#and the game calls him a devoted father

[blushouyo]

a female durges relationship with bhaal makes me so crazy like... youre daddys special princess. his little girl. his daughter...

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ gods and monsters ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x wife!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you cherished your husband, your family, and the life you had created together. hwang in-ho was a man of contradictions, capable of immense love and devotion. he treated you with such care, as though you were the most precious thing in his world. his adoration was tangible in every gesture, every lingering glance. yet beneath that tenderness was a darkness you struggled to reconcile. this same man, who held your hand with precious affection, was also the masked overseer of the squid game, a series of merciless challenges where the desperate competed, often at the cost of their lives, for a staggering cash prize.

˚ ༘♡ you could never truly fathom it. the man who pressed sweet kisses to your forehead at night was the same monster who orchestrated a spectacle of death and suffering. he claimed no pleasure in it, but the mere fact of his involvement unsettled you. the gleaming black mask, the command he held over every horrific detail, it was a world so far removed from the comfort of your home, yet it belonged to him all the same.

˚ ༘♡ only once had he asked if you wished to attend, to see what he called “his other life.” the question had terrified you to your core, your lips parting in silent dismay. you hadn’t needed to answer. the way your expression shifted, the way fright and disapproval glared across your pallid face, was enough. he never brought it up again, never risked shattering the fragile balance he had created between his two identities.

˚ ༘♡ you were a mother to a healthy three-year-old son, who filled your days with laughter and energy, and you were carrying another child, though you had yet to tell your husband. the news remained a quiet secret, one you turned over in your mind during the solitude of the evening. it wasn’t fear of his reaction that kept you silent. hwang in-ho adored his family, there was no question of that, but the thought of bringing another life into the shadow of the games unsettled you.

˚ ༘♡ you tried to focus on being the woman you wanted to be, a loving mother, a supportive partner. in many ways, you succeeded. you tucked your son in every night with whispered stories and soft lullabies, kept your home warm and welcoming, and met your husband’s gaze with as much love as you could muster, even when doubts crept into the corners of your mind.

˚ ༘♡ when your worries became too much to bear, he would sense it, always. he would take your hands in his, his voice calm, his tone measured. “think of me as two men,” he would say, his words a plea for understanding. “there is hwang in-ho, your husband, your partner, the father of our children. and then there is the front man, a role i play, a mask i wear.”

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to believe him, to hold on to the idea that the man who kissed you tenderly each morning could be separate from the one who orchestrated so much pain. but no matter how you tried to comprehend it, there were nights when the thought of who he was beyond your shared walls kept you awake, your heart aching with questions you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

˚ ༘♡ you tried with all your might to separate the two sides of the man you loved, the front man and your husband, hwang in-ho. but when he told you he wouldn’t be able to contact you during this year’s games, the delicate balance you had worked so hard to maintain crumbled. the weight of his words refused to settle, tearing at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to simply let it go.

˚ ༘♡ “every year, you’ve managed to visit after the game for the day. what’s different this time?” you asked, your voice trembling with desperation.

˚ ༘♡ at first, he deflected, his tone dismissive as if your concerns were unwarranted. but as your worry grew, it became impossible for him to ignore. the strain in your expression, the way your voice cracked when you spoke, it was enough to wear him down. even your son had begun to notice, his small hands tugging at your sleeve, his innocent eyes filled with confusion at the tension that filled the air.

˚ ༘♡ with a frustrated sigh, in-ho finally relented. his hand enveloped yours, warm and steady against your trembling fingers. “i will be there this year,” he admitted, his voice hushed and measured. “as a player.”

˚ ༘♡ the words sent a chill through you, and your breath caught in your throat. “what? why?” you asked, your disbelief slicing through the tension.

˚ ༘♡ his gaze locked onto yours. “there is someone returning to the games this year,” he began, his tone careful. “a former player, a winner in fact. he’s likely to cause complications, and… i can’t deny the intrigue of watching him. this year will be different. i’ve decided to stay close by instead of observing from a distance.”

˚ ༘♡ fury and agony surged within you, and your hands shook as you lightly struck his chest, the beating driven by hysteria. “you idiot!” you yelled. “you can’t guarantee you’ll be safe! have you even thought about your family? what about our son?”

˚ ༘♡ he caught your wrist gently, his grip cautious, his face softening as he pulled you closer. “i will not be in danger,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “i promise you that.”

˚ ༘♡ still, his assurance wasn’t enough. it didn’t stop the knot in your stomach from tightening or the ache in your chest from growing far more intense. the words you spoke next tumbled out before you had a chance to think them through. “if that’s true, then you won’t have any problem with me coming along!”

