torture.

"Then say my fucking name."

You swallowed hard, your pride fighting against the sheer desperation flooding your body.

You were so close, so ruined, so wrecked—

But you refused to give in. So he did it again. And again. Brought you to the peak—then ripped it away. Over. And over. And over. Until—

"Jongho!"

It tore from your throat, raw and desperate, a curse, a plea, a surrender all in one.

Only then did he give it to you.

Only then did he let you fall.

And when you did?

You shattered.

The pleasure crashed over you in violent waves, your body tightening, clenching, convulsing around him as he groaned through clenched teeth.

"That’s it," he murmured, his pace turning wild, ruthless.

"Take it. Fucking take it.”

And then—he followed.

Burying himself deep one more time, his grip bruising, his body wrecked as he spilled inside you—

Filling you. Claiming you. Destroying you.

And when the tremors faded, when your breath finally returned, when your body lay limp against the desk, utterly spent—

Jongho? He wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

His fingers slid to your chin, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze.

And his next words? A promise.

"You think I’m done with ruining you?"

His lips brushed yours, his voice dark, wrecked, hungry.

"You don’t even know the half of it.”

Jongho didn’t stop.

Didn’t let you breathe. Didn’t let you think.

Your body was still trembling, still wrecked from the last orgasm, but he wasn’t done with you.

His fingers pushed deep—so deep you nearly screamed.

"You feel that?" His voice was dark, rough, dripping with possession.

"You’re taking everything I give you, and I haven’t even ruined you completely yet."

His other hand grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him, forcing you to see the hunger in his gaze.

Then—he shoved his fingers between your lips.

"Suck."

It wasn’t a request.

Your tongue flicked over them, hot, wet, sinful— and Jongho groaned, low and wrecked.

"That’s a good girl," he muttered, his fingers dragging over your tongue before pulling free with a wet pop.

"Now, let’s see how loud I can make you scream."

And then—he was inside you again. Hard. Deep. Devastating.

Your back arched, a moan breaking from your lips, but Jongho wasn’t satisfied with that. His fingers found your clit, pressing, rubbing, teasing— You jolted. Cursed.

"Too much?" he mocked, his pace turning brutal, his grip on your waist tightening.

"Too bad."

His thrusts were merciless, unrelenting, driving you higher, harder— Until the pleasure became unbearable.

Your body convulsed, tightening, clenching, shaking— And Jongho felt it.

"Give it to me," he ordered, his voice pure command, pure dominance, pure destruction. You finally shattered.

Your scream broke through the room, your body wrecked, trembling, convulsing around him—Jongho groaned, his own restraint snapping, his grip on you bruising, unyielding—

And then he followed.

Filling you to the brim this time, all over again, cum dripping from your cunt on the desk.

And when it was over—when you were nothing but a trembling mess beneath him—

Jongho leaned down, his breath hot against your ear.

Jongho didn’t move for a long moment, his breath still ragged, his body still pressed against yours, the heat between you still unbearable.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear, his voice low, wrecked, commanding.

"I’ll untie you," he murmured, fingers dragging down your spine, teasing, taunting, possessive.

"But only if you swear yourself to me. To my side."

You inhaled sharply. You knew what he meant. He wasn’t just asking for loyalty—he was demanding it.

"Join me," he continued, his fingers tightening around your wrists, his touch still firm, still controlling. "Or I keep you here. Forever.”

The threat—or promise—sent a dangerous thrill down your spine. A smirk tugged at your lips despite the exhaustion in your limbs, the soreness in your body, the undeniable fact that he had completely, utterly wrecked you.

You tilted your head slightly, voice teasing, sultry, defiant.

"You know," you mused, deliberately slow, deliberately provoking,

"I was gonna retire from being a spy for them anyway."

Jongho stilled.

You grinned, eyes flashing as you added, "Guess you're stuck with me, General.”

Jongho still had that dark, commanding presence as he loomed over you, his grip firm, his body still radiating heat and power. His fingers traced over the marks he’d left on your skin, a silent reminder of what he’d just done to you.

But you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

Even wrecked, trembling, and utterly ruined, you still had your pride.

You smirked, tilting your head up slightly, feigning innocence.

"Didn’t you get enough of me, darling?" you teased, your voice dripping with mock sweetness, your eyes flashing with mischief despite the raw pleasure still lingering in your body.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin, his voice a sinful whisper.

"Didn’t I ruin your pussy enough?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw, his tone dark and taunting.

"You’re teasing me because you want more, aren’t you?"

His fingers trailed down your spine, sending a shiver through your exhausted body, his presence still overwhelming, still utterly in control.

Your smirk didn’t waver. His didn’t either.

“You're mine. Utterly, completely, mine.”

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou

[slytherizz]

Fight or Flight - Sebastian Sallow/F!MC

Summary: Sometimes sleeping dogs don't lie.

Two years after his uncles death and with Anne missing the last remaining Auror who scents deception requests a testimony from the only person witness to what really happened between Sebastian and Solomon in the catacombs that day. In a bid to protect those memories and keep him out of Azkaban their marriage is arranged - A marriage Sebastian is hell bent on putting a stop to.

Word count: 15,000 (remember when I said I’d keep it under 10k)

Tags/Warnings: Arranged Marriage, 18+, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Angst, Masturbation, First Time

Link: You can find the complete fic on Ao3.

A/N: Sebastian ‘my wife’ Sallow. To the anon who requested this, I’m sorry it’s so late but it was so much fun to write.

Sebastian is almost certain he’d been on the receiving end of a lethal confundus charm. Either that or he was at present suffering a massive life altering haemorrhage somewhere amongst the sun deceptively warming his cheeks and the familiar groan of the dragon bones anchored above them, as it tilted its great head in greeting when they'd arrived in Hecate's office. Full of mysterious tombs and the lingering scent of smoke. Ash trampled so tightly into the grooves in the floorboards he doubted even the house elves could scour out the smell. 

He’d gotten too comfortable. No. Down right complacent as of late and now his psyche in a riotous act of self-preservation was giving him a blistering slap back into reality. 

Pull yourself together. 

Sebastian dug his nails into the soft flesh of his palm. He hissed at the sharp pain as he broke the skin. Felt the blood prickle hot against his sweat slicked palms as it beaded along the thin superficial wound. Uncomfortable. Stinging. And far, far too real. 

“What-?” he managed to croak around a lump in his throat. Praying to Merlin that if this wasn’t a dream it was some elaborate and albeit cruel practical joke. 

“Spousal Privileges,” Hecat repeated. Matter of fact. Her features were drawn and to his dismay betraying no hint of amusement. 

Sebastian choked violently on his own saliva. A hacked cough, raw against his throat. As if the wind had been knocked out of him by a patient and vindictive phantom.

“What this means is you couldn’t be forced to give a testimony or surrender any memories pertaining to anything to do with Mr Sallow. With his sister still missing, the only people who know what really happened in that catacomb are the two of you. If you can’t be forced to corroborate this theory that has been gaining traction at the Ministry that’s the way it stays,” his professor continued to address the witch beside him, unmoved by the blood draining rapidly from his face. 

Her eyes were fixed intently on Hecat, chin raised as she refused to meet Sebastian’s increasingly panicked eye. He shifted in his seat towards her. Turning rapidly back and forth between her and their professor. 

Waiting. A heartbeat and then more passed. Mounting up until it became a deafening drum in his ears. 

He wanted her to laugh. Let it loose. Burst the dangerous tension mounting with every second this insanity stretched on for. Most pathetically of all - he wanted her to save him. Wanted to watch her face crease with laughter at the absurdity of what Hecat was saying. Cling to some sense of normalcy, her stability by his side whilst the rest of him was spiralling out of control.

She was uncharacteristically still in her chair. As frozen as the statue of the mourning lover in the courtyard. Her fist clenched so tightly in the pleats of her skirt her knuckles blanched. A half finished braid she’d been fiddling with behind her ear hung abandoned. Not a shadow of humour remaining. 

“Why now? It’s been years since…”  she asked, with a more measured tone Sebastian felt the situation did not warrant.

She spared him a glance which did little to put him at ease. If anything the serious crease to her brow set him on a razor's edge. 

Sebastian was unravelling. The thread he’d used to stitch back together a semblance of a life was pulling apart at an alarming rate. And the only two people who had any hope of holding him back together were entertaining this insanity. 

“Some of Miss Sallow’s effects were uncovered at the former Feldcroft residence. It seems no one had tended to the home since your Uncle passed…unexpectedly. My contact at the Ministry informs me that there's only one Auror pushing for those memories. Sergeant Tuttle. Old guard. Worked closely with your uncle when they were both juniors in the department. The rest are happy to let Solomon’s memory remain as it has been for the past two years - the heroic final act protecting his young charges from a horde of uncontrollable inferi,” she paused and Sebastian felt the weight of every word. “Personally I am inclined to agree.”

Hecate’s already thin lips pulled so tight they almost entirely disappeared. Her inscrutable brown eyes peeling back the curtain seeing far beyond the truth to the crux of him. Weighing his mettle. And he wasn’t sure she’d be impressed at what she found. 

Because what he was - was careless. Sebastian supposed he could argue that his distress over losing his sister had made it too painful to return. Knowing Anne was not there, Feldcroft seemed rather pointless. 

But really all he’d been was too eager to turn his back on that hovel that had never been his home. Ivy grew thick over its stones and he hoped one day it would pull it down entirely. No one had touched the wards in over a year. Perhaps when he’d boxed up his feelings and shoved them away in his desperation to move past what he had done, he didn’t consider the possibility that there were others out there who, unlike him, may not want to move on so hastily from Solomon's death. 

Anne certainly hadn’t. 

“With you two being so close, this is the cleanest option-” Hecate continued. 

“I don’t bloody care about clean!” Sebastian broke from his stupor. Fist slamming on the table rattling the spoon from where it rested against his saucer. “Tell me the other options. I don’t care how messy they are. I’ll do them.”

“Perhaps I should rephrase,” Hecat said sharply. “This is your only option. And you’d do well not to leap to such dramatics if you want this to work, Mr Sallow. In particular I’d advise against taking such a tone with me.” 

Sebastian didn’t care. He’d already geared up to argue back against this preposterous idea when the statue of the witch beside him suddenly came to life. As if Pygmalion himself had loved her into life just to spite Sebastian. 

“We’ll do it,” she said firmly. 

Sebastian choked again, head snapping to look at her. “You can’t be serious!” 

She simply glared back at him, as if he wasn’t the only reasonable person left in the room. “I’ve kept you out of Azkaban this long-“

Their professor cleared her throat, having little patience for the squabblings of teenagers that was beginning to unfold in her office. It set Sebastian even more on edge. She’d thrown a bomb into their lives and was now regarding him as some petulant child causing a scene. As if instead while he was scrambling to hold it together she expected him to thank her for it. 

“I’d choose your words more carefully in front of an audience but I admire the passion. If you want this to succeed you’ll have to make them believe this. Believe you. You can’t cast any doubt on the reason for any of it. A young couple, so in love they simply cannot wait to be married.”

***

It was like taking a match to a forest doused in kerosine. How quickly word could spread overnight when students kept such close quarters and they were eager for anything to save them from revision. Whispers billowed up from steeped mugs. Steam laced with secrets curled around their lips. Huddled so tightly together they looked like hydras. Each set of eyes alight with amusement. Teeth bared ready to feast on their speculation. 

From the moment Sebastian had stepped into the Great Hall he’d felt it. The oppressive shift to the atmosphere that usually welcomed him each morning. Clouds dark, heavy with the foreboding rain swirled on the enchanted sky. At least it was fitting.

Instinctively he sought her out. Looked for hers amongst the hundreds of eyes turned towards him. Which he pointedly ignored instead following the remaining half who stole glances towards her. 

Blue. Green. Brown. Shifted between them assessing to see what they might do. 

She was boxed into the middle of the table by Onai and Sweeting with Reyes taking up the spot across from them. A vicious hound guarding her flock ensured even the most brazen little wretch who considered interrupting would think twice - give her wrath a wide berth. 

Reyes to her credit - snarling banshee that she was - looked as deeply horrified by the pathetic silver band on her friend's finger as Sebastian felt it deserved. 

They’d transfigured it hastily from a pair of silver spectacles once they’d stumbled out of Hecat’s office the previous evening. One she kept in an odd tangle of items in her satchel and the rushed magic had already begun to tarnish its appearance. It was a wonder anyone actually believed them with how dull and thoughtless it looked sitting on her hand. 

If her smile wasn’t so tight, or her laugh a little too airy she would be executing Hecat’s ludicrous scheme to perfection. 

Sebastian swallowed around the lump in his throat and sheepishly changed course. Rerouted himself away from the group of witches throwing his bag down on the bench and slumping into a seat at the Slytherin table. Which seemed to delight some of the onlookers. Clearly humiliation was a good seasoning for eggs, he thought as he poured himself a cup of tea from the pot and took out his potions essay in an attempt to look busy enough no one would suspect exactly why he was sitting alone. Or worse, try and talk to him. Not that they would dare when his face looked as thunderous as the sky overhead. It didn't, however, stop him from overhearing their animated gossiping. 

‘Do you think she’s…you know?’ 

‘Obviously! Who in their right mind gets married a month before they leave school? Clearly they’re in a rush before she starts to y’know...’ one girl smirked with an exaggerated flourish over her stomach.

Sebastian shot a glare across to the gaggle of Ravenclaw’s in the year below. Who giggled even more loudly when they caught his eye, one turning pink from the tips of her ears to well past the neckline of her jumper. Sebastian on the other hand felt like someone had doused him in a bucket of water from the lake. 

If Reyes didn’t skin him for the insulting piece of jewellery she certainly would if she suspected he’d gotten her favourite flying partner up the kyte. 

Sebastian tried to focus on his potions essay. List even a single ingredient of ‘Felix Felicis’ which was proving to be impossible when behind him a brazen fourth year proclaimed and loudly he’d caught them sequestered away between the stacks of the restricted section - her body bent over a desk. Sebastian’s grip on the quill tensed as he strained himself to write the differing effects between wyrm and dragon scale on a potion - and not a very vivid description of what he apparently looked like on his knees buried between her thighs. Ink blotted on the parchment. 

Sod Hecat on ‘selling it’. Why did they need to go to such lengths when apparently every gossiping vulture was content to click their beak and do all the work for them? 

Surely Azkaban couldn’t be worse than this? 

Well, that was delusional - but if he overheard one more person comment on if her robes looked bigger he was more than likely going to do something that would get him thrown in Azkaban regardless. 

Sebastian had anticipated suspicion but he still wasn’t prepared for how much it would chafe. 

He knew if they were not at the centre of this farce, the two main players on the stage they would have jovially picked apart their performance too. She would have speculated over their sanity as she picked idly at her cauldron cake. Made some snide comment about being too eager to get his leg over. He’d bet her a galleon they’d see the proof in nine months and she would have snorted, undignified unladylike into her pumpkin juice. 

Being the subject of this speculation however was mortifying. 

Would that be next? Bringing a child into the fucking mess he’d made just to cover his own back? If the thought of dragging her into a marriage him feel ill it paled in comparison to the feeling of crippling dread that conjured. 

But would she want that one day? In a young witch's sacrifice to keep him had she truly considered all the things she was giving up in his stead. Things she may not know she even wanted until the opportunity had already been bartered and sold off for the price of his freedom. What kind of man was he to take the hope of any kind of family from someone who already had none to show for it? Take away the chance for someone to love her. 

Or maybe she never intended to give up on that particular dream. And Sebastian would be expected to play his part - the cuckolded husband. 

Work late until the candles burned down to the wick to give her lover time to retreat. Share her with one; or with many. 

Vow now to never let her go without. 

Even go as far as to raise her children as his own. Glamour their cheeks with foreign freckles he’d wish were inherited. Brand them with the Sallow name with ink on thin parchment but not their blood; their ties to him just as flimsy and performative as hers.

Her easy smile as she lathered honey onto her toast set his teeth on edge. Sebastian felt in that moment like he never really knew her at all. Head pounding Sebastian stuffed his ink pot and notes back into his bag. Abandoned his breakfast in a rush to get out of the stifling hall. Away from the whispers that he knew would also be deafening in her ears. Perhaps even more so.

‘I didn’t even know they were courting. It’s a shame he’s off the market.’

‘Here’s the thing - I don’t think they were. Clearly, he’s marrying her to do the right thing. Now that she’s trapped him with a baby.’

She caught his eye, her eyebrows stitched together in concern but it did not offset the rigid lock of her furious ticking jaw. Teeth set, clamped together as if Hecat had clamped a muzzle on a fucking dragon and then handed her chains to Sebastian. 

Shamefully, he couldn’t bring himself to hold her gaze. Couldn’t even bear to face her in that moment despite knowing he was the reason she had to listen to these lies spread. He should tell her he was sorry. But instead he fled. 

Complete fic can be found on Ao3.

[angelremnants]

HIS FOR THE SEASON l L. Laufeyson

CHAPTER ONE,⠀The Price of Pride

chapter summary : In the first installment of our ever-tangled tale, we find both our fair protagonist and the mischievous prince at the crossroads of deception and ambition. As deals are struck and masks are donned, dear readers, be warned that not all that glitters is gold, and not every promise comes without a price.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature (16+), implied oral gratification (male receiving), emotional turmoil, light violence, referenced/implied minor characters' death, mind games, mild language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 6.7k

author's notes : Here is the first chapter! I'm honestly so hyped to start writing for this series, but unfortunately I still have to pass my midterms, so the second part might not come as soon as this one.

For a referential point in this story, 1125 years old in Asgardian years is the equivalent of being 18, and 1315 years old would be being 21.

(ao3 version)

⠀

⠀

The road was a serpent of stone and shadow that wound through the untamed countryside beyond the capital's reach. It curled between towering pines with aged branches grasping at the sky and their gnarled roots engulfing the ground below. The air was humid with the promise of rain, dense with the aroma of fir and wet soil, and as the rider moved forward, the storm gathered on earnest—low thundering rumbling in the distance, acting as suggestive caution of his arrival rather than a danger.

No one traveled this road without purpose.

He didn't need a map to know where it led. He had unfortunately been there before, but the years between visits had thinned them out until they scarcely existed at all. However, the pathway remained undisturbed through and through, like the passage of time hadn't dare to touch it.

The first peek of the estate was a sensation rather than a sight—an eerie change in the surroundings, as the sought-after structure then appeared from the increasing mist, like a specter out of the gloom.

A castle of black stone, wreathed in foliage and partially swallowed by the encroaching wood. It stood apart from the rest of the world, unfettered by court or crown regulations, its mere presence a tacit defiance. At the threshold, the gates were ajar, twisted iron molded into fascinating designs, as if warning invaders of what could lay within. There were no guards, no showcasing of banners or sigils indicating its allegiance. 

The traveler did not slow down. His patience had run thin even before he reached the gates, as seen by the continual readjusting of his gorgeous golden hair, withering in the bleak atmosphere. The journey had been quite lengthy, but not as long as the years of silence that had separated him from the owner of this location.

He dismounted his stallion with practiced grace, and despite the bold statement of his presence, the house did not greet him. There were no servants or movement at the windows—only the uncanny serenity that had come to define this place of residence. His boots sank onto the damp earth, slippery from the distant rain, but he ignored the unease. After all, he had not come here for comfort.

Only when he approached the entry did the doors part open, revealing a figure framed by the sallow luminosity of candlelight. The head butler stood by, as immovable as the granite around him.

"Your Highness," Skurge greeted, mitigating the sound of hesitant recognition. "My master is not expecting you."

Thor exhaled through his nose, his frustration like a slow-burning ember. "I will see him regardless."

The retired warrior did not flinch. "My lord—"

"Enough," The prince cut him off, brooking no argument as he stepped past him without dispute.

Skurge sighed softly but did not stop him. It was an old battle that they had fought numerous times before. He had long since realized that denying entry to Thor was a futile attempt. His weary and knowing stare stayed set on the royal attendant as they both marched farther inside the building.

The stronghold's splendor consumed him whole. Velvet draped like falling dusk over the high-arched windows, reducing the outside world to nothing but a memory. Sconces emitted a warm glow that danced across the dark marble and mahogany, catching on the ornate paintings and carvings of mythical beasts, gods and beings. The smell in the room was laden with incense and wine, almost tied into the very foundation of the building. 

This was not a house of duty. It was a house of indulgence.

With each step, he felt the burden of his task on his shoulders. He had not come for a visit—rather, it was an intrusion. He did not belong here, and neither did his brother.

Skurge finally came to a halt in front of a hefty wooden door that, like the manor, appeared to preserve mysteries within its frame.

"He is inside," the housekeeper quietly announced in a way that hinted that he had witnessed this confrontation countless times already. The blond did not respond, simply pushing the door open, the hinges creaking with an aloofness that matched his own.

And immediately regretted it.

The air within was fragrant with an intoxicatingly faint mix of floral and musky. The room was barely illuminated, only emphasazing on the plush bedding and velvet pillows. A fire crept lazily into the hearth, pouring its warmth over tangled limbs, silk-strewn furnishings, and a scene of pleasure the guest did not want to see.

And in the heart of it all—a man clothed in carefree grace, with dark locks ruffled and keen green eyes lifting up to lazily gaze toward the door. A woman knelt before him, her head lowered and her hands resting on his thighs in an act that left little to the imagination.

Thor recoiled, his expression twisting in disgust. “By the Norns—”

Unconcerned, the man turned his head, peering at him with twisted amusement that showed in a smirk so languid. It was clear that the interruption did not even faze him.

"Ah, brother," Loki drawled in a honey-smoothed voice, his eyes glittering with delight. "What a nice surprise. Are you coming to join us?”

Thor glared at him. "Seize your rascality and compose yourself."

The dark prince, on the other hand, was never content with silent compliance. His lips curved, teasing at the edges, mocking innocence. With a languid sweep of his fingers, he waved the woman away.

"Go on, pet," he murmured in a deeper undertone. His fingers knotted in the woman's hair, allowing him to easily lift her head. "We will resume our—" his eyes flicked towards his brother, "—conversation later."

The courtesan pouted and slipped away with a lingering brush of fingers over his knee, her silhouette disappearing through the softly shut door that sealed them in.

Loki groaned and stretched like a cat roused from sleep. He stood with a worrying ease, completely unhurried as he fixed the loose buttons on his tunic. "You've become such a bore," he mused, rolling his shoulders, mockingly disappointed. "Had you walked in centuries ago, you might have actually been inclined to join me."

Thor's glare darkened. "And yet you wonder why our father sees you as a disgrace."

Loki smiled in a sluggish, knowledgeable leer. "Oh, I no longer wonder."

He smoothed down his sleeves and carefully adjusted the cuffs before moving toward the magnificent cabinet on the wall. He took out a crystal decanter of mead, the amber liquid reflecting in the firelight as he poured himself a large drink. 

Not once did he glance in Thor’s direction. He never treated him with the same courtesy. Instead, he raised the cup to his lips and took a leisurely, savoring sip, seemingly not caring about the tension hanging between them. Then, only after swallowing did he speak.

"Now," he voiced, swirling the mead in his glass, his eyes bright with laughter. "Tell me, dear brother, what I owe the pleasure to. Another warning? A lecture, perhaps?" He inclined his head, pretending attention. "Do you intend to recount my many misdeeds, as if I am not already aware?"

His brother exhaled sharply to steady himself. "Not this time. I came for another reason."

Loki arched his brow. "Do tell."

Thor's fingers curled along his sides. He had expected resistance, not such carelessness. This was not the brother he had previously known. The brother who had formerly measured every step with care and sought praise no longer stood before him. In his place stood a creature of indulgence and disobedience, a terrifying figure honed and shaped by unwarranted exile.

But for all his decadence, Loki had never been a fool.

“You are to return to the palace.”

The host’s sneer remained constant, although the light behind his eyes flickered for a brief moment. A brief, almost inconspicuous shift.

He laughed, bellowed even.

Thor tightened his grasp on Mjölnir, the hammer's familiar weight both reassuring and frightening in his hand. His knuckles turned white, and the veins in his arm tightened in an effort to contain his mounting rage. This was not the reunion he had hoped for—but, truth be told, he hadn't really expected anything else from his brother.

"Your presence has been requested at the court," he insisted, each word bearing the heft of obligation and haste. "It is time."

Across the room, Loki's smile contorted sardonically. With a sinuous flick, he sent the last drop of mead spiraling from his cup, allowing it to fade into the shadows as he laid the vessel down with exaggerated disregard. 

"Requested my presence?" he repeated. "How quaint. Let me guess, should I expect greater condemnation? Another lecture on my failings?" He leaned back in his chair, the scowl on his lips growing greater in depth. "Is that why you rode all the way here? To offer the customary refrain?" His cold, mocking gaze never left Thor's, challenging him to prove him wrong.

"This isn't another lecture on your reckless behavior," the crown prince bargained, exasperated but determined. "This is about your title."

At those words, the raven-haired stiffened, his eyes flashing with incredulity. “The one you so kindly withheld because of my exile, you mean? The one I was deemed too… troublesome to receive, while you paraded your birthright before all of Asgard?” His voice was sharp as a drawn blade, every syllable dripping with scorn. “I’m past the age of 1125, you know that well enough. It’s too late to rewind time and add the fanfare and ceremony you so cherish. I have no need of it.”

Thor's chest clenched at his cruel words, but he was undeterred. He needed to make him see reason, if only for a moment. "It's not just that," he ground out, the tension in his voice palpable. "It's about what our father intends to do, and you—"

“Your father,” Loki spat, as though the very qualification felt like venom on his tongue. “Not ours. Do not speak of him as if he ever cared about me."

Thor's mouth dried up, and he couldn't help but feel a stab of remorse. But there was no time to dwell on it now. “It’s not just the title, Loki. It’s... a deal.” his voice dropped. “Father wants to strike a deal with you.”

