#A MIRACLE OH IT WAS BEAUTIFUL MAGICAL

[wwillywonka]

spock playlist be upon ye

[nitewrighter]

Snow White and the Fae Co-Op

Part One: I Didn't Vote For You

Okay so like--

I get why people thought we were all dwarves. Or made us all dwarves. Something between that. Collaborative storytelling what have you. It makes things significantly simpler, and it's a much punchier title than "Snow White and the Troll, the Redcap, the Púca, and four gnomes." (Of course I get top billing--I was her favorite.) And, okay, yeah, none of us came up past Snow's ribcage. Understandable.

But still it's like one of those things you don't want to start correcting people on it because you know you're going to spend the rest of your life correcting and concordantly explaining shit to people. But now it's like, you're pissed when we are dwarves, you're pissed when we're not dwarves, seriously! Pick a lane!

But okay, it seems everyone's pissed about this right now, so let's get pedantic.

We aren't sexy fairies.

Okay I didn't start that out right.

I guess it's easiest to explain this as... think of the ocean. So like, there are the scary sexy fairies who have the whole Succession/Bridgerton/White Lotus Fae Court thing going and they turn you into a deer and hunt you for sport, that's the Deep End. Then you have humans. Humans, in this metaphor, are land.

Me and my guys? We're tide pools.

A lot of stories are all like "Ougggh the magic is dying from this world ouggghhh the old ruined kingdoms" but in my opinion I think that's overall a case of Immortals Being Very Weird About Change In General. Like the tide, magic in this world rises and falls, and in the course of that you end up with this kind of hardy subgroup of fae who can survive in both High-Fae and High-Human environments. We're kind of our own ecosystem, but we're also kind of intermediaries between the Deep End Fae Court and the humans. We actually tend to broker a lot of more like, working class deals between the magical world and the human world. Maybe we get compared to the mob a lot. Whatever.

I'm getting into the weeds. This story isn't about me and the guys. This is about our girl, Snow. And trust me, I'm old as balls so before you get all 'Oh, one girl and seven guys? wHAt waS gOinG oN tHeRE?" (And you're absolutely disgusting for that, by the way). You need to understand that, on a species level, Snow was basically like keeping a very beautiful (albeit kind of bossy) sentient duck in the house. We loved our beautiful sentient duck and were impressed by the many talents of the beautiful sentient duck. No one desired the beautiful sentient duck on a romantic or physical level because, one, romantic and sexual desire for our subgroup of fae is very tedious, nuanced, and species-specific, and two, she was a duck. I mean she wasn't a duck, she was a human, but for us that's basically like being a sentient duck. All of those shitty "One girl seven guys" jokes I can definitely say are a result of human projection. Like again, you need to understand that my guys and me have basically gone through Magic Carcinization.

Again, I'm getting into the weeds.

All you need to know about Snow is that she broke into our house, she scares the shit out of us, and we would kill for her.

Okay you should probably know more than that.

Okay, so remember like 12 seconds ago when I said me and my guys are more of the working-class brokers between humans and Fae? And remember that Deep End I mentioned earlier? So like, the Deep End does deal with humans, but that tilts heavily into the 'Royalty and Miracles' side of things. Swords in stones. Swords in lakes. A fish that gives you all of the cosmic secrets of the universe when you eat it. That kind of stuff. That's kind of where Snow came from. She's a Fae weapon forged in a human womb. Hence why she scared the shit out of us.

How do I start this properly?

Once upon a time there were three human kingdoms. An icy kingdom in the north, a temperate kingdom in the west, and a, let's be real, damp kingdom in the east. Icy Kingdom had a queen, a beautiful queen, and the Deep End of the Fae love beautiful things. Beautiful Queen wanted more, and she made a deal with the Deep End of the Fae. She gave them her heart, and they give her a mirror that gives her sight beyond sight, and she used that to conquer Damp Kingdom in the East. They fought, but she could predict every one of their strategies with her mirror, all she needed to do was ask the mirror what this general is doing, or that Lord is doing, and bing-bang-boom, she took Damp Kingdom in a matter of months. And for good measure she took their baby boy prince, a pretty but frankly useless boy who, as the years went on and he grew, she largely kept for cup-bearing and harp-playing and decoration and also threatening to cut the head off of if Damp Kingdom ever stepped out of line. Because Damp Kingdom loved their pretty pretty baby boy prince as the last remnant of their royal bloodline, they were now thoroughly cowed.

So now the Queen turned her eyes to the Temperate Kingdom.

And this is when the Deep End Fae were like, "Hey okay you've conquered a neighboring kingdom, which we don't super-care-about for nebulous Fae Reasons, but for equally nebulous Fae Reasons, we don't want you to conquer Temperate Kingdom."

And the Queen was like, "Whatever."

And the Deep End Fae were like "Okay, then here's the part where we use that previous thing you gave us against you." And they tried to use her heart against her, but basically the Queen used the Mirror to circumvent the heart magic through a whole bunch of... jury-rigged alchemy shit? I don't know. This stuff was already way out of my pay grade. But what I do know is, the Deep End Fae realized they couldn't use the Evil Queen's previous deal as a failsafe against her, so they needed a new approach to stop her.

Temperate Kingdom was ruled by a kind king and queen. They also didn't want to be conquered, but things weren't looking good. Their capital city was under siege. The Kind Queen was pregnant and ready to pop--scratch that, currently popping. The king was mortally wounded while defending said Capital City. They dragged the mortally wounded king back to the bailey and he's all delirious ranting about his wife and the not-yet baby.

And then a figure in a mossy cloak appeared. They loomed over the mortally wounded king and they said very gently "Your blood will outlast you. Do you permit our assistance in this? Do you permit the cost?"

And the king was dying and he only understood like 40% of what was going on right now. He knew what was talking to him right now wasn't human. He knew you don't refuse a gift from the Fae. And he knew he was kind of safely in the 'fucked-up miracle' territory of Fae gifts though he didn't really understand the full extent of what that meant (and that's fair--no one does). He kind of assumed it would just be his own life as the cost of whatever the hell was happening here. So he's bleeding out and he nods. "If it will preserve the Kingdom," he says, "If it will save our child."

So we cut to the queen. The royal birthing is... okay it's going rough. Giving birth under siege will do that to you. In ideal circumstances you would have this hardcore butch midwife stick most of her forearm up the birth canal to reposition the baby and both the mother and child would live but... you didn't have that here. Instead, once more, the figure in the mossy cloak loomed over the Queen as she screamed through agonizing contraction after contraction. They touched two fingers to the queen's forehead and they gave her a flood of visions. Snow. Fire. Blood. Blackened earth. A little sapling growing from the body of a great and noble felled tree. And she looked to the figure in the mossy cloak. And she saw their face was kind.

The kind queen died in childbirth as the Evil Queen's forces overtook the capital city. The king was dead before he knew what deal he had made. The Evil Queen and her troops marched into the grand hall, only to see a figure in a mossy cloak seated on a little stool next to a wooden bassinet. The Evil Queen made that anime villain snort-scoff sound.

"So kind of you to offer your blessing in my victory," she said.

"This is not a blessing we offer," said the figure in a mossy cloak, "You have abused the gift given in our previous trade. The trust between us is breached. We now give you back that which you gave us. All you have won for yourself will rot. And as with all rot, new and rightful life will spring from it."

And the Evil Queen almost laughed at this at first, again, like "Whatever," but then after a few seconds she begins to do the math. In exchange for a mirror that gave her sight beyond sight, she gave the fae her heart, and then she jury-rigged a whole bunch of magical alchemical bullshit to protect herself from basically being shackled to the fae's will through her heart, because hey, if you can, that's what you do.

But what happens if your heart is no longer your heart?

What happens if the Fae bind your heart to someone else?

What happens if your heart is now wrapped in different royal blood from the kingdom the Fae told you specifically you're not supposed to conquer?

And that was Snow.

The most beautiful, weirdest, most uncanny-ass baby you've ever seen. AND she had that weird undercooked look all human babies have. A semi-formed little beast. Can you imagine looking at an infant and knowing it's going to burn down everything you've ever built? Can you imagine knowing that trying to smother this threat in its crib will burn everything down, too?

But you think, "It's okay. I can manage this. Plants can be molded in to bonsai and topiary. I can shape this to suit my needs, too. It just takes care. It just takes maintenance."

And that's when Evil Queen declares, "As a symbol of healing between our kingdoms, I will raise this child as my own." And she gives a sharp glance to the figure in the mossy cloak, and they give an assenting motion with their... probably head? Probably.

And she awkwardly takes up the baby in the crook of her arm. Wow awesome, she already has an amazing propaganda tool. There's no way this is going to backfire on her in like... 17 or 18 years.

Except you know it will. Because this is the "Fucked up miracles" side of shit we're talking about. And the Evil Queen is not on the side of miracles.

Fucking hell, that's all a mouthful, and Snow hasn't even met us yet! Look, I'm gonna take a smoke break and I'll get back to you in a minute, okay?

[cadyflowers]

pac : how your future husband views u🌷

hiiii i'm cady🌷 this reading is filled with sugar, stardust, and soft admiration. take a deep breath, connect to your heart, and choose the pile that calls to you most to discover how your future hubby will view u💍🌷

pile I: your future hubby will look at you like you’re his miracle!!!! you walked into his life when he was about to give up hope and suddenly, there you were, smiling. he will be in awe of your heart: soft, creative, and sincere and sweet, he loves ur smile u remind him that love can be pure, he'll admire your patience and how you never rush anything. he will love ur cooking. ur the person he'll want to build a life with sweetly nd securely. he will want to wife u up immediately, ur his dream wife

pile II: ur future hubby loves your body and heart, he'll admire your strength, your sparkle and the way you light up a room without even trying. he'llalso deeply respect your sense of fairness you never pretend to be someone you're not. u stand tall nd speak your truth and somehow still manage to be kind. to him you’re not just beautiful you’re brilliant. he'll see u as his wifey in every way: a teammate, a muse, a force. he'll be proud of u and ur relationship, he loves to spoil u. roses every week typa vibe.

pile III: oh my goodness, ur future hubby will be so soft for you. he'll view you as someone who brings warmth, peace, and healing into his life. like a cup of tea on a rainy day or a hug that feels like home. u might remind him of a younger, more innocent version of himself when he was a kiddo and he'll feel safe being vulnerable with you. he'll see u as someone he was meant to meet. soulmates, twin flames. loving u will feel like remembering something his soul always knew. pure, gentle and full of magic. probably will get u a big ass ring.

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

[featjunranghae]

Fatherhood - Lee Jeno

part two of a three part series.

summary: when jeno's girlfriend left him to deal with fatherhood alone. he decided he'd never let anyone in his or his daughter's life. that was until he met you. his neighbour whom his daughter seemed to love way too much

part one - nct masterlist

Jeno was exhausted.

Finals week had drained every ounce of energy from his body, and all he wanted to do was collapse into bed and sleep for as long as possible. But with Jiwoo, that was never an option.

His two-year-old daughter had a strict bedtime routine—she went to sleep by ten and woke up at nine. Sometimes, she stirred in the middle of the night, but most of the time, she slept peacefully. Jeno, on the other hand, had no such luck. His sleep schedule was a complete mess, thanks to late-night study sessions.

Tonight, at least, Jiwoo was already tucked in. With her warm little body curled up under the blankets, he kissed her forehead before stepping out of the bedroom.

In the dining area, he found his roommates, Haechan and Jaemin, setting up the table. Candles. Snacks. Drinks. The whole deal.

Jeno raised a brow. “Do we have someone coming over?” He reached for a chip, only to have his hand smacked away by Haechan.

“Don’t,” Haechan warned, snatching the singular chips from his hand making him pout. “Jaemin’s pretty friends are coming over. We need to impress them.”

Jeno scoffed. “Which friends?” He flopped onto the sofa, already disinterested. “And no music. Jiwoo just fell asleep.”

Jaemin placed a few cans of soda down, nodding. “Don’t worry, we know our princess needs her beauty sleep. Anyway, remember I told you about Karina? She’s coming over—with her roommate. Who, by the way, Haechan saw from a distance and instantly became obsessed with.”

Jeno smirked. “Oh, so little Haechan has a crush?”

“C’mon, guys. Crushes are for boys. I just like looking at her face,” Haechan defended, popping a chip into his mouth.

“You hypocrite—”

“You could’ve just asked for her name,” Jaemin pointed out. “What if she’s not even Karina’s roommate?”

“Then why would they do grocery shopping together? Why would they talk about which shampoo to get?” Haechan leaned back, propping his feet on the armrest of the couch.

Jeno hummed. “What if they’re dating?”

Haechan sat up so fast he almost fell off the couch. “Oh my god, Jaemin, is Karina a lesbian? Please say no. No offense to lesbians, but I can’t lose that girl to the girls.”

“Dude, calm down,” Jeno rolled his eyes. “You change crushes every other day. Some big tits and doe eyes are all it takes for you to simp."

“What can I say? I’m just a man—”

The doorbell rang. Haechan scrambled to his feet, suddenly panicking. “Oh my god—do I smell good? Is my hair okay? Do I have anything in my teeth?”

Jaemin snickered as he opened the door. “Hi, girls. Welcome to our humble abode.” He stepped aside, letting them in.

And that’s when Jeno saw you.

His teasing smirk faded for a moment, eyes widening slightly. Of all people, of all places—you.

"Why do you look so shocked?" Haechan asked him.

"It's yn."

Haechan, who had been shamelessly staring at you with heart eyes, leaned in, whispering, “Wait, is this the magic bus lady?”

It had been a fleeting moment, that day on the bus. Jiwoo had been cranky, fussy, and Jeno was struggling to keep her calm. Then you appeared—like some kind of miracle. You had leaned in, spoken to Jiwoo in the softest, gentlest tone, and within minutes, his usually stubborn little girl had settled down in your arms like she had known you her whole life.

And now, you were standing in his living room.

Jaemin introduced you to them, but you didn’t need an introduction.

“Jeno,” you smiled, recognizing him instantly. “We met on the bus last week.”

Jeno only nodded.

So you were the girl Haechan had been raving about all week. Jeno didn’t know why that sent an uncomfortable feeling through his chest. It wasn’t like Haechan was a bad guy—he was one of Jeno’s best friends. But Haechan always thought with his dick, and you just… you seemed different.

The night went on, conversation flowing easily. Jaemin and Karina talking about their work place, while Haechan tried—and failed—to flirt with you.

Jeno wasn’t sure what his problem was. You weren’t his. You were just some girl he met on the bus. But when he saw Haechan trying to charm you, something about it rubbed him the wrong way.

You and Karina did leave after a few hours. But Jeno kept hearing about you from Haechan for another week.

It was one lazy night when Haechan sighed. “Dude, I think she doesn’t like me,” Jeno should have felt bad for him.

“She said—oh my god—you remind me of my younger brother. Not even friend-zoned. Brother-zoned. Almost started sobbing,” Haechan whined dramatically, pulling Jiwoo onto his lap as she giggled.

Jeno bit back a smile. He shouldn’t feel relieved. He shouldn’t feel happy about this. But he did.

——

Days passed, and you became a regular presence in their apartment. Karina often brought you along, and Haechan still made half-hearted attempts to flirt, but it was clear you weren’t interested.

Semester break arrived, and Jeno brought Jiwoo to stay with him full-time. With more free time now, he often left her in the care of Jaemin and Haechan when he went to work, knowing he could trust them.

One evening, you and Karina joined them for movie night. Normally, you sat beside Haechan, but tonight, you settled in next to Jeno.

“Hey,” you greeted with a small smile.

“Hey,” he replied, trying not to think too much about it.

“You like horror movies?”

“They’re fun,” he admitted. “It’s just stupid, unrealistic stuff.”

“Right? Who even gets scared of them?” You both glanced at Haechan, who was already clutching Jaemin’s arm like his life depended on it.

When a particularly gory scene played, Haechan let out a scream.

“What the fuck—why is this so graphic?!” he yelped, burying his face into Jaemin’s sleeve.

Jaemin groaned. “That’s it. Movie’s over.”

The screen went dark, and just as everyone was settling back down, a tiny pair of arms suddenly wrapped around Jeno’s leg.

“Princess?” Jeno looked down, surprised to find Jiwoo standing there, still groggy from sleep. “What are you doing here?”

“See, Haechan? You woke my princess,” Jaemin scolded, bonking Haechan on the head.

Jiwoo blinked sleepily at everyone, then spotted Karina. “Hello,” she mumbled.

Karina nearly melted. “Oh my god, hi baby—you're so pretty.”

Jiwoo giggled, turning her head shyly. Then, her gaze landed on you.

Jeno didn’t expect what happened next.

Jiwoo reached out for you.

At first, you thought she just wanted to hold your hand. But when she lifted both arms toward you, waiting, you hesitated before picking her up.

“Pletty,” Jiwoo murmured, resting her head on your chest.

Jeno stared.

“No way,” Haechan whispered, just as stunned. “She never lets anyone hold her when she wakes up.”

Jaemin nodded. “She’s the crankiest princess when he wakes up.”

Yet here Jiwoo was—completely at peace in your arms.

Karina pulled out her phone, snapping a picture. “YN, you’re the chosen one.”

Jeno didn’t know why it felt so right seeing Jiwoo curled up against you.

But it did.

After that night, your presence at Jeno’s apartment became a regular occurrence. It wasn’t even intentional at first. Karina would invite you along whenever she visited Jaemin, and Jiwoo would run straight to you the moment you walked through the door. At first, Jeno figured it was just a phase—Jiwoo had always been an affectionate kid, but she was usually wary of strangers. Yet, with you, she acted like she had known you forever.

It wasn’t just Jiwoo either. Somewhere along the way, you and Jeno started gravitating toward each other too.

Maybe it was the way you always crouched down to Jiwoo’s level when talking to her, never treating her like she was too young to understand. Maybe it was the way you remembered what she liked—always bringing her favorite strawberry-flavored lollipops or tying her hair up in tiny pigtails because “she likes it when her hair is out of her face.”

Or maybe it was just the way you talked to him.

You were a psychology major, so naturally, you were good at understanding people. But with Jeno, it didn’t feel like you were analyzing him or trying to figure him out. You just listened. Really listened. And when he found himself opening up to you more than he intended, you never made it awkward.

It was a relief, honestly.

Being a young single dad, most people either pitied him or judged him. He’d gotten used to it, but with you, there was none of that. Just quiet understanding.

——

One Friday evening, you came over earlier than usual. Karina had a late-night study session, so you texted Jaemin if you could still come over. He replied with a dramatic voice memo about how he and Haechan were “fighting for their lives” trying to entertain Jiwoo, so you took that as a yes.

When you arrived, Jiwoo was in the middle of destroying Jaemin’s Jenga tower.

“YN!!”

She abandoned her mission to run straight to you, and you crouched down just in time to catch her. “My pretty girl,” you cooed, rubbing her back as she nuzzled into you.

“YN, please take her. I can’t do this anymore,” Jaemin whined from the floor, looking exhausted.

You laughed. “She’s two, Jaem.”

“She’s two with the strength of a full-grown man,” Haechan groaned, rubbing his shoulder. “She threw her stuffed bunny at me, and it hurt.”

Jiwoo giggled against your shoulder before lifting her head. “Haechan is… is a loser.”

“Oh my god—who taught you that?!”

“Jeno,” Jaemin answered immediately.

You turned toward Jeno, who had just walked out of his room. “Jeno.”

Jeno blinked, looking at Jiwoo, then at you. “What?”

“You taught your daughter how to call Haechan a loser?”

“...Define taught,” Jeno said, completely unbothered.

Jiwoo grinned and pointed at Haechan. “Loser.”

“Why must I suffer?” Haechan clutched his chest dramatically, making you laugh.

Jeno sighed and walked over, reaching for Jiwoo. “Alright, come here, troublemaker.”

But Jiwoo only clung onto you tighter. “No. With YN.”

Jeno paused. You looked at him, waiting for him to take her, but he hesitated.

“Looks like you made your mind baby,” Jeno muttered, watching as Jiwoo tucked her face into your neck. His lips twitched slightly before he ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. You win, princess.”

Jiwoo giggled in victory.

Jaemin and Haechan exchanged looks before Jaemin leaned in, whispering to Jeno, “Bro. Your daughter just chose YN over you.”

Jeno rolled his eyes and walked toward the kitchen. “Shut up.”

——

That night, you found yourself sitting on the couch with Jiwoo curled up in your lap, playing with the rings on your fingers. The others had started a movie, but you were barely paying attention.

“YN,” Jiwoo mumbled sleepily.