˚ ༘♡ the declaration hung in the air, sharp and sudden. even you were startled by it, your heart pounding in your chest as the misery of your demand settled between you. fear and anger had driven you to say it, but now it was too late to take it back. you searched his face for a reaction, your pulse racing.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t speak such nonsense again," he said firmly, his tone cutting through the tension in the room. "you have our son to think about. i am going, and i’ll return in a week. this is final."

˚ ༘♡ “no!” you shot back, the tremor in your voice betraying your growing panic. “if you’re going, then i’m coming with you. you told me it’s safe.” your eyes darted toward your son, who had long fallen asleep, blissfully unaware of the battle unfolding. a wave of guilt swept over you, tightening your throat. “he can stay with the household staff for a week. do you think i could take care of him properly while i’m sick with worry about you?”

˚ ༘♡ his brow furrowed, the sharp lines of irritation creasing his weary face. “you’re being unreasonable,” he said, his voice hard, though it faltered slightly as he began pacing the room. each step was measured, purposeful, as though he were trying to walk away from the argument itself. “this is dangerous enough without you there complicating things.”

˚ ༘♡ “and you’re being infuriating,” you countered, your tone rising as desperation overtook your earlier composure. “do you think I’d forgive myself if something happened to you while i stayed here and did nothing? you’re asking too much of me.” your voice cracked, the weight of your despair spilling into the room.

˚ ༘♡ the argument carried on into the late hour, a nightmare of clashing scorn and unresolved fears. he tried to dismiss you, to shut you down with reason, but you refused to back down. your agony, raw and untamed, eventually drove you to the brink. “if you go without me, i’ll leave,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i’ll take our son, and i’ll leave.”

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was deafening. he froze, his gaze snapping to yours, searching your face for the truth. you hated the lie, the hollowness of your own threat, but it was all you had left. leaving him wasn’t something you could ever do, but the thought of him walking into danger alone was unbearable.

˚ ༘♡ he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the burden of his dilemma. “fine,” he said at last, his voice clipped and low. “if you’re coming, then there are conditions… rules that have to be carefully followed.”

˚ ༘♡ your relief was immediate but short-lived as his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. “what conditions?” you asked, your voice softer now, cautious.

˚ ༘♡ “we’ll need to use false identities," he explained, his tone deliberate, each word chosen with care. "to everyone involved, we’re strangers. no one can know who we are, not even that we’re connected."

˚ ༘♡ the practicality of his demand sent a shiver down your spine, even as you nodded in agreement. the idea of pretending he was nothing more than a stranger felt unnatural, wrong, but you couldn’t argue. “i understand,” you murmured, though the knot in your stomach tightened with every passing second.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as though considering whether you truly grasped what you were stepping into. when he finally looked away, you felt no sense of victory, only the forthcoming horror of what lay ahead.

˚ ༘♡ the games were set to begin in exactly one week, and each passing day left you feeling more unsettled. every time your husband pulled you into his arms, the unease lingered beneath the surface, making it difficult to fully surrender to his warmth. though you tried to find comfort in his presence, the thought of what lay ahead clouded every shared moment.

˚ ༘♡ you had entrusted your son to the most reliable and loyal members of the household staff, ensuring that he would be cared for in your absence. you also took great care to conceal any sign of your pregnancy. if in-ho discovered the truth, he would never allow you to join him, and staying behind was not an option you could accept.

˚ ༘♡ he had laid out the plan with meticulous precision. the two of you would arrive after the chaos of the first game, red light, green light. as he explained it, a large portion of the participants would undoubtedly be eliminated once they grasped the deadly reality of the games. the aftermath of that horror would provide cover for your entrance, allowing you to integrate without raising suspicion.

˚ ༘♡ your husband would take on the identity of player 001, an unassuming participant with no visible ties to you. your alias would be player 077, your stories carefully crafted to fit the narrative. his fabricated reason for joining the games was both haunting and ironic, he claimed he needed money for his pregnant wife. when he first told you this, a wave of panic washed over you, thinking he might have discovered your secret. but as you studied his expression, his calm demeanor revealed no hint of realization.

˚ ༘♡ for your feigned story, he decided you would play the role of a young woman drowning in debt, struggling to pay off the burdens left behind by your late father. the lie felt strangely fitting, yet it unsettled you all the same. every detail he crafted for your cover seemed so calculated, so detached, it was as though he had rehearsed this for far longer than he let on. this game of life and death was nothing more than a facade for him.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded along as he explained the plan, his voice unwavering. though the words were spoken with care, they failed to soothe the growing tension within you. each step of the plan felt cold, clinical, designed to strip away any sense of the life you shared outside these games. with every passing day, the distance between hwang in-ho, your husband, and the front man became more glaring, and you wondered if you could truly separate the two when it mattered most.