For a long moment, the second prince regarded his elder with amused disbelief that failed to mask his calculating gaze. “A deal?” he echoed. “And what, pray tell, could he possibly offer that would capture my interest at this late hour?”

Thor’s hand twitched by his side as he fought against the torrent of words threatening to overwhelm him. Inwardly, he cursed the inevitable vulnerability that came with speaking the truth.

“It’s about the will.”

Time seemed to stand still at the statements. Loki ceased to move as though struck by an invisible force. It was a genuine reaction, with his eyes reflecting an image of the youngster he once was. But the shock passed as fast as it arrived, replaced by the gravelly resolve of a man who had long forsaken hope. "The will is no longer of my interest," Loki flatly responded. "Why should I care for his proposal now?"

“I never thought you would, Loki.” The blonde exhaled slowly. “I think you should hear him out. Do it at least this once, and I promise we’ll leave you free of these constant intrusions.”

Loki’s gaze bore into his, seeking any flicker of deceit or ulterior motive. Finding none, an unspoken understanding passed between them—a fragile bridge over a chasm of past grievances and present imperatives.

“Fine,” he agreed at last, a trace of genuine curiosity mingling with his ever-present defiance. “I’ll hear him out. But do not mistake my interest for hope.”

Thor’s weary yet steadfast eyes met his brother’s with a silent promise. “I never would.” 

His eyes traced every disorganized detail of Loki's appearance, which was far from the polished princeling he had previously grew up with. His dark hair fell in wild, tangled cascades around his face, and his once impeccable clothes hung in crumpled disarray, as if burdened by a sorrow too great to be contained.

"You look as though you've abandoned even the last shred of dignity," Thor indicated sorrowfully, the words flowing out before he could catch them. "I'd wager she would be disappointed if she were still here to witness this."

He knew his words shattered the fragile peace, and he promptly regretted uttering them, knowing all too well the tragic history that laid behind this pitiful façade.

In an instant, Loki's eyes flared with terrible enmity. He rose from his chair with the predatory elegance of a cornered animal and rushed toward the envoy. In one swift action, the dark prince grabbed his arm, his hold alluding to an implicit warning built over years of suffering and indolence

"Do not speak so idly," he growled alarmingly, in the fashion of a wintry wind. His fingers sank sharply into Thor's flesh. "You would do well not to invoke her again—especially when you know nothing of what transpired."

The blonde stiffened under his grasp, his stare locking with his in a quiet exchange rich with old wounds and buried truths. For a long, tense moment, they stood there—two souls bound together by blood and remorse, their shared history a shaky bridge over a chasm of pain.

Loki finally let go of him, moving back with a controlled calm that concealed his smoldering despair. "We'll go to the palace tomorrow," he stated calmly and dismissively. "Until then, see to it that Skurge assigns you a place for the night. And send the maiden back inside."

Thor halted, but he knew better than to press on. His brother's barriers were too high, and his resistance was too strong. "Understood," he replied, the resignation in his voice combined with the residual pain of loss. "I'll make the arrangements."

He paused only briefly before turning and heading out of the bedroom, his footsteps retreating down the corridor. The door closed behind him with a faint, decisive click, leaving Loki to his own devices.

The silence that followed felt like a heavy blanket pressing from all sides, saturating the entire space with concealed facts. The shunned prince resided stationary, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon visible through the small window panels. Outside, the night stretched out in a never-ending palette filled with ambiguity and impending possibilities. His thoughts were entwined in knots—of the palace, of his contested title, of the Allfather's aspirations, and of the storm that threatened to come tomorrow.

⠀

⠀

The hippodrome was saturated with incense, a perfumed fog that curled through the towering hall and melded with hushed exchanges and muffled sobs. Draped in somber shades of black and violet, the grand chamber exceptionally bore the sigil of House of Sigvard in golden embroidery upon the banners that swung gently from the pillars. It was an extravagant farewell, one meant for a nobleman of once-great stature, though the weight of his transgressions loomed like a silent specter over the gathered mourners.

You stood at the center of it all, clad in mourning robes of midnight silk, your hands gracefully clasped before you in a practiced pose of grief. Condolences flowed in a delicate stream of soft, sorrowful words from nobles who pitied you and empty gestures from those who secretly rejoiced in the slow and continuous decay of your house’s legacy.

“He was a man of duty,” one of your uncle’s acquaintances lamented barely audibly above the solemn dirge.

“A great loss,” another added with feigned regret.

You nodded, lips pressed into a trembling smile as your eyes shimmered with unshed tears that caught the flicker of candlelight. When the final rites were called, the assembled crowd parted with solemn efficiency, leaving you alone before his final resting place—your last remaining close kin. The casket laid upon a raised dais, framed by flickering torches that cast dancing shadows upon its polished wood, awaiting its fate to be consumed by flame.

Each step you took toward it was in sync with the steady rhythm of your breath. At its edge, you bent down, letting your fingertips trace the smooth grain of the wood as though you sought to commit every ridge and curve to memory. Leaning close, you let your lips ghost near his ear, your voice barely more than a whisper in the hush of the hall.

"May your next life be as wretched as this one was undeserved."

Then, with a tenderness that belied the venom in your words, you pressed a soft kiss to his cold forehead—a farewell infused with a bitterness far removed from true grief.

You straightened with grace before turning and rejoining the front lines, harboring a flawless mask of quiet devastation. Behind you, the ceremonial flames were kindled, and soon the fire took hold. A collective, solemn gasp rippled through the assembly as the casket was engulfed, the scent of burning incense giving way to a harsher, acrid tang that stung the senses.

Tears traced glistening paths down your cheeks as you watched the funeral pyre, each flicker of flame reflecting memories of a once-honorable past. For a long and silent juncture, you remained rooted to the spot, witnessing the send-off until the last embers shuddered and died.

The guests began to gradually drift away in final bows and a mumblage of sympathies fading into the chill of the night, until at last only you and your company remained in the desolate quiet of the burial grounds.

A soft cough shattered the welcomed stillness. “My lady?”

You turned around and revealed your once-tear-stained face being carefully composed, with every trace of feigned grief meticulously erased.

“Elva, please fetch me a handkerchief,” you declared, your voice steady and low. “And go ready the carriage.”

Your ever-faithful maid complied without hesitation, retrieving a pristine silk tissue and placing it gently into your outstretched palm. You brought it to your lips first, dabbing them before using it to carefully wipe your face.

Elva’s eyes widened momentarily. “My lady, why did you—” she began, then faltered, her voice a mere whisper. “Why your lips?”

You folded the handkerchief in a neat fold, tucking it away in your palm like a secret too precious for the light.

"Well, I shouldn't afford to leave noxious substances so carelessly on my lips now, should I?” you lightly chipped, tilting your head in private delight. 

You approached one of the liberated flames from the funeral pyre’s dying glow and threw unceremoniously the ruined fabric. The hanked reacted immediately to the contact—an almost unnoticeable sizzle resounded as its edge curled with unnatural speed into ash, erasing any trace of its presence.

Elva’s lips parted in realization as if to offer further counsel, but no words came—only a respectful silence as she bowed her head and hastened toward the waiting carriage. You stepped after her at an unhurried pace, the ghost of your smirk lingering like a promise of the plans yet to be set in motion.

The carriage door closed with a firm click, sealing the both of you inside the dimly lit interior. Without hesitation, you surged for the nearest window and pulled down its heavy velvet curtain, ensuring that no fragment of the outside world might enter on your personal sanctuary. The cabin was warm and quiet, acting as a cocoon where covert revelations might be shared without the jeopardy of inquisitive ears. You carefully secured each window one by one, an exacting process that the brunette quietly observed, her gloved hands lying demurely in her lap.

Only when the last curtain was drawn did you nestle into the soft seat. You exhaled deeply, as if relieving the pressure of a lifetime in one long, slow breath. Outside, the repetitive clatter of hooves against cobblestone blended with the night's silence. Through a narrow rip in the fabric, you watched the vast sacred building fade into darkness, a mere outline absorbed by the small municipality's tortuous highways.

After a long, reflective interval, Elva's kind voice shattered the quiet. "What are you going to do now, my lady? Seeing that you're free?"

You let out a deep, almost languid sigh, one of odd comfort rather than grief. "I've already begun," you remarked. "The furniture is being sold, piece by piece, and most of the staff have been let go."

Elva's posture tensed as she blinked, recognition dawning in her eyes. "Then that would mean..."

Your lips curled with a faint, knowing smile. "Yes, you have been promoted to the position of head maid."

After a minute of calm acceptance, Elva nodded softly. "That should secure our future, along with the savings you've so discreetly accumulated," she answered nervously. "It was fortunate that your uncle was ill enough in his final years to entrust you with managing the household's resources."

“Fortunate indeed,” you mused, a wry note lacing your words. “Though I doubt he ever meant for me to wield it to my own advantage.”

Elva fell silent for a heartbeat before asking with an almost timid curiosity, “Why not sell the estate as well?”

A distant chuckle escaped you, devoid of genuine mirth. "That house is the only reminder of my childhood. I spent my happiest days there," you mused, your mind drifting as memories surfaced. "I am sure you remember the swing that my father built for me among those old pear trees. I can still recall my mother's standing nearby in case I fell. In the end, I had to regrettably sell it."

Your maid regarded you with a blend of understanding and pity, but offered no further words.

You exhaled through your nose, the corners of your mouth softening into a wistful line. “No matter. I’m certain no one would dare engage in dealings with an estate burdened by such a dismal reputation.”

A profound inertia fell between you, interrupted only when Elva spoke once more. "Did you even sell the portraits?"

You shifted your sight to the curtained window, your face unreadable in the flickering shades. "I couldn't," you confessed with a rare vulnerability. "Some things... are too cherished to be relinquished to strangers."

The rest of the route was spent in thoughtful silence, with the city gradually disappearing as the vehicle transported you home. Finally, the estate's imposing gates emerged in the pale moonlight, and the horses halted, the carriage slowly grinding to an end.

As you reached for the door handle, Elva shifted uncomfortably. “You have no guardian now, my lady,” she reminded you in a hushed tone. “And you remain a bachelorette, at that. How do you intend to proceed?”

Stepping out into the cool air, you smoothed the folds of your mourning dress and turned to face her. “How else?” you replied, a smile playing at the corners of your mouth as clear ambition sparkling in your eyes. 

“I’m going to marry rich. Obviously.”

⠀

⠀

The streets of Asgard have never felt colder as they did tonight. The pavement, slippery with twilight mist, glistened beneath your measured tread and lead you through a region of the city you used to avoid. Lanterns sputtered in the heavy darkness, their meager radiance generating wavering shadows that danced maliciously at the borders of your view. This was not the Asgard you remembered—it was bright, resplendent, and full of pomp and color. No, this was the underbelly of a fading realm, where houses' facades crumbled like brittle paper and wealth remained a faraway dream.

You walked with careful intention, each step resounding on the damp cobblestones. In the back of your mind, Elva's gentle query from yesterday's evening lingered. 

"My lady, why suddenly... this wish?" Her worry was evident, a compassionate spark in the midst of your anguish, when you announced your intention to enter the marriage market. It was a decision made out of necessity, not whim, and one that became increasingly urgent with each passing day.

She was positive that you, of all people, would never debase yourself by engaging in such a banal and ignoble transaction. But surely she was aware of your golden cage, of the days spent imprisoned in the decaying confines of your family's home where sycophantic suitors bargained for your attention as if it were a valuable commodity. Pathetic men of low ranks and even simple commoners, dressed in the finest of what they could afford and bursting with fake admiration, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. They were eager, preening before you as if you were the sun that centered their entire world.

Once, you were untouchable.

Your household name had echoed through every banquet hall and noble ceremony, a jewel in the illustrious diadem of House Sigvard. As the daughter of one of Asgard's most powerful families, you were admired for your grace, brilliance, and wit. You had smoothly presided over your mother's salon, the centerpiece of high society, where the elite eagerly awaited your insights on courtly issues, the latest political intrigues, and the scandalous whispers of the realm. Every word you spoke was valuable as gold.

You'd been at the top.

And what of now? You walked these dour alleys like a phantom of your previous self. Your uncle's reckless expenditures had consumed the once-glorious fortune, leaving nothing but sallow ruins. Gambling. The wretched man threw away everything—your family's name, your inheritance, and the future you had once hoped for. When the payments came due, he callously sold your numerous assets, which included your beloved mother's salon, to satisfy his creditors' voracious appetite. You could still picture it vividly in your mind, the day the "sold" sign was hammered into the front yard, along with the harsh laughing of vultures as they swept away the final vestiges of your inheritance.

It was an insult you could never forgive.

That bastard. 

You clutched your fists as a stringent laugh from your lips and echoed off in the lengthy road. "Idiotic rule," you mumbled beneath your breath as you thought of the oppressive law requiring noblewomen to stay under the custody of their male relatives. Such a horrible charade. 

Fortunately, you had no brother to protect you, no distant cousin prepared to challenge the status quo. The few remaining relatives were either too old or already comfortably ensconced with their own fortunes to give a damn. Had your name retained its former glory, they would have fought like starving lions to claim the scraps of you and your estate.

The edifice in front of you resembled an inn at best, its stone walls weathered and pitted from the unrelenting passage of time and neglect. A sprinkling of weakly reflective windows on the higher floors glowed like feeble stars, giving only the sensation of a long-forgotten place, a hollow echo of a purpose that had once existed.

You pushed open the hefty door and walked inside. The smell stale ale, charred wood, and a faint scent of something metallic mixed in a suffocating haze of smoke straightaway assaulted your nostrils. A faint drone of conversations, accented by the odd clink of chipped glass, emanated from the few figures slumped over tattered tables. It was a dramatic contrast to the sumptuous salons of the past, where laughing sounded like music and every word was dressed in polished beauty.

This decomposing hideaway was your destination—a place where answers may be found among the private matters of people who thrived in the dark. Your torn cloak, nevertheless rich in color, was your only protection against inquisitive scrutiny. Here, you appreciated the anonymity it afforded. Being a faceless, nameless wanderer in these forsaken streets was a small comfort in that abandoned world.

You walked to the far end of the room, where a weathered wooden bar stood under the careful eye of a broad-shouldered bartender. As you neared, his face flickered up, marked with the lines of long nights of hard work. You feigned to fix your cloak, taking care not to reveal your features.

"Anything I can get for you?" he asked in a gravelly tone.

You paused before conspiraciously leaning in. "A glass of the Red Eel," you whispered softly, allowing the words to install themselves.

The bartender's hands stopped mid-polish, his eyes narrowing as a spark of recognition flared inside them.

"The bathroom is two rooms down the corridor, on the left. Be quick," he nodded towards the aisle.

A contented smile traced on your lips. "Thank you," you answered calmly before leaving the bar behind. You crept into the small corridor, the inn's muted sounds fading into a distant cacophony. You soon discovered the small door that went to the so-called bathroom, enclosed in peeling wallpaper and illuminated by a single, flickering light overhead.

You shut the door after you, allowing yourself a moment of calm satisfaction. The excitement of being so near your goal sent shivers down your spine—a delicate blend of yearning for rebirth and desperate hope.

You stepped into the narrow room, where the dim glow of a solitary candle revealed a large desk set in the center of an alcove at the far end of the room. The desk was sinister, made from dark oak and marred by age. Its surface was crowded with parchment scraps, old books, and assorted trinkets, all of which had been neglected to accumulate dust. Behind the desk stood a gaunt man with eyes like chipped flint, his face shrouded by the half-light. 

"What brings a stranger to our door?"

You straightened, readying yourself for the next battle of wills to come. "My intentions should be obvious," you coolly replied. "After all, this is the most renowned informational guild in the city—a sanctuary of secrets for those who truly need them."

He chuckled, a dry sound that echoes in the gloom. "Indeed. But we do not entertain any clients who come so freely." He gestured for you to approach the desk with an appraising stare and greedy eyes shining through the dark.

You obeyed without hesitation, your footsteps echoing faintly as you made your way toward him. "Precisely because I know that, I am here," you asserted, producing your family crest from within the folds of your garment and placed the emblem on the scarred surface of the desk.

The man's eyes widened as he inspected the proud and intricate design bearing the insignia. A slow, humorless laugh escapes him. "What a joke, for the House of Sigvard falling so low to be seen here," he scoffs. "The Grand Marshal's legacy has truly reached the very depths of Hel. 

He shook his head as if almost in disbelief. “Tell me, Sigvarddóttir, why should we even be interested in your demand when you hail from a house that now holds little value?"

Your gaze sharpened and you remained still, not fliching at his attempt to undermine—you knew better than to let his words wound you. "Because, as you yourself noted, House of Sigvard was a bastion of prestige for centuries until it fell into unworthy hands," you countered. "I am of the blood of that esteemed lineage, the direct descendant of an union between the most praised ex-lady in waiting for the Allmother herself as well as one of the most strategic and intelligent war scholars our realm has been blessed with. Naturally, I have inherited those qualities."

The man arched an eyebrow, his smile turning wry. "Inherited, perhaps," he conceded. "But let us not forget the disgrace your house was sealed with when your father was accused of treason and of leaking the kingdom's most confidential secrets. A legacy tarnished beyond repair."

The informant looked at you with narrowed eyes, feeling that beneath your calculated façade lurked a secret weight far larger than desperation. You decided to comply and prove his hunch was right by reaching within the folds of your cloak and pulling out a purse. Its contents clinked softly in an exquisite symphony of gold coins and tiny gems, each one a relic of the richness that once established your ancestry. You carefully opened the pouch, allowing the gold and stones to stream over the desk's scarred surface.

But it was not all.

Added to the funding, you set a little book sheathed in a leather cover that had split with age. Marked on its pages were precise notes written in your own hand, a record of secrets acquired over years of patient observation. This book was your weapon, the result of decades spent documenting the illegal activities of people who had betrayed your family. You had kept it buried for fear of the consequences of revealing it, but now was the moment to wield its terrible truth.

The man's gaze shifted between the bag and the book, his interest evidently piqued.

"I'm positive," you stated, "that my father was framed. And I can prove it—with time, money and power." You watched his lips move to speak, but you lifted your hand to silence him. "But for now, what matters is this." You tapped the book lightly. "In these pages are the names of every shady noble my uncle gambled with—the very ones who collaborated with him to dishonor my family's reputation. Their schemes, deceptions, and cover-ups. These are the architects of House of Sigvard's demise."

You leaned forward, your eyes locking onto his with fierce intensity. "I know that your guild despises the crown's myriad laws. They flaunt their wealth and defy every decree. Releasing this information, especially when most concerns imperialist nobles, would shake high society to its very core. And you know it."

A heated silence ensued, laden with the promise of upheaval. The man then let forth a rich, hearty laugh stirring the dust in the dim light.

"By the Allfather," he vociferated in both admiration and menace. "You really are the daughter of Sigvard and Regna, to speak so boldly." His eyes glittered in a blend of curiosity and a tinge of an unsettling look. "Very well, girl. Tell me, what do you want from us?”

You inhaled quietly to calm your nerves, keeping your grip protectively curled around the purse and the book. The man's dark gaze pierced into you, anticipating your next words and the price you would set.

"I want your help," you bid carefully. "I will gradually pay you in coins and reveal names when I'll come to seek your assistance. Presently, I request your aid regarding two issues."

His eyes glinted with interest, prompting you to deliver the next words with purpose and careful arrangement.

"Firstly, I want you to remove the allegations and evidence of tax evasion that my uncle have tarnished my house's reputation with. Clear my reputation in the eyes of the crown, so that the gossip can stop." You paused, letting the weight of the request settle between you. 

"I will also need a list of future bachelors. I need the names of individuals who are wealthy, of impeccable stature, and untainted by nefarious relationships. These individuals must have enough caliber to be able to keep my distant relatives at bay should they seek to claim what I am and what I own, and they have to allow me to develop sa business of my own by using their riches and influence should it be necessary."

The candle's flame trembled in the silence of the room, its feeble glow stretching enough to let you perceive the man reclining in his dilapidated chair that protested with every tiny movement. 

“Very well,” he pronounced resolutely, as if the verdict had been sealed in his mind long before the words escaped his lips. “You will receive a pigeon carrier during the following few days to deliver the information you have requested. Regarding the remainder of your requests, I will make every effort to assist you as soon as you deem it necessary. You have my word.”

A slow nod was your only reply, as the gravity of the agreement pressed upon you like a stone sinking in dark water. With the deal inked in the silent contract between your eyes, you reached for the small, leather-bound book that lay between you. The book’s spine creaked in protest as you opened it, your fingertips caressing its jaundiced pages and you swiftly tore out a single page.

The crisp sound of paper severing its bond with the rest of the book was startling in the impendation, a punctuation to the gravity of the occasion. You laid the page  before him, bearing a list of names—each scrawled letter a testament to your resolve and the fate of those who had wronged you.

“Here,” you piped, betraying nothing of the tumult that churned beneath the surface. “Consider this a preview. This will only be the beginning.” Your fingertips brushed the cool edge of the parchment as you withdrew your hand.

His searching eyes roamed the list, a subtle spark of malevolent glee igniting in their depths. No words were needed, the silent acknowledgment passed between you both was enough. You then released the contents of your pouch, of which jangled softly as you set it beside the page. 

“As promised,” you declared, your tone final. You cast one last glance at the parchment and the pouch—symbols of heritage and leap of faith intertwined—and with a hasty resolve, you retrieved the crest. 

You finally took your departure, your boots tapping against the floor as you advanced. Your hand reached for the cold iron handle, but before you could definitely leave, his voice halted you once more.

“Sigvarddóttir,” he called with curious intrigue. “One last question before you leave.”

You paused, your eyes meeting his as you tilted your head in quiet expectation. “What is it?”

“If you had to represent yourself, how would you do it?”

The question hung between you like a delicate wisp of perfume. For a short stretch of time, you considered its layers, the hidden meanings swirling like autumn leaves caught in a gentle wind. “I suppose you have your own reasons for asking,” you began, a note of uncertainty in your tone. 

“As for how I would present myself... the answer is, in truth, simple.” Your eyes fell to the family crest, seeping cold from the metal in your hand. "I will always bear the signature of my house with pride, regardless of the circumstance. I wear its history, its strength, and even its failures upon my shoulders, and it will forever define who I am at core, along with how I choose to depict myself hereafter.”

A moment passed before the man’s lips twitched into a small, wry smile. “A proud answer indeed,” he concluded thoughtfully in a small appraisal. 

With that, you turned once more toward the door and without a backward glance, you pushed open the door and stepped into the dim corridor beyond, your mind already racing with the preparation of your next move to play.

Inside the room, the man’s attention returned to the page, his fingers tracing over the names with abnormal care. A soft chuckle escaped him as he murmured, almost to himself, “Interesting... Very interesting.”

His form began to blur and shift. The harsh, angular features softened, the masculine lines giving way to the delicate grace of a woman’s visage. In a seamless transformation, the dark, tattered garments were replaced by a gown of deep, earthen green. The fabric flowed around her lithe frame, rich in texture and hue as if woven from the forest’s heart. Golden blonde hair tumbled in gentle waves around her now expressive face that combined ethereal beauty with a spark of calculated brilliance.

She once again fixed her gaze upon the names on the page, her delicate fingers skimming over the inked list as her eyes glinted with a newfound admiration. “If my calculations are correct,” she said softly, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, “this will be a fine choice as an ally. For both of us.”

Her eyes shone with the thrill of the unfolding game, a quiet laugh escaping as she already started to plot the pace to adopt in this upcoming intricate dance of fate. “Yes,” she affirmed to herself, “this will be most interesting indeed.”

⠀

⠀

ending notes : To explain the corrosive part in the burial, my understanding is that in Asgardian funerals, the fire is supposed to slowly process the body to thoroughly purify it. Her accelerating the burning would mean disrupting the ritual and therefore meddle with his passing. Let me know your thoughts about the series so far, comments and interactions are very welcomed ! <3

⠀

PROLOGUE.⠀|⠀CHAPTER ONE.⠀|⠀CHAPTER TWO.

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[merakiui]

monops's reflection.

yandere!jade leech x (female) reader x floyd leech cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, unrequited love, obsession, drugging, kidnapping/captivity, restraints, dark/possessive/violent thoughts, biting, blood, characters written as 18+ note - happy birthday, tweels!!! :D may you continue to be crazy.

Mostro Lounge is tranquil tonight, save for the occasional clinking of glass against glass and the soft melodies tumbling from your lips. You busy yourself with song while you wipe the surface of a table, bending forwards to reach the very back with the dampened rag. Jade finds himself eyeing your figure as you flit about, observing the way you wring the cloth free of excess water, your fingers curling into the sodden fabric as if attempting to strangle it. And then it’s promptly dunked into the bucket and wrung out again in repetition. He stands behind the counter and continues to dry the same glass he started on two minutes ago, its shiny surface reflecting his distracted countenance.

There’s something curious about you.

He can’t quite put his finger on what that something is. The more he analyzes you, the further he strays from a proper interpretation of your character. For a human who can’t use magic, you’re surprisingly selfless. You cheer your friends on in their academic endeavors, offering them your help whenever it feels like they might need it, and you carry your own weight at the lounge, boldly standing up to patrons who get too big for their britches. Jade wanted to pity you in the beginning, when customers had been rough and rude with you, but you’d dealt with every difficulty with a bright grin and a few choice words.

You’re strong; you never back down.

Jade sets the glass in its rightful place and reaches for another, all while keeping his mismatched stare on you. He wonders how much pressure it would take for you to finally snap. Would you still be able to smile then? Could you even manage to stay afloat in pessimistic waters with that blithe façade of yours? If he were to cut into you with knife and fork—with dreadfully sharp words and even sharper actions—would you allow yourself to bleed out? Or would you accept your fate and smile up at him from your porcelain plate, promising him you’ll patch yourself up because it isn’t a big deal?

