#always having the patience to answer questions

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Hello again wonderful person of the Internet!

Thank you for answering my previous question! But I have came to you for another one.

So I’ve seen a little bit of dialogue from Ford, but how does he speak? Like what is his speaking mannerisms? Is it all gibberish? Does he stutter? Does he repeat words?

Keep on making your art and being awesome! :)

~ Question asked from the Tiniest Cyclops ~

Hello, hello again, tiny cyclops in my inbox!

As I mentioned in this post where I go a bit more in depth on Ford's brain injury, Ford suffers from aphasia! Which is basically the loss of one's ability to express language and communicate, while not losing the ability to understand it. But I'm sure you already knew this; and if not, the more you know!

How does he speak? It really depends when you were to go up and talk to him in the timeline. His speech mannerisms the few following years right after his head trauma is very different from how he speaks now in canon! He's had 30 years to recover, after all.

Ford's speech right after his injury was practically non-exitstent. He was smacked in the face with all of the textbook definition symptoms of aphasia, ramped up to 100.

Speaking in short or incomplete sentences.

Speaking in sentences that don't make sense.

Substituting one word for another or one sound for another.

Speak unrecognizable words.

Have difficulty finding words.

Conversations with him back then were not "gibberish" per se, but more so just... slow. And frustrating for everyone involved, although no one could ever be more frustrated than Ford himself. I mean, can you imagine? He could barely say anything without monumental effort, and whatever meager words he managed to squeeze out of his throat were lackluster, to say the least. Every part of his speech were hindered: grammar, pronunciation, heck, even the tone, volume and rythm of his speech didn't always come out correctly.

Due to how recent his brain injury was, there was also the added physical impairments to his speech. The muscles involved in producing speech were weakened, affecting Ford's control and clarity of his words (this is also called: dysarthria).

From an outsider's perspective, listening to him would have felt a little like listening to an extremely corrupted audio file, or a faulty record player. He would often take long pauses in the middle of his words; his words sometimes blended into one another; and his sentences were short, and simple. I think this quote from this website explains it best.

"Speech may be 'telegraphic' omitting small words such as 'the'. So, 'tomorrow I'm going to the pub with my wife for our anniversary', may be expressed as 'tomorrow...pub... wife... anniversary'. This requires the listener to accurately piece the message together."

So, yeah! As you can imagine, speaking for him was extremely hard. Often times, the townfolk he tried to speak to didn't have the patience to stick around while he finished a sentence, and gradually even Ford lost patience with himself, so he just. Gave up. Which was why he used to be much quieter in the beginning, lurking around town wordlessly, not even really bothering even when someone tried to initiate conversation with him. For a genius who once prided himself so much of his eloquence, losing that ability was a huge blow for him.

How fast one recovers from aphasia really depends on the severity of the injury. It can either take up to a few hours, days, maybe even weeks to fully reover with no long term repercussions, or the symptoms can last months, even years to shake off, and occasionally it's a lifelong condition. Ford, due to the severity of his injury, drew the short end of the stick, and was stuck with the lingering aftereffects of aphasia pretty much forever.

BUT, he evenutally managed to find the will to speak again! At some point during his 30 years of recovery, he decided that he'll figure this shit out himself, goddamnit, he was a scientist. He outsmarted a demon! He didn't have time to be depressed, he needed to relearn how to SPEAK!! (fuck yeah, determination, baby).

And learn he did. Very painfully, very gradually, Ford became basically his own speech therapist for a few decades and relearned everything his body and brain forgot. And although the results aren't perfect- he still stutters, he still gets stuck on words and he still stumbles over them- considering the fact that he had no professional treatment from a clinic or doctor available, it was good enough.

Now he won't shut up! (lovingly)

[salmon-vive]

So, uh, I’ve never asked anything before so idk what I’m doing but, what would happened if Will escaped the cage/Ford? Would Ford try and capture him again? Or would Will let himself be captured? Would Ford be upset? Or possessive?

If you answer this then thank you so much! Me and my friends love your work very much!

Thanks for following the blog!

First of all THIS IS NOT CANON but if this happened, yes, ford would try to capture him again! Losing will would get him sick. literally. The mere tought of losing Will is terrifying. Anxiety first possessiveness after well-

Recapture him. The last doodle I uploaded came from this comic, is like getting back a loved lost pet. Of course eventually Will is going to remember this guy is delusional AF, keeping an eye on Will more than ever and justifying all his possessive actions

NOTES OF THE TORTURED ARTIST:

At this point I cant ever say what I'm going to work next because I don't have too much time and have been feeling very unsatisfied with my artwork and AU writting. I love this guys but everytime I see my work is not good enough. however, I had this question a bit ago and I got quite inspired, thanks cocoa cat!

Also, thanks to all my followers who always reblog and/or like my post, that's the reason to keep me going, I don't want to leave the story unfinished even If it takes me a while, so thanks for the patience!

[hyorijie]

Valentine's Day Special

Dead End ♡ | Alastor x F!Reader

Warnings

Alastor takes over your soul, deceitful dealings, mockery and satire, blackmail, Alastor always tests your patience, possessiveness, blatant teasing, Nsfw, masturbation (reader receives), wild sex, P in V, overstimulation, manipulation. Summary Your mere presence upsets the natural order of Hell, but there is one demon in particular whose chemistry breaks down every time you are near. Your desire for redemption is a rarity he can't ignore. And when he discovers something that leaves you with no escape, the game changes completely. Now you're the one on the ropes.

You've spent weeks in this cursed place.

Hell is not as you imagined it. There are no eternal flames or demons with tridents, but there is constant chaos, a violence that hangs in the air like smoke from an endless fire.

Everything here is aggression, instinct and unbridled ambition. Most disturbing, however, is the certainty of the others: everyone is convinced that you don't belong here.

"You shouldn't be here."

You've heard it from so many mouths that it's no longer a surprise. You are not a murderer, not a perverse psychopath, not a soul doomed by rage or sadism. In life you were… normal. No violent history, no sins that scream eternal justice. And yet, here you are.

But if there's anyone who doesn't believe in mistakes, it's Alastor.

From day one, you felt his attention. Not just any watchfulness, but something more… dangerous.

As if you were a new melody on a frequency that only he can pick up. His smile, always wide and polite, hides a disturbing intensity when he talks to you.

And he always asks the same question.

"How is it possible for you to be here?"

"Have you never enjoyed violence?"

"Haven't you ever felt the temptation to break something… or someone?"

The answers are always the same. No. Never. Never.

But in every question, in every encounter, you sense something strange about him. A doubt. A fascination that goes beyond simple curiosity. Because Alastor is not interested in meaningless things. And yet, with you… he insists.

Until tonight.

It's early morning in the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel. You're alone, or so you think, until the sound of an old gramophone bursts through the air. There is no music, just the crackle of the needle against the vinyl.

A spectral sound.

You startle as you feel the static wash over your back and quickly turn on your heels.

Alastor stands there, at the foot of the stairs, wrapped in shadows that seem to move with him, as if he were an extension of his being. His posture is relaxed, hands folded behind his back, smile intact, but there is something about him that feels different.

Less theatrical, more calculating.

— Ah… what a lovely coincidence. — his voice drifts through the air, vibrant and distorted, like the interference of an old radio. — Just the person I wanted to talk to.

A shiver runs down your spine. Not because you fear him, not exactly, but because the air feels thicker, as if the space between you has shrunk without him taking a single step.

— Ah, what a surprise…— his voice echoes with the distortion of the radio.— I knew you were interesting, my dear, but this….

He takes a step toward you. There is no hostility in his gesture, but something worse, certainty.

— Your brother.

Your body freezes.

— Ah… how curious. — he continues, slurring each word with venomous delight.— There seems to be a lot more reason for you to be here than you've been telling us, doesn't there?

You don't know which is more terrifying: the fact that he has discovered your secret… or the fact that, for the first time, he seems to be enjoying you more than Hell itself.

The silence between you is a living creature. It throbs with electrifying tension, creeps through the shadows and creeps into every corner of the lobby. And he, of course, savors it.

Alastor advances with the elegance of a predator in no hurry to attack, only to amuse himself. His gait is slow, leisurely, a circle around you. Each step echoes in the air like the beat of a macabre song.

— Ah, but don't be so stiff, my dear.— His voice vibrates with an insidious sweetness.— It's not as if I've said something damning…. is it?

He knows what he's doing. He's having fun with doubt, playing with implications, not giving clear answers. But you're not stupid.

—You follow me? — Your tone is firm, though you feel a knot tighten in your stomach.

He lets out a laugh of genuine delight. As if your question is the most hilarious thing he's heard in ages.

— Follow you? Oh, no, no, no, no…— He denies with an exaggerated shake of his head. — That would be terribly invasive! Outrageous, even! I just…got information.

His shadow creeps along the wall behind him, stretching like a wraith elongated by the dim light of the foyer. It's a subtle movement, but you notice it.

Your eyes follow it unwillingly. And Alastor smiles even more.

— You know, my dear… I've been wondering something curious for a long time. — His voice drops just a tone, just enough to become a conspiratorial murmur. — It's fascinating to see you wandering around this modest little hotel, always so quiet. Not a complaint, not a tear. Just existing.

He pauses, and when he speaks again, his tone takes on a tinge of false concern.

— But then, sometimes… you would disappear.

Your heart races.

— Where was our lovely little stranger going when she was going out so calmly?

He stops right next to you, bowing her head in an almost affectionate gesture. But you feel it, the way her energy bubbles around you, the way the light seems to weaken with his nearness.

— Imagine my surprise when, on one of those little escapades, I discovered that you were on a journey… — he clicks his fingers, as if searching for the right word. — …particular.

The air feels thick, charged with something more than electricity. Don't look away from him.

— Where did I go? — you ask, daring him to say it.

Alastor smiles, and his eyes sparkle with wild mischief.

— Oh, no, no, no, no… how rude of me to spoil the mystery. — His shadow on the wall moves again. Slowly. As if someone else is there.

You refuse to back away.

— Say it.

He lets out an exaggerated sigh and puts a hand on his chest, as if moved by your insistence.

— Let's just say… I didn't expect to find you in such a… dangerous place.

A shiver runs down your spine.

— Oh, but don't worry — he continues, leaning slightly towards you. — I won't say anything at all, but…

Something in his tone chills your blood.

— The demons you've been meeting with? — his smile stretches, showing just a flash of sharp teeth. — …well, they seem as interested in you as I.

Shadows stir behind him, and for an instant, the wall ceases to be just a wall. Something there watches you. Something with the same red eyes as Alastor.

And then, he laughs. Low, soft, like a whisper that slips into your ear.

— Tell me something, my dear… —He bends down, barely, with his hands behind his back. — How does it feel to be here, in this small hotel, waiting for a salvation that will never come?

There are no answers.

— Oh, of course! I forgot. —He taps his forehead theatrically, as if he's just remembered something crucial. — You believe in redemption, don't you?

You look at his face, that gesture of eternal satisfaction imprinted on every inch of his being, and the feeling of danger digs into your chest like a hook. You must not fall into his game.

You look at his face, that gesture of eternal satisfaction imprinted on every inch of his being, and the sensation of danger sticks in your chest like a hook. You must not fall into his game.

— But what a peculiar case yours is…— Alastor continues, without needing you to answer. — A sinner without sin.

He begins to walk again, slow, measured. The sound of his shoes echoing against the floor is the only thing heard in the hall.

— A little soul who, as far as we know, never killed, never stole, never reveled in violence or evil. Almost… a saint.— His laughter fills the space again.

— But, then… what's someone like you doing in a place like this?

You don't move. You don't blink.

— A mistake from heaven? — Alastor tilts his head, as if the idea amuses him even more.— Well, well, that's what everyone says. But… there's a little problem with that theory.

It stops right in front of you.

— If heaven has condemned you, then heaven knew something we didn't.

A shiver runs down your spine.

No. He can't know.

He can't.

— Oh, but don't worry, my dear.— he murmurs, his eyes sparkling with unwholesome amusement.— because I already figured it out!

You can't help it. Your breath catches for a second. It's slight, minimal, but he notices. Of course he notices.

Alastor lets out a satisfied sigh and takes a few steps away, giving you space just to continue playing with the tension.

— You see… in one of my many nocturnal inquiries, I came across something very interesting.

The shadow on the wall writhes again, as if something in it had guffawed.

— It turns out that certain… drug-dealing demons have a very particular worker among their ranks.

No.

— A young sinner who, oddly enough, shares a certain resemblance to you.

No.

— Ah, but that's not the best part. — Alastor laughs again and snaps his fingers. —The funny thing is that his dearest sister is here, at the Hazbin Hotel, for the sole purpose of…..

He pauses, reveling in the suspense.

You have to control yourself. You can't react.

Alastor watches you with predatory attention, waiting for any hint of weakness.

— Now, my dear… — His voice drops to a venomous whisper — How does such a good and pure woman, supposedly destined for heaven, end up here… while her brother is in the clutches of some of the foulest and most dastardly demons in this place?

Your palms sweat. The air is heavy, suffocating. But you can't give in.