˚ ༘♡ you knelt by your son’s bedside, planting a soft kiss against his forehead. his small hand clung to your finger, and for a vanishing moment, you felt the crushing weight of guilt threaten to undo you. you whispered promises you weren’t sure you could keep, telling him you would be back soon, that everything would be fine. as his breathing slowed in sleep, you lingered a minute longer, memorizing the curve of his face and the delicate skin of his tiny hand before slipping away with your husband.

˚ ༘♡ the player uniforms were a tight, oppressive reminder of the role you had agreed to take on. the white and forest-green fabric felt rough against your skin, the stitched numbers, 001 on him, 077 on you, marking you both as part of this wicked charade. the air between you was dense with unspoken tension as you followed his lead into the heart of the games.

˚ ༘♡ the aftermath of the first game hit you like a physical blow. scarlet-red blood smeared the walls, the metallic stench thick enough to taste. lifeless bodies were being dragged away by masked figures, their uniforms pristine against the carnage. your stomach churned violently, and you had to bite down hard to keep from retching. your husband walked ahead, his pace measured, his face a mask of icy detachment.

˚ ༘♡ yet, even as he feigned indifference, you noticed the subtle tension p his clenched fists and the hard line of his jaw. no matter how disciplined and resolute he was, pretending you were a stranger clearly cost him some of his will power.

˚ ༘♡ you entered the massive dormitory, a cavernous space where the remaining players huddled in groups, their expressions etched with terror and disbelief. the room was alive with murmurs, frantic whispers of confusion and distress as they tried to process what had happened. the realization of the deadly nature of the games hung over the crowd, suffocating and inescapable.

˚ ༘♡ abruptly, a piercing voice broke through the calamity, commanding and filled with urgency. all eyes turned to player 456, a man whose presence seemed to dominate the room. his words were bold, calling for a vote in accordance with the consent clause, a chance for the players to decide whether they would continue or abandon the games. the idea rippled through the crowd, igniting faint glimmers of hope in some and deepening the despair in others.

˚ ༘♡ your husband moved slightly, a subtle shift in his stance catching your attention. his gaze flicked toward you, so brief it was almost imperceptible. then, with deliberate movements, he traced a small circle on the back of his hand, an action so precise it disturbed you. he turned away before you could react, his focus now on the masked enforcers who were setting up the voting station.

˚ ༘♡ it took you a moment to understand the message. he wanted you to vote in favor of continuing the games. the realization landed suddenly. you clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to steady yourself. the thought of condemning the remaining players to more death and suffering was unbearable, but you understood what his silent gesture meant. if the games ended now, everything he had planned, every risk he had taken, would amount to nothing.

˚ ༘♡ the apprehension caused your chest to tighten further as the masked figures prepared the voting station, their movements mechanical and precise. the voices of the players rose, some pleading for an end, others arguing to stay. you felt your pulse quicken, the enormity of what you were about to do pressing down on you as you prepared to cast a vote that would decide not only the fate of the players but the course of your husband’s dangerous mission.

a/n: the winner of the fanfiction vote, but i will definitely be writing for cho sang-woo as well! i hope you all enjoy reading! let me know if you have anymore requests! 🤍

[swytdoll]

BRAT TAMER! 𝜗𝜚

sum𝜗𝜚 toji despises working. he'd rather be off gambling, losing himself in the thrill and chaos of the games. but then he meets you, his new client's spoiled daughter. it's okay, though... he's a brat tamer.

wc𝜗𝜚 6.6k [oopsie]

warnings𝜗𝜚 SEMI PROOF-READ, older!pervtoji, masterbation, fingering, female + male oral, cum eating, squirting, creaming, choking, spitting, explicit language, toji is kind of mean, reader is annoying, age-gap [reader is 19 toji is 35] just a whole lot of nasty shit, enjoy hornies!

Toji Zenin really hated working. The same boring tasks, the long hours, the wear and tear on his body, and the relentless sun made every day feel like a drag. But there was one thing that made it all a bit more bearable: his client. More specifically, his client’s daughter. Sure, it was a bit taboo to have thoughts about a girl so much younger, but he couldn’t help himself.

Those shorts of yours were always way too tight, hugging your curves like they were made for you. And those shirts? Toji was pretty sure you didn’t even own a bra, especially with how your nipples would poke through the fabric whenever he caught a glimpse of you.