When you act so cheerful, so blissfully ignorant to the beast who lurks behind, it sets a potent yearning aflame. A yearning to break you well beyond repair. A yearning to take that smile, chew it up, and spit it out until it’s the most devastated frown he’s ever seen.

“Good work today, Jade!” With a breathless huff—he wants to bottle that breath and each one that will follow—you set the bucket down and roll your shoulders. Exhaustion shadows your face, adding deceptive age to your youthful appearance. “Do you need any help?”

“I’m quite all right. Thank you, though.” He returns your smile with one of his own, the usual placid, tight-lipped thing that both eases and unsettles depending on the situation. His default expression, forever the same unless circumstances call for the other faces he’s stowed in his vast repertoire. “You’re more than welcome to head back if you’ve finished for the evening. I can handle the rest.”

“You sure?” The bucket is in your hands again, and you carry it over to the sink to empty the murky water into the basin. He notes the way your arms shake ever so slightly as you struggle to balance the heavy thing against the counter. “I don’t mind waiting here until you’re done.”

“Very well. In that case, I won’t take too long.”

He finishes drying the remaining lineup, arranging each on its respective shelf before wiping the counter for extra measure. He doesn’t have to do it, but he does. It never hurts to be clinically clean.

Floyd should be done with the stock count by now, he thinks, gazing at the door leading to the kitchen. I should check it just in case.

After folding his rag into a neat square and tucking it away, he strides over to the door, opens it a crack, and pokes his head inside. The kitchen space is devoid of life. With furrowed brows, Jade opens the door wider just as Floyd jumps out from his spot behind the racks. He’s holding the clipboard in one hand and flailing with the other. His attempt at a fright does nothing to startle Jade, but it does cause you to flinch back. You do that a lot. Jade’s noticed that you scare easily, often falling victim to Floyd’s pranks during your shifts. It’s all harmless fun, but sometimes Jade catches himself wishing for Floyd to push you just a little harder. A little rougher. Maybe one day he will and Jade will finally witness tears lining your lashes.

“F-Floyd!” you snap, humiliated. 

“Gotcha, Shrimpy. You always fall for it, y’know? Like a silly, stupid Shrimpy.” He passes the clipboard to Jade on his way out and adds, “Pretty sure everything’s correct.”

“Is it?” Jade peers at his brother’s handwriting. “If you don’t mind, I’ll review it once more.”

“Be my guest. Wasn’t really havin’ a ball fillin’ it out anyway.” He shrugs and then beelines for you, lifting you into the air with ease. He spins you despite your protests. Nasally laughter soon overtakes silence. Floyd has always been fond of your reactions; he eats them up as if it’s a special treat. “I wonder if you’ll get sick. You get motion sickness, Shrimpy? Tell me! Tell me!”

A covert smile stretches onto Jade’s mouth as he disappears into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him. While he goes over the numbers and corrects the errors Floyd’s made, he listens to you pleading with his brother to release you. Most of the numbers align with the remaining supplies and ingredients, and he adds his own notes in the margins so that Azul will know which are especially low and in need of replenishment. Checking his brother’s work isn’t a favorite pastime of Jade’s, but when it comes to the lounge and its success he’d rather look over a few numbers than watch sales plummet and listen to Azul’s endless slew of woeful complaints.

Once he’s made the necessary changes, he slips the sheet from the clipboard and heads back out. You’re in the process of chasing after Floyd, who’s holding your timecard above his head and dangling it like it’s a piece of bait. Part of Jade wants to enjoy the spectacle, but the other part is ready for the sweetness of sleep. For once he sides with the latter and clears his throat to get Floyd’s attention. 

“Ah, you’re already done?” Having lost interest in the game, he drops your card at once. It flutters to the floor, and he watches with wide, gleeful eyes as you swoop down to catch it. “That all we gotta do?”

“I believe so. Azul’s staying late, so he will lock up.”

Jade sets the inventory sheet on the nearest table for Azul to find before retrieving and filling out his timecard. Floyd hasn’t even marked his hours yet, and Jade exhales an empty sigh and takes the initiative to write it in for him. It’s always been like this. Jade looks out for Floyd, not only because they’re family and have always done so, but because there are some instances where he’s much too careless.

It has been noted that the two of them are a package deal. A duo. A pair. Inseparable twins who balance each other with varying levels of insanity. Their bond is unbreakable, having been built from blood and the will to survive ever since they were vulnerable elvers. Floyd is a reflection of Jade, and Jade is a reflection of Floyd; that’s how they have lived. Like day and night, sugar and salt, and light and dark, they operate like clockwork, expertly in time with one another.

The center of their relationship has always remained the same, and Jade suspects it will never change, even after they’ve acclimated to human society. They are predators with finely honed instincts, masquerading above the water as humans. With razored rows of teeth and an insatiable hunger for unpredictability, the two of them function in a domesticated world. In order to survive in such a foreign environment, Jade has learned that they need each other, which is why it’s so salient that they get along most days.

And much like night and day, like a person with a shadow, one cannot exist without the other.

“See ya tomorrow, Shrimpy!” Floyd flashes you a jovial grin as you take your leave, but there’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “I’ll be waiting…”

“Um, yeah… H-Have a good night.”

With your timecard now in Jade’s capable hands, he’s free to observe your handwriting. There’s nothing special about the way you write, but it still manages to mesmerize him. Every loop of each letter, messily intertwining like frayed strings of fate, adds charm to the script. It’s obvious you tried and failed to sign your name in cursive, but the fact that you even bothered to do so is cute.

It’s truly not that important, he reminds himself as he places the cards back where they belong.

“Shall we head back now?”

Floyd nods, stifling a yawn. As they walk through peaceful halls, he adds in a conversational tone, “Awfully boring when Shrimpy’s not around.”

Jade weighs that declaration and finds himself nodding in agreement. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

i. on a moonlit night, under an eave of twinkling stars, monops waltzes gracefully with the ghost of his other half. the shards of a shattered mirror reflect two sides of the same coin, of human and monster. when the clouds part and an ethereal beam encases the solitary monops, the illusion melts away into a fleeting dream.

Floyd is everything Jade is not: energetic, extroverted, and brash. Such adjectives can’t possibly describe Jade’s outward demeanor—the one he carefully orchestrates for public consumption. He’s polite and kind, soft-spoken and always wearing a smile despite the situation. He cloaks himself in a many-layered mask—a perfect predator with multiple disguises at his disposal. If he must shed a dozen skins to uphold his gentlemanly disposition, then he will gladly peel them away one at a time until he’s found one that fits flawlessly over bone. Jade could never hope to become what Floyd is, but what Floyd is not Jade is. And he is composed of qualities that reflect Floyd’s own behaviors. 

He’s not ashamed to admit what he lacks. This is just a facet of life. You can never truly have everything you want. If the world was fair, everyone would achieve their goals without adversity. Any aspiration, no matter how small and insignificant, requires an adequate fight to be worthy of achievement. Survival is not much of a dream, but it’s the only thing Jade’s ever known as he floats through the world alongside his brother. His dreams are Floyd’s, or so that’s what he’s always told those who enquire. He shares these things with him because he does not have any to call his own.

Not yet, at least.

And sharing—it’s a word he knows well. Everything that Jade owns, Floyd owns as well. They share the same face, the same room, the same clothes. They might even come to share the same lover one day, should they both find their hearts pierced by Cupid’s miserable arrows. Jade has never been against the concept of sharing. It’s an acceptable way of life for him. He grew up practicing the concept, and it has taught him how to coexist with others. Sharing is an extension of the bonds he’s formed.

Still, he’s avaricious in some aspects. Hopelessly so.

There’s no denying the difficulty that arises when one wishes to share in the turbulent waters of the Coral Sea, where the natural order caters to the strong and crushes the weak, but splitting the essentials is what guarantees survival. And if it’s worked so well in the past, why should he stop now? Therefore, sharing will always be a priority, even if their desires are fraught with selfish envy.

Jade is watching you again.

You’re sitting in the courtyard with Azul, gesturing wildly as you recount a story he can’t hear from where he stands behind a stone pillar. Azul’s expression is soft with amusement; his lips quirk up in laughter, and his eyes never leave yours. Your cursive may be a mess and you might be feeble in the face of danger, but you certainly know how to enthrall others. If Jade didn’t know any better, he’d suspect you to be a siren. Night Raven College would be the perfect hunting ground for a predator of that nature. Perhaps once you’ve charmed Azul you’ll devour his heart and leave a streak of gore in your wake.

That’s impossible. 

Jade is certain of this fact because he knows you’re not a predator. You are very much the harmless prey who has wandered into a den of ravenous beasts. He wonders if the thought that Azul may be dangerous ever crosses that empty, pea-sized brain of yours. He’s as much of a hunter as the rest of the students here, and with those eight tentacles of his he could easily send you to a watery grave. You wouldn’t have much of a chance to struggle, not unless Azul’s own benevolence grants you that futile hope. Thinking about it—about the thrill of a one-sided scuffle—has his heart racing, his palms wetting with sweat.

Oh, but you’re not meant to be Azul’s prey.

So get out of his eyes. Step off of the stage that entertains. Untangle yourself from unseen tentacles.

You are Jade’s.

From the moment the two of you crossed paths—from the moment you took up a job at the lounge and relied on him during your training—you belonged to him. 

And he’s not quite sure he wants to share you with anyone.

Perhaps that dumb smile of yours hides something far darker. Perhaps your blood wouldn’t taste as delectable as he once hoped if it’s already been tainted by Azul’s silver tongue. In his own paradise, an ideal world constructed within the confines of his mind, you wouldn’t look at another man, another woman, another person. Not another living thing. You wouldn’t speak to another man, another woman, another person. Not another living thing. You wouldn’t know the tastes of sweet poison or bitter love unless Jade chooses to bestow these flavors unto you. You would only see him, only taste him, only adore him with those wondrous eyes—eyes that are so impossibly strong even when the harshest of insults are thrown your way.

So get the fuck out of Azul’s eyes. Step off of the damned stage that entertains. Untangle yourself from unseen tentacles before Jade slices all of them off at the root.

These feelings ignite a perilous, potent spark deep within his chest. Seeing you smile at Azul in such a casual setting—it’s not right. This terrarium display is wrong. So wrong. 

The internal fuse has been lit and it’s nearing its inevitable implosion. Stop looking at him with those eyes. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

If Jade could, he would slice your smile off and keep it for himself. Pin it to the wall like it’s a rare species of butterfly, your wings having been severed from the sky.

You’re unbearable.

He fears you wouldn’t belong anywhere in his ideal world, for if you found yourself in the depths of the Coral Sea he wouldn’t allow you to surface.

The most confounding specimen I’ve ever encountered.

Azul is an only child. His mother and step-father would miss him terribly.

— — — 

Jade spies the delightful pep in your step as you skip past the bar later that same day. You’re balancing drinks and desserts on a tray as you make your way to a nearby table, and he’s immediately reminded of why he’s so drawn to you. You’re a puzzle he has yet to solve—an experiment he has yet to collect enough data from. If he could, he’d shrink you down to the size of his index finger and place you in one of his terrariums so that you could live out your tiny life amongst an array of plants. And Jade would be content to observe from above like a godly sovereign with the power to change your fate in a single snap.

Perhaps it’s not right to view you as a specimen or prey. Perhaps it would be better to regard you as a slab of meat, raw and uncooked, just waiting to be snatched up in his maw.

“Please enjoy!”

Your voice pulls him from his reveries. It’s a melody he’s come to savor in solitude. Naturally lilting, it’s the type of voice even the most jealous of souls would covet. He wants to reach deep inside your throat, grasp it for himself, and cradle it to his ear as if it’s a secret-spilling conch.

But claiming ownership of your sound isn’t enough. He wants to—needs to—devour your everything. Your body and soul, marking you as his, ensuring you’re kept under his thumb forever, seared into his own existence like a brand. Then your every breath will be his, and the blood that courses through your veins shall also become his. The darkest of reds might just suit you more than the aquatic hues of Mostro Lounge’s uniform.

Oh, what he’d give to paint you in vinous vermillion.

“Jade, could you cover for me? I’m going to take my break now if that’s okay with you.” Jade must have scanned your hopeful expression for longer than normal because you begin to fidget in front of him, toying with the hem of your apron. “Uh, that’s fine, right?”

“Yes, of course. Go right ahead.” He sends you off with his trademark smile, dusting his destructive thoughts away.

After you’ve retreated to the kitchen, he turns his gaze on the patrons, listening to the noisy din of laughter and chatter. He overhears a group discussing peculiar textbook titles and how most of them are unnecessarily convoluted and complicated. One of the students brings up a title that didn’t make any sense to him and he describes his surprise when he learned it was a book full of love spells and potion recipes. His friends, as all close friends often do, crack jokes at his expense, prodding for more information on who he intends to enchant. The conversation is bland and juvenile, but it does manage to strike a chord of curiosity in Jade.

Love.

Jade has never known the true meaning of romance. Such a thing does not exist in his perfect world. In some lonesome corners of the ocean, merfolk reproduce because they must. Because it’s the only way to survive. It will be like that for him and Floyd in the future, lest they find themselves ensnared in true love’s deadly trap and choose to reproduce for the sole purpose of fickle feelings. To mate out of love rather than obligation—it’s not unheard of and he isn’t opposed to it. Many humans adopt this way of life.

Jade would like to try it for himself, but he doesn’t know how. He’s never known the answer to this question—the one equation he could never work out. Is his heart too small, or is he incapable of comprehending the complexities of romance? Perhaps neither is true. When he considers the requirements that must be met to qualify love as love, he realizes the adoration he feels for you is not fluffy or innocent. Can such a grand obsession be classified as love if it’s dark and spiraling, condemning him to horrific visions? 

Jade does not gaze upon you with fondness. He looks at you as if you’re to be his next meal.

Even when he feels like breaking you would quell some monstrous urge within him, there’s another side that wishes to simply lock you away and protect you from the world and its inhabitants. Because it’s the world that will save you from him, but if you were imprisoned in his world, where it would be just you and him, no one could ever hope to reach you.

Jade isn’t entirely cruel. He would like to share his hobbies with you. He would like to live alongside you in the Coral Sea, tying his life to yours. It’s not an impossible desire, but he knows you wouldn’t be content with this arrangement. Not because it would be unwilling. Not because it would be Jade who has fallen for you and dragged you beneath the waves. It’s precisely because it’s the sea that you might object. You would have to adapt to life in a new, underwater environment. You would have to relinquish certain pleasures unique to the surface, abandoning your bipedal friends and family to live in isolation with him.

But isolation is better than the other terrariums that wait for you. He’ll smash all of them so that you’ll only know this one—the one with him.

Jade has been moving on autopilot for so long now that it finally occurs to him that you’re nowhere to be found. The longer he spends counting the lounge’s staff, the more his observations are proven true. You haven’t returned from your break, which is very unusual considering you’ve always been so diligent about time management. Responsible, that’s what you are. It’s one of the qualities that’s won Azul over. 

He surmises it has also shocked his heart with bolts of not-so-lovely lightning.

Despite the bustling, crowded lounge, he slips inside the kitchen to search for you. Usually Floyd’s crowding around you whenever you have a moment to spare, but he isn’t anywhere in sight either. Jade knows his brother and his mood swings well. When he isn’t feeling the lounge, he’ll escape elsewhere until his mood has been restored. He can understand and overlook Floyd’s absence, but yours is inexcusable.

The chefs are hard at work cooking up delicious meals, and all kinds of savory scents blanket the air. Jade glances at the knife block tucked away in a corner, filled with blades of varying sizes, as he passes. After watching you for so long, he’s learned that you often spend your breaks in the storage room, away from the eyes of customers and Azul. Perhaps the space has become something of a comfort for you, or maybe you just like taking shelter in the kitchen.

A sharp gasp joins the chefs’ clattering.

Jade’s stare snaps towards the storage room door. He frowns when he notices it’s been left ajar.

As he approaches, he can make out the sounds of rustling fabric and salacious gasps. He peers through the sliver into the dimly lit space, a single yellow eye spying a terrible scene. It takes a lot to stun Jade Leech, but the view before him is stunning in a very crooked way. It sends a shockwave rumbling through his body, temporarily freezing him to his spot. Unable to look away, to preserve his eyes and mind, he watches. Every inch of him itches.

Bile claws up his throat with acidic fingers.

You’re pressed against the shelves, skirt hiked high and panties pushed haphazardly to the side. Towering over you, anatomy pinned to yours in a sinful connection, is Floyd. His hands are gripping your wrists as he rocks forward to slot himself deeper inside. You search for a solid hold to steady yourself, burying your head in your arm to muffle your keening cries. 

“Please… It’s… S’too much. Hold on,” you babble, clinging like a koala.

Floyd leans in to nip at the shell of your ear, eliciting a shudder and a squeal from you. “Not happening, Shrimpy…” His lips travel along the length of your neck, pressing playful kisses into your skin. “You’re really so cute, you know that? So cute and soft… I can’t keep my hands off of ya.”

“We really—oh—really shouldn’t do—hah—this!”

Floyd hums, nonchalant, and slowly slides out of your tight, gummy walls. The tip of his cock prods at your pussy once more, glistening with the dew of your essence.

“Why not?”

“Seriously… What if someone sees us? What if—”

Your retort is cut short when he snaps his hips against yours, filling you in a single thrust. You crumple in his arms, tears gathering in your eyes.

Tears. Because of Floyd. Tears.

“So what if they do? I’ll get ’em good if they peep on my Shrimpy.” He licks a stripe up your neck and then sinks his pointed teeth into the area, hard enough to draw blood. You flinch against him, your pretty face contorting with a mixture of pleasure and discomfort while he laps up your blood. Floyd hums merrily, the sound coming deep from within his chest. “Shrimpy always tastes so yummy. I wanna do this aaall the time!”

“Wait, don’t leave any marks!”

“Oops. Too late.” Grinning boyishly, he grabs your chin and tilts your head up to meet his greedy lips. “Lemme kiss it better for ya.”

Jade watches you melt into the kiss, watches you become putty in his twin brother’s hands. Your eyes flutter shut for the briefest moment, only to flash open when Floyd begins to thrust into you. He sets a hasty, sporadic pace as he pursues an orgasmic high. Your sobs are swallowed in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that leave you breathless and reaching. You claw at anything stable enough to support you, your fingers curling into Floyd.

A perfect fit.

While he stands there and takes in the sight of his brother claiming the angel he had hoped to someday make his, it dawns on him that the entire storage room is stained with the memory of you. Your smell, your existence, your everything—it lingers even when you aren’t here. It is imprinted on the walls and shelves; it is on Floyd. Your entire soul has been his long before Jade even laid eyes on you.

Now he knows why you frequent the storage room. Now he knows your secret.

He’ll open your torso and pry it out of you, crush it underfoot, and insert a new secret. A better secret. His secret.

Floyd finishes inside of you with a husky, satisfied groan, his arms wrapped possessively around your trembling frame while you bite back bawdy moans. Jade is overcome with a loathsome chill. You have never belonged to him. Not ever. Certainly not now.

“We should get back out there.” Your mumbling reaches his ears, subdued in the cramped storage room. “Before someone comes looking.”

“Don’t wanna. S’warm and cozy inside.”

“Floyd…” Greedy hands are roaming beneath your shirt. You squirm, attempting to pull yourself off of his softening cock, but he yanks you against his chest and holds firm. “We can do this again later. But right now I need to clean up and you have to work. If we take too long, someone will definitely come looking.”

Floyd rolls his eyes, unwilling to acquiesce until yellow crosses yellow. For a strained moment Jade holds his brother’s inquisitive stare, investigating his blank expression for an iota of emotion. The air stales between the both of them, unspoken accusations festering. And then Floyd’s dull hues brighten and a wide smirk blossoms on his lips.

“Fine, fine. We’ll get back to work now.”

An apocalypse rages within Jade’s terrarium heart.

ii. when he turns to the shards for a solution, the image that is offered is weak and hazy. if he is to live without his other half, he must find ways to fill in the blanks. and so it is said that the lonesome monops clutched the largest shard in a resolute fist and cut away the impression of his other half.

In some cases, Jade is Floyd’s shadow, a reasonable body double who is admired for his patience and persistence. Sometimes he’s the collar and the leash; other times he is meticulously unrestrained. Everything is an act, carefully curated for unsuspecting audiences. Floyd is all physical destruction. He is swift like a clean cut, devastating like a tsunami.

For the first time in a while, Jade cannot bear the face he sees in the mirror. It doesn’t feel like it belongs to him, for it is a reflection of Floyd. It’s a permanent reminder that the two of them are linked whether or not he fancies that. But Jade does not want to be the collar and the lash, nor does he wish to recall the day Floyd took yet another precious thing from him. This face is proof that even he cannot have anything for himself. It is evidence that he is bound to share and share and share until death. He will remain as the shadow, the dark, the salt, and the night for all of eternity, a two-faced creature lacking a true identity.

Neither of them addresses the elephant in the room. If Floyd shows any indication that he wants to bring it up, Jade sweeps the topic away before it can poison his mood. He knows as well as Jade does that it’s not worth bickering over, even if their hackles raise whenever they look at each other.

So Floyd’s been fucking you in the storage room. What’s so traumatic about that? Really, it shouldn’t come as a surprise, but the image still persists in his head like a ruthless phantom. He’s left lying awake at night, sifting through that memory and the ones that came before it for any inkling of what went wrong. Was it his own patience that cost him? Was it the fact that Floyd could charm you in ways Jade just couldn’t?

They have the same face. So why did you choose to love his other half?

Without Floyd, Jade feels incomplete. That’s his family—his only brother. He shouldn’t hate his kin, but he can’t just sit with envy and frustration and pretend as if it’s okay.

The mirror reflects his grim countenance, sneering at him with troubling familiarity. Cracks spiderweb along the length of the glass, extending outwards from where his fist landed. Pain sparks beneath bruising knuckles, masterfully hidden under the pristine fabric of a pure-white glove.

The terrarium is filling with foul things, and Jade doesn’t have enough control to stop the invasion.

— — —

“It’s been really slow today, hasn’t it?” you ask, looking to Jade for his input.

“I’ll admit it’s unusually quiet.” He glances at you, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. He’s tired, but it hardly shows. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, not at all! I welcome the break. Still… It’s weird. Mostro Lounge almost always has lots of customers.”

“I suppose it’s less work for us.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

Heaving a relieved sigh, you rest your elbows on the counter, content to watch the few patrons lingering in the lounge. Jade’s eyes travel along the length of your back, over the the dip and swoop of your spine when you bend forward, and he’s immediately brought back to the day he discovered you and Floyd in the storage room.

“I’ve got it!” you announce moments later, lighting up like a bulb. “The reason it’s so quiet.”

“Oh?” He raises a brow, feigning ignorance.

“It’s because Floyd’s not here. Everything’s super lively when he’s around.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. It’s a shame he’s not scheduled today. Oh, but it’s not so bad when it’s just the two of us. We’re a good team!”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“I’m happy we can talk like this. It feels like we never have the chance to speak during work and I’m always worried I’ll bother you if I try to start a conversation.”

“You couldn’t possibly bother me.” Jade pauses to ruminate on his thoughts before adding, “Well, you were awfully troublesome in the beginning. Ah, don’t look so upset. I’m only admitting my feelings.”

“Am I still troublesome?” You cross your arms over your chest, pouting.

You are. Very much so, I’m afraid.

“I tolerate you now.”

“That doesn’t sound any better!”

Jade chuckles. “It’s merely constructive criticism. Take it in stride.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst.” Despite that, a smile creeps onto your face.

It’s the same smile you show Floyd, so therefore it has no meaning. It’s not special.

Jade abhors it. He should be the one in that storage room with you. It should be Jade who touches and lavishes you with filthy praise before inevitable destruction. Consolation before bruises and bite marks. Sugar before salt. Love before lust.

You can’t possibly fit in his make-believe terrarium now—not when your heart lies with Floyd. Just what is his brother to you? What do you possibly see in him that you fail to see in Jade? They are the same. They are mirror images of one another. There is no difference.

So why won’t you look at him with admiration in your eyes? Eyes he’ll gouge out for beholding another man. Why won’t you kiss him in secret? Lips he’ll sew shut for touching a mouth that isn’t his. Why won’t you beckon him into that cursed storage room and pull him flush against you, joining together in bodily matrimony? A body he’ll cage to prevent it from fleeing. Why can’t you love him until the very feeling is leaking from your pores? Leaking like the blood that will run far and red when he transplants his love into your chest. Why must you associate yourself with the other half—the better half? 

The half that’s won.

It doesn’t matter if Floyd’s willing to share. Jade isn’t feeling charitable. He doesn’t want to cut you up into tiny shreds and share. You’re for his enjoyment. This is a non-negotiable fact.

Perhaps he’s the worst just as you claimed. Because if he was the best he’d have you. Because if he was the best he wouldn’t feel the need to mourn a gutting loss. Because if he was the best he wouldn’t feel the need to fall back on a nasty trump card. But when fair play fails, one must resort to sordid schemes in order to secure victory. You can’t expect to climb the corporate ladder without stepping on a few rotted rungs in the ascent, courtesy of those who came before.

It’s fine if he plays dirty. After all, his feelings have never been defined by purity.

“You seem tired. Would you like me to fetch you something to drink?”

“Mm, yeah. Could you? I’d hate to trouble you.”

“It’s not a problem. Will tea be suitable?”

“Sure. I could go for chamomile. I heard you’re great at making tea, so I know it’ll be good.”

“I still have much to learn, but I’m flattered you hold me in such pleasant regard.”

“I doubt you could ever fail. You’re always succeeding. I’m actually kinda jealous. How are you so good at—oh! Someone needs me at table three. Be right back.”

Jade nods, replaying your words in a loop. I doubt you could ever fail. You’re always succeeding. But he has failed. He’s failed and it’s eating him alive because you’re so close and yet out of his reach.