— I have no idea what you're talking about. —Your voice is firm. There's not a tremor in it.

Alastor blinks. And then, he smiles again.

— Oh, I love it! -He exclaims with mock excitement.— Liar and convincing! You know, if that's the way you were in your mortal life, maybe you did deserve to be here.

You take a deep breath, hold your posture steady, cross your arms, and stare at Alastor with impenetrable conviction.

— These are malicious formulations —you say, in a voice so convincing that you almost believe it yourself. —You don't have proof.

Alastor doesn't respond immediately. Instead, his smile widens, as if you are enjoying the taste of his every word. He watches you with infuriating intensity, like a man who has already solved the riddle and is just waiting for the others to catch up.

But you're not someone easy to corner.

— And what about you? -You ask, barely bowing your head.— A demon like you… with such a violent, horrible record….

You question seriously and firmly.

— What is someone like you doing in this hotel? -you continue, giving him no room for mockery. — Where redemption is the only purpose.

His expression doesn't change, but something in him tenses, just a little. A small discordant note in his perpetual melody of control.

It catches your attention.

—Are you seeking redemption too, Alastor? Or do you just get a kick out of watching us try?

Your ability to turn the tables is precise, surgical.

You know it, you feel it. But Alastor is not just any demon.

Instead of responding, he lets out a low, vibrating laugh, almost like a purr of static. Then, slowly, he tilts his head to one side, his eyes sparkling with even more intense interest.

— Oh, dear… — his voice is a venomous cooing- That's a fascinating question, but… do you know what's even more impresionant?

He comes a little closer, close enough for you to feel the overwhelming presence of his scent all around you.

— What deal did they offer you for your brother's freedom?

The ground seems to disappear beneath your feet.

You can't help it, your body tenses, your breath catches for a fatal instant.

Your eyes widen in disbelief.

How does he know?

How the hell does he know?

— Oh…— He whispers with insidious gentleness. — There it is

You don't need a mirror to know what it sees on your face. The first genuine trace of shock, the chink in the armor you had protected so well.

And Alastor, of course, loves it.

The way Alastor watches you, with that smile that doesn't falter for a second, with those red eyes that sparkle with almost childlike amusement, is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You must react.

—My brother…— you begin, keeping your voice steady, but making sure to add a note of vulnerability.— I cannot control his decisions.

Alastor tilts his head with exaggerated curiosity, as if he really believes you.

— But me, on the other hand…—vyou bite the inside of your cheek to reinforce your expression. —I do want to redeem myself.

Lie.

But it's such a well-constructed lie that it almost seems real.

You can't let Alastor discover the truth. That the original deal wasn't to save your brother from a deal, but to keep an eye on him and Charlie Morningstar.

You must not give him a clue.

Alastor remains silent for a few moments. Any onlooker might think he's considering your words, but you know that's false. He's not someone who just listens.

He analyzes, crumbles, savors every word, every gesture, every pause, finally, he smiles.

— Ah… how touching. —His tone is warm, melodic, but it has the edge of a razor blade. —You are truly lovely when you cling to hope such a fighter!

Your heart hammers in your chest. Did he believe you?

— And tell me, my dear…— Alastor steps forward, his presence flooding the space,— what would you say if I offered you a deal?

Your eyes narrow.

— A deal?

— Ah, yes. -He puts a hand to his chest, feigning absurd humility. —Let's just say… I could help you with your situation.

The words fall heavy on your shoulders.

That's the trap.

That's their play.

Your jaw tenses. No.

—I don't trust you.— Your response is immediate, forceful.

Alastor laughs. Not mockingly, but with an unsettling placidity.

— Oh? — His shadow twists on the wall again. —And why not? Am I not an exemplary citizen of this hotel?

— Your record speaks for itself.

His smile widens.

— You're right! My reputation is quite colorful. — he exclaims with absolute amusement.

— I won't make a deal with you. — you reply immediately.

— Ah, what a pity…—He sighs, theatrically. —I thought we'd make a fabulous team.

His tone is light, casual. But his expression… it looks nothing like someone who has been rejected.

Because he hasn't.

He's gotten information out of it.

Maybe not what he wanted, but something useful.

— You see, my dear… —Alastor leans slightly towards you, his voice descending to a softer, more intimate tone — I understand more than you think.

His smile doesn't move, but his eyes say something else.

— When you love your family, you'd do anything for them, don't you?

Your breath stops for a second, just a second.

But Alastor notices, and in his mind, the web continues to weave.

The air in the lobby becomes stifling.

Alastor no longer bothers with detours. There's no need to.

— Your precious brother is in a contract, I know…— he says, his tone almost kind, almost sympathetic. — But tell me, my dear … was it really against his will?

His question falls like an axe on your neck.

Your jaw tenses. An irrational impulse tells you to hit him, to shut him up, but you can't. You must not. You mustn't.

You grit your teeth, holding back the venom that wants to escape from your throat.

Damn you all.

The memory hits your mind mercilessly. Your brother. His eyes, sparkling with youthful excitement as he spoke of opportunities in Hell.

"Just a couple of jobs, nothing dangerous. They say they pay well. They say there are connections. They say I could get a better place here."

The words of those demons slipped with the smoothness of the sweetest poison.

Promises. Lies disguised as opportunities.

And then, reality.

The contracts, the blood seals, the curses that bound them for life. The traffic. The trafficking of souls.

The price your brother had paid was too high. And now, if you failed in this mission, he would be killed.

You bite the inside of your cheek with such force that you almost taste the blood.

But Alastor does not know this.

You take a deep breath, with absolute control over your expression. Your eyes, on the other hand, take on a calculated coldness, as if his question were irrelevant.

— I don't care what my brother did.— you say firmly.— I only know that I'm here for myself.

— Oh? -Alastor smiles, tilting his head.— Funny. You seemed more concerned about him before.

You feel the impulse to pull back, but you don't.

— My goal hasn't changed, I want to redeem myself.— you lie with impeccable fluidity.

Alastor squints, amused.

— You are very convincing, my dear…—His voice is a seductive whisper. — You really are, but… if you don't care what your brother has done, why does your heart beat so fast every time I mention him?

The blood freezes in your veins.

No.

You stand firm.

You take a deep breath and look at him sternly.

— I refuse to continue this conversation.

Alastor lets out a laugh, full of satisfaction.

— Oh, this is too hilarious! - His laughter reverberates through the hall, a cacophony of distorted mirth.

But you only think of one thing: If Alastor keeps digging, everything will fall apart.

You take a step, intending to leave the lobby. Or at least you try to.

Alastor doesn't allow it.

His hand wraps around your arm with a pressure that falls short of painful, but firm enough to remind you of something crucial: he won't let you go.

— Ah-ah-ah, my dear…— he croaks, slurring his words with amusement, — Our deal still stands!

Your body tenses immediately.

The grip is not violent, but the feeling of being trapped is worse than any blow.

Too hard. Too dangerous.

Your heart hammers against your chest as fury flares inside you.

Curse.

A thousand times curse.

Curse this place, curse Hell.

Curse all the demons that have turned your existence into a hell within Hell.

And above all, damn him.

The Radio Demon, with his eternal smile, with his melodious tone, with that mocking shadow writhing on the wall as if he enjoyed every second of it.

Your jaw clenches so hard it hurts.

But then… you reconsider.

Why?

Why is he offering you a deal?

Alastor doesn't give anything without getting something in return. And if he really believes what you've told him is true-that you're only here for your own redemption-then why so much interest?

Your gaze slides down the corridor, the exit you can no longer reach.

There is no escape, so you decide to change your strategy.

—Why? - Your voice is cold, but controlled. Alastor raises an eyebrow with apparent curiosity.

— Why what? - He replies.

— Why are you offering me a deal? -Your eyes are fixed on his, searching for the tiniest crack in that mask of eternal satisfaction.

He doesn't answer immediately, analyzing your answer for too long. However, you speak again.

— It's curious.— you murmur in a tone that is light, almost playful, but you do it on purpose.

— What is it, my dear? - Alastor blinks, still smiling.

—You're not one to make deals with just anyone.

His expression doesn't change. His hand is still on your arm. But you feel the tension, as if something in the atmosphere has changed direction.

— You're not someone who helps others for no reason.— you continue, leaning into him a little, just enough to play your own game.

You pause, enjoying the moment.

— You've never shown interest in anyone.

Alastor's smile remains intact, but his shadow on the wall twists strangely.

There.

You caught him.

You feel a spark of satisfaction in your chest. Not because you think you've won it, but because now you have something to play with.

— So tell me, Alastor...— Your voice is soft, curious, with an almost dangerous sweetness. — Why me?

You dare to smile, just a little.

— What makes you think I want a deal? Especially with a demon like you.

The shadow you've been staring at for so long is moving.

Not like before, not like a simple distortion on the wall.

Now, it manifests itself.

It is dark, meandering, as if spilling into reality itself. Its edges vibrate with a silent heartbeat, a formless presence, without a mouth, but with bright, piercing eyes.

You stare at it, frozen.

But before you can react, Alastor breaks the silence.

— Ah-ah-ah-ah... - His voice is still melodic, but there is something else now, frustration.

His fingers grip tighter on your arm. This time there is a small pain, uncomfortable, but it quickly disappears with the boiling rage inside you.

— Those details, my dear... —he leans in slightly, his shadow writhing at your feet— I will only give them to you if you tell me the whole truth.

Your lips open.

No.

Not even dead (for the second time).

Your other hand moves before you can think it, trying to pull his grip away with a sharp tug. Violent.

Alastor doesn't flinch.

— Oh, you really want to play like that? - His tone is almost amused, but the pressure in his grip increases just a little.

— Let go of me. - There is no pleading in your voice, only venom.

Alastor won't budge and neither will you.

It's a power play, a battle without retreat.

Both of you steady, both of you immobile, and between you, that throbbing shadow, watching with a latent hunger.

You look at it closely, you study it, and that shadow sees you in the same way, yet it disappears in an instant.

It doesn't slowly fade away, it doesn't dissolve into the gloom. It simply ceases to be there.

As if it never existed.

You blink, stunned, but you don't have time to react.

The pressure on your arm intensifies and, before you can launch another attempt to escape, Alastor pulls you towards him.

Your body lurches, the air ceases to exist between you.

Too close.

His face is inches from yours, his red eyes burning with unnatural intensity. The smile is still there, intact, but there's something about it that gives you goosebumps.

You can't move. You can't breathe.

You don't know if it's because of the tension of the situation or if there's something else, something hidden behind those bright eyes, something no one has ever lived to tell.

Because you don't know Alastor.

You really don't.

You remember the warnings, the whispers in the corridors of the hotel, the whispers of the demons who spoke of him as if he were a force of nature, an inevitable disaster.

Cruel. Sadistic. Unstoppable.

You remember how they mentioned his regretful disappearance, the mystery that shrouded his figure. And most importantly...

If Alastor catches you, no one can save you.

Your throat goes dry.

For the first time in a long time, you feel a slight fear.

You feel it in every heartbeat, in every second that Alastor's eyes pierce yours with an intensity that is pink with unbearable intensity. Your patience wears thin.

You notice it in the subtle change in his smile, in how his shadow seems to turn with an increasingly visible unease.

— Let's get on with our conversation, my dear... —he says, with that false politeness that only makes your skin crawl.

Your jaw tenses.

But he doesn't stop.

— Because, sure, there are many ways to look at this... — his tone is light, amused, but his grip remains firm — Maybe you're simply a sinner trying to make a desperate deal to help your dear brother... — he tilts his head, his smile barely broadening — but oh, what a problem! You can't make it that obvious, can you? That's why you play hard to get.

A shiver runs down your spine, there's nothing to say.

—Or...— he continues, stretching the word out with a hint of mockery, — maybe you're just a little rat snooping around this hotel, looking for information for those dealers he serves.

Your heart hammers hard. But then, Alastor smiles even wider. And says the third.

— Or... most likely...— he whispers, with a cruel softness, —you are here under threat. Someone has sent you. You want to know about me. My movements. My secrets. And more importantly...

Your eyes glow with something lethal.

— You want to know why I've disappeared for so many years.

The fear is immediate.

Your body reacts before your mind. A slight tremor in your hand, a flicker barely longer than normal, the air getting caught in your chest.

You have to get out of this.

You have to divert the conversation.

You have to do something.

— What do you want? - You don't say it forcefully, not defiantly.

It's a murmur, low, laden with little acceptance.

But Alastor hears it.

And for the first time, the shadow on the wall stops.

Alastor smiles in triumph .

Because now he knows.

Maybe not with certainty, maybe not with every detail, but one of his theories is true. And he's leaning toward one of the latter two. Or quite possibly both.

The fear on your face, the slight tremor in your hands, the way you avoided looking directly at him for an instant.

Charming.

His grip on your arm relaxes, but he doesn't let go. His shadow slips around you as if waiting for the command to do something.

— So, my dear... —his voice is a soft whisper, with an almost seductive venom — if we're going to talk business... what do you have to offer?

You freeze.

You knew it was coming to this, you knew it. And, still, it hits you hard.