You looked down. “Yeah, baby?”

Jiwoo blinked up at you, her tiny hands still wrapped around your fingers. “You come morrow?”

Your heart melted a little.

“You want me to?”

Jiwoo nodded, eyes drooping. “Uh-huh.”

You smiled, brushing a hand over her soft hair. “Okay. I’ll come tomorrow.”

She made a content noise before snuggling closer.

Jeno, who had been watching quietly, exhaled through his nose. “You do know you’re officially Jiwoo’s favorite person now, right?”

You grinned. “I’ll take the title.”

He shook his head with a chuckle. “She’s never warmed up to someone this fast. Not even my own mom.”

You looked down at Jiwoo’s tiny fingers curled around yours, her breathing already evening out. “She’s easy to love.”

Jeno didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, quieter, he murmured, “Yeah. She is.”

——

It happened gradually.

You started coming over more, not just because of Karina or Jiwoo, but because you wanted to. And Jeno… Jeno stopped questioning why he didn’t mind it.

When Jiwoo had a meltdown over a missing sock, you found it tucked under the couch and turned it into a silly sock-hunting game. When she refused to eat her carrots, you distracted her by pretending to eat one yourself—“Oh wow, this is so good!”—and suddenly, she wanted to try them too.

Jeno found himself watching you more than he should.

You didn’t just tolerate Jiwoo; you genuinely loved being around her. And Jiwoo? She adored you.

So when Jeno had to work late one evening, and Jaemin asked if you could babysit, Jeno didn’t even hesitate.

That night, when Jeno came home, he found you and Jiwoo curled up on the couch together, a storybook resting on your lap. Jiwoo had long since fallen asleep, her tiny hands gripping your shirt.

You looked up at him, eyes tired but warm. “Hey.”

Jeno took a slow breath. “Hey.”

You carefully shifted, trying not to wake Jiwoo. “She wanted to wait for you.”

Jeno exhaled, running a hand over his face. “She’s stubborn.”

“She just loves you.”

His gaze softened. “I know.”

He watched as you gently ran a hand through Jiwoo’s hair, your touch instinctively soothing.

You looked up again, meeting his eyes. “Jeno?”

He blinked, realizing he’d been staring. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, then smiled softly. “You’re doing a really good job, you know.”

Jeno felt something in his chest tighten.

People had told him before that he was a good dad. His friends, his family. But coming from you… it felt different.

His throat felt dry. “Thanks.”

You smiled again before looking down at Jiwoo. “I should put her to bed.”

Jeno nodded, stepping closer. “I’ll take her.”

You carefully shifted, letting him scoop Jiwoo into his arms. She stirred slightly, but when Jeno whispered, “Shh, baby. Sleep,” she relaxed against his chest.

You stood up, stretching. “I should head home.”

Jeno looked at the time. “It’s late. I’ll walk you.”

“Jeno, I’m literally two blocks away—”

“Don’t care.” He grabbed his jacket. “Let’s go."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

As you both stepped outside, the cool night air settling around you, you glanced at Jeno. “You know… I really like being around her.”

Jeno shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. I know.”

You nudged his arm playfully. “I like being around you too, I guess.”

Jeno huffed a laugh. “Wow. What an honor.”

You grinned. “It is.”

He glanced at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “I like having you around too.”

Your chest felt a little warmer.

Neither of you said anything after that. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was easy, natural.

When you reached your apartment, you turned to him. “Thanks for walking me.”

Jeno shrugged. “Anytime."

You hesitated before stepping closer, lowering your voice. “Jeno?”

He raised a brow.

You smiled. “Get some sleep.”

Jeno blinked. Then, to his own surprise, he smiled too"

“Yeah. You too.”

As you disappeared inside, Jeno stood there for a moment before shaking his head and walking back home.

Yeah.

This was dangerous.

And he was already in too deep.

part three

an: y'all this has been rotting in my drafts for ages. I forgot completing it. anyways. part two one. one more left

taglist: @rubiiisyeon @x-luv @iseos1 @nctead @jaeminnanaaa17 @ajaaaaayyyyy

[solxamber]

Fairytales and Fever Dreams - Vil Schoenheit x reader

When you decide to beg a fairy for help at your lowest point, you didn't expect that he'd decide to help you— at the cost of you making skincare for him.

You’re a mage at the academy, and life has officially declared war on you. Seriously. You’re about this close to having a full-on breakdown, the kind where they find you cackling in the library while surrounded by half-finished spell scrolls. One more minor inconvenience and you swear, you’re going to walk out onto the quad, set fire to the herbology building, and just stand there, staring blankly as it burns, sipping tea.

And why? Because you have four—count them—four finals on the same day. You don’t know who pissed in the universe’s cereal, but apparently, you’re the one paying for it.

"Okay, it’s fine," you mutter to yourself while chewing on the end of a quill. "You just need one little miracle. Just a small one. Like, I don’t know, a meteor wiping out the school. Or the headmaster spontaneously combusting. Something normal like that."

But then, you remember the rumor—the kind of rumor people whisper about when they’re this close to a mental collapse. Oh yes, the whispered tale of the fairies in the forest at the edge of town. Supposedly, if you bring an offering to the fairies, they’ll grant you a wish. Any wish. No strings attached.

You snort. It’s probably a load of magical nonsense. But considering your current state of sleep deprivation (and let’s be honest, mild hysteria), you’re willing to give it a shot. Desperate times and all that.

So, you scrape together the fanciest honey and milk your student budget can manage, which is probably a 5/10 by fairy standards but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. You pack it up in a basket like some weird, broke Little Red Riding Hood and trudge out to the forest.

The second you arrive, you’re not even trying to be subtle or respectful about it. No, you go straight to begging.

“Please, fairies, PLEASE!” You fall to your knees dramatically, waving the basket around like you’re presenting some holy relic. “I’m begging you. I need help. I haven’t slept in three days, I’m running on a liter of coffee and sheer spite, and if I fail one more class, I’m gonna have to turn myself into a toad and live under a rock. Just—just one wish, that’s all I’m asking!”

It’s bad. Like, so bad, you’re half-expecting some animal to come along and put you out of your misery out of sheer secondhand embarrassment.

But then, there’s this rustling sound behind you, and when you look up, someone is standing there.

Correction: the prettiest person you’ve ever seen is standing there.

He’s tall, ethereal, and glowing—literally glowing, like he bathes in moonlight and stardust. His hair’s all silky and perfect, his skin looks like it’s never heard of acne, and the expression on his face tells you that he’s about two seconds away from calling security on you.

“Why, exactly,” he starts, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow that could cut glass, ���are you kneeling in front of my forest and making this embarrassing display?”

You blink. Several things occur to you all at once:

1. Fairies are real. Huh. You thought you were just being insane.

2. Holy hell, he’s the most beautiful person (fairy?) you’ve ever seen.

3. Wait—his forest?

You quickly wipe the pathetic tears from your face and stumble to your feet. “A-are you… a fairy?”

“No, I’m a sentient dust bunny,” he deadpans. “Yes, of course, I’m a fairy. What are you even doing here?”

You hesitate. He’s giving off serious annoyed model on a runway vibes, and you’re not sure if he’s going to hex you out of his forest or just roll his eyes so hard that you get flung into another dimension.

“I, uh… finals,” you mumble, the tears starting to well up again. “Four finals. Same day. And I haven’t slept. I’m one failed exam away from permanently turning into a raccoon.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like your existence is just too much for him. “And you thought the best course of action was to come here and… grovel?”

You nod pathetically. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

For a moment, he looks like he’s about to just walk away, leaving you to your breakdown. But then his eyes narrow, and he points at your backpack. “What’s that?”

“Huh?” You look down and see the sunscreen bottle sticking out. “Oh, uh, that’s just something I made. I’ve been working on a skincare formula for sensitive skin.”

He steps closer, plucking it from your bag with the grace of someone used to handling priceless artifacts. “Skincare, you say?” He opens it, sniffing it cautiously before dabbing a bit onto the back of his hand. His eyes light up for a second, and you swear you hear an angelic choir in the background. “Hm. Not bad. A bit of a lavender undertone. Smooth texture. SPF 50?”

You nod. “Y-yeah.”

He looks back at you, and for the first time since he appeared, you see the barest hint of approval on his face. “It’s hard to find good skincare products these days, even among the fairies.”

You’re not sure how to respond. Is this your life now? Trading finals survival for skincare tips with a beautiful fairy?

“Well,” he says, still admiring the product, “I suppose I could grant you one wish. One. But only if you agree to make more of these skincare products for me.”

“Really?” You blink, not entirely believing your luck. “You’ll help me?”

He gives you a sidelong glance, a smirk playing on his lips. “I don’t do charity. But your skincare is adequate. And it’s not every day I meet someone this close to unraveling. It’s almost entertaining.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open like a fish. “Deal. Deal. I’ll make you whatever skincare you want, just get me through these finals.”

He gives a nod, satisfied. “Then we have a deal.”

And just like that, you’ve somehow bartered your way out of academic doom with a fairy obsessed with sun protection. Let’s hope this arrangement works out better than the rest of your life so far.

Apparently, fairies like Vil don’t believe in things like cheating or, you know, the basic decency of using magic to fix your problems instantly. No, that would be too easy. And Vil—your very pretty, very exasperating new fairy overlord—has decided that the best way to help you pass your finals is to tutor you personally.

His price? One skincare product per lesson. And you, being surprisingly decent at making potions and cosmetics (alchemy major, what else), agreed because, at the time, you thought, How hard could it be?

Sweet summer child. You had no idea what you were getting into.

Because Vil? He’s not just strict. He’s villain origin story strict. His “tutoring” is so intense, so grueling, that you’re starting to wonder if he’s secretly training you for some kind of sadistic mage boot camp. At one point, you fail a poison-brewing technique, and he makes you redo it. Then again. And again. And again.

By the fifteenth attempt, you’re seriously contemplating bottling the poison and taking a little sip just to see what happens.

“Again,” Vil says, his voice icily calm, like he hasn’t just been watching you fail for an hour straight.

“I think I’m seeing stars,” you mutter, staring at the cauldron. “Should potions be giving me a near-death experience?”

“Focus,” he says, completely unfazed by your descent into madness. “If you can’t even get this basic potion right, I have serious concerns about your competency as a mage.”

You’re on the verge of a mental breakdown. One more failed attempt, and you’re going to throw yourself off the nearest cliff. Or better yet—turn yourself into a toad and hop into a pot of boiling water. Anything to escape the relentless perfectionism of Vil Schoenheit.

“Maybe I’ll just hex myself into a mushroom and live out the rest of my life in peace,” you grumble under your breath as you stir the potion yet again.

“ What was that?”

“Nothing!” You stir faster.

To your utter shock, the potion finally turns the right color. You’ve done it. You’ve successfully brewed the poison, and it only took, what, half your lifespan?

Vil inspects it with a critical eye, and after a long, painful pause, he says, “Acceptable.”

“Acceptable?!” You want to scream. This is the culmination of blood, sweat, tears, and the remnants of your sanity, and all he has to say is acceptable?

“Yes, acceptable,” Vil repeats, as if your suffering isn’t the most amusing thing he’s seen all week. “You’ll need to refine your technique, of course, but this will suffice for now.”

You groan, head in your hands. “I’m going to transmute myself into a sock and live in someone’s laundry basket.”

But here’s the kicker: despite all of Vil’s strictness, he’s actually the nicest person (fairy?) you’ve ever met. You don’t know if that’s pathetic or straight-up depressing, but still, it’s true. He’s picky, yes, but he cares.

Apparently, Vil has a radar for poor life choices because one day, after what feels like your 57th failed poison attempt, he takes one look at the sad pile of instant noodles and energy drinks cluttering your desk and clicks his tongue in disapproval.

"You've been eating this?" He gestures at the disaster that is your meal—a cup of ramen sitting next to an open bag of questionable chips. His expression could curdle milk. "Do you actually value your internal organs, or are you trying to audition for the role of a trash panda?"

You blink, staring at your gourmet spread, and then back at him. "Excuse me, I’ll have you know, this is an advanced student diet. We run on caffeine and MSG."

He raises an eyebrow. "You’re not running on anything. You’re sputtering at best."

You open your mouth to argue, but then glance down at the pathetic excuse for food in front of you. Okay. Fine. Maybe you are sputtering. But what are you supposed to do, handcraft five-course meals between four finals and Vil’s poison-torture sessions?

Vil sighs dramatically, as if your very existence is a personal affront. "I’m not letting you continue this… self-destruction. You’re going to eat real food even if it kills you." He waves a hand, and suddenly a basket of the most beautiful, vibrant fruits and vegetables you've ever seen appears out of thin air. It's like the entire organic section of a high-end grocery store, but, you know, without the soul-crushing price tags.

"Where did you even get all this?" you ask, poking suspiciously at a particularly shiny apple. "Did you steal it from some enchanted Whole Foods?"

Vil glares at you like you’ve personally insulted his lineage. "I foraged it from my forest, you uncultured turnip."

You blink. "I’m a potato now, and a turnip? What’s next? Are we making a root vegetable salad?"

Vil rolls his eyes. "No, we’re making something that doesn’t resemble a cry for help. Get to it."

You sigh, but with Vil watching like a disapproving food critic, you figure you might as well try to impress him. You rummage through the basket, grab a few ingredients, and somehow manage to throw together a halfway decent stir-fry. You may be broke, but you can cook. It’s one of the few things that hasn't gone completely sideways in your life.

You serve it up with a flourish, smirking a little. "Voilà, a proper meal. Happy now?"

Vil inspects the plate with his usual level of judgment. You half-expect him to whip out a magnifying glass and start searching for flaws. Finally, he takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and then gives you a rare, grudging nod of approval.

"Surprisingly competent for someone who survives on garbage," he says, in what you can only assume is Vil’s version of high praise.

"Wow, a compliment. I feel blessed," you deadpan, but you’re grinning. It’s not every day you get validation from a fairy with standards so high he probably judges oxygen.

Vil continues eating, and you join him, secretly proud of the fact that you managed to cook something that didn’t send him into a rant about toxins and poor life choices. For a moment, the two of you sit in companionable silence, just… eating. It’s weirdly nice.

After you both finish, Vil leans back, looking mildly satisfied. "If you continue to feed yourself like a proper human being," he says, "you might actually survive your finals."

"Yeah, well, if I keep spending time with you, I might also survive on sheer fear," you mutter.

He smiles, that rare, dazzling smile that makes your brain short-circuit for a moment. "Fear is a good motivator. But I expect more than just survival from you. I expect excellence."

You groan. "You know, for a fairy who showed up because of my embarrassing begging, you sure do expect a lot."

Vil just smirks. "You begged for help. I’m making sure you don’t embarrass yourself further by failing."

"Touché," you admit, stuffing another bite of food into your mouth to avoid further conversation.

You know, maybe being insulted by the prettiest fairy in existence while eating fresh, organic food isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to you.

But soon enough, it was back to work. After the food debacle, you whipped up a fresh batch of moisturizer for him. It’s something you’ve done a thousand times before, so you’re not expecting much.

Then Vil tries it. And his entire face lights up like you’ve just handed him the elixir of eternal youth.

“This is… impressive,” he says, his voice soft with genuine surprise. “It’s incredibly hydrating, and the texture is—” He pauses, then flashes you a smile that’s so dazzling, it practically sparkles. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

And then, out of nowhere, he leans over and kisses you on the cheek.

You freeze.

Your brain flatlines.

“Wha—Did you just—?”

Vil pulls back, completely unfazed by the fact that he just KISSED YOU. “If you continue to make products of this quality, I may have to keep you around longer.”

Your heart is still trying to restart, but you manage to nod. “Yeah… yeah, sure. Skincare. I can do that.”

You stare at him, wondering if this is real life or if you’ve just died and gone to some bizarre, fairy-run skincare hell. Because if that’s what’s happening, it’s starting to feel weirdly okay. Especially with the way he’s smiling at you.

And as you walk away, still reeling, you catch yourself thinking, Is dropping out of the academy to become Vil’s personal skincare maker really such a bad idea?

Honestly? With a smile like that? You’re starting to think it’s the best idea.

You’ve finally survived—ahem mastered—the hell that was poisons and advanced magical theory under Vil’s terrifyingly perfect supervision. You can now confidently brew lethal concoctions and analyze obscure spells without mentally cursing out every deity you can name. That’s progress. But of course, your next subject is Magical Beasts, and because life apparently hates you, it’s your worst one yet.

When you express this to Vil, expecting some helpful advice or perhaps even a break (hah, wishful thinking), he just waves a hand dismissively.

“I’ll ask a friend for help,” he says simply.

And that’s how you end up in the presence of the most extra fairy you’ve ever seen in your life. (Okay, you’ve met a grand total of two fairies, but still.)

The fairy in question bursts into your study room in a whirlwind of sparkles and sheer chaos, trailing a cloud of rose petals and the distinct scent of overly expensive perfume. He’s tall and elegant, his wings shimmering with iridescent hues, and before you can so much as blink, he’s speaking a mile a minute in a mix of French and pure gibberish.

“Mon cher! Quelle horreur! This room is an insult to aesthetics! Non, non, I simply cannot work in these conditions!” he cries dramatically, gesturing wildly at your meticulously organized notes.

You blink. “…What?”

But he’s already prancing around, rearranging your books and scattering glitter like some kind of deranged fairy godmother. Then, with zero transition, Rook starts rambling about magical beasts and their habitats in a way that has your head spinning. One minute he’s critiquing your choice of ink color (“Black? How dull!”), and the next he’s rattling off obscure beast facts with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated professor.

“The Hippogriff prefers moonlight baths! Ah, and the Knarl must be serenaded with music, or it will—how you say?—stab you!” he chirps, waving his delicate hands around in a way that seems more dangerous than helpful.

You’re sitting there, bewildered and slightly concerned for your sanity. “Wait, wait, wait, so—hold up, what do I do if a Knarl shows up in the daytime?”

Rook stares at you like you’ve just asked if water is wet. “Why, you run, of course!” Then he bursts into laughter, as if this is the funniest joke he’s ever heard.

By the end of the afternoon, you’ve lost count of the number of strange and sometimes horrifying tidbits he’s thrown at you. You’re pretty sure you’ve somehow become an expert in magical beast theory without consciously realizing it, and the sheer absurdity of the situation is enough to make you feel like your brain’s been hijacked.

“And that,” the fairy declares with a dramatic twirl, “is how you tame a Chimaera!”

You blink, staring at your notes, which are now a colorful mess of drawings, beast diagrams, and snippets of what you hope are actual instructions and not just fashion advice. “…I feel like I’ve learned a lot. But also absolutely nothing.”

“Perfect!” he crows. “You have done magnifique!”

Before you can process what the heck just happened, you decide to thank him the only way you know how: by giving him a small, beautifully-packaged vial of a custom serum. You’ve worked hard on this formula, combining the best of alchemy and skincare magic, and as soon as you hand it to him, his eyes go wide.

“Pour moi? C’est incroyable!” He clutches it dramatically to his chest, as if you’ve just gifted him a crown jewel. Then, without warning, he’s leaning in way too close, inspecting your face with an intensity that borders on obsessive. “Mon Dieu, you are a true artiste! So beautiful! So—”

“Excuse me,” a low, frosty voice cuts in.

You turn just in time to see Vil gliding over, expression smooth but eyes narrowed. With the grace of a professional diplomat (or maybe a particularly possessive cat), he slips between the two of you, placing a firm hand on the other fairy’s shoulder and gently guiding him away from your personal space.

“Thank you for your assistance, Rook,” Vil says with a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We appreciate your expertise, but I believe that’s enough for today.”

Rook pouts but finally relents. He throws one last, longing glance at your serum and then at you, as if you’re both equally captivating. “Ah, c’est dommage… I shall return!” With that, he flits off, leaving you standing there, more confused than ever.

You turn to Vil, raising an eyebrow. “Uh… thanks?”

But Vil isn’t looking at you like a savior. No, he’s looking at you like you’ve just betrayed his entire bloodline.

“Excuse me,” you ask, blinking in confusion. “Did… did I do something wrong?”

“You,” Vil says slowly, his voice dangerously soft, “are my skincare human.”

You stare at him. “Um. What?”

“Mine.” Vil’s gaze flickers pointedly between you and the direction Rook flew off in, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I did not agree to share your talents with anyone else.”

Oh. Oh.

“Vil,” you say, a grin spreading across your face despite yourself. “Are you… jealous?”

The way his expression shifts from imperious to indignant would almost be funny if it weren’t so incredibly satisfying. “Jealous?” he scoffs, tossing his hair back with a haughty flick. “Don’t be absurd.”