You spread your wings like a good social butterfly and abandon your place at the counter. Jade’s left to prepare your tea in peace. He chooses from the vast selection lining the wall—chamomile just as you suggested—and goes through the motions of filling the kettle with fresh water. He’s working on a time limit here, so he withdraws his magic pen, mutters the proper incantation, and waits for the telltale hiss. Even though he would like to prepare it with the utmost care, he must be hasty and stealthy if he wants to slip the special ingredient in without garnering unwanted attention.

Luckily, you’re trapped in a conversation with a friend and won’t be returning to his side anytime soon. That’s another trait he’s learned about you. Just like Floyd, you adore chatting. It’s not difficult to hold a conversation with you, especially when you’re the one leading it. You shine when you speak. He needs to snuff you before anyone else comes to seek your light.

Perhaps it’s this intoxicating quality of yours that caught Floyd’s heart. Jade can’t quite ascertain when he started looking at you from less-than-friendly angles or what the exact catalyst for your relationship with his twin was. It must have begun as a wicked fascination. An innate curiosity with the surface and its humans. How else could Floyd have fallen for you if he rarely spoke with you? Was it your strengths that earned his approval? Was it your humanity that left him impressed?

It’s not fair, but Jade won’t whine about it. He’s not a child. Whining won’t solve anything.

He must love you until you shatter.

The kettle whistles, thus yanking him from his innermost contemplations. He lifts it, minding the burning surface, and pours the water into a porcelain cup. Steam rises and furls like wispy, ghostly fingers. He could keep the vial hidden in his pocket and serve you a normal cup of chamomile. But the situation isn’t normal and he can’t just charm you as he normally would.

That didn’t work, so he must cross that method off his list and resort to what’s next. It’s only natural to fight for the thing you cherish most, so he shall do just that.

If Floyd hasn’t broken you yet, he certainly will.

You’re back at the counter just as he finishes stirring it in with the now darkening, tea-tainted water. Jade hands it to you, reminding you that it’s still hot. It’s an empty warning. He couldn’t care less if the liquid scorches your tongue. Let it burn, he thinks, his eyes narrowed as he watches you blow on it so it’ll cool faster. Perhaps then you’ll stop tangling your tongue with him.

Sometimes love is as unforgiving as the deep sea, turbulent and harrowing. Sometimes you must kill the one you love to truly understand the feeling—to dissect it down to the biological, scientific level.

Like always, he observes you while you drink the tea throughout the remainder of your shift. You look so sleepy, your eyelids fluttering and snapping open. You’re slipping; he can see it. Jade wonders what face you might show him later—what emotion will reflect in fragile eyes.

He knows it won’t be love, but that doesn’t stop him from hoping.

iii. separated from his other half, monops is unrecognizable—a hollow monster who has lost fractions of his humanity in a selfish effort to dispose of unnatural characteristics. he cannot hope to find his own personality amidst the mess in his tower, so he sits before the broken, bloodied shards once again. his other half meets him there, shattered and in pieces as he stares.

You shift in your sleep, just barely breaching the surface of consciousness. Jade placed you on his bed after carrying you from the lounge to his and Floyd’s room, where he proceeded to bind your arms and gag you. You look mostly peaceful tangled in his sheets, an oblivious thing who knows nothing of the mountains he’s had to scale in order to arrive at this point—at the glorious top.

Floyd’s not here, but Jade suspects he might have already known what was coming. They’ve always known how to read the other. Maybe it’s telepathy.

Or maybe not. They’re just aware of the other’s monstrosities. That’s all there is to it.

It’s then when your eyes snap open. Jade doesn’t bother to hide the smile crawling onto his face as he watches you come to, slowly assessing your surroundings. It doesn’t take long for you to start struggling once you’ve registered the tie binding your wrists together and the gag shoved into your mouth. Your voice comes out muffled, but your nostrils are flaring. Your eyes are widening. He can smell your fear—taste it on the tip of his tongue.

It prickles his skin, sets it on fire.

Jade sits primly at the edge of Floyd’s bed, content to study you from a distance. You’re writhing desperately in an attempt to loosen the restraints. He’s tied them well. It’s a technique mastered and put into practice. You’re not getting out of this.

“You fainted.”

You startle, turning your head to look at him. The fear seems to diminish for a moment before it returns in full force. Your glassy eyes are pleading: Why?

“It’s not wise to overwork yourself. You should prioritize your health more.”

Oh, is this it? Are those tears? Already? When he hasn’t even done anything to you yet? Have you really been this weak all along?

You try to talk despite the gag, and the attempt is so pitiful that Jade crosses over to tug it down from your mouth. Saliva strings from the gag. Messy.

“Jade! What the hell?! Why am I tied up? Why am I in your room?”

He frowns. “I’ll admit I’m rather…displeased.” He could unleash the torrent right now, but he won’t. Not yet. “Perhaps you might know why my mood has soured?”

“I… What? Is this because I fainted? Look, I’m sorry. I’ll take better care of myself. Please don’t make this a big deal.”

He tilts his head, confused. “I don’t quite care that you fainted.” He seizes your chin and forces you to meet his mismatched hues. “I care about the company you keep.”

“The company I keep? I don’t understand. What are you—”

“Give it some thought.” His fingers dig into your cheeks. Hard.

You yelp, attempting to pull away. He doesn’t release you. “I don’t know what you mean! Seriously, what’s all of this about? Did I do something wrong? Please… Please let me go.”

“You’re getting there.” He lessens the pressure on your jaw. “Come now. You’re so close.”

“Jade, please—”

“This is regarding your involvement with my brother,” he begins, and horror settles on your face. “Ah, so you are following. Wonderful.”

“Did you… Did you see us?”

“More than I ever wanted to see, yes.” He smiles thinly and releases you. “I thought it was such a dreadful, ugly thing to behold. My own kin lusting after the only thing I’ve ever loved to such a degree.” He swipes a faux tear from his eye. His voice drops to a threateningly low decibel next, and darkness passes over his features. He looks scarily grotesque. “It made me so ill. Seeing you in that closet with Floyd… Watching you talk to Azul—to everyone else—makes me so ill. I fondly contemplated the most troubling things.”

“W-What?”

“It truly is a conundrum.” He sighs as if unloading a heavy burden. “To feel so strongly for something that even love and hate become one and the same… I want nothing more than to strangle you whenever I see you with Floyd, with Azul, with anyone who isn’t me. I want to cut into your torso and make you suffer tenfold for what I’ve had to endure.” His fingers curl around your ankles, sliding down to reach your shoes. He unties the laces, sliding both from your feet. And then he’s grasping them, rubbing circles into your soles. “I want you to look at me no matter what, even when you’re a shredded, bloodied mess.”

“You… You’re joking, r-right?”

“Am I?” He smiles again, but it’s wider this time. Exhilarated. Excited. “Should we see who’s laughing when I sever your feet at the ankles? He peels your socks off next, tossing them over his shoulder. “Do you think that’s a fitting punishment?”

“Fuck no! You’re insane!”

He hums his acknowledgement and reaches for your skirt. Your heart drops into your stomach, every muscle tightening with raw terror. Instinctively, you kick out at him. Your foot slams into his chest. If it hurts, he doesn’t let it show.

“Don’t you dare touch me, you creep! Stay the fuck away!” By the third kick, he catches your foot. And he stares at it. Quietly. Expressionlessly. There is nothing in his face. That horrifies you. “Jade… Jade, I’m sorry. Can we please… Can you please stop this?”

“Am I truly that undesirable? You would rather have Floyd than me?”

“Yes, of course! Floyd’s not a fucking pervert like you!”

Jade’s laughter is sudden and short. It trembles through him like an earthquake. “Forgive me. It was so funny I just had to chuckle.” A smug smile takes up residence on his face. “Do you really think Floyd is so pure? That he’s the perfect partner all humans dream of?”

“He didn’t outright admit to wanting to murder me so, uh, yeah, he’s much better than your crazy ass!”

Jade squeezes your foot once before setting it down on the bed. He crawls over you, his hands snaking up your thighs. “That’s a shame. You’ll think differently soon enough. He just hasn’t given you reason to fear him yet.”

“I highly doubt—hey! Don’t touch there!” You struggle again, your breath coming in short, helpless huffs. “Let go of me. Please. Jade, let go…” Your voice trails off, spotted with distress.

His hand settles over your clothed pussy next. Two fingers press up against that sacred spot, tracing the area experimentally. “This is that warm and cozy place, yes?” You shake your head at him, lips trembling. He smirks, vicious and mean, and strokes slow, soothing lines up and down the outline. “Is it your safe day? Ah, but perhaps love is stronger than medicine. Stronger than all of the filth Floyd’s emptied in you. What do you think?”

“No… No, stop!”

“It really did sicken me—the thought of you and Floyd. Together. Forever. If you were to fall pregnant, I’d have to take a textbook to your stomach. The alchemy textbook. That one would inflict the most damage, you see,” he admits with a pleasant hum. He watches the spreading wet patch with predatory glee before gazing back at you. “But you’re not pregnant, right?”

“I’m not! I’m not!” You gasp when his fingers dip into the waistband of your panties, harshly tugging them from your skin. And then his fingers are inching towards your pussy. “What are you—stop! No, no, no! Floyd! Floyd, help!” You squirm beneath him, kicking and screaming. “Floyd! Floyd, help me! Please! Anyone—someone—please help!”

A shadow passes over your face for a second before his hand comes down upon your mouth to silence your incessant shrieks. Your sobs are softer now, each plea spoken into his palm. Jade exhales slowly, composing himself.

“You’ve said his name more than enough. Say it any more and I’m afraid I’ll have to remedy this bad habit. Just how much do you value your tongue, I wonder?”

Before you can even think of struggling further, he’s switching the positions. Sitting back against the headboard, he tugs you onto his lap. You try to get away from him, but he holds you steady. The gag is fastened around your mouth once more, tighter this time.

“Now, now. You’re not going to escape, so there’s no point in exhausting your energy. Pointless pursuits are never rewarded,” he chides, tutting. He pulls his magic pen from his pocket and flicks it in the air once. A mirror materializes, displaying your disturbed expression in the glass.

Your mind blanks out then, logic overridden with the intrinsic desperation to survive. Is that really you looking back? It can’t be. The (Name) you know has never looked this fearful. Her face has never been this warped with panic.

But then you feel something stiff prodding you from behind, and the horror triples. You squirm again, much more forceful, sobbing into the gag and shaking your head as if that will earn you a sliver of sympathy from him. He continues to hold you against him with one arm while the other reaches to pull himself free from the confines of his pants and boxers.

“We have the same face, so there’s no need to cry. If it really helps, just think of me as Floyd,” he teases, and it sickens you. Makes you feel so gross and filthy. You want to step out of your skin, travel to a place that isn’t here, disappear into the tile and never return. Tears trace down your cheeks in salty rivulets. You can only produce blubbery whimpers now. His erect cock curves up towards your stomach. Jade lifts your skirt to get a better view. The mirror reflects it all in crisp detail. “What do you think? Is it bigger than his?”

His knuckles trace your cheek, uncharacteristically tender.

“It will seem that way when it’s inside, won’t it?”

In response you shift in his lap, tugging at the tie tightly secured around your wrists, and he merely chuckles. It’s delightful, really, the way you move like captured prey. Your chest heaves when the fleshy head of his cock presses shallowly inside your pussy, sampling wet warmth. You pray it’ll end fast. You pray he’ll be gentle. You pray he’ll skin you alive so you’ll never have to spend another second in this body. Anything but this.

Jade doesn’t grant either of those prayers, for he lifts you up slightly, aims for home, and slams you down in one brutal thrust that punches the air from your lungs. You choke on your tongue, biting down so hard that your teeth split the skin on the inside of your cheek. Blood pools into your mouth. It stings, but nothing hurts more than the unwanted intrusion. Shamelessly, much to your horror, your walls affix to him in an attempt to accommodate his girth. Without intending to, you catch yourself in the mirror. The stretch is sinful, your pussy wrapped snugly around him, and he’s slotted all the way to the hilt.

It’s torture for you.

It’s a twisted relief for Jade. A triumphant euphoria.

He exhales a shaky breath, his lips peeling apart to reveal a row of sharp teeth. In the mirror he looks every bit the predator he’s meant to be: cruel and cutthroat, staking claim on a stolen prize. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips as he rocks you up and down, occasionally bucking his hips to meet your soft, plush ass.

“It’s strange,” he manages through his grunts and groans, his breath hot on your nape, “I imagined this would feel more gratifying than any other gruesome thrill. Mm, but it’s not—” he slams you down again, reveling in your muffled wailing, “not nearly enough.”

Your eyes, wet with tears, question his reflection. You watch with bated breath as he slides your collar away, leaning in to press his lips to your neck. Your pulse stutters in his mouth, a jittery, fearful thing.

He inhales the pungent scent of sweat and sex, the scent of your fear, the scent of himself on you. From head to toe, externally and internally, you are covered in him, wrapped around him, molded to his very shape. You’ve gone stiff in his arms, too frightened to move a single muscle, but it only serves to excite him more. He needs to bear witness to all of it—to every inch of you, stripped bare and wired with anxiety.

Needle-thin teeth prick your skin. You wince and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Does it hurt?”

Despairing and hopeless, you deflate against him. Your body shakes with every sob.

It hurts. It hurts so much. More than anything has ever hurt before. And Jade knows this because he isn’t gentle. He has no interest in being sweet. He bites to harm. To kill. To destroy.

Jade sinks in deep: his teeth in your throat and his cock in your guts. And it hurts.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs, his lips slick and spattered with crimson when he pulls away, breathing heavily. “I’m so pleased…”

The blood just won’t stop. It’s flowing in rivers, cascading down the juncture between neck and shoulder and staining your clothes. Did he bite something major? Oh God—are you going to bleed out? Are you going to die? Did he get that one artery—the throat artery—the whatever-the-fuck-it’s-called artery? Is that even possible? Why won’t the blood stop? Why do you feel so fuzzy—so faint? It really won’t stop. It’s an ocean.

It’s everywhere.

Jade pinches you to bring you back to yourself; his nails prick your thigh, imprinting crescent moons in skin, and it works. You surface, taking in big gulps of oxygen while your heart skips over itself. You can’t drift off even if you wanted to; your reflection is much too haunting, destroyed and debased in every possible way. It grounds you in reality, digs deeply.

“Pain is the most thrilling form of love. You’ve taught me something new. Thank you.”

From behind, peering over your shoulder, his reflection grins at you. Wildly untamed and blood-stained, he’s manic. Unhinged. Uncaged. His pupils are so large they nearly eclipse his heterochromatic irises, rendering both eyes beady and black. Two pits of a molten void—a starless outer space.

He looks just like Floyd.

[a-d-nox]

astro placements as dungeons and dragons heroes and monsters

fun fact about me - i am a total nerd! when i was in middle school and introduced to having step-sisters, my father brought out old 2e dungeons and dragons manuals and adventures. i have been in love with the game ever since. BUT - a sadness - i don't really have a group or anything anymore so now it's just a fond memory. in honor of those memories is this post.

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8h scorpio (8°, 20°) sun

rogue: always calculating the next move. people typically underestimate them but they are often masters of secrets, deception, and psychological warfare. their personal power comes from what others fear to confront.

vampire: powerful and strategic as hell - they don’t just fight, they control the battlefield. they lure people in, offering them what they desire most, only to twist it to their advantage (hi, count orlok). their presence shifts the energy in the room.

8h scorpio (8°, 20°) moon

warlock/witch: they are bound to something mysterious that most people can't comprehend. they are hyper-intuitive, they see what others don’t. their gut instincts rarely fail them.

mindflayer: they exist in depths that most people can’t even reach. they don’t communicate with words - they can project thoughts, emotions, and fears straight into people’s minds. they are incredibly intuitive, manipulative, and secretive (always several steps ahead). they don’t just want control - they want absolute understanding of all the people around them.

8h scorpio (8°, 20°) mercury

bard: their words have power, and they know exactly how to use them to manipulate, persuade, and/or cut someone down. they can read between the lines and say just the right thing to unnerve or inspire someone. their mind is a locked vault, but they are a master at unlocking others’ people thoughts.

banshee: it’s a creature of intense emotional power, one that often manipulates others with their haunting voice. they have the ability to speak in ways that are both entrancing and unnerving.

9h sagittarius (9°, 21°) venus

ranger: drawn to adventure. their love language? spontaneous trips and deep late-night conversations about the meaning of life lol.

sphinx: these creature are mystics, philosophers, and keeper of forbidden knowledges. they test people - mentally and spiritually. they jive only with those who can match their intellect and curiosity.

7h virgo (6°, 18°) mars

monk: precision is this person's weapon - they are methodical in action, always calculating their next move. they fight with discipline and efficiency; never wasting their energy. they strategize, plan, and strike when the moment is right.

anti-paladin: they are commander, and a tactician - they do not rush into combat but instead calculates every move carefully. always acting when the time is right, they maintain control with calculated restraint.

3h gemini (3°, 15°, 27°) jupiter

wizard: quick-witted, adaptable, and always full of ideas, they thrive in environments where they can share and absorb information. they love learning for the sake of learning, and theit wisdom comes from diverse experiences rather than just tradition.

doppelgänger: they are adaptability incarnate - constantly shifting, learning, and outmaneuvering their opponents. no one really knows who they are, because they shift personas as easily as changing clothes. they never fight directly if they don’t have to - they let people defeat themselves by getting in their head.

3h taurus (2°, 14°, 26°) saturn

fighter: they believe in earned success - no shortcuts, no easy way out. this is a reliable class, they build their skills and knowledge steadily over time.

iron golem: they are an unyielding force - the thing that doesn’t move, no matter what happens. they have a foundation of unshakable strength.

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[rafesapologist]

the set up — rafe cameron; part eight

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you've been one of the pogues since childhood, and your loyalty has always lied within your friend group, who is practically your family. when a threat by the name of rafe cameron begins to threaten the pogue's plans, they assign you to gain the trust of the dubious kook and keep an eye on what he's up to. however, now it's been six months since your friends set you up to spy on the kook prince himself, but what you didn't anticipate was to fall head over heels for the boy. your relationship had soon become inviolable shortly after your guys' first exchanges, much to your friends' dismay, and you two became practically inseperable. that was, until rafe discovers the truth.

warnings: swearing, mature themes, angst, sad-ish rafe, smut (minors DO NOT INTERACT, 18+)

author's note: this one is to (hopefully) make up for having to cut the last chapter short due to personal stuff. enjoy my loves

You were pissed at JJ.

Matter of fact, it was much more than that; you loathed him. He was supposed to be your best friend, your confidant, yet he was too caught up within his fit of jealousy to realize that your time with Rafe Cameron was merely an act for the sake of your friends' livelihood. Hell, if anyone knew that it should have been JJ considering he was half of the reason the whole scheme was conspired in the first place.

You wondered what his real problem was and where it came from, considering that he had never treated you like less than until you brought up going to Midsummers with Rafe. From internal dialogue, you demanded answers and to know what had him so affronted. Out of all people, you assumed that he would have your back through the entire plan, however he was doing quite the opposite.

"I can't fucking believe him. I mean - Who does he think he is?" You remonstrated, a scowl tainting your facial features ever so palpably.

"Relax princess," Rafe let out a soft partly suppressed laugh, "how does he have you this riled up in the first place?"

Despite your indignation, you froze at his question. You knew that you couldn't flat out tell him the real reason why you and JJ got into it, for obvious reasons, so what was the next best option? Lie.

"He told me I was spending too much time with Pope and got mad at me." You blurted out before you could actually think about what you were really saying. You avoided eye contact with Rafe in hopes that he wouldn't find any evidence of deception in your expression, opting to completely circumvent his observing gaze by shifting your body away from him while you blankly stared out the car window.

"Pope? I don't think I ever see you with him unless JJ is around too." His brows furrowed.

"I mean I am close with him kind of," you added, "I used to study with him all the time after school, cause he's like a genius or whatever. But it wasn't like that. Pope's too innocent." You shrugged, your words spewing from your lips with little to no thought as your only goal was to steer the boy away from any suspicion of you.

"Are you sure it's nothing more than that?

Your eyes widened in disbelief as your head snapped towards Rafe's direction while he continued to drive, "Are you serious?" You catechized in a state of dubiety.

"Just wondering." The sandy-haired boy stated as though he asked nothing wrong, which only seemed to set you off more on top of your prior situation at hand.

"For your information, no it's not more than that, and two, why do you care?" You folded your arms in your seat as you turned to face Rafe with intent to interrogate him on his unappreciated inquisitiveness.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to." He glanced over at you with a suggestive look written on his face and in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine and planted those same old butterflies in your stomach.

"Well, I did ask." You pestered in hopes it would provoke some sort of reaction out of him, which seemed to be easy for you to do.

"I just don't think you deserve to settle for some Pogue dude who can't come close to giving you a real future." Rafe kept his eyes pointed straight ahead onto the road in front of him as he spoke, making you wonder if he just havering or not.

"And what, you can?" You scoffed.

"I would." He declared in a way that implied to you that he was more than sure of himself and what exactly he was promising to you, although it seemed rather delusive and improbable to happen.

"Yeah. I'm sure you tell every girl that." You heaved a displeased sigh to yourself as you slouched back into your seat, refusing to believe that the Rafe Cameron, the Kook Prince himself, would genuinely be the type to go out of his way to make the effort for any woman, unless he was trying to sleep with her.

"You really have no faith in me, pretty girl." Rafe breathed out a half-hearted chuckle at your lack of credence in his word, however he must have taken some amusement in your incredulity judging by the way his continual smirk stayed present on his face.

"Shut up, Cameron. Just take me home."

"I have a better idea, first." He replied, his lips curling up into a suppressed thin-lip smile.

"Great. Now I'm being kidnapped too." You rolled your eyes once more, rubbing your forehead in distress.

"It's not kidnapping if you willingly got in my car, y/n."

"It's kidnapping if you're taking me places I didn't agree to go to!" You protested, flailing your hands in the air at him, which of course only earned you a chuckle on his part.

"Would you rather me take you back to JJ?" Rafe threatened flippantly as the car suddenly pulled into yet another empty parking lot. Typical.

"Would have rathered you take me home but whatever." You mumbled to yourself with your arms still folded over your chest as you peered up from your seat to observe your new surroundings, which deemed foreign to you.

"Rafe- Why are we at another parking lot? You know you're really not clever with your date ide-"

"Just trust me." Rafe shushed as he turned the car off and exited, only to meet you at the passenger side door to open it for you as he had done previously. Sure it was an almost banal thing of him to do, but you had to admit that part of you enjoyed his acts of courtesy.

You remained hesitant with him, however your curiosity was a much greater component in you decision making that had led you to following him anyways. You treaded closely behind him as he headed into the direction of a purportedly seclusive area of a place that appeared to lead to a beach, judging by the way that sand had come into your view. You fumbled through a small patch of dead trees as you made your way to a wide open shore with an absence of debris that beaches you had seen normally had.

"This is where I usually go to get away." Rafe suddenly confessed while he took in the scenic view ahead of him.

"So this is the spot you take all your hookups to. Nice." You nodded with your lips pressed together, confused as to why you were even there in the first place.

"You're so stubborn, you know that?" He rolled his eyes, sighing as he sat down on an individual log that rested in the sand.

"So I've been told."

"Just come sit with me." Rafe gingerly pleaded to you while he combed a hand through his straight locks that displayed blends of wheaty and brown undertones, combining to create a dimensional shade of dirty blond that was unique to his features, "Please?"

You wanted to resist his request initially and continue your usual back-and-forth banter that the two of you always kept up with, however you saw something different in Rafe's eyes when he asked you to sit with him. A new candor that had washed over him that had you obeying his call.

Both of you had sat besides each other for a few minutes, basking in each other's silence as the sounds of the distant waves crashed upon the shore harmoniously. You kept your gaze directly at the view of the ocean ahead, your fingers interlocked under your knees while you sat with your legs up to your chest as you took in the scenery around you. Although your vision was aimed at the oceanfront, you could feel the burning stare of those familiar azure eyes trained onto you, causing your body temperature to rise rapidly.

"I came here a lot when I was younger." Rafe broke the silence abruptly, causing you to snap your head in his direction with your brows furrowed in confusion. "To get away from my parents when they were fighting, and sometimes from Sarah." He continued on, a quiet dry laugh escaping his rosy-pink lips.

"Why did you need to get away from them?" You asked rather lowly, scared to say the wrong thing in such an earnest moment.

The blond sighed deeply in response as his eyes began to scan the area ahead of him intently before he spoke. "They fought a lot, my mom and dad. Sometimes to the point where I thought they were going to kill each other," his nose wrinkled as a display of discomfort, "but I was the oldest so everyone expected me to protect Sarah and Wheezie when things got bad like that, and I did. Every single time. But, what I think they failed to realize was that it was just as uneasy for me to witness as it was them. I didn't wanna see or hear them fight either, but I had no choice. I needed to get away from it at some point, so I started coming here."

Your lips formed into a significant frown as he spoke, taking in his shattering words and that cold look that casted over his face that you knew was only to cover up from the pain he felt reliving the events he was describing. You would have never guessed there was so much hiding beneath that posh demeanor of his, however you felt as though there was more that had yet to be said.

"Did they ever notice when you'd run away like that?" You asked sheepishly.

"Nobody noticed when I was gone. They were only concerned when they needed me for something again." Your heart began to break piece-by-piece as Rafe's revelations had began to unfold slowly. The tragedy in what he was telling you was beginning to make your throat swell as tears threatened your eyes, asking yourself how a family could be so cruel to one of their own, a scenario you were quite familiar with yourself.

"It only ended once they finally got divorced and my mother ran away back to her hometown," Rafe seemed to wince at the statement, scratching the back of his head to mask his reaction, "I never saw or heard from her again after that. Honestly I couldn't tell you if she was alive or dead right now, crazy as it sounds."