You had no shame, showing off that gorgeous body and cute face at every opportunity. It was like you wanted to be noticed in those revealing outfits, strutting around in swimsuits that left little to the imagination. He’d even seen your pussy lips once as you’d bent down near the pool, he remembers because he’d spent the entirety of his lunch break fisting his raging boner in a hot portable toilet.

Not exactly his finest hour.

You were undeniably a brat, completely indulged by your widowed father who was eager to fulfill every whim of his precious daughter. With wealth, a stunning home, a devoted dad, and your charming looks, it was no surprise that you carried the air of entitlement. Toji, however, found a certain appeal in your spoiled nature; he preferred you as a brat rather than a timid wallflower. From his perspective, brats were easier to tame. Most days, he found himself lost in fantasies of you. Daydreaming about your pretty little cunt warped about his cock.

It frustrated him how deeply you had woven yourself into his life. He couldn’t even get into it with his casual fling anymore unless he pictured you, and man, did that feel amazing.

"Dad!"

Speak of the Devil. The sound of your voice filled the air just as the front gate slammed behind you. Fresh from your weekly shopping spree with friends, you made your entrance. Toji felt a surge of frustration as the sharp click of your heels echoed on the cement. He turned away from his work space, his gaze fixed on you as you sauntered over, your hips swaying and oversized sunglasses perched on your nose.

He couldn't help but observe as you approached your father, a look of irritation etched on your face. Perhaps you had finally hit your credit card limit. With a sulky pout and arms crossed beneath your perky breasts, you pushed them up, and his thoughts spiraled.

Toji wanted nothing more than to rip the tank top off your body, pull your nipples between his fingers and twist them until you were crying.

"My card was declined!"

Toji struggled to suppress a laugh, biting down on the inside of his cheek. What a foolish little brat. Your father shot you a disapproving glance, and you let out an exasperated huff, stomping your foot like the spoiled child you were.

"I was at the mall trying to buy a cute dress, and the card didn't go through! So, I called the bank and they said it was declined!"

Your father sighed, and Toji could have sworn he saw the old man roll his eyes. He must have been fed up with having to coddle an adult woman.

"Listen, sweetheart. I already mentioned that I won't be giving you another allowance until next week. Perhaps it's time you learned how to manage your money, or maybe I should restrict your card usage. Clearly, this isn't working out." You gasped in response, and Toji couldn't help but feel a bit taken aback.

Maybe your dad wasn't as soft as he seemed. He felt a twinge of sympathy for him, having to handle a spoiled daughter like you.

“That's so unfair!" You cried, turning away from your dad, arms flailing and he swore he saw you kick a rock like a toddler having a tantrum. "I hate this fucking place! It's so hot and the bugs are everywhere. I can't stand it! Shopping is the only thing that keeps me sane." You yelled.

He noticed your dad wince, and Toji could already picture the headache brewing in the man's mind. "Mind your language," he said calmly, but you just scoffed.

"Or what?"

Toji could predict how this would unfold. Your dad would let out a resigned sigh and give in, while you'd strut away with a triumphant grin.

"Go to your room; you're done for the day. Sit there and think about your behavior. You're clearly too worked up," he said, and you stared at him in disbelief. "Are you serious?" you yelled, and he shook his head.

"I mean it. You're too agitated, and I don't want you to say or do something you'll regret later. Please, just go to your room," he insisted, and Toji had to suppress a laugh. It was clear you were at a loss for how to respond. You stomped your feet again and huffed in frustration.

"Fine."

As you marched toward your room, the sound of your heels echoed sharply, culminating in a loud slam of the door. Your father exhaled deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose while muttering softly to himself. "Kids..." he murmured, glancing at Toji with a sympathetic expression.

"I apologize for that. She's dealing with a lot at the moment." Toji responded with a reassuring shake of his head. "It's all good," he said, prompting a smile from your father.

“Thank you Toji. You’re a great guy, and you’ve done an amazing job with building the shed so far.”

“Thanks, sir,” he responded. Your dad turned his gaze toward your bedroom window, and Toji’s eyes followed suit. You were anxiously pacing, phone pressed to your ear, a scowl etched on your face. Your father frowned, and Toji cleared his throat, feeling the tension in the air.

Toji had never really had a conversation with you, and the only time he did, you had unleashed a torrent of curses at him. It was his first day on the job, and you had come down wearing nothing but a silk pink robe, clearly annoyed at being stirred from your sleep so early in the morning.

He stood there, taking in the sight of you descending the steps, the silk draping around your figure. He could see the gentle curves of your body, the outline of your bare breasts, the shape of your hips, and the smoothness of your legs.

"Do you realize how ridiculously early it is? It's seven, you dick!" You shot, glaring at Toji with a fiery intensity. He raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your attitude. It was obvious you were still in the process of waking up, not fully aware of who was standing there.