You glance pointedly at the pink tips of his ears, which are steadily darkening into a bright red.

“Riiight,” you say slowly. “Totally not jealous at all. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m not,” he insists, crossing his arms, but his voice is just a fraction too defensive.

“Sure, sure,” you say with a mock-serious nod, fighting to keep a straight face. “It’s just that, you know, your ears are kind of giving you away.”

Vil sputters, shooting you a glare that could melt glass. “You��!”

“I’m just saying!” you chirp, smirking as you lean back. “I’m your skincare human. Got it, boss.”

He narrows his eyes, but the flush on his ears betrays him. “Remember it,” he huffs, turning sharply on his heel. “And don’t you dare give away my products to anyone else without consulting me first.”

You watch him stalk off, your grin widening. Maybe studying under Vil isn’t so bad after all.

Finally, your last subject: Offensive Magic. You’re almost at the finish line, but there’s one little problem. Apparently, dueling Vil or Rook is a fast track to the afterlife, and you aren’t too keen on becoming a cautionary tale.

That’s how you find yourself facing off against the youngest of the bunch—a fairy named Epel. He looks as thrilled to be there as you are, which is to say, not at all.

“Vil made me do this,” he mutters under his breath, glaring at nothing in particular.

You quickly realize that Epel’s main emotion is mild resentment, which honestly? Relatable.

The duel begins, and you’re expecting something simple—maybe some low-level spells, something to pad out your barely passing grades. But then Epel smirks, lifts his hand, and suddenly, half the field explodes in a brilliant display of magic that has you rethinking your life choices. Like, seriously reconsidering everything that led you to this exact moment.

You’re left standing there, jaw practically on the floor as bits of dirt rain down around you. “Holy shit,” you breathe. “You’re so cool.”

Epel freezes. His eyes dart to you, clearly shocked by the praise, and he suddenly looks a lot less surly. “...Really?”

“Yeah! That was amazing! I didn’t even know you could do that!”

He rubs the back of his neck, trying to hide a smile. “Well, I’ve been practicing…”

And just like that, you’re friends. Bonded over the mutual understanding that Offensive Magic is both terrifying and awesome when Epel’s involved.

Later that day, after a lesson where you actually didn’t almost explode yourself (personal growth!), you, Vil, and Epel are lounging in the forest. Rook’s off doing...whatever mysterious thing he does, leaving you all in relative peace. You’re casually chatting about the lessons when Epel, totally offhandedly, drops the biggest bomb of the century.

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty lucky the king of the fairies decided to help you out.”

You blink. “The what?”

Epel gives you a look like you’ve just asked if the moon was real. “The king of the fairies. You know, Vil.”

You almost choke. “Vil’s the king of the fairies?” Your voice cracks like you’ve hit puberty again.

Vil, lounging nearby, doesn’t even flinch. “Didn’t I mention that?”

“NO. YOU DIDN’T.”

“Well, now you know.”

You stare at him, mind reeling. “I’ve been—wait—what in the Sevens—you’re the king of the fairies? And you just—casually tutor people? Like it’s no big deal?!”

Vil sighs, flipping through a book as if this is the most normal thing in the world. “I thought it was obvious.”

“It was not obvious!” You’re flailing at this point, and Epel is snickering behind his hand, clearly enjoying your existential crisis.

Vil’s still cool as a cucumber, but when you stammer, “No wonder you’re the most beautiful fairy I’ve ever seen,” you catch the faintest flicker of a smirk on his face. He straightens up just a little bit, clearly preening at the compliment.

Rook suddenly appears out of nowhere, laughing like he’s just witnessed the funniest thing in his life. “Ah! How charming! Our humble little mage finally sees the light!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, feeling your face heat up. “This is too much. My brain can’t handle this.”

The lesson ends, and you decide to thank Vil the only way you know how—by crafting him a night cream as a parting gift. You’ve gotten pretty good at making skincare, and you can tell he’s been eyeing this particular blend.

But then, in a rare moment of what can only be described as vulnerability, Vil hands you the jar and says, “Could you…apply it for me?”

You freeze. “Huh?”

He’s holding it out to you, but he’s not meeting your eyes, and—wait, are his hands shaking? You squint. Is he nervous?

Nah. Can’t be. Vil doesn’t do nervous.

“Sure,” you say, trying not to overthink it. You take the jar and start gently massaging the cream into his flawless skin. Vil closes his eyes, and for a moment, it’s almost…peaceful.

“You’re really good at this,” he murmurs.

You smile to yourself, oblivious to the emotional storm brewing inside him. “Thanks! I’ve been practicing.”

What you don’t realize is that this was your last lesson. Vil knows this. And for some reason, it’s hitting him hard. He’s spent all this time tutoring you, teaching you everything he knows, and now…you won’t need him anymore. You won’t come back. You’ll pass your exams and move on with your life, leaving him behind. And the thought of that—it stings more than he wants to admit.

Meanwhile, you’re completely unaware of his inner turmoil, humming to yourself as you finish applying the cream. “There you go. All set!”

You stretch, packing up your things, already mentally planning your next skincare batch for him. “Well, I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Wait.” Vil’s voice is soft, almost hesitant. You blink as he suddenly pulls you into a hug, catching you completely off guard.

“Uh…Vil?”

He’s holding you tightly, and when he speaks, his voice is a little sad. “Good luck.”

You frown, confused. “Why do you sound so sad? I'll pass my exams for sure after all your help.”

He doesn’t respond. You shrug and hug him back, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Alright, see you later, drama king.”

And with that, you stroll off, leaving Vil standing there, still holding on to the weight of his unspoken feelings.

Rook, watching from a distance, smiles knowingly. “Ah, how bittersweet…”

Epel just rolls his eyes. “Man, this is like watching a soap opera.”

You passed your exams. Scratch that—you topped them. You’re basically an academic legend now, leaving everyone wondering what kind of ancient god you made a pact with. The professors are whispering your name like you’re some ancient prodigy who’s been secretly acing exams since the dawn of time.

Naturally, you’ve decided to celebrate by making your magnum opus: the most legendary lip balm the world has ever seen. The kind of balm that could revive a dying star, or, more realistically, soothe the chapped lips of a certain fussy fairy.

With your glorious lip balm in hand, you set off to the forest to see Vil. The path is familiar, and yet, today something feels... off. The trees look droopy, the flowers are wilting—like someone forgot to water this whole section of the forest.

“Oh, great,” you mutter, stepping over a vine that looks like it’s given up on life. “Did everyone just forget what hydration is?”

When you reach Vil’s cottage, your gut instinct kicks into overdrive.

Something’s wrong. Really wrong. Your heart is racing. You knock once. Twice. Still nothing. Panic sets in, and before you know it, you’re knocking the door clean off its hinges in your haste.

“Oops,” you whisper, but there’s no time to dwell on it because you see someone on the bed. It’s Vil, and he’s looking about as far from his usual flawless self as you’ve ever seen. He’s feverish, pale, and frankly, it kind of looks like he's dying.

“Vil!” you rush over, shaking him gently. He opens his eyes, squinting at you like you’re an overly bright light in the middle of his fever dream.

“I didn’t know hallucinations could be so vivid,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse.

“What hallucinations? I’m real!” You’re practically crying now, shaking him harder. He just smiles faintly, completely convinced that you’re some fever-induced mirage.

Fantastic. Not only is he sick, but he also thinks you’re a figment of his imagination.

Frantically, you start brewing a cooling potion, your hands shaking as you mix the ingredients. Vil just watches you with a dazed, slightly amused expression, like he’s impressed that his hallucination has such a good grasp on potion-making.

“I’m real,” you repeat, as you pour the potion down his throat. He gives a tiny nod before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Cue full-on panic mode. You don’t know what’s happening or why Vil’s like this, so you do the only thing you can think of—you send a carrier pigeon to Rook, because of course fairies don’t have phones.

Rook shows up in record time, practically gliding into the cottage like some kind of majestic hunting bird. He takes one look at the pitiful scene—Vil feverish and weak, you hovering like an anxious mother hen—and smiles.

“Oh, he’s heartbroken,” Rook declares, as if that explains everything.

“Heartbroken?!” you echo, disbelief dripping from every syllable. “I saw him two days ago, and he was fine. How could he be heartbroken in two days?!”

“Ah,” Rook says, his eyes twinkling with dramatic flair, “fairies can only fall in love once, and when they do, they fall hard. He thought you wouldn’t return after your exams. He was suffering in silence, believing you’d move on without him.”

You stare at Rook, dumbfounded. “Is he blind?!” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been horrendously in love with him since day one! How could he not notice?”

Rook just beams at you, like you’ve confirmed his favorite romantic theory. “Ah, l’amour. So tragic, yet so beautiful.”

At this point, you’re ready to throw your hands up in frustration. How does Vil not notice? You’ve been making him skincare products, practically living in his cottage, and hovering over him like a lovesick puppy. Could he really think you were just going to leave? But of course, Vil—being Vil—had assumed you’d outgrow him and move on to something better, leaving him behind like a discarded serum bottle.

With renewed determination, you take care of Vil, nursing him back to health with potions and plenty of water. You even manage to coax him to eat something other than the fairy equivalent of air-dried kale. Slowly, he starts looking more like himself, his fever fading and his color returning. But when he finally wakes up, fully lucid, his eyes widen in shock.

“You... you’re real?” he whispers, staring at you like you’re some miraculous vision.

“Yes, I’m real,” you huff, crossing your arms. “And I made this.” You pull out the lip balm you’ve been working on, your prized creation. You swipe some on your lips and then lean down to kiss him.

Vil blinks, stunned into silence. After a moment, a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That’s... a surprisingly effective balm.”

You grin, feeling the tension melt away. “Maybe you should test it again.”

Vil wastes no time, pulling you in for another kiss, his lips soft and cool from the balm. He kisses you a second time, then a third—because, well, it’s important to make sure the balm has long-lasting effects, right?

But then, you pull back slightly, the grin slipping from your face. “Vil, I... I passed all my exams. I even got an offer to move to the capital.”

Vil’s entire body tenses. His hands, still resting on your waist, tighten slightly as his eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place—fear? Dread? Whatever it is, it’s like a storm cloud settling over him.

“Oh.” His voice is soft, but there’s a weight to it, like he’s bracing himself for the inevitable. “I see.”

You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself so carefully, as if preparing for you to tell him you’re leaving. That you’re going to take the offer and disappear from his life, just like he feared. He’s already trying to let you go, even as his hands tremble slightly against your waist. It hits you all at once—how terrified he must have been, thinking you’d leave him behind.

For a moment, you just watch him, your heart aching at the sight of his barely concealed distress. And then, finally, you say, “I declined the offer.”

Vil’s breath catches. His eyes snap up to yours, wide with disbelief. “You... you what?”

You smile, leaning in closer. “I declined. I’m not going anywhere, Vil. In fact...” You take a deep breath, your grin widening. “I’m opening a skincare shop right here, on the edge of the forest. And I’m going to live here. With you. No arguments.”

For a moment, Vil just stares at you, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Then, slowly, the tension in his body dissolves, replaced by pure, unfiltered relief. His hands, which had been shaking moments ago, steady as they pull you closer, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“You’re staying?” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m staying,” you confirm, your heart swelling at the way he’s holding you, like he’s afraid to let go.

Vil presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice so soft, you almost miss it.

Your heart skips a beat. You smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too, drama king.”

Vil huffs out a small, breathy laugh, pulling you down into the bed with him, his arms wrapped securely around you. For a moment, everything is still, peaceful, as you lie there together, tangled in each other’s arms. Neither of you says a word, content just to hold each other, the weight of the past few days finally lifting.

And as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a sense of warmth, knowing that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be—by Vil’s side, where you’ve always belonged.

I'm so deeply in love with this man it's kinda embarrassing

Masterlist

[thethronezone]

Dying laughing at the poor pregnant Primarchs.

Found myself wondering how they would react if it was one of their favorite sons turning out to be pregnant instead. The Warp is feeling broody.

Mortarion - Goes "That's not physically possible" when Typhon informs him that he is pregnant. It's only after he performs an examination on his own that Mortarion admits that indeed, that man is pregnant. Somehow. Doesn't really trust it since this is obviously some magic phenomenon but does make it a point to make sure that Typhon is given the proper medical attention. Other than that... Well, as long as the man doesn't give birth to some sort of abomination then Mortarion won't say anything. Gives Typhon a thumbs up of encouragement from a distance.

Fulgrim - After overcoming the initial shock or learning that Julius Kaesoron is with child, Fulgrim decides that this is actually pretty cool. Much more appreciative of the pregnant form when he's not the one experiencing it. Nothing but encouraging and sympathetic to any physical side effects (nausea, vomiting, cramps) and does make sure that Julius always has a few serfs on hand that can help alleviate these pains. By the way, has he thought of baby names? Because Fulgrim has a full list. Not that he has to use them. But he can. Fulgrim has also picked out decor for the nursery. And the nanny. And the school the kid will one day go to. Hope you don't mind!

Angron - When did Kharn get pregnant? DID HE ENTER COMBAT WHILE PREGNANT!? Angron is straight up forbidding Kharn from entering any sort of combat exercise during the entirety of the pregnancy. That includes sparring, using the gun range, fuck, nothing but the lightest yoga is permitted! Meanwhile, Kharn is just rolling his eyes ("Ok mom"), already planning on doing some weapon's training with a few neophytes right after this conversation. Angron is stressed.

Magnus - Oh Ahriman, you are so full of surprises! Now, allow Magnus to perform a full body (and soul) examination! He needs to know just how this happened! Honestly, Magnus is so intrigued by the more scientific aspect of this all that he almost completely forgets that there's, ya know, going to be an actual child coming out of this. So intrigued by this all that he might just recreate whatever caused this to happen and make himself go through it. For scientific reasons of course. Again, completely forgetting that a whole ass person is going to be born from this.

Perturabo - Kydomor Forrix tells Perturabo he's pregnant and the man has the gall to click his tongue. He then goes on a 20 minute rant about how he expects Forrix to pick up on paperwork while he's unable to work in the field and that, just because he's pregnant, he can't expect special treatment. All of this Forrix both expected and accepts. Then, three days later, he is shocked to find a beautiful, handmade cradle outside his living quarters. He makes sure to thank his Primarch for the thoughtful gift later but Perturabo just grunts in response. Nonetheless, small, handmade toys keep popping up every now and then.

Alpharius - You're pregnant? We're pregnant. While Ingo Pech might be the one carrying the child, the whole legion is going to take part raising it. Indoctrination? Yes sir. That baby is going to shouting "I am Alpharius" straight out the womb. Meanwhile, Alpharius and Omegon are supportive in their own ways, making sure Ingo is provided for during the pregnancy. Lowkey excited for it, they see it as an interesting experiment/experience.

Lorgar - Say it after me; virgin birth. When Lorgar learns that Argel Tal is pregnant, with no apparent intercourse, he attributes it to some kind of miracle/divine plan. So congrats Argel! You've just been promoted to holy figure Virgin Tal! Your duties during pregnancy includes; daily purifications, getting blessed and praying until your tongue goes numb. That baby is going to be born in god's light and there's nothing you can do to stop it!

Horus - Garviel Loken might be the one pregnant but Horus is the one that's the most excited for it. Also secretly very jealous but he hides it well and copes with it by convincing himself that the baby is at least going to be partially his since Garviel has his geneseed and blah blah blah (he's huffing copium). Very involved in the whole pregnancy, lowkey acting like it's his kid that's going to be born, and is almost acting like Garviel is just a surrogate. Will deny it though if anyone accuses him of it.

Konrad - Outright sneers. Why would you want a child? Whatever, it's Sevatar's problem, not Konrad's. At least, that's how Konrad puts it at the start of it all. But he keeps a close eye on Sevatar, snarling at whatever Night Lord that gets too close or even acts out in his proximity. And then extra rations appear on Sevatar's bed, which he's pretty sure were taken from some other Night Lord. Not that Sevatar is going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Konrad wants to play scary fairy godmother then he ain't gonna stop him. It's only when Sevatar finds a few dead rats on his bed that he starts rethinking that decision.

Sanguinius - Watch Sanguinius channel all his anxiety for the future into Raldoron's baby. Like, this kid is going to be born into a world that will probably see it as some sort of apostle or something and Sanguinius won't be able to stop it. So, to make up for it in advance (partially to ease his guilt) he tries to make Raldoron's pregnancy as comfortable as possible. Tries to act cheerful but there's a hint of melancholy in all his actions. Still, he does look forward to the birth of the baby. Such moments are always full of joy and worth being celebrated.

Corvus - Uhm... Congrats? When Branne Nev informs Corvus that he's with child, the Primarch does not quite know how to react. But he's going to try and be supportive! Just, eh, from a distance. Almost treats Nev like he's got a contagious disease and that he'll also get pregnant if he gets too close. But in the later stages of the pregnancy, when it starts showing, Corvus sometimes get this soft, almost longing look in his eyes. He also starts leaving little trinkets for the baby that he thinks it will like.

Ferrus - Ferrus takes a long, hard look at Gabriel Santar and then sighs heavily. "No working in the forge or the lab until after the child is born". Not mad, not disappointed, just tired. But supportive! Do you like supplements, Gabriel? Because you are getting a bunch of them. Your baby is going to be born strong as fuck, don't worry. Ferrus creates a whole schedule for "optimal fetus development" which he put together with a council of fellow Iron Hands, tech priests and doctors.

Rogal - There's a lot of solemn nodding from Rogal when Sigismund is revealed to be pregnant. He then excuses himself for a few hours (much to the anxiety of poor Sigismund who is left wondering if he has angered his father) but when Rogal eventually returns he's got a 10 page document full of predictions for the pregnancy (due date, weight gain, health complications etc). Actually very involved in the pregnancy and demands regular updates on both Sigismund's and the fetus' health.

Vulkan - Straight up picks Artellus Numeon up twirls him around in a big hug. Congratulations! Oh, he's so happy for you! Vulkan is genuinely excited and immediately starts asking Artellus if he's thought of any names, if there's anything he needs, is he feeling well etc.. Oh, and yeah, he's confined to Nocturne for the entire pregnancy. Just to keep him safe! But don't worry, Artellus is still allowed to use the forge... Until his second trimester of course. Yeah, Vulkan is a bit overprotective but what can you expect? This is his first grandchild!

Lion - The look Lion gives Luther is one of disappointment, as if Luther somehow did this to himself! Then he sighs, shakes his head and just orders the man to be on desk duty for the duration of the pregnancy. At first, it seems like Lion is very disinterested, only occasionally asking if things are going well with 'it'. But then Luther finds some extra rations in his chambers. Then some pelts. A pillow? Luther quickly deduces that Lion is the one leaving him these things and while he can't outright thank him for it (Lion would never admit to it), he does mention out loud how much these things are helping him and not even Lion can hide the smug look on his face.

Leman - Ha! Hahaha! After Leman is done laughing at Bjorn for magically getting pregnant, he congratulates and reassures him that he's going to be a fantastic mother. Jokes aside, Leman gets very involved in the pregnancy. Call it pack instincts. Keeps bringing Bjorn food (too much food to be honest) and it's like he has a seventh sense for whenever Bjorn is about to chug a tankard of ale. Bjorn hasn't had a beer in 9 months and he's about to strangle Leman with his bare hands. He does appreciate all the pelts he's been given though.

Jaghatai - Summon the council of mothers! Shiban's pregnancy is a welcome surprise and Jaghatai makes sure that he has all the support that he will need. That being said, he lets women that have experienced pregnancy and motherhood take the reins on this one. What they say goes (though Jaghatai won't snitch if Shiban wants to sneak out for some jetbike rides every now and then). Also makes Shiban sit in on maternity classes in preparation. Promises to teach his kid how to ride a horse when they get old enough.

Roboute - Guilliman finally gets the real experience of being a father because Cato fucking refuses to relax for even a second, acting like a hyperactive 5-year old, and Roboute has to fucking threaten to court-martial him to get him to sit down for even just a single minute. Cato is acting like he isn't pregnant (ordering people around, running drills etc) and he sees it as punishment when his Primarch puts him on paperwork-duty for the duration of the pregnancy (no frontline combat for you sir). Secretly, Guilliman is looking forward to the baby being born since it's kinda like his pseudo-grandchild (he wants to spoil it so bad).

[kingkatsuki]

— rumours

I missed him a lot. Thank you for always indulging me @katsukikitten

Pairing: Rayne Ames x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, non-consensual filming, voyeurism, perv!Rayne, dry humping, dirty talk, Rayne cums in his pants.