You pressed your lips together into a thin line once they began to quiver as you digested Rafe's story. You forced yourself to look away from him and focus your attention to your hands that fiddled in your lap, knowing that if you looked at him any longer you would surely lose your composure.

"Rafe.. I-I'm so sorry." You breathed out quietly, a weakness in your voice that made him turn his head to observe the state that you were in. It was safe to say that he was staring at you once again, considering the intensity of his glare could be felt from miles away, but you refused to look up and reveal to him how much distress the detailed account of his previous life had put you in.

"My experience isn't quite the same as yours, but I understand your pain, Rafe. In a sense, I do." You uttered with your eyes glued to the sand below your feet.

"What do you mean?" Rafe asked, watching you keenly as you spoke.

"My family is pretty fucked up, too. Not in the same exact way as yours may be, but still, fucked." You let out a dry laugh, kicking the sand between your toes away from you, "My mother is verbally abusive and neglectful, and my dad is just, barely ever home. Sometimes I wonder if it's because he's trying to get away from her, although I wouldn't blame him for that, but I needed him many times in my life and he was never there. Plenty of times she was saying these God awful things to me, tearing me down for most of my life, and the one person who was supposed to be there to protect me just... Wasn't." You shook your head as it hung low to the ground, fighting off the urge to cry that overcame you as you recalled the burning memory of your childhood.

"It's not my place to speak on what they went through, but JJ and John B came from homes similar to mine. Absent, hell even abusive if that's what you wanna call it, parents. We basically raised ourselves, I mean we still are essentially. At times I would think that I still don't know any better than that nine year old girl who wondered how she was going to make it in life given the circumstances she was put into. Part of me will always resent my parents for doing this to me." Your voice cracked as you spoke, a queasy feeling building up in your stomach as you basically bared your soul to some boy from Figure Eight.

"Hey," Rafe cooed as he placed his large hand ontop of your thigh, "just because you were dealt with a bad hand growing up doesn't mean you are subjected to a bad life, y/n. They can't determine how far you're going to go, and you'll sure as hell get a lot farther than them I'm sure."

"Rafe," you shooked your head at him as you quickly wiped a single tear that escaped your eye, "I live on the Cut. I'd have to work two jobs to even come close to being comfortable, and even then, it still wouldn't be enough to get by long term. I have to work ten times harder than anyone else on this island because of the situation I was born into, the family I was born into. It'll be a hassle for the rest of my life. I don't get to live in a mansion and own some fancy yacht because my dad has the money, I wasn't given that privilege in life."

Your words wounded Rafe a little bit, as much as he hated to admit, but he knew you had a point and for that he couldn't be mad at you for it. He knew you were at an unfair disadvantage simply because of who your parents were and what little effort they made into giving you a congenial life, and it hurt him knowing you were made to suffer because of other people's foolish mistakes and selfishness.

"You deserve a happy life just as much as anyone else, actually probably even more than most." The blue-eyed boy urged with ardent feelings present in his tone.

"You're just saying that." You rolled your eyes half-heartedly, nudging him softly in disagreement to his statement.

"I'm not, y/n. I mean it, genuinely. You've been through so much and here you are, still so lively and caring. Most people in your shoes would have let their past turn them heartless, but you.. You're infectious and kind despite having gone through hell. I don't think you give yourself enough credit for that." His words were sweet and genuine in a way that had your heart practically melting in his hands, a feeling you had yet to feel so authentically as you did in that moment as you sat there on a vacant beach, staring into the mesmerizing lazuline eyes of Rafe Cameron.

Your lips stayed slightly parted subconsciously as you found yourself getting lost in the current moment that was unfolding between you and the Kook Prince himself, a scene you never would have imagined yourself being in three weeks before. You watched as his pupils widened, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your swollen lips. His free hand ghosted your forearm as it made its way up to your cheek, wiping the reminisce of tears that trailed down your face. You peered up at him coyly, staring back at him through your eyelashes as you gently rested your head into his warm open hand while his thumb slowly caressed the soft skin.

"So beautiful." Rafe whispered under his breath as he looked at you with full admiration that made your legs feel weak. You weren't entirely sure why, perhaps it had been the vulnerability you were subjected to in that moment, but you felt like crying again. This time however, it wasn't from sadness or pain, but relief. A relief that for the first time in your entire life, someone had saw you for who you were and was willing to provide you a safety net for you to let down your walls and fall freely into them. Sure your friends came close to it, but with Rafe it was far different. The feeling was intense and invoked a child-like excitement, even joy, out of you. It made you feel giddy inside, as though you couldn't help but smile in his presence even when he wasn't saying a word.

The scent of a warm spice and musk fragrance invaded your space and filled the air around you, tangling you into an inebriated trance fueled by the essence of desire and impulse. You felt as though you were being taunted by Rafe's refusal to move from the position he was in, yet igniting a flame inside of you by his voluptuary touch. It was clear that he was waiting for your invite despite knowing you had craved his taste once before, but he needed your to confirm that the drive to do so was still lingering inside of you. He watched as you took matters into your own hands and climbed back onto his lap, a seat that had basically become yours after the moment the two of you had in his car.

Unlike the time before, you wanted this moment to be one of undescribable vehement, like you had never been touched properly in your lifetime. Rafe remained silent and kept his eyes glued to you and your figure, holding your hips steady against his waist.

"I know you're going to think I'm crazy for saying this right now, but Rafe," you swallowed hard as you struggled to form a coherent sentence under his stare, "I'm ready for this now."

He chuckled tauntingly, "Ready for what, pretty girl?"

"Don't make me say it." You whined, throwing your head back in aggravation.

"Dunno what you're talking about, angel." Rafe smirked as he shrugged, attempting to act as though he was blissfully unaware to the way that your hips your bucked up against him impatiently.

"I want you, idiot." You rolled your eyes at him, groaning as the tension grew unbearably painful between your thighs as the fabric of his khakis rubbed against you.

"Really? I couldn't tell." The devilish boy formed a smug look across his face as he took notice of your eagerness to get ahold of him. He scanned your frame, noticing the hazy look that had clouded over your normally doe-like eyes. Rafe was a man of great strength, but when it came to you, he was putty in your hands.

"Rafe, do something, please." You begged, unable to fully move your hips as he held onto them firmly, keeping you in place.

"Tell me what you want me to do and I will, princess." He murmured into your ear lowly as his lips ghosted your neck before landing onto the sweet spot he had found on you before, immediately earning a whimper to escape your lips quietly.

"Touch me, anything." You answered vaguely as your impatience consumed you more and more by the second, unable to contain the burning in your core.

"Hmm, where do you want me to touch you?" His voice remained low a husky, enough to make you want to collapse in his arms. You removed your hand from behind his neck and snaked it down to the side of your hip, grabbing one of his wrists and re-positioning it right along the center between your thighs.

Your mouth fell agape as Rafe obeyed your wishes and began moving his fingers up and down your blazing core, adding more pressure as your hips grinded against his long digits. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the realization of what exactly you were doing, except you were far too into it to care about the reality of it afterwards. You found that your desire only increased as he teased you through the fabric of your shorts, agonizingly. Without a second thought, you placed your hand onto of his and laced your fingers together, forcing him to speed up his movements and add even more pressure.

Rafe seemed to have taken note of your demands as he removed his hand and began unbuckling your denim shorts swiftly before sliding his fingers underneath your lace thong briskly. Your head fell back instinctively, soft moans escaping your lips that fueled Rafe's ego proudly. He found himself stuck in a daze as he watched you fall under the spell of his trained fingers as they massaged through your folds hastily, causing you to press your hips against him more as they bucked up against his hands.

Just when you found prodigious pleasure in the way Rafe's fingers felt against you, shock waves coursed through your body like electricity once you felt two of his lengthy digits curl up inside of you. Your eyes rolled back, taking in the bliss that was Rafe Cameron's two fingers thrusting into you at a pace that made your legs feel like jello. Your moans became erratic and uncontrollable as the sandy-haired boy pushed his fingers up further into you, gliding them in and out rapidly as he continuously pressed against your cervix with force.

"Does that feel good, princess?" Rafe mumbled against your collarbone as he kissed along the prominent bone passionately, trying to withhold himself from losing control of his own.

"Don't stop." You whined as you begged him to continue, grinding against his fingers keenly with hopes to feel as much of him as you possible could, a state of euphoria approaching you slowly.

"R-Rafe, I can't take it." You pleaded, wincing as his pace continued to fasten inside of you.

"C'mon angel, you can do it. You're almost there." He coaxed you softly as he sinisterly placed his thumb onto your clit and began unhesitatingly rubbing swift circles against it, sending your mind and body into a frenzy.

You placed your hands onto his shoulders and gripped onto them tightly as you began to reach your peak, your thighs shaking and your legs giving out as the muscles within them began to spasm uncontrollably. A throbbing feeling reached your core as you continued grinding against Rafe's fingers with speed as you chased your high, your moans becoming explicit and noisy.

"Cum on my fingers, baby, it's okay. Let it out." Rafe ushered as he kept up his movements while your body convulsed against him, feeling as rush go through your body as explosions set off within your core region. You felt an immense release as you came undone along his fingers, crying out as you felt an overwhelming amount of pleasure take over your body.

Rafe removed his hand out of you, buttoning your shorts back up and zipping them for you as he pecked your cheek gently.

"Are you okay?" He asked, scanning your features for any sign of pain or distress.

"Mm, yeah I'm good." You wearily hummed as you collapsed into him, burying your face into the crook of his neck while you closed your eyes, taking in the events that had just occured as well as the aftermath of the pleasure that obtained your body.

The hubristic boy chuckled at your state of defeat, "You did good, pretty girl." A small, thin lipped smile formed at the corners of his mouth as he caressed up your hips and thighs slowly, "C'mon I know you're tired, I'll take you home, or wherever. I've gotta head back to my place, anyways."

"Why?" You groaned, not wanting to removing yourself from the daydream you were currently in.

"My dad texted me, said he needs my help tonight." Rafe shrugged.

"Did he say with what?" You asked, reality now coming back to you at the mention of his infamous father.

"Yeah, sort of. He said he needed help moving some cargo onto this ship he owns. I guess it's heavy." Rafe's words came out rather bluntly and plain, as though he was talking about the weather or his weekly schedule. His statement replayed in your head a few times before you sat up and attempted to make sense of what he was talking about.

"Like just random stuff?" You questioned, pining for further answers as the topic sparked your interest and concern.

"Yes and no," he scratched the back of his head, scrunching up his nose as he lowered his voice, "but if I tell you, promise me you won't run back to your Pogue friends and tell them." Rafe asserted with seriousness, staring into your eyes as he held the sides of your arms firmly.

"Okay," you held your hands up in defense, causing his body to relax, "I promise I won't."

"See my dad and I took this trip to the bahamas a while ago, he said it was a business trip and that he wanted me to tag along for whatever reason. Come to find out, as soon as we get there, he tells me about this gold he has hidden and how he wants me to help him ship it to Switzerland so that nobody else can get ahold of it, since it's ours anyway."

Your body froze in place, staring back at Rafe was those horrifying words slipped out of his mouth without a second thought as he found sanctuary within you, despite the lack of longevity in your relationship thus far. You thought about your friends all of the sudden, and your mouth felt dry, knowing that this was exactly what they needed to know and stop before Rafe and his dad could put them in a position where the gold would be out of their reach for good.

You felt an immense pressure with the new information given to you, a burden weighing heavy on your shoulders. Your mind raced as you replayed his statement over and over again, wondering what you should do and who you should tell first, eager to relay the word back to your friends as soon as possible.

"Oh, okay that makes sense." You let out a small, half-hearted laugh, rubbing your upper arm slowly. "But, uh, Rafe?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you just drop me off at the chateau? I think I'm gonna sleep there tonight.

taglist:  @ellesalazar, @champomiel, @vadinaleme, @kys4-20, @gills-lounge, @allsmilesreally7, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog, @sp00ky-spr1te, @bibliophilewednesday, @haroldpotterson, @i-love-rafe, @ellesalazar, @calmoistorm, @abundantxadorations, @fals3-g0d, @gillybear17, @oiiviagrande, @hockeybabe87, @augustlikesdeath, @wpdailyminimeta, @palmwinemami, @loxleys-blog, @ikisscline, @flyestvenustrap, @lonelyladyghost, @edance2000,

[xlettex]

Deception || tetsurou kuroo Yakuza AU - Chapter Three

From the moment you looked into his eyes, you knew—he was nothing but trouble. Everyone warned you. Stay away from him. Don’t get involved. But you never listened. Tetsurou Kuroo, better known as Kurai, is the infamous yakuza boss of Japan. Just mentioning his name is enough to send shivers down spines and silence conversations in dimly lit alleyways. He is a force of nature—deceitful, ruthless, and dangerously unpredictable. A man who bends the world to his will, leaving chaos in his wake. And yet, to you… he is irresistible. You crave him — his touch, his warmth, the way he sets your skin on fire with just a glance. He makes you feel invincible like you can take on the world. But loving him is a double-edged sword. Because just as he lifts you up, he destroys you.

pairing - tetsurou kuroo x reader genre - action romance, crime romance, dark romance, erotica/smut rating - 18+ MINORS DNI chapter word count - 7.6k content warning - violence, drugs and alcohol, illegal activities, sexual content, and angst. see each chapter for specific warnings.

Authors Note - This fanfic is inspired by the amazing fanart of the tetsurou kuroo mafia au (found image on pinterest, help me find the artist - I want to credit them). Disclaimer- This is a work of fiction, I do not condone the act of illegal activities, violence, or romanticization of the yakuza. Read at your own risk.

chapter two <- chapter three -> chapter four

✯ chapter-specific warnings -violence, references to drugs, alcohol, illegal activity, depression, mention of suicide, anxiety, death, grief ✯

You step onto the street, the morning air crisp, biting at your exposed skin. The streets hum with life—children rushing past you, eager to make it to school, adults briskly moving along the sidewalks, and the faint smell of fresh bread drifting from an open café door. You feel out of place. The vibrant normalcy of the world around you is a stark contrast to the turbulence occupying your mind. You shiver, but not from the cold. The weight of uncertainty clings to you, wrapping you in a quiet, suffocating embrace.

A few weeks have passed since you patched up Tetsurou, his cryptic words and that unnerving smirk continue to haunt you. You haven’t seen him since, but his gaze lingers in your thoughts, like a shadow that follows you wherever you go. Every time your mind wanders, his voice echoes—“I owe you”—and each time, a knot tightens in your chest.

What does owing me even entail? The question swirls around you, relentlessly, as you try to make sense of it all. But every answer you come up with only leads to more confusion.

You barely knew the man. Yes, you helped him in the alley, but surely that wasn’t enough to warrant a debt—especially one that seemed so… personal. It wasn’t some grand gesture; it was instinct, a basic sense of morality. You weren’t the kind of person to leave a bleeding man to die in the street.

The hospital was already buzzing with activity when you arrived. The sharp scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mixing with the faint aroma of fresh coffee from the nurses’ station. The steady beeping of monitors hummed in the background as you weaved through the crowded hallway, nodding at a few coworkers who looked just as exhausted as you felt. Everything about this place was routine. It should have brought comfort, but the thought of Tetsurou lingered, ever-present, like a slow-burning fuse you couldn’t quite extinguish. You tried to push it aside by immersing yourself in the busy chaos of the hospital.

“You’re late.”

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts as Shirabu glanced up at you over the top of his clipboard.

“Only by two minutes,” you said, offering a sheepish smile as you grabbed your scrub cap from your locker.

“Two minutes could be the difference between life or death in surgery,” he said, his voice carrying a touch of authority, though there was no real malice behind it. “You’re assisting with my laparoscopic cholecystectomy. Get scrubbed in.”

“Yes, sir.”

The mechanical motions of getting ready for surgery are second nature by now. The sterile environment, the use of medical jargon—it’s familiar and comforting. You tried your best to only focus on work and for a moment, you almost forgot about what was plaguing your mind. Almost.

Then, during a lull between procedures, your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the screen.

PAST DUE NOTICE: FINAL WARNING.

Your stomach dropped. You barely dared to open the message, but you already knew. Rent was overdue—again. You had a week, maybe less, before your landlord took action. And with the hospital cutting overtime hours, there was no easy way to fix this.

Your grip tightened around your phone, a sinking dread coiling in your stomach. You took a sharp breath, pushing the screen aside just as Koushi’s name flashed across the display.

You hesitated before answering, trying to push past the uneasy feeling gnawing at you. “Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” Koushi’s voice came through, filled with concern and a touch of frustration, stark against the quiet hum of the hospital. “I haven’t heard from you in a while. You’ve been on my mind, especially since.....” He lets out a breath,  “I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

The warmth in his voice should have been comforting, but it only made you feel more torn. You weren’t sure how to explain that you weren’t fine—so many emotions clouded your thoughts, so many things left unsaid. The weight of the chance encounter with Tetsurou was starting to feel heavier by the day.

“I’m fine,” you said a little too quickly, pushing the words out with a forced cheer. “Just been busy with work, you know how it is.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the silence thick with Koushi’s concern. You could almost hear him debating whether to press further. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer. “You don’t sound fine. You’ve barely responded to my texts and ignored all my calls. I’m surprised you answered this one. I just... I’m worried, okay? Since what happened a few weeks ago, you’ve been distant.”

You let out a long sigh, leaning back against the counter in the break room as you ran a hand through your hair. Koushi’s worry felt like a heavy blanket, smothering you with its warmth. He was right. You hadn’t been yourself. But how could you explain the unease gnawing at your insides? How could you explain the growing dread that's taken root in your chest?

“I’m fine, Koushi. Really,” you say, your voice faltering despite your best efforts. “Just... work has been hectic. That’s all.”

Another long silence. You can hear Koushi breathing on the other end, his concern palpable, like a soft weight pressing down on your chest. “I get it,” he says, finally, a hint of resignation in his voice. “But you can’t keep ignoring everything that happened. You can’t just push me away. I’m your best friend. I’m here, alright?”

You close your eyes for a moment, pressing your palm to your forehead as if it could ease the weight of his words. He’s right, you know he is. Koushi always knows when you’re hiding behind a mask, pretending everything is fine.

You let out a breath, feeling the familiar weight of your past settle over you like a shadow. You’d never fully allowed yourself to belong to the Sugawara family. They’d taken you in when you had nothing, and given you warmth and comfort when you needed it most, but they could never replace what you’d lost. A small, guarded part of you kept its distance, remembering that people could be taken from you in an instant. Loss had always been a silent companion, one you couldn’t shake no matter how many people surrounded you.

"I... I know," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "But sometimes it’s easier not to feel too much. It doesn’t hurt as much that way."

Koushi’s sigh on the other end was filled with a deep, tired understanding, “Listen, I was thinking we could meet for dinner tonight, my treat. It’s been a while since the two of us hung out properly. Maybe a change of scenery will help clear your head.”

Dinner with Koushi sounds exactly like what you need. You hesitate, staring at the phone in your hand as if it holds the answers you’re searching for. Part of you wants to say no, to remain in this space where no one can reach you, but the other part aches for a sense of normalcy you haven't felt in weeks. The quiet comfort Koushi offers feels like a lifeline you desperately need.

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” you said, more to reassure him than anything. “Let’s do it.”

A sound of relief filtered through the phone, and you could almost picture Koushi’s smile on the other end. “Good. I’ll text you the details,” he said. “Just... take care of yourself, okay?”

You smiled softly, though he couldn’t see. “I will, I promise.”

You ended the call and tucked your phone back into your pocket, forcing yourself to focus on the next surgery. But even as you suited up for the next procedure, The dinner invite with Koushi lingered in your mind. The thought of a quiet dinner and some normalcy beckoned like a distant shore, a place you weren’t sure you were ready to reach but knew you desperately needed to.

At the same time, far above the streets of Tokyo, in a sleek penthouse bathed in the warm glow of the midday sun, Kuroo sat at the head of a polished, modern table. The expansive view of the city sprawled beneath him, a chaotic maze of buildings and bustling streets, mirroring his volatile life. Papers were scattered before him, but his focus was distant, his thoughts miles away. His fingers swirled the glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light, but the real matter gnawing at his mind had little to do with business.

He can’t stop thinking about you.

Weeks had passed, and you still lingered in the recesses of his mind, an echo that refused to fade. Your quiet concern, the hesitation in your eyes when you helped him—it all replayed in his head like a song stuck on repeat. But it wasn’t just your actions that haunted him. It was your face—your eyes, soft and uncertain, yet sharp with something he couldn’t quite place. The way your hair fell, it was messy but somehow still perfect. The way you looked at him as if you saw something more, something deeper. He should have let it go by now. It should have meant nothing. 

But here he was —wondering what it was that made you so different.

A part of him itched to repay you, to settle the unspoken debt that lingered between the two of you. Yet, another part—the one that knew better—was reluctant to. Once he started paying that debt, your life would be intertwined with his. And being involved with someone like you? That was a danger he couldn’t afford to entertain.

The soft click of the door broke his reverie, and Kuroo looked up to find Kenma entering, his expression flat, unreadable. As always, Kenma knew. Kuroo didn’t have to say a word—his friend was sharp enough to see through the mask he wore.

“You’re still thinking about her,” Kenma said, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Kuroo’s eyes flicked to Kenma, a sharp, almost predatory glint flashing in his gaze. He leaned back in his chair, his tone low, tinged with frustration. “It’s not that simple,” he muttered, trying to push the thought of you away. 

Kenma didn’t comment, but the look he gave was enough to say he wasn’t buying it.

Kuroo dragged a hand through his hair, ignoring the faint pull of his stitches. His mind shifted gears, locking onto something else gnawing at him. His eyes fell on the papers he’d been neglecting while he recovered. “Daishou’s attack... it was too messy, too risky. That’s just not his style. He frowned, his grip tightening around the glass. “This isn’t just a turf dispute. There’s more going on here.”

Kenma leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “A drug deal gone wrong?” he mused, his voice calm, calculating.

Kuroo shook his head. “No. If it were, he wouldn’t have played it this way. I have a feeling this isn’t about the usual shit. He may want to take over control—starting by seeing how much chaos he can throw into our organization—and he’s not working alone. The shift in his methods only confirms that.”  His voice turned sharp, frustration creeping in. “So who the fuck is helping him?”

Kenma considered the theory, letting the silence stretch between them. Then, finally, he spoke. “Daishou’s reckless, but he’s not stupid. If this were about taking over, he’d be smarter.” His gaze darkened slightly. “Are we sure he’s even involved, it could be an entirely new threat?”

Kuroo exhaled sharply, drumming his fingers against the glass, the sound filling the quiet space. “Good point. We need to consider other angles.” He shifted, eyes narrowing. “Have Yaku look into that missing shipment from last week. If this is connected, I want to know.”

“Already on top of it.” Kenma’s tone was clipped.

Kuroo exhaled, jaw tight. “Someone’s poking holes in places they shouldn’t. And I don’t fucking like it.”

The room hung heavy with tension, but it wasn’t just business weighing on Kuroo’s mind. Kenma was watching him too closely, and Kuroo knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, Kenma’s voice broke through the quiet, edged with amusement. “It’s been weeks. Why is she still on your mind?”

Kuroo’s fingers twitched. The frustration inside him coiled tighter. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice lower now, rougher. He ran a hand down his face, ignoring how his muscles tensed at the thought of her. “She helped me. But it’s more than that and I can’t figure out why.”

Kenma studied him, sharp eyes assessing, before he tilted his head slightly. “I’ve never seen you like this.” His voice was almost amused, but there was something else beneath it—curiosity, maybe. “Not since… well, ever.” A small, dry laugh escaped him. “A girl’s never gotten you this off-balance.”

Kuroo’s eyes snapped to him, irritation flaring before he smothered it beneath cold indifference. “I’m not off-balance,” he muttered. The words rang hollow.

Kenma let the silence stretch before offering a shrug. “Maybe not. But something about her is fucking with your head. And when you start overthinking, that’s when everything goes to shit.” His voice sharpened, turning blunt. “She’s a distraction. We don’t need distractions. Not with someone stirring up trouble.”

Kuroo inhaled shakily, frustration still tightening his chest. “I told her I owed her for saving my life.”

“You hate being indebted to people,” Kenma said, pausing for a moment before continuing carefully, “I know we all gave you a hard time about her at first, but she’s smart. She patched you up without asking questions and didn’t involve law enforcement. Figure out what she wants, pay your debt, and be done with her for good. Maybe then, it’ll stop fucking with your head.”

Before Kuroo could respond, the room door creaked open, and Alisa walked in, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she approached, her smile laced with sweetness and false charm. The warmth of the sunlight framed her in an almost surreal glow, casting her shadow over the room like a predator preparing to strike. She glanced between Kuroo and Kenma, her eyes gleaming with something far too knowing.

“You two are still talking about business?” she asked, her voice sweet as honey, but with a clear undertone of something far more playful. “How boring. I’d much rather be doing something... fun.” She took a few steps closer to Kuroo, her gaze locking onto him with an intensity that bordered on suffocating. 

Kuroo’s patience snapped, his voice cold, sharp. “Alisa, this isn’t the time.”

“Oh, come on Tetsurou,” she cooed, walking closer, her fingers brushing lightly against the back of his chair, her perfume—a mix of expensive florals and something darkly familiar—clinging to the air like a trap. She stepped in, her voice dropping into a more sultry cadence. “You look like you could use some relief, don’t you think?”

The frustration surged in Kuroo, and before he could stop himself, his voice snapped out, harsh. “Don’t call me Tetsurou,” he growled. His eyes flashed dangerously, the words cold and commanding. “Only a few people get to use my first name.”

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable—frustration? Amusement? It was hard to tell. Instead of leaving immediately, she trailed a slow fingertip along the back of Kuroo’s chair, her nails just barely scraping against the wood.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kuroo,” she purred, voice dipping into something dangerously sweet. “Didn’t mean to overstep.” She tilted her head, eyes locking onto his with something closer to calculation than hurt. “But don’t forget, darling—some of us don’t like being replaced so easily.”