"Miss, I recommend you mind your language," he replied, and he could have sworn he noticed a shiver run through you. Your lovely lips parted slightly, a soft gasp escaping, and Toji had to fight the urge to grin. So, you enjoyed being spoken to like that. He cleared his throat and stepped closer, looking down at you with a playful smirk.

He didn’t spare you a second glance, not even flinching when the front door slammed shut behind you. From that moment on, you shot him daggers every time he crossed your path, throwing out sarcastic remarks whenever your father was out of earshot. Your behavior only escalated, and Toji was certain your dad was on the verge of exploding. But Toji believed he could change you; he was confident he could take that defiant attitude and transform it. He was certain of it. He would fuck that ego right out of you and mold it into a perfect little slut, ready and willing to please him.

"I still have a few tasks to finish up around the house. Thanks again, Toji," your father remarked, and Toji simply nodded.

"Absolutely."

The two shared a smile and the older man went back inside, leaving Toji to his thoughts. His mind wandered to all the possibilities and ways he could take you apart. He could see it now, his large hand holding yours down, forcing you to stay still as he pounded into your tight cunt. His other hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing tight as he made you cum, the walls of your pussy clenching around him. He'd pull out and force his cock down your throat, forcing you to choke on him. He'd fill you with his seed, spilling everything down your throat, watching as you swallowed his hot cum, a blissful look on your face.

God, the thoughts were intoxicating.

He would break you, mold you, bend you, and make you his own personal toy. You were going to be his.

He would make sure of it.

Your father had kept his promise; he had cut off your credit card and confined you to the house. It felt like a never-ending limbo. Most of your days were spent buried in a cheesy romance novel by the pool or dozing off. For the past few weeks, your dad had been working late, leaving you to dine solo and binge-watch reruns of old TV shows. It was downright dismal.

He even spent his evenings holed up in his office, tackling whatever tasks awaited him. The atmosphere was heavy with loneliness. You could sense his disappointment in your behavior, but who could really blame you? This house was a snooze fest. While your friends were off enjoying their summer adventures, you were stuck here.

They couldn’t even swing by to visit because of their packed schedules. Still, they called regularly, sharing tales of their escapades and new crushes. You appreciated their efforts to keep you in the loop, but those conversations only filled the emptiness for so long.

Today, you decided to lounge by the pool, soaking up the sun on a comfy chair. You donned your favorite bikini, a stylish white and gold set, the straps loosely tied, barely holding everything in place. The high-waisted bottoms accentuated your curves perfectly. Beside you, a refreshing glass of lemonade and a colorful mix of fruits—cherries, pineapples, and more—sat waiting. Your book lay on your stomach, eager for your attention once more.

The pool was stunning, and it had always been one of your favorite places to escape to. The water sparkled like crystal, the waterfall cascaded beautifully, and the palm trees swayed gently above. It was the sole reason you tolerated living in such a sweltering climate. However, there was one major drawback: the man who is building the shed. Toji, you learned was his name.

You couldn't stand him. He was insufferably rude and full of himself. His looks only made matters worse. You despised how incredibly handsome he was. You had never encountered a man so striking before. The definition of his arms, the chiseled jawline, and the width of his shoulders were infuriating.

His dark eyes, sun-kissed skin, and flowing dark hair only added to your irritation. It was maddening how flawless he appeared. Just the thought of him made your blood boil. He was so self-satisfied and arrogant, and the way he acted like he was superior to you drove you up the wall.

“Whatcha reading?”

You startled at the sound of his voice, glancing over to find Toji casually leaning against the patio door, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. His white button-up shirt was rolled up, showcasing his well-defined arms. A warm flush crept across your cheeks. Why the fuck was he so handsome?

"What do you want?" you shot back, setting your book aside.

"I just wanted to see if you needed anything," he said, striding over to the chair beside you and pulling it closer. "Your dad mentioned he’d be working late and I thought I could order dinner for you," he added, a hint of mischief in his tone, causing your brows to knit together in confusion.

"Why the hell would you order dinner for me? I can do it myself.”

"Because I'm a nice guy, and it would suck for a pretty girl like you to have to fend for herself." He responded, a sly smile on his lips and you couldn't help the small shiver that went down your spine. You shook the thoughts from your head and rolled your eyes.

"Yeah, right. You just want to get in my pants. Don't try to act like a good guy, I know exactly who you are. My dad's a great guy, he'd never hire a creep like you."

"Is that what you think?"

You didn't answer, a scowl forming on your face.

"Well, if I'm a creep, then what does that make you?"