Word Count: 1.7k.

Rayne Ames was never one to believe rumours. 

After all half the ones that he managed to hear in passing were all factually incorrect. Talking about how many bunnies he owned, how many he’d acquired through legitimate means, suggesting that he secretly bred them to make rabbit stew (as if he would ever), fights he’d been in and even suggesting he’d murdered three people (if he had there was no way anyone would find out), and yet he found himself hanging onto this one particular rumour about you. 

The source was already unreliable – Dot Barrett was known to exaggerate everything. And yet when Rayne had heard your name slip from his mouth followed by the insinuation that you enjoyed humping stuffed animals in your free time this was a rumour he was prepared to get behind. 

Ignoring the thought of you using other stuffed toys to get yourself off, thinking of how many other men had gifted you them with this intended purpose, Rayne cornered you one afternoon with a floppy pink plush rabbit that was larger than any he had in his collection. The toy doused in his cologne which if nothing else would leave your bedroom smelling like him as he watched your face light up with joy.

“It’s so big, Rayne.” You’d gasped in surprise when he handed it to you. Trying to subdue the blush that threatened to cast across his cheeks as he pulled his cloak over his crotch to conceal his now ramrod hard cock as it pressed against tight slacks, eager and desperate to be free as he replayed your words in his mind. 

It’s so big, Ranye. No doubt in his mind that he’d be fisting his cock to that later even if the rumours proved to be false. 

“I love him!” You coo, squeezing it tight to your chest which had Rayne jealous of the stuffed toy, his jaw locked in place as he tried to resist the urge to wrap his arms around you himself. 

And not even three hours later, Rayne had found out the truth.

Some may call it magic or perhaps a miracle, but on this occasion Dot Barrett had been right. Pushing thoughts of why exactly he knew this to the side, Rayne held his breath as he watched you hump the soft pink bunny toy he’d bought for you a few hours earlier. And you were even prettier than he could’ve imagined—

Rayne had to bite down on his lower lip to stop himself from groaning out loud, all too aware of the next room full of his superiors. Pressing his back against the cool stone wall as though he was afraid his legs might give way as he watched your body grind against the soft toy. Your breasts were covered in a pretty lace bra, and he could just about make out a pair of matching panties that sat high on your hips at the bottom of the frame as you angled yourself to create the best friction against the soft material. 

It was lewd, lascivious, depraved but he couldn’t find it in himself to look away. 

Your pouty lips practically glistened in the soft light of your bedroom, parted in a near-constant whine that had blood rushing directly to his stiff cock as it pulsed beneath his slacks. Reaching down with his free hand to palm himself he kept his focus on the way you were writhing against the stuffed bunny, trying to mimic your movements as though he was fooling himself that you were here with him— grinding on his lap in the same fashion.

“Oh my god,” You barely whispered beneath your breath as you circled your hips, and yet it was enough to have Rayne groaning out loud, “Feels so good.” 

You’re so beautiful like this, he thinks. Watching the way your chest heaves and your eyelashes flutter whenever your clothed clit catches against the cute bowtie that’s settled around the bunny’s neck, fingers gripping the plush a little harder as you change the angle, panning down slightly to show your crotch and the way your cunt glides against it. He wonders how wet you are right now, squinting as though he can make out the faintest hint of a dark patch against the crotch of your panties. Desperately wishing there was a magic he could use to reach through the camera and touch you, to glide his fingers through your messy folds and feel how wet you were for him— because this was definitely all for him. 

“Fuck,” Rayne curses beneath his breath when a sultry moan tumbles from your lips, spreading your thighs wider to press your cunt down on the toy with more force as the seam began to disappear between your soaked folds. Giving him the perfect view of your labia as he imagined stroking his bulging cockhead through them, nudging your clit before feeling your velvety walls flutter around him. 

“Pretty bunny,” He rasps through clenched teeth, “My pretty bunny—”

His hand isn’t enough, he thinks as he palms himself through his slacks. Trying to wrap his hand around himself through the stiff material as he ruts his hips in time with your movements, feeling his pre-soaking through his boxers and staining the fabric. Wondering whether your slick is leaving silvery lines against the fur of the stuffy, whether he’d be able to smell it on it later— 

God, he hoped you’d keep this stuffy with you in bed. He hoped it would become your favourite out of all the ones you had just so he’d get to see this whenever he pleased. Wondering if you’d sit it up on top of your bed so he could watch you coming out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel as you smoothed cream into your thighs, or trying to decide what to wear for the day as you pranced around in this same pair of pretty panties. 

“Shit.” He grunted as his balls began to seize, feeling the telltale sign of his impending climax as the coil in his pelvis began to tighten. Tightening his grip around the base of his cock as he tried to will himself to hold on a little longer, teetering on the precipice of his pleasure to wait for you to jump first— 

He could tell you had to be close, your pace began to falter as your hips became sloppy. Dragging yourself over the toy persistently as you focused on your clit, letting go of it in favour of reaching up to palm your tits through the sheer bra as the movement had the camera panning back up to your face. 

You were completely lost in ecstasy now, your lips parted in a constant whine as you rocked against the toy. Mumbling out a slew of inaudible words that he wished he could decipher, risking turning the sound up a bar just to try and make them out before you caught him completely off guard with a whiny, debauched moan that he was terrified was loud enough for the people in the next room to hear. God, Renatus would never let him hear the end of it if he knew—

“Fuck, Rayne.” You cried out, throwing your head back as you found your release. Your vision blurred when your body fell forward, scrambling for purchase as your tongue lolled out from between your pouty lips as your calves tightened around the bunny. Your chest heaved as you gulped in fresh breaths of air as your hips instinctively continued to rock against the toy to ride out your release. 

If his grip hadn’t been so firm on the device, it would’ve clattered to the floor with the shock of his name flowing from your lips in such a saccharine tone. The sound had his cock bucking beneath his pants as he came hard, spilling copious amounts of white hot cum into his boxers as his hips rutted against the air. Seeking out the slightest bit of friction as he rubbed against the zipper to his slacks, his chest heaving as his head knocked back against the cool stone behind him. 

Risking another glance down at the phone to watch as you pulled your panties to the side to look at the mess you’d made between your thighs, muttering out the cutest “fuck” Rayne is certain he’s ever heard as you dragged two manicured fingers through your messy slick, holding it out in front of you as you began to spread your fingers apart as the silvery webs started to split between two digits. It was almost as though you knew he was watching you as you put on an elaborate show for him, giving him the showstopping finale as you reached up to slip those same two fingers into your mouth to clean them off. 

Rayne’s spent cock quivered at the sight, you were already willing him back to life as he pressed a rough palm against it in a feeble attempt to keep it down— but all it ended up doing was causing his soaked boxers to stick to his skin uncomfortably as he tried to shift his hips to ease the sensation. Wishing he was with you, spreading your thighs open as he settled between them to drag the flat of his tongue through your glossy folds, cleaning up every drop of your essence as he pushed the tip of it inside your drooling hole. Hearing you moan and writhe for him instead of the pink bunny stuffy, and letting you ride his face the same way you’d just been riding the toy. He wished he could see the mess you’d left on it, whether you’d do the same to his face, his cock— 

Fuck. He had to calm himself down, he was going to be stuck in the meeting for at least another two hours. Trying his best to fix his dishevelled appearance before resuming his position in the room with the rest of the divine visionaries— hoping that none of them would be able to smell the scent of his spunk practically radiating off him as he tortured himself further by imagining you on your knees cleaning him up. 

Rayne must remember to ask Dot the next time he sees him if perhaps there might be any other rumours he knows about you—

[i9messi]

Christmas miracle — Max Verstappen

Max and you were friends, but this Christmas something happens between you two.

Word count — 1,6k

note: friends to lovers!! It's romantic and highly inspired in Christmas romcoms.

masterlist

You didn't know what, but something was different during these days. You were spending your time in a small hidden village in Sweden. It was very homely, the houses were decorated and the Christmas spirit was present, even if you didn’t understand the language of the locals. Christmas was worldwide and you were someone who loved sharing and caring about others, as much as you loved these special days.

Your friend Max had invited you because he knew how much you loved this moment of the year and the need to get out of your exhausting routine. Working full-time and still a little bit depressed from breaking up with your boyfriend, your best friend thought it was the best idea so you could forget about your worries and just focus on Christmas.

“Auch!”

You complained loudly, as you felt the snowball hit the back of your head. A child had thought it was a good idea to start throwing snowballs at complete strangers, and you were the target of his prank.

“Do you want me to throw a snowball at him? I can throw one in his face, so he doesn’t bother anymore.”

You laughed, while Max looked at the child as if he was really thinking about throwing a snowball in his face.

“Don't be silly. Kids are just kids, Max. Where is your Christmas spirit?”

“I wasn't like him at his age.”

“No, but you were way worse. I remember you fighting with Charles and other kids in the karting.”

He said nothing. As you continued your walk, Max forgot about the kid and started talking about different things. To hear him speak so freely was beautiful, because now that the races had ended for a short period, it was as if his mind could disconnect from all of it.

He wasn’t the Max that everyone knew, the one who seemed to only care about winning and succeeding. No, this was the Max you knew: someone loving, caring and good friend.

You both started to shop in the small market of the village. Milk, chocolate and marshmallows. That same morning you told him that Christmas was not the same without a cup of hot chocolate and as Max never forgot anything, he decided to go shopping with you.

The old lady who was attending smiled at the reflection of both of you.

“You make a beautiful couple.”

“Oh, we’re just friends.” you and Max said at the same time, correcting the woman.

“My husband and I were only friends, and now we have been married for fifty years and have seven grandchildren. We used to say we're just friends, look at us now.”

You smiled while Max paid for everything.

“I’m happy being friends.” He said and the lady looked at him with a little mistrust.

“Now that Jultomten is coming, there is something different in the air, something magical. It’s never too late for a Christmas miracle.”

Knowing that the woman just wanted you two to say you were in love and loved each other more than friends, you both decided to just nod and leave the store. The way to your rented house was short. The children were making snowmen and throwing more and more snowballs. Luckily, this time neither you nor Max were the target of them.

Once you arrived at the house, you and Max went to your separate rooms to change clothes for something more comfortable and also to turn on the heating. Back in your pajamas, you appeared in the kitchen. Max made the hot chocolate and you took the marshmallows and put them in the cup.

Once it was done, you took seats on the sofa, right next to the fireplace.

“It tastes so good,” you said, without separating your gaze from Max's.

“I could live like this. Without caring over winning races and titles, just spending my time with my best friend in a small town.”

You smiled, Max was right. These days were so enjoyable, without caring about anything. You forgot about your responsibility, about social media and everything else. It was Max and you. You and Max. Nothing more. Life was so beautiful with you and him together.

“We could live happily together,” you joked, while taking another sip.

Something changed in Max's eyes. He suddenly became someone you couldn't read, not completely.

“Would you?”

“Live happily with you? Why not? You're my best friend.”

There was a deep silence, until he spoke. His eyes looked at you with great attention, waiting for your reaction.

“Can I be totally honest with you?”

“I always thought you were honest with me, Max.”

And he was. He was a person you could trust, because he always told you the truth. Even when it was hurtful.

“I'm in love with you.”

He spoke so low, you could hardly hear his whisper. Yet you were very sure of what you had heard. He loved you. Your best friend loved you.

“Max, what are you talking about?”

“I have loved you since the moment I knew you. For years I thought I had no chance— but look at me, risking all. I’m waiting for a Christmas miracle to happen so you’ll realize that I’ve always been there for you.”

You got up from the chair and left the hot drink on a small table.

“Max, don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying.” He also stood up from his seat, repeating the same thing you had done.

His blue eyes never shined so bright. You knew him, and for so many years you learned when he was lying and when he was not. He was telling the truth, his truth.

“Why didn’t you tell me before? Why now?”

“Would it have changed things?”

He continued to speak, because you didn't know what to say.

“No, it wouldn’t have changed anything. You would have gone with that asshole who broke your heart and I would still be waiting for an opportunity… I’m not lying and I would never lie to you. I’m in love with you and it drives me crazy to think that someone so stupid could break your heart and make you cry. I would never make you cry, love.”

“Max— I need time to think.”

“Don't go.”

“I’ll be back.”

You grabbed your coat and didn’t give him time to respond, walked away. The children were still playing, but everything seemed to move in slow motion at that time. You found a seat, while tears fell from your eyes.

Suddenly, a young girl stood in front of you.

“Why are you crying?”

The good part was that the girl spoke the same language as you, the worst part was that you couldn’t blame the bad translation for not knowing how to express your feelings.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Crying is good, but my mom always tells me it’s also good to talk about the things that make us cry.”

You smiled at her.

“My best friend told me he’s in love with me.”

“So what’s the problem? I’m in love with my best friend, too.”

“How did you realize?”

Asking that to a girl who looked like she was no more than ten years old was a little pathetic, but still, you found yourself doing it.

“He is my favourite person in the whole world. I care about him being happy and his opinion is important for me. Sometimes I dream about holding his hand and about how it would be a future together. I feel butterflies in my tummy and I feel nervous he gives me attention, especially in a way that feels different from others.”

You nodded and spoke a minute later, with your heart beating so fast.

“I used to be in love with him, when I was little. I thought— I was so sure that those feelings had disappeared but now, I think they never disappeared. Not entirely.”

“You should go and talk to him, you need to tell him how you feel.”

You nodded.

“You’re right, little friend.”

You stood and looked at the girl.

“Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas to you.”

You smiled and started walking toward the house, you found Max walking fast down the streets. His face looked worried as he tried to find you among the people on the streets. His gaze met yours and some calm painted on his face, but still, he hurried to close the gap between the two.

“I was worried, you weren’t coming back and it was getting late. I know you don’t feel the same as me and…”

“Max, shut up and listen to me.”

He kept his mouth closed.

“I freaked out. When you told me that you had feelings for me, I thought everything would change between us but now that I think about it, nothing is going to change. When I was a kid, I used to think we’d be together when we grew up. I thought we’d get married and end up like all those couples I used to see when I was little. When time passed, I guess I stopped daydreaming or somehow tried to date other people, knowing that I couldn’t have you. Not like that. I searched the faces of other men, not knowing you would be here waiting for me."

He swallowed, “What do you mean?”

"Isn't it obvious? A wise person made me realize that those feelings never went away and that I still have feelings for you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want my feelings to influence the way you feel.”

“Max, I’ve never been more sure in my life. Oh, except every time I knew you were going to win the championship.”

He smiled. A genuine smile that made him look much softer than he really was.

“You are making me the happiest man.”

“Max?”

“Yes?”

“We could go home and kiss there.”

He smiled and he held your hand.

“Let’s go.”

In fact, you kissed a lot.

[rooksamoris]

i really really love the event concept 🥺 can i please request rook with the snow white true love’s kiss if you’re feeling up to it?

KISSES AND GLASS COFFINS !!

✧ — rook hunt x reader as snow white's true love's kiss. ✧ — 346 words, mentions of death. ✧ — here is the event and the event masterlist. tysm anon. rook hunt my beloved ughhh the things i would do for him </3

Rook dismounted his horse, gazing upon the sweet sleeping figure in the glass coffin, surrounded by friends and flowers who wished to see you resting well and surrounded by the same beauty you brought into the world. He tied his horse and then made his way over, his heart swelling with the sight. Even in death, you were a sight to behold, eyes shut softly, tender heart still and quiet.

“Oh, mon ange,” he muttered, quietly, as if you were sleeping and he did not want to disturb you. He still smiled, but it was solemn now. 

Your friends made space for him to approach and gaze upon you. The willows were weeping over you, its vines promising to protect you from all threats. 

Rook reached over to brush the pesky petals which wished to rest beside you, away from your face so that he may admire you some more. The light from the sun fell upon you the way gold jewelry would, highlighting the most lovely parts of you as it forced its way through the trees. He sighed wistfully, “Fais de beaux rêves,” he whispered before pressing a kiss to your sleeping lips.

He pulled away and knelt down at your glass coffin, engraved with your name. He bowed his head down to you, the beauty which he revered. It seemed your friends and the animals which adored you did the same.

But then he heard a yawn. The hunter lifted his sharp green eyes up and was met with the most blessed sight. 

You were waking up, stretching and yawning as if it was just a mere nap which captured you, “Rook?” you mumbled, looking around in confusion.

He could not contain his joy and scooped you up into his arms, spinning with you in his embrace, grasping onto his shoulders to steady yourself, “A miracle,” he told you, peppering kisses all across your face. They had to have been magic if it woke you up from your sleeping death. 

You laughed and returned the embrace, your arms resting comfortably around his neck.

©rooksamoris 2025. do not steal or translate my work!

support me on ko-fi!

[flowercrowngods]

a tiny insanely soft & gentle marvey post-migraine

It’s almost seven when the bedroom doors open again and a drowsy-looking Harvey emerges, somehow managing to look both insanely comfy and absolutely wrung out. Mike puts away the file he’s been working on and closes his laptop after saving the document, then turns to lean against the back of the couch, all of his attention on Harvey.

“Hey you,” he says, quiet and mindful of the splitting headache that might still bother his sleepy-looking boyfriend.

Harvey only grumbles in reply and shuffles over to him with a surprising amount of dignity for someone who had to knock himself out with a cocktail of pills to battle a sudden, inconvenient migraine. On his day off, no less.

Mike quickly holds out his hand, gently guiding Harvey around the couch and then pulling him down and into a hug. Harvey goes willingly, not protesting in the slightest — quite the opposite, actually, if the way he’s cuddling into Mike and wrapping his arms around him is anything to go by.

“Hi,” Mike says again, his voice no louder than a whisper as he settles into a more comfortable position to properly hold his tired, cuddly man. “How’s your head?”

“Better,” Harvey mumbles into his neck, growing heavier by the minute as he settles more and more of his weight against Mike. “Think I slept through the worst of it.”

“Good,” Mike murmurs, moving his head to kiss Harvey’s temple — not the side where the migraine was, he knows better than that. “That’s good.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Mike smiles despite himself. It’s rare that he gets to see Harvey like this, to hold him like this, all vulnerable and drowsy and trusting. No walls in sight, no jabs or barbs or quips prepared. Just Harvey, on the other end of a migraine, looking for comfort.

And Mike, smitten and enamoured and willing to give him anything he wants, anything he needs, and everything in between.

“There’s stir fry on the stove,” Mike murmurs after a while, his lips trailing featherlight up and down the side of Harvey’s face. “If you can eat.”

Harvey sighs against him, and Mike can’t quite read it but he’s sure it must mean that no, Harvey can’t eat, and that yes, the barely-there smell is still too much, but thank you for trying and being mindful.

But that’s not at all what the sigh means, because Harvey lifts his head and raises his hands to cradle Mike’s face. He holds him gently, blinking him into focus, and Mike’s breath catches at the adoration he finds staring back at him.

“Angel,” Harvey says, and Mike melts a little. He does every time Harvey calls him that. “I’m very much in love with you right now.”

A smile breaks out that Mike can’t contain, and he laughs quietly. “Because of the stir fry?”

“Well, have you had your stir fry?” Harvey throws back, his voice delightfully deep and rumbly from the five hour nap he’s had to take. The hands cradling Mike’s face move into his hair to scratch and his scalp and comb through his hair. They’re magical. Miracle workers. Mike hums.

What were they talking about?

“I think I wanna marry you.”

Oh. Oh wow.

“Yeah?” Mike asks when he finds his voice, though it’s barely more than a whisper. Awed. Revering. Absolutely, irrevocably, irrefutably gone for this man.

“Yeah,” Harvey whispers back, welcoming Mike to rest their foreheads together. He doesn’t stop combing through his hair and massaging his scalp.

It’s not a proposal, it’s not even a question, it’s just Harvey thinking out loud because he can. Still it’s the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to him. It makes him feel giddy and loved and seen and loved, and he knows it’s not technically a proposal, but—

“I think I wanna marry you, too.”

And now it’s Harvey’s turn to lose his breath, to catch it and release it against Mike’s cheek.

“Yeah?” Smart-ass.

“Yeah.”

I want this, this right here. Taking care of you. Sitting with you. Holding you. And I want you to know that I want this forever.

Carefully, mindful of the spikes and flares of pain that might come back any second, Mike manoeuvres them until he’s lying on the couch with Harvey on top of him. They kiss until the headache comes back, and then Harvey just buries his face in Mike’s neck. One hand still playing with Mike’s hair. It’s endearing. Mike’s heart wants to burst.

“I love you,” he whispers. “Harvey Specter-Ross.”