Kuroo’s patience was already worn thin. He rose from his chair, his towering form casting a shadow over the entire room. “I’m serious, Alisa,” he said, his voice low and deadly. “This is business. If you don't have anything valuable to contribute, leave.”

Then, with one last lingering glance at Kuroo, she turned and walked out, her heels clicking against the floor in sharp, deliberate beats.

Kuroo let out a sharp breath, the weight of his frustration slipping momentarily. He stood still for a beat, trying to shake off the anger that simmered beneath the surface, but Kenma didn’t miss it.

Kenma glanced at the door, then turned his attention back to Kuroo, a sly smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “She’s got a way of leaving an impression. Must be exhausting, dealing with that.” His voice was light, but there was sharp meaning behind it, cutting through the stillness.

Kuroo shot him a look, his eyes narrowing slightly, his voice tight with annoyance. “Don’t start.”

Kenma, clearly enjoying the moment, settled deeper into his chair. 

It wasn’t a secret that Alisa and he had a history—some heated moments, a few quick, messy releases—but frankly, Kuroo couldn’t have cared less about her. Their relationship had always been a mutually beneficial transaction. He no longer had the patience for her games. 

Just as they were about to speak again, the door opened, and Fukunaga stepped in, his expression serious with a clipboard in hand.

“Boss,” Fukunaga said, his voice respectful but urgent. “Are you still set to meet with Bokuto later?”

Kuroo’s focus snapped back into place, his movements smooth and controlled. “Yeah. I’ll meet him later. Make sure the funds are ready to move.” Setting the whiskey aside, his mind clicked back into gear. “We need to move quickly. Withdraw what I need, and have everything prepped.”

Fukunaga nodded. “Understood, Boss. I’ll take care of it right away.”

As Fukunaga exited, Kuroo turned to Kenma, his gaze cold and calculating. “Bokuto had been doing well using the bakery as a front for our drug stash, but now I’ve got him handling our finances. Laundering money, tracking earnings, and keeping the books spotless. If anything gets flagged, we’re done.”

Kenma’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening as he processed the new information. “We can’t afford a slip-up, not after what happened with the last accountant. Bokuto’s curiosity could spell trouble. Keep him in line—don’t let him start digging into things he doesn’t need to know. One wrong question, and it all comes crashing down.”

Kuroo’s lips curled into a grim smile, his voice low and hollow. “Don’t worry. When I see him, I’ll make it very clear who’s in charge... and exactly what’ll happen if he sticks his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

The evening air had softened, and the usual hum had faded into a peaceful stillness, bathed in the amber glow of streetlights. Above, the sky had deepened into rich indigo and violet, the last remnants of daylight bleeding into the horizon, leaving a canvas of tranquil hues.  The colors seemed to breathe with you, a quiet exhale against the weight of the day. As you made your way down the quiet side street to the restaurant, there was a sense of calm in the air, something that allowed you to finally exhale, as if the world itself had offered you a moment of respite.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, the screen lighting up with Koushi’s name. A small smile tugged at your lips, his presence always managing to soothe the tension that seemed to cling to you lately.

"Hey," you answered, your voice much warmer than it had been earlier.

"Hey! I just parked. I’ll wait for you inside," Koushi replied, his cheerful tone reaching through the phone with ease. You could hear the sound of him settling into his seat as you approached the entrance.

The restaurant was small and cozy, tucked away from the bustling main road. It had the kind of atmosphere that made you feel at home—a haven where everything felt simple and calm. As you stepped inside, the savory scents of grilled meats and roasted vegetables welcomed you, easing the tension that had lingered in your chest all day. Koushi waved from a booth near the back, grinning as he spotted you, and immediately, the tightness in your stomach loosened.

You joined him with an exaggerated embrace, laughing as he gently teased you about your apparent exhaustion. The two of you sat down, and after ordering your food, the conversation flowed easily. But despite the usual comfort of your time together, there was an underlying weight that hung between you. Koushi’s sharp eyes never missed a thing.

“So,” Koushi began, pushing his glass of water aside, his tone softening with concern. “You’ve been distant. What’s going on?””

You hesitated, tracing the rim of your glass, as you struggled to find the right words. How could you even explain the tangled mess in your head, especially with the strange pull Tetsurou had on you? The way his presence seemed to haunt you, even now.

“It’s... complicated,” you murmured, your eyes flicking toward the door as another couple entered. “You remember the guy I helped a few weeks ago? The one in the alley?”

Koushi nodded, his eyes narrow as the memory resurfaced. “Tetsurou, right.”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice trailing off as you took a sip of water. “I... can’t stop thinking about him. The whole situation’s been bothering me. It’s making me feel... off.”

Koushi’s brow furrowed as he leaned back in his seat, studying you carefully. The playful expression that usually adorned his face faded, replaced by something more serious. “Did he threaten you?”

“What… no,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “He had this….presence. Like violence was second nature to him. He warned me—told me not to get involved with him.” You hesitated, fingers tightening around your glass, “Part of me felt like I could trust him, He…. He didn’t frighten me. Not really.”

Koushi exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before leveling you with a look that was equal parts concern and frustration. “Do you hear yourself right now?” His voice was low, and measured, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it. “He warned you to stay away. Hell, you just said he was violent. And yet, you’re sitting here telling me you trust him?”

He shook his head, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “People like him—who hide things, who have agendas—are dangerous. You need to stay away from him. I know his type of men, they like to push just enough to make you curious, just enough to make you want to get involved with them. You don’t know him. And you sure as hell can’t afford to start trusting him.” 

His fingers tapped against the table, his expression darkening. “Tell me you’re not planning to see him again.”

You hesitated, and the silence stretched just long enough to make Koushi sigh. “Of course not,” you said quickly, but even you didn’t believe it.

Koushi fell silent for a moment, his gaze shifting toward the window. The noise from the street filtered in, momentarily muffling the restaurant’s ambiance. His lips pressed together as if weighing something in his mind, and then he spoke again, his tone heavier this time.

“You know," He said, his voice tinged with concern, “this makes me even more apprehensive about the area you live in”

Your stomach twisted slightly, but you said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“What happened a few weeks ago…” He trailed off, glancing down at his hands before meeting your gaze again. “That man —he shouldn’t have been anywhere near you, let alone been brought your apartment.”

You took a slow breath, trying to keep your tone even. “I wasn’t going to leave him to die, Koushi. And I’m fine. I handled it.”

Koushi’s expression softened, but the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. “I know you did. But that’s not the point. Your place—it’s not safe. You deserve better than this. There’s no reason you should be living in a neighborhood like that. The city might not be perfect, but there are safer places you could be.”

You shifted uncomfortably as Koushi’s words settled in. As if I hadn’t thought about that before. As if the reality of my situation wasn’t constantly looming over me like an inescapable shadow.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” you muttered, trying to keep the bitterness from creeping into your tone. “It’s all I can afford on my salary, Koushi. I’m trying my best.”  

What little money you had left over went to groceries and student loan payments. 

No matter how hard you worked, or how many shifts you picked up, they never seemed to shrink. The debt clung to you, a constant reminder that no matter how many years had passed since college, you were still paying the price—literally—for a future you were barely holding together. The idea of moving somewhere safer? Laughable. You were lucky to have a roof over your head at all.

You were doing the best you could. That was the lie you told yourself, anyway. Koushi didn’t the full extent of your financial troubles, and you weren’t about to tell him.

His sigh was heavy frustration evident in the way he ran a hand through his hair. “I know you are,” he said, his voice softer now. “But I’ve seen what happens in places like that. What if it’s worse next time? You got lucky this time. But what if next time, you aren’t?

His words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. I know I got lucky. But what now? Just pick up and leave? With what money? Rent in a safer neighborhood was nearly double what you paid now. Even if you miraculously scraped together the cash for a deposit, how long would it last before you were drowning again?

You stared down at the table, picking at your napkin, as the memories flooded in—of a time when you didn’t have to worry about safety when home was a place of warmth and laughter. You remembered your mother’s soothing voice, how she used to read bedtime stories, the rhythm of her words wrapping around you like a soft, protective blanket. It was the kind of comfort that made you feel safe as if nothing could ever go wrong. Your father, too, had been a steady presence, always in the kitchen, filling the house with the smell of home-cooked meals, humming to himself as he worked. His laughter had been the heartbeat of the house, making everything feel grounded, stable, and peaceful. You used to feel like warmth was something you could reach out and touch.

But that warmth had a way of vanishing when you needed it most. And now, it felt like everything was a distant memory, a ghost of a time when life didn’t feel so uncertain.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice quiet but firm, pushing back the unease creeping up your spine. “I’ll make it work.”

Koushi didn’t look convinced, but he nodded slowly, his fingers tightening slightly around yours as he reached across the table. “I just want you to know… if you ever need a way out, I’m here. Always.”

You gave him a small smile, grateful for his support, though it didn’t quite reach the growing knot of unease deep inside you. The rest of the conversation passed in a blur, as Koushi tried his best to lighten the mood with stories of his students causing chaos at school. 

His familiar presence helped, but it was hard to shake the weight of the previous conversations you had—your financial strain, Tetsurou, the quiet ache of a home that once felt warm, a family that had been taken too soon. The comfort Koushi offered now only reminded you how much you had already lost; how little warmth remained in your life. You had learned to survive without it, but it still lingered like a shadow, reminding you of what you could never have again.

Unbeknownst to you, as you absentmindedly picked at your food, Kuroo entered the restaurant. His dark attire sharply contrasted against the warm glow of the space, and his eyes scanned the room with calculated care. His steps were smooth and purposeful, but when they landed on your booth, his gaze faltered, a jolt of something unfamiliar surging through him. His pulse picked up, the sensation so sudden and sharp that it felt like fate had nudged him into a direction he hadn’t anticipated.

The last time he’d seen you, everything had been chaos, and even now, he found himself thinking about you more than he cared to admit. There you were, sitting across from the man, smiling, looking so effortlessly at ease. You were—so composed, your laughter light and genuine—made him pause. He admired how the soft glow of the restaurant highlighted the warmth of your expression, the way the light caught your hair. You looked… different, more at peace than when he last saw you, and it struck him harder than he wanted to admit.

The knot in his gut tightened. Something about your appearance, the ease with which you existed at this moment, dug under his skin in a way he wasn’t ready to confront. The sight of you—so unaffected, so natural with someone else—made a strange jealousy flicker to life in his chest. 

Who the fuck was this guy?

Kuroo couldn’t pinpoint what about you had gotten under his skin. There was something there, some unspoken pull that made him want to know more, even though it didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like him to be intrigued by someone in this way, especially not someone like you. But the attraction was undeniable, pulling at him with an intensity he couldn’t ignore. He wondered if maybe this—this encounter—was more than mere coincidence.

But before he allowed himself to think further, his phone buzzed, pulling him back to the reality of the moment. He glanced at the screen briefly, then returned his gaze to the two of you. His attention needed to be elsewhere. As he made his way to the back, where his meeting with Bokuto awaited, the image of you—completely unaware—remained stubbornly in his mind. Fate had placed him here, and something told him this encounter was far from over.

You felt a strange shift in the air, the weight of someone’s gaze on you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, a faint prickle of unease crawling down your spine. When you looked up, though, the restaurant was just as it had been—a warm, cozy space, no one staring. But the feeling lingered, nagging at you.

As the night wore on, the city slipped into its quieter hours. The restaurant’s warmth still clung to your skin as you stepped onto the dimly lit sidewalk, Koushi following close behind. The crisp air carried the scent of snow on the horizon, a promise a harsh winter would be settling over the city.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” Koushi asked, his brow furrowing as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “It’s late.”

You shook your head with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a few blocks.”

Koushi didn’t look convinced, but he sighed, knowing arguing would get him nowhere. “Text me when you get home, all right?”

“I will.”

He hesitated before pulling you into a quick hug, his warmth momentarily shielding you from the night’s chill. “Be safe.”

With a final glance back at him, you turned and began walking, the city’s pulse a steady rhythm beneath your feet. The streetlights buzzed faintly overhead, casting long shadows against the cracked pavement. The occasional hum of a passing car was the only sound accompanying your footsteps.

Despite the quiet, an unease prickled at the edges of your senses. It was subtle—like an itch at the back of your mind, a whisper beneath the hum of the street. You exhaled sharply, shaking off the tension. Koushi’s earlier words lingered in your mind. He wasn’t exactly wrong—your neighborhood wasn’t safe. The flickering streetlights, the occasional sound of distant shouting, the way you always kept your keys between your fingers when walking home—it wasn’t ideal. But what choice did you have?

You thought about the way the city felt like it was closing in, the quiet had settled in with you. In some strange way, it reminded you of a time long ago—before all of this. Back when your world still felt warm.

Your mother had always tried to shield you from the dark things, the struggles that weighed on her silently. At only eight years old, you couldn't comprehend the depths of her battle. Darkness had crept into her mind like a quiet shadow, something you couldn’t see but could feel in the spaces between her smiles and gentle touches. She hid it so well—those smiles, those soft, comforting hands—but beneath it all, the weight of her depression dragged her further and further away. It was as if, despite all her efforts to mask it, something inside her was quietly breaking. In the end, it became too much for her. She succumbed to her demons, ending her own life.

You were left with your father—a man who tried to hold it together for you. He did everything he could to keep things normal, even when it was clear that his grief was consuming him. He wasn’t just mourning her; he was mourning his inability to save her from herself. You could see it in his eyes—how every day felt like a failure to him. But what could he have done? What could anyone have done? In the silence of her absence, you started to understand just how fragile everything was. And that truth hurt far more than any single moment of loss.

When you were ten, the world seemed to shatter again. Your father was diagnosed with lung cancer, and in those moments, it felt like a sick, cruel repetition. You remembered his face, drained of color when the doctors gave him the news, and how it changed everything from that point on. You spent the next three years in the sterile, bitter air of hospital rooms, never really knowing if the next visit would be the last. You were too young to process the gravity of what was happening, but you could sense the finality of it. Your father’s strength faded, just as your mother’s had, and there were moments when you could see the same helplessness in his eyes that you’d once seen in hers. The weight of everything was too much for one person to bear.

When you were 13, you lost him too. And suddenly, the house felt like a tomb—empty and silent. There were no more shared meals, no more laughter or soft hums of comfort in the kitchen. There was just the hollow echo of everything you once had, everything you once were.

That loss, that emptiness, stayed with you. You realized then that you couldn’t trust anyone to stay—no one could be relied on forever. People came and went, and with every loss, a piece of you hardened. You couldn’t bear to be close to anyone without the fear of them slipping away. That fear of being abandoned, of having your world shattered once more, was something you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried. You had learned to keep your heart locked away, to guard it fiercely, because if you didn’t, you were afraid it would just keep breaking.

The cold air bit at your skin, pulling you away from those thoughts. The city, once familiar, now seemed colder—lonelier. The darkness crept around you, and each step you took through the quiet streets felt heavier than the last. Your mind raced, the unease growing in the pit of your stomach. It was as if something was watching you, waiting. You quickened your pace until a strange, unnerving sensation crawled up your spine.

A rustle. A footstep.

You turned sharply, only for a hand to clamp over your mouth, yanking you back into an alley. Panic surged through your veins, but you didn’t freeze. You twisted, using the momentum to stomp hard on your attacker’s foot. The grip loosened slightly, just enough for you to elbow them in the ribs and tear-free. You barely made it two steps before another hand grabbed your wrist, firm but non-violent.

“Relax, doc,” a voice purred, cold and smooth, wrapping around you like a snare. “Didn’t think you were the type to get so feisty."

That voice.

You froze, dread crawling up your neck. Slowly, you turned, already knowing who would be there.

Tetsurou.

There he was, leaning lazily against the alley wall as if he owned it, his smirk wide and confident, his eyes gleaming with something that made your stomach twist. He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch as you took him in—the same arrogant posture, the same gleaming golden eyes that always saw too much, always knew more than you did.

“Don’t touch me,” you spat, heart racing, the terror still clinging to your bones. You jerked your arm, trying to pull free from his grasp. His fingers barely tightened, like he was waiting for you to test the limits of your resistance.

“Why are you out here all alone?” His tone was teasing, amused even as if this was some game. “A little reckless, don’t you think?”

 “What the hell do you want?” you shot back, struggling against his grasp. 

He tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I don’t want anything, doc. Just trying to look out for you.”  His lips curled into a lazy grin as he released his grip on you. “You’re making it easy for someone else to grab you first.”

“Easy?” you snapped, voice rising with indignation. “You’re the one who grabbed me, you sick—”

He raised a hand, cutting you off, his expression growing more serious, his gaze never leaving you. “Calm down. I’m not here to hurt you.”

The words had no weight, no comfort. You could feel the tension in the air thickening, the pressure of his presence suffocating you.

“Then what?” You demanded.

His eyes glinted. “I want you to consider an offer.” He took a step closer, invading your space without hesitation. “You’re in over your head. You’re out here alone, on your own, with no one to watch your back. Don’t tell me you don’t know what kind of city this is. People like me… we don’t let people like you wander around without knowing what’s at stake.”

The insinuation hit hard. You swallowed thickly, trying to keep the lump in your throat from betraying you. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I don’t?” He shrugged like it was nothing as if he wasn’t talking about your life, your safety. “You’re struggling, aren’t you?” His voice was suddenly colder, harder. “Money, debts, living in fear, worrying about whether you’ll be able to pay rent next month. I can see it in your eyes, You don’t have to keep scraping by.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “How do you know about that?”

He gave a sly grin, his gaze darkening. “I know more than you think. It’s what I do.” He leaned backward, his eyes gleaming with intent. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

You furrowed your brow, trying to keep your composure. “A proposition?” you asked, your voice steady, though your stomach churned.

“Mm,” he hummed, a smirk tugging at his lips. Leaning in closer, his presence overwhelming, his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “A job.”

“A job?” You laughed, but it came out bitter, laced with incredulity. “What are you going to make me do? Sell my soul?”

His eyes gleamed with something darker, more calculating. “Not at all, doc. I need someone like you. You’re a surgical assistant. You know your way around wounds, and injuries—things people like me can’t just go to a hospital for. You’re someone who can keep their mouth shut, knows how to handle people, and isn’t afraid to get their hands dirty.”

You stared at him, heart racing. The weight of his words settled like a stone in your chest. You had no idea whether you should be terrified or intrigued. “People like you?”

His lips curled into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “People like me… people who have enemies, who don’t have the luxury of going to a hospital when things go south. I need someone who can keep them alive. Someone with your skills. Think of it as being an underground doctor.”

Your mind spun, your thoughts a blur. The words "underground doctor" echoed in your mind, but nothing seemed to settle. He was asking you to step into a world you knew nothing about—a world full of danger, of things you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“You want me to patch up criminals,” you said, voice flat, though inside, everything was screaming at you to walk away. “To be your medic.”

He nodded, his expression serious now, the casual arrogance replaced with something more intent, more purposeful. “I’m offering you security. A way out of this shithole you’re living in. A way up. You won’t have to keep looking over your shoulder every damn second. No more locking yourself in at night, hoping nobody’s out there.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and the words hit harder than anything he’d said before. “I’ll give you a place to belong. A place where you’re not just a little lost soul trying to survive. You can have more than that. If you’re smart enough to take it.”

Your mind raced, but you couldn’t shake the sense of déjà vu. Koushi had just told you that you deserved better and that you shouldn’t have to live in fear. And now here was Tetsurou, offering a “solution” that felt more like a trap.

“Were you following me?” The words shot out harsher than you intended before you could stop them.

His smirk widened. “No.” He leaned in a little closer, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “I don’t need to follow you to know exactly where you are.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating, pulling at you from all directions. You knew the cost. You knew the price of getting involved with someone like him—someone dangerous, someone whose world you’d never understand. But as you stood there, breath shallow and mind spinning, the thought of running from this decision… the thought of facing another night in that shitty apartment alone… made the offer sound almost too tempting.

“Why would you offer this to me?” you managed, barely able to find your voice.

His presence loomed over you, his breath warm against your skin. “I owe you. You saved my life, the least I can do is offer you a better life in return.”

"You think I’d just jump at your offer?" you shot back, trying to keep the bite in your voice, though you could feel your resolve slipping. He was right about one thing—life was wearing you down.

His grin didn’t fade, but there was a flicker in his eyes like he could sense your hesitation. He straightened up slightly, letting the silence hang between you for a moment, before speaking again, quieter this time.

"Not jump. Just... think about it. There’s a place for you in my world. And for once, you won’t have to keep running."

Your stomach twisted. Running. You weren’t sure what unsettled you more—that he saw straight through you or that he wasn’t wrong.

"I don't need your help," you managed, your voice wavering slightly despite your best efforts to sound sure of yourself.

"That's what they all say," he replied smoothly, his tone almost sympathetic, but his eyes never lost their calculating gleam. "But everyone needs a little help eventually."

You hated that he was right. You hated it more because you could see it: the lifeline he was offering, however twisted, while you were drowning in a sea of uncertainty.

Despite everything you knew about Tetsurou—his cold, calculating demeanor, the dangerous air that clung to him like a second skin—you couldn’t shake this strange, irrational trust in him. It was a crazy thing to feel. He was dangerous, no doubt about it, but there was something about him, something you couldn’t quite place, that made you believe he wouldn’t hurt you. 

Maybe it was the way he looked at you—like he saw through all the walls you built around yourself. Maybe it was the fact that, for a brief moment, you felt like he cared. But that didn’t mean you were willing to dive headfirst into his world. You couldn’t forget the price of that trust. The consequences of even stepping a toe into the world he lived in.

"Think it over," Tetsurou continued, his gaze locked onto yours, unblinking, unwavering. "But this offer’s good for 24 hours. After that, it's off the table."

24 hours. That was all you had. A choice that could change everything. Your heart thundered in your chest. The shadows were closing in, and you could feel the weight of the decision pressing on you, suffocating. The life he offered was dangerous, but the alternative... scraping by in fear, always looking over your shoulder—was just as suffocating.

“I’ll think about it,” you whispered, the words slipping out more like a tentative promise to yourself than anything else.

Tetsurou’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. He seemed pleased with your answer. “Good.” His voice softened, almost too softly. “I’ll find you again.”

And then he was gone, swallowed by the night, leaving you alone with the weight of a decision you weren’t ready to make.

The alley felt colder now, the silence pressing in around you.

Koushi’s voice echoed in your mind, warning you, pleading with you to stay away from him.

You should.

You knew you should.

But you weren’t sure you would.

And that terrified you more than anything.

[daddy-issues-subscriber3]

Warning....NSFW material ahead. By reading this, you certify that you are not a minor and legally an adult. (18 years of age or older), and consent to viewing adult-themed material on your own accord . All characters depicted herein are fictional adults aged 18 years and older. An Original writing by Kiddmandu. 

Brotherly Love

(TW:: Taboo Romance, inappropriate relationships, Fauxcest, Drunkenness, Deception, Somno, Creampie)

The phone rang. It was really late. “Who could be calling at this hour ?” Francine thought to herself. She could see on the caller ID that it was her brother Steven calling. He would never call this late, something HAD to be wrong. She answered the phone. “Stevie? What's wrong?… what's the matter ?”

Steven didn't respond, all she could hear was the sound of him whimpering softly, and sniffling. Was he crying ? Again, she asked. "What's wrong? Steven? Why are you crying ?” Francine prodded urgently.

After a moment, Steven finally spoke. “She's leaving Me !” His voice was shaky, about to crack. "She's taking the kids, and she wants a divorce !" Her brother responded before launching full on into a breakdown. Sobbing uncontrollably.

"Oh Stevie. Honey, I'm so sorry.” Francine’s heart sank. She hadn't heard her brother cry since they were kids. Not even when their parents died a few years back. Steven was, in Francine's eyes, the strongest person she knew. To hear him breaking down this way, devastated her.

“I need to NOT be here Right now. Francy, Can I crash at your place tonight ?” Steven begged. “Please?"

He had never asked her for anything. Ever. Steven was Francine's "anchor". He'd been there for her so many times over the years. He’d been an ear for Francine to vent to about work stuff. A shoulder to catch her tears during so many heartbreaks. A helping hand when she moved or needed something fixed. If Francine could pay him back in any way, She definitely would.

“Of course you can. Come over now, I'll put on a pot of coffee, and make up the guest room.” Francine responded, already getting out of bed.

"Thank you Sis." Stevie replied, and hung up.

When Steven finally arrived, he looked awful. His eyes red from crying, with dark bags under them. Unshaven. Hair all over the place. Francine had never seen him so disheveled. Upon walking through the door, Steven fell Immediately into Francine's arms. Sobbing, and clutching her tightly. “I didn't know who else to call" He sobbed desperately. Almost pathetically.

Francine held her big brother in her arms, like he had done to her so many times before. She spoke softly. Hushing him in a motherly way. Consoling him, and patting him on the back of the head. Finally, when he calmed down, gently she led him over to the couch and sat him down.

Over the next few hours, Steven laid out the whole story in detail. How last week, he had found sexy text messages on his wife Christine's phone. How she had been acting funny for the last few months. How he had followed her to a motel and caught her with another man. When he confronted Christine about it all she could offer was “Shit happens" and that she "didn't love him anymore."

Francine, who had never liked Steven’s wife from day one, just bit her lip, and did her best not to lash out about Christine. Instead, she listened intently, and was supportive to her brother's plight.

Steven continued, stating that Christine had cleaned out their bank accounts and already contacted a lawyer. She had him served papers earlier that day. Worse off, she threatened that if he didn't leave on his own, she would have him served with a restraining order, and have him removed from the house. In front of their kids if necessary.

“Stevie…you know that you can stay here. For as long as you need to" Francine offered. She watched Steven's face brighten, even smile slightly. “We’ll get this bitch together!!" She giggled. Steven even laughed as well.