"What?"

"Come on, don't act dumb. I know you get off on teasing me."

"You're a fucking pervert.”

"Maybe."

His grin was wolfish, and he looked predatory, leaning forward and staring you down. "Tell me, have you been a good girl lately? Or have you been naughty?"

"I-"

"You've been very bratty lately. I know your dad's getting sick of it."

You swallowed thickly, a blush coating your cheeks. How could he read you so well?

"But, don't worry. I can fix you."

"Fix me? What are you talking about?"

"You're spoiled. And I'll change that."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I know you want it. I can tell."

He leaned back, his arm resting on the back of the chair.

"And, if you're good, I'll reward you."

"Reward me?"

He grinned and nodded, leaning forward and pressing his lips against your ear.

"Yes. If you're a good girl, I'll fuck you like the slut you are."

He pulled back, the grin never leaving his face.

"Think about it, princess."

He winked, standing up and turning away, a chuckle leaving him.

You were speechless, your heart racing, and a blush coloring your cheeks. The heat pooled between your legs and you shifted. What the fuck was wrong with him? Did he really think you would let him fuck you?

Who were you kidding, you were already soaked.

"Dick..." You muttered, shaking your head.

That night, you couldn't get him out of your head. The way his words had sent shivers down your spine, the way his gaze had been filled with lust. It was so...wrong, but it was a wrong you wanted. You didn't care, and the idea of getting caught only added to the thrill. You'd already spent an hour in the shower, the warm water and the detachable shower head bringing you to orgasm after orgasm. You could still hear his voice, the raspy tone, the way his words dripped with sex and lust. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew he had you right where he wanted. You could hear his chuckle echoing in your head, his grin filling your mind.

It was sad, really.

How could a man you didn't even like have this effect on you?

It was ridiculous.

You couldn't believe you were letting him get into your mind.

He was a fucking creep.

A handsome, sexy, confident creep.

A sudden knock at the door jolted you from your reverie, causing you to startle and sit up abruptly. You quickly snatched a towel, wrapping its comforting softness around you before swinging the door open. There he stood, the man who had been lingering in your thoughts.

" What the hell are you doing here?!"

"I brought the pizza. I told you I was getting dinner." He replied, a grin on his lips and you scoffed.

"Why did you bring it up here?"

"I was trying to be nice, and besides. I didn't know when your dad was going to be home."

He stepped forward, forcing his way into the room, and setting the box down on the bed.

"You're such a dick." You muttered, crossing your arms.

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"What's wrong with me bringing food to the boss' daughter?"

"Nothing. But, that's not why you're here."

"And, what do you think I'm here for?"

"Don't play dumb, you already told me."

"Oh, is that right?" He chuckled. “Do you think about me when you touch yourself?"

You were taken aback by his sudden question, your eyes widening.

"Whaa—No, I don't."

"Then, why are you so wet?"

“I just got out of the shower wise guy. Get out.”

He grinned and stepped closer, and you took a step back.

"Y’know, the walls are thin. So, it's easy to hear the moans and gasps of a girl when she touches herself. But, hey. What would I know? I'm just a construction guy."

You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment. Had he really heard you masturbate?

"S-shut up. I don't know what you're talking about.” You felt your heart race and the towel slip down slightly. You moved to fix it, and he stepped forward, his hand moving towards your neck.

"Let me take care of that for you."

He gripped the towel, his lips crashing onto yours in a passionate kiss. There was a fierce hunger in him, as he explored your mouth with fervor. His tongue danced inside, teasing the roof of your mouth. Meanwhile, his other hand found its way to your breasts, fingers pinching your nipple with a playful intensity earning a whine from you. He broke the kiss, trailing his lips down to your neck, planting soft kisses that turned into gentle bites on your sensitive skin. As he pulled back, a satisfied grin spread across his face as he gazed down at you.

"Get on the bed."

"Wha-what?"

"Get on the bed."

You were surprised by his commanding tone, and you could feel your cunt aching. You walked towards the bed, your knees hitting the edge of the mattress and you fell back. You looked up at him, and he smiled.

"Take off the towel."

You did as he said, pulling the towel away and revealing your naked body. He licked his lips, a hungry expression in his eyes.

"Touch yourself."

Your hands moved to your breasts, cupping the mounds and rolling your nipples between your fingers. You let out a soft gasp, your head falling back. you began to rub your sensitive clit. You were already wet, the thought of being watched had made you dripping. The pleasure that shot through you made your knees weak and your eyes fluttered closed.

You heard his voice again, this time closer to your ear and you shuddered.

"Good girl."

“Oh god..."

"Spread your legs wider."