Your mind works at full speed, searching for something, anything, a way out that doesn't involve giving away more information than necessary.

You find nothing.

Shit.

Your breathing barely hitches. You clench your fists, as if that might steady the subtle tremor that threatens to give you away.

You can't give in anymore, can't give him more than he's already taken.

So you lie, again.

—I have nothing of value to offer. —You say it fast, too fast.

Alastor cocks his head. His eyes glitter with mockery.

He knows it's a lie.

You need to pull yourself together. Now.

— Oh? — she sings, with false disappointment- What a pity. And here I thought I was a resourceful woman....

Her tone is playful, but you're challenging yourself.

If she's going to play like that, so will you.

—But if we're going to make a deal... —your voice is firm this time, holding her gaze with more control than you really feel—what do I get in return?

Silence.

— Oh-ho! How amazing...—he laughs, with that inhuman musicality that makes your skin crawl, — you seem to be more familiar with the deals than you lets on.

None of them respond. You can't give him any more than he's already deduced for himself.

Alastor takes a step closer.

You force yourself not to back down.

— Tell me then... what do you think you can get from me? — The question floats between you.

— If you really want a deal... — your voice is firm, without hesitation— tell me the terms. Or there will be absolutely nothing.

Alastor raises an eyebrow.

For a moment, he looks genuinely amused . As if the idea of someone talking to him like that would cause him a strange fascination.

— Why, how brave...—his tone is casual, but that dangerous musicality is still there, running through every word. —And what makes you think you can bargain with me, my dear?

You don't say it out loud, but you know it.

If I really saw you as mere prey, as someone worthless, you would have fallen by now.

You wouldn't be here, arguing with him.

You wouldn't be alive.

That means you have something. Some leverage, maybe not enough to win, but enough to keep you afloat.

— Oh, it's simple, honey. — his smile widens — I get what I want... which will only be known the moment I require it.

Your eyes narrowed.

— And me? you ask.

— You get an absolute favor. — he answers quickly.

— On equal terms?

— Exactly. — His tone is light, almost mocking. — Neither of us will be able to refuse when the time comes.

The thought chills your blood.

An absolute favor from Alastor.

It could mean your brother's salvation. But it also means that at any moment, he could ask for something unthinkable in return.

You analyze it. Minute after minute of cold calculation.

— Who delivers first? — you ask. But Alastor doesn't answer.

He just smiles.

And that tells you all you need to know. Your pulse pounds, but you reach out your hand.

It's a risk, but you take it.

Finally, you inhale deeply and reach out your hand, but Alastor pulls away before you can touch him.

You frown, puzzled, wrinkle your nose in disdain, losing what little patience you have left.

— So...when is that damn deal sealed? — you exclaim in a demanding voice.

— Soon, sweetheart...— you snap your fingers, — but first, we need... privacy.

Without apparent warning, Alastor snaps his fingers immediately, and darkness envelops you.

You don't have time to react, a scream forms in your throat, but it's too late. The shadows catch you, and in the blink of an eye, you disappear with it.

The darkness is absolute for an instant, suffocating, before your eyes adjust and a new reality unfolds before you. You find yourself in a room that defies all logic, a strange amalgam of decadent elegance and wild nature.

Antique crimson velvet furniture contrasts with vines snaking up the walls, and a canopy of dark leaves stretches into a swampy-looking forest.

The scent of damp earth mingles with a sweet, unfamiliar perfume, creating an atmosphere that is equal parts intoxicating and disturbing.

In the center of it all, like a predator in its lair, Alastor watches you.

— Welcome to my humble quarters, my dear.—he says, with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

You swallow, trying to keep your composure.

— Why did you bring me here? — you ask, your voice slightly shakier than you'd like. The place gives you a bad feeling, a visceral sense of danger running through your marrow.

It's the catlike feeling that characterizes it. He stops just inches from you, his gaze fixed on yours, intense and penetrating.

— Because, my dear...—he whispers, his voice a dangerous purr. —this is where important deals are forged.

A shiver runs down your spine. You know something isn't right, that the original proposal was just a facade.

— What are you talking about? —you demand, instinctively backing away.

— My real proposal, of course — Alastor replies, with a grim smile—. You see, I have certain... needs. And you, my dear, could be the key to satisfying them.

You're out of breath. You don't like any of this.

— I propose a new deal — he continues, ignoring your silence.— A more... intimate deal. You offer me one night of your time, and I, in return, will give you the opportunity to gain your absolute favor with no strings attached.

— One night? —You repeat, incredulously. —What do you mean by that?

Alastor tilts his head, his smile widening.

— I'll be direct, my dear. I want your body at my disposal... but on one condition.

You grimace in disgust.

— What kind of condition?

— I'll make you climax, with my hands only. No undue touching, if you manage to resist my attentions, if you manage to keep your composure and not give in to pleasure within a certain time... then, the absolute favor will be yours, without price or condition.

Your heart is pounding in your chest. It is madness, an absurd challenge.

— But... if I fail. —you say, your voice barely audible, — what if... if I climax before time runs out?

Alastor's smile turns predatory.

— Then, my dear... I will take your body and soul. Both will be mine. But absolute favor will stand.

Silence hangs over the room, heavy and unsettling. You analyze the proposal, weighing the risks and possible rewards. It's a terrible gamble, you know, but the promise of saving your brother impels you to consider the unthinkable.

— When... when would I have to make my decision?

— Now, sweetness. —Alastor replies, extending a hand toward you. — Time is short. Will you accept my deal?

You hesitate, aware of the trap hidden behind Alastor's smile. You are not naive; you have listened to his conditions carefully, and the idea of being cornered, with no escape, chills your blood. But, despite your fear, you refuse to give in completely.

— The deal must be closed when what you said is done.— you reply, your voice firm despite the trembling in your knees.— Whether you make me climax or not, I will not give you my hand until then.

Alastor smiles, pleased by your audacity. He nods slowly, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of anticipation and mockery. He lowers the hand he offered you a moment ago and, with a swift, unexpected movement, conjures his shadow magic.

Dark tendrils coil around your body, imprisoning you against your will, immobilizing your arms and legs. You try to struggle, but the shadows are strong, relentless.

Alastor approaches, the fire of possession burning in his eyes. There is no trace of playfulness in his expression anymore, only raw, predatory intensity. Without delay, he begins his provocation. There are no soft kisses or delicate caresses. Instead, you feel the sting of his bites on your neck, a pleasurable pain that makes you gasp involuntarily.

His claws tangle in your hair, squeezing hard, tugging at your scalp. A moan escapes your lips, an uncontrollable response to the stinging sensation. Apparently, that's a particularly sensitive area.

Alastor slides his free hand down to your breasts, where he squeezes firmly. The pain is sharp, almost unbearable, but mixed with a current of excitement that takes you by surprise. A louder, more desperate moan erupts from your throat.

He grunts in response, a guttural sound emanating from deep within him. You sense that his patience is wearing thin, that he is on the verge of losing control.

Alastor leans into you, his warm breath caressing your skin as he whispers words that are both possessive and provocative.

— You are mine, my dear. There is no escape from this— he says, each syllable infused with a burning desire that causes the heat between you to rise.

Your mind struggles to stay afloat, but his every word is like a fire fanning the flames in your body. At first, you had believed that you could resist him, that Alastor could not provoke any sensation in you. Now, however, you find yourself in a feverish state as he slips his hand under your dress, reaching for your pussy through the delicate fabric of your underwear.

With deliberate slowness, his finger finds the twitching bud in you, and a surprised moan escapes your lips.

— Is this what you meant? -you exclaim, disbelief mingling with uncontrollable excitement.

Alastor nods, his smile widening as he watches your body react to his touch. Again, he begins the assault, tracing small circles around your clitoris, stimulating your need with a mastery that leaves you breathless.

— Mmm... how about this? —he asks in a teasing tone.

You gasp, cocking your head to one side. The static emanating from Alastor only intensifies your feverish state, and you realize you are caught between desire and resistance.

Curses escape your lips, sweet moans that he visibly enjoys.

—No... I can't...— you murmur between gasps.

— Oh, but you really can. — he replies in a deep voice.— You just have to let yourself go.

His eyes flash with a mixture of defiance and hunger as he increases the speed of his movements. Now, two claws work at a murderous pace, stripping you of your underwear and leaving you exposed to his will. You feel on the verge of fainting, but your mind has not yet succumbed completely; you want to resist the delicious sensations that pervade everything.

— Alastor! — you cry out, feeling the line between pleasure and pain blur.— This is not fair...

— Life is never fair, my dear— he replies in an almost playful tone. But you have chosen this path.

As his fingers continue their provocative dance, you feel each touch become a wave of pleasure that threatens to sweep you away.

Your body trembles under his control; his every movement is like a spell that envelops you further in his grid.

You look into each other's eyes in a moment of clarity; you both know what is at stake here. The internal struggle intensifies as you struggle between desire and the need to stand firm in your decision. But Alastor's shadows seem to take hold of you, and in that crucial instant, you feel pleasure begin to gain ground over reason.

You whimper as Alastor modulates the speed of his fingers, first fast, then slow, and finally, fast again, bringing you to the brink again and again.

Alastor maintains a strained smile, and one of his shadows behind him stirs restlessly, twitching with an intensity that makes your hair stand on end.

He growls plagued with terrifying static as he senses the shadow moving too close to you, as if it has the very intentions of possessing something of your body.

As you are lost in the maelstrom of sensations, eyes closed and little moans escaping your lips, you feel him shallowly slide his fingers through your intimacy, soaking in your arousal.

A shiver runs down your spine as you realize the possessiveness in that gesture.

And again, he concentrates on stimulating your clitoris with violent intensity. The games are over. The pleasurable torture becomes a direct assault on your senses.

You feel your body tense, and Alastor senses it. He knows that you are very close to the edge, and with that information, he orders you, with a partially aggressive sentence

— Open your mouth.

Powerless, you obey. You open your lips and, before you can let out a piercing cry that announces your orgasm, Alastor thrusts his elongated tongue into your mouth, swallowing your moan in a wet, intense kiss.

You both moan in the midst of that whirlwind of sensations, as the aftershocks of climax shatter you.

Your body shudders, and a wave of pleasure washes over you.

A broad smile, full of delight, lights up Alastor's face as he pulls away from you, leaving a trickle of saliva still connecting his lips to yours.

You feel exhausted, vulnerable, but also strangely satisfied.

In the haze of your climax, in the confusion of overflowing sensations, you had completely forgotten that you had to resist, that your soul was at stake.

But Alastor takes care to remind you at once, with a sentence that leaves no doubt that now follows the best part, at least for him.

— Oh, dear, you almost forgot, didn't you?— He says with a hint of mockery in his voice, though his eyes shine with an intensity that warns you that this is much more than just a game.— Remember our deal, my possession. You belong to me now.

You feel a slight pang of frustration for having lost, for having let yourself be carried away by pleasure, but also a strange shame comes over you as you realize how much you had desired this contact.

Alastor, with studied casualness, informs you.

— It won't be easy to take me completely, I know... but I know you will succeed.— he whispers softly.

You try to reply, to protest the unfairness of the situation, but Alastor already has you against the ground, immobilized once again by his shadows. You are unable to move, unable to escape his hold.

You gasp as you feel him on top of you, imprisoning you with his weight. From that position, his body looks even more imposing, his presence completely overwhelming you. Your heart begins to race as you feel strands of his hair brush against your cheek, and finally, you look into his eyes.

Ironically, you now find him almost attractive. The spark of madness in his gaze, the predatory intensity that emanates from him, awaken a strange fascination in you.

You mentally beat yourself up for even considering the idea. How could you find attractive this being who had manipulated you and now claimed you as his own? In a muffled voice, feigned really, you tell Alastor to hurry up, trying to hide the growing excitement coursing through you.

— Get it over with already. — you mutter, avoiding his gaze.

Alastor, hearing your demand that he hurry up, lets out a chuckle that doesn't reach his eyes. You sense a slight feeling of helplessness growing in him, as if your apparent indifference is hurting him somehow.

He feels your response as a rejection, a denial of his power over you, and that is enough to alter his needy state. His eyes darken, and the atmosphere around you becomes charged with a palpable electricity.

Again, the fingers that brought you to climax return to your intimacy, slipping between your wet, throbbing lips.

— Look what a mess you've made, my darling. All this... just for me. — he says in a husky voice, almost devoid of his filter.

In the midst of provocation, you open your lips, almost exclaiming a sentence imploring for more or perhaps for mercy, but the words get caught in your throat when Alastor thrusts one of his claws inside you. It's not a delicate caress; it's a possessive invasion that steals your breath.

You squeeze Alastor's arm hard with one hand, your nails digging into his skin. With the other, you cling desperately to the creaking wood beneath your back, searching for an anchor point amidst the storm of sensations whipping through you.

—You like this, don't you? — Alastor asks, his voice a husky whisper that brushes against your ear. Admit it.

You try to resist, to deny him the satisfaction of hearing you give in, but the intensity of your touches overcomes you. A choked moan escapes your lips, an involuntary response to the relentless stimulation.