[beauspot]

Thoughts on my second watch of Good Omens 2

i heard the fly buzzing in my first watch but didn’t know why and now i know

Maggie my sweet darling angel baby i love you

Aziraphale turning their car yellow

crowleys “no more dying” in extreme scottish.

Disposable Demon i’ll save you from these awful people i promise 😭

Aziraphale’s little smile when he says “smitten” to Crowley

i wonder if crowley was especially hurt because aziraphale seemed to be able to forgive gabriel who tried to kill him but can’t seem to forgive him being a demon.(still seeing all of this as a metaphor for internalized homophobia, like aziraphale knows he’s not the perfect angel he wants to be and he’s projecting his feelings about that onto crowley)

I can’t believe we got an actual ball. like pride and prejudice, bridgerton ball.

the beautiful score that started playing when aziraphale brought the chandelier down

i didn’t even realize that when they walked in the outfits changed. mrs sandwich made me realize(also i love her)

Nina being the only one to question the weird magical shit Aziraphale and Crowley do sends me so bad.

Season 2 took everything i liked about the first season (aziracrow, queer subtext, gay people, archangels, and beelzebub) and expanded on it

The adorable smile on Aziraphales face when he asked Crowley to dance 😭 he’s so pure(i should have known something was up, everything was going too well)

Crowley saying i won’t leave you on your own and Aziraphale saying i know 🤒

why isn’t aziraphale able to miracle nina and maggie??

crowley and mrs sandwich flirting. too cute

crowley saying he’s neither nice nor a lad.

crowleys little run in heaven when he’s following muriel

maggie giving the middle finger to the demons and laughing in their face when they tried to belittle her. queen

defensive aziraphale is so badass. just because he’s soft doesn’t mean he can’t stand up for himself or the people he loves

the random guitar solo in the final episode theme is so bizarre to me. why is it there?

ahh the raining hearts symbolizing crowleys vavoom plan!

crowley’s heavenly outfit not being white but “light grey”

the relief in aziraphale’s voice when crowley came back 😀

also him mumbling about the halo like he did with the sword 😭 but he sure loves to boast about the things he’s done right to crowley

aziraphale and crowley doing magic together has the power to set off alarm bells in heaven and they barely tried, they’re just in sync

saraqael was such a good addition to the cast.

crowley smiling at aziraphale going off on the angels and demons

“where beelzebub is, is my Heaven.” 🥹

the little knowing look after crowley mentions alpha centauri

the way they just interrupted michael’s speech by leaving 😭

i think that aziraphale was about to ask crowley to move in but that’s my opinion

the look the metatron gave crowley is so strange. i don’t like that

“JUST US. NOT YOU.”

“You’re not helping, angel.”

the softness in aziraphale’s voice when he talked about making crowley an angel again? how can you hate him! he thought he was doing the right thing!

also the miscommunication these two have is completely out of hand because crowley asked aziraphale if he said no and aziraphale hadn’t given an answer AT ALL to the metatron. the metatron told him to take his time. he went back to tell crowley the news first.

crowleys confession makes my stomach hurt. the way his voice broke when he said “we’ve spent our existence pretending that we aren’t.”. the way he had to force himself past his anxiety to tell aziraphale he wanted to spend eternity with him? fuck.

the way aziraphale tells crowley to come with him. like and through all of this they are losing each other, oh my god.

“i need you!” god aziraphale punch me in the face next time why don’t you?

i feel like in all this anger towards aziraphale a lot of people are ignoring that he put himself out there too. he was telling crowley he needed him just like crowley was

“no nightingales.” FUCK YOU GAIMAN

the way aziraphale touched his lips after. dear GOD. someone get michael sheen an emmy

seeing aziraphale struggle against his wanting to kiss crowley back and his fear and wanting him to come back to heaven further supports my internalized homophobia analogy

also even knowing the kiss was going to happen because of the spoiler it still didn’t quell my shock. nor did it ruin the scene, i think it actually surprised me more because it did not happen how i thought it would.

side note i saw some people saying they thought the kiss was going to be a cop out in some way. like a body swap or as a joke and i don’t really know why?

it just occurred to me that both aziraphale and crowley thought the other one was just doing that thing they do where they say they won’t help, or they’re on their own but they eventually come back not knowing that the other was completely set on these plans they had. this wasn’t like armageddon or saving gabriel.

the second coming…of jesus…

crowley cutting off “a nightingale sang in berkeley square”...i’m gonna jump

this being the ending for the next 3-4 years. oh.

[amirasainz]

Hello there. I love your work. I was wondering if you could write one where baby sainz is pregnant with charles and alexandra baby.

Oh my god. This was so hard to write. I hope I did an okay-ish job. My requests are always open! Enjoy reading! -XoXo

The Pregnancy

Amira’s heart raced as she stared at the positive pregnancy test. She was only 21, and her relationship with Alex and Charles was still in its early stages—just five months old. How could this be happening? Tears streamed down her face as she sat on the toilet seat, overwhelmed by the news.

Unaware of her distress, the apartment door swung open. “Dove, we’re back home!” Alex’s voice echoed through the hallway. She exchanged a puzzled glance with Charles when they received no response. Concerned, they called out to her again. “Jolie fille? Are you here?”

Then they heard it—the heartbreaking sniffles coming from the bathroom. Without hesitation, they rushed to the door. There, they found their beautiful Amira, tears staining her cheeks. “Oh my god, baby, what happened?” Alex and Charles approached her, their worry evident. They immediately ran to her, took her in their arms and whispers sweet nothings in french in her ear. "Tout va bien, mon amour" or "Je t'ai, bébé" was the things she heard. Sometimes Charles would even say "Niente può ferirti, amore mio".

Amira’s sobs subsided after what felt like an eternity. Charles cradled her face in his hands, gently wiping away her tears. “What’s wrong, bébé?” Alex asked once more. Instead of answering, Amira held up the positive test, her emotions laid bare.

She had mentally prepared herself for a difficult conversation—a potential breakup, perhaps. But what unfolded surprised her. Alex and Charles erupted in joy, hugging her tightly and peppering her cheeks with kisses. “Oh honey, you have no idea how happy you make us,” Alex exclaimed.

“You’re not mad at me?” Amira whispered, her voice trembling.

Charles grinned, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Of course not, mon amour. After all, it takes three to make a baby.” His wink was playful, and Amira felt a rush of relief. She was no longer alone; she had her partners by her side. And in that moment, despite the unexpected circumstances, she felt a warmth that eclipsed any fear. What unfolded now was a nine moths journey.

Ah, the joys and challenges of pregnancy! Emotions running wild, cravings taking unexpected turns—Amira’s journey was far from ordinary. But nestled within those moments were the seeds of a beautiful story—a tale of love, anticipation, and shared dreams.

Charles and Alexandra, devoted partners, reveled in the miracle unfolding before them. Their princess, Amira, carried their future—a tiny life nestled within her. The princess treatment they bestowed upon her was more precious than any crown. They doted on her, their attentiveness unwavering.

Charles, ever the thoughtful one, brought home gifts—a tangible expression of his love for his three favorite people. Sometimes it was a soft blanket for cozy nights, a whimsical mobile for the nursery, or a book of bedtime stories to read aloud. Each gift held a promise: “We’re in this together.”

And Alex? Well, she took on a new role—the fashion curator for Amira. It was common knowledge that Amira Sainz was a stunning woman. But pregnancy transformed her—radiance multiplied a thousandfold. She floated through sunny days in pretty summer dresses, her baby bump a testament to life’s magic. Alex’s choices were impeccable, accentuating her glow. The two of them weren't able to look away from their pretty girl.

Their protectiveness knew no bounds. Amira wasn’t allowed to step out of a room without at least one of them by her side. Shared showers became intimate moments—her baby bump a delightful obstacle, yet they navigated it with care. The warmth of water, the closeness of skin—these were the memories etched into their hearts.

At night, they cocooned her. Alex half beneath her, Charles spooned against her back. Their hands rested on her belly, feeling the flutter of life within. They whispered promises to their unborn child, their love a lullaby. And if anyone dared approach their Amira, they wedged themselves between her and the world. No one touched their perfect girl without permission.

Amira’s pregnancy was a symphony of emotions, cravings, and shared laughter. She had the best of both worlds—the thrill of Formula 1 and the tenderness of love. As the days counted down, they dreamed of tiny fingers and sleepy smiles. And when the moment arrived—their baby’s first cry echoing through the room—they knew their lives had changed forever.

Three hearts beating as one—a family forged on racetracks and whispered promises. Amira, Charles, and Alex—their love story had just begun.

[bigmpregnm]

Christmas Magic - Part 2

[Story Collection] | [Part 1] [●] ✅

Mark woke up, blinking repeatedly at the clock on his nightstand. The glowing numbers read 6:00 AM. He groaned softly, his mind still foggy from sleep. For a moment, he wondered if the previous night’s events had been nothing more than an incredibly vivid dream. He could remember Nick’s immense weight over him, the enormous cock buried deep inside, and the beautiful blue eyes locked into his while the big guy fucked him. Mark smiled as he tried to sit up, but he felt heavier than ever. His body felt different—heavier, rounder, and undeniably fuller. Alarmed, Mark threw off the sheets, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze fell on his body.

“What the—?!” Mark shouted, processing the sight. “I’m HUGE!”

Mark’s once-average build now looked gigantic. His belly was now enormous, stretching outward like a yoga ball attached to his torso, its surface taut and smooth. Its sheer size and weight were astounding, anchoring him to the mattress as he tried to adjust his position. Mark’s hands moved instinctively to cradle the massive curve, his fingers trembling as he felt the firmness beneath his skin. He could feel movement—soft kicks and rolls from within—confirming the reality of his situation. But the shock didn’t end there.

His chest had also grown. His pectorals had grown into basketball-sized, milk-filled mounds that rested heavily on his belly while also pressing against his chin. The skin was taut, flushed, and tender, his large nipples darker and engorged, prepared for lactation after the impending arrival of the babies. His hips had widened significantly, giving him an hourglass shape, and his ass was fuller and rounder, making Mark laugh at their massiveness. He had always loved his big, muscular ass, and now he had by far the biggest bubble butt he had seen on a man.

Mark’s breath came in shallow gasps as he struggled to shift his position. The sheer size of his belly made even the slightest movement a challenge. He groaned softly, planting his hands on either side of him for support as he inched himself upright. The effort sent a ripple of motion through his belly, and he winced, feeling the unmistakable tightening of a contraction. The pressure within his belly grew steadily, and he clutched the massive curve, his fingers splayed across its surface as he tried to steady his breathing. The contraction passed after a moment, leaving him panting and bewildered.

“This… this is real,” Mark whispered, his voice barely audible. He could feel the babies moving inside him, the weight of the ten babies shifting with every breath he took.

As he adjusted himself further, another contraction hit, stronger this time. Mark gritted his teeth, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the bed. He could feel the pressure building, an unmistakable sign that labor was beginning in earnest. The sensation was overwhelming, but amidst the pain, Mark marveled at the miracle of it all. He was scared, but deep down, he couldn’t help but enjoy the movement of so many babies inside him.

He let out a low groan as his water broke, the warm sensation flooding his bed. “Oh, fuck! It hurts,” he said, clutching his belly as the first baby moved into position. The reality of what was happening washed over him—he was in labor, and there was no turning back now. Despite the pain, Mark retained his composure, and taking a deep breath, he focused on his goal: Bringing these kids into the world. It was for Asher.

Mark lay back against the pillows, his breath hitching as another contraction rippled through his massive belly. His body trembled as sweat beaded on his brow, and the contractions peaked. The enormity of his belly dominated his frame, and every contraction sent a visible ripple across the taut surface. His breaths were shallow and quick as he adjusted himself, unsuccessfully trying to find a more comfortable position.

However, Mark managed to shift onto his back, grunting and propping himself up slightly with the pillows. The effort was monumental, his widened hips, huge pecs, massive ass, and swollen body making even the smallest movements a challenge. His hands instinctively cradled the enormous curve of his belly, feeling the firmness of his stretched skin and the restless movement from the babies within. As he tried to steady his breathing, he noticed a neatly wrapped box beside him on the bed with an elegant red and gold ribbon tied around it. With trembling fingers, he reached for the attached note. The contractions made his hands shaky, but he managed to unfold the paper and read the elegant handwriting:

“In this box, you’ll find everything you need for the delivery. Let your body do its work, and the magic in the cookie, combined with my magic in the babies, will do the rest. I’ll be back in the morning. Good luck, handsome. –Nick.”

Despite the pain, Mark couldn’t help but smile. Nick’s thoughtfulness and sweetness brought some comfort amidst the chaos of his current state. Setting the note aside, he untied the ribbon and opened the box. Inside, he found everything he could need: soft towels, sterilized scissors, clamps, clean blankets, and even small knit caps for the newborns. He didn’t know what to do with any of the supplies, but he loved how meticulously it was prepared.

Just as he reached for a towel, a contraction hit with sudden intensity, forcing a groan from his lips. Mark clutched the sides of his belly, feeling the tightness spreading through his entire abdomen. Instinctively, he positioned himself further back on the bed, his legs bending and spreading slightly as his body prepared for what was to come. The pressure intensified, and Mark could feel the first baby moving downward. His breaths came in rapid gasps, and he gripped the sheets tightly. His body stretched in ways Mark hadn’t thought possible, and though the pain was sharp, it didn’t feel as terrible as Mark expected, thanks to Christmas magic. He bore down instinctively, his body taking over as he pushed.

Each push brought the baby closer. The sensation was an intense combination of pain, pressure, and wonder that left Mark gasping. He could feel the incredible strain as the baby crowned, the burn of his skin stretching, sending shivers down his spine. Every fiber of his body focused on this singular moment, his breath hitching as he summoned the last reserves of his strength. With one final push, he felt the immense weight of the first baby leave his body, a rush of relief and disbelief washing over him.

A soft cry broke the silence, filling the room with the undeniable sound of a new life. Mark blinked back tears as his eyes fell on the tiny newborn lying against the mattress, its delicate arms flailing weakly, its tiny features scrunched as it wailed. He was overcome by emotions that nearly took his breath away.

“Come with Daddy,” he whispered, his voice trembling as tears streamed freely down his cheeks. Summoning his strength, Mark carefully leaned forward despite the protests of his sore and exhausted body. His arms quivered as he reached out, his hands trembling as they carefully cradled the squirming bundle of joy. The baby’s cries softened as Mark brought him close, settling the newborn against his chest like the most precious treasure. “Oh, you’re so big and so handsome. How can you be so cute?” He couldn’t help but notice the resemblance—the baby was the spitting image of Asher as a newborn, with the same round cheeks and tufts of soft hair. Tears streamed down Mark’s face as he kissed the baby’s forehead.

Somehow, instinct and the magic guiding the process told him what to do. Using the contents of the box, he carefully cleaned the baby, clamping and cutting the umbilical cord with precise movements. He wrapped the tiny newborn in one of the soft blankets, marveling at how cute he looked. The baby instinctively turned toward him, clearly asking for milk. Mark adjusted slightly, guiding the infant to his engorged nipple. The moment the baby latched, a new emotion crashed over him, and he wept openly, overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment.

However, as the baby suckled contentedly, Mark glanced down at his still-massive belly, realizing the journey was far from over. He sighed, feeling the unmistakable tightening of another contraction building. The realization that there were nine more babies to deliver was scary. But the bundle of joy in his arms gave him strength, and imagining the smile this would bring to Asher made him get in position again to bring more miracles into the world.

The subsequent deliveries were faster and slightly easier than the first. Each baby still made Mark face new challenges as the contractions made him groan and pushed his body to its absolute limit. He groaned and grunted with every push, struggling not to disturb the baby in his arms. His body was drenched in sweat, the salty droplets tracing paths down his flushed skin as he fought through the waves of discomfort. His massive belly was still taut and heavy, shifting with effort as each contraction sent dramatic ripples across its surface.

Despite the exhaustion etched into every fiber of his being, Mark continued pushing, finding strength in the tiny faces gathering around him after each delivery. He couldn’t help but chuckle between gasping breaths when one baby, already swaddled snugly, let out a particularly loud cry as if cheering him on. “Alright, alright, I hear you,” he kindly said despite his pain. “Your siblings are coming, I promise.”

One by one, the babies were born, their coos blending into a symphony that filled the room. Each new arrival tested Mark in different ways—one baby wanted more milk while another made its debut with surprising swiftness, nearly catching him off guard. He worked methodically despite his trembling hands, using the items Nick had provided to clean and care for each baby with tender precision. He ensured they were warm and safe before tucking them beside him, creating a growing group of soft blankets and cooing bundles of joy.

By the time the tenth baby arrived, Mark was utterly spent. His body ached in ways he couldn’t describe, his breaths coming in labored gasps. But as Mark looked at the ten tiny faces beside him, a profound sense of fulfillment washed over him. Once he delivered the placenta, he sighed deeply. He had done it—he had brought them all into the world. His bed was a delightful scene of chaos and wonder. The sheer number of little faces looking back at him was almost comical—ten tiny humans, all nestled around him, and their cuteness was a balm for his aching body. Despite the overwhelming nature of the experience, Mark couldn’t help but smile.

Mark carefully arranged the babies beside him, ensuring each one was comfortable and secure. He glanced at the clock, noting the time—6:45 AM. Fifteen minutes until Asher would wake up. Despite his exhaustion, Mark knew he needed to clean up and prepare for the surprise. Suddenly, a cold breeze appeared out of nowhere, surrounding Mark and the babies in a soft tornado-like tube and cleaning everything around. The box with the supplies disappeared, along with the placenta and the fluids soaking the mattress. By the time the tornado dissipated, the bed, Mark, and the babies were clean. The soreness, however, lingered.

Mark repeatedly blinked as he looked around. He could only smile as he realized that this was all part of Nick’s Christmas magic, which was also part of the babies. Then, Mark began the slow process of getting to his feet. His body was still heavy and sore, but he was excited. The sight of his ten newborns gave him all the motivation he needed to make this Christmas morning one Asher would never forget.

Mark took a steadying breath, feeling the ache in his body as he carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed. His movements were slow as if rediscovering how to move his new body. The weight of his body had shifted dramatically. Placing his hands on the mattress, he pushed himself upright. His muscles protested, trembling slightly under the strain, but he managed to rise to his feet. His balance was slightly off due to his widened hips and fuller frame, but he slowly steadied himself.

Mark’s gaze was drawn to the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. He shuffled toward it, still adjusting to the changes in his body. When he finally stood before the mirror, he froze. The reflection staring back at him was almost unrecognizable but undeniably him. His belly, recently enormous and tight with the weight of ten babies, now appeared much smaller but still prominent. It was a soft, rounded curve that looked as if he were full-term with one large baby. He placed his hands on the gentle swell, marveling at how plush and soft it felt compared to its former firmness.

As his hands traveled upward, his attention shifted to his chest. Without the enormous presence of his pregnant belly, his chest now dominated his reflection. It was enormous, heavy with milk, and his nipples darkened and engorged from the demands of feeding the babies. He ran his fingers lightly over the taut skin, wincing slightly at their sensitivity but smiling because he knew it was all to feed his babies.

His hips were visibly wider than before, giving his figure a rounded softness. His ass was also larger and fuller, making him laugh again at its ridiculous size. Even his thighs seemed thicker, supporting the weight of his entire body. He turned slightly, examining himself from different angles, unable to suppress a smile. The magic had changed him, but he felt an unexpected pride in the reflection that stared back at him.

The pajama pants he had worn the night before lay on the floor beside the bed. Bending down to pick them up was a challenge because his body was still sore. He straightened slowly, holding the fabric in his hands before attempting to pull them on. As he worked the pants over his legs, he realized just how much his body had grown. The material stretched tight over his thicker thighs, butt, and hips, clinging to every curve and making the waistband dig slightly into the softness of his waist. He tugged them as far as they would go, chuckling softly at how snug they felt.

“Guess I’ll need a wardrobe upgrade,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head as he adjusted the overly stretched fabric around his butt.

Just as he adjusted the waistband one final time, he heard the familiar sound of small footsteps padding down the hallway. Mark’s heart beat faster, and he quickly moved back to the bed, settling himself carefully beside the ten tiny bundles of joy. The babies were nestled snugly in their blankets, their little faces peaceful and angelic. Mark positioned himself to greet Asher with the best surprise of his young life.

The door creaked open, and Asher appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening as they took in the scene. “Dad!” he exclaimed in surprise. He hurried into the room, his eyes moving between Mark and the row of babies. “Are these… Are these my brothers?” he asked, his voice trembling with excitement.