You whimpered, moving your legs farther apart and you sank a finger inside of you. Your body quivered as you slowly began pumping your hand and the warmth began to build in your belly.

"Yes...that's it."

You cried out softly as you slipped another finger inside of you, pumping them faster and faster. Your body tingled. Toji watched, his cock aching for release in his pants. You looked so slutty spread out for him like this, slickness leaking down your ass. He wanted to shove his dick into your hot, tight pussy, but he restrained himself. You were his to command.

"Faster. Fuck yourself faster."

"Nghh...I-I..."

"Come for me, kitten."

You moaned, your walls clenching around your fingers. You were already sore from your previous orgasms, but you felt another one quickly coming. You moved your hips, trying to get more friction.

"That's right. Ride your hand like a little whore. Cum for me. Now."

"A-Ahh!"

Your hips bucked against your hand and you came, squirting over your fingers and onto the floor. Your chest heaved, your body trembling as you sank down into the matress.

Toji growled lowly, the sight of your glistening pussy and the smell of your sex made him feel dizzy. He pulled his hard cock out of his pants and stroked it quickly, his thumb rubbing over his fat tip. You felt him climb onto the bed and his hand gripped the back of your neck.

"Open your mouth."

You obeyed, gasping as you felt him rub the head of his cock against your tongue. He pumped his hand, thrusting into your mouth and making you gag. Your jaw ached as he fucked your mouth.

"Take my cock...nghh."

Toji groaned, his eyes closed and his face scrunched up. You could feel him twitching on your tongue. You moaned around him, sending a wave of pleasure through him. His hand squeezed the back of your neck tighter.

"Suck harder ughh."

Your eyes rolled back into your head as he forced his entire length down your throat, the tip of his cock touching the back of your tongue. Tears formed in your eyes, threatening to spill over as you struggled to breathe.

"Mmghhh."

You tried to relax your throat, sucking on his cock the best you could. Your hands clenched the sheets.

"That's a good girl."

He grunted, his cock pulsating.

"M-Mmm You take me so well, kitten.”

You were drooling, spit and precum dribbling down your chin. It was disgusting. He pulled back and you took a deep inhale.

"Did I tell you to stop?"

"N-no."

"No, what?"

"No, sir."

"Then get back to work."

"Yes, sir."

He growled and thrust his hips.

"Good, baby."

He groaned, hands finding themselves in your hair.

"Fuck. I'm gonna come soon. You ready for me, baby? Gonna swallow every drop?"

"Yes, please."

"Good, good girl."

His thrusts became faster and more erratic, his breathing shallow.

"Ahh. Fuck, yeah. G’na come."

He hated how fast he was nearing his end, but the way you gobbled him down and squeezed his balls in time with your tongue had him spiraling. Your every movement was calculated, each flick of your tongue and squeeze of your hand driving him closer to the edge. He could feel the tension building within him, a mix of pleasure and desperation that left him breathless. The intensity of your touch, combined with your unwavering eye contact, made it impossible for him to hold back any longer.

“Ughhhh fuckkkkk!” He threw his head back and came, shooting thick ropes of his hot seed down your throat. You swallowed, moaning and milking him for everything he had. You felt him shiver, his muscles tensing as he came down. He looked down at you, his eyes dark and wild.

He grabbed you by the arm, yanking you up to your feet and crushing his mouth to yours. You could feel the heat from his body and you melted against him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His hands were all over you, his lips on your neck. He was heavy and hot, pressing you into the mattress. He kissed his way down your chest and stomach, his fingers brushing the wet folds of your pussy.

"Toji!”

"Mm, you're still so wet."

"F-for youuuu."

"You like being touched like this?"

"Uh huh."

He slipped a finger inside of you, his thumb brushing your clit. You whined, as he sucked a nipple into his mouth, biting it gently. You writhed underneath him, his name a constant prayer. He added another finger, stretching you, finding that special gummy spot. You arched your back, moaning loudly.

A desperate whine leaves your lips when he suddenly pulls away, tucking his cock back into his pants. You look up at him, pouting.

"What? What's wrong?"

"You didn't fuck me."

"That wasn't the plan, princess."

"I hate you. Pervert.”

He chuckles, patting your thigh.

"No, you don't."

He gets up and walks out of the room, leaving you panting and unsatisfied.

"Fucking dick.”

Toji had you completely under his spell. His piercing gaze and self-assured presence made it impossible for you to look away. Each time you attempted to shift your focus elsewhere, your mind would inevitably circle back to him. The way he moved, the way he spoke—everything about him was magnetic, pulling you in deeper.

He was aware of the effect he had on you. A glimmer of satisfaction danced in his eyes whenever he caught you watching him. It was as if he relished the control he held, knowing you were utterly entranced by his aura. Despite your attempts to fight it, a rush of excitement coursed through you every time he was close.

It became a familiar pattern where Toji would bend you over, his fingers exploring you until you either squirted or cried out his name in ecstasy. Yet, he never crossed that final line, leaving you both frustrated and yearning. Your father noticed your newfound cheerfulness, but you brushed it off with a casual shrug. Eventually, he returned your credit card and lifted your grounding, but your thoughts remained consumed by Toji.

“Oh yeah honey, I invited Toji over for dinner.”

You froze, and looked up from the raw chicken.

"What? Why?"

"I wanted to thank him for helping us out, he’s done a great job. Don’t ya think?”

"Why can't we just send him a gift basket or something?"

"Because that would be rude. Besides, he's a nice guy. He deserves to be treated like a guest."

You sighed and tightened your grip on the meat tenderizer. The truth was, you hadn’t spoken to Toji in days; he seemed to be keeping his distance. The thought of being in the same space with him was daunting, especially after everything that had happened between you two.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your racing heart. Surely, he wouldn’t do anything with your father around, right? You shook off the thought and concentrated on your cooking, but the anxiety swirling in your chest was hard to ignore.

When Toji finally entered the dining room, you were a bundle of nerves. A mix of excitement and dread washed over you as he stepped inside. His mere presence seemed to dominate the room, and you struggled to keep your eyes from lingering on him.

"Hey, thanks for inviting me."

"Of course, Toji. It's the least we could do."

You kept your head down and focused on your food the entire night, ignoring the urge to look at him.

"You okay, pumpkin? You're very quiet tonight."

"I'm fine."

"She's probably just tired." Toji said.

Your eyes grew wide as you locked eyes with him, feeling the intensity of his stare pierce through you, sending your heart into a frenzy. The urge to reach out and slap him was strong, but you knew better than to provoke your father’s suspicion. So, you bit your tongue and focused on your meal instead.

Once dinner was over, your father retreated to his study, Toji having promised to clean up, leaving you two in an awkward silence. The tension in the room was palpable, with both of you at a loss for words. You felt an overwhelming desire to shout at him, to accuse him of being a creep and to have used you. To demand he leave, but the words just wouldn’t come. Instead, you remained there, simmering with frustration.

At last, he shattered the stillness.

"So, how are you liking the new semester?"

"Fine."

"Any problems?"

"No."

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"Listen, I know you're mad at me."

"Mad? I'm fucking furious. What the fuck is your deal, Toji? You get me hooked then you go ghost?”

"Hooked?"

"You know what I mean."

He chuckled, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. "It was just a bit of fun. Didn't mean anything by it."

"Bullshit. I'm not stupid. Why are you playing with me?"

He locks his hands under his chin. "I'm not playing with you."

You glared. "Yes, you are. I can see it in your eyes. You want me."

He sighed and shook his head.

"You're a kid. It would be inappropriate."

"I'm not a kid."

"Yeah, you are. Look, it's nothing personal. I just don't date girls like you."

"Girls like me?"

"Rich kids with their own personal army."

"I'm not-"

"Save it. I know who your dad is. I'm not interested in getting mixed up in his business, it was a mistake doing those things with you."

You swallowed thickly, his words like a slap.

"Then why the hell are you here?"

"Because I was invited."

"You're such a dick."

You were angry, but you couldn't help but notice how his eyes seemed to darken. You wondered if he was thinking the same thing as you. What it would be like to have him pin you down and fuck you. The thought made your cheeks flush.

"You know, I bet if I told your father what we'd been doing, he'd have a very different opinion of you."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. Just a reminder. Don't forget who's in charge here."

"Fuck you."

"I don't fuck little girls."

You could feel your anger rising, and you were tempted to throw something at him. But you knew he was right. He was in control, and there was nothing you could do about it.

"So, what now? Are we just going to pretend like nothing happened?"

"If that's what you want."

"I don't know what I want."

"Well, then I guess we're at an impasse."

"I hate you."

"Don't be dramatic. You barely know me."

"I know enough. You're a jerk and a bully."

"And you're a spoiled brat who needs to learn some respect."

You scoffed at him, clenching your fists.

"Don't push me, princess."

"Or what? What are you gonna do?"

"Oh, I can think of a few things." He quipped.

His eyes were dark and full of promise, and you could feel yourself growing wet.

"I bet."

"You wanna find out?"

“What I want is to slap that grin off your stupid face."

"Slap me. Do it."

"No."

"Why not? Too scared?"

"No."

"Then do it." