#Heir of deception

[elysian-hell]

Heir of Deception:

Rich! Yanderes x Tabloid Writer! Reader TLDR: Bitches be crazy and unfortunately you're a fish in a barrel. You write a letter to your contact telling her that you need out(and why) with hopes it's well received or received at all... >>>TW: allusions to obsessive behavior.

Dear June, 

I know you’re just my contact but I don’t know who else to write a letter to. I’ve been disconnected from all contact with the outside world-- I actually don’t know if I'll manage to get this letter out or if it’ll be intercepted. I know you stuck your neck out for me and sponsored me to do this whole investigation but I think I’m in way over my head. These college students are absolute freaks and I’m not cut out for undercover work. I need to get out. I’m afraid of the upcoming Summer break. I think if I don’t get out before then… I’m not sure how easy it will be for me to get back at all. 

These were the people we were supposed to get the greatest payoff on and now they’ve become the people I’m most concerned about. I should have never let myself get close or… attached, I guess. At some point I dropped the disguise and now it’s like I can’t put up a front anymore. They suspect I’m not who I say I am, but I don’t know what they want from me. If you are willing to send help. If you can send help. This is what’s happening:

Arthur Bradford, third in line of the Bradford family fortune. He started off as my tutor to help catch me up to pace in exchange to scrub a detention from his record. He is the most prideful and self absorbed person I’ve ever met. He berated me and scolded me constantly and at some point I snapped and started to give it right back to him. We had a back and forth going but somewhere along the way it became a tango of sorts. Arthur became more real, more open. I was able to scrape beyond the surface but I didn’t realize that in turn it left me vulnerable too. 

Something tells me that he caught on to the fact that I’m not really an heiress but he keeps going along with this ruse, this “tutoring." He’ll take up as many hours of my day as he can before I up and leave. His lessons will go beyond the curriculum to the point where I don’t even understand his goal. Something about this is important to him because if I miss a session? He will go into an absolute rage. Although, Arthur is also a great source of gossip on the other students but the more he shared the more wary I became. He acts like I should be able to trust him, hell… like he’s the only person I can trust, but the way my hair goes on edge with him sometimes. I can feel that something isn’t right. 

“Y/n, you’re so naive. I really hope that doesn’t come back to bite you. You’re lucky to have me.”

Clayton Bass, the only child to an oil tycoon family. He was used to rough and tumble American sports like football so these rich kid activities were an adjustment. He and I were two of the handful of students that signed up for archery (he had actually signed up for everything). There was practically a tail wagging behind him when he saw me enter the green with my bow. He recalled me as the Queen of Detention when we first met and quickly decided that the both of us should train together in this time. While I struggled to build the arm strength to keep my aim steady, Clay was all brawn and no agility. That’s what he asked me to call him, Clay. 

Soon I was invited to game after game and practice after practice. Sometimes I would politely decline or just not show up but Clay would always seek me out and persuade me to come with. If he saw me on the green he would just drape himself on me or hug me from behind, startling me mid-conversation. Clay would pick me up and spin me around, elated every time he saw me. I was becoming an immovable post in his day to day. It scared me though, knowing he can just physically overpower me like that.

“Where d’ya think you’re goin’? You aren’t leaving right? I need my lucky charm tonight.”

Hendrix Arison was not at all like I gathered from the articles. On the surface sure, but underneath was someone who was depressed and exhausted beyond his years. All of the indulgences were to try to fill some kind of void. The only way I could get close enough was to have a fling. We agreed there were no strings attached and met at his dorm after curfew. Sometimes afterwards he would sit there and hum tunes to songs I’d never heard of before, after a few times I started to add a harmony or beat. When I asked him what it was he almost looked ashamed. They were works in progress that his label would never let him release. Hen stopped humming after that, but I had it stuck in my head to the point where I asked him to record a demo just for me. He just stared at me with a look that I couldn’t quite pin and pulled me in close, only agreeing once I couldn’t see his face. 

When I realized that he was fast approaching being a washed out celebrity I decided to stop pursuing him. I suggested that we end our situationship and he was weirdly against it, offended almost. When I pressed he would scoff and say that he had a whole slew of back ups, but asked if we could still be friends. I agreed but… he was almost always around. It was like he was expecting me to beg him to come back, to stop playing hard to get. I think he’s losing sleep over it. Each day the under eye circles get darker and he gets a little more impatient. 

“Why are you with him? Are you serious? Jealous?! I’ve never been jealous in my life.”

Brayden DuMont was the heir to his parent’s first generation wealth tech industry. To tell you the truth? He is actually a genius. This guy knows machinery better than anyone I’ve ever met in my life. I truly thought he only tolerated my presence. We shared a math class where he and I would always sit next to each other for. Never even exchanged more than a hello here and there. I would try to compliment his work, even if it was never for the class. It was usually some sort of side project. Blue prints or something to tinker with. Nothing I could ever make heads or tails of but impressive nonetheless. After a while he would look over at my paper and tap some wrong answers and mumble corrections aloud. 

He was never around but there were always little improvements made in my life left behind. The only reason I knew it was him was because he would leave behind a sticky note the same color as he used in his journals. A new lock on my door for extra security. A headlight on my bike which I didn’t know he knew I had or used? And most recently a cute little robot to keep me company. I don’t really know what he does, he usually just wheels around my room chirping every so often. I’m not sure why he’s doing all of this for me. I feel like I’m losing my autonomy piece by piece-- this is sweet, but not helping. 

“All I need is you beside me, and you can’t even do that? Of course, I need you. Isn’t that obvious?”

Haruki Sato is probably the most dangerous on paper having family ties with the yakuza. You’d never know it by talking to him though. Haru was the first to offer me a tour of the campus when I arrived. We gravitated towards each other ever since. He was easy to talk to and the most grounded out of anyone else here. If he caught me looking stressed he would take me to the diner in town. Once or twice he’s found me crying even and he just sat down next to me and let me let it out. As much as he’s the one I understand the best, I also have a hard time pinning any motivation on him either. Sometimes our conversations were a dance where either one of us was trying to back the other into a hole. Luckily, I almost always got out of that situation in a draw. He knows there’s something up with me, but I try my best not to sweat it. 

He seemed to disapprove of my relationships with the other students, like he could see something I couldn’t. As time went on I was able to see outside that blinding charm to see how the other people would avoid his gaze or hurry around the corner once they caught him. Even more strangely, they started to do that to me too. When I finally cornered a smaller fish that I was close to getting a story on he nearly shook as he looked all around for something. All I was able to get out of him was Haru’s name before he sprinted away full speed. Far off in the distance was Haruki smiling, he took his hand out of his pocket and waved at me as if nothing alarming happened at all. 

“Let me handle this. I don’t want your pretty little hands getting dirty.”

Liam Pendelsen was the most normal rich person I had met at this deranged college. We talked about favorite books, tv shows, and games. We got food together. Sometimes we would lay on his bed and just shoot the shit until past curfew. Once I actually fell asleep in his dorm and had to rush back to the women’s dormitory before I was caught. He was nice enough to loan me one of his hoodies to fight off the early morning chill. It felt natural with him. He told me about his situation about his family and I started to feel guilty that I was lying to him this whole time. I decided that he had enough to worry about and my spilling his secrets wasn’t going to be one of them. I withdrew and thought that he’d fall into step with his other friends and I would just fade into obscurity. 

I was so wrong. I ate breakfast earlier to avoid him, he would find me to ask where I was. I would try and fill my time with other people... and Liam would just show up and join in like he was invited in the first place. I put a stop to our evening hang out sessions. Liam climbed the tree outside my window and let himself in to my room and waited until I got back. What's even more surprising? He was pretty pissy if I strolled back in late. As if the only person I should be out with at that hour was him. If I pushed too hard to pump the breaks on our friendship he would grab a hold of me and beg me not to. To tell him why and how he could fix it. It was like trying to save him from me by leaving him alone was breaking his heart in a whole other way. 

“No, you can’t! Why are you pulling away? I’ll change, just please, don’t go.” 

Professor Lysander is the teacher I spent most time with. He is my homeroom, English teacher, and advisor. He saw how I struggled to keep up and fit in and advised I start tutoring with Arthur. I think knowing he isn’t part of all of this elitist nightmare made me feel comfortable around him to let down my guard. Lysander was only a little older than me, a year or two. Something told me he was lonely too, at least in the sense that there weren’t people around that understood what it was like. I never told him about my real identity but he felt for me anyway. I started going to his house in town on Friday evenings for dinner. I learned about his ex-wife and how he inherited his home here. 

Rarely, I would spend the night in the guest room and he was always more than willing to share the space. I feel like this house is too big for him. Sometimes he would offer me to have dinner more often or to spend the weekend to enjoy downtown for once. I felt like I was getting too integrated into the household. I was putting away leftovers and photos of him and his wife on the fridge were replaced of polaroids of him and I. There was a rock in my gut that I just couldn’t remove. 

“You always have a room here. In fact, it’s yours. Your visits are really special to me.” 

If any of them catch wind of the other's behavior it is full on catatonic. They'd bicker at the least or throw punches at their worst. I try my best to keep them apart but there's only so many hours in the day and they want all of my time. I was losing sleep over figuring out how to handle them separately or together. I feel an ulcer coming on at this rate.

I thought it couldn't get any worse until it stopped. Altogether, it came to a halt. I was able to be around more than one of them without an altercation. It was a lot eerier than I thought. They mention that they want to take a trip this summer. That there's a villa by the ocean where we could all go. It sounds innocent enough but I don't think I can keep my cover if they have access to the internet unlike here on campus. But it's bigger than that too. Something tells me that if I go with them that something bad will happen.

And I don't think they're taking no for an answer.

Please. I'm begging you. Pull me out. Give me a signal if you can. I'll keep a bag packed. Until then...

Sincerely, -Y/n

[s-wordsmith]

Why did I just now notice the prominent flute in the first half of the first chorus of "All You Wanna Do" in the studio cast recording?

[we-re-always-alright]

I am actually extremely good at solving mysteries it’s like. my weird talent. like I just kind of, figure out the conclusion. maybe because I have seen every episode of SVU like 10 times???? motivations are often like the easiest part so if you’re only thinking about motivations it’s really easy to determine who’s been in a tough spot and committed crime to get out.

[lahilden]

[tonycries]

The Heir - G.S.

Synopsis. No, your clan leader husband won’t stop until he gives you an heir. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, established relationship, he’s cray-cray (for you), bréeding - like a LOT, oral (fem receiving), unprotected, creampíe, marathon, séx, running from it, use of “my wife”, overstim, FÉRAL Satoru, absolutely heinous, mentions of kníves and bIood, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.3k

A/N. Guess what ya girlie is back with clan leader Gojo hehe.

An heir to the Gojo clan - no matter how small, how weak - could eradicate all three of the big clans before even being born. Much like their father. 

You knew that. Satoru knew that. And, unfortunately for him, so did the stuck-up old toad currently sputtering across from him. 

“I am not asking for permission.” Satoru smiles, deathly calm. “Simply that everyone vacates the Estate. After all, what the madam wants, the madam shall get.”

“But- but young master! It’s madness- An heir can tip the scales of power like never before!” The elder lunges frantically over the meeting room table. “I cannot allow- a-and considering the madam’s lowly lineage-”

Schwing!

They say that the infamous young head of the Gojo clan has a katana as hauntingly beautiful as he is - a blade of pure white, with a sapphire hilt. Though, there wasn’t anyone left to tell the tale - and Satoru wasn’t about to let that change anytime soon. 

The long, deceptively delicate sword glints sharply against Satoru’s humorless grin, and those cold, cold eyes. Unblinking - crazed, as he hums, “What did you say about my wife?”

The man in front of him can do nothing but yelp in fear, “I- it could- the scale of ah-”

“No.” The freezing cold blade presses deeper against skin. And Satoru’s tutting, “Try again.”

“Th-the madam!” Pathetic tears stain those expensive tatami mats below, every shred of previous ego wiped away as the elder’s forced to echo his words. “It is no lie that her b-background is…unsuitable-”

Oh this was why Satoru hated these meetings - and for once in his life he’d been the one to summon it instead of being forced to attend. What a joke. If only this elder had agreed to vacate everyone in the Estate like he’d wanted, then none of this would’ve happened. Seriously, how hard was it to get some alone time with you? 

Satoru sighs, blue yukata rustling as he grips the hilt tighter. “Do you know why you’re here, advisor? Why any of you little council of elders are still here?” And he doesn’t wait for an answer - couldn’t care less about it anyway. Plowing on in that same sweet, dangerous tone - as if scolding a stubborn child, “My lovely wife is kind, you see. Too kind. Doesn’t like for me to get my hands dirty.”

He lets his arm retract slightly, as if giving up on the conversation topic at hand. And oh for all his wisdom, the elder should’ve known better than to let the silence lull into one of safety. Should’ve known better than to let out a breath of relief. Relaxing - ever-so-slightly, to be stupid enough to mutter, “S-see young master. I told- you-”

Because this was Gojo Satoru, and he’s chuckling - and that was never a good sign for anyone but you. “She’d make such a perfect mother, don’t you think?”

---

SLAM!

You startle - there was only ever one person that dared to kick open the doors of the Gojo Estate that way, like he was out for blood.

Eyes tearing from your window towards the now-splintered doorway and-

Oh. Oh shit. 

Your voice dies in your throat as the metallic tang of blood hits your nose - followed very shortly by the realization that this was your husband. Towering figure leaning against the frame, gaze frantic - bouncing off everywhere but you, fingers twitching on the stained handle of his katana, looking for all the world like he’d seen a ghost. 

What the fuck happened?

“Satoru?” you breathe. And the sound of your voice his eyes finally snap to you - widening, like he’d finally noticed your figure standing there. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. Stepping forward in concern, “Are you o-”

You’ve barely made it two steps before Satoru’s closing the distance in a split-second, dropping to his knees before you with a harsh thump!

You wince at the sound, but if it hurt then he doesn’t show it. Anything but - in fact, looking more blissed out than you’ve ever seen him as he lets his prized katana clatter to the floor, looping two powerful arms around your waist.

And it’s times like this - when he nuzzles his cheek against your stomach, sighing in contentment - that you forget about those blossoming stains of red on his yukata. None of his, you bet. 

Threading your fingers through his soft hair, you repeat, “Are you okay, Toru?”

And oh. 

Oh, it only takes those words - and your sweet sweet voice - before Satoru’s entire body jolts. Taking a sharp inhale, fingers trembling as they clutch onto the fabric of your yukata. “An heir.” Words strained, ragged. Some deep, visceral part of himself peaking up at you through those hazy, half-lidded eyes, “Would you give me an heir, my wife?”

You weren’t making it out alive. 

You’re gasping - partially because of his words, partially because that’s all it takes for him to yank you down. Sprawling you out like such a slut on the floor. “Wha- an heir?”

It’s not something you expected him to even consider - that sleepy, quiet little pillowtalk from earlier today where you’d mindlessly wondered out loud whether your husband was ready for kids. Hell, Satoru was never a morning person, so you didn’t expect him to even have heard the question let alone this. 

Nosing at your racing pulse, whispering, “An heir. You think I’d ever deny you, pretty?” Like he couldn’t believe it himself - sharp canines nipping at your neck, “My heir.”

It’s like it was the only thing he could say - could even think about right now as his lips burned a path down your jaw, into the valley of your breasts. Muffled, “N’ now we have the Estate all to ourselves, so I can ruin you as much as I hah- want.”

And for the second time today, you’re actually registering that this wasn’t the same yukata your husband had kissed senseless in before the meeting. Or, at least, those patches of red were new.

“Satoru…” You pull his face back.

“No- no no please- Come back-” you squeal when he just drags you across the floor by the hips, pressing you up against that massive bulge, back to sloppily kissing the underside of your jaw. “Was jus’ one I swear- m’sorry about gettin’ the fabric dirty.”

“Satoru.”

“Wasn’t gonna break you where everyone could hear right?” 

And fuck he doesn’t wait to hear a response, no - it’s been far too long, and every little scold from you has all the blood in Satoru’s body rushing to his aching cock. His lips are crashing onto yours, so desperate and needy. 

“Sa-toru!” you manage to squeal through the way he sips at your candied lips. Letting out pained, breathless little grunts like each swipe of his tongue against your mouth was driving him insane. 

“Shhh shhh, m’here m’here.” he pants into your open mouth, hands wandering everywhere. Cupping your ass, your breasts, nudging open your jaw to let him suck so filthily on your tongue. “Fuck- m’here.” He’s licking up the drool pooling at the corner of your mouth already, “N’ m’gonna ruin-” One hand makes its way to palm your clothed cunt, “-her.”

But, alas, no matter how many times Satoru’s done this before - it never gets any easier, or as less heavenly of a sight for him. 

With you all disheveled and splayed out for him, your tits almost spilling out of your yukata with the way his hands have been so greedy. So thoughtless. 

Satoru groans, dipping his head forward to peck messily at your lips. “Mmm- ” Pulling back just enough to mutter, “Gonna let me breed this pretty cunt, hm?” 

It’s all you can do to give him a half-delirious little nod of agreement, lower lip wobbling at just how hungrily he was looking at you. Eyes wide, lips curling into a crazed smile, fingers trembling with anticipation as he deftly works on untying your robe. 

“Is my wife gonna give me a pretty baby?” He gasps out, strangled. “An heir?” He presses a sloppy peck to your glossy lips, strings of spit snapping when he breaks apart to whisper. “One to take out all these dumb fucks?” Again, so dizzyingly. And again. “Oh how I’d love to see their fuckin’ faces.” And again and again and again. Kisses punctuated by that little mantra - “An heir. My heir. I need you to give me a baby, pretty.”

And then your yukata’s being pulled down your shoulders, the expensive fabric ripping down the side with the way he was so ravenous. Goosebumps prickling down your skin as fast as Satoru can get his hands on every inch of you.

“Oh, look at you.” his jaw falls slack, palms kneading at your soft breasts. “Fuck- the mother of my kids.” He rolls his thumb over your hardened nipples, rubbing lazy little circles, “I need to- fuck!” 

Before you know it he’s pinning your arching body down onto the floor. One hand easily pinning down both of yours, the other angling your lips back onto his, a knee wedged between your damp thighs. 

You whine at the feeling of Satoru’s thigh rubbing up against your drenched panties.

But he could barely hear - fuck, you didn’t even know if Satoru was breathing with the way he wraps his pretty pink lips around one of your pert nipples. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, cheeks hollowing as he sucks - harsh.

“Need to fill these up- s’gonna be so sweet. So full.” he’s blabbering into your tits, tongue rolling around your sensitive nipples. Incessant, like he was somehow trying to draw out milk. “I can only hope they hah- share, right?”

You buck your hips up, mewling as your throbbing clit catches on the dips and curves of the muscles on Satoru’s leg. “P-please, Toru. Don’t tease.”

And oh, when has he ever denied you? Hell, Satoru would burn down this entire world and himself if it meant giving his wife anything and everything. Especially the future mother of his kids. 

With a final, playful bite, you watch with glassy eyes at the way he dances his lips down. Slow. Teasing. Eyes locked with you all the while like some sort of predator cornering his prey. 

“And this-” Satoru stops halfway down, pressing a deep, sultry kiss onto your bare stomach, “Oh this. Gonna be so round n’ pretty. Absolutely glowing f’me, right? Fuck!” 

Snapping his head down at the feeling of your grinding your hips so sluttily onto his legs, slick seeping through your panties and onto his skin. 

“Oh.” he sighs, awe-struck. More to himself than you at this point, “You can kill me if you’re not with my heir by the time we’re done, pretty.”

A promise.

And with it went whatever was left of Satoru’s poor sanity - and whatever pathetic chance there was of you making it out of this alive. 

Immediately, Satoru fists your flimsy panties in his grasp. So see-through they were practically useless anyway. Reveling in your panicked little gaze as he pulls - rips them clean off your dripping cunt. 

“Oh god- There we go.” he moans, hooking two arms underneath your legs and pushing up, up, up - all the way until your knees were pressing up against your tits. Your lips wobble when Satoru takes the time to admire your pussy, breaths coming out in feverish little puffs to watch the way you glisten and clench at nothing. Licking his lips - salivating even - at the sight of your slick beading through your puffy folds. He runs a thumb along your sopping wet slit, “Better wish her good luck tonight.”

And, usually, your husband was refined - he teased and toyed with your poor cunt until you were begging to have an ounce of friction. But right now, it’s a wonder he doesn’t get whiplash with how fast he’s pushing his face into your pussy.

“Mm-” Satoru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as his tongue laps at your dripping wet cunt. Tipping his head back, back, back to let your sweet sweet juices slide down his throat. “Fuck that. Even luck won’t save you from me- hah-”

“Toru!” you arch off the cool floor as he cards the tip of his tongue between your puffy folds. From the base of your sloppy entrance, all the way up to your throbbing clit. “Hngh- s’too-”

He was going too fast too soon. 

You whine at the palm pushing your unstable hips flat onto the ground, holding you still while Satoru licks all over as he pleases. “Now now, how are ya gonna ngh- fuck so sweet- handle later if ya can’t even handle this, pretty?”

Sucking on your clit in such a messy, open-mouthed kiss. “Fuck. Shouldn’t have told me about an heir.” he’s murmuring into your cunt. Harsh - rolling his tongue against the sensitive nub in a way he knows will have you crying out so prettily. “Fuuuck you shouldn’t h- oh- Ohhh, look at you, my wife.”, breathing in deep, ragged gasps of air only to go deeper. “Fuck- just look at you. You’re so wet I could fuck you just like this.”

As if to prove his point, he’s urgently bullying the tip of his tongue between your plushy walls. And it was true - so pathetically true. You take him in so easily. 

Somehow, you manage to crack an eye open to spy downwards - only to be met with Satoru’s eyes already on yours. Hazy, curtained by his messy hair, swollen lips curving up to flash you such a devilish grin as he squeezes his tongue past that feeble, first ring of resistance. In and out in and out in and-

“Ohh. Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight.” His jaw grinds deeper, nose flush against your clit. “Ya like that idea? Like the thought of me p-painting ah- slutty pussy white already?”

Your embarrassed little whine isn’t enough of an answer for your husband. No, he’s pressing his fingers - all glossy and covered with a sheen of your slick - onto your pulsing clit. Just barely grazing in a way that has you crying out. 

Making out with your cunt so sloppily, “Tha’s more like it.” Heavy eyes boring into yours - goading, even, for you to give more of a reaction. “Fuck- use those words, pretty. Scream.” Satoru’s fucking into your sloppy hole the way he’s been dreaming to do with his rock-hard cock. “After all, we h-have the Estate all to ourselves, right?”

Faster. Sloppier. 

Pushing and pulling his tongue in a way that has you sobbing, “Yes! Please- wan’- ngh” Thighs squeezing around Satoru’s fervent head, “W-wan you to jus’ breed me, Toru-”

Oh.

Fuck, you might’ve just signed your will away at this point. 

Because in a split-second, you’re cumming. 

Shit, were you glad that there was no one in the house. Sobbing out a broken whine of his name, fingers white-knuckled on Satoru’s hair while you gush all over his pretty face. Just dragging your sloppy cunt all over his mouth - using him through your high. 

And he’s more than happy to be dragged and angled all you please. Greedily lapping up your syrupy sweet juices, just dipping his tongue into your hole to feel the way you clench around him. 

But it’s not long before Satoru’s pulling away. Swallowing a disappointed whine, you gape up at the absolutely feral man looming above you. 

Lips plump and glossy, your juices dripping all the way down his chin, his jaw. Teeth bared, a pretty pink blush dusting over those cheeks - and you have half the mind to wonder how high the kill count actually is. Whether you’d be on it, too. 

“Heh, kill count?” Satoru grins, teeth grazing so dangerously over your racing pulse. Shit, did you say that out loud? “Funny, real funny.” And with that, he’s thumbing apart your swollen folds, biting his lips at the sight of your quivering hole. “Wonder if our- hah- kid’s gonna have your-” Without warning, he spits. Once. Twice. Gliding the pads of his fingers along the thick globs of spit on your cunt, “-humor?”

And oh how ironic it was for Satoru to be groaning out sweet little spiels of what your kids might look like, when his fingers were anything but. 

Stretching out your gummy entrance, having the audacity to laugh - laugh - at how desperately your pussy was trying to milk his fingers. 

“Y-you’re so mean-”

“And yer killin’ me- ohhh you’re gonna be the death of me.” he mutters - strained. Depraved. Hastily pushing apart his yukata. He hisses, “Fuck-”

You can’t help but gasp at the sinful sight before you - Satoru’s blush reaches down his sculpted chest, down, down, down all the way to his painfully hard cock. Curved against his abs, already so angry and soaked with precum. Giving you a pretty little peak of those veins glistening against the dim lighting. 

Before you even know what’s happening, he’s circling his fat, weepy head around your sloppy hole. Slow, lazy patterns to tease your cunt. “Can only pray m’not dead before I see ngh- fuck- my heir.”

It’s like something breaks. And Satoru’s remembering that no, this isn’t just any child - it’s the next Gojo. That grip on the base of his swollen cock tightening when he slips past your pussy lips. 

“Oh! Toru- f-fuck wait s’too big-” you keen, nails digging into where his yukata was sliding off his milky, sculpted shoulders. Hard enough to break skin. “It’s ah-”

“No.” he spits into your sagging mouth. “No no no no- wait fuck- ngh squeezing so fucking- tight.” Hips pushing in quick, shallow little thrusts to squeeze more of his achy head inside. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck hold on. Need this. Need this so bad- please!”

And you can’t do anything but arch into his touch, scrambling up onto your elbows to- shit, that was a bad idea. 

Because one look at the sight of your poor cunt, all bulging and stretched out on Satoru’s massive cock was enough to have you running away. 

You’d barely made a movement to escape, feet flattening on the floor to buck your hips because shit it was too much. And it was a useless effort, anyway, because Satoru’s dragging you back so easily, pulling your limp body deeper down his swollen cock. 

“Need this. Need this need this so bad, pretty.” he groans, barely even halfway in yet. Still pushing, still relentless. “Need to breed this cunt so bad.”

Some tiny, useless part of Satoru’s rationality knows that he should slow down - maybe give you a second to relax. To maybe even breathe. But he was out of control now, hips stuttering and wrenching forwards like he couldn’t stop. 

So he’s simply gripping onto your shaky thighs harder, sure to leave neat little indents of his nails to admire tomorrow - or, whenever he gets back his sanity, that is. 

Satoru hisses at the way you’re so pliant below him. Limp, letting him rest your legs on his muscled shoulders. “Think I needa manhandle ya more often, pretty.” Pressing down, down - all the way until you were folded in half beneath him in such a mean mating press. “Can’t- can’t stop-”

The change in angle makes you scream out Satoru’s name - and it makes him bottom out. Finally. 

Fuck, you weren’t making it out alive.

“Oh.” he grunts at the feeling of his heavy balls smacking against your ass, his fat, leaky tip kissing against your cervix. God, if Satoru was any less of a man he thinks he could’ve cum just from the feeling of you trying to suck him up already. 

“Oh- oh my god-” you gasp when he presses down about halfway down your stomach, Pressing down for that bulge, hard. “You’re in s-so deep ngh- S’like you’re pushing into my ngh- lungs.”

Fuck, if you talked any more with that pretty mouth then Satoru was bound to pass out. Blindly, he’s feeling for your pouty mouth, kissing and nibbling at your wobbling lips like a subconscious apology. For what was to come, that is.

Because Satoru Gojo spares no apologies when he starts moving - finally. Finally fucking you the way he’s been dreaming of all throughout that droning meeting. 

And he says so - a little over fifteen times, in fact, while he splits you apart on his cock. 

“-n’ when I was negotiating those ngh- c-clan deals. N’ when I was at that meeting-” he gasps, shoving your legs so far apart it burned. “S’all I could hah- think of. Everything - don’t give a fuck if I got a contract wrong.”

Each word was punctuated by a rough, harsh ram of his cock, stretching out your gummy walls so far apart like he wanted to make his mark there. Pushing - even when he could feel his aching tip nudging at your cervix.

So merciless - violent even - with the way he’s slamming back into you. Molding your plushy walls to every ridge and curve of his massive cock. It was impossible to even form coherent sentences with his harsh pace. 

A large hand flattens beside your head as Satoru’s thrusts get deeper. More purposeful. You almost sob at the sheer pressure when he dances his fingers down to rub quick, methodical little circles on your clit. “Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. “M-more.”

But it wasn’t enough.

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. And shit at that very moment you almost understood why even the most hardened of clan leaders feared to even look at Gojo Satoru wrong. Because he was giving you a sopping, fucked-out smile, eyes widened, voice trembling, “You want more?”

And of course this was the strongest. Of course, he was ruthless. 

Of course, it takes him exactly two seconds to pull out of your heavenly cunt and flip you onto your stomach. One hand coming under you to angle your hips up until you were on all fours - like some ragdoll. The other feverish, distracting on your clit while he bullies his achingly hard cock past your sopping entrance once more. 

“Fuck!” your voice is hoarse when you scream. Teeth gritting because fuck the stretch was too sinful and Satoru’s hips were too harsh. Too hellbent on fucking into you like he’d lost control. “O-oh please, Toru-”

He doesn’t waste time easing you into it this time, picking up where he left off with that maddening cadence. And you were glad he had an arm on your hips because your knees were weakening with each thrust, slowly sliding down the floor before-

“Aw, my poor girl.” you hear Satoru coo from above you. Muscled chest rubbing up against your back, “S’alright. M’gonna take care of it. You jus’ hafta take it- jus’ take it like the good lil’ wife you are.” his body bows into yours, strands of white sticking to his forehead. “N’ I’ll take fuck fuck fuck- care of everything.” So sloppy with his rhythm, pushing you further and further up the floor with each movement - only to reel you right back so easily. “I’ll wash ‘em and hah- clothe ‘em n’ t-teach ‘em to take over this godforsaken society. To protect their momma.”

“T-Toru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic. “I’m…”

“Hm?”

He didn’t even have to ask - he could feel the way you were squeezing so hard around him, like you were trying to suck the fucking soul out of him. The way the only thing you could get out was his name. 

His perfect wife. 

Sobbing out, “Close! So close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

He was losing his fucking mind. 

Biting down so hard at the crook of your neck to keep himself from cumming before you, he moans deliciously, “Then cum. Fucking cum. Please- wan’ you to cum on my cock.” Wrists aching with how desperate he was moving, “Cum- yeah yeah yeah fucking- cum- Cum for your husband.”

Oh, if heaven was real then whatever was left of that part of Satoru that could still form coherent thoughts knew that this was it. 

Watching you fall apart like such a slut all over his cock. Not even realizing it at first - just that your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, swollen lips falling slack, letting out such a pretty cry of his name that he can’t help but cum, too. 

You don’t know who’s more far gone - you, with your head spinning, a lewd little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time Satoru fucks you through your high. 

Or him, gushing out in thick, hot ropes of cum that overspill from your snug cunt. 

“So muchhh.” you whine, heavy head being held up by your husband. “S’too much.”

And he knew what you were talking about - because Satoru was cumming and cumming and cumming so hard it was like he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. Because he was mesmerized by that creamy trail of white drooling down your folds, forming an obscene ring at those tufts of white at his base. 

“Too much?” Satoru hisses. “Too much?”

You can only give a barely-lucid nod, whimpering when he doesn’t ease up. Not one bit, in fact, Satoru was only abandoning the hand playing with your ravaged clit to press down on your abdomen. Hard. 

“There we hah- go. Better now?” The hand supporting your head forced you to look down below, at the sticky mess of white covering your cunt. Slobbering all over Satoru’s cock - even down to his thighs. “Now we got fuck- more space.”

You don’t even realize you’re scrambling away until Satoru gasps, panicked, “No no no- we’re not done, pretty. Fuckkk we’re far from done.” Fingers tightening around your neck to pull you deeper down his cock, holding you in place. Just dragging you along his length. “Gotta make sure it takes. Why else d’you think no one in the Estate will be back until tomorrow?”

He doesn’t wait for a response - not that you could give one, anyway, with how you were being fucked dumb on his cock again. 

A strong, powerful leg hooks around yours, pushing you down with his body weight. “So that we ngh- h-have enough time to prepare for my heir.” Weeping head grazing all those sensitive spots so expertly. “T-to plan and and- ruin you and- fuck you feel so good. They’ll be the most powerful- hah- jus’ watch. Those fuckers better w-wait and see.”

So debauched and fucked-out that you don’t even know what he’s running his mouth about now, just heavy, urgent words slurred into your neck while he fucks you just as sloppily. 

“Don’t know?”

Fuck. You said it out loud again. 

And the embarrassing realization has your eyes screwing open, gazing tearily back at an amused Satoru. Well, as amused as he could be when he was just as wrecked as you. 

Kissing your sweaty forehead, hips reeling back all the way until your cunt was missing the stretch - bucking traitorously against the fat mushroom tip grazing your entrance. Making a mess of precum down below.

“S’alright, pretty.” he groans, sandwiching his cock between your puffy folds. “Because you just have to sit there n’ ngh- take- it.”

If you thought that Satoru was broken before then he was absolutely ruined now. 

Because there was no reason or rhythm to his actions now - just mindless, feral movements to milk his cock as much as he physically could on your pussy. Running only on pure need and the thought of you round and so full with his kid. 

“Ah!” you’re startled out of your reverie by something wet. Whirling sluggishly to catch the tears of overstimulation brimming at Satoru’s heavy eyes - shit, you wondered if he even knew what he was doing at this point. “T-Toru…you- ngh- o-okay?”

The only response you get is an unsteady nod. 

“-the best.” he whispers, twitching balls squeezing so painfully with each slap against your ass. Faster. Absolutely soaked with the sinful concoction of your juices and his cum. “We’ll be the best parents- ngh-” And fuck it was so much - too much. Too good. Painful pleasure.

Enough that all it takes is another, sloppy thrust before he’s seeing stars behind his eyes again. Cock twitching wildly inside your cunt as Satoru shoots load after load of cum to paint your pussy white. 

So warm with his cum - him - that Satoru’s body moves before his mind. Pooling the mess down below to nudge back into your cunt. “C’mon, pretty, c-can’t get ngh pregnant if ya don’t oh- cum.”

And it’s so embarrassing how that’’s all it takes for you to reach your high with a strained, barely audible moan. Voice shot, your own orgasm nothing but a few tingles that have your thighs fucking back into Satoru’s. 

“Satoru- Satoru Satoru Satoru.” you mewl, big fat tears streaming down your cheeks. Birds of a feather, they say. 

Hypnotized. Drunk off the feeling.

And, evidently, Satoru was, too. 

“Pretty…” his voice rings in your ear. Tinged with a tone you know didn’t bode well for you - or your poor, overfilled cunt. Bloated and dribbling already. “Are- sure- ngh-” 

And with a jolt, you realize he’s still moving. Still pushing and pulling in languid, slow strokes. Thighs shaking as the fatigue wears on him. 

If anyone saw Satoru like this, they’d have a heart attack. Flushed your favorite shade of pink, the lower half of his body well covered with a sheen of your obscenities. Eyes teary with sensitivity, cock still twitching and so angry as he clears his throat and tries again, “Are we- hah- sure it took?”

“Wh-what-” you gasp, breathing in big, deep inhales. “Yes- yes yes- oh my god it’won’t-”

“It will.” Satoru’s interruption almost comes out as a whine. And he’s more sluggish, dazed when he flips you over onto your back again - not too difficult, with the way you were practically splayed out already. “Th-this pussy is made to take it, right? T-to be bred by me?”

It’s almost like Satoru was begging for confirmation, plugging back in the excess of what was leaking out of your abused pussy. It was spreading in a lewd little pool now, seeping into the non-existent space between you two.

But oh how Satoru loved it. Couldn’t tear his eyes off of it, in fact as he noses at your neck. Barely even thrusting anymore, just raw grinds, “Right? Gotta make sure- ngh- heir. Oh-”

He’s darting his tongue out to lick at the beads of tears streaming down your cheek. The salty taste on his tongue having Satoru’s hips stuttering forwards. Again. And again - alternating, not on purpose - between hitting your cervix and that bruised g-spot. “Gonna give me an heir? Ohhh fuck fuck fuck- lemme breed this cunt?”

You’re using up every bit of energy left in your body to give that slow, shallow nod. Which is all the time it takes for the pool to spread even wider. For Satoru’s fingers to stumble their way back to play with your clit. 

Rolling his thumb over in a harsh, uncalculated pattern - if you could even call it that, just jerky, obscene movements to get you off. 

And it works. Hell, the two of you are barely in the state of mind to even feel it. But he’s finally cumming again, and so are you. 

“Ngh- Fuck-”

With a loud, pained cry Satoru tightens his grip on your body like a vice. Raw, sensitive, overusing his cock until it felt so empty. Until you felt so bloated it was like you could explode - or maybe that was your own orgasm. “Toru- c-cumming.”

You’re not sure, anymore. And you don’t know if either of you could bring yourselves to care at this moment, not when your eyelids grow heavy. Vision tinging with black in the corners, and the only thing you could see was your husbands face - sweaty, eyes almost closed, kiss-bitten lips moving in a soundless whisper.  “-the best- momma.”

A/N. CLAN LEADER GOJO SAVE MEE. Oh yeah the “can’t get pregnant without the momma cumming” bit was based on this old tale I’d heard where people used to gen believe that. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[noirscript]

in the lion's keep

WARNING/S: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Yandere. Noncon. Dubcon. Power Imbalance. Forced Pregnancy. Captivity. Manipulation. Psychological and Physical Control. Violence. Emotional Distress. Character/s: King Callixto x Servant!Reader Note/s: A commission for @violetvase. I hope you enjoy this one!

From this series: Silent Servitude [pt. 1] | The Lion's Shadow [pt. 3]

Tip Jar | Commissions

Your mother has always been your biggest supporter.

She never once stifled your dreams, no matter how small or ambitious they were. When you insisted on selling flowers in the town square on behalf of the old florist to earn your own keep, she worried, but she did not stop you. Your parents feared for your safety, but your older siblings watched over you, making sure no harm would come your way.

It lasted for months—until children your age began disappearing, vanishing one after another without a trace.

Your siblings stopped letting you leave the house after that. The warm sun, the scent of fresh bread in the marketplace, the laughter of the townsfolk—it all became distant, mere memories behind locked doors. You were forced to watch the world from behind wooden shutters, longing for the life you had barely begun to taste.

Years passed before they finally deemed it safe enough for you to step outside again. And when you did, you threw yourself into rebuilding.

With what little savings you had, you opened a food stall in the marketplace, selling treats that made both children and adults smile. Your business thrived. Customers returned with praises, telling you how much they enjoyed your cooking. It gave you a sense of purpose, a taste of the independence you had long craved.

Then, one night, your stall was stolen

Not just stolen—destroyed. Burned to ashes near the town's tavern.

No one saw anything. No one heard anything. No one even smelled the smoke.

The loss devastated you, snuffing out the fragile hope you had so desperately clung to. When you fell deeper into despair, your mother was the one who lifted you back up. She taught you the skills she had learned from years of working in the palace—how to clean, how to serve, how to navigate the world of nobility without drawing attention to yourself. You listened. You learned. And when she deemed you ready, you followed in her footsteps.

You had thought you were stepping toward a new beginning.

Instead, you walked straight into a gilded cage.

A warm calloused hand rubs slow circles over your bare stomach. Your body is sore, ruined, yet the touch is deceptively gentle—reverent even.

Callixto.

The King.

The man who had stolen you, body and soul, and refused to let go.

His breath is hot against your neck as he presses his lips there, inhaling you like a man intoxicated. He traces his fingers up your stomach, over your ribs, cupping your breast with possessive ease. You squeeze your eyes shut, bile rising in your throat as last night's memories resurface—the way he held you down, the way he filled you over and over until you were too weak to fight him.

“You're perfect,” he murmurs, rolling his hips against your back. “You'll be a wonderful mother to our children. The mother of my heirs… My queen.”

No.

Your breath shudders as you push weakly at his arm, but you might as well be trying to move stone. Your body betrays you—limp exhausted, drained of all strength.

How long has it been?

Days? Weeks?

You can't tell. The chamber windows are tinted, making it impossible to see the sun or the moon. And Callixto… Callixto never leaves your side for long. He lingers, watching you, touching you, whispering sweet, poisonous words into your ear.

The chambermaid is no help, either.

She either glares at you with thinly veiled disdain or ignores you completely, doing only what is required of her. You don't know why she hates you, but it doesn't matter. She's your warden all the same.

There's no one here for you. No mother, no siblings. No bustling marketplace or warm, flickering hearth waiting for you at home.

There's only this prison.

And him.

“Your Majesty,” the chambermaid's voice cuts through the heavy silence. “Lord Soleil awaits you at the gates.”

Callixto tenses, as if irritated by the reminder that the outside world still exists beyond these walls. His fingers dig into your hip as he thrusts forward once more, a sharp, punishing movement that sends a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you.

He finishes deep inside you, groaning against your skin. For a moment, he stays there, reveling in the feeling. Then, with agonizing care, he pulls out—only to press his fingers back inside, pushing his seed deeper.

A shiver wracks your body.

“I suppose I've stolen enough time for myself,” he murmurs, brushing damp hair away from your face.

You force yourself not to flinch.

Callixto cups your chin, tilting your face towards his. His golden eyes burn with something twisted, something sickeningly sweet. Then, he kisses you. A deep, lingering kiss that suffocates you more than any chain ever could.

“Stay here and be good,” he orders, his lips still brushing yours. “Let the chambermaid take care of you until I return.”

As if you have a choice.

As if you ever had a choice.

And when the doors finally close behind him, your body sags into the mattress, silent tears slipping down your cheeks. 

Not just for yourself.

But for the family you may never see again.

For the freedom that may never return.

And for the life that is no longer your own.

The towering walls of the chateau couldn't keep the rumors from reaching you. They were the only thing that kept you sane while you waited for him to return.

You heard whispers about a grand ball the Prime Minister held a few nights ago. It should've been a night of celebration, but instead, it ended in scandal. His wife, a noble woman and the daughter of a count, was caught in bed with a mere footman—nothing more than a commoner.

Lord Soleil, the Prime Minister, himself had walked in on them. The punishment was swift.

The footman was cast out with nothing, and the Prime Minister cut all ties with his wife and her family, erasing them from his life as if they had never existed.

A cruel fate. 

And yet you wondered…

Was it any crueler than yours?

“Perhaps this is why Lord Soleil was so determined to keep His Majesty away from the chateau—away from me. Not just to protect the royal bloodline, but to stop him from making the same mistake his wife did.” You sighed, your breath barely disturbing the still air.

“I can't even blame him. If I were in his position, I wouldn't want a common-born woman anywhere near the throne either. And yet, here I am—trapped in these gilded walls, reduced to nothing more than a vessel, waiting for the day my body finally serves its purpose.”

You leaned against the cool stone wall near the tinted windows, listening to the little birds outside as they carried rumors flitting between the flower beds. Their chatter was a fleeting distraction, a fragile moment of stolen peace—until it was shattered by the sound of heavy boots echoing through the halls.

The doors flew open, and there he stood. The King. Furious.

He called out your name—sharp, urgent, unrelenting—his voice slicing through the chateau hollow corridors like a blade. You didn't move. You barely even breathed. Instead, you pressed yourself against the cold stone wall, your fingers curling into your dress as his footsteps thundered across the marble floors.

He ran upstairs, frantic, taking the steps two at a time. He hadn't even noticed you standing near the windows, so close yet unseen. But you knew it wouldn't last. He always found you in the end.

Outside, the world had fallen eerily silent. The chattering birds had already fled the vicinity, as if sensing the storm brewing within these walls—taking their half-spun whispers with them. The rumor of the king's impending nuptials to a high-ranking noble still lingered in the air, unspoken yet suffocating.

And soon, he would come back down. And this time, he would see you.

Your name tore from his lips again—a furious, desperate plea. Before you could react, his hands found you, his grip ironclad around your arms.

“Where have you been?” His voice was raw, unsteady. His fingers dug in. “Didn't you hear me calling for you?”

“Y-Your Majesty…”

He shook his head. “No—my name.”

Bloodshot, unfocused eyes bore into you. Something was wrong. His gaze sent a slow, creeping dread up your spine.

“Say it.”

“C-Callixto…”

A slow nod. Then, his arms crushed you against him. “You're mine,” he murmured against your hair, his breath searing against your skin. “Forever mine. And I will be forever yours.”

The walls seemed to shrink around you.

“Callixto… Your Majesty… I can't breathe—” you rasped, struggling against his suffocating embrace. 

He didn't let go.

“Please…”

A beat of silence. Then, at last, he loosened his grip—but only slightly.

“Apologies, my queen,” he murmured, lifting your trembling hand to his lips.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. You had to calm him. You had to survive this.

You recalled your mother's old ways—how she soothed your father's anger, how she tamed your brothers’ tempers. Slowly, carefully, you reached for his cheek, brushing your fingers against his skin.

“Tell me your worries…”

“The royal court has been trying to push this woman onto me for as long as I can remember—something about securing the heir to the throne’s bloodline. The nerve of those fools,” he muttered, absently running his fingers through your hair as you lay atop him.

“If I wanted to, I could trace your family's lineage—alter it if necessary— and keep them out of our way.”

Listening to his monologue as you drift in and out of consciousness feels more exhausting than it should. You know you should try to persuade him to accept the will of his people, to yield to their demands—but deep down, you wonder if it would be easier if someone else had his full attention instead. If only he'd let you go.

“Perhaps we should secure an heir to the throne first… then we can look into your lineage…” he whispered, thrusting into you once more. His seed spilled from you as his movements grew more intense with every passing second.

Since then, it had become his ritual to fill you to the brim, keeping you in place—stuffed, trembling, and utterly his— until he was satisfied. Only then would he leave to rule his kingdom, but never without ensuring you remained exactly as he left you, his claim unmistakable. He controlled everything—the meals you ate, the tonics you drank—all carefully chosen to prepare your body for the sole purpose of carrying his heir.

You were his, and soon, you would bear proof of it.

It didn't take long for the signs to show.

The nausea. The exhaustion. The unbearable weight in your lower belly that told you something had taken root inside you.

And yet, luck has not abandoned you entirely.

Your chambermaid—a woman whose disdain for you was only rivaled by her loyalty to the royal court—had noticed. She must have. But instead of betraying your condition, she pressed a cold cloth to your forehead and muttered, “A commoner’s flu. Nothing more.”

A lie. A calculated one.

The King believed her.

But belief was fragile in a mind like his. It splintered easily.

His golden eyes flicked between the chambermaid and the royal physician, narrowed and gleaming, hungry for an answer that neither of them dared to give.

“Her color is pale,” Callixto murmured, pacing your chambers. His fingers twitched—fidgeting, trembling, curling into claws before stretching straight again. “She barely eats, barely moves. And yet you say it is nothing?”

The physician bowed his head. “It is a seasonal illness, Your Majesty. A touch of fever, some exhaustion—nothing that cannot be cured with rest.”

Callixto laughed—a dry, humorless sound. His nails dug into his palms, leaving little crescent moons of pain.

“Rest,” he echoed. His voice was a whisper of rage, of something darker crawling beneath his skin. “You think I have not noticed? She wilts before my very eyes, and you tell me to wait?”

The chambermaid stepped forward then, expression schooled into reluctant sympathy. “Your Majesty, she is weak. He kind does not fare well in the colder months. It is not surprising.”

Callixto stilled. His breathing slowed, deliberate, controlled—but his eyes never left her face.

“Weak?” The word came soft, almost thoughtful. “Is that what you believed?”

The chambermaid hesitated.

Something in the air shifted.

A warning.

Callixto's lips twitched—not in a smile, no. In something sharper. Something that showed his teeth.

“Fine,” he murmured. “If she must rest, then she will do so under your watchful eye. I want no one else near her.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

But as the King turned away, the chambermaid gaze flicked down—her fingers twitching at the pouch hidden beneath her apron. The weight of the promised coin.

The chateau felt emptier than ever one evening. The halls echoed with the distant clatter of preparations from the palace—the banquet, the foreign dignitaries, the noble guests.

A distraction.

And when the chambermaid entered your chambers, her usual sneer was absent. Instead, she carried a bundle of clothing.

“You need to leave tonight.”

Your stomach twisted. “Why?”

“Because I tire of wiping your sweat.” She threw the bundle onto your bed. “Because I want you gone.”

You swallowed hard. “And that's all?”

The chambermaid exhaled sharply. Something in her posture—something tired and worn—hinted at an answer she would never give.

“The palace gates will be open for the banquet. No one will be watching the chateau. Take the back corridors, follow the outer gardens. You are not important enough to be noticed.”

“What do you gain from this?”

A smirk tugged at her lips. “What I was promised.”

You should've asked by whom. But you didn't.

The scream shattered the night.

“WHERE IS SHE?”

The chambermaid barely had time to compose herself before the doors to your chambers slammed open, cracking wood against stone.

Callixto stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with each uneven breath. His pupils had swallowed the gold of his irises, leaving only thin rings of amber around black pits. His fingers curled at his sides, nails digging into his own skin, but he did not seem to notice the blood welling beneath them.

His gaze snapped to the bed. Empty.

Something inside him snapped with it.

“Where is she?” he repeated, stepping forward, his voice no longer a demand but a plea.

The chambermaid bowed, but her voice was steady. “Resting, Your Majesty. The fever worsened—”

“Liar.”

The word cut through the room like a blade. The chambermaid flinched.

Callixto's hands trembled. “She would not leave her bed unless someone forced her to,” he whispered. His tongue darted out, wetting his dry lips. “Unless someone… took her from me.”

He turned, suddenly—too suddenly—and grabbed the chambermaid’s wrist.

“You would not betray me, would you?”

The chambermaid swallowed.

“Of course not, Your Majesty.”

His grip tightened. Bones creaked.

“No, of course not,” he echoed, smiling now—serpentine, sharp. His head tilted. “Because if you had…” he leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “I would tear this palace apart. Brick by brick. And when I found her—oh, when I found her—”

He released her.

“Find her,” he murmured. “Or I will find you instead.”

The chambermaid bowed, stepping backward toward the door. “As you command.”

But she didn't turn fast enough to see his lips curl into something… inhuman.

He turned back to the empty bed, trailing a hand over the sheets as if he could still feel you there. His fingers ghosted over where your head had once rested, then curled into the pillow, dragging it close. He inhaled—deeply, desperately—like a starving man before a feast.

His eyes fluttered shut.

“Oh, my love,” he whispered to no one. “You can run, but you cannot hide.”

The night air was crip—freezing against your cheeks, but blissfully free.

You ran. Through the outer gardens, past the dim lanterns, past the drunken guards too enamored with wine and revelry to notice a shadow slipping past them.

You ran until the scent of the palace faded into the trees. 

Home. You had to go home.

But when you reached the village outskirts, you stopped.

Guards. Stationed outside your family's home.

You shrank into the shadows, heart hammering against your ribs. From where you hid, you could see the single candle in the window—dim, unmoving.

Not flickering.

Not alive.

A silent warning: Do not return.

Tears burned your eyes, but you forced yourself to turn away.

Not toward another village. Not toward a stranger's mercy.

But deeper into the forest.

Through the twisting paths only you knew, past the moss-covered stones and the brook where you once dipped your toes in summer. Past the memories. Past the ghosts.

And there, hidden beneath the tangle of overgrown branches, the shack still stood.

You and your siblings built it once—when you were small, when the world was gentler. A childish hideaway, pieced together from stolen nails and planks too weathered to be missed. A place of whispered secrets and stolen sweets, of giggling beneath a roof that bare kept the rain out.

It was nothing.

But it was enough.

You pushed the warped door open and stepped inside, the scent of damp wood wrapping around you like an old embrace. The cold bit at your skin, but you knew how to survive here. You always had.

With shaking hands, you pressed your back against the wall and slid to the floor.

Outside, the trees whispered.

Somewhere beyond them, the King was hunting.

But you would not be an easy prey.

Not here. Not yet.

—

tbc.

noirscript © 2025

All rights reserved.

—

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[standamianwayne]

yandere!batfam/damian’s twin!reader

cw: mentions of death + murder, implied creepy men being creepy men, damian loves his sissy idk what to tell yall

an excerpt, from a certain Damian Wayne’s journal—

“—my sister. One of us would become the heir to the League of Assassins. What would happen to the other, I cannot say as I never found out. We were both perfect. The genes of Talia al Ghul mixed with The Batman— there was no question one of us would be ruling one day. It was only a matter of who got here first.

She was born only a matter of minutes before me. If everything went to plan, she’d rule over the League and I, she had promised me when we were children, would be right beside her. Growing up, she was always trained just a little harder for a little harder. She was praised just a bit heavier, as well as disciplined harsher.

I pitied her some days, others I was much more bitter. Bitter at her, hardly. I was bitter angry with others around us. We’d be studying together, and she’d be pulled away. We’d be training together, and she’d be pulled away. Any time we were together, she was pulled away from me. I look back and wish I had attempted to keep her by my side. Alas, she was going to rule over the League, so I had no other choice than to let her go.

One day, I overheard some guards speaking about us. She’s supposed to be the heir, “but she’s too soft,” one of them said. It gave me pause. My sister was nice to me, though that definition must differ from those here in Gotham (monsters, I remember them calling us). Was she nice to everyone? Was she hesitant to kill? I had yet to see my sister in action, but I knew her. Much more than they did. She was fond of the arts and animals, but she was as assassin regardless of what those guards said. The thought lingered for a few more days, each morning I thought over it even more.

She was not ‘too soft’ I decided. My sister, my twin, the other half of my soul. No, I thought, she was not soft at all. She was sweet, she smiled at others without a hint of mockery or deception. She made sure I was alright after missions, kept up with our studies, ate sufficiently. She was not too soft— she was simply kind.

To the others in the League, that was seen as weak.

I never asked mother about these labels. Perhaps I feared what it meant for my sister. After all, if she could not take over the League due to this ‘weakness,’ what good was she? Would she be forced to harden? Would she be exiled? These scenarios haunted me for many nights. I could never see myself without her. A world without my sister by my side will never be a world I wish to live in.

In a way, I was relieved when we were sent to live with Father. A place, a haven almost, where I did not have to fear my sister leaving me. Maybe here she would be accepted as she was. I had no care for how others saw me. As long as I was not looked down upon, I was indifferent to any impressions one may have of me. With my sister, however, I simply wished she would be treated as normal. To me, she was is an angel, and I was content with being the only one to see that, so long as she was not seen negatively.

The people of Gotham judged us quickly. Father introduced us to his colleagues at some gala, and the news spread quickly. We were born out of wedlock, children of an affair, children of a prostitute, children of a stranger. We were beautiful, angry, exotic, disgusting. We were monsters, though perhaps the fault of that label falls on me (I had punished a man for speaking to her in a manner so disgusting he should be glad he is not dead).

She was weak back in the League, too soft. Here, she was scary, too mean. She was honest and blunt, yes, but she smiled at them. Did they not know what that meant? In Gotham, killing at all made you horrible. In the League, killing quickly made you kind, made her ‘weak.’

My sister and I grew up, and the rumors dwindled down. Nobody knew who our mother was outside of those Father trusted with the information (which was very few). My sister, already perfect, became even more beautiful. Sickeningly so. I hated when a male our age spoke to her, but I let him do so as I knew she wouldn’t mind. She enjoys talking to others freely, about anything other than death.

There was no feeling comparable to when I would see a man speaking with her. One much older than us, who had known her for years. I saw the leering, the flittering of eyes from her eyes to her mouth and then lower. It is comparable to lava burning hot in my veins. I wanted to snap their necks, rip their eyes out, claw at their faces until I saw bone. I wanted to kill them.

I do not doubt our other siblings felt the same. I’m sure even Father thought of it a few times. I hardly spoke to some of them, even then I knew one thing, one person, was keeping us together. I would do anything to keep her safe, happy. I would burn down the world if she asked. I know I am not the only one.”

happy new year 😛 thank you for the support, bye byeee ❤️

[yurinaa-world]

"𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓜𝔂 𝓗𝓾𝓼𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓭, 𝓘 𝓗𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓣𝓸 𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓚𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Phainon, Mydei, Anaxa, & Moze

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: you can't help but to be jealous

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, Nothing wrong with being jealous & Spellling Mistakes

💫𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: This entire post was based off a dream I had about dark cacao cookie from crk????

💫𝒫𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑜𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑜 𝑜𝒻 𝒜𝓂𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓈"

Some people might say that your jealousy is quite uncalled for, he’s a Chrysos heir for goodness sake, of course, he’ll be flocked by many different people who adore him while you two were on a walk—which ruined the walk since the people didn’t give him a chance to leave, no matter how hard he tired. 

He tried the best he could and at least you could give him credit for that—he apologized for days after that and promised you that he would for sure make it up to you!—but that wouldn’t stop the bitter feeling of jealousy in your stomach. You were fed up! He’s your husband! Those people wrapped their arms around his thick arm as if he were their husband instead!

He’s not been left speechless by you, you're just that breathtaking to him! And that’s not any different from right now…he feels the jealousy radiating off of you while you’re on top of him; caging him down with dark haze in your eyes. 

“Is something wrong?” he asks nervously, while you lean in more into his face.

You scoff. “You tell me.”

His brows furrow. “I—”

“Did you enjoy it?” you cut him off, tilting your head slightly, voice deceptively soft. “Having all those people clinging to you, acting as if you weren’t married?”

He’s not even sure where you even reached this idea?!

“You know that’s not true,” he finally says, his voice softer now, like he’s treading carefully. “I tried to leave. You saw me.”

“Yeah sure.” you shrug off his words of desperation and honesty and move in closer, your breath warm, teasing against his skin, before biting into his neck and leaving a deep and dark bite

"You’re my husband, Phainon, everyone should know that.”

💫𝑀𝓎𝒹𝑒𝒾 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒞𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒦𝓇𝑒𝓂𝓃𝑜𝓈"

Mydeimos is the crown prince of Kremnos, the rightful king, meant to be praised by his subjects and comrades for how courageous he is. You, his other half and one befitting to take on the throne next to him as a ruler and his lover.

Yet, even with such titles, some people can’t help but act foolish in front of him to get his attention on them. You can’t help but be jealous and frustrated, seriously, it’s like being slapped in the face and staying quiet about it, so it doesn’t look like you’re causing a scene on purpose.

“Is something the matter?” 

He laid on your lap, the crown prince of Kremnos laying on your lap for comfort, staring up at your eyes. "You're upset." His voice was smooth, a quiet statement rather than a question. Mydeimos did not waste words. He simply saw, understood, and acted as he pleased.

You exhaled sharply, fingers tightening slightly where they rested against the fabric of his ceremonial attire. "It's nothing," you muttered, though the sharp edge in your tone and disappointing look on your face betrayed you.

A slow blink. "You are bad at lying," he said plainly.

You’re sulking," he mused, his voice laced with something light—teasing, indulgent. He shifted slightly in your lap, making himself more comfortable, as if he had all the time in the world to lay here and toy with you instead of being a warrior. "How adorable."

You shot him a look. "I am not sulking."

A small, knowing hum. "Mmm. Lying again, are we?" His fingers poked the softness of your cheek from where he lay below. "That won't do. I would hate for my beloved to make a habit of deception."

"You should know," he murmured, voice like silk, "I belong to no one but you."

You couldn’t help but soften at his words, your frustration slowly melting away beneath the weight of his gaze. With a quiet sigh, you leaned in closer, whispering, "You're my husband, and I'll make sure everyone knows it."

💫𝒜𝓃𝒶𝓍𝒶 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝒜𝓂𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓈"

Anaxagoras is a dainty man—a majestic dainty man. Who wouldn’t want to stare at this man walking by? It’s not like he’ll even try to initiate a feeling of return to the person, but you must look at this man—he's like majestic eye candy that any scholar and citizen would want to pin after.

And it’s normal for you to be jealous—as he would say, ‘It’s a normal human reaction,’ and that saying can also apply to you.

“Focus on me.”

 Straddling his lap while your hands grip the fabric of his clothes—the plain sight of jealousy in your eyes that he could see. “I am focusing on you,” he says smoothly, voice calm as ever. “Though, I fail to see the urgency.”

His hands rest lightly at your waist, not pushing you away, but not pulling you closer either. 

“You’re too calm about this,” you huff, fingers tightening in the fabric of his clothes. “People were looking at you.”

Anaxa blinks, golden eyes gleaming with a hint of mirth. “They always do.” His tone is neither boastful nor dismissive—just a simple fact.

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it?” He tilts his head slightly, studying you like you’re an intriguing puzzle. “They can look. It doesn’t the fact I'm your husband.”

He notices the tension in your fingers gripping his shirt and raises an eyebrow, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "You're upset about something so trivial?" he asks, voice still as smooth as ever.

“I’m yours, you are mine.”He says as his hands go to your face, cupping it and bringing you close to his face. 

“No one shall claim me, and no one shall claim you, either.”

💫𝑀𝑜𝓏𝑒 “𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝒢𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔”

It would be odd to get jealous over someone flirting with Moze, right? He’s basically a shadow, glued to your hip only, never going out of his way to attract any type of attention from anyone else but you. But you and the world must admit, he’s attractive—throwing his personality out the window—he’s like real-life eye candy for people, the compression shirt that he always wears is proof of that—who wouldn’t want to stare at all that

“Is something wrong?” 

The sigh is quite comical for anyone, usually, it’s him pulling you into alleyways, but now, it's the other way around, you have him against the wall, your arms on either side of his body, as if ‘pinning him down’ in a way.

He doesn’t struggle, doesn’t push you away. Moze never really reacts the way a normal person would.

“You’re acting strange.” His voice is low, and calm, as if he’s analyzing the situation rather than being caught off guard by it. His eyes flicker to your hands on the wall before meeting your gaze again. “I didn’t sense or see anything so don’t worry about anything.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” you mutter, but the words feel odd on your tongue since it’s Moze, a man who never felt anything romantic feeling like love until it came to you stealing his heart and mind.

He would never do anything romantic or purposely engage in something like that.

“Then what are you worried about?” Moze asks, voice impossibly calm, as if your emotions are something to be observed, like observing a bird in a bird cage, rather than feeling your emotion.

You exhale sharply, your fingers twitching against the wall beside him. It’s embarrassing that you have to say it for him to understand.

“Seriously, Moze, you’re my husband, can’t I be jealous when someone looks and whispers about you.”

Moze's expression softens—so small that any other eye that isn’t yours, wouldn’t have noticed, the corners of his lips barely twitching into something close to a smile, but it's a rare one, almost like he's trying to understand something complicated.

"You’re jealous?" he repeats, and there’s a hint of disbelief in his tone, but not in a mocking way; it's more like he’s trying to wrap his head around the concept.

 "I thought you knew I’m... not interested in anyone else,"

He takes a second before speaking once more.

“But you don't have to worry,”

“I’m already yours.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[gojoluvs]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐑… 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒? જ⁀➴ Masterlist

"You were my everything, my heart, my soul, my love. But now, as I stand here alone, I realize you were never truly mine. I was just a pawn in your game of power, a means to an end. I gave you my kingdom, my trust, my love, and you repaid me with betrayal and heartache.“

pairing; Emperor Gojo x Empress reader

genre;Medieval Au, period piece, Lovers to strangers

↬ summary, Y/N, a young woman, is forced into a political marriage with the cold and powerful Duke of the neighboring kingdom, Satoru Gojo. As she struggles to adapt to her new life and win the heart of her husband, she uncovers dark secrets and conspiracies within the palace. Eventually, she realizes that her marriage was nothing but a facade.

status;on going, (spin off from Forever yours)

tags;Historical romance, Drama, Slight mystery, Enemies to lovers, forbidden love, political intrigue, betrayal, secret agendas, arranged marriage, deception, power struggles, uncovering the truth.

warnings; 18+, Forced Marriage, Mental and Emotional Abuse, Slight Misogyny, Dark Themes, Infidelity, Violence, Manipulation, Trauma, Smut, Major character death.

Ⅰ. The Heir's Dilemma

Ⅱ. A marriage of convenience

Ⅲ. A New Life

Ⅳ. Winning Over the emperor

Ⅴ. Uncovering the Truth

Ⅵ. A Dangerous Discovery

Ⅶ. Betrayal in the Palace

Ⅷ. The Facade of Marriage

Ⅸ. Fighting for the Throne

Ⅹ The Final Reveal.

notes;This fic is a spinoff from my discontinued series, Forever Yours!!! It's based off the Webnovels "What it means to be you" and "My beloved oppressor."(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

taglist;open!

[elysian-hell]

Rich Yanderes x Gossip Columnist! Reader

Heir of Deception (HoD): Introduction (unedited)

TW: Unhealthy behaviors (Not much in the intro but in future posts? :}?)

If you had asked yourself twenty-four hours ago what your first goal would be for today, it wasn’t exactly getting detention. Detention actually felt just a little ridiculous since you were a whole ass adult, but this wasn’t a normal college either. 

…and you weren’t necessarily an average student here. 

(Y/n)(L/n), yes that’s right, the only child of the (L/n) family. They are known as the creme de la creme of journalists, every newspaper wanted or envied them. Political drama? Mama elbows her way through the second rate investigators to get the scoop. War torn countries misrepresented? Daddio is there in the tents with the refugees to get first hand accounts. They were known as the unbeatable team. If there was truth to be heard they’d get it down with the written word. That is until you all hit some hard times. Readers didn’t always want the cold hard truth anymore and in a world where the profit is the end all be all this was a harsh reality. When push came to shove and some hyperboles and lies made the papers sell; your parents refused to cave and lose credibility. Jobs became scarce and that meant downsizing as well. 

The journalistic integrity and stubbornness gene passed down alive and healthy into you as their child. But that isn’t to say you didn’t have your differences in opinions. You see, you were the bread winner of the family as a teenager because you took the jobs that were beneath your parents. Tabloids, blogs, talk shows, podcasts, if there was slander to be found on a celebrity, you found it. In the bushes with a camera? Yup. Sneaking into the backrooms of exclusive clubs? You betcha. Maybe a mishap or two on a private yacht? Regretfully, yes. And even though this was garbage news that real journalists scoffed at, it kept dinner on the table. It bought back your old house. It provided for your family. Is it actual important information that needed to be said? No, of course not. Does it up hold what you know to be true in this world? Yes. 

Men ain’t shit. 

Everyone lies.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and nothing is more powerful than money. 

You just had one last job on the horizon. You and your folks would be able to coast comfortably for the rest of your lives off of this. There’s a college that anyone with a bank account lacking a certain number of commas has never heard of. It’s where all of the bratty rich young adults get shipped off to as a last ditch effort to become a “proper heir” to their family fortune. You’d think that they’re adults and there’s no way they could be forced to go to anything of the sort. But then again most people you know would also fold like a soggy piece of paper if their chance at a hefty inheritance was being threatened. Especially, if that’s all you’ve ever known. All of the nasty little secrets the 1% doesn’t want you knowing about their lives are tucked away in the mountains of some Scandinavian town no one has heard of at Hail Mary College, school of second (and final) chances. You have a fake identity, an in, and a full ride, now all you had to do was get the dirt. 

So, when the sons of the wealthiest and most controversial families somehow ended up in detention on the first day of classes, you put on your big girl pants and broke a rule or two yourself. The clock ticked away in the silent room as you swirled your pencil through the air. This was going to be too easy if today was any indicator of how the future was going to go. From the back of the classroom you had a clear vantage point of all of your targets. 

Way in the front row was Arthur. He came from old school money and acted accordingly. He was raised to know that he’s better than anyone and maybe ran with that a little too hard. Definitely, a type A sort of guy. His uniform was always buttoned just so and he always was calculating his next move. Unless, his ass was planted in detention. Then he would just fume in his seat, pencil creaking under his iron grip. 

Near the front but closer to the window was Clayton, or Clay as most people referred to him. He tossed a rubber ball up in the air and lazily snatched it on its descent. Clayton was as American as apple pie and spurs on the back of boots. His familial wealth was based in oil, and lots of it. With a laid back attitude you’ll see him most days outside trying to play any of the prissy rich kid sports this school provides. He’s used to football but he’ll take what he can get. If he were to describe why he were here he’d just roll his eyes and say that “the ‘rents thought it was time he lock in.” 

Between you and the window was Hendrix, a rock god among men. With his chin resting on his knuckles he watched the clouds cast shadows over the autumnal browning field. The final years of his teenagedom were spent on stage, in bars, or with women, wash rinse repeat. It was a haze of luxury and abundance. You don’t know how, but his parents must have found something to pin on him to get him in this school. Normally, he’d be caught dead minding his p’s and q’s, but here he was wearing a necktie with the school’s emblem on it with the worst of them. 

The closest to the door was Brayden, a less noteworthy opponent. His money was new, and I mean so new it started a generation back at most. Like a daisy his family popped up amongst the big dogs and absolutely no one took them seriously a Rockefeller in a world of Windsors. You could see this hunger in his eyes that just demanded more. He tapped his foot for every minute wasted. The world was already his but anything he couldn’t have was an outrage and just another goal post to be mowed down. 

You glance to your left at Liam, who was trying to balance erasers only for them to tumble on his desk. He laughs quietly at you and shrugs. Liam has the kind of security of wealth that makes him infinitely chill. Each generation of his family takes the wealth from the former and repurposes it into their own. That task weighs on his shoulders terribly but somehow rounds him out at the same time. The more you look at him the more you think, hey he’s just… a guy. :)

You glance to your right at Haruki who offers you a warm smile as he pauses counting the ceiling tiles. Rumor has it that his family wealth comes with ties to the yakuza and there is a lot of evidence to support it but suspiciously nothing that ever makes it to the headlines. Haruki, however, is such a genuinely kind person you have a hard time believing the harsh accusations. Sure, he might have some sick ink peaking out from under the collar of his shirt but he’s not a man that would break a person’s hand, right? 

Professor Lysander stood up as soon as his phone began to buzz and excused himself to take the call. A few dense moments passed after the door clicked shut. 

“Think we can make a break for it?” Clay asks with a syrupy sweet southern accent that melted boundaries like butter on toast. 

“And have a longer detention later? I’d rather get this over with now, quietly.” Arthur took his glasses off and rested them in the crook of his collar. 

“I dunno, this isn’t so bad. It’s kind of like a Breakfast Club vibe, right? We could… Talk? I’m (Y/n) Townsend by the way,” You look around the room and meet the gazes of the others. 

“I didn’t know the Townsend family had a daughter,” Brayden eyed you warily. 

“Oh, um… well, they do? Sorry, I don’t know what to say to that. Most people don’t know that actually. Wish I could say something dramatic like ‘I was unseemly as a child’ or ‘I’m illegitimate!’ But I think at the end of the day I’m just not very memorable,” You laughed with a shrug. You workshopped your character into a fine tuned machine. Find a hole in my story, I dare you. 

“Talking is better than nothing,” Hendrix raises an open palm as an offer to Clayton who obliges by passing the ball, “I got detention for sneaking booze onto campus even though I’m a goddamn adult that’s of legal drinking age. If you want to put me in rehab then just do that. This is so much worse,” he rolls his eyes and then tosses the ball at Liam who catches it with ease. 

“Damn… I didn’t think the dress code was as strict as it is so they caught me in my sweats for first period. I still think detention on the first strike is a little harsh,” he rubbed the back of his neck and tossed it back to Clayton who was all too eager to go next. 

“I skipped my second class of the day. It’s too nice outside to be studying. What about you, glasses?” Clayton throws the ball at Arthur who surprisingly catches it without hesitation. 

“I wasn’t aware there were restricted bounds on campus. You would think it would have been clearer in the handbook. I read the damn thing cover to cover, yet here we are,” he scoffed and tossed it over to the closest person to him Brayden. 

“I took one of the computers apart and they caught me when I was halfway done putting it back together. If they let me finish they wouldn’t have been able to tell in the first place,” he nervously fidgeted under the uncertainty of everyone else and tossed the ball to Haruki. 

“Wait you can just take an entire computer apart and put it back together?” He asks the former. 

“Mostly,” he shrugs.

“…Respect. I was caught eating in class. The dining hall wasn’t open before my first class and I can’t focus if I’m hungry so. Yeah,” He smacks his teeth and plops the ball directly in your hand. Your face was bright red by the time the sharing circle had landed on you. Had you known how strict this school was you would have underplayed your crime. 

“I… May have… graffitied my teacher’s desk?” You sunk way down into your seat. 

“Like with a marker?” Hendrix asked with a quirked eyebrow. 

You just bit your lip and shook your head, “Spray paint…”

“What on earth did you write?” Liam choked out a laugh and playfully elbowed your side. 

Your hands found their way over your face to hide your flush and you mumbled your answer unintelligibly. 

“What?” Brayden leaned in. 

“Tenure this, Bitch,” You squeaked out. All you had known in your final class was that you had to get into the detention room and there was no way you’d write that to a faultless teacher. She had gotten on your last nerve and even made your seat mate cry. So, when you found out this teacher was TENURED and not going anywhere? Well, you knew what rule to break once she left her room for just long enough. 

They had all broken out in varying levels of laughter at your response. 

“You’re crazy!” Haruki held his stomach. 

“What does that even mean?” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, but snickered nonetheless. 

“I’m surprised I only got one detention for it… Maybe they don’t like that professor much either,” You settled a little more comfortably in your seat. Clayton held his hand out for his ball back and you managed to give a half decent pitch. 

“Well all hail the queen of detention. I wouldn’t be able to give too harsh a punishment to that face either,” he winked. 

“Augh, Please,” Hendrix pulls a face and mocks Clayton. 

“You’re just jealous you have no game,” He sticks out his tongue. 

“Oh, you wanna talk game?” Hendrix raises his brows. 

Professor Lysander comes back in through the door and pauses after seeing everyone engaged with each other around the center of the room. Both he and you all freeze, uncertain of exactly how to go forward. 

“To be very honest, I don’t even really know how to give adults detention so it feels uncomfortable to tell you to stop talking. Just keep it down and try to look miserable when people pass by the windows,” He clears his throat and takes his seat again. 

With a strange sense of camaraderie amongst your fellow detentioners, you knew that day one was officially a success. Soon enough you were going to be swept up in their world just as you had hoped, but hopefully with this riptide you can figure out how to swim back to shore. 

“You see how this is a jail, right? You’re our jailer?” Hendrix points a rubber band at the teacher and fires it but is so far away it falls short. 

“A little bit more every day,” Lysander nods solemnly. 

[buckiverse]

hiiii, im callista, the one who actually made the CAWK ANALYSIS DIAGRAM, and im begging you to talk about xav and raf too so i can add them to our very important research <3

☆ warnings: mdni, a cock analysis for rafayel (including lemurian form) and xavier

☆ a/n: when i saw your post on twitter I was so shocked >< (in a let me pick up a mf pen and paper type of way) but, when I started cooking this one I did in fact realize I am a monster fucker when it involves rafayel (and sylus too who am I kidding fr), so I am looking forward to the updated research hehehe

sylus, caleb, and zayne ver.

R6.76GGPV - #dc9ca2

Rafayel’s physique is striking. He’s tall, with a lean, wiry frame that speaks to his grace and agility. Don’t be fooled by his size—this man is one with the water. His strength is deceptive, fluid, and undeniable. And, let’s be real: he’s lean, he’s sculpted, and damn, he looks incredible. His stamina is off the charts—of course, he’s a God of the sea. Hello?

Now, let’s get to the real topic at hand: his cock. It’s not the biggest—6.76 (17.1704 cm) inches, rounded to the nearest decimal—but Rafayel is a grower, okay. And what he has is a masterpiece. Gorgeous. I mean gorgeous. The kind of cock that makes you want to worship him, offering yourself up at his altar. There’s a bit of girth to it, too, and trust me, it’s a blessing in itself.

The head? Perfectly shaped, a stunning, pretty pink—honestly, it could be my new favorite lipstick shade. As for his pubic hair? None. Nada. Rafayel is smooth, clean, and pristine. (or he has designs because, yes the fuck he would) But here’s the thing: he doesn’t care what you do with yours. Whatever you’re working with, it’ll drive him wild.

Oh, and the veins. He doesn’t have many, but each one is perfectly placed like his cock was crafted by the gods themselves (maybe because he is one). No more than three, all connecting at various places on his shaft, and if you trace your fingers on it—even if it's a feather-light touch, his cock will jump. It’s almost too pretty—like a work of art you can’t stop staring at.

☆

Now, let’s talk about Rafayel as the Lemurian. His cock in this form? Thick. Fat. Gloriously imposing. At a solid nine inches (22.86 cm), it’s crowned with a knot at the base that’s thick and impossibly enticing. And his shaft is covered in soft, smooth scales—silky to the touch, like oiled skin or delicate petals. That knot? It’s primal, and when he’s overcome by the need to breed, it’s game over. Once he’s inside, don’t even think about running. You’re his, and he’s not letting you go until he’s filled you with his little sea heirs.

Oh, and just imagine him murmuring in that low, teasing voice: “Isn’t this what you wanted, pretty girl?” And you know his eyes are dark and overcome with need.

The scales don’t stop at his cock, either. They trail up his sides, climbing his torso, adding a texture that’s as sensitive as it is otherworldly. When you run your hands over him, he’s electrified, almost trembling with the intensity of sensation. And his cock? Hyper-sensitive. In this form, he’s consumed by the urge to breed, to claim you completely.

Careful what you wish for—because when Rafayel takes you, there’s no turning back.

X6.5GGPT - #c97677

As we all know, Xavier’s figure is quite shrouded in clothes. But truly—his figure is imposing. He’s tall, surprisingly muscular, it’s easy to forget this man is a trained (experienced) hunter. Of course he’s in good shape—it’s impossible for him not to be. He needs to be agile and perceptive—just like how he fucks by the way (like a jack rabbit).

So, his cock. Well, it's pretty—too pretty. A solid six and a half inches (16.51 cm), and yes, he’s a grower. Like I said, his clothes hide everything. And it’s thick, too thick for his own good—Xavier has a habit of reveling in your reaction to it—everytime. When he pulls his pants down and he watches your eyes grow big, your pupils dilate, he can see the wheels turning in your head. 

The head is like a mushroom and is so pretty pink, it has a beautiful red tint to it. So thick and it stretches you out everytime, and the tears pooling in your eyes get him going, he might say something like “You’re everything—do you know that? Everything.” Oh gosh and he keeps the hair low and trimmed or he’s bald—a perk of aging slowly is that everything grows slowly too.

And did i mention—he can make it glow. The craziest thing about him is that he's a come machine. He has this innate ability to pump endless amounts of come into you—he needs too. He has too much stamina and can go forever.

He’s literally fucking insatiable, once he has a taste of you. 

☆

R6.76GGPV: rafayel-6.76inch-girthy-grower-pink-veiny

X6.5GGPT: xavier-6.5inch-grithy-grower-pink-trimed

[yoru-exe]

PHAINON ۫ ꣑ৎ woe of a hero

"we were just about to leave marmoreal market when the big bad guys blocked our path. they were everywhere!", the boy recounted his story with so much vigor. thankfully, your young patient didn't move too much for you to attend to his sprained ankle.

under your makeshift medical tent, the wounded were resting as they waited for the heirs to provide their needed assistance managing the damage left by nikador's titankins. a lot of building and materialistic goods were affected, but so far, you've only observed minor injuries.

"but then mr. chartonus came and helped us! i wanted to go back but now that my ankle is sprained..".

"chartonus is in a good state, you have nothing to fear", phainon suddenly appeared behind you, and the boy's eyes widened with delight.

"lord phainon!".

you kept your composure but truth be told, you're as delighted as he was, if not more. you've been waiting all day for your lover to stop by with no avail. part of you were happy that perhaps he's not in any urgent need for your care. another part of you were worried sick if something had happened to him.

the boy and his mother excused themselves right after you completed your treatment to find their savior to thank him. now that you had your attention undivided on phainon, you moved to inspect him. but before you get to do anything, phainon grabbed your face by the chin and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

"i wanted to come by sooner. but the market was in a bad shape and i can't just turn a blind eye. tribbie told me you're unharm, but still, i apologise for making you wait".

your legs felt weak. if it wasn't for his strong arms wrapped around your body, you would have fallen. but you managed to shake your head, "i'm glad you're alright".

when you caught what you just said, your attention was pulled back to his state, "did you sustain any injury?". the hero chuckled. he loved how attentive you were to your responsibility even though you could've just bask in each others' presence and forget about the world for a moment.

"i received a few, although nothing too serious. i've patched them up, but it'd be great if you could have a look at the ones on my back. i can't quite reach them by myself". you nodded and rushed to gather a fresh supply of medical equipments. when you returned, your lover was halfway stripping the top part of his clothes, making you jump.

he tilted his head with an unspoken question, and you mentally kicked yourself to recenter your focus on the task at hand.

as you fell into the rhythm of your work, you noticed how phainon had been uncharacteristically quiet. you decided to give him a moment. after all, the holy city that ought to be the safest haven just received a heavy attack. he must be shaken to an extent.

your worry resurfaced when his silence persisted even after you finished. he didn't even notice you've moved yourself to stand in front of him.

gently, you cupped his face in your palms, caressing his skin, careful not to startled him.

"o-oh, hey".

"hey yourself. is everything alright?".

he forced a smile, trying to reassure you that it wasn't concerning enough for you to worry about, but knowing you, you'd probably see pass his deception. he looked away, sighing, "just a few things on my mind".

he stopped himself there, and you took it as a sign that he's not ready to open his worry up to you, yet. it's something you've grown to respect. you couldn't begin to imagine the burden he carries as the prophesised saviour of the world. the least you could do was comfort him, even if just a little bit.

you closed the gaps between the two of you, embracing him close to your heart. "you can confine in me when you're ready. i'll always be here".

he was unresponsive for a moment, letting your words sink in. then, he wrapped his arms around your body. the tightness didn't hurt in any manner, but it's apparent how desperate he was, as if trying not to drown in his own dark thoughts with you as his anchor.

there were a thousand things he could say in reply. he could even began to sing an ode to your love or recite a romantic poem or two (you know by experience he would), but he simply said, "thank you", pressing his face deeper into your embrace. you could feel his lips stretching to form a smile, a peaceful one this time.

your slowly swayed with him still in your hold. relief filled your system to the sound of his laughter which made you smile yourself.

"do you know how much i love you?"

"do enlighten me, if you'd be so kind", you leaned down to meet his lips halfway. this time, he took his time to savour it with only you in his mind.

"i wish i could just stay here", he exhaled. "do you think aglaea will be mad if i'm not out there playing hero?".

"oh i think she'll lose her mind". to that, the both of you shared a laughter.

he excused himself when an elderly women seek your medical assistance, but not before he promised to stop by again later. you watched his wide back, the hero so strong-bodied, yet his heart was so tender. silently, you sent him a prayer for a safe return.

✿ AUTHOR'S NOTE ✿

boy oh boy, this man sure YAPS. anywho, i only managed to watch bits and pieces of the playthrough as of now so please forgive me for any canon details that i missed. i also would like to note that i do not think our beloved snowy is tired of being a hero, just a little overwhelmed at times, so please don't take this too seriously

[xichilie]

UR PHIANON PURDICAMENT WRITING WAS SOOSOSO CUTE 🥰🥰🥰

Would you mayhaps consider making a version where mydei somehow gets turned into one too 🙏😇

NO PRESSURE, LOVE THE FOOD ANYWAYS!!!!!!!

Mydei x (fem) reader

Mydei’s Feline Misfortune

The streets of Amphoreus were alive with movement, a labyrinth of twisting alleys and flickering lanterns casting long shadows against ancient stone walls. The scent of sizzling meats and fresh bread mixed with the salty sea breeze, creating a deceptive sense of peace.

But Mydei had no time for distractions.

His eyes were locked onto a faint purple glow bobbing and weaving through the marketplace—a tiny, mischievous sprite with an all-too-familiar smirk.

Bartholos.

The Spirit Thief.

A thorn in his side.

It had been a simple task—secure an artifact, return it to its rightful owner. But of course, Bartholos had other plans.

The little trickster had snatched it right out of his hands.

And Mydei was not letting it get away.

He darted through the crowd, dodging startled merchants and vaulting over crates, his movements swift and precise. Bartholos giggled—an eerie, echoing sound that sent a shiver down his spine—as it twirled mid-air, effortlessly keeping ahead of him.

“Come back here, you wretched little—”

Bartholos whirled around mid-flight, its glowing eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Oh, you’re no fun, Mydeimos!” it cooed. “Why don’t we make this more interesting?”

And before Mydei could react—

A flash of purple light engulfed him.

The world tilted. His vision blurred, his body felt strange—

Then, just as suddenly as it happened, the light vanished.

And something was very, very wrong.

The first thing he noticed was how low to the ground he was. The second was the unsettling sensation of fur.

His limbs felt—shorter. His ears twitched. His tail—TAIL?!

Bartholos floated overhead, cackling.

“Oh, now this is delightful! You’re adorable, Mydeimos!”

Mydei hissed.

HE H I S S E D.

His pupils narrowed into thin slits as his ears flattened against his head, golden eyes burning with fury. He tried to lunge at Bartholos, but instead of his usual, imposing form—

A tiny, furious cat leaped at the spirit.

Bartholos dodged effortlessly, giggling all the while. “Now, now! You should be thanking me. You’re much more agile like this!”

Mydei landed awkwardly, his tiny paws slipping slightly on the stone street. He shook himself in absolute outrage.

This could not be happening.

He was Mydeimos.

Prince of Kremnos.

A Chrysos heir.

Not—A CAT.

He was going to kill Bartholos.

As soon as he figured out how to walk properly.

The Spirit Thief cackled, twirling midair just out of reach.

���Oh, Mydeimos, I must say—” Bartholos snickered. “You make a very dashing little feline!”

Mydei’s golden fur bristled as he tried to puff himself up, his tail lashing behind him.

He was going to rip this damn spirit apart.

If only he could—

MOVE PROPERLY.

He lunged. Or at least, he tried to.

What should have been a powerful, warrior’s leap turned into a clumsy pounce, his paws slipping against the stone street. He went skidding forward, his tiny body tumbling in an embarrassing roll before coming to a stop on his back.

The worst part?

Bartholos was wheezing.

The spirit’s entire form flickered wildly, as if it could barely hold itself together from laughter.

“Oh, this is great! I didn’t even have to do anything!”

Mydei growled, flipping himself over and crouching low, ears flattened in pure feline rage.

This body was infuriating.

He tried again, paws scrabbling against the pavement, but every time he attempted a proper sprint, his movements felt awkward, wobbly— his instincts told him to move differently, but his warrior’s mind refused to accept it.

Bartholos, delighted beyond words, twirled in the air once more.

“I’d love to stay and watch you humiliate yourself further, but alas, I have places to be!”

Mydei swiped at him with his tiny claws, but the spirit only giggled, dodging effortlessly.

“Good luck, little prince! Try not to get stepped on!”

And with that, the spirit vanished in a flicker of purple light, leaving only the faint echo of laughter behind.

Mydei stood there, fur bristling, completely and utterly livid.

He had just been turned into a helpless little housecat.

He took a slow breath, his ears twitching in irritation.

Fine.

He’d deal with Bartholos later.

Right now, he needed to find a way to fix this mess.

With that goal in mind, Mydei stalked off, determined—despite his ridiculous new body

Mydei stalked forward—or at least, he tried to.

His tail lashed, his ears twitched in irritation, and every step felt wrong.

Walking on four legs was infuriating. His balance was all over the place, and his once-powerful strides were now tiny, careful steps. A part of him knew he should just embrace the feline instincts taking over his body, but his mind—his warrior’s mind—rejected it outright.

He was Mydeimos. A warrior. A Chrysos heir. Not some delicate little house pet.

And yet—

His paws padded silently against the stone streets of Okhema as he forced himself forward, keeping to the shadows. The last thing he needed was someone spotting him like this.

(If Phainon saw him, he would never live it down.)

He made it halfway down an alley before something caught his attention.

A flicker of movement.

A large metal bucket teetered on the edge of a wooden cart. Someone must’ve left it poorly balanced, because with the slightest gust of wind—

CRASH!

The sound shattered the silence, and Mydei jumped.

Not just a normal startle—no, his entire body reacted instinctively.

His fur puffed up so violently that he looked twice his size. His back arched, claws unsheathed, tail bristled like a bottlebrush—

And worst of all?

He let out a sharp, startled meow.

Silence followed.

Mydei blinked, realization sinking in.

His ears flattened in sheer mortification.

He took a slow breath, forcing his fur to settle.

No one saw that.

He was fine.

With renewed determination (and a bruised ego), Mydei pushed forward.

Navigating the streets of Okhema as a cat was proving to be a nightmare.

Mydei was used to towering over people, not weaving between their legs. Every step was a new hazard—from careless boots nearly crushing his tail to merchants swinging baskets dangerously close to his head.

Still, he pressed on.

But just as he was rounding a corner, the sound of rushing water reached his sensitive ears.

That’s when he saw it.

A small stone bridge overlooked one of Okhema’s canals, where the river ran through the city. A group of children leaned over the edge, giggling and pointing at something.

Mydei paid them no mind. He had bigger concerns.

Until—

Something smacked into his side.

It was a blur—a running child who didn’t see him. Too late for Mydei to react.

His paws slipped on the slick stones.

And then—

SPLASH.

Cold.

The world went silent.

For a moment, he just sank. The weight of his fur dragged him down as water rushed around him, stealing his breath. His limbs flailed, but everything was wrong—he couldn't move the way he used to, couldn't rely on his usual strength—

He was drowning.

That’s when a pair of hands plunged into the water.

He felt warm fingers wrap around him, lifting him out of the river and into the open air.

Coughing. Sputtering. Shivering.

A soft voice, warm and soothing, broke through the haze.

“Oh, you poor thing…”

Y/N.

She held him close, cradling him against her chest. Water dripped from his fur, soaking into her clothes, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Mydei, however, was mortified.

A low, miserable grumble escaped him as he shivered violently, his soaked fur clinging to his body.

Y/N chuckled, pressing a gentle hand to his tiny head. “Aww, you must be freezing.”

He bristled. Freezing and humiliated.

Before he could wriggle away, she wrapped him up in her cloak, cocooning him in warmth. The sudden contrast of cold water and her body heat made him still for a moment.

He felt… safe.

“I’ll take care of you,” Y/N murmured softly, rubbing his back to warm him up.

Mydei hated how much he melted into it.

(He was still going to kill that spirit thief when he got his hands on it.)

Y/N carried the drenched cat into her home, her brows furrowed in concern as she carefully shut the door behind her. The poor thing was shivering, and she could feel the slight tremble in its tiny body.

"You're a mess," she murmured, cradling him against her chest as she walked toward the fireplace. "How did you even end up like this?"

Mydei, absolutely humiliated, flattened his ears. He did not want to be handled like some fragile little creature, but at the same time, her warmth was… nice. His soaked fur made everything colder than it should be, and despite himself, he leaned just a little into her hold.

Y/N gently placed him onto a pile of soft blankets near the fire and disappeared for a moment. Mydei let out a long sigh, flicking his tail in frustration. He had been minding his own business, doing his duty as a warrior, and then—that damned spirit thief. He had chased it, and now he was this. Small. Powerless. And worst of all, adorable.

He scowled at the thought.

Just as he thought this wouldn't get any worse

Phainon stepped into the room, shaking off the cold air from outside. "Y/N, I was looking for—"

His words trailed off as his gaze landed on the soaked, grumpy-looking cat curled up in the blankets near the fire.

Silence.

A slow, amused grin spread across his face.

Y/N, who had been rummaging through her cupboards, glanced up. "Oh? Do you know him?"

Phainon barely held back his laughter, crossing his arms as he studied the furious-looking feline. "Oh, I definitely do."

Mydei bristled, his fur fluffing up in absolute rage. His tail lashed behind him, ears pinned back, warning Phainon to keep his mouth shut.

Phainon, of course, did not.

"So, Mydei," Phainon said casually, crouching down beside him. "Rough day?"

Mydei hissed at him, actually hissed, which only made Phainon laugh outright.

"Oh, this is good," Phainon murmured, eyes twinkling with amusement. "I mean, really. Of all things, you got turned into this?"

Mydei growled lowly, narrowing his golden eyes.

Phainon leaned in slightly, grinning. "You know, I always thought you'd make a great house pet. Fierce, protective, a little high-maintenance—"

Swipe.

Mydei's paw shot out, barely missing Phainon's face.

Phainon dodged, still grinning like this was the best day of his life.

Y/N, completely unaware, turned back to them with a towel.

She paused, noticing Phainon snickering and Mydei looking one second away from launching himself at him.

"...Did I miss something?" she asked, blinking.

Phainon very deliberately straightened up, dusting off his coat. "Nope. Nothing at all."

Mydei shot him the deadliest glare a cat had ever given a person.

Oh, he was going to pay for this.

Y/N knelt beside the bundle of damp fur, her brows furrowing in concern. “You poor thing,” she murmured, reaching out to gently scratch behind Mydei’s ears.

Mydei froze.

Phainon, meanwhile, did not. He leaned against the doorframe, grinning like he had just won a bet.

Y/N, oblivious to the tension between them, continued her gentle ministrations. “I’ll get you dried off, don’t worry.” She reached for a soft towel, wrapping Mydei in it and rubbing his fur carefully.

Mydei desperately tried to ignore how warm and soft her hands were. This was humiliating. Not the being-a-cat part—this. The gentle cooing, the soft petting, the fact that Phainon was watching all of this unfold like it was the most entertaining thing he'd ever seen.

“I think he likes you,” Phainon said, biting back a laugh as Mydei tensed.

Y/N smiled. “He’s just cold and tired.” She looked down at Mydei with nothing but kindness. “Aren’t you, little guy?”

Little guy— Mydei physically twitched.

Phainon straight-up wheezed.

Mydei’s tail whipped violently under the towel, and Phainon had to step back to avoid getting smacked.

“Oh, he’s got spirit,” Phainon said, clearly enjoying himself. “I like him.”

Y/N placed Mydei on her lap, carefully inspecting his damp fur. “Poor thing. You must be starving.”

Phainon snorted.

Oh, this was too good.

Y/N scratched under Mydei’s chin. “I’ll get you something warm, okay?”

Phainon stared at Mydei’s face, watching as the Kremnoan prince battled between sheer frustration and some deeply buried appreciation for the attention.

Phainon leaned down, smirking. “Enjoying yourself, Mydei?” he whispered low enough for only him to hear.

Mydei hissed.

Phainon dodged another furious swipe, laughing the entire time.

Y/N hummed softly in the background, focused as she stirred a small pot over the stove, filling the home with the warm scent of honeyed herbs and vegetables. The little golden cat sat quietly on the windowsill, his tail flicking with building frustration as Phainon stood near the table, leaning casually against it, arms crossed and lips curled into a smug grin.

“Well, well, who would've thought,” Phainon drawled. “The great Mydeimos—brought down by a prankster spirit and turned into... this.” He gestured dramatically toward the feline, who narrowed his golden eyes in warning.

Mydei’s ears flattened.

“Honestly,” Phainon chuckled, “I’m not even mad. It’s kind of poetic.”

Mydei let out a growl—not a particularly intimidating one, but angry enough. His claws flexed against the wood. His body tensed.

“You look ridiculous, by the way,” Phainon added, clearly unable to help himself. “I mean, look at you—tiny, fluffy, and helpless. I don’t think I’ll ever let you live this down.”

That was it.

With a furious yowl, Mydei launched himself off the windowsill and flew straight at Phainon. He shouted in surprise as the full weight of a determined cat landed square on his chest, claws sinking into his coat.

“WHAT THE—!” Phainon stumbled backward, flailing. “Get off me, Mydei!”

Y/N froze.

Her spoon clattered into the pot as her head whipped around. “Wait—what?”

Phainon blinked. Mydei froze mid-swipe, now half-latched onto his shoulder. Both of them turned toward Y/N, who was standing with wide eyes and an expression that flickered rapidly between confusion and dawning realization.

“You just said—” she pointed at the cat, then at Phainon, “—Mydei?”

Phainon opened his mouth. Closed it. “...Oops.”

Mydei let out a strangled noise that might’ve been a furious growl if it wasn’t coming from his tiny feline throat. He released Phainon with a hiss and dropped to the floor with a soft thump, immediately darting under the table.

Y/N slowly walked forward, peering underneath. There, golden fur puffed and tail twitching, was the cat she’d been nursing back to health and gently cooing at for the past hour.

“You mean to tell me…” she crouched, eyes wide, “this—is Mydei?”

Mydei didn’t move. He just stared back at her with unmistakably human guilt and embarrassment radiating from his big golden eyes.

“Oh my god.” Y/N sat back on her heels, utterly dumbfounded. “I’ve been—carrying you. Talking to you. Letting you sleep on my lap. Scratching behind your ears.”

A small, mortified mewl came from under the table.

Phainon snorted. “Yeah, that one’s been hard to keep quiet about.”

Y/N turned her gaze slowly on Phainon. “You knew?”

He shrugged, grinning. “Of course I knew. How could I not? That furious glare? The offended silence? Classic Mydei.”

Mydei poked his head out from beneath the table, cautiously watching Y/N with wide eyes. He looked... sheepish. Which was saying a lot for a cat.

While phainon explained what happened.

Y/N sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Okay. So let me get this straight. He chased the Spirithief—Bartholos—got caught in one of their tricks and ended up like this?”

Phainon nodded helpfully. “Oh yeah. And now he’s stuck until we figure out how to reverse it. So until then…” He looked at Mydei and smirked. “...He’s your new house cat.”

Y/N stared at Mydei again.

And despite everything—despite the absurdity, the surprise, the confusion—a laugh escaped her lips.

“I can’t believe this,” she said, reaching under the table. “This is so you.”

Mydei hesitated, then slowly stepped forward. She gently scooped him up, cradling him in her arms. His little ears burned red at the tips, his fur still puffed slightly from embarrassment. He refused to meet her eyes.

“You could’ve just tried writing something in the dirt, you know,” she murmured softly, giving his ear a light scratch. “Instead of attacking Phainon.”

Phainon snorted again from the corner. “You say that like he hasn’t wanted to attack me for years.”

Mydei grumbled in her arms.

Y/N’s voice softened. “Well... I guess I’ll just have to take care of you until we fix this.”

Phainon leaned against the doorway. “Careful. If he likes the attention too much, he might not want to change back.”

That earned him another growl.

Y/N smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, Mydei.”

The cat in her arms stopped squirming and leaned slightly into her touch, still mortified, still flustered—but maybe, just maybe... a little comforted.

And Phainon, watching them from the doorway, grinned to himself, already drafting a list of nicknames for Prince Meowdeimos.

Bartholos had almost gotten away.

Slipping through shadows and dipping beneath market stalls, it danced over rain-slick rooftops, purple light flickering like mischief trailing behind him. It swirled with delight as it zipped through Okhema’s winding alleys, smug and carefree.

Right up until it zipped straight into a glowing ward.

With a loud zzzzzap! and a startled yelp, the Spirit Thief hit the invisible wall midair and bounced back into a tightly drawn net of shimmering runes.

It's tiny form dropped onto the cobblestone with an indignant squeak, tail flicking wildly as the trap shimmered around him—spell-etched lines and all.

“Got you,” Y/N said calmly.

She stepped out from the shadows of the alley, arms folded and expression sharp—not angry, but stern in a way that made even the spirit’s glow dim slightly.

Bartholos blinked up at her, then flicked it's gaze to the golden-furred cat sitting at her heels.

“Oh... oh this is a problem,” the spirit muttered, inching backward. “You brought her here?”

Mydei, in cat form, sat tall and smug, tail lazily curled around his paws as he gave Bartholos a slow, victorious blink. There was satisfaction in that stare.

Y/N crouched beside the trapped spirit, inspecting it like one might a misbehaving child.

“You turned him into a cat,” she said simply, her voice firm but not cruel.

Bartholos looked around for an escape, but the glowing trap pulsed tighter with every movement. He gave a sheepish shrug. “It was a prank. A little mischief! No harm done.”

“No harm?” Y/N raised a brow. “You stranded him, made him sleep outside, couldn’t speak, couldn’t explain anything—and you let me believe he was just a stray. Do you know how worried I was?”

Bartholos fidgeted. “I mean, he was warm and fluffy. And he did get ear scratches. Sounds like a win.”

Y/N leaned in, gaze narrowing just slightly.

Bartholos shrank under the weight of it.

“I could trap you in a bottle,” she said. “Do you want to live the next week in a jar?”

Bartholos let out a tiny squeak. “...No.”

“I could send you to aglaea

,” she added. “You know how she feels about troublemakers.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” the spirit whined, coiling it's tail anxiously. “I get it. You’re scary! You win!”

Mydei, beside her, let out a pleased rumble in his throat and gave the spirit the most self-satisfied cat smile to ever grace the realm of Amphoreus.

“I’ll fix it,” Bartholos muttered. “I’ll fix it now. Sheesh.”

Y/N stepped back and dispelled the net with a flick of her hand. “Good.”

Bartholos floated in place, rubbing it's arms with a pout. “You’d think being chased by a cat prince was bad enough... now I’m being mom’d.”

Mydei growled softly.

Bartholos flinched. “Okay! Okay!”

With a frustrated swirl of energy, the spirit clapped its tiny hands together. A shimmer of purple magic spiraled around Mydei, lifting him into the air in a glow of light.

In a blink, the cat was gone—and standing in his place, now barefoot and tousled, was Mydei once more.

He straightened slowly, blinking at the world like it was suddenly too big again. “Finally.”

Y/N turned to him with a breath of relief—and before she could say anything, he reached out and gently took her hand.

“I didn’t think you’d actually catch him,” he said, lips twitching upward. “Let alone scare him.”

She smirked. “He deserved it.”

Behind them, Bartholos hovered with a shiver, arms crossed and tail tangled. “Remind me not to prank your girlfriend again,” it grumbled, sulking into the shadows.

Mydei leaned closer, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Remind me not to get on ypur bad side.”

Y/N raised a brow. “What, too scary?”

He grinned. “Terrifying.”

They walked off together, leaving the chastened spirit to grumble in the alley behind them.

Bartholos huffed and folded its arms. “Mortals. No sense of humor anymore.”

But the spirit didn’t try to follow them.

He’d learned his lesson—for now.

[brucewaynehater101]

I need you to stop me from making another Tim Drake centric fic

I got this random idea that won’t leave me alone

like what if the emotional scars and trauma people have show up physically too most commonly as little cracks on the skin and all of the bats have them

they hide them tho with make up and stuff so people don’t question it except Tim hides them from everyone maybe bc that’s what his parents taught him to do maybe bc he just doesn’t want to burden any of the bats

the bats think that Tim is fine so to them he’s invincible which leads them to treat him as such subconsciously or otherwise especially Bruce

it takes a lot for something to be bad enough that they physically manifest and Tim has A LOT bc everyone thinks he’s invincible

:) it won’t leave me alone help me I beg of you

Hmm.... Let's add on, shall we? This is a very rad idea. You should definitely write a fic about it, but no pressure.

Mind if I explore it? Also, feel free to disregard any part below you don't want/disagree with. This is just brainstorming ^^

Alright. Emotional scars are a physical mark on someone's skin.

Similar to regular scars, they can fade as a person heals.

Some may never disappear, and some only appear for a short time.

What would their color be?

Would they look like actual cracks in a person (so black-ish in color)? Would they be gold or multi-colored (different colors represent different kinds of emotional traumas)?

The level of hurt inflicted is directly proportional to the size (length and width) of the scar.

Perhaps more could be deduced from the general shape (is it jagged? A single line? Branching?)

Not all people have these marks

Most of the population manifests them. There's some prejudice against folk who don't [something something they are heartless, incapable of feelings, not able to be emotionally hurt, cold, detached, etc.], but hiding scars is also common. Therefore, it's harder to discern whether someone is hiding their marks or markless. It's a very fine line, so most people allow a smaller mark to show every once in a while. There's even a few trends to proudly display all marks.

Marks appear at the time of the emotional harm

It may not be apparent at the time due to the location, but the individual being hurt will manifest the mark at the very moment of emotional harm.

Anyways, that's the background stuff. Fun, but let's get into Tim specifically ^^

Tim's parents are part of the few who believe that showing off your scars to anyone, even your loved ones, is both a weakness and a way to guilt-trip people. Therefore, through their archeology studies, they managed to obtain magical objects to prevent the showing of emotional marks. It's similar to glamor.

Tim's object can change forms to suit his needs (so a ring at one moment and an earring the next). This ability prevents the Bats from discovering it.

Janet fakes a very small mark on her hand when she wants to discourage any rumors that's she's incapable of manifesting marks. For Tim, though, his parents wanted him to have rumors of being incapable of forming marks. It served their purpose better for him being the cunning Drake heir.

The deception started from birth, so no one but the Drakes know of Tim's ability to form marks [and the Drake parents never see the marks they leave behind on their child].

The Waynes, long before Tim entered their life, were aware of these rumors. Thus, when Tim demands to become Robin, he doesn't correct their assumptions.

Bruce is a callous fucker to Tim at the start. If Tim can't be hurt emotionally, then Bruce's ill-treatment of him is fine (which is flawed logic. The markless can be emotionally hurt, and they still deserve kindness, dignity, and respect even if they couldn't. Bruce was mentally fucked up, but it doesn't excuse his treatment).

Eventually, Bruce comes to the second realization that Tim should still be treated well even if it doesn't hurt him regardless. The man's behavior is better, but he still has the notion in mind that Tim can't be emotionally hurt. He uses this for missions and to downplay the way his other kids treat Tim (specifically Jason and Damian when they first meet Tim).

Tim gets used to a rotation of insult-names: Robot Robin, heartless, markless (said insultingly), cold-blooded, unfeeling bastard, etc.

He's also subject to a TON of misunderstandings. People are more reluctant to love him due to the belief that he can't love them back. He gets yelled at and told off for "masking/faking his emotions" when he's actually being genuine.

Which adds to his hurt :)

He also has to pretend not to grieve his parents when they die :(

Due to how rare markless are, the Bats don't meet "another" one until after the BruceQuest. When they chat with this person, they realize how many misconceptions they have about them (such as the markless being incapable of feelings. In fact, they accidentally offend that person when they tell the other they don't need to fake their emotions in front of the Bats. Safe to say, the markless individual becomes incensed when they realize how they've been treating their own markless family member).

This would be at least four (probably closer to five) years after Tim first became Robin. The entire family has a meltdown.

Tim, on the other hand, is used to the treatment the Bats have been giving him and becomes incredibly uncomfortable with them trying to care for his feelings and whatnot. It's rocky for a long while as everyone tries to seek forgiveness for something Tim bitterly doesn't hold against them (he is lying to them after all).

Tim rarely, if ever, views his own marks. The last time he checked was when he was having his identity crisis after Robin was taken from him. His entire body, from head to toe, had cracks in it. There was a giant, gaping crack on his back for the metaphorical stab in the back it was.

And we haven't even gotten to when the Bats figure out Tim was never markless :)

[sophiria]

Dulcis Amor

dad!Gojo Satoru x mom!Reader cw: 18+ themes, jjk manga spoilers, post-canon fix-it, references to babytrapping and mentions of birth control, a little bit of manipulation and deception, unmarried couple, twisted and fluffy feelings, vague mention of the reader's hair, implied that you're a little obsessed with each other words: around 900

Satoru was lounging on the Engawa, keeping a watchful gaze on your form inside the bedroom. As you slept peacefully under the blankets, your son fussed in his arms, and the hint of a smile appeared on his lips.

"Oh?" Satoru breathed out, shifting his child so he could rest better on his chest. "Is the little Gojo missing his mom?"

Your son wriggled slightly before going back to sleep. "Back to using me as a pillow, hm?" Satoru mused. "I guess your dad is okay too."

He had never thought a romantic partner was in his cards, let alone having a child. And yet…

He briefly closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. He had died. Murdered by Sukuna. And you made a Binding Vow to bring him back to life.

(Satoru had been furious with you—he had already accepted his death, and you had sacrificed something precious for him.

The Strongest had never known someone who cared for him as much as you did.)

His son stirred on his chest. Satoru looked down at your child. Fatherhood...who would have thought?

It only took one time, one burst of passion (and love, something Satoru could only acknowledge in his mind), and you were pregnant with his child, his heir.

As Satoru was lost in thought, you quietly joined him on the Engawa. Your expression softened as you gazed at your son sleeping soundly on his father's chest.

Satoru peered at you through his pitch-black glasses and motioned for you to join them. You did so and stopped beside the recliner where your lover and child rested.

You caressed your son's head before running your fingers through Satoru's hair, and he smirked softly. "You're such an affectionate mama," he teased, his voice low and hushed. "You're always spoiling us both."

You huffed before smiling, then gently picked up your son, who gripped onto your clothes with his tiny hands. He cooed, and you tickled his nose, making him laugh. Satoru's heart fluttered at the heartwarming sight, and he swallowed hard. He had to look away for a moment, taking a deep breath.

(That's his family. His beautiful little family. Something he never thought he'd have, something he never thought he'd wanted.)

You brought your little one inside, and he yawned as you placed him gently into the crib. 

Satoru followed you and wrapped his arms around your torso from behind. He nuzzled your neck, and his loose snow-white hair brushed against your skin. 

One of your hands found the nape of his neck and stroked it. He purred at your touch, relishing it. "I don't think I'm ever going to let you out of the Gojo estate."

You brushed your nose against his hair. "You won't, hm?"

Satoru lifted his head from the crook of your neck, and his sky-blue eyes found yours. "You're you and the mother of my child. Do you think I would allow any harm to come your way, especially now that you can no longer use Cursed Energy?"

You eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehensiveness. "Since when are you this overprotective?"

He briefly narrowed his eyes. "Since you decided it was a good idea to sacrifice your cursed energy to bring me back."

You heaved a sigh. "Here we go again," you mumbled. "Satoru, I did it for you, I—"

"I know," he cut you off in a deep voice, raising to his full height before cupping one of your cheeks and angling your face towards his. "I know. But you shouldn't have sacrificed your cursed energy."

Your lips parted as you gazed into his eyes, though before you could reply, Satoru leaned forward and took your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. Your noses brushed against one another, and you closed your eyes. He opened his own, looking down at you through his lashes while slightly tightening his hold on your cheek and waist.

Satoru wondered if you were ever going to figure out that him getting you pregnant wasn't a mistake—that he chose to deactivate his Infinity while the two of you had sex.

(He had to do it. You sacrificed your nature as a sorcerer to bring his soul back to life, and he wanted to keep you safe and bound to him.)

You leaned back to breathe in some air and looked at him through half-lidded eyes. "I need to tell you something," you said, bringing your hand to his face to cup his cheek. "About the pregnancy."

Satoru's posture stiffened, although he managed to keep his expression nonchalant. "What about it?"

You began stroking his jawline. "Me getting pregnant...it wasn't a mistake, nor a malfunction of your cursed technique."

He desperately tried to keep a straight face. "Oh really? So you're telling me it wasn't my Infinity acting up?"

You hesitated, and your hand left his face. You then wrapped your arms around his upper body, snuggling up to him. The tension began to leave his body, and he held you to himself. "I was never on birth control," you admitted, voice muffled by his chest. His eyes widened at your words—wait, what? Did you— "I'm sorry I lied about it, Satoru."

You sniffled and held onto him in what seemed to be a silent way to beg for forgiveness. His eyes twinkled, and Gojo felt something akin to butterflies in his stomach. "Shhh, it's okay," he murmured, caressing your back in a comforting manner. "It's okay. I'm not angry." He buried his face into your hair, inhaling your scent. "I could never be angry at how much you've always wanted me."

[lovetwist]

Veil of Deception (I)

SYNOPSIS: In a world where political alliances are forged in blood and treachery lurks around every corner, you find yourself thrust into marriage with Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen. Born to be his perfect mate, you grapple with the terrifying prospect of becoming entangled with a man known for his brutality, obsession, and madness. As your union unfolds, you navigate a landscape of deception and dark desires, struggling to find your footing in a marriage fraught with danger and uncertainty. Caught between duty and defiance, summon your strength and resilience to survive in a world where loyalty is a luxury and love is a dangerous game.

WARNINGS (R18+): mildly dub-con, smut, first time, weapons kink, mentions of violence, manipulations, genetic breeding, power play

Word Count: 3.5k

PART 2

Below the towering spires of obsidian and steel, against a backdrop of opulent extravagance that flaunted wealth and power, a tension hung heavy, pregnant with the promise of destiny.

As Lady Atreides, sole daughter of Leto Atreides, you stood poised on the precipice of a meeting that would shape the course of your future. Your heart seized with nerves as you awaited the arrival of your betrothed.

Since your 15th name day, you had known of your engagement to the na-Baron. It was an inescapable fate predetermined by the Bene Geserrit. Your mother, Lady Jessica, had gone against them by giving birth to Paul, a male heir for Leto. Two years later, she gave birth to you – a gift of compromise for both sides. In return, Lady Jessica and Leto achieved the familial harmony they wanted, through the sacrifice of their daughter.

Every year, the Harkonnens requested your portrait to be sent along with a lock of hair. In exchange, they sent House Atreides jewels, gold, silks, and spice; disguised bribes for the upkeep of such a fine lady. They had only sent a portrait of Feyd-Rautha once. It was taken during his coming-of-age ceremony, a lean young man dressed in black fighting leathers. You stared often at the picture, looking to find some clue that could reveal his character. His demeanor was unnaturally cold and collected, yet his dark eyes barely concealed a burning rage. You wondered if Feyd-Rautha poured over you pictures as you did his.

Years passed and the engagement felt more like a false formality than reality. Unlike other noble families, you never exchanged letters with Feyd-Rautha or even met as a courtesy. Having completed your Bene Geserrit training under your mother, you learned that such things did not matter when it came to pairings arranged by the Reverand Mother. You caught whispers of conversation between your mother and her Bene Geserrit sisters. There would be no chance of failure, this union would be perfect. You were genetically engineered to be his absolute mate. Attraction and physical compatibility was assured. Everything about you was designed to lure him in – your scent, your voice, your everything was to be his undoing from the moment he would lay eyes on you.

Yet the thought gave you no confidence as you stood here now in Giedi Prime. Sexual attraction differed greatly from love, he didn’t need emotions to breed you. Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen, was a man followed by countless stories of brutality and wickedness. You heard that he laughed when Reverand Mother subjected him to the Gom Jabbar. He didn’t endure pain, he reveled in it.

Your palms grew clammy, breath becoming increasingly shallow as you pondered the dark fate that awaited you in the form of this formidable man. Would Feyd-Rautha be the embodiment of all the whispered sin that had reached your ears, or would he prove to be an enigma beyond your wildest imaginings? With each passing moment, the anticipation mounted, weaving a delicate web of uncertainty around your heart as your braced yourself to meet the man who held your destiny in his hands.

The grand doors of the chamber swung open with a regal flourish, your heart quickened its pace, echoing the rhythm of anticipation that thrummed through the air. Through the gray haze of incense, you beheld Feyd-Rautha, a vision of masculinity and charisma, whose presence seemed to command the very essence of the room. His eyes met yours across the expanse of the chamber, a charged moment filled with unspoken tension, as if the universe itself held its breath in anticipation of this meeting.

You were ensnared in a tempest of conflicting emotions, thoughts swirling like sand caught in a desert storm. You questioned your own composure, wondering if you could maintain the facade of confidence expected of a lady of House Atreides in the presence of the young Harkonnen and the terrifying Baron. Feyd-Rautha may be your future husband, but he was not required to provide you a good nor happy life. After all, why would he? You were the daughter of his family’s sworn enemy. He may have been bound in marriage to you by centuries of bloodline manipulation, but he maintained a free will.

Would his words falter, betraying the tumult and hatred raging within him? Or would he summon the grace and poise befitting his station, masking the turmoil that churned beneath the surface? Your apprehension mounted, a symphony of doubt and fear playing out in the recesses of your mind. Yet, amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a glimmer of determination flickered like a distant star on the horizon, urging you forward into the unknown with a quiet resolve born of necessity.

For in the labyrinthine dance of politics and power that defined their world, you knew that you could ill afford to falter now. With a steadying breath, you squared your shoulders and prepared to face your destiny, whatever form it may take in the guise of a madman husband.

Feyd-Rautha, with an air of effortless confidence, strode forward, his gaze a smoldering ember that ignited a spark within your soul. In that fleeting moment, as your paths converged amidst the darkness and mist of the surroundings, you felt a surge of something unfamiliar yet undeniable—an electric current that crackled between your bodies, binding your fates together inextricably.

Words eluded you as you struggled to articulate the wave of emotions that threatened to consume you. Yet, in the silence that stretched between you two, you found solace in the understanding that this meeting was but the first step on a journey fraught with uncertainty and possibility. He bowed without taking his eyes off you. In greeting, you extended a gloved hand, Feyd-Rautha grasped it with a firm sense of resolve. You knew that your lives were now intertwined in ways neither could fully comprehend nor stop.

And in that moment, amidst the hazy dream of your shared future, you glimpsed the faintest flicker of something akin to desire dance across his eyes. You noticed a dilation of his pupils as he laid a kiss on the back of your hand. Then, his grasp of you tightened and tightened. Your face contorted in pain as a crooked smirk appeared on his features.

In the dim light of the chamber, your eyes traced the contours of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips, searching for traces of the young man you once memorized in a portrait. Yet, try as you might, only a beast stood before you in the guise of a gentleman. When he stood at his full height with his darkened leer, you held yourself back from cowering. His gaze was vicious, his smile vulgar with blackened teeth, and he exuded an air of savagery.

“How delightful it is to finally meet you, Lady Atreides.”

His deep, raspy voice caught you off guard. What a performer he could be! Long gone was the ethereal allure he displayed when first entering the room, now you could see him for what he was.

“Likewise, my Lord Feyd-Rautha.”

Uncertainty lingered like a specter in the room, casting a pall over the impending union that would bind you with him. You let your gaze lower onto the floor as your parents approached to talk with the Baron and na-Baron.

You could feel his intense gaze burning through your body even as you moved away to be with your brother. Could his eyes pierce through your facade, unraveling the intricacies of your soul like fine thread? Such questions gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, casting shadows on your will to remain strong.

As the evening progressed, the tension in the air thickened like a fog, suffocating any semblance of ease. Seated at the long banquet table surrounded by your family, the Harkonnens, and noble guests, you found yourself ensnared in a delicate dance of propriety and peril.

Across from you, Feyd-Rautha lounged in his seat, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he watched you with unabashed fascination. His demeanor was that of a predator toying with its prey, his every movement calculated to instill a sense of discomfort. Your family would leave to Arrakis after the wedding festivities, then you would be truly left alone with him. The precariousness of your position tugged at your heart.

As the meal commenced, the atmosphere grew increasingly tense, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the strained chatter of polite conversation. You forced yourself to engage in small talk with those seated around you, your words measured and careful, lest you betray the fear that coiled like a serpent in the pit of your stomach.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of composure, you couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized by those dark, probing eyes. It was as if Feyd-Rautha could see straight through you, peeling away the layers of pretense to expose your most secret vulnerabilities. You found yourself growing increasingly unsettled. You longed to escape, to retreat to the safety of your chambers and away from the suffocating presence of the Harkonnen heir.

But you knew that there would be no reprieve, no sanctuary from the darkness that had descended upon your life like a shadow. For tonight, and every night thereafter, you were bound to him by the cruel machinations of fate, condemned to walk a path fraught with danger and uncertainty. And as you raised your glass to Feyd-Rautha’s toast to your impending union, you couldn't help but wonder what horrors awaited you.

“To the most beautiful bride in the world, I will certainly savor tomorrow’s…memories.”

The men at the table chuckled darkly while your father’s and brother’s jaws clenched. You lay your delicate hand over theirs, do not mourn me. If I am to die, I shall do so with honor.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

As your mother lowered your veil, you noticed tears forming in her eyes. You never thought you’d live to see the day the impenetrable Lady Jessica shed tears for you. I must really be walking into my death, you thought.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror. There were no words to describe the vision you saw. Crafted from the finest silk and satin, your wedding gown exuded an air of majestic elegance with flowing skirts cascading like waves of moonlight around your figure.

The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork and delicate lace, hugged your curves with a tailored precision, accentuating a slender waist and graceful neckline. A row of tiny diamonds trailed down your body, gleaming against the smooth expanse of your back. While the front of the dress was conservative, your back was tastefully exposed through a combination of sheer silk, diamonds and pearls.

Your hair was pinned neatly into a bun with a delicate braid on each side. The veil was gauzy, making your face seem like a daydream. The ivory fabric of your dress pooled at your feet in a sea of frothy tulle and satin, forming a train that trailed behind you like a regal cloak. The wedding dress was embroidered with delicate motifs of growing vines, mountains and ocean waves – a reminder of Caladan.

At your collar, a border of intricate lacework added a touch of timeless elegance, its patterns catching the light in a dazzling display of shimmering beauty. With every movement, the gown seemed to whisper tales of romance and splendor, a clear hope to the love and devotion the seamstress had prayed you’d find. You choked down a sob.

You’ve made me an angel for him to ruin.

The wedding hall was adorned with such grandeur, you’d expect the emperor’s daughter was getting married instead. The flickering silver torches cast dancing shadows upon the ebony stone walls. As guests gathered in hushed reverence, the air crackled with anticipation, as if the very walls themselves whispered of your impeding damnation.

At the front of the hall, beneath a canopy of arched black silk, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stood, an imposing figure in his ceremonial garb. His porcelain skin was stark against the darkness of his clothes as he awaited his bride.

You approached with measured steps, hardening your grip on your father’s arm. Your eyes must’ve betrayed your fear and resignation because you could see Feyd-Rautha biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh.

As you reached the altar, his lips curled into a predatory smile, his voice dripping with malice as he spoke the vows that bound you together in unholy matrimony. The words echoed through the hall like a curse, sealing your fate alongside his.

As you exchanged rings, a union forged in the fires of despair, you vowed that though your body may be bound to Feyd-Rautha, your spirit would remain forever free.

Standing before him, you felt the weight of his gaze like chains around your soul.

With a solemn nod from the officiant, you and Feyd-Rautha were instructed to seal your union with a kiss. He removed your veil, his eyes lingering on your face. As his lips met yours, a shiver ran down your spine.

The kiss was surprisingly gentle, but devoid of love. You gasped when his tongue entered your mouth. It was a macabre dance of dominance and submission, a twisted mockery of affection that left a bitter taste upon your lips. You try to push him away, but he holds your hands firm against his chest. The Harkonnens roar with applause and laughter. As you pulled away, a sense of profound emptiness washed over you, a hollow echo of the dreams and desires that had once burned within your heart.

The rest of the wedding banquet was a blur. As you were led to the high table by Feyd-Rautha's side, you couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped, ensnared in a web of malevolence. The guests, mostly Harkonnen allies, noble families, and sycophants, feigned smiles and exchanged whispers, their eyes gleaming with a perverse curiosity at the spectacle of your union.

The feast itself was a decadent display of excess, with platters of exotic delicacies and goblets overflowing with rich wines. But the opulence only served to accentuate the suffocating atmosphere, as the room was closing in on you with each additional piece of ornate furniture.

Feyd-Rautha, ever the consummate host, played his part with calculated charm, his laughter ringing hollow in your ears as he regaled the guests with tales of conquest and murder. You watched him from across the table, his features twisted in a mask of false benevolence, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of revulsion mingled with a sliver of pity. He, too, was playing a part – ever the performer. 

Throughout the banquet, you were subjected to the leering gazes and whispered innuendos of the Harkonnen cronies, their crude remarks slicing through the thin veneer of civility like daggers. But you held your composure, steeling yourself against their taunts and jeers, refusing to let them see the cracks in your mask.

As the night wore on and the wine flowed freely, the mood grew increasingly raucous, the revelry descending into a frenzied ecstasy. You found yourself adrift in a sea of faces, each one a grotesque caricature of humanity, their laughter and applause a cruel mockery of your predicament.

And amidst the chaos and debauchery, you couldn't help but wonder what was in store for you, chained to a man whose heart was as black as midnight. As you absentmindedly finished your last sip of wine, Feyd-Rautha stood suddenly, his chair loudly rattling against the granite floors. A chilling silence descended upon the hall.

He extended a hand towards you and you immediately understood his intentions. You departed the hall, hand-in-hand as men watched with envy and women stared with pity. You couldn’t bear to look at the faces of your family, afraid that you might beg them to take you home.

---------------------------------------------------------------

As you left the banquet hall with Feyd-Rautha, a heavy sense of foreboding settled over you. The echoes of the evening's macabre festivities lingered in your mind, each laughter, each lewd jest, a reminder of the gilded cage in which you now found yourself imprisoned.

You walked beside Feyd-Rautha, his grip firm upon your hand, guiding you through the labyrinthine corridors of the Harkonnen estate. There was an eerie stillness in the air. With each step, you felt the weight of your predicament pressing down upon you, the reality of your situation sinking in like a cold, unyielding truth.

You stole a glance at Feyd-Rautha, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Occasionally fireworks would alight by the window, allowing you to see his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger that made you look away immediately.

As you walked in silence, your mind raced with a flurry of thoughts and emotions, a storm raging within you. You couldn't help but wonder what awaited in the bedchamber. You weren’t ignorant to the act of consummating a marriage, but your husband was no ordinary man. What horrors lay in store for a woman bound to a man as cruel and cunning as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen… what would satisfy a man like him? But amidst the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of desire burned within you, a stubborn resolve to claim him as much as he claims you.

He led you into a large room with double doors. Compared to the gaudy decorations of the wedding hall, this room was relatively simple: a chamber of dark elegance and understated grandeur. There were only the bare necessities required of a bedroom, but each piece had been impeccably handmade with the most exquisite of materials. At its center, a massive four-poster bed stands as the focal point, its frame crafted from polished ebony wood, intricately carved with motifs of serpents and ivy. Perfectly sized above the bed, stretching over the ceiling was pure reflective glass. You swallowed thickly, this man had no shame.

A grand chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, its crystals casting prismatic rays of light across the room, illuminating the space with a haunting allure.

The walls are lined with dark, navy paneling, adorned sparingly with antique tapestries depicting scenes of forgotten battles and dangerously sharpened weapons. A sleek, black writing desk sits nearby, stacked with books on war strategies and adorned with quill and parchment.

A sense of regal simplicity pervades the space, each element carefully curated to its master. This is a sanctuary of solitude, where one can retreat from the heaviness of the Harkonnen world and immerse themselves in the embrace of peace.

Busy admiring the room, you didn’t notice Feyd-Rautha locking the doors behind you. You tensed when you suddenly felt the coldness of a blade against your back. With one precise slice, he cut your wedding dress open leading all the decorative pearls to fall to the ground. Your hands instinctively went to cover yourself, but his newfound grip on your wrists was even faster.

“You are mine now, pet.” His hands slowly guided yours down as he ripped away the rest of your dress. “Do not resist me, I want to see you in all your beauty.”

Your face flushed as you looked away from him. You knew objecting to his wish was futile, perhaps if you appeased him then he’d be gentler. You learned this was a useless thought the moment you saw his expression – raw, animalistic hunger chipped away at the edges of his sanity. His pupils dilated so wide that his eyes became monochromatic orbs of obsidian.

He removed his own clothes with swift and lithe movements, revealing pure sculpted muscle. Through the rapid rise and fall of his chest, you could see that he was barely holding back his lust. Feyd-Rautha was going to devour you without leaving a single morsel for the world.

“I-I… If you hurt me, I will scream.”

“Go ahead, it’ll only stroke my ego if you do. Scream loud enough for the whole banquet to hear. Let them know what pleasures your husband bestows upon you.”

With each step he took towards you, you took two steps back. When you felt the bed come into contact with the back of your knees, you realize you’ve been trapped.

“Lie down.” he commanded.

Sensing the tonal shift in his voice, you obeyed. You felt his long, slender fingers enter your most intimate place. When he curved against your inner wall, you let out an involuntarily moan – which he quickly swallowed from your lips. You had touched yourself before, but only rarely during occasions when you couldn’t sleep and the moon was hanging high.

However, this was different – he was different. His fingers reached places where yours never could. Your body made lewd sounds as he pumped in and out of you with torturous speed. The way you grind against his hand was indecent, but he rewarded you with such sweet friction. Hearing his low pants against your ear, you couldn't help but writhe into his touch. When you came undone, he smirked and licked your essence from his fingers.

Before you could catch your breath, he was on top of you again; caging you between his toned arms. He reached out to grasp your chin before roughly crashing his lips down on yours. The kiss was all-consuming, he was drinking in every part of you without letting you breathe. Your eyes wandered down to where his member stood unnaturally stiff and enlarged. Your new husband sneered at your expression before his right hand circled around your throat.

“Your throat… it shall be my axis tonight.”