Francine made up the spare room, while Steven showered. It was almost morning, but it was Saturday, and they didn't have to worry about getting up for work or anything.

Fast forward several months....

The divorce proceedings were well underway and things were getting nasty. Fights over custody of the kids, joint assets, infidelity, etc. all were a source of discussion between Steven and Francine at the dinner table each evening. Even though Francine for the most part enjoyed living alone, she was enjoying the time with her big brother. They were cohabitating well, and to be honest, Francine was kind of happy having a man around the house. Even though Steven was still sad and angry about the end of his marriage, he was starting to realize he was better off. His mood had lightened. Even became sort of fun again.

One night, Steven came home drunk. Really drunk. Some of his buddies and coworkers had taken him out to a strip club after work. Francine was in bed when she heard him come stumbling in. Fumbling around and even falling down. She could hear him laughing at himself and knew that he was ok. She didn't say anything. Once she heard him get into his room, she decided to turn off the light and go to sleep herself.

Several hours later, Francine woke up with a start. A loud sound had suddenly and abruptly ripped her from her slumber. It was Snoring. Steven was not only in her bed, but he was spooning her. His body pressed right up behind her. Worse off than that, one of his hands was currently cupping her left breast.

Francine panicked internally, but tried not to wake Steven. She tried to wriggle her way out of his touch. Tried to lift his hand. Steven in his drunken slumber, doubled down and pulled her even closer. Even giving her tit and couple rubs and squeezes. Even in her groggy state, Francine knew it was better to let sleeping dogs lie… especially drunken ones. She knew that if she woke Steven up, it would lead to a big discussion, and all she really wanted to do was go back to sleep. Was it so bad if she just let her brother cop a little bit of a feel? It wouldn't be the first time. In fact, it was kind of nice to be cuddled. Francine had been single for quite some time, and she missed the feeling of being snuggled. The warmth of another's body against hers. She surmised that this was ok and she closed her eyes again.

As she tried to drift back to sleep, Francine's thoughts slipped back to her childhood. To a time when she actually had a crush on her brother. To the times when she would practice kissing her pillow, imagining it was Steven. To the secret games of Truth and Dare that they played on family vacations. To that time she had sat on his lap and felt Stevie get an erection that poked into her bum… and how that led to her masturbating while thinking about him.

Kind of like how she was feeling right now.

Francine’s mind went to a naughty place. She could feel her nipples hardening. The wetness forming in her panties. She laughed at herself thinking that it was like she was 15 all over again. Having naughty thoughts about her brother, laying in bed, wanting to touch herself and pretend it was him. The only difference? This time he was actually in her bed. Theoretically, it COULD happen.

Francine lay there in the dark. Feeling conflicted how her thoughts were betraying her. She knew having lustful, dirty thoughts about her brother was so wrong, yet she couldn't stop thinking them. What his cock would feel like? If he ate pussy well? How it would feel to have him inside of her ? Francine was so preoccupied with her naughty curiosities, that she hadn't even noticed, but her hand had slipped down below the covers and was rubbing her pussy over her panties. By the time she even realized she was doing it, her panties were soaked and her fingers were drenched with her arousal. So much so, they were getting pickled and pruned.

Francine was so turned on. She needed to cum. Her pussy was burning with desire and want. She pulled her panties to the side, and slipped two fingers beyond her lips and inside of her cunt. Plunging them in and out, she imagined that her fingers were Steven’s. It felt so good. Francine stifled her moans and did her best to control her breathing. She was amazed at how positively wet she was. It had been a long time since she'd fantasized about Stevie, she'd forgotten how excited he made her.

As her pleasure mounted, Francine got more brazen. Gently, she backed her ass up to Steven's crotch, and began to wiggle it. Rolling her hips around and pressing her cheeks up against him. It wasn't very long before she could feel it getting hard. Firm. Rigid. Steven's cock felt amazing. Pushing into her panties, pressing into the crack of her ass. Just like it did that day all those years ago. Francine, in her excitement, apparently got a little too frisky and rambunctious with her movements, because Steven stirred in his sleep.

“Mmm Chris, you feel so good" He slurred as he pulled Francine's body tighter to him.

“He thinks I am Christine,” Francine thought to herself. Which, in her current perverted state of mind, gave her an idea. She didn't care if he Steven thought it was his sister, his soon to be ex wife, or the checkout girl at 7-11. Francine's pussy was needy. Wanting. She wanted his dick. She would let him think whatever he liked as long as he fucked her.

Francine mustered her courage. She could hardly believe what she was about to do, but she bravely reached behind her to feel and rub her brother's cock. When she reached back to free Steven's cock from his boxers, to her surprise she found he wasn't wearing any!! Instead of boxer shorts, she found a soft, naked cock waiting for her. Steven was already NAKED!! In his drunken condition, He must've thought he was in his own room, and undressed before getting into bed. It excited Francine even more to know her big brother was naked in bed with her. Overtaken by sheer lust, Francine wrapped her fingers around Steven's girth and gently began to stroke him. Steven's cock was thick and of good length. As she jerked his cock, Francine imagined how good it would feel to have her brother pushing it into her. Or her sliding down on top of it. Or.. or…

“Wait a minute…Hold on!! This is crazy!!” Francine told herself. She stopped stroking Stevens dick and let go of it. This was going too far. Her mind was running away with her. Was she really going to do this? Yes, indeed she was horny. Yes, her pussy was dripping wet at the thought… but fucking her own brother?? Could she really bring herself to do that? She thought about it for a moment, and as she imagined what it would be like She felt her pussy gush with her juices. The answer was YES!!! She would fuck her own brother.

Ever so gently Francine wriggled out of her panties. Removing them and throwing them to the floor. Gently, she took Steven's cock in her hand, and began to stroke him again. She felt him harden within her grasp. His cock grew to very thick and long size. Francine's pussy was soaked and leaking like Niagara falls, as she jerked her brother's dick. She'd waited all of her life to feel his cock inside of her. She had waited too long.

Now. Now was the time.

Francine was excited like a kid on Christmas morning. She leaned forward and backed up into Steven. Once again, She could feel the head of his cock nestle between her ass cheeks. The difference this time was now it was naked contact. Skin on skin. The anticipation was building. Slowly and gently, Francine began to move her hips in circles. Working Steven’s dick into place. With every rotation she moved him a little more into position. Finally, when the head of his cock was pressed against the entrance to her pussy, Francine lunged backwards and forced him into her. Her pussy was so wet and slippery, Steven's cock slipped right into her needy cunt.

In all of the years she had imagined this scenario, Francine never could've known that it would feel as good as it did. If she had, she would've somehow seduced her brother a long time before this. His cock felt fucking amazing!! It was so big and thick, and it totally filled and stretched her vagina. Francine thrusted her hips back and forth, working Steven in and out of her. In essence, she was making him fuck her and he had no idea. He remained fast asleep. As such, Francine did her best to stifle her moans. Biting her pillow and moaning into it. Not wanting this to end, she knew that if her brother was to wake up, there would be a good chance this would stop. She definitely didn't want that to happen.

Inconspicuously, Francine fucked her brother through several orgasms. Sometimes fucking him gently. Other times just holding him inside her pussy while rubbing her clit. Francine had already cum three times, but she wanted more.

She thought to herself how much betteryhis would be if she didn't have to do all of the work. How much hotter it would be if Steven was awake, and being an active participant. She started to fuck her hips harder. Slamming them back onto her brother. Fucking him hard.

“Christine?..ugh.. What are you doing ?" Steven asked groggily as he roused from his sleep.

"Fucking you baby” Francine responded, pretending to be her brothers soon to be ex-wife.

“Mmmm" Steven moaned and said. “Get on top honey."

Francine rolled Steven onto his back, and moved into a reverse cowgirl position on top of her brother. Almost immediately, she started to ride him. Rolling her hips. Lifting herself up, and dropping herself down onto his cock. Fucking him. Hard. Fast. Exactly the way she always imagined. Francine always preferred being on top because climax was achieved easier. She came several more times riding Steven this way.

Steven moaned and muttered all during the experience. Of course the room was dark, and in his still drunken state he thought he was fucking his wife. He had no idea at all that it was his sister's pussy, that was rapidly edging him closer to cumming….

UNTIL....

He rolled Francine off of him and got on top. He parted her legs and slid in between. He started to fuck into her. Sliding almost all the way out and then sliding in balls deep. He slammed his cock in and out, fast and hard, again and again. Steven grunted and groaned as he fucked Francine. He could feel himself getting close.

Francine, while she had already cum many times, could also feel herself racing towards the finish line as well. The feeling over her big, strong, brother fucking her willfully, lustfully, was just too amazing. It was every bit as good, if not even better than she could ever fantasized about. Her moans matched Steven's but just as they were both about to cum, Francine made a big slip up…

In the deepest throws of passion Francine blurted out.. “Oh Stevie…Yes! Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me!” Francine hadn't even realized her mistake until Steven did and stopped fucking her.

“What the…? Francy?!?” Steven called out in the darkness. A tone of shock, plagued his voice. Had he really just heard his sister begging him to fuck her?

“Shhhh,…Don't stop Stevie…just keep going" Francine begged and pumped her hips, Urging her brother to keep fucking her.

To which even his his drunkenness, Steven realized what he was doing and how wrong it was. Immediately he reached over and turned on the nightstand light. He was so in shock he never even noticed that he hadn't removed his cock from Francine's pussy. He looked right into his sister's eyes. “Francine…what the actual fuck?”

Francine stared back. Her eyes filled with tears. She was ashamed of her trickery. Ashamed at her depravity. Ashamed that she had gotten caught. "Steven…I'm so sorry. It's just…" her voice trailed off…

"Just what, Sis?” he asked.

Francine sobbed softly for a second. Contemplating the big reveal. The proverbial cat was already out of the bag, so she looked deep into her brother's eyes. "Just that I've wanted this for so long. I've imagined this so many times. Dreamed about it. Cum to it many, many times.” Francine's turned away in tears. She was too embarrassed to look her brother in the eye any longer.

Steven, his mind completely blown, took a second. Trying his best to come to grips with the situation. He HAD just been fucking his sister. He HAD just been ready to cum. He WAS still currently inside of his little sister's vagina. He reached up and took Francine's face into his hands and turned it to look at him.

“This is my dream too.. Francy" Steven said as he leaned down and kissed her deeply. Passionately. His tongue swirling around hers. Apparently, all of the nights that Francine laid in bed masturbating thinking about Stevie… he was thinking about her too.

Stevie began to move once again. Slower Softer. Than before. He rolled his hips into her gently. This was different than before. This wasn't fucking. This was more like…making love.

Francine, elated to hear that Steven had the same feelings as her, took to the encounter with a renewed vigor. She kissed him back passionately. Worked her hips in time and motion with her brother, and met each one of his thrusts with a greater pleasure.

As the passion and intensity grew, so did their fuck rhythm. Growing passionately until Steven was fucking Francine wildly. He pounded his cock into her again and again. Hammering her. In turn, Francine wrapped her legs around Stevie's back. Francine and Steven were both living out a shared fantasy. The pleasure was so much greater than either expected. Their groans became moans and eventually became screams. Both of them hurling towards an incredible mutual orgasm.

“I'm going to cum Francy” Steven whimpered. Obviously, fighting back his climax with an intense anguish.

Completely lost in the moment Francine responded, “Go ahead Stevie.” She wrapped her legs around her brother and pulled him tightly to her. Locking him deep in the innermost depths of her pussy.

With a loud groan, “ohhhh Sisssssss" Steven came hard. His body jerked and spasmed as he filled his sister's pussy with his cum. Blowing his load deep into her womb, his cock throbbed and twitched as he spilled his seed.

The sensations of Steven's climax set off a chain reaction in Francine's cunny. A ripple effect. Her pussy quivered and constricted, and then filled and flooded with her own juices. She too succumbed to her powerful orgasm. As her climax hit, Francine dug her fingernails into her brother's back. Drawing blood and leaving scratches down his spine. This was the most intense orgasm she had ever had. Her body shook and trembled violently. Quaking with unbridled pleasure.

As their respective orgasms ebbed and faded, Steven moved into a spooning position behind Francine in bed. They didn't speak, but rather just enjoyed the moment and the afterglow. This was like nothing either of them had ever experienced. Possibly because it was so taboo, that it made it that much hotter? Maybe because both had wanted this for so long, the anticipation made it even better? As they laid there in the darkness, both Francine and Steven thought to themselves "if it feels this good, how can it be so wrong?"

This was just the beginning. The onset. The opening of doors for Steven and Francine. There would be many more sexual experiences to come for them.

All of them hotter than the time before....

An Original Erotica Story by

Daddy-issues-subscriber3

(aka Kiddmandu)

[starsurfacemortalkombat]

Page Info/Request Rules/To Do List :]

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

This is an Age/Pet Regression Blog. I only write and do headcanon request related to those topics. :]

AGE PLAY (SUCH AS DD/LG or MD/LB, ETC) & RELATED STUFF DNI!!!! THIS IS NOT AN AGE PLAY BLOG. Homophobia and related things are also dni!!! Any kind of sexual request will get blocked!!! (I haven't recieved any, but I'm saying this now just in case)

This is NOT a Age Play Blog!!! Age Play is a a form of roleplaying in which an individual acts or treats another as if they were a different age, most times, if not always, sexually.

Age Regression is a coping mechanism!!! Where an individual mentally and emotionally returns to a younger age. Some people use this coping mechanism for things like trauma, stress, and many more things. Many also use it just for fun, it being just one of their main coping mechanisms for this harsh life we live in.

Request: Open!!! :D (Posting is slow right now!!)

Please make as many request as you'd like! I love seeing them!!! <3

Btw, (almost) anyone cal follow, but DMs must be 18+!! I'm 18, and I don't want any legal issues Darlings

^ Unless it's a request, although you really should be sending that through the 'ask' <3

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Important Request thing here, just basically saying I'm taking off anonymous ask for now, but if you ask to remain anonymous, I won't post your ask, just a post of the ask :3

WHAT WILL I POST:

Age Regression Headcannons, Moodboards, Pfp paci emojis, and maybe drawings? Make sure to tell me what you wan't specifically when requesting!! (any request already made I know your Hcs, please don't panic)

^ Strictly Age (and Pet) Regression!!!

Such as making (insert character) a Regressor

Or, (insert character) a Caregiver

Or, (insert character) a Pet Regressor

You can ask for shipping too!! For example: "Should you do Regressor (insert character) and CG (insert character) romantic/platonic headcannons?

^ Romantic/platonic means more are the characters dating and one regresses, or are they just friends and one regresses

I can to continuations or more headcannons on any character I have already done too!!

If you request more than one character in the same request, make sure to ask for separate post please!!!! :D (It just helps me understand which ones are group and which ones are individual request)

WHAT FANDOMS:

Mortal Kombat 9-11 (any character) (except for D'Vorah!!!! I no no like her)

Mortal Kombat 1 (any character)

Mortal kombat Defenders of the Realm <3

Mortal Kombat 1995/1997/2021 Movies

Older Mortal Kombat (like Deception, Shaolin Monks, etc)

WHAT WON'T I WRITE:

Nsfw

I WILL NOT WRITE FOR D'VORAH FROM MKX/11 BECAUSE I CAN NOT DO BUGS, I'M SORRY

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

To Do List:

CG Lin Kuei Brothers w/ Shy Toddlerspace Regressor Hcs

CG Lin Kuei Brothers w/ Little/Middle Regressor Hcs

(^ Separate or Together, I dunno yet)

CG Kitana w/ Regressor Syzoth Hcs

CG Snowblind Kuai Liang w/ Regressor Snowblind Kenshi Hcs

CG CageMatch Johnny Cage Hcs

CG CageMatch Johnny w/ Regressor Snowblind Kenshi Hcs

CG Raiden MK11 w/ Regressor Liu Kang MK1 Hcs

CG Liu Kang w/ Babypace Regressor Johnny MK1 Hcs

CG Earthrealm Gang (all MK1 characters?) w/ Autistic Babyspace Regressor Johnny Hcs

CG Shinnok w/ Clingy Babyspace Regressor Hcs

Babyspace Regressor Dark Lord Raiden Hcs

CG Syzoth w/ Middlespace Zaterran Regressor Hcs

CG Sindel w/ Regressor Kitana & Mileena MK1 Hcs

CG Kitana w/ Babyspace Regressor (Fic)

CG Johnny w/ Middlespace Regressor (Fic)

CG Shang Tsung MK1 w/ Sick Regressor Hcs

CG Tomas w/ Babyspace Regressor Hcs

CG Johnny Cage w/ Mute Little/Middlespace Regressor Hcs

CG Bi-Han MK1 w/ Babyspace Regressor Who Struggles with Joint Pain Hcs

CG Kung Jin w/ Regressor Takeda Hcs

CG Raiden w/ Regressor Nightwolf Defenders of the Realm Hcs

CG Bi-Han w/ Regressor Hcs

CG Fujin w/ Puppy Regressor Liu Kang Hcs

CG Johnny & Kenshi MK9 w/ Regressor Nightmare Hcs

CG Syzoth w/ Regressor Ashrah Hcs (Pt 2?? Kinda??)

CG Kung Lao & Raiden w/ Shy Middlespace Regressor Hcs

CG Liu Kang w/ Regressor (autistic & padded) Johnny Cage MK1 (Fic)

CG Kenshi w/ Bad Day Fem Regressor Hcs

CG Dark Raiden w/ Tired Toddler Regressor

CG Kenshi & Johnny w/ Sleepy Fem Regressor Hcs

CG Johnny Cage MK1 w/ Baby/Toddlerspace Regressor Ghostbusters Lover Regressor Hcs

CG Kenshi w/ Sick Regressor MK1 Hcs

CG Kenshi w/ Padded Regressor Johnny Hcs

Puppyspace Regressor Johnny MK9 HCs

CG Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, & Tomas w/ Babespace Kiddo Hcs

CG Kano w/ Clingy Babyspace Regressor Hcs

CG Cassie w/ Toddlerspace Regressor Hcs

CG Jacqui w/ Regressor Cassie Hcs

Regressor Liu Kang 1995 Hcs

CG Tomas w/ Cuddly Middlespace Regressor

CG Cassie w/ Insomniac Clingy Toddlerspace Regressor Hcs

CG Liu Kang w/ Regressor Kenshi Hcs

Regressor Mk9 Tomas/Smoke Hcs

CG MK1 Johnny w/ Snail Regressor Hcs

Regressed Earthrealm Gang (Fic) (maybe)

CG MK11 Hanzo & Kuai Liang Hcs

CG Rain & Haivik w/ Regressor Reiko & Nitara (Fic)

CG MK1 (?) Raiden w/ Babyspace Regressor Hcs

CG Quan Chi w/ Regressor Shang Tsung Hcs

CG MK1 Raiden w/ Gloomy Regressor Hcs

CG MK11 Raiden w/ Sick Regressor Hcs

CG MK1 Raiden w/ Sick Regressor Hcs

CG Reader w/ Regressor Johnny Cage Hcs

CG Sindel w/ Regressor Mileena and Kitana Hcs

CG Harumi w/ Regressor Kuai Liang MK1 Hcs

MK11 Raiden w/ Puppy/Kitty Regressor Hcs

CG Reiko w/ Autistic baby Regressor Shao Kahn Hcs

CG Kenshi w/ Senstive Regressor Hcs

Regressor Johnny Cage MK1 Hcs pt 2

CG Kuai Liang MK1 w/ Autistic Middle Space Regressor Hcs

MK1 Johnny Cage Embarrassed Regressor Hcs

MK11 Johnny Cage w/ Embarrassed Regressor Hcs

MK11 Kabal w/ Babyspace Regressor Hcs

MK11 Kotal Kahn w/ Babyspace Regressor Hcs

MK11 Noob Saibot w/ Babyspace Regressor Hcs

CG Reader w/ Middlespace MK1 Johnny Cage or MK11 Younger Johnny Cage Fic

CG Liu Kang w/ Hesitant Regressor Syzoth Hcs

CG Havik w/ Puppy Regressor Hcs

CG Kano w/ Regressors Kira, Kobra, and Kabal Hcs

Request: Open!!! :D (There's some I haven't put on here yet, I got them, don't worry)

^ For the lovely people worried about how long my list is, one, thank you all very much for carrying about me. It means I lot, seriously. <3 Two, I personally don't like shutting down my requests. I'll just get to them when I get to them, so please don't feel discouraged because of how long the list is, Sugars. <3

No more Masterlists (atleast as of right now) because they were all broken :(

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Will the content be good?

. . . No promises. But I love everything everyone's made on this site, and I want to contribute!!

Can promise that all the MK villains you request will be delulu just for you, Pookies. :3

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

BLOGS:

DC - @starsurfacedc

Final Fantasy - @starsurfacefinalfantasy

Kingdom Hearts - @starsurfacekingdomhearts

Marvel - @starsurfacemarvel

Resident Evil - @starsurfaceresidentevil

Star Wars - @starsurfacestarwars

Invincible - @starsurfaceinvincible

[crowwowo]

5, 17, and 18 for alexandra??

Ty for the ask‼️‼️ Sorry this took me so long, standardized testing is kicking my ass 😔

5. What was the Herald of Andraste’s opinion about the Chantry and the war before the explosion?

Oughh very bad,,

Alexandra’s Harrowing was extremely traumatic and left her extremely anxious and fearful, leading to her self-isolating & acting out. This behavior got her shuffled around circles, with an eventual stop in Kirkwall where she was injured by Templars (origin of her scar). All of this left her resentful of templars, the circles they upheld, and the Chantry as a whole. She’s very in support of mage rights and abolishing the Circles, however I think shes a little torn on the methods by which that should be achieved. When she was younger she was definitely more open to violence, and while shes not against it, after the Conclave she is more cautious as she wants to avoid mage casualties (part of why she’s very adamant about allying with the mages).

17. From their inner circle, who is the Inquisitor closest to? Who do they listen to the most?

Alexandra & Dorian are very close ofc, in my canon they are distant cousins on Ali’s mom’s side but they basically act like siblings. During IHW they click fast and come out of the time travel trauma bonded and inseparable LOL. She probably spends the most casual time with him, and they help eachother work through/realize their respective family issues. Other than Dorian, Ali’s particularly close with her advisors, Varric, Sera, & Ironbull.

Of her advisors I think she generally listens to Josephine the most, valuing her experience in diplomacy, but she listens to Leliana almost just as much (rip Cullen 💔, she stopped listening after he suggested the Templar alliance)

18. Is there anyone in their inner circle that they cant stand/don’t like? Why?

As much as I love Vivienne as a character, Ali does not like her; she feels empathy for Vivienne’s experiences, but they both so wildly disagree on mage rights/methods that their interactions are soured. When you add on Alexandra endorsing Leliana as Divine & supporting her reforms, their relationship basically ends right there. They have a few small moments of understanding though, particularly relating to their harrowings & Vivienne’s personal quest. I also think shes has a strained relationship with Blackwall, especially after his deception is revealed, but I need to ponder that one a lot more.

Early game Ali has a complicated relationship with both Cullen & Cassandra on the count of them treating her as the “Herald of Andraste TM”. This treatment pisses Ali of something fierce, though Skyhold Cassandra realizes this and genuinely tries to correct her behavior. However Ali and Cullen’s misunderstandings and fights continue for a good while. I think Cassandra would also be the one to smack some sense into Cullen during him and Ali’s fights, later joining forceswith Varric to get Cullen to see how they where getting in the way of both of him and Ali’s duties, as well as their feelings for one another (the latter of which goes right over Cullen AND Ali’s heads, I fear they wouldnt know romantic feelings if it hit them in the face)

Late game after Solas leaves, and especially after Tresspasser, Ali’s furious, but so drained from everything (+ in the early stages of pregnancy, but she doesnt know that) that its mostly a lot of extremely frustrated crying.

Cullen’s PISSED tho

[scribeforchrist-blog]

Lying Is A Sin Right ?

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK

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+ Psalm 88:1 Lord, you are the God who saves me; day and night, I cry out to you.

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VERSE OF THE DAY 

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Leviticus 19:11: Do not steal. “ ‘Do not lie. “ ‘Do not deceive one another

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** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I AM NOT LYING 

I AM STRONG 

I AM A CHILD OF GOD 

I AM LOVING 

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READ TIME: 9 Minutes & 24 Seconds

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THOUGHTS:

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  When someone says something that isn't true, it can be easy to dismiss it as harmless. However, we often don't realize the full extent of the damage our words can cause. A false statement can completely change someone's life and have a ripple effect on multiple aspects. We may not think about the consequences of our lies, but the Bible warns us about the dangers of deception.

     Take the story of Abraham and Sarah, for example. To protect himself, Abraham lied to Abimelek about Sarah being his wife. This caused a series of problems and put not only himself but also others in danger. So, next time we are tempted to stretch the truth, let's remember the lesson from the Bible and consider the potential harm it may cause.

  Genesis 20:4 Now Abimelek had not gone near her, so he said, “Lord, will you destroy an innocent nation? 5 Did he not say to me, ‘She is my sister,’ and didn’t she also say, ‘He is my brother’? I have done this with a clear conscience and clean hands.

* Proverbs 12:22 Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord, but those who act faithfully are his delight.

* Proverbs 19:9 A false witness will not go unpunished, and he who breathes out lies will perish.

* Psalm 101:7 No one who practices deceit shall dwell in my house; no one who utters lies shall continue before my eyes.

    Lying is of the enemy- these powerful verse from the Bible reminds us of the consequences of dishonesty in our lives. We are taught that honesty is the best policy from a young age. Yet, as we grow older, we tend to disregard this simple principle and resort to lying to get out of difficult situations or to protect ourselves from the consequences of our actions.

    However, as this verse from Proverbs 6:16-19 states, lying is an abomination of the Lord. It is a sinful act that goes against the teachings of God. And just like any other sin, it will not go unpunished. When we lie, not only are we breaking one of God's commandments, but we also invite trouble and discord into our lives.

    But what does it mean to be punished for what we say or do? In the context of lying, it could mean facing the repercussions of our dishonesty. It could be losing the trust of our loved ones, damaging relationships, or even facing legal consequences. Our lies can have a domino effect, causing harm to ourselves and those around us.

    This verse also highlights that when we practice deceit, we cannot be in the eyes of the Lord. As Christians, we strive to live a life that is pleasing to God. But when we choose to walk down the path of deceit, we distance ourselves from His presence. Instead of dwelling in His love and grace, we find ourselves in a broken state, separated from Him.

    God is a God of truth and righteousness. The Bible says in Psalm 145:18, "The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth." When our lives are filled with lies and deceit, we cannot expect to have a close relationship with Him. It is only when we live in His truth and walk in His ways that we can experience His presence and blessings in our lives.

    So, how do we avoid falling into the trap of lying? Firstly, we must remember that honesty is not just about speaking the truth but also living it. Our actions should align with our words. Secondly, we must have a humble heart and seek forgiveness when we do falter and lie. We must also strive to make amends and restore trust with those we have deceived.

  Lying may seem like an easy way out, but as Christians, we must remember that it goes against the will of God. It is a sin that will not go unnoticed and will have its consequences. Instead, let us choose to walk in the path of truth and righteousness so we may dwell in the presence of our loving and forgiving God.

    This week, we discussed What you invest your time into; that’s something we discussed this week: we invest in our health, career, and financial situations. We invest so much, but do we invest in time with God? Do we prioritize him and ensure he is at the center of our lives? Sometimes, we forget that God can be what we need and more, our life in Christ should be something we do every day; invest our time into God so we can produce good fruit that’s why some of us aren’t changing, and we aren’t growing because we aren’t investing in God we aren’t dwelling in God every day we should be willing to give more of our sleeves to God so that he can change us and mold us more and more each day 

    1 Peter 2:11 Dear friends, I warn you as “temporary residents and foreigners” to keep away from worldly desires that wage war against your souls.

     It's important to remember that the things we invest in here on earth are temporary. They won't last forever; eventually, they will rot and become food for moths. Matthew 6 tells us not to store treasures here on earth because, ultimately, they won't benefit us in the long run. Have you ever stopped to think that where you are right now is not where you will spend eternity? The things here won't help us get into heaven or achieve anything in the realm of God. They are simply for the here and now. But if we only focus on the present and don't invest in our future with God, where do we think we will end up? It's essential to spend time in His presence and dwell with Him to grow and prepare for where we are meant to be. We won't know if we don't open ourselves up and allow Him into our world. Let's reflect on where our true investments should lie, which should be in God.

Matthew 6:20-21  But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal.21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

  Another thing we talked about is dwelling in his presence; so many of us run after we get through prayer; we run so fast out of the closet and out of where we are to rush into our lives, but we have to understand that God is part of our lives and every day when we dwell, we are asking the Holy Spirit to accept us where we are. Some of us are so ashamed of what we are doing that we don’t want to dwell in his presence because we know that in his presence, he will tell us that what we are doing wrong is a sin. Some people don’t like correction, and some can't stand it, but we must allow his spirit to reign in us and show us our faults. 

    Ephesians 4:23 Instead, let the Spirit renew your thoughts and attitudes.

  That’s when we allow his spirit to renew us not just sometimes but daily, and when we allow it to, we start to see a change, we start to see where what we used to think was wrong; that’s what it means to be renewed our thoughts and attitude this can only eb has done in the presence of God seeking him daily.

 *** Today, in our discussion, we delved into lying and its impact on our faith as Christians. It is often believed that lying is a small sin and won't be held against us, but the truth is that the Lord despises lying. The enemy constantly bombards us with lies, trying to deceive us into thinking we are not free, that Jesus doesn't love us, and that He is not alive. However, with discernment from the Lord, we can distinguish between what is true and what is not. We must rely on the Word of God to verify the enemy's lies and remember that he will use every tactic to hold us back from experiencing the love of God. It is up to us to understand and believe that the Lord has something more important for us, and we must not let the enemy's lies keep us from experiencing it.

    We must abide by the lord sometimes things in life can cause us to be asleep, but God wants us to be awake in life and sober-minded as well, we can’t allow situations to put us to sleep, and leaving us in the dark, he is the light that we need in our life, and when we follow Christ we aren’t in the darkness anymore.

©Seer~ Prophetess Lee

======================

PRAYER

=====================

Heavenly Father, we are asking for Your forgiveness for the sins we have committed. Please forgive us for any spoken words, thoughts, or actions taken that have strayed away from Your teachings. We know we are not perfect. Thank You for Your unconditional love and mercy, even when we fall short. We  promise to continue to strive towards being a better person in Jesus' Name amen 

======================

REFERENCES 

======================

Psalm 119:163 I hate and detest falsehood, but I love your law.

 

+ Proverbs 13:5 The righteous hate what is false, but the wicked make themselves a stench and bring shame on themselves.

 

+ Proverbs 14:5 An honest witness does not deceive, but a false witness pours out lies.

======================

FURTHER READINGS 

======================

Proverbs 22

2 Samuel 2

1 Kings 15

Exodus 5

Deuteronomy 24

======================

[starlightvivi]

“Soldier's Silent Love”

Part 1 👆

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Mention of :- Romance, suspense, smut, (mdni 18+) some fluff, a lot of flirting, jealous ghost, a fake married couple, possessive ghost.

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Summary: Y/N and Ghost, comrades who once kept their feelings unspoken, find themselves reunited on a mission where a forced fake marriage unravels years of hidden emotions. Ghost, who concealed his affection when you were transferred away, now faces the challenge of maintaining the act while wrestling with a love that never truly faded. In the midst of duty and deception, their story unfolds, blurring the lines between soldier and lover.

Words:- 5.2k

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PART 2

____________________________

Y/N looked at her drink, lost in thought. "I.... liked it" she murmured

“Oh?” Ghost's voice carried a small smile. “Well... I think we deserve another kiss.” With a hint of excitement, he leaned in, his eyes fluttering.

“Uh!”

His lips met your, a gentle pressure that sent a flush through his body as his arms held your bare back.

You could taste the lingering bourbon on his lips, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch, your fingers gripping his shoulder. The air pulsed with a heady mix of emotions, the moment charged with a blend of shared desire and the subtle intoxication of the bourbon lingering on their lips.

Ghost gently pulled you closer, closing his eyes as he continued to kiss you. His heart fluttered in chest, his free hand cupping the back of your head and running his fingers through your hair gently.

In the stillness of their kiss, Ghost's hand threaded through your hair, a gentle yet deliberate touch that added a subtle intensity to the moment. Each stroke conveyed a silent language of shared passion, making the kiss a nuanced dance of desire and connection.

“Mmm.” Ghost hums, drawing you closer, his hand gently squeezing your hip. "You look absolutely adorable when you're flushed," he whispers with a soft intensity.

You close your eyes, smiling softly

"Umm, Simon..." You starts tentatively.

“Yes, Y/N?” Ghost responds in a low, gentle voice. “Do you need something?”

You smiles politely, maintaining composure

"We're in the midst of a mission," you says, meeting his gaze while trying to conceal the subtle emotional turmoil beneath the surface.

Ghost pulled away from the kiss and sighed, his body heat rising. “Yeah, and the team is ready outside we can capture him easily but you want me to continue the show, right? To make it look like we’re in love?” Ghost asked, his voice tinged with annoyance.

You look at the target still having conversation with his girl, sigh "Sure, as long as the target won't get away...."

Ghost looks in that direction and sighed quietly. “The target is talking with her girlfriend right now, he doesn’t seem to see us.” He said, still holding your arm lightly.

"Hmm" you watches the target and take a sip of your drink.

Ghost lets go of your arm to take a sip of his drink as well, watching the target talk with her girlfriend. He was getting somewhat impatient and wanted to get the mission over with quickly.

"Where are they going??" You ask to ghost confused and curious.

“It seems like they’re gonna go somewhere private, they keep glancing at the doors.” Ghost said, a bit of his usual snark coming out. “Why’re you asking me, by the way?” He asked as he glanced down at you and his eyebrows rose.

In the dimly lit room, Ghost glanced over at Y/N as they both observed their mission unfolding. He discreetly reached for his communication device and whispered, "Captain, we've got eyes on the target. He's making a move."

The captain's voice crackled through the earpiece, "Understood, Ghost. Keep us informed."

As Ghost relayed crucial information, the tension in the room escalated. Suddenly, their target was surrounded by the captain's team. Y/N and Ghost watched in silence as the team swiftly moved in, apprehending the target with precision.

The sound of handcuffs clicking echoed through the room as the team secured their captive. Ghost and Y/N exchanged a glance, their eyes reflecting a mix of accomplishment and relief. The backdoor opened, revealing the team leading the captured target away into the shadows. It was a silent victory, and as the door closed, the weight of the successful mission settled in the room.

The captain arrived, a subtle nod of approval in their gaze as they acknowledged Ghost and Y/N's flawless execution of the mission.

"Maybe now we should get a private room too!!!"

You smirked and chuckled a little, happy that the mission went smoothly and had to not kill or hurt anyone.

“Fine, fine.” Ghost said, his words dripping with annoyance but also something that sounded like *excitement.* “As long as you know that after this mission, any romance ends. I’m not gonna be your fake boyfriend outside of this.” He said, as he grabbed your waist to pull you in closer.

"Wait, So are you gonna be my husband after the mission!!" Curiosity sparkled in your gaze, eager to hear his response.

The sarcasm slipped out of his voice as excitement and joy took over. “Yess~” He whispered, kissing your cheek. “Fake husband, of course.” He mumbled, his voice suddenly losing all snark and emotion. “But we’d make good real husband and wife, don’t you think?” Ghost asked, his voice hopeful as he looked down at you.

"Yea, sure we do!!" *You smiles at him and slightly blushes*

“Then, shall we find somewhere more private where you can excel at being the best fake wife?” Ghost whispered, sipping his drink.

His words, surprisingly devoid of his usual arrogance, carried a sweet undertone, offering a rare glimpse of his genuine self.

"Maybe we'll have plenty of time for each other once the work is done, honey~~" she purred, running her fingers teasingly over his chest. With an innocent look, she managed to undo the top button of his shirt, adding a playful twist to the moment.

"Are you *sure* you don't want to be my real wife?" Ghost whispered, his gaze fixed on you.

"What if I said, yes?" you teased, your voice a sultry whisper as you leaned in, your breath caressing his ear. A subtle moan escaped near his neck, a bold proclamation echoing the electrifying tension between you two.

“I’d marry you in a heartbeat.” Ghost said softly, his lips still pressed against your neck as he looked at you.

His voice was slightly more high-pitched and his words were laced with excitement, like he was actually saying his real thoughts to you.

You lock eyes with him, you fluttered your lashes, attempting to exude a charming cuteness.

Ghost stared down at you, his eyes filled with both love and hunger. His lips were still near your neck, and he bit your skin softly as he kissed your shoulder. “How about this? After the mission, if we both make it, you come stay with me for a week. Then we can figure out if this is love or not after.” Ghost whispered.

She smiles widely "bet"

"Amidst the camouflage of secrets, Ghost and Y/N discovered that the heart's code couldn't be encrypted, and love emerged as the unexpected ally in their mission."

To be continued…

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A/N: Hope you guys like and I will be grateful to you, if you support and reblog it 🤧 Im trying!! Let me know how it is 😶‍🌫️❤️ bye guys

[faerytalemagick]

LENORMAND CARDS interpretation and meaning

Lenormand cards are a fascinating and less well-known instrument in the field of divination, where intuition and symbolism collide. These cards, which bear the name Marie Anne Lenormand after the famous French astrologer, have subtly moved through time, providing wisdom and direction to those who seek it.Unlike the Tarot, which consists of 78 cards, a traditional Lenormand deck consists of 36 cards. These cards are simple yet rich in symbolism, each carrying its unique meaning. The imagery on Lenormand cards often features everyday objects, people, or situations, making them easily accessible to readers of all levels.

📖🕯☾☪☽✨

When doing a Lenormand card reading, a certain number of cards are spread out in a predetermined arrangement, or "spread." These spreads act as a kind of canvas for the plot to develop. In a reading, each card offers its particular significance and combines with others. The meanings of the cards in a Lenormand reading are typically clear-cut; they stand in for things like love, wealth, travel, and more. The secret is to become familiar with the unique meanings of each card before figuring out how to combine them to create complex stories.

the 36 Lenormand cards along with their symbolism

1.Rider: A message, news, or visitor approaching. 2.Clover: Luck, chance, or a small opportunity. 3.Ship: Travel, foreign influences, or change in perspective. 4.House: Home, family, or a stable situation. 5.Tree: Health, growth, or long-term development. 6.Clouds: Confusion, uncertainty, or a problem. 7.Snake: Deception, betrayal, or a complex situation. 8.Coffin: Endings, transformation, or something coming to a close. 9.Bouquet: Beauty, happiness, or a pleasant surprise. 10.Scythe: Sudden events, danger, or a sharp decision. 11.Whip: Conflict, arguments, or repetitive actions. 12.Birds: Communication, conversations, or gossip. 13.Child: New beginnings, innocence, or something small. 14.Fox: Deception, cunning, or a tricky situation. 15.Bear: Strength, authority, or a powerful figure. 16.Stars: Hope, inspiration, or guidance from above. 17.Stork: Change, transformation, or improvement. 18.Dog: Loyalty, friendship, or a faithful companion. 19.Tower: Authority, institutions, or isolation. 20.Garden: Social events, gatherings, or public places. 21.Mountain: Challenges, obstacles, or a difficult path. 22.Crossroads: Choices, decisions, or a crossroads in life. 23.Mice: Loss, worry, or something eating away at you. 24.Heart: Love, emotions, or matters of the heart. 25.Ring: Commitment, partnerships, or a promise. 26.Book: Secrets, knowledge, or hidden information. 27.Letter: Messages, written communication, or news. 28.Man: A male person or masculine energy. 29.Woman: A female person or feminine energy. 30.Lily: Purity, peace, or sexual matters. 31.Sun: Success, happiness, or a positive outcome. 32.Moon: Intuition, dreams, or the subconscious. 33.Key: Solutions, opportunities, or unlocking something. 34.Fish: Finances, abundance, or material wealth. 35.Anchor: Stability, security, or a firm foundation. 36.Cross: Burdens, challenges, or a test of faith.

𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

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[hiswordsarekisses]

CHRISTIANITY'S GREATEST DECEPTION!

Where do you all go every Sunday? (Or Saturday)

Oh we GO TO CHURCH!

That's right!

In other words, you go to a building also known as the 'House of God' to do various activities such as:

Praising and worshipping God

Being 'fed' with "the word of God"

Partaking in various activity groups in order to "fulfill your ministry/duty/service to God because "you shouldn't just be a bench warmer, you should do something for God".

So you join the choir/ushers/intercessors/welfare committee/visitation team/building committee/media dept, etc.

This entire set up is what you have always known as Church - not just the building, but THE CONTINUOUS ROUTINE ACTIVITIES THAT GO ON ALL YEAR ROUND FROM SUNDAY TO SUNDAY, MID WEEK ACTIVITIES, VIGILS ET AL.

THIS IS WHAT WE REFER TO AS THE CHURCH SYSTEM.

But this is what Jesus originally meant by Church.

Matthew 16:18 (NKJV) And I also say to you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will BUILD MY CHURCH, and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it.

SO WAS CHRIST REFERRING TO A BUILDING?

WHERE DOES IT STAND TODAY? FOR BY NOW IT MUST HAVE CRUMBLED CENTURIES AGO IF IT WERE BUT A MERE BUILDING!

No! Christ was not referring to a building, he was referring to his body - the Body of Christ - the Body of Believers IN CHRIST!

Acts 7:48-50 (NKJV) However, the Most High DOES NOT DWELL IN TEMPLES MADE WITH HANDS, as the prophet says:

'Heaven is My throne, And earth is My footstool. WHAT HOUSE WILL YOU BUILD FOR ME? says the Lord, Or what is the place of My rest?

Has My hand not made all these things?'

Yet you dedicate monumental, colossal buildings and fill it with equipment and structures of mind boggling prices "for the worship and service of God" in hopes that God will come down in the person of the Holy Spirit to join you in service and "take control" when he is called upon to do so in the millions of churches across the world.

WHEN THE SCORES OR HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE IN YOUR 'CHURCHES' HAVE NO DECENT PLACE TO LAY THEIR HEADS NOR ENOUGH DAILY FOOD???

Yeah! God must be mighty pleased to meet with you in places where the equipment have been deemed more valuable than THE PEOPLE!

Matthew 23:17 (NKJV) Fools and blind! For which is greater, the gold or the temple that sanctifies the gold?

ARE YOUR EQUIPMENT GREATER THAN THE PEOPLE THEY WERE SUPPOSEDLY BOUGHT FOR TO USE FOR GOD???

ARE THE PEOPLE NOT THE TEMPLE OF GOD???

1 Corinthians 6:19 (NKJV) Or do you not know that YOUR BODY IS THE TEMPLE OF THE HOLY SPIRIT who is in you, whom you have from God, and you are not your own?

You completely and deliberately overlook the fact that the Holy Spirit came down ONCE AND FOR ALL AT PENTECOST!

HE WON'T KEEP COMING DOWN EVERY SUNDAY "LIKE THE DAY OF PENTECOST" TO "LET HIS FIRE FALL ON YOU!"

HE NOW LIVES WITHIN THE HEARTS OF GENUINE BELIEVERS!

BEING FILLED WITH THE HOLY SPIRIT REGULARLY IS NOT THE SAME THING AS HIS PRESENCE COMING DOWN FROM HEAVEN!!!

Ephesians 5:18-19 (NKJV) And do not be drunk with wine, in which is dissipation; but be filled with the Spirit,

speaking to one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord,

WHY DO YOU CONSTANTLY IGNORE HIS PRESENCE WITHIN IN FAVOUR OF A CONTRIVED PRESENCE WITHOUT???

Acts 17:24-25 (NKJV) God, who made the world and everything in it, since He is Lord of heaven and earth, does not dwell in temples made with hands.

Nor is He worshiped with men's hands, as though He needed anything, since He gives to all life, breath, and all things.

YOU ARE SO HUNG UP ON CHURCH BEING THE ONLY PLACE WHERE YOU CAN "MEET WITH GOD, THAT YOU HAVE LOST SIGHT OF THE TRUTH OF HIS PRESENCE WITHIN YOU!

Thus there are now two churches: The outward Church meant for those who feel the need to go to a particular dedicated or hallowed building where God visits every Sunday (if even he doesn't actually live there!)

Then there is the Body of Christ - the Ekklesia - the Called Out Ones - THOSE WHO CARRY THE PRESENCE OF THE HOLY SPIRIT WHEREVER THEY GO, who gather in groups wherever possible NOT BECAUSE GOD IS IN THE PLACE, BUT BECAUSE GOD IS IN THEM WHEREVER THEY MAY BE!

Matthew 18:20 (NKJV) For where two or three are GATHERED TOGETHER IN MY NAME, I am there in the midst of them."

IT WAS NEVER ABOUT A SACRED OR HOLY PLACE TO "MEET WITH GOD!"

THE BODY OF CHRIST WAS NOT MEANT TO BE CAGED IN ONE PLACE AND REMAIN STATIC RATHER THAN DYNAMIC!

Mark 16:15 (NKJV) And He said to them, "Go into ALL THE WORLD and preach the gospel to every creature.

Yes but what about this verse? Doesn't it prove that the temple was their meeting place with God too???

Acts 2:46 (NKJV) So continuing daily with one accord IN THE TEMPLE, and breaking bread from house to house, they ate their food with gladness and simplicity of heart,

NO! THEY MET THERE NOT TO PRACTISE "SERVICES" AS YOU DO TODAY, BUT TO ACCOMMODATE THE GROWING NUMBER OF DISCIPLES IN THE ONE PLACE LARGE ENOUGH TO CONTAIN THEM!

It wasn't even the Temple proper, it was the outer courts or buildings within the temple premises.

IT WAS NOT REGARDED AS A SACRED PLACE TO MEET WITH GOD SEEING AS THEY WERE NO LONGER PRACTITIONERS OF JUDAISM!

IT WAS JUST A PLACE FOR THEM TO GATHER IN LARGE NUMBERS DAILY MAINLY FOR THE FOLLOWING!

Acts 6:1 (NKJV) Now in those days, WHEN THE NUMBER OF THE DISCIPLES WAS MULTIPLYING, there arose a complaint against the Hebrews by the Hellenists, because their widows were neglected in the DAILY DISTRIBUTION.

THAT WAS THE REAL REASON FOR OVER THREE THOUSAND BELIEVERS TO MEET DAILY!

There was economic depression in the land and food and other things had to be shared from the proceeds of such things as the following:

Acts 2:44-45 (NKJV) Now all who believed were together, and had all things in common,

and sold their possessions and goods, AND DIVIDED THEM AMONG ALL, AS ANYONE HAD NEED.

WHERE DO YOU THINK THEY DID THE DIVIDING AMONG OVER THREE THOUSAND PEOPLE DAILY?

IN PETER'S HOUSE????

OF COURSE NOT! IT HAD TO BE A PLACE LARGE ENOUGH TO ACCOMMODATE THEM ALL!!!

Acts 2:41 (NKJV) Then those who gladly received his word were baptized; and that day about THREE THOUSAND SOULS were added to them.

THAT WAS JUST ON DAY ONE!

THE CHURCH IS A SPIRITUAL BODY, NOT AN ORGANISATION THAT CAN ONLY BE SUSTAINED AND MAINTAINED BY CONTINUOUS REPETITIVE ROUTINES AND ACTIVITIES!

Acts 2:46-47 (NKJV) So continuing daily with one accord in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house, they ate their food with gladness and simplicity of heart,

praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord ADDED TO THE CHURCH daily those who were being saved.

WHICH CHURCH? THE TEMPLE WHERE THEY MET???

THAT WOULD BE RIDICULOUS!!!

THE LORD ADDED TO THE CHURCH - THE PEOPLE DAILY, THOSE WHO WERE BEING SAVED!

THE PEOPLE WERE THE CHURCH TO WHOM THE LORD ADDED MORE PEOPLE, NOT THE BUILDING/BUILDINGS IN WHICH THEY MET!

HE DID NOT ADD MORE PEOPLE TO THE BUILDINGS!!!

THE CHURCH IS THE PEOPLE OF GOD - THE BODY OF CHRIST!

BUT YOU LEFT IT LONG AGO TO JOIN WITH THOSE WHO STILL WORSHIP GOD IN BUILDINGS THAT HE LEFT LONG AGO!

John 4:21, 23-24 (NKJV) Jesus said to her, "Woman, believe Me, the hour is coming when you will neither on this mountain, nor in Jerusalem, worship the Father.

But the hour is coming, and now is, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth; for the Father is seeking such to worship Him.

YOU STILL SEEK FOR, OR BUILD FANTASTIC BUILDINGS TO DEDICATE TO THE WORSHIP OF A GOD WHO MUST KEEP COMING DOWN EVERY WEEK!

God is Spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth."

Acts 17:24 (NKJV) God, who made the world and everything in it, since He is Lord of heaven and earth, DOES NOT DWELL IN TEMPLES MADE WITH HANDS.

BUT YOU HAVE TURNED IT INTO HIS PERMANENT DWELLING PLACE WHERE HE HAS TO COME DOWN AND "MEET WITH YOU" THREE TO FOUR TIMES A WEEK ALL ACROSS THE WORLD!!!!!!

WAKE UP!!!

THE SCRIPTURES MUST BE TAUGHT CORRECTLY!!!

-Anthony Livingstone

[a-d-nox]

web of wyrd: what indicates cheating (and other negative traits that lead to cheating/deception)?

i feel like it is very important to look at the individual person's relationship and relationship blocker on top of all this. usually the top corners in the compatibility web are beneficial to how a person acts in the relationship but certain numbers can be troubling. in this case, a personal one to my family, this man was VERY good at lying and gaslighting, and he really crushed my family member (unfortunately, she is still very much attached to him - curse that 13 core; they just can't quit one another)... so 18 for example could go either way: very good at self-reflection/empathizing or very good at lying... the main focus though in the bottom corners - what the weakness in for each person (feminine for feminine and masculine for masculine) in the connection. the relationship blockage and relationship numbers in the compatibility web shouldn't be ignored though as they show mutuality (she did start lying to him about where she was and what she was doing).

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22 - the fool

these people commonly feel like they can pull the wool over others eyes. they take risks where the relationship is concerned without thinking of the other person involved.

1 - the magician

they often feel like they can do and say whatever they want in the relationship without any consequences. they have the tendency to manipulate their partner and emotionally gaslit given the situation.

6 - the lovers

codependency is pretty common but also very important - this energy is ruled by gemini. thusly communication is key. on a low vibration or as a blockage number, there is a lack of communication.

7 - the chariot

these people are quick to switch up. they will stay with you but only until they find someone who shares their same mentality and vision for the future. they could also lack self-confidence, and thusly seek validation from more than just who they are in a relationship with.

12 - the hanged man

these are the people who are quick to play victim. they might project their faults on to you - if they cheated, then they might question your loyalty in return.

15 - the devil

this is a toxic relationship to begin with and when on a personal lines this person is more likely to seek out lust than love. codependency and controlling nature is also present.

18 - the moon

if these people have not done self-reflection, they will 100% cheat and deceive others in a relationship due to immaturity and avoidance of fault finding.

19 - the sun

these are the people that think that the grass is greener on the other side and who tend to be immature in a relationship (often, they are in a connection for a good time but not for a long time). ghosting is common and so is desiring an open relationship.

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