— No... shut up. — you murmur between gasps, trying to regain control.

— Shut me up? —Alastor mocks, intensifying his grip. —Why should I shut up when I'm enjoying your pleasure so much?

You feel how Alastor's claws move inside you, stretching and probing every nerve, exploring every sensitive corner. Pleasure mixes with pain, creating a dizzying sensation that makes you lose track of time and space.

— Please... — you beg, your voice barely audible.

He stops for a moment, his gaze fixed on yours.

— Please what, my dear? — He asks with a hungry smile, — Please make you feel even more pleasure? Please make me take you to the edge of madness?

You know you're on the edge of the abyss, that if you give in any more, you'll lose yourself completely in his game. But a part of you, a dark and twisted part, longs to fall.

You hide your face in Alastor's shoulder, trying to stifle the moans that threaten to give you away, as he continues his assault, deeper now, more relentless.

He has no mercy for you, but you know he is only preparing you for something else, something even more intense.

Yet, hearing you in such a way, so vulnerable, so close to the edge, leaves him without resistance. Your gasping breath, your trembling body, the slight quiver in your voice... all of it further ignites the fire that burns within him.

You beg, almost inaudibly, for this to end, not because of the pain, but because of the pleasure that begins to frighten you, because of the fear of losing control completely.

— Please... no more. — you whisper, clinging to his shoulder as if your life depended on it.

He shakes his head, without stopping his movement. You look up and watch Alastor's deer ears twist with every moan he emits, as if the very manifestation of his being is responding to your pleasure.

So, dizzy in the whirlwind of sensations, you move even closer to his ear and moan lasciviously, giving yourself over completely to the provocation.

Alastor squints as he feels a violent electricity run through him. That's when he pulls his fingers from you and, with a quick, almost animalistic movement, unbuttons his dress pants.

You are both still dressed; he has not removed your dress for the urgency of the moment, and neither was he going to remove his own clothes for the same reason. Impatience and primal desire dominate the scene.

His cock shoots out of his pants, throbbing and raging. You look at it, admiring and fearful at the same time, but before you can even have a say in what you see, Alastor lifts you off the ground.

He carries you over your arms in a vulnerable position, with your legs apart, wrapped around his waist. You feel him slowly slide inside you, preparing you for what is to come.

The initial stretch is uncomfortable, almost painful, but he allows you to get used to it for a few minutes, where you avoid looking at his face at all costs, embarrassed by your own surrender.

At once, he begins to move, with slow lunges at first, testing your limits. You desperately seek to hold on to something, but it is useless; the only support is Alastor himself, so you have no choice but to hold on to his shoulders, digging your nails into his sack as he thrusts deeper and deeper inside you.

You moan, writhe and curse as the demon seems possessed by your inner heat. Each thrust is a declaration of dominance, a reaffirmation of his control over you. Pleasure mixes with pain, excitement with fear, creating a sense of chaos that completely disorients you.

— Who is in control now? —Alastor whispers in your ear, his voice full of dark satisfaction.

You do not respond, intoxicated by the intensity of the act, completely lost in the whirlwind of sensations that consumes you. Your silence is a defiance, a silent rebellion that further ignites Alastor's desire.

In response, he thrusts deeply and rudely against you, at first in an effort to force you to respond, to submit completely to his will.

But when he hears the whimper that escapes your lips, a sound that mixes pleasure and pain, his animal instinct takes over completely. He gasps in response, a guttural sound emanating from deep within him, as if your tears are the fuel that feeds his inner fire.

You feel his cock press even deeper inside you, twisting with unrelenting fury.

But before you can even look at him, before you can try to regain some control, he begins to fuck you wildly, unleashed. Multiple fast, deep, messy lunges drive you over the edge, forcing you to scream out his name.

You cling even tighter to Alastor, hunched over him completely, digging your nails into his back in search of a foothold. You beg him, desperately, not to go so fast, to have some mercy.

— Please... Alastor... stop, stop, please —you whimper between sobs, begging for a breath.

But he responds with even more savagery, ignoring your pleas, possessed by the need to bring you to the breaking point.

— I can't...I don't want to. — he growls against your neck, his voice filled with an urgency that frightens you.— I want you...I need you.....

Tears of overstimulation well up in your eyes, mingling with the sweat that drenches your face. You moan and sob urgently, completely overcome by the intensity of the moment. Every thrust rips a scream from you, every rubbing makes you tremble with pleasure and pain.

You are on the verge of madness, on the verge of losing yourself completely.

— Alastor... Alastor! — you cry out, begging for an end that you know will not come soon.

In that moment of absolute vulnerability, you feel something change in Alastor. His fury transforms into desperate need, his savagery into total surrender.

And in that instant, he understands that, though he claims you as his own, he too is at the mercy of this desire.

Alastor, completely lost in the moment, unleashes dark, glowing magic from his body, chaotic energy pulsing around you. He hears you crying and begging, but he cannot and will not turn back. The point of no return has arrived; it is time to seal the deal completely.

The demon transforms. Red dials flare in his darkened eyes, his antlers lengthen, menacing, and a grotesque seam appears around his smile for a brief moment, revealing the madness that lurks behind his mask of civility.

— Now, sweetness, it's time to close the deal. — he exclaims with complete madness, each word echoing through the space. Give me your soul, your body, your devotion and your absolute loyalty.

He continues to thrust, his voice strained and tight from how wet you are, from the pleasure it brings him. The slippery echo of each movement reverberates through the room, creating an atmosphere of wildness and desperation.

You are simply lost, completely consumed by the sensations. At this moment, nothing else matters anymore.

Fuck those filthy pieces of shit that have your brother under threat. Fuck the plan to research everything about Alastor, his weaknesses and shit. 

The only thing you long for, the only thing you want with every fiber of your being, is to come together with him, with Alastor, to melt completely in this moment of madness and passion.

You nod, completely overpowered by the sensations. You gasp for air, struggling to breathe in the midst of the storm raging through you. You moan a long "yes" against Alastor's lips, without closing the distance completely, offering him a silent promise of total surrender.

He, satisfied to hear your acceptance, closes the deal. A cursed green aura washes over you in the midst of the final onslaught, a magical energy that binds your souls forever. You cling tightly to Alastor as he drags you into the last orgasm, a destructive and messy one that awakens in you an irrepressible urge to kiss him again.

He didn't expect such an action, and surprise runs through him like an electric shock. With that simple act, with that unexpected surrender, he cums inside you with a tense grunt, releasing all the contention he had built up.

And as the aftershocks of climax end, you both remain in that position, breathing hard, trying to regain your breath and control.

Sweat drenches their bodies, their hearts beat wildly, and silence closes over the room, charged with a palpable electricity.

Your soul is now Alastor's; You are bound to him for eternity. And right now, in the midst of confusion and exhaustion, it doesn't seem like a lousy transaction.

And as the haze of pleasure begins to dissipate, allowing sanity to slowly return to your mind, a stinging thought bursts into your consciousness: your brother.

Reality hits you as you remember the reasons you had ventured into this dangerous game with Alastor. The fear and uncertainty that had plagued you until now have vanished, replaced by a strange sense of resignation and... hope.

Now, you no longer feel that paralyzing anguish over your fate. Instead, you cling to the certainty that you have done everything possible for him, that he has sacrificed your own freedom to ensure his survival.

Yet a new restlessness begins to grow within you. Will he understand your sacrifice? Will he understand the magnitude of what you have done for him?

Oh, you hope, with every fiber of your being, that he will truly understand, that he will not judge you for the choices you have made, for the price you have paid.It was all for him, for your beloved brother, the only tie that bound you to your forgotten humanity.

Alastor slowly pulls away from you, watching you with an indecipherable expression. His eyes sparkle with a mixture of satisfaction and curiosity, as if he is trying to unravel the secrets hidden deep within your soul.

— So...— he says with his characteristic smile, a smile that is now as familiar to you as it is unsettling. —Do you regret your decision?

You look into his eyes, determined not to show any sign of weakness. Even though your soul belongs to him, you refuse to give in completely to his dominion.

— No. —you answers in a firm voice, defying his gaze, — I regret nothing I have done for my brother.

Alastor smiles, pleased by your answer.

— How noble. — he says with a hint of mockery. But make no mistake, your sacrifice does not end here.— Now that your soul belongs to me, you have an eternity by my side.

— What more do you want from me? — you ask, your heart pounding in your chest.

He comes closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

— I want you to stay by my side. — he whispers in your ear, his voice a dangerous purr. —I want you to be with me, to help me reach my goals. I want you to be my companion... in every sense of the word.

You feel a shiver run through your body. The idea of spending eternity at Alastor's side, bound to him by a magical bond, terrifies and fascinates you at the same time.

— And... what about my brother? — you ask, clinging to the hope that you can still help.

Alastor smiles, revealing the row of sharp teeth.

— Your brother will be safe, my dear. — he says in a voice that exudes confidence. —I promise.

You know you're trapped, that there's no escape from this deal. But you also know you have a chance to change things, to influence Alastor's plans, to protect those you care about.

So, with a sigh of resignation and a hint of hope, you take his face in your hands and kiss it, sealing your fate.

Maybe it wasn't so terrible to make a deal with him after all. You both won, he made sure of that detail.

He may have your soul now, but you still had absolute favor.

Yes, it was definitely a better deal than many you were offered all around Hell.

[pukefactory]

Yandere Dandy x Reader Headcanons?

These headcanons turned out darker than I originally expected, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from you all, it’s that you have a strong preference for a more abrasive Dandy—so, enjoy!

-ˋˏ ༻ DEVOTION ༺ ˎˊ

✿ Summary: A compilation of headcanons featuring a yandere Dandy

✿ Character(s): Dandicus Dancifer (Dandy’s World)

✿ Genre: Headcanons, SFW, Drama

✿ Warning(s): Toxic Relationship, Abusive Tendencies

✿ Image Credits: Qwelver

❀ Dandy falls for you quickly, almost too quickly. At first, it seems harmless, just an innocent fondness, a bright smile whenever you pass by. But it doesn’t take long for that affection to fester into something deeper, darker, and far more intrusive. It’s a feeling he’s experienced before, but never to this magnitude.

❀ He despises being ignored, and that applies to you more than anyone else. If you spend too much time with the other Toons, if you don’t acknowledge him first, if you even hesitate before responding—he notices immediately. He plays it off with a cheery tone, but his grip on his chest tightens, and his forced smile strains in a way that looks almost painful.

❀ His need to be needed is overwhelming. Attention alone isn’t enough—he craves something more. He wants you to rely on him, to seek him out first, to trust that he can provide for you. He needs you to depend on him for everything. Before you even have a chance to ask, he’s already offering things unprompted, insisting you don’t need anyone else. He’s here. He’s always here. And he isn’t going anywhere, not while you still need something, even if you don’t realize it yet.

❀ His patience is fragile. At first, he’ll wait for you to recognize how much he cares. But if you don’t? If you brush him aside? That’s when the act slips. His voice loses its usual warmth, his words sharpen like thorns. He would never force you to listen, no, that wouldn’t be charming of him, but he ensures you regret ignoring him. He’ll speak louder, subtly cornering you in a room until he’s certain you hear every word, no matter how meaningless.

❀ Dandy isn’t proud of how possessive he gets, if you can even believe that. He knows it isn’t normal. He knows it’s wrong. But that doesn’t stop the jealousy from creeping in when he least expects it. It doesn’t stop the fear. He convinces himself it’s all for your sake. That he just wants to protect you. To keep you safe. To keep you his. And really, is there anything wrong with that?

❀ He maintains his cheerful facade around others, but when you’re alone? That’s when he lets the mask slip—just a little. A lingering touch on your shoulder. A hushed whisper, his voice laced with something unreadable. “You won’t leave me, right? You wouldn’t do that to me.” He says it so softly, yet there’s a weight behind his words. Something desperate. Something dangerous. Like a cold, stinging breeze in the dead of winter—biting, needy.

❀ Reassurance is something he constantly seeks. Even if you’ve never given him a reason to doubt you, he still asks. “You like spending time with me, don’t you?” “You’d never abandon me… right?” He frames it as a joke, a playful question, but his tone betrays him. There’s something uneasy about it, something that makes it clear he’s expecting a real answer.

❀ If he ever feels like he’s losing you, that’s when he snaps. His voice loses its usual charm, turning eerily cold. His words grow harsher, accusatory. “Oh, so you do have time for them, but not for me?” He never yells, he doesn’t need to. The weight of his disappointment alone is enough. He storms off, attempting to steady himself, to cool the burning anger bubbling under his skin before he confronts you properly.

❀ Despite his darker tendencies, his feelings for you are genuine. He wants you to be happy. He just needs to be the reason for it. The thought of you finding joy elsewhere twists something ugly inside him. A nauseating, burning sensation deep in his gut, like acid eating away at his ichor-ridden insides, corroding him from within.