Mark smiled warmly, inviting Asher to approach. “Someone told me what you asked for,” he said. “Merry Christmas, buddy.”

Asher practically jumped onto the bed, his small hands reaching out to touch the nearest baby. He was careful, his touch gentle as he examined each tiny face. “There’s so many of them!” he whispered, his eyes shining.

“Well, you sent ten letters to Santa.” Mark chuckled, slightly wincing as Asher hugged him and accidentally pressed against his sore belly. “Careful, kiddo. Dad’s a bit sore today.”

Asher immediately pulled back, finally noticing how much his dad’s body had changed. “Sorry, Dad! Are you okay? Why are you so big?”

Mark ruffled Asher’s hair, smiling. “I’m fine, buddy. My body’s just adjusting. It changed a lot to take care of your brothers.”

Asher’s eyes widened again, and he looked down at Mark’s chest. “Will you feed them like Lucy’s mom does with her baby?” he asked, addressing one of his classmates’ mom.

Mark nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly. “That’s right. They’ll need a lot of care. And they need their milk,” Mark said, caressing the side of his right pecs. Asher smiled, throwing his arms around Mark in a hug again and pushing his body against the enormous pecs. Despite the soreness, Mark returned the embrace, his heart nearly bursting with happiness.

“I’m so happy, Dad. This is the best Christmas ever!” Asher exclaimed, and Mark laughed softly, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Asher then pulled back slightly, his face alight with another revelation. “Oh! And Santa brought so many presents! The living room’s full of them! I couldn’t even get to the tree!”

Mark blinked in surprise and confusion. “Full? But I— I mean, what do you mean?”

Asher nodded, bouncing on the bed. “Come see, Dad! You have to see!”

Mark glanced at the babies, ensuring they were secure in the center of the bed. “Alright, let’s go see,” he said, carefully standing. He followed Asher down the hall, one step at a time due to his sore hips. When they reached the living room, Mark stopped in his tracks, his jaw-dropping. Towering piles of gifts filled the space, stacking so high they seemed to dwarf the Christmas tree. There were bright packages of every size and shape, ribbons and bows sparkling in the soft glow of the lights. Among them, Mark noticed a section dedicated to baby supplies—strollers, carriers, cribs—but most were clearly for Asher.

Mark’s chest tightened as he realized this was Nick’s doing, a final touch of magic to make their Christmas unforgettable. Asher sneaked into the room, spinning in circles among the gits as he tried to decide what to open first. He paused, looking back at Mark. “I want to stay with the babies, but I want to open presents too!”

Mark laughed, stepping closer and placing a hand on Asher’s shoulder. “We have time for both, buddy. It’s Christmas, so these gifts and the babies aren’t going anywhere,” he said, making Asher grin, his happiness radiating through the room as Mark watched him and smiled.

Mark stood among the presents, carefully massaging his overfilled chest. The sensation was relieving as his engorged nipples were incredibly sensitive after nursing the newborns. Despite the discomfort, he couldn’t stop smiling as he listened to Asher’s gleeful laughter ringing through the house. His son was running back and forth between the living room and the bedroom, alternating between admiring his gifts and talking to the baby brothers.

Then, the doorbell suddenly rang, startling Mark from his thoughts. He paused, his hands still on his chest, and glanced toward the door. He slowly walked toward the door, mindful of his sore hips and the heaviness in his step as he adjusted to his post-pregnancy body. Tugging at the waistband of his snug pajama pants, he only opened the door a bit to see who it was without exposing his massive frame.

Mark’s face lit up when he saw Nick standing there, his enormous presence filling the doorway. His tiny red briefs were gone; instead, Nick wore a deep green sweater that clung tightly to his broad chest and muscular arms, the fabric stretched taut over the impressive bulk of his torso. The deep V-neck hinted at his thick, corded neck, which was further accentuated by the crimson scarf draped casually around it, adding a festive touch. Below, dark jeans hugged his powerful thighs, their seams strained as they contoured to every curve of his legs. The snug fit did little to hide the massive bulge at the front, a detail that made Mark’s cheeks flush as he remembered how that cock felt inside him. Even in these regular clothes, his physique left nothing to the imagination.

Nick kindly smiled, his blue eyes shining with excitement. “Hello, handsome. Merry Christmas. May I come in?”

Mark smiled and nodded, stepping back to let Nick inside. The towering man slightly ducked as he entered, his size making the entryway feel even smaller. Nick’s eyes immediately swept over Mark, taking in his widened hips, massive ass, softer belly, and the fullness of his chest. “You look incredible,” Nick said with admiration. “Motherhood suits you,” he added, carefully reaching for Mark’s massive pecs to caress them.

Mark blushed and softly moaned at the contact, unable to resist Nick’s sweet touch. “Thanks,” he shyly responded. “It was all worth it. Asher’s been over the moon about the babies. He’s so excited, and it’s all thanks to you.”

Nick smiled broadly. “I told you it would all be worth it. And I hope you have enjoyed the whole experience too,” he said, moving his hands lower to caress Mark’s soft abdomen.

“I did. I loved it,” Mark responded, shivering as Nick’s hands explored his body. “But now I don’t know how I will go out looking like this and how I will explain that now I have 10 more kids.”

“Don’t worry. Thanks to Christmas magic, everyone will see this as perfectly normal. You and your family can live happily without raising any eyebrows. People won’t ask questions, and they won’t mind you having these massive tits,” Nick said, winking at Mark. “Well, they’ll mind, but not in a bad way. I’m sure you turn heads with that massive butt you now have. This is the hottest transformation I’ve been involved in.”

Mark chuckled, and his shoulders relaxed at Nick’s words. Then, a flicker of curiosity crossed his face. “So, you do this often?” he said, tilting his head. “That’s why you left so quickly last night?”

Nick noticed the subtle change in Mark’s expression and shook his head with a chuckle. “No. Asher’s wish was special. You’re special. A good guy on the list,” he teased, his grin widening. “You’re the only person I’ve ever done this for. But I still had to grant other wishes around the globe. But I wanted to stay.”

Mark’s cheeks flushed again, this time with pride. Before he could respond, Asher bounded into the room, his eyes widening as he took in Nick’s enormous frame. “Wow!” the boy exclaimed, craning his neck to look up at the towering man who made his dad look tiny beside him. “You’re huge! Are you a superhero?”

Mark chuckled, placing a hand on Asher’s shoulder as the kid stood by his side. “He’s kind of a superhero. Asher, this is Nick,” he introduced. “He’s the one who helped Santa bring your baby brothers.”

Asher’s face lit up with excitement, and he jumped up and down. “Thank you, Nick! I love my brothers,” he said, throwing his arms around Nick’s tree-trunk-like leg in an enthusiastic hug. Then, his eyes widened as a new thought struck him. “Wait, are you friends with Santa?”

Nick chuckled, kneeling to meet Asher’s gaze. “Good friends,” he confirmed with a nod. “In fact, if you’d like, we could go visit him in a few days. I’m sure he’d love to meet you, your dad, and your little brothers.”

Asher gasped, his hands flying to his mouth in sheer excitement. “Really? Can I meet Santa? For real?”

Nick smiled, gently ruffling the boy’s hair. “For real. But only if you promise to be extra good and help your dad with your baby brothers.”

Asher nodded so enthusiastically that Mark couldn’t help but laugh. “I promise!” Asher exclaimed, his excitement bubbling over as he looked between Nick and his dad. “This is the best Christmas ever!”

“It is, right?” Nick said, looking at Mark’s smiley face. “Oh, Asher, do you like magic?”

Asher nodded. “Yes! My dad taught me some tricks with cards a few weeks ago.”

“Okay. But about some Christmas magic?” Nick smiled and snapped his fingers. Instantly, soft snowflakes began to fall around them, glittering in the glow of the Christmas lights.

Asher gasped, his eyes wide with wonder. “It’s snowing inside! How did you do that? This is the best Christmas ever!” he exclaimed, smiling at Nick. “Do you want to open gifts with me and meet my brothers?” Asher asked eagerly, tugging on Nick’s large hand.

“We don’t want to keep Nick too long,” Mark said shyly. “He’s probably busy today.”

Nick scooped Asher up onto his broad shoulders with ease, his massive hands steadying the boy. “Now that Christmas is over, I have all the time in the world,” he said with a wink. “My work only keeps me busy until Christmas night.”

Asher cheered, and Mark couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, in that case,” Mark said, his smile growing. “You should stay and meet our babies properly,” he added and smiled.

Nick’s eyes lit up at the words as he looked at Mark. “Actually, If you don’t mind me working one night a year,” he said. “I could stay forever.”

Mark’s heart skipped a beat as Nick wrapped an arm around his waist, the touch sending a pleasant sensation through him. Nick’s hand caressed Mark’s massive ass before resting lightly on the widened hip, his thumb brushing the curve of his soft belly. Mark blushed but didn’t pull away. “What do you say, Asher? Should we allow Nick to stay for long?” Mark said, looking up at his boy sitting on Nick’s shoulders.

“YES!” Asher shouted excitedly, making Nick and Mark laugh as they walked toward the bedroom. Then, Asher looked at Nick’s face as they approached the room. “Do you think you could bring more baby brothers for me someday?”

Nick laughed as they entered the room, unable to hide his excitement at the request. “I think that can be arranged,” he said, winking at Mark.

Mark chuckled softly, his cheeks flushing. The sight of the ten tiny babies nestled in the bed made them smile. Asher’s delighted squeals filled the room, and Mark couldn’t help but caress his round, soft abdomen. With Nick beside him and his son’s joy lighting up the morning, Mark knew Asher would have a lot of baby brothers in the near future.

The End?

[the-apocrypha]

Cottagecore Series DVD Bonus Features

By popular request: the deleted scenes of how Dream and Hob ended up confessing their respective Big Secrets to one another. Below the cut are a series of conversations that take place a few days after Dream announces his pregnancy with Orpheus, and they are incredibly angsty. They also heavily feature abortion as a conversation topic. These were originally written to intercut with at least two miracles but didn't end up working out due to tone issues, and also don't really work as a standalone fic, so. If you're interested--enjoy!

The possibility of a child—their child, their own, of them—had occasionally crossed Hob’s mind, in the same way that other fantastical things like dragons and public libraries did. Fleeting. Unformed. Simple, wonderful little daydreams. 

The reality of it was both impossibly more exciting and terrifying than he could have ever imagined. 

Hob thought of a beautiful child with tiny pointed ears and glowing amber eyes. He thought of a babe born to the world still and pale, never to draw a single breath of life. He thought of all the stories his mother used to tell him, the skipping games and the toy swords and songs that lived inside of him, waiting to be passed down to someone small and new. He thought of a fae child, enamored of the forest and magic and books of learning, with little use for its mortal father. 

Once, when Hob was young, his mother had been called to help an ewe who had been laboring for the better part of the day. Twin lambs, both trying to emerge at the same time.

They’d had mutton for dinner, that night. And for many nights after that. 

Hob could not stop thinking about it. About everything.

What if the child came out completely human. 

What if the child came out completely fae. 

“You told me once,” Hob said, the words leaving his mouth even as lead weights sank pits into his stomach, even as his heart said don’t ask this don’t ask this don’t do it, but he had to, he had to know. “You told me once. That it took you a very long time to grow up.” 

Dream paused. “Yes,” he said, at length. “But time in the realm of the fae is not so… linear as it is here. It is—it was subject to neither law nor order. Time was fickle. Changeable.” 

“You said that it was almost a hundred years.” 

“That was… a guess,” Dream said. 

Hob stared. 

“It was unusual,” Dream added. He did not meet Hob’s eyes. “It. It was a choice I made. The rest of my siblings came of age much faster than I.” 

“How fast?” Hob asked, heart in his throat. 

Dream swallowed. 

“How fast?” 

“The child is half mortal, Hob it should not—it will not age as a fae child would. It cannot, it—it will not have the same power, the same gifts, and moreover, the laws of this universe would not allow—” 

“Oh, you know that, do you?” Hob asked, eyebrows raised. “Like you knew that a mortal man couldn’t get you pregnant in the first place?” 

Dream flinched. 

Hob sighed, and scrubbed at his face. “I’m just. I’m just thinking. We don’t know what we’re going to get, eight months from now—” If they were going to get anything at all. “—and we’ve got zero precedent to go off of, here. It. It could be anything. It could grow like a human and take sixteen years and be done. But, it could also…” 

“It will not,” Dream said, but there was a traitorous wobble in his voice.

“It could,” Hob insisted. “It could, Dream, and we just. I just want to be prepared for that. I want you to be prepared for that.” 

Dream stared, like the whole world was crashing down around him. As if he had not considered this at all. “No.” 

“Yes.” 

“Hob—” 

“But, listen—listen, it’ll be okay,” Hob said hurriedly, and took Dream’s hands into his own. Put on the bravest face he could muster. “Whatever happens, it’ll be okay. I promise. I’ll be with you every step of the way, for. For as long as I can be. Even if it means being stuck in the terrible twos for an entire decade. You just might have to do the teenage years on your own, that’s all. And. You know. The thousand years that come after that.” 

Dream closed his eyes. 

Hob tried desperately to rally. “And, hey! The good news is, at least I won’t be around to give any dodgy sex talks when it comes time for that, since I obviously—” 

“Hob,” Dream said. 

“Though clearly pregnancy prevention isn’t your strong suit either,” Hob allowed. 

“Hob.” 

Dream’s eyes were open again, and they were full of tears. 

“Hob,” Dream said again, and it caught in his throat. “Hob, I—I am not going to live for another thousand years.” 

Hob frowned. “But—”

“I made,” Dream said, and with the next blink the tears spilled over, “a bargain.” 

The reason that Hob had kept it a secret for so long (was because he was a coward) was because, in his opinion, there had been no good that would come of the truth. 

Dream had assumed that the people of Eskham had turned against Hob for being a hedgewitch. He’d assumed in turn that mortals were prejudiced against any being with magic, which was a category that happened to include the fae but more importantly included Hob, who did not have the ability to summon tornadoes or fell ancient oaks. Dream still sweetly seethed about the injustices Hob’s own people had done upon him. He had yet to even once seem concerned for his own safety. 

This was fair. 

Dream had, after all, taken out an entire village of mortals in one wrothful fell swoop. 

Now, Dream had confessed what had happened in the aftermath of that massacre—what he had so readily sacrificed, to save Hob’s life—and it had been devastating in its own right. It had left Hob awake at night, imagining what it would be like to grow older and older and older, while his child did not. 

But it had also pulled on the string that unraveled whatever remained of their tapestried joy at the possibility of impending parenthood. The happiness was gone. The happiness should never have existed in the first place, because the ache of its absence was far worse than to have never known it at all. Hob could not believe he ever felt such simple, mindless elation at what had quickly become a question to which every answer was more horrifying than the last. 

Hob thought of a babe with perfectly pointed ears, stolen away in the night, drowned in the river. 

Hob thought of a child with huge, phosphorescent eyes, tied to a stake above a pile of dried tinder. Screaming.

Hob thought of black-nailed teenager who had had forty-odd years of childhood with its parents before they succumbed to old age, and left their child alone in a world it did not belong in. Orphaned. Ostracized. Hunted. 

It filled Hob’s stomach and left him unable to eat. It pressed down on his chest at night, and he could not sleep. 

And he knew what he needed to do. 

At the same table where Dream had confessed not three days ago, Hob sat himself heavily on the bench. 

Dream stared back wanly. He’d spent most of the morning vomiting copiously, which perhaps made this timing even worse, but Hob knew if he did not say it now he might never say it at all. 

“Dream,” Hob said carefully. The words stuck in his throat like glass, and they tore him open one by one as he forced them out. “There’s. The other day, when you told me about the bargain you made. I—there’s something that I should. Something I should have told you, before—something. Something.” He swallowed. “Something I. Something.” His nails dug into his palms. His heart was pounding in his ears. “Something—” 

“Hob.” 

Dream’s hand splayed across his chest is like ice on fire. Hob sucked in a breath, and relished the burn. 

He seized Dream’s hand in his own. Looked Dream in the eyes. Prepared to pull this one last thread of sanity for the person he loved more than anything in this world. 

“Something,” Hob said unevenly, holding onto Dream like a lifeline, “that I should have told you a long time ago. About. About Eskham.” 

Dream tilted his head, brows drawing together. “Eskham?” 

Hob nodded. 

“What about it?” Dream asked. 

He had no idea. He had no clue. 

“That day,” Hob said, and he was gripping Dream’s hand hard as if he could prevent the inevitable withdrawal. “When they came for me.” 

And Dream nodded. He reached out with his other hand to rest it on Hob’s forearm—a gesture meant as supportive that only served to make Hob’s stomach drop to new depths. 

But this was not about him. This was not even about Dream. It was about their child, carried one day into a town square with pitchforks at its throat and devil spawn in its ears. It was about deserved truths. 

“That day,” Hob said again. He swallowed against a dry tongue. Against the heart that was trying to escape through his throat. “That day. The mob. They weren’t looking for me.”

Dream stared. 

Hob’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might be sick. 

He watched, as Dream’s face went from confusion, to realization, to—

Bloodless. 

Grey. Dead eyes and parted lips. Staring, but not seeing. 

“I—defended you,” Hob made himself say. “I wouldn’t tell them. Where you were. I told them that I loved you, that you were just as natural as any other creature in this realm and that I would rather die before I let any of them hurt you, and—” 

Dream yanked his hands back. 

Hob tried to hold on, but he wasn’t quick enough. Not strong enough. 

“You,” Dream whispered. 

“I don’t regret it,” Hob said frantically, almost angrily. He was losing control, the tidal wave of panic and horror sweeping him out to a roiling sea he could not swim in, and he barely knew which words would leave his mouth when he opened it again. “I haven’t regretted it for a single second, Dream, not once, not ever, I’d have burned on that stake a thousand times over before I let them touch you, I’d—” 

And Dream bolted. 

Hob leapt to his feet to follow—but his calf muscle seized, and he careened to the side and just barely managed to grab the table at the last second. Stood there, panting, gripping the table as his calf cramped hard enough to render the entire leg useless. Staring at the empty doorway. 

He deserved this, he supposed. 

It didn’t make it hurt any less. 

The summer air was thick and sweet beneath the canopy of the forest. The trees mostly blocked the breeze, but so also the warmth of the sun, which made it about as pleasant as any place was during the midday heat. They were sat at the base of an ancient yew tree that Dream favored, not far from the cottage, and had been for some time. Ravens chattered and rustled softly overhead. A large halo of bird shit was slowly accumulating around them. 

Dream inhaled as if to speak, for the third time in about as many minutes. This time, though, the words came. 

“I do not want. Our child. To be hunted.” 

Hob closed his eyes. “I know.” 

“We do not know what powers it will be born to. What features it will be born to.” 

Unspoken—the slimmest chance, the highest hope, that it would somehow be born wholly mortal. 

A mortal body. A mortal magic. A mortal lifespan. 

“We’ll do whatever we have to, to protect them. Whatever it takes. You know we will,” Hob said, and even as anxiety turned his stomach over, rage flared through him hot and fast. “Anyone that tries to lay a finger on our child, I’ll—I’ll kill ‘em. I would. Anyone. Everyone. And if they think I’m terrifying just wait until they meet the thirty-foot forest nightmare right behind me that can summon hail and rent the earth.” 

Dream swallowed. “Hail and earth. Did not save you.” 

Hob tightened his grip around Dream’s waist. “Yes it did.” 

“You—” 

“Yes it bloody well did. You saved my life that day, you fought, and if you hadn’t been there I—” 

“If I had not been there,” Dream interrupted darkly. He barked one harsh, bitter laugh. “If I had never inflicted myself upon you in the first place, then no mob would have ever come for you at all. You would be—” 

“Lonely,” Hob said. He tried desperately to keep the frustration from rising. “I told you. I would have been lonely, and bored, Dream, and I would have died in that house feeling as if I’d never truly lived at all. You are the best thing to ever happen to me.” 

“I nearly killed you,” Dream said. 

“You saved—”

“And now,” Dream continued, staring into the depths of the forest, “I have attempted to thrust a child upon you, without your consent. I have tried to sentence you to spending the rest of your meager years consumed in the care of a creature that will only suffer as a result of my own hubris—my own selfishness—and it will resent us. It will hate us. It will hate me, and it will be right to do so for—” 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Hob said, scrambling around in front of Dream, and cupping his face. 

Dream stared determinedly to the side, with eyes that were red-rimmed and shiny. His breaths came uneven and jagged. 

“You and I both know that you didn’t get pregnant on purpose,” Hob said fiercely. “You didn’t know better. I didn’t know better. Right?” 