❀ No matter how far you run, Dandy always finds his way back to you. That same bright smile, that same cheerful tone, like nothing ever happened. “Oh, there you are! I was starting to worry!” As if he hadn’t already been tracking your every move. As if he’d ever let you go. No matter how desperately you try to escape, it’s useless. He will find you. And when he does? He’ll pull you back into his arms, whispering promises you’ll never be able to break.

[flowerbloom-arts]

[~900 word fic based on the events of a segment from Treehouse of Horror Presents: Simpsons Wicked This Way Comes]

Seymour stared at the empty plate in front of Gary and his heart sank. A constant reminder of the unreal thing that sat across him at the table.

Seymour always took pleasure in serving food for his superintendent, it was one of the few things he thought would impress him, but now… the thing that looked like him couldn't even eat it. Seymour was only serving himself in this regard.

He had killed the real Chalmers a month ago now, someone whose body is probably rotting in a dump after Groundskeeper Willie had cleaned it up and thrown away to the no man’s land that all garbagemen send people’s trash to. Skinner could only feel unnerved at the uncharacteristic niceness radiating out of that face. He could almost sense pity out of it.

“Is something wrong, Seymour?” Gary asked, leaning over crossed arms on the table.

Seymour swallowed his resentment and asked him what he thought was a fairly innocuous question, tangential to the illness making his stomach ache; “Gary, why is it that you’re so nice to me, if Chalmers… the real Chalmers… never would be?”

Gary took a moment to calculate his response, one would be fooled into thinking he was thinking humanly. “I’m only his simulacrum, Seymour, meant to occupy you with utmost patience when he couldn't afford to do that himself,” he answered with brutal honesty, just as any robot assistant should, “But I’m not sure if ‘never’ is the right adverb here. He's always been perfectly capable of kindness towards you, it's simply that… something always gets in the way of it.”

Seymour figured as much, and his mind gravitated towards the answer being his own faults – a habit he was taught by Mother with all the criticism she's given him over the years – but he’d rather his assumptions be backed up by an outside source. “And what do you think that might be?” he asked.

Gary furrowed his brow trying to collect whatever clues in his memory bank could point to a clear answer. He shrugged; “He wanted you to be a different person, I think,” he said, not a hundred percent sure of its completeness as an answer, “Someone who could speak to him as an equal and not as a subordinate. Someone interesting he could engage with as a friend. You're a war veteran, right? He thought that surely someone of your experience would offer more interesting insight than consulting him on design and decor choices that never made any difference to him.”

Seymour hung his head over his plate trying to absorb the observations given to him in Chalmers’ familiar voice. All he could feel was a deep disappointment in himself for not measuring up to his superintendent’s expectations and desires, if only he had known… he raised his head with widened eyes when the clone unexpectedly continued;

“But maybe that's not the whole truth,” he speculated, “The original Chalmers’ thoughts are all extremely oxymoronic now that I try to decrypt them all. He revelled in cruelty towards you because it made him feel superior and in control in a situation where he felt aimless, but he didn't want to admit to being cruel only for his own sake; he wanted to know more about you, but if he were to know more about you he would’ve felt that his cruelty was unjustified. He thought willful ignorance would allow him to be blameless, that if anyone were to ever object to his behavior he would be able to rationalize it by saying he's only been judging your present performance with no regard to your mental situation, claim that he couldn't have known better. He's very odd.”

Seymour had stopped eating and leaned back on his chair as he continued listening with great interest and horror.

“He wanted to like you, but for him to like you he needed to know more about you, but knowing more about you would make him feel guilty of his abuse towards you, meaning that liking you would mean he would have to be disgusted at himself, and his ego as a man of stature trumps all else that is important to him. Therefore, he cannot like you in a way that jeopardizes his own moral validity, despite his actual desires…”

Gary looked down at the table and sat in silence, seemingly deciding on what to say to Seymour next. He sighed and rubbed his forehead as if all the contradictions and circular reasoning were making his thought engine overheat.

“If… if it's any consolation to you, Seymour, I like you. I like you in a way that's based on the original Gary’s behavior. I know that probably won't suffice as I am only a simulation of a real person and not the real person himself, but that statement is true to me. Just know that none of his behavior was your fault or responsibility, he was always capable of treating you better and simply chose not to because his pride wouldn't allow it until the moment he was faced with the possibility of death. He was too selfish to change his ways until he was met with the fatal consequences of his treatment of you.”

The pit in Skinner’s stomach grew more vast and painful as he processed it all in silence.

“It's not your fault that you couldn't trust kindness coming out of a cruel man, Seymour,” Gary reassured him. “It’s not.”

Seymour took another moment of deafening silence before nodding in grieving acceptance. “Yes, of course… thank you, Gary,” he replied very quietly.

[erimeows]

Drunk In Love

Most nights after work, Team Mustang carpools to the nearest bars. 

Most nights, Riza Hawkeye also gets hit on. 

It’s almost routine at this point. She’s young, beautiful, and carries herself with a calm, sharp confidence that turns heads the moment she walks in. Her military uniform, perfectly pressed, only adds to her appeal- there’s something about a service woman that draws men in like moths to a flame. 

Roy hates it. He hates the way they look at her, the way they hover too close, hoping for a flicker of interest. He hates how they stumble over clumsy pick-up lines that never work and leer like they’ve earned the right to her time. She always rejects them, firmly enough but still kinder than they deserve, and it never affects her and Roy’s dynamic. But still, every time he watches it unfold, something ugly coils in his chest. His throat tightens, his jaw clenches, and his stomach knots itself into something unbearable. He wonders, when women flirt with him in this setting- or when he goes on ‘dates’ with his informants, does Riza feel the same way? And it’s a question that he quickly pushes to the side, because either answer comes with its own set of issues. 

He can’t figure out why it all bothers him so much. Or maybe he already knows and just refuses to admit it. 

Tonight is no different. 

Riza sits beside him at the bar, her chair turned away from the counter so she can face the room- a habit born from years of vigilance. She never lets her guard down, not even here when they’re supposed to be relaxing. Meanwhile, Roy sits properly, facing forward, but his eyes keep flicking to her, drawn to her as if by force. 

A man that’s not nearly attractive enough for someone as beautiful as Riza is standing on her left. He’s been ogling her from across the bar all night with a group of buddies and they stupidly encouraged him to hit on her even though she’s clearly far too good for him. The thought makes Roy sick with something he doesn’t want to dwell on. 

“Hey, there, can I buy you a drink?” The man says, resting his elbow against the counter with a cocky grin and a hunger in his eyes that makes Roy’s blood simmer. 

“No, thank you,” Riza turns him down immediately. Roy lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

Usually, this is where the men say they understand before turning and retreating like mutts with their tails tucked between their legs. But this one is a little drunk and his friends are across the crowded room, even more drunk than he is as they cheer him on. 

“Oh, c’mon, just one drink!”

Riza shifts uncomfortably. Her shoulders tense. A tell that her ever-lasting patience is already starting to thin. The man’s second attempt is loud enough that the rest of the team notices, too. At this point, it just depends on who moves first. Maes is sitting on the other side of Roy, surveying the situation- and Havoc and Falman have both fallen silent to observe as well. Even Fuery and Breda, who are across the room, have stopped to look. But Riza, if pushed, will move before any of them will most of the time. She doesn’t really need them at all. Roy has seen her send men twice her size flying like they weigh nothing when they get a little too frisky. 

“Really,” Riza says, her tone much sharper now. Her impassive gaze has turned into a sharp glare. “Leave me alone.”

But the man still isn’t deterred. 

“Don’t be so uptight. Just one drink, and we can see where it goes from there.”

Riza’s hand drifts to her holster now, fingers twitching as she holds the man’s stare. Roy knows that she can easily handle this by herself, and would probably prefer to do so, but he finds himself emboldened enough by the jealousy (ah, so that’s what it is) that courses through his veins to intervene. 

He stands from his barstool, placing a gloved hand on Riza’s shoulder. He glares at the man standing across from him, who glares right back. And Riza just watches them, stuck in between. Roy is so close to her now that he can smell her cologne- cologne, not perfume- wafting off of her, and in that moment, he finds himself wishing that they could be this close all the time. 

“Back off of my lieutenant,” He finally says, the words coming out far more possessive than he means for them to.

The stranger raises an eyebrow and smirks right back at him. 

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll light you on fire,” And Roy won’t- probably- at least not with both Riza and Maes here to stop him from doing so, but the peculiar threat is enough for the guy to take a step back and cross his arms over his chest. 

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m The Flame Alchemist,” Roy answers, flashing a smirk. “Care to test out that title?”

Everyone in Amestris has heard of him, so of course, the man’s expression shifts the moment he hears the words leave Roy’s mouth. He takes a step back, wary. 

“Whatever,” He grumbles before retreating back to the booth he came from, a scowl on his face.

Seconds later, he’s dragging his drunk friends from the booth and leaving the building.

“You didn’t have to do that. I was going to shoot at his feet if he kept that up,” Riza says, but she can’t hide the amused grin that takes over her face at just how fast the man retreated under Roy’s threats. “But thank you anyways.”

At that, Roy turns back to her, beaming at the approval. Embarrassing. Maes is sat next to him, laughing his ass off at the display, but Roy doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he meets Riza’s eyes and offers her a soft smile.

“Anything for my lieutenant.”

Riza turns back to her drink, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her smile stays, growing larger as she peeks at Roy from her peripheral. When their gazes meet again, she laughs.

And Roy swears, he’s never been so conflicted. On one hand, being around her just makes him so… Happy, as of late. On the other hand, he doesn’t like that he gets jealous over her. But of course, he’s been consumed by that selfish sort of feeling since they were kids. He wants to spend time with her, for them to stay by each other’s sides. He doesn’t want her to look or laugh at anyone else the way she does with him.

And he doesn’t want to think about it any further. So, he sits back down in his barstool and orders a shot, ignoring the way that he can feel her honey-hued eyes on him. 

~

Whenever they go out, Roy never drinks too much. At least not when Riza is there, and while it’s mostly because he wants to keep his composure in public, it’s also for a more… Unsavory reason.

The first time he got drunk enough to stumble out the door of the bar- after four shots- Riza insisted on taking him home, and though the memories are foggy, he remembers enjoying them. So, the next time they went, he drank three shots- enough to be decently drunk but still able to remember some of what happened. After that, he started limiting himself to two, which is only enough to get him buzzed, but he always acts a little more drunk than he actually is in an attempt to get Riza to take him home.

And she always does, half-heartedly scolding him about how he drinks too much before helping him into the passenger’s seat of the car and driving him home. She’ll help him back out of the car, walking him into his house and tucking him into bed before inevitably leaving. It happens multiple times a week, to the point that Roy has problems going to sleep if she isn’t there to tuck him into bed.

It’s pathetic. It’s wrong. The morally righteous part of him feels bad for taking advantage of his lieutenant’s protective, caring nature to satisfy his emotional needs, but at the same time… He can’t help himself. He needs her around, and he’s too scared to simply ask her to come home with him. So he does this instead. And it’s not quite as good as the things he won’t admit he fantasizes about, but it’s enough for him.

Tonight is the same as many of the others- he drinks two shots, Riza doesn’t pay attention and assumes he’s had more, and he uses the minimal acting skills he has to convince her that he’s drunk enough that he can’t drive. 

He’s perfected the act, especially lately; a slight slur in his words, a well-timed stumble, a heavy-lidded gaze that hints at inebriation but never quite crosses into absurdity. It’s enough to fool his subordinates, enough to warrant Riza’s steady hands on his body to keep him upright, enough to ensure that she’ll always be the one to take him home.

And so, the pattern continues.

“Alright, sir, let’s get you home,” Riza sighs at the end of the night, looping an arm underneath his armpit to secure his weight against her strong frame.

Breda snickers into his whiskey at the sight.

“Man, the colonel really can’t hold his liquor, can he?”

“Apparently not,” Falman sighs. “He’s been getting hammered every time we go out for a while now. Should we be worried?”

“I don’t know… I hope it’s not that deep, but it’s really not our business either way,” Fuery trails off with a small frown, glancing between Roy and Riza with worried eyes. 

Havoc takes a drag off of his cigarette, exhaling a puff of smoke as he stares at Riza.

“You’re a saint, Hawkeye. If I had to drag his drunk ass home every night we went out, I’d quit. I don’t even know why you bother coming anymore, knowing that your night is going to end with a drunken bastard of a colonel in your passenger seat.”

Riza rolls her eyes at them, but says nothing as she guides Roy out of the dimly lit bar and towards her car. The drive is short and silent, just as it tends to be. Were it anyone else, Roy would be uncomfortable, but silence with Riza has always been easy in a way that makes his chest feel warm.

When they get to Roy’s house, Riza helps him out of the car like she always does. Roy feels a sad, nervous weight on his chest, knowing that their time like this together is about to end- that in just a few hours, they’re going to be back at work, in uniform, acting like a colonel and his lieutenant. Roy shouldn’t be so upset. That is what they are. But a terrible, undeserving part of him wants more. Wants her.

No, that’s a ridiculous thought. Roy immediately pushes it to the side as Riza leads him to his bedroom. 

He shrugs off his jacket, kicks off his boots, and ‘stumbles’ into the bed. Riza follows close behind so she can gently drag his blanket up over his body and slip a pillow beneath his head. 

“Stay?” Roy asks, and it’s a stupid question that slips out before he can think better of it- one that he tries not to think too hard about- but he knows that if it doesn’t go the way he wants it too, he can blame it on having had a little too much to drink like he always does. 

“You know I can’t do that, sir.”

And he does know. If they were to come into work at the same time tomorrow, in the same car- if anyone were to see her car in his driveway, to see them leave his house together- they would get the wrong idea. But he needs to know if that’s really the only reason she’s refusing to stay. 

“But do you want to?”

“You should know the answer to that by now,” Riza answers after a little too long. Roy has no idea how to interpret the words. She pauses there, standing in front of him like she wants to do something else, but then she’s turning for the door with a frown on her face. “Good night.”

~

The next day is a blur. From waking up painfully alone to having to trudge into work with a pounding headache, it’s been less than ideal. But, Riza is there, and that’s enough to make things a little better. 

There is, however, something throwing him off. An unfamiliar scent that floats around the office as they near the end of their work day. It’s subtle at first, a ghost of a fragrance lingering in the air as Riza walks past his desk to check the mission reports stacked in front of him. He doesn’t notice it immediately, but when she pauses by the bookshelf, it hits him. 

“Are you wearing a new cologne, lieutenant?” Roy asks before he even realizes the words have left his mouth.

It’s not bad, but it is different. Rather than the sort of sweet, subtle scent she wore before, this one is a little more harsh- a little more spicy. 

Riza turns to face him, surprise flickering across her soft features.

“Yes, sir.”

He studies her expression, the slight tilt of her head, the way her brows lift just a fraction as if she hadn’t expected him to notice. He wonders if he’s gone too far, crossed some sort of unspoken boundary without realizing it. But he’s already said the words, and he doesn’t want this to become awkward, so he pressed on. 

“I see,” He murmurs. “It’s nice. I like it.”

“Thank you,” She smiles, and then looks over at the clock on the wall. “Ah, it’s past five. I should be getting home before Black Hayate gets impatient.”

Of course. She always leaves promptly at the end of the workday on nights that the team doesn’t go out. 

“Of course. Have a good night, lieutenant,” Roy says with a smile, though he can’t hide the disappointment that runs through him when she turns and leaves, shutting the door behind her.

The scent of her cologne lingers. 

Now, it’s just him and Maes. 

A sigh falls from in between Roy’s lips, and before he can dwell too much on the odd, restless feeling twisting in his stomach, Maes clears his throat from the other side of the room. 

“Huh,” Maes starts, looking over at Roy from where he’s sat at his desk. “I didn’t know she wore cologne.”

“She’s always worn cologne,” Roy explains. He holds a book on alchemy in his hands, skimming over the pages again and again, but the words don’t stick. He’s been so distracted by Riza lately that he can’t focus on much of anything aside from her. “Though it’s been the same one for the last few years… Armstrong Noir, I think? The change is unusual for her… I wonder if something happened.”

There’s a beat of silence before Maes speaks again, tone laced with something suspiciously close to amusement. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little reckless to say stuff like that in the office?”

Roy’s brow furrows. He frowns, glancing up at Maes with confusion in his eyes.

“What are you getting at, Maes?”

“I mean that people might figure out that you two are, y’know, together.”

The words take a second to register. Roy blinks.

“...What?”

“You don’t need to lie to me, buddy,” Maes leans back in his chair, shooting a knowing look across the room. His hazel eyes have a mischievous glint to them. “I’m cool, I can keep a secret.”

Roy sits there, taking a moment to process the words, and then it clicks. Maes Hughes thinks that he and Riza Hawkeye are secretly dating. And the idea is so absurd (and delightful) that Roy laughs before responding to him.

“Maes…” Roy sets the book down with a huff, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his gloved thumb and pointer finger at the implication. Him and Riza, in a relationship. A romantic one. The idea isn’t horrible, which he doesn’t want to think about, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. “Lieutenant Hawkeye and I are not in any sort of romantic relationship.”

“Oh my God, you’re not lying,” Maes gasps, his eyes wide as he points at Roy with one finger. “You’re not making the face.”

“The face?”

“Hawkeye pointed it out to me once- you make this face when you lie, and now I can’t unsee it,” Maes explains. That’s something that Roy didn’t even know about himself. “Anyway, you two really aren’t together?”

“No. Why would you even think that?”

“I mean… Everyone thinks that.”

“Well, they have no reason to,” Roy pouts, trying to figure out how to change the subject. He doesn’t want to think about this right now. The attachment to Hawkeye that he’s been dealing with as of late has been inconvenient enough. “What, a guy can’t have a female adjutant without them being in some sort of relationship? What a sexist viewpoint- from someone who has a daughter, nonetheless. I’m disappointed in you, Maes.”

“Laying it on a little thick there,” Maes grins. “Feeling guilty?”

“Of course not. I have nothing to feel guilty about,” Roy says, the words low, but it’s not true. He has plenty to feel guilty about, especially in regards to her. “But you need to get that idea out of your mind. My relationship with Lieutenant Hawkeye is strictly professional… And friendly at most.”

“You’re making the face now,” Maes snickers.

“Shut up.”

“Dude. You know what brand of cologne she wears by name.”

“We’ve been working together for a long time.”

“Okay, what brand of cologne do I wear?” Maes demands. Roy opens his mouth to answer, only to realize that he can’t, because he has no idea what brand of cologne Maes wears. “That’s what I thought.”

“I see her more often than I see you, Maes,” He tries to justify it, even as he sits there with the cogs turning in his head. Maes has a point. This doesn’t make sense. “It doesn’t mean anything. When you work with someone every day, you learn those things about them over time.”

“You share your lunch with her every single day.”

“That doesn’t mean anything either,” Roy argues. Riza never brings her own lunch and gets so busy that she doesn’t go to the cafeteria to buy one- of course he shares his. It’s a decent thing to do. “I’d do the same for you if you forgot to bring yours.”

“Okay, how about when we were out at the bar last night?”

Roy’s cheeks flush with embarrassment as he thinks back to that idiotic man he threatened. Not that the guy didn’t deserve it for continuing to push after Riza told him no the first time, but perhaps he didn’t need to intervene. He definitely wouldn’t have done it for anyone else. It’s been gnawing at him all day. 

“I was just being helpful,” Roy argues again, his cheeks turning bright red.

“I think threatening to light the poor guy on fire for creeping on ‘your’ lieutenant is a little more than helpful, Roy.”

“She clearly wasn’t interested- he just wasn’t getting the hint. It’s not like he was respectfully asking her to dinner- he was ogling her all night like a creep and the way he spoke to her was deplorable. Plus, I was drunk.”

“You were not drunk, you hadn’t even had a drop of alcohol at that point. And if he was really bothering her, she would’ve shot at him.”

“She shouldn’t have to do that,” Roy sighs, holding his head in his hands.

“You clearly want to take care of her,” Maes continues, standing up from the desk he’s sat at and walking towards Roy. “And if the way you fake being drunk to make her take you home every time we hit the bar is anything to go by, you want her to take care of you, too.”

He doesn’t like where this conversation is going. Doesn’t like that Maes has clearly seen through his ‘drunk’ act. Has Riza noticed, too? The thought terrifies him as he gets up and paces around the room, trying to find things to keep himself busy with to no avail. 

“I don’t fake being drunk. We all know I have a bit of an alcohol problem.”

“You know what else I know?” Maes walks up to him now, standing right in front of his shorter frame and crossing his arms over his chest. “That it takes you five shots to get drunk, not the two that you limit yourself to when we go out with her.”

“I’m not having this argument with you, Maes,” Roy sighs, pushing past the man so he can go straighten the already-straight books on the bookshelf. So he’s been caught. Hopefully Riza doesn’t know. And hopefully Maes stops prying. “You’re reading too much into things, as always.”

“Well, whatever. But I’m totally talking about this interaction in my best man speech when the two of you get married… Eventually. Hell, I may be dead by the time you decide to man up and confess,” The words make Roy frown, and he thinks to speak up to scold Maes for saying so morbid, but before he can, the other man is grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. “I’ve gotta get home and make dinner.”

“Yeah, alright. See you later,” Roy sighs as the ramifications of this conversation run through his head. The last thing he needs is for anyone else to find out about this. “Wait. Maes?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Don’t tell anyone about this conversation.”

“Aw, what? It’s relevant to the betting pool!”

“The fucking what?”

“Never mind! Bye!”

With that, Maes is rushing out the door.

And Roy? He stands there, stunned, heart hammering, mind racing.

Because damn it, Maes Hughes is right, just like he’s right about everything. Because the idea, the feeling, the truth- it all finally clicks into place.

He’s in love with his lieutenant, Riza Hawkeye. 

~

Days pass. Roy doesn’t know what to do with his feelings, so for now, he doesn’t do anything. He shoves them down to the best of his ability, ignores them, and acts like things are normal between him and his lieutenant. Her behavior hasn’t changed, so either she has no idea or she knew all along. Roy doesn’t know which is worse. Like most things regarding Riza these days, he doesn’t want to think about it. 

They’re out again, at a different bar this time. They tend to bar hop often. Their entire team is with them, and Ross and Brosh have even come along. Armstrong is with them, too, parading his subordinates around the bar and giving them tips to flirt ‘that have been passed through the Armstrong family line for generations’- whatever that means. 

But all Roy can focus on is Riza. She’s sitting next to him, as always, facing the room with a club soda in hand. He’s sitting next to her with two empty shot glasses in front of him. The bartender had offered another, but Riza had refused for him, citing his blushing face as a clear indication that he was already more than drunk. 

If only she knew. 

It seems that they’re both tired, because they don’t drag things out like they tend to. After an hour of being there, Riza loops an arm underneath his and guides him out of the dimly lit bar.

Once they’re in the car, Roy lets his head rest against the cool glass of the passenger-side window, letting out a tired sigh. The city streets pass by in a blur of pale lights and dark shopfronts. The warmth of Riza’s presence beside him, as always, is both a comfort and a torment.

Tonight, though, something is different. 

She’s too quiet.

And they’re usually quiet when they’re alone like this, but the silence that consumes the car tonight as she drives is tense. The air between them is heavy.

About halfway to his house, she speaks. 

“I know you’re not drunk. You can stop,” She says, and Roy doesn’t respond at first, too overwhelmed. Has he really been that obvious? Has she known the whole time? Or did she only figure it out tonight? What could he have possibly done to tip her off? “Seriously. I’m not stupid.”

“Alright, then,” Roy stiffens, sitting up straight and crossing his arms over his chest. He refuses to open his eyes, too terrified to look at her and see the expression that’s on her face. “Guess I’ve been caught.”

“Damn right you have,” Riza responds, and there’s an edge to her voice that cuts deeper than the initial accusation did.

He can’t tell what it is. Anger, maybe? Whatever it is, it’s scary, so he decides to lie. 

“So what? I’ve been exaggerating a bit so I don’t have to drive home,” He grumbles as he tries his best to ignore the horrible pounding of his heart against his ribs and the compounding anxiety-induced nausea that has bile threatening to surface in his throat. “I’ve done worse.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

Silence again. Roy wills himself to force his eyes open so he can look at her. Her hands remain steady on the wheel. He expects her face to be tense, drawn tight with righteous fury, but instead she’s… Sad. Blinking rapidly, trying to keep tears from welling up in her honey-hued eyes. Struggling to suppress a frown. 

“What’s the matter?” He asks. 

“I wish you’d just admit that you want to spend more time with me,” Riza admits, her voice so quiet that Roy almost struggles to decipher the words. “And I wish you’d admit that you…”

“That I what?”

“That you want me.”

Roy doesn’t know what to do now. He could try to deceive her again, though that didn’t seem to work the first time. He could play it off, turn it into a joke, flash a grin and act like it had all been some sort of fucked up game. But the weight in her voice, the way she’s looking at him with such sorrowful eyes when she pulls up at a stop, tells him that none of that will work. Not this time. 

“So what?” He asks, to which Riza raises an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“What if I told you that I did want you? What would you say?”

“Sir-”

“Forgive me for asking,” Roy shakes his head. This was foolish. Part of him wonders if he should’ve just doubled down on the lie. If he’d tried hard enough, if she would’ve forgotten about this entire thing. “If this goes… Poorly, we can go back to pretending I’m drunk.”

“No. I’m tired of pretending.”

“So…” Roy starts, drumming his fingers against the door handle. “How long have I been embarrassing myself for?”

“I figured it out after I skipped one of the team’s outings to spend time with Black Hayate,” Riza explains. “Maybe after the second or third time? I called Havoc to make sure he took you home like I’d asked, only for him to say you were able to drive yourself home. I put together rather quickly that you would only get ‘drunk’ enough to need an escort when I was there.”

And Roy is embarrassed. So, so embarrassed that he’s been doing this for god knows how long, and she’s known pretty much the entire time. He’s been making a full of himself, and worst of all, he’s been hurting her. He can tell just by the sorrow that drips from every word she says. 

“So you’ve known for a while.”

“Sure, but… I would’ve figured it out eventually. You have tells. I know when you’re lying.”

“I’m sorry.”

Riza parks the car and turns to face him. 

“I don’t know why you thought you had to lie to me. You could have asked. I would’ve said yes,” Riza turns off the ignition, shoving her keys in the pocket of her coat but still holding his gaze. Roy is so humiliated that he doesn’t want to meet her eyes, but he also can’t bring himself to look away. Her admission feels like pure relief, he should be happy- and he is- but most of all, he feels guilty for dragging this out for so long. “I would have spent the time with you if you had just asked, Roy. And it makes me wonder… Are you ashamed?”

Roy raises an eyebrow at that. He’s ashamed of a lot of things; himself, the things they’ve done, the people he’s killed, the way he’s had to carry himself to advance in his military career, the scars he’s left on people- on Riza- along the way. 

“Of what?”

“Of your feelings for me.”

“No, it’s not that,” Roy whispers, shaking his head. “It’s never been that.”

“Then why?”

“Because I didn’t want to put myself in a position where you could reject me like you reject everyone else,” The answer is followed by a sharp exhale as he runs a hand through his tousled raven locks. “Because I didn’t want to ask for something I wasn’t sure I deserved.”

The silence stretches between them again, thick with the tension that’s been building for years; with the thousands of words left unsaid.

“You’re not like everyone else,” Riza sighs. “I would’ve said yes to you.”

“I asked the other night and you left anyway,” Roy argues, to which Riza glares back at him.

“I said no because you were doing it under the pretense that you were drunk. I’m not going to be vulnerable in front of you by saying yes when you won’t give me the same respect.”

“Will you spend the night with me this time, Riza? Everything’s on the table now, isn’t it?” Roy questions, and when she looks back at him with uncertainty, he continues- desperate to get her to stay after waiting for so long. “We can lie. Say that I drank so much that I made myself sick, and you just stayed to take care of me.”

“Of course I’ll stay,” Riza leans in, caressing his face with one hand and leaning in to press a soft kiss against Roy’s lips. When she pulls away, she’s smiling, her cheeks dusted bright red, and Roy swears he’s never been so happy. “Let’s go inside.”

[crownmemes]

You're the Boss Sentences, Vol. 2

(Sentences for muses talking to their boss or another figure of authority. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Who the hell are you to order me around?"

"I'm in charge of you, and I still like you enough to give you one good piece of advice: drop it."

"Tell me the truth; did you set me up to fail?"

"You asked to see me?"

"Let me explain to you again how this works. I say jump, then you jump. I ask you a question, then you goddamn answer!"

"Is there anything you're not telling me?"

"Why must you always denigrate my work?"

"Why didn't you share with me what you're doing?"

"You take your work seriously. I like that about you."

"Have you forgotten who you're working for?"

"I am well aware of your influence, but here, you would do well to address me with the customary respect."

"Has my utility not been amply demonstrated?"

"I've got a lot of patience, but I don't like it to be tested for no good reason."

"If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it."

"I need you to give this matter your full attention - is that quite clear?"

"I don't care what you meant to do; it's what you did that I don't like!"

"I still don't understand why you're in charge."

"Say that again and your career is over."

"I didn't expect you to be on time."

"Do you feel I owe you an explanation?"

"You want my job, don't you? Well, I think you'll get it one day, and when you do, you'll realize that the world is not run how you think it is."

"I'm sorry, that wasn't very professional."

"Why are you late?"

"Why don't you want to work for me?"

"I need to ask you something, and I want an honest answer."

"Patience is not one of my virtues."

"Maybe somebody else ought to be in charge?"

"I hired you to do a job. Don't get sidetracked."

"If you have any information, I'd be obliged if you bring it straight to me."

[cetoddle]

i love the sims 2 community so much. everyone is so respectful and truly kind

[pink-anonymous-person]

Sometimes this yin seems like shes so done with with Peter. Lol

WELL THAT’S BECAUSE IT’S FUN TO TRAUMATISED MY OC MUAHAHAHAH

(putting this on read more cuz the text is too long for this post)

ok ok so the answer is that Peter is somewhat … how do I say… very clingy XD this is the same guy who likes to watch your every move.. invade your privacy.. knock your head and chloroform you on day 2 and ko’d you behind the alley and in the van.. he even watches you sleep in your apartment let alone living with him! how is she not overwhelmed with this kind of act?? 🤺yknow that's how it goes.. 👎👎👎

but hey…. what I love about Peter is that he will protect you from the world, and is unafraid to show you, and shower you with his infinite love!

anyways, idk how to explain further, maybe you could also read this post about Peter’s pro and cons that i reblogged that other day! 🫶

[nation-interviews]

I think I would like to see more of mr. england's background. the books he has, the stuff he collects, something like that (if you don't mind?)

Uh hey viewers, it’s uh… It’s the cameraman. We’re all taking a look around during the break, so… Here’s some footage. I guess. Let me know uh, what else you want us to take a look at, and we’ll be back soon probably.

[transcript]

Anonymous

I think I would like to see more of mr. england's background. the books he has, the stuff he collects, something like that (if you don't mind?)

Cameraman

Okay, uh… Producer’s given us ten minutes to look around and see uh- see what we can find. Uhm… So we’ve got the bookshelf, and then I think over there is his bedroom? Its bedroom…? Dunno. Uh. Behind us are some cool swords, too, I took a picture.

There’s this uh… photo, I think most of these guys were in the dossier so… So I guess they’re… Countries? Uh. And that little one must be the kid that’s here…

This shelf is all like… Textbooks. I’ll show some of the weird ones.

No way he reads any of this… Ain’t he like- a politician or something?

I don’t know the deal with any of this. Uh… Desk and filing cabinets are all locked, and I’m- look, I’m not goin through these folders.

The producer wants me to uh… Go back there, and take a look at the bedroom. I feel kinda weird about it, to be honest, but… I guess we’re doing it.

Okay uh… It-It doesn’t look like there’s a lot in here.

Oh. … Huh.

[end of transcript]

[tobestik]

love just sobbing on a saturday listening as genuine healing and teaching happens in the other room

[acromandus]

it really annoys me to talk with people who never bother to look stuff up themselves

like there's this expectation that I have to do all the work to fill in blanks, especially if it would literally only take a couple minute google to find out

[allylikethecat]

8!!!!

Ahhhh thank you for sending me a question from the yet another writing ask list!! If anyone else wants to send one of these my way, or give it a reblog themselves, the list can be found HERE. As always, thank you so much for indulging me and sending me an ask from a list!! I still get so excited and am so honored and happy that people are willing to like engage with me on here. I appreciate it so much 🥰

8. How slow is a slow burn?

If I'm not frustrated and wanting to bang the two character's faces together going "NOW KISS" then it's not a slow burn lol I don't know if that's the answer you were looking for, but it's the one I've got 🤣

Thank you for sending me this ask!! I hope you're enjoying my current fics (even though idk if they count as slow burn lol or is that a good thing?) and I hope you had a great Friday! I hope you have the very best weekend!! Thank you!!

❤️Ally

[savethepinecones]

i forgot how impossible it is to talk to my mom without receiving criticism oof

[miss-jaye]

katsuki's parents are fashion designers, so of course, you'd ask him for his opinion on the perfect outfit for lunch with them.

you've been in the bedroom for 10 minutes. katsuki’s been in the kitchen just as long, already dressed, waiting for you. he sighed, patience wearing thin. "you having trouble in there, doll?" he called out, his voice carrying through the house.

"nope! i'm done actually, coming down!" you replied, the sound of your heels clicking on the floorboards following soon after.

your fiance glanced at the staircase and… wow.

for a moment, it was like the world faded away.

all he could see was you.

you, in that beautiful dress.

a white dress with a delicate rose pattern, paired with red heels. your hair was down, loosely curled, with a white cardigan draped over your arm.

katsuki couldn’t tear his eyes away. you looked effortlessly stunning, and it hit him all at once—how lucky he was.

"so, what do you think?" your voice brought him back to the present. you were closer now, smiling up at him, that irresistible smile that always made his heart do somersaults. "the best part of this dress? it has pockets!" you added, grinning.

he blinked, trying to shake off the daze. "what's with you women and pockets in dresses?" he muttered, though there was no bite in his tone.

you pouted, and katsuki barely resisted the urge to reach out and pinch your cheeks, frustrated by just how cute you were. "pockets in dresses are rare, y'know? and it’s a hassle to carry a bag if you’re just bringing a few things."

"then why the fuck don't you just wear pants?"

"they're uncomfortable."

the blond sighed, shaking his head. "whatever."

you rolled your eyes, not letting him off the hook. "you didn’t answer my question."

he raised an eyebrow, "hah?"

"what do you think of the dress?" you tilted your head, waiting.

he hummed, his gaze sweeping over you from head to toe, admiring every detail. instead of answering, he tilted your chin up and pressed a slow, sweet kiss to your lips, pouring all his thoughts and feelings into that one gesture.

you melted into him, resting your hands gently on his chest. katsuki pulled away just enough to grab your hand. "let’s go."

you smiled softly behind him. "okay."

you didn’t need words to know how katsuki felt about the dress—or about you. his actions said it all.

[gremlingottoosilly]

I met a guy in the Summer (dilf!Konig x fem!Reader)

Your boyfriend is an asshole. Luckily, his hot dad just returned from deployment. CW and Tags: Cheating, dub-con, size kink, daddy kink, age gap(reader in 20s, Konig is early 40s), Konig is a pervert, slightly obsessive Konig, love(and lust) at first sight, fingering, dom!Konig Word count: 3713 AO3

“Just one more game, babe, don’t be a buzzkill. I don’t want to end at a loss.” You didn’t want to be a buzzkill, of course. You simply wanted to be a good girlfriend, have some domestically cozy date, and for your boyfriend to at least try to put an effort into being with you. It wasn’t much to ask for, really. You hoped so, at least. You didn’t want to be an annoying, nagging girlfriend who only ever waits for another reason to yell at him, but your patience started to run thin. 

You spend the past three hours either listening to his apathetic rambling about the shows he watched – really, you wanted to invest in stuff he liked, but an abnormally large amount of animes he talked about had 1000-year-old girls who looked like they were 10, wearing inappropriate outfits, and you started to raise the alarm. 

You also watched him play – and also listened to his rage quitting and angry voice messages to his team that, honestly, made you slightly anxious. You never liked loud people, people who were so easy to rage about something as silly as some colorful video game with too many characters to look after. 

So, like a good girlfriend would – you wanted to be a good girlfriend, he was such a nice guy before you started dating, and you need something to think about besides the tremendous amount of study work you are doing for college – you decided to go and look for snacks. Maybe bring something for him as well. 

— I’ll find something to eat, alright? 

He didn’t respond at first, so you shook his shoulder. Your boyfriend took off his headphones with annoying look on his face, half-turning to look at you. You gulped, suddenly feeling like a child in front of the principal – not a feeling that you were supposed to feel around your partner, but with him, you somehow constantly felt like you were being judged. 

— Nah, stay here. I don’t want my father to see you. 

— Ah…your father is at home? 

You never heard anyone else being at the house – big house, you must admit, and it’s embarrassing almost how you never thought about his family. He lives with his dad, apparently, and the depth of your relationships can only be judged by the fact you literally didn’t know what his father’s name was. 

— Returned from his fucking deployment. He’d ask too many questions about you. 

— You didn’t tell him about me? 

Ah, now you’re hurt a little bit. You knew it wasn’t anything serious or too committed yet, but you intended to make this work. To try and fix all the problems you can without ending things abruptly. 

— He never asked. Not like he cares too much, but…

An apathetic dad, huh. 

You started to slowly piece together the puzzle that was your boyfriend’s horrible boyfriend skills. Now, you want to meet the man who conceived him and kick him in the nuts for creating such an unlovable human being who somehow captivated your chronically lonely heart. 

— If you don’t want me to come and meet him, I can go home. 

He doesn’t answer because his queue is finally coming to another match – you simply nod, knowing everything you need to. You can grab a little snack for yourself, fuck off to your dorm and rethink your life choices while your roommate is getting pounded by some gruss British bloke with an accent that makes your ears bleed. 

You have dignity, and right now, it has asked you to get some snacks from the kitchen. 

*** Now, the only thing König wanted after returning from deployment was to take as many hot showers as he could, shut his bastard of a son up, and get some delicious food waiting for him in the freezer. He was already home for a few days, but adjusting is always hard when you basically fucking hate living at your own house. Of-fucking-course, his son was watching the house while he was away – and now he can’t even think of a good excuse to set him off to his mother. Too old to do this, and split custody never really worked when not even one part of the relationship wanted to take care of the kid. 

König closes the door of the refrigerator – of course, his son took every good thing that he stashed for himself. With a groan, the colonel fights the urge to finally throw him out of the house – a thing he needed to do a few years ago, just when he celebrated his 18th, but some sentimental part of his heart instead promised to help with finding a place close to the college. No good deed goes unpunished. 

With a groan, he takes a few steps from the fridge – and then he almost stumbles across an angel. 

Scheisse

Now, König never thought of himself as a predator who prefers running after college girls who might as well be his daughters. He never thought of himself as a gut who liked them young – his wife, god forsake her name, was his age when they started dating, and he hardly had any sexual encounters with a person under 25 in the past few years. Well, not like he had any sexual encounters in the past years, but…

The thing is – he never thought he liked girls with wide eyes, pouty faces, and trembling hands who were holding a bag of his cookies that he carefully stashed away from his son. 

You are wearing something cute, a nice skirt and an adorable pink cardigan that looks so cozy and warm and soft, and he fights the urge to grab your skirt and simply lift it, You’re dressed up for a cute coffee date, and König has to double check if he isn’t dreaming and no one has decided to play a prank on him and send him a cute callgirl. 

— Oh! Sorry. It’s yours, isn’t it? 

You give him his cookies back – but not before your fingers fished another salty caramel goodness out of the bag, and you bit it. He looks at your teeth, at your lips, and glimpses of your tongue – god, he is an old, dirty bastard because even his baggy pants aren’t enough to hide his boner. You have no right to look this pretty for a man who hasn’t seen a woman in three months and hasn’t had sex in the past few years. 

You lick the crumbs from your fingers – it’s such a deliberate action that he can’t believe he actually sees it, and it’s not even something from porn he used to like. 

— Ja. You can have it. 

He would give you the code to his bank account if you asked for it. 

— Thank you, sir. I’m…well, I assume if Paul didn’t introduce me to you…I’m his girlfriend. Nice to meet you. 

You lick your lips and take a step back, pressed against the counter. He looks at the sway of your hips, a bit of crumbs on your shirt, and almost brushes it away with his hands. It would be a good excuse to touch your chest – but he can’t be like this, he has to keep his urges under control, or else his son will never forgive him. 

Yeah, like he needs a better reason to throw his useless son from his home. 

— Girlfriend? He never spoke about you. 

You look sad, and he immediately curses under his breath. For a moment, you look too fragile – too real. He can’t handle this look on a woman, especially as pretty and young as you are. You bat your eyelashes, even involuntarily, and he already prepares to give you the keys to his home just so you’d stop with such miserable expressions. He has a spare bedroom. 

He has his bedroom with a bed that would be enough for both of you. 

— Ah. Um. We’re…I guess we’re not at this stage yet. 

— Knowing him, you’ll never be, Schatz. 

You look at him immediately – you’re offended, angry, and sad at the same time. There is a certain stubbornness in your eyes that immediately makes him want to simply scoop you in his arms, lift you, and drag you straight to the altar – and here he thought that his impulses over getting married would be over after his first divorce. 

— What do you mean by this, sir? 

You look uncertain now, he can see this in your eyes – and really, knowing his asshole of a child, he is almost sure that Paul never once got you off, either physically or emotionally. 

Now, König never once considered himself to be a good man. He has killed countless people, overthrown many governments, and made shitty jobs for shitty people way more than saving hostages to help the good guys – and in the romantic field, it’s even worse. Wife, unsatisfied with his controlling tendencies and inability to feel normal love for a human being – and a son who hates him because, in fact, he never once wanted to have a kid. 

He looks at you and sees a pretty young thing, still in college or freshly out of, probably without a stable job and normal social standing – a good girl won’t be with his son if she isn’t stupid or extremely desperate for a relationship. 

The thing is, König is also extremely desperate for another warm body next to his, to feel a woman beside him, to love and obsess over someone – he looks at your pouty lips and shaky hands, at the way you bite the corner of your glossy mouth, and he almost wants to drop you on this very table and fuck you until you’re crying under him. He can’t do just that, of course. It would probably make you extremely uncomfortable and scared, but…well, quite frankly, his son doesn’t deserve you. 

König is. 

— I won’t sugarcoat it, Schatz. My son is a Scheiß Arschloch…fucking asshole, that is. I’m surprised he brought home someone as cute as you. 

You feel embarrassment collecting in your body. Paul’s dad is a…interesting man. 

Tall, broad, very muscular – even his baggy house clothes aren’t really concealing his extremely interesting physique from your eyes. He looks yummy and tasty, and you fight the urge to eye the bulge in his pants because you’re a good girl, you don’t look at your boyfriend’s dad like this. 

König has greying ginger hair, locks already curling slightly at the lack of cutting, and you fight the urge to sit on the counter and get your palm in his scalp, massage his head gently, and pull him closer for a kiss. You feel like a dirty, horrible woman – your boyfriend is in his room, probably enjoying his time on your “date” while you’re lusting over his father. 

Then again, this date already felt like a disaster. This relationship, too. 

— Paul isn’t all that bad, sir. 

“He at least has a nice dick,” you wanted to add but stopped yourself. Paul is tall and somewhat strong – if he weren’t sitting at his computer all day, you would call him even muscular. And he has a nice dick, yes, even though he had no idea how to use it. You liked the idea of laying with him, of spraying your jaw trying to fit all of this in your mouth, but his kinks and his sex skills being directly taken from porn…not really your thing. 

You look at König and wonder if they are similar in all of the places. He is his father, after all. 

König catches your gaze locked on his bulge and smirks. 

God, if he knew his son had such a cute girl, he would ask her to come earlier. He is two weeks off deployment and probably won’t take another long contract for a few months because they just upped his retirement payings, and he can afford to slack off a little bit, only visiting the home base for some training and instructions for rookies. 

He can afford to retire and never worry about money again – but he needs someone to make his days less boring, right? 

You look like a good candidate. 

— I’m sure my son was convincing, but I know him better than anyone. He doesn’t deserve you, Schatz. 

He is shitty at flirting, it’s not his forte – he can flaunt his money, maybe, show you in his wallet and bank account face first. He can just straight up ask you to be his sugar baby and suck his cock instead of doing your studies, but he can’t flirt and manipulate to save his life. Lying isn’t something he is good for, this is why his wife has left. 

— I…not sure we should be having this conversation here. 

You’re a good girl, and it’s infuriating. He knows that having someone in his bed shouldn’t be the end goal for his leave, but he wants you, and by the look on your face, you aren’t opposed to the idea. König doesn’t understand if he likes that you’re so reserved about it or if he wants you to be a bit more slutty – but he captures you in the space between the kitchen counter and presses you with his body. 

— You want to see the bedroom then?

Pushes you so close his knee gets between your legs – it might look involuntary like he didn’t exactly want for it to be placed here, but you aren’t dumb, you know what he wants from you. Like a good fucking girl, you’re too shy to give it to him right about now. God, sometimes he hates being so nice to people around him. 

— Sir, this is very…

He got you caged in his hands, body trapped in his embrace – you jerk your head upwards a little bit, staring at him like a small bird in the hands of a predator. He isn’t a strong man in regard of morals, he doesn’t see anything wrong with fucking his son’s girlfriend – if the girl is up to it. And if she isn’t…well, he better make sure she is. 

— What is it, Schatz? Paul won’t hear us in his headphones.

You know just how wrong it is, and you almost want to escape – his dick grinds on your pelvis through his pants, and you’re horrified to see how big it is. Excited too, of course, he is bigger than your boyfriend ever could be, and you don’t want to be a slut, but, oh well, not like you were in a committed and serious relationship anyway. 

Paul was seeing your friends more than you ever saw them – it’s probably a sign that you should settle for someone older. You did enjoy Lana Del Rey's songs, after all. 

— I don’t want to break his heart. 

— He doesn’t have one. 

You’re lost when he pushes his lips to kiss you over and over again – a surprisingly good kisser, and you give in because it was the first time in forever a kiss made you feel this good. His lips are sending electricity down your spine, you want to moan just from his knee, pushing on the softness of your cunt through that adorable skirt you liked so much – you feel so small like this, so tiny in his hands, you…

God, you feel like a slut, and you like it. 

Soon enough, you answered the kiss, your lips meeting his in a dance that made you feel hot, that made you feel like your boyfriend never could. Never thinking of yourself as someone who can fall so easily into the hands of an older man, now you know that he got you right where he wanted. 

You push your hand on his pants, trying to get the control back – but he stops you, a giant hand enveloping your wrist and pushing you back. With a surprise on your face, König just wants to kiss you all over. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that you deserve way more than being fucked on the rough kitchen counter while your so-called boyfriend is too busy dickriding his friends in some useless online game. 

— Not now, princess. You deserve better than being fucked on the kitchen counter, ja? It can come later. 

“Later” sounds like a promise, and you bite back your moan when he keeps pushing his knee against your cunt, making you throb and clench on nothing. He is such a gentleman, you can’t help but compare him to his son – and his fabulous ability to make you feel dirty after fucking you in the backseat of his car and tossing you to your dorm with your pussy still wet and messy after you didn’t cum. 

You sob, not from sadness, but from pleasure mixed with some weird, unnatural for you emotions – you feel weird, strained here like this, but you hug his neck and whisper something in his ear. Something, dangerously sounding just like “daddy, please” 

König is blushing, and he looks fucking adorable. 

— Daddy, ja? God, you’re dangerous, liebling. Going to get me in trouble with my son later. 

He laughs when he kisses you again, his hand slipping in your panties only to find them completely soaked – he knows you deserve a nice pillow and soft sheets under your body, and he pushes you up so you can hug his waist with your legs. You rely on him like a cute pet, and you’re so perfect in his hands he curses himself for not seeing you before. 

He is going to ruin you for anyone but him. Put so much cum in you, it will make your tummy bulge – make you his precious sugar baby, pay for your dumb college and make you move to his bedroom instead of some shitty dorm you probably share with four other people. 

He can be good for you – but he will ruin you for anyone else, anyone appropriate, every guy your age who clearly doesn’t know how to treat a lady right. 

— So wet for me…such a filthy thing, I didn’t know my son dated a whore. 

— N…not a whore, please…

He kisses you on your forehead, silently apologizing. You feel his crooked, scarred smile, and you push your face up to kiss him – you want to touch him so badly it makes you feel stupid. 

— Sorry, Schatzen. Not a whore, a good girl for her daddy, ja? So nice for me, too fucking young…

— W…we really shouldn’t… — Tshhh, don’t think about it. Thinking will only hurt your pretty dumb head. — I’m not…

— Quiet, little one. Let daddy handle everything.

He kisses you over and over, his fingers playing with your pussy – meaty digits digging in your hole, making you whimper from sudden intrusion. He is big, bigger than anyone else, just two of his fingers are enough to spread you as much as normal cock would, and even though you’re used to taking Paul’s size, you just know that his dad would be much, much bigger. He is going to split you open, and you will love every fucking second. 

It feels so wrong, you still aren’t sure if you want him to touch you like this. 

It feels so right, he is experienced and eager, pushing every button to make you squirm in his grasp. Your orgasm comes embarrassingly quick – maybe because you haven’t gotten off in ages, only miserable masturbation sessions and poor attempts at faking your orgasm made it feel real. Paul never cared enough to actually get you off – but now…

You aren’t ready for him. You squirm in his grasp when the pressure becomes too much, and he soothes you, two fingers still buried in your soaked cunt. You feel so dirty, so wrong right now – you are cumming on the fingers of your boyfriend’s absent father, and you love every second of it. 

Post-orgasm clarity makes you whiny and sobby, and you whimper in his shoulder when he gently lifts you in his hands. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that he just scrambled your brain with that orgasm – it’s good, really, he might just want to keep your pretty head nice and empty for him. Not like you would ever need to think in his presence, the colonel can handle everything in- and out- of bed. 

König holds you close, not allowing you to scramble away no matter how embarrassed you are. You are his precious thing, with a pouty face, and he will do everything in his power to make you squirm on his fingers again and again before he makes you his wife for good. 

So impulsive, maybe this is why his son is such an asshole – taking the worst traits of his father. 

— Don’t cry, Schatzen. You’re okay, it felt good, didn’t it? 

— W…we shouldn’t have. Shit. I’m sorry, it was a m…god, I need to tell Paul. 

— I’ll tell him. 

— No! — I will tell my asshole of a son that you’re my girl now, ja? And then I will take you to the bedroom, so we can fuck. 

— I need to return to my dorm. 

— And then I will dine you properly, okay? Sorry, Liebling, I know I should court you before all of this…but we can afford to go a bit off board, ja? 

He is smiling, so smitten and obsessed over just having you cum on his fingers once – you don’t have the heart to say no. Never did. You’re a good, proper girl, and Paul was never treating you right anyway. You feel dirty, yes, but somehow, it is almost right. 

He peppers your face with kisses, like a dog lapping its tongue all over your skin – you’re so concentrated on the warmth of his strong, seasoned body that you don’t even look in the direction of the doorway to the kitchen. 

Paul, however, looks straight at you, disheartened and shocked. 

— W…what the fuck, dad?! König laughs, kissing you once again – deep, hot, with tongue and loud, sloppy sounds of your mouth pressing into one another. You’re stuck in place, still caged in his arms like a precious little pet you are. 

— She’ll make a good step mom, ja? 

You don’t even register his hands slowly caressing your fingers as if he already tries to check the ring sizes.