“Hob—” 

“This isn’t something that you’ve done to me. To us. Neither one of us is to blame here. Not one little bit. And it wouldn’t matter anyway if it was, because whatever happens, you know that we’re in this together. We’re going to do what we always do, and make it work. Figure it out. Pregnancy, childbirth, parenthood, all of it. Together. Yeah?” 

Dream set his jaw, and at last met Hob’s eyes. Slowly, he reached up, and pulled Hob’s hands away from his face. 

“You argue. That we are absolved of any guilt, for what strife our child may face in life. Because we held no intention of conception, in our couplings,” Dream said. 

“...Yes?” Hob said, eyebrows raising. “I don’t think we can be blamed for bringing a child into the world when we didn’t know it was possible in the first place.” 

“Incorrect,” Dream disagreed. 

Hob opened his mouth, but Dream continued too quickly. 

“Ignorance acquits us from blame in the conception of this child, yes.” Dream’s hand moved, in the periphery of Hob’s vision, delving into the folds of his robe. “But we are not without agency, in these early months of pregnancy.” 

Dread swung sudden and hard into Hob’s chest, like a fist. 

“...What do you mean?” 

Dream held out his hand between them, and uncurled his fingers. A cluster of flowers rested there. 

Tansy. 

“It sings to me of… release,” Dream said. His thumb brushed over golden petals like spikes. “Of choice. Liberty. Of the harmonization of poison and medicine, as one.”

Hob took in a deep breath, because he was, for the first time in days, hopeful. 

Hob was also terrified. 

Hob was sick, sick, sick, sick. 

“I believe,” Dream whispered, eyes boring in Hob’s, “that it would be enough. To—take care of it.” 

There was a cup of water on the table, steaming and yellow with tansy. 

Choice, Dream said it sang. Release. Liberty. The harmonization of poison and medicine, as one. 

But to Hob, it was silent as a grave. 

Dream was holding the cup so tightly his knuckles had gone white. The steam had long disappeared from the cup, leaving only a stagnant yellow tonic. Hob had offered to leave the cottage twice and allow Dream some privacy, and on the second time Dream had grabbed his hand, hard, and he hadn’t let go since. 

Hob’s fingers ached where they were threaded through Dream’s, but he did not complain. 

He sat in silence, and watched Dream raise the cup to his mouth. 

Watched him inhale. 

Watched him close his eyes. 

Watched him press the rim of the cup to his lips. 

Watched as Dream froze, and was perfectly still for an eternity save for the tremble of the cup in his grasp—

And the cup slammed down onto the table, sloshing poison everywhere, and Dream gasped, “I cannot. I cannot, forgive me, Hob, I—” 

Hob grabbed him and pulled him in hard. “It’s okay—” 

“—I cannot do it, I cannot—” 

“—you don’t have to—” 

“I should,” Dream snarled, gripping the fabric of Hob’s tunic and pushing back. There were tears streaming down his face. “I should end it, I should be rid of it. It is. It is the only humane option, the only option that guarantees that—that—” 

“I know, love,” Hob said miserably, his own throat going tight and hot. “I know that. But—” 

“Hob,” Dream choked out. He tried to inhale, but could not. “Hob, I can—hear it.” 

Hob’s heart skipped a beat, and his mouth went numb. “Y-you—” 

“I can—” Dream slapped his hands over his mouth. He stared at Hob in horror. 

Dream, who could hear the songs of river stones and the herbs in the garden. Who communed with foxes and ancient oak trees alike. Who had come to Hob with news of this pregnancy but without explanation as to how he knew. 

“You can hear it,” Hob repeated blankly. 

“I should not have told you,” Dream said, shaking his head. His eyes were blank and unseeing and wet with tears. “I. I should not have told you, I told myself I would not, I—it should not matter. It does not matter.” 

“What does it sound like?” Hob asked. 

Dream looked up at him. His mouth opened, but no words came out. 

“Dream, what does it sound like?” 

He shouldn’t ask. 

He couldn’t not know. 

“Like. A songbird,” Dream whispered. 

A songbird. 

“The most beautiful—” Dream choked on a sob. “The most beautiful songbird, Hob, the most wonderful songbird in the world.” 

And Hob. Hob, quite abruptly, could not imagine a world where he did not one day get to hear that song. He could not imagine a world in which he did not get to hold their child in his arms this winter and instantly fall in love with whatever features the world had seen fit to give them, mortal or fae or some splendid combination of both. 

He could not imagine what it would be like, for Dream to sit at this table and drink down poison and then listen to the song of their child go silent. 

Dream sobbed in his arms. He begged for forgiveness—from Hob. Their future child. The universe. I have failed, he said, over and over again. Selfish, and weak, and worthless, he named himself, and he would not be consoled with any combination or repetition of words Hob had to offer. 

But still, the tansy sat untouched. 

Eventually, it went out the window. 

And the songbird lived another day.

[solxamber]

So, reading that fashion disaster reader, I want to ask how would everyone else (seperately, if possible) would react to fashion disaster Yuu and to the Crewel's and Vil's reaction?

thank you for the request! I kept it a little short but if you want anyone's longer, just let me know <3 Characters: All NRC + Staff + Rollo Part 1 with Vil and Crewel here

Riddle Rosehearts:

Before: He’d be mortified, his eye twitching in disbelief. "Rule 203 clearly states: Students must dress with decorum! What…what is this?" He’d try to ban your entire outfit for being an affront to Heartslabyul’s order.

After: Relieved and pleased. "Finally! You’re within the bounds of fashion etiquette. You’re setting a much better example now."

Trey Clover:

Before: Trey would give you a gentle smile, but his eyebrow would twitch. "You look, uh… comfortable? Maybe Vil could give you some tips…"

After: "Wow, you clean up really well. Nice to see you let Vil and Crewel work their magic."

Cater Diamond:

Before: He’d be snapping selfies with you, hashtagging #BoldChoices #FashionDisaster #OMGWhatIsThis. But deep down, even he couldn’t handle it. "You’re killing me, but this is hilarious!"

After: "Now that’s a look that’ll get you trending for the * right reasons! Let’s get another selfie. #FashionGlowUp!"

Ace Trappola:

Before: "What in the seven are you wearing?! Are you trying to blind us all or is this some kind of prank?" He’d mock you endlessly.

After: "You actually look… good? Whoa, Vil really pulled off a miracle."

Deuce Spade:

Before: He wouldn’t know how to approach it politely. "Uh… You sure that’s…right?" He’d second-guess himself but try to support you anyway.

After: "Hey! You look awesome now. Nice job!"

Leona Kingscholar

Before: Leona would look at you, groan, and then roll over to take a nap. "You look ridiculous. Do whatever you want, herbivore. I don’t care."

After: "Huh, didn’t think it was possible, but you’re less of an eyesore now."

Ruggie Bucchi:

Before: He’d laugh until his sides hurt. "Heh, are you doing this on purpose? This is hilarious!"

After: "Vil and Crewel got to you, huh? Well, you definitely don’t look like a clown anymore. Nice upgrade."

Jack Howl:

Before: Jack would be confused. "Why are you dressed like that? Isn’t that… impractical?" He wouldn’t get why anyone would wear such an outfit.

After: He’d nod approvingly. "Now that’s better. More efficient, too."

Azul Ashengrotto:

Before: He’d adjust his glasses, hiding his discomfort behind a business smile. "Perhaps you might be interested in a makeover contract. For a modest fee, of course."

After: "Ah, much better. Consider this an investment in your future…image."

Jade Leech:

Before: Jade would smile his eerie smile, but his eyes would narrow in curiosity. "What a… unique choice. I trust there’s an explanation for this?"

After: "Ah, a significant improvement. You look quite presentable now."

Floyd Leech

Before: Floyd would crack up and nickname you something like "Clownfish." He’d tease you every chance he got. "Hahaha! What kinda sea creature are ya trying to be?"

After: "Boooo, now you’re no fun. You’re too normal now."

Kalim Al-Asim:

Before: Kalim would be completely unbothered. "Wow! That’s such a fun outfit! I love all the colors!" He’d probably compliment you

After: "You look so stylish! Did Vil help? He’s amazing!"

Jamil Viper:

Before: Jamil would pinch the bridge of his nose. "You’re attracting too much attention. Please… just tone it down."

After: He’d breathe a sigh of relief. "Finally. I can look at you without getting a headache."

Rook

Before: "Oh, mon cher! Such daring, such avant-garde!" Rook would dramatically praise your boldness, though it’s unclear whether he genuinely liked it or was just entertained.

After: "Magnifique! You now embody the very essence of beauty and grace!"

Epel Felmier:

Before: He’d be torn between finding it hilarious and hoping Vil didn’t see you like that. "Whoa, what’s that getup? You really don’t care what anyone thinks, do ya?"

After: "Hey, look at you! Now Vil won’t roast us both."

Idia Shroud:

Before: He’d wince and immediately pull up his hoodie, wanting to avoid eye contact. "Uh… Yeah, that’s… something. Did you lose a bet or…?"

After: "I guess Vil’s magic worked. You look like a normal NPC now, congrats."

Ortho Shroud:

Before: "Oh! That’s such a cool outfit! But maybe Vil might have some better ideas?" He’d try to be polite.

After: "Wow! You look so amazing now! Big brother was impressed!"

Malleus Draconia:

Before: Malleus would be unfazed, possibly curious. "You wear strange garments, but I suppose it suits your unique aura." He might think it's some sort of fashion ritual.

After: "You look more refined now, though I did find your previous attire… intriguing."

Lilia Vanrouge:

Before: Lilia would love your odd fashion sense, probably find it nostalgic. "Haha, you remind me of the old days when we wore whatever we could find!"

After: "Ah, you’ve grown into a more elegant butterfly! Though, I will miss your… eccentric flair."

Silver:

Before: Silver would be confused but wouldn’t judge too harshly. "Is this normal fashion? I… don’t really keep up with trends."

After: "You look good now. Vil and Crewel really did a great job."

Sebek Zigvolt:

Before: He’d be outraged. "HOW DARE YOU DRESS LIKE THIS IN THE PRESENCE OF MALLEUS-SAMA?! Have you no shame?!"

After: "Finally, you show some respect! You are no longer an eyesore."

Rollo Flamme:

Before: Rollo would be horrified. "How could you walk around dressed like this? This is an affront to decency and modesty!"

After: Reluctantly approving. "At least now you don’t look like you’ve descended into madness."

Crowley:

Before: Crowley would overreact, saying something like, "Ah! Such tragic attire! Fear not, for I shall personally oversee your rehabilitation, even if it wasn’t my fault to begin with!"

After: "Ah, what a stunning transformation! I knew you had it in you all along, of course."

Mozus Trein:

Before: He’d shake his head, muttering something about the younger generation. "I cannot understand these choices. Please, for the sake of my old eyes, change."

After: "Much better. At least you now resemble a student who takes their education seriously."

Ashton Vargas:

Before: Vargas would shrug it off. "As long as you can run laps, I don’t care what you wear."

After: "Lookin’ sharp! Just don’t let it slow you down on the field."

Sam:

Before: "Well, well, look at you! I have some accessories that might make that outfit pop even more!"

After: "Ah, I see Vil’s had a hand in this. You’ve got the look now!"

Grim:

Before: "Nyahaha! What kinda weird stuff are you wearing?! You look like you got dressed in the dark!"

After: "Wow, you actually look good now! Guess you’re not as hopeless as I thought."

Masterlist

[jayaury]

Mistress of the Pale

Another short story from my patreon backlog https://www.patreon.com/JayAury.

Enjoy!

***

Ravel had considered himself fortunate to get an apprenticeship with Madame Moora. Every young wizard had been hoping to be selected to study under the mysterious mistress of the Ivory Tower, but it had been him she’d chosen and sent for.

Yet now, he wondered if it had been a blessing.

He wasn’t sure when the seeds of doubt had first sprouted, but perhaps it had been the very first day he’d arrived at the Ivory Tower, when he’d been greeted by the servitor. He still remembered that pale beauty. A woman of lovely proportions, her figure pale like she’d been carved of marble, and her only attire a loincloth with a belt of silver thread.

He’d stared, shocked at the topless woman, who merely bowed, her eyes lidded and dull as foggy mirrors. “You are Ravel?” she’d said.

“Uh, y-yes.”

“The mistress shall see you. Come.”

The servitor had turned, her perfect ass swaying as she walked away, leaving Ravel to jolt back to the present and hurry to catch up. They’d walked through marble halls so pure white they seemed to glow with an inner light. Other near naked servitors, men and women, wandered about, their expressions empty as they went about their tasks tending the grounds. Any question Ravel posed to his guide was met with blank silence, as if she never heard him, or even noticed him, but merely walked like some automaton along a set path.

They’d moved up through the tower and to a door framed with golden ivy. The servitor knocked twice, and then opened it without a moment more of hesitation, stepping aside and bowing. Taking the hint, Ravel entered.

The study of Madame Moora was a large room filled with tall, narrow lines. The thin windows rose along the back wall and tall bookshelves like pillars were here and there. Madame Moora herself sat in a rounded chair like a tilted ball cut in half, and at the sight of her, Ravel realized he had never seen a more beautiful woman.

Her hair was a deep black and her skin tanned a golden bronze. A slim cloth slipped between her legs from a gown cut so low it was a miracle or, far more likely, magic her curvaceous breasts did not pop out of them. Her face was strikingly beautiful, her eyes lidded, her finger slender as they held open a book before her. She looked up, and Ravel stiffened instantly at her lidded eyes. It was like her gaze had struck a silver pin through him, and a smile slowly alighted her lips.

“Ravel,” she said, rising with a whisper of her dark gown. “Finally. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. You may go, Lakia.”

“Mistress,” the pale woman said, bowing low, and Ravel couldn’t help but notice a quiver of pleasure seem to surge through her, the servitor’s thighs tightening as if she had nearly cum right there.

But he had no more attention to spare the pale woman, for in the moment Moora was moving towards him, her gown softly swishing in the silent chamber. “Let’s get a look at you,” Moora said, gently cupping his cheek and turning his head this way and that. “Hmm. Yes. Not bad at all. You are quite cute, my apprentice.”

He felt his cheeks burn at that. “M-madame, I uh…”

“Oh, but don’t worry,” she said, patting his blushing cheeks. “I didn’t decide to make you my apprentice just because you’re so adorably handsome. Oh no. I was very impressed by your new logistical theory of arcane usage. I always try and get my hands on the cleverest of new students. They have such… potential…”

Ravel swallowed hard, the way she lingered on that word making his heart race and jump. “I ah… I’ll t-try not to disappoint you, madame.”

“Good boy. In which case, shall we have our first lesson?”

“A-already?”

“We haven’t a moment to waste, apprentice. And I simply can’t wait to see what clever little ideas you might come up with.”

“Oh, well, I…”

“What’s wrong, apprentice? Shy? Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

“Huh?”

She laughed, a full throaty sound that seemed to reverberate in his groin. “Don’t worry, apprentice. It’s a simple thing. A relaxation technique. Perfect for nervous new apprentices to the fold.”

“W-well…”

“Ah ah! Madame knows best. Now, let us feel the magic within you. Feel the channels of power that flow through you. Follow my finger, apprentice. Follow the sensation…”

Ravel nodded. That… that seemed fairly standard. Magic of course followed certain paths through the body, and certain techniques were common among sorcerers in order to ease the use of their powers.

But he’d never felt one like this.

His breath hitched as her finger slid along his arm, hairs rising in its wake in a wave of sensitive awareness. “Just relax, apprentice,” Madame Moora crooned, pushing in closer, her eyes gleaming like jewels. “Just relax… and follow my voice…”

Ravel realized she was easing him down, and he found himself lying back on a couch he hadn’t noticed before. Like everything in the room, it seemed strangely delicate. Tender. Like the stem of a flower ready to be snapped at the slightest force. Yet it took his weight easily, and Madame Moora’s as she knelt over him, her finger still tracing his body, drawing lazy spiral patterns that tingled and shocked through him like electric wires.

“M-Madame, I…”

“Shhh. Just repeat after me, apprentice. I am relaxed. In control. I am feeling good all over.”

“I uh… I am relaxed. In control. I…”

“Am feeling good all over.”

“Feeling good all over…”

And he was.

Ravel realized he was feeling good all over.

Feeling light, like the mana channels in his body were filled with fizzy water. Bubbles popping and sparkling and making his body tingle from end to end.

It felt good.

So very good.

“I am relaxed,” Moora said smoothly.

“I am relaxed.”

“In control.”

“In control.”

“I am feeling good all over.”

“I am feeling good all o-over.”

“Gooood,” the sorceress purred.

And Ravel sucked in a breath as he felt her hand move lower.

“Keep going, apprentice,” Moora cooed as her finger lazily traced circles around his bulge, spiraling up the swell of his pants.

“I-I am relaxed. In c-control. I am feeling good all… all over…”

“Keep going,” she murmured as her finger slid around his tip, teasing him as his balls throbbed, aching with need.

Ravel continued, his mouth moving almost automatically, all his focus trained on his cock. On how good it felt as her finger slid around and around and around. As she deftly undid the laces. As his cock sprang into the open, twitching and hard.

Moora’s smile deepened. Her delicate fingers wrapped around his length. “Mmm. It seems you still have some… tension here, apprentice. But not to worry. We can fix that.”

“O-ohhhhhh,” he groaned.

“Keep going, apprentice. Don’t focus on distractions. Focus on what matters. Focus on those sweet words. Try and resist, apprentice. Try and resist…”

“Y-yes. Um. I… I am… ah… I am relaxed. I-in con… controooool. I am f-feeling good all… mnn… all over…”

“Good apprentice. Keep going. Keep talking.”

Ravel obeyed, the words spilling out of him in a flood, gasped as her hand went up and down his cock, stroking him slowly. Drawing it out of him. And yet, strangely, he didn’t feel the painful urgency of orgasm. It certainly was there, but it was more like a dull ache of throbbing pleasure. Of teasing anticipation, relentless, constant, making him whimper and groan, wriggling while his mana channels buzzed with the clarity of the mantra.

But there was no way for him to resist forever. Not when a woman of such aching perfection was pleasuring him. Not when it felt so good. So perfect.

“I-I’m relaxed. In c-control. In… In… Ohhhhh!”

He shuddered as he came, orgasm bursting through him like a wave of heat, his mind going white with the pure pleasure that wrapped around him, squeezing him in its embrace.

He sagged upon the couch, panting, watching as Madame Moora’s eyes grew lidded, her lips parting as she breathed in deeply, almost as if she were joining him in his orgasm. She sighed, a shiver coursing through her as she lifted her hand and delicately licked his seed from her fingers. One. By. One.

Ravel watched in dull fascination as she sucked her pinky clean, then turned a radiant smile down upon him. “Mmm. Good, apprentice. I think you will make an ideal student. And no doubt a quick study. Now, I trust you will keep that mantra in mind while you’re in my tower. Right?”

“O-of course, mistress,” he said, chest heaving from his exertion of pleasure.

“Good boy,” she purred, her jewel eyes shining bright. “I think we’ll get along just… swimmingly…”

#

Training in the Ivory Tower was a strange experience for Ravel.

He didn’t have much to do other than practice his arcane currents, and Madame Moora insisted he perfect them before she trained him further.

“My methods are not to be taken lightly, my student. Your body must be prepared for my spells.”

And so he practiced.

And worked.

And trained.

It would have been dull, truth be told. But the longer he focused on his mana channels, the easier it became to just… zone out. He found himself almost floating about the tower when he focused on the mantra. It made him feel so light and empty and perfectly at peace.

But something still worried him.

Though he knew that Moora wouldn’t teach him magic until he mastered her first lesson, that didn’t mean he couldn’t study independently. Or, so he thought. But whenever he opened a textbook retrieved from the tower’s extensive library, he found the formulas so…

Confusing.

This made him uneasy. He’d always been a quick learner. In fact, it was what he’d been most praised for. But now, the words on the page just… slipped away from him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand them anymore. Instead, he grew bored with them almost instantly. No sooner had he read a word than his mind seemed to drift, and he would read the same paragraph almost six times before he caught himself. What was wrong with him?

Sitting at his desk, he slapped his cheeks and shook his head, scowling. He could do this. He could…

“Trouble, apprentice?”

Ravel gasped as he felt Moora’s delicate fingers on his shoulder. He looked back, and found himself staring at the firm curves of his mistress’s breasts, the plunging valley of her collar hinting the tantalizing truth of those bronzed orbs.

For a moment Ravel found himself unable to look away, as if enthralled by those perfect breasts as they gently rose and fell with her breathing, but belatedly he managed to shake it off and jerk his eyes to her face.

“M-mistress? I ah…”

She smiled and leaned over him, her finger touching the page, running along the words. The motion was slow, almost sensuous, and Ravel couldn’t suppress a shudder that seemed to reverberate in his groin.

“Hm. Studying? Now why would you need to do that when your arcane channels remain undeveloped?”

“This is fairly simple magic, mistress,” he said.

She gave him a tender smile, then glanced back at the book. “‘A demon,’” she said, reading as her finger slid along the page, “‘is that most notorious of creature. Their aim is, inevitably, to devour the soul of mortals, and they have any number of means to arrange that. They are powerful creatures, masters of temptation, and have a variety of methods to steal the souls of their victims. Once they have done so, their prey become little more than thralls to their whims. Mindless slaves to their new masters.’”

Ravel felt his blush deepen as she leaned forward, the back of his head nestling against the softness of her breasts.

“‘But though a demon is a creature far more physically powerful than any mortal, there are many ways to best them,’” she continued. “‘The most effective is a spell of sealing, which can be inscribed upon a piece of steel, and upon plunging into the demon’s heart, will banish them once more to the infernal plane.’ My my, apprentice,” she said, giggling softly. “Looking to become a demon slayer?”

“E-every mage should know how to defeat a demon,” he said uneasily. “It’s well known that demons love to devour not only the souls of mortals, but find the magic of mages delicious.”

“Putting our poor sorcerers in quite a state, true,” Madame Moora said, her hand slipping from the page to touch his stomach. Ravel gasped as her other hand joined it, her arms crossing over his chest, pushing him back and against her breasts. “Demons do love the taste of a mage’s magic. And they love the taste of a willing one’s far more. And yet, sorcerers still try and summon them. Do you know why, apprentice?”

“Because… because demons know much f-forbidden lore,” he gasped as her hands massaged his chest, her fingers teasing down him. “And can share it if… if bound properly…”

“But it’s so very hard to properly bind a demon, apprentice,” she crooned as her fingers found their way once more into his lip, teasing his cock through his pants. “So very hard. They’re so skilled at distracting. Tempting. So many sorcerers never even knew what they were doing. Do you know why?”

“I ah… I d-don’t…”

“Because they were too… distracted.”

Ravel moaned as she undid his pants, drawing out his cock and into her waiting hand. Her palms were warm as she began to stroke him, lazily pumping his cock as he gasped and quivered in his seat.

“They just couldn’t focus. Which is why, dear apprentice, we must repeat the mantras. Must ease the flow of mana. Can you do that?”

“O-of c-course, mistress.”

“Hmmm. I’m not sure I believe you. I think we should… test that… On your knees apprentice.”

“Mistress?”

“Obey.”

The word seemed to vibrate through him. Before he knew it, Ravel had slipped out of his chair and was kneeling on the floor. He looked up, dazed, only to find Moora sit on the edge of his desk, her legs parted, her finger teasingly opening the front of her slinky gown. His eyes widened as she brushed open her dress, revealing the lush folds of her pussy, her breasts nudging aside the fabric to reveal her firm, heavenly tits.

“Let’s test your focus, apprentice,” she said, smirking down at him, her finger gliding up and down her cunny, stroking herself slowly. “Show me you won’t easily get distracted. Lick me, nice and slow.”

“I… I…”

“Come now, apprentice. If you do, I’ll even teach you a binding curse.”

A binding curse? That was very advanced magic. Ravel hesitated, but then, many sorceresses had stranger methods of instruction, and learning such a potent magic would be a tremendous boon.

“Yes, mistress.”

“Good boy. Now, get to it.”

Ravel tried not to focus on how the words ‘good boy’ made him feel. He tried to distract himself by leaning in and running his tongue along her slit. Her taste tingled on his tongue, shooting down into him with a shock of ecstasy. He shifted where he knelt, his cock throbbing. He’d utterly forgotten it was jutting out of his pants until he felt Moora’s foot rubbed against his manhood.

“Goooood boy,” she moaned, the underside of her foot pressing his cock back against his groin and stomach. “That’s it. Lick mistress like a goooood boy.”

Ravel groaned as her toes slid around the head of his cock, rubbing and teasing his tip, his hips rocking to further pleasure himself against her. His face burned bright pink with the humiliation and pleasure he was receiving.

“The mantra, apprentice. Don’t forget the mantra. Keep you… mmm… nice and even.”

Oh, yes. Of course. He had to… had to repeat it. But not aloud. No. His tongue was… was much too busy. In his head. Yes. He could do that. Yes… He was relaxed. In control. Feeling good all over.

He moaned as the words echoed in his mind, his cock throbbing with new sensitivity. The words seemed to wash over him, soothing the tension in him, leaving him composed. Calm. Able to appreciate every wonderful moment of her foot rubbing against his cock. Every delicate tingle of her taste as he lathed her pussy with his tongue. He whimpered, squirmed, relishing every moment.

“Keep licking… apprentice…”

Yes.

Yes, of course. Must keep licking.

Licking mistress.

Adoring mistress.

Showing her what a good boy he was.

What a good apprentice he could be.

Because he was relaxed.

In control.

And feeling good alllll over…

His tongue lapped, loving, stroking, teasing, adoring her pussy. The mantra swirling in his mind, enabling him to focus so easily. To discover all of Moora’s favorite places. Every spot that made her gasp, jolt, quiver in sweet pleasure.

Yes.

Yes, he was relaxed. He was in control. And feeling so very good aaaaaall over.

“Yes. Oh pits yes. Apprentice. I’m so close. Cum with me, apprentice. Cum with mistress my good boy. My good toy. My… my… Ohhhhh!”

Her thighs tightened around his head, squeezing him as she came. Her juices splashed onto his tongue, the sharpness of her taste pushing him over the edge, Ravel groaning in utter pleasure as she gave him a taste of her orgasm. The sensation seemed to shoot from his mouth, crackling down his veins, bunching in his balls before… before…

“Mmmmm!” he groaned, tongue buried in her pussy as he came, his body bucking as his cock spurted, coating her toes, his shirt and his lap in his seed.

Moora cooed, lifting her foot from his lap and wiping her toes on his pants. “There we are. Excellent work, apprentice. I’m quite pleased.”

“Ohhhh…” Ravel groaned.

Moora chuckled and rose, turning about and grabbing his pen. She scribbled something on a sheaf of paper, then strolled away.

“Best of luck with your studies, apprentice,” she called over her shoulder.

Ravel wasn’t sure how long he remained kneeling on the floor, but when he finally managed to pull himself back to his feet, he found a spell of binding written on the waiting paper. He gaped at it, able to feel the power in that spell even as he held it. Remarkable! He smiled, moving back to his book, endeavoring to read once more.

And didn’t even mind that only the mantra echoed in his thoughts.

#

Ravel frequently wandered the halls of the tower when he hadn’t anything else to do. Still, Madame Moora hadn’t taught him any magic beyond the mantra and that one binding spell.

“Not until you’ve mastered the first lesson, apprentice,” she’d crooned.

And surely he was getting close. Madame Moora was training him almost every day. At any time during his studies he might suddenly find his mistress beside him looking to test him, gently pressing him down to his knees so he might show her how good he’d gotten at… focusing.

“Mmm…”

Ravel stopped, startled. He looked around himself, wondering where he was. He’d wandered far this night, and he realized was in the Hall of Pillars, the ivory rows lining the room like a forest of petrified trees.

“Ah…”

He blinked, realizing the sound had stirred him from his thoughts. Curious, he moved among the pillars, drawn to a soft whimpering and moaning deeper in the room.

“Ohhhh…”

Not sure why, Ravel halted behind a pillar and peeked around it.

One of the tower’s servants was pressed against a pillar, their slender body quivering, their simple attire loose around them and disheveled. It was a man, his eyes rolled back, his pale skin flushed hot with lust, quivering with ecstasy.

Against him was pressed Madame Moora, the lovely sorceress holding the man’s chin, her lips locked with his and her eyes lidded, gleaming gold with a fel inner light.

But that wasn’t what made Ravel gasp, suck in a breath.

No.

It was the horns growing from her hair.

Ravel’s jaw fell slack as he watched Madame Moora hum in delight, pressing closer to the quivering servitor, her lips moving against his and… and dear gods, Ravel could see it. A wispy essence passing from him to her, sucked into her hungry mouth in fluttering wisps.

She… she was drinking his soul!

Madame Moora broke the kiss with a gasp, licking her lips, catching the last teasing tendrils of essence. The servant slumped against the wall, breathing hard and fast, glassy eyes gazing up at her adoringly.

“Good boy,” she cooed, stroking the man’s chin. “Mistress is very pleased.”

Ravel’s legs buckled, the sheer power of her words sending a shiver of delight shooting through him, his legs wobbling as the strength threatened to leave him. He gasped, and saw Moora’s head turn his way. He jerked himself back behind the pillar, heart pounding. Had she heard him? Did she see him?

He heard no sound, then a low chuckle. “You were delicious, pet,” he heard Moora purr. “Mistress is most pleased.”

“Th-thank you… mistress…” gasped the servant.

Steeling himself, feeling returning to his legs, Ravel pushed himself off the pillar, hurrying away as quietly as he could.

A demon.

His mistress was a demon!

#

Ravel took a deep breath and stroked the etchings he’d made in the dagger.

It had been a nerve-wracking few days. He’d avoided Moora as best he could, trying to think of what to do. Reporting her would be a fool’s errand. She was far more powerful than him, and could easily track him down if he tried to run. The servants would be of no help. Now that he knew what was happening, it was clear their essence was being drained constantly, feeding the hunger of their succubi master, their minds lost in the ecstasy of their servitude to her.

He’d since seen the servant she’d fed on that night. He lived, so it seemed Moora left her pets a portion of essence, only drinking enough to reduce them to mindless obedience to her. They would be of no help. A thrall to a demoness would fling themselves on his sword before they’d let him harm her.

So he’d worked.

It had been hard. So very hard. The words to magic came only with the greatest of struggle to him, but his need compelled him until, at last, he’d done it. Finally he’d managed to carve a spell of banishment onto the dagger.

He picked it up, took a deep breath. It was time. He had to slay her. To let a demoness exist in the very heart of the mage’s circle couldn’t be abided. But he could do this.

He could.

Rising, clutching the sheathed dagger in his hand, he poked his head out the door of his chamber and glanced around. The halls were empty. Cold moonlight washed down through high windows to play along the ivory stone, making it glow. Slipping out of his room, Ravel hastened through the halls.

Moora’s personal chambers were high in the tower, but were unguarded. What need had she for guards in the very heart of her power? Uneasily, Ravel opened the slender, towering doors a crack and peeked through.

Moora’s bedchamber was a strange thing. It was a large, round room of pale stone, the only furnishing a large round bed that could sleep a dozen people, but only held one. Moora lay atop the dove-white sheets, sprawled lazily upon it, utterly naked. Utterly defenseless.

Trying to calm his pounding heart, Ravel eased open the door without a creak. Even the soft sound of his bare feet padding on the cool stone floor made him flinch, fearful Moora would awaken.

Yet he reached the side of her bed without incident. His heart pounding like drums in his ears, he climbed with the greatest of care onto the bed and moved towards her. He found himself looking down on Moora, her face radiantly beautiful, hair splayed out around her head in a careless wave of silver. Her full, plump lips parted. Her firm, ample breasts peaked with dark nipples rising and falling with her steady breaths. Rising and falling. Up and down. Up and down…

No. No! Focus. He had to focus! He yanked the dagger from its sheathe, raised it up.

And found her eyes open and looking at him.

The shock of it seized him. He trembled, staring down at her as Moora slowly propped herself up on her elbows, smirking at him. She tilted her head, glancing at the knife, the runes along its length burning red with sorcery.

“My my, apprentice. Is that for me?”

Ravel opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Lazily, Moora tilted her head back, her eyelids low, her smirk growing. “Well then, I suppose you must have discovered… this…”

Ravel sucked in a breath as Moora changed. As horns grew from her head and her pupils sharpened to cat-like slits against a background of molten gold.

“D-demon!” he gasped.

“So I am, my dear apprentice. So I am. And now, I suppose you must slay me. It’s the right thing to do, after all, and you even have that delightful dagger all made up. What a pity it would be to see all that hard work go to waste. So go on,” She said, pushing out her chest. “Do it. Seal me away, my sweet apprentice.”

She couldn’t be serious. Was she mocking him? That smirk seemed to say so. He grit his teeth, drew back his arm again to plunge his blade into her chest.

Between her… her big… soft breasts…

“Why, whatever is the matter, apprentice?” Moora cooed, pushing forward more, sitting up. She raised a hand, gently stroking his cheek, sending a shiver racing through him. “Do you perhaps… not want to seal me away? Do you not want to banish your lovely mistress from the material plane? Have you, perhaps, become too… obsessed with me?”

Ravel grit his teeth and pushed the dagger towards her. But it was like he was fighting against invisible weights. He didn’t even have to try so hard. He just needed to let gravity do the work. Plunge the dagger down. Impale this gorgeous unholy beauty.

“Don’t you want more?” she breathed.

Ravel sobbed, his dagger an inch from her heaving chest, her breasts rising, falling. So perfect. So firm. He trembled against the strain of it.

“Don’t resist it,” Moora cooed, leaning in closer, her infernal gaze like molten gold, seizing his eyes. “Just relax, apprentice. Just surrender. Just do… what you need… to do…”

Ravel shut his eyes tight, his head pounding. He was relaxed. In control.

And feeling good all over…

As those words rushed through him, unbidden, but irresistible, he felt the strength bleed from his arm. The dagger fell from his loosened fingers and hit the bed with a soft sound. His eyes lifted open.

And when he saw Moora’s smile, his heart soared.

“Good boy,” she cooed, leaning in closer. “My good… obedient… boy…”

Her lips met his, and Ravel groaned at the soft sensation. The gentle press moving against his own. Her tongue sliding against his parted lips and inside his mouth. Her skill put his own experience to shame, conquering him like a master swordsman against a child armed with a stick. He shuddered, arching as she rose further, her breasts pressing against him. Firm yet soft. The perfect contrast. Just like her. Beautiful. Desirable. Deadly. A suicide of ecstasy in her arms that he couldn’t back away from.

Ravel found himself toppling back, falling among the downy white sheets. Moora loomed above him, smirking, her bronzed body faintly glowing in the moonlight, her horns glistening like onyx as she arched over him, her hands pinning his arms down.

“Poor little wizard,” she crooned as she mounted him, Ravel whimpering as her pussy rubbed against his shameless bulge. “You came so far, but it was all for naught. But don’t despair, my darling boy. You came closer than any other of my many… many apprentices. Oh yes,” she laughed, her breasts lazily swaying as she ground him beneath her. “I’ve had a great many. All the servants in my halls had sought to learn the ways of magic from me, only to discover that their true purpose was to serve me. Their mind drained away by my power, their bodies and souls snacks in which I might indulge at my pleasure.

“And you will join them,” she crooned, letting a hand brush his blushing cheek, letting him feel the cool sensuousness of her touch. “Just another of my mindless slaves. My eager, obedient playthings, your mind filled with nothing but serving me. Your body a toy for me to indulge in. Feed on. And you’ll love every minute of it, my dear apprentice. You will adore it. Helpless to it. You didn’t know it, but you were mine the moment you saw me. And yet you had the pride to think you could stop me. The idea that you might resist me.” She giggled, leaned down. “How cute.”

“I… I…”

“Shhh,” she murmured. “Just obey, my sweet apprentice. Just give in… to your lovely mistress…”

Her lips again met his, and just the feel was enough to set him off. Ravel groaned, quivering as he came, surrendering and spilling his seed in his pants. The pleasure rocked him, drained him, sucked him down into the ecstasy of surrender.

Her heard her chuckle above him as her lips broke their torrid kiss, her tongue teasing over her lips. “Good boy,” she cooed. “But a slave should never wear more than his mistress.”

She snapped her fingers and Ravel gasped, his clothes incinerating in a flash, leaving him nothing but his nudity. His cock was instantly pressed against the warm groove of the demon’s cunt as she moaned, continuing to grind him beneath her, and even though he’d just cum, he felt his balls ache with more to give the salacious succubus.

“Mmm. There it is. Oh you poor, silly young mortal. You never had a chance. It was ordained you’d be mine the moment you saw me. But that’s okay. Some women love a challenge. But I savor the triumph above all else. And it’s time… to show you what I mean…”

She leaned down, kissed him again. And as she did so, her hips rose, his cock sprang straight up, and she lowered herself, sheathing him within her.

“Mmmm!” Ravel moaned, his eyes rolling back as the glorious warm, soft tightness of her pussy swallowed him. As she lazily rocked her hips, riding atop his aching, needy cock.

“Good boy,” Moora whispered between kisses. “Surrender to mistress. Surrender your soul. Feed it to me, my slave. Give mistress what she wants.”

He groaned in despair, for he knew he could not beat her. Not now. Not like this. Her lips descended upon him once more, her kiss seeming to swallow her world.

And even the chance to fight… slipped away.

Ravel moaned, shuddering, arching beneath her as her lips moved against his own. A numbness began to seep through him. A sense of loss as she kissed him, as if she were stealing the breath from his lungs with the intensity of that kiss. His head grew light. Spun. His vision danced.

But he was calm.

He was relaxed.

Because mistress was in control.

And as he remembered this, an ecstasy oozed through him like nothing else before. The sense of loss that seemed to steal from him instead filled him with a floating pleasure. As if every cell were buzzing with a sensitive delight. Overwhelming him in a wave.

“Mmmmm,” he moaned, his eyes rolling back as Moora rode his cock, fucking him into the bed. Taking her pleasure from him in rolls of her hips. His essence flowed into her. The misty gasp of his soul seeping from his lips as he was fucked to damnation.

And he loved it.

Loved it more than sanity.

Than freedom.

Than anything.

Moora lifted her lips from his, smirking down at him. “How was that, my slave?”

“M-mistress,” he gasped. “P-please. Mooooore!”

“More?” she cooed coyly, slowing her thrusts, grinding herself atop his cock teasingly. “But my darling, if I do, I’ll turn you into nothing more than my mindless slave. My helpless, hopeless thrall. Do you want that? Do you really want mistress to claim that?”

“Anything,” he gasped, quivering with desperation, his orgasm aching on the edge. “Anything! Please! Mistress! N-need it. Need you! Pleeeease!”

Moora laughed, and even her mocking mirth was like music to his ears. “Ah, well, if my pretty boy begs for it, how could I say no?”

And still smiling, her eyes burning like polished gold, she kissed him again.

And he came.

Ravel wasn’t sure if it was when she sucked out more of his soul or his orgasm that turned his mind white. That made him shudder with the high of pleasure unlike any he’d known before.

He didn’t know.

He didn’t care.

Because it felt so good.

It was like he was floating in a heavens of endless bliss. Sinking among white clouds that cradled him. Soothed him. A void of thought. Of will. Of anything. No suffering. No anger or fear or hate. Merely perfection. Merely pleasure.

And ss he descended, quaking with pleasure back into the world of reality, his vision cleared, and he saw…

The most wonderful, beautiful, glorious woman above him.

“Did you enjoy that, slave?” she cooed.

He shivered at her words, his cock throbbing anew, already hard with desire. “Yes, mistress.”

“Would you do anything for more?”

“Yes, mistress,” he gasped, smiling dumbly.

She laughed. “Good boy. Ah,” she sighed, smirking. “I do so enjoy you wizards. Just… delicious. And you’re quite the tasty one to be sure. I can’t wait until I can snack on you again, slave.

“Mmm. But until then, I’ll have to get you set up with your new loincloth. My slaves can’t be wandering around fully clothed, after all. That would be so very wrong.”

Ravel nodded eagerly. “Yes mistress. Wrong.”

“That’s what I thought. But you ruined my nap, slave. And I know you want to make it up to me.”

He nodded even faster. “Y-yes, mistress! Anything!”

“Good slave,” she said, rose off him and turned around. Ravel stared, enraptured as her perfect, soft bronzed bum hovered above his face. “Now, get to work.”

She descended atop him, and Ravel moaned in bliss as he was buried under the softness of her gorgeous ass. Instantly his hands were on her hips, pressing her down further as his tongue delved into the tightness of her rear, his lips lovingly kissing her, his tongue lavishing her puckered star with adoration. Slowly, steadily, pleasuring her like a good slave.

Because he was relaxed.

Under mistress’s control.

And feeling so very… very…

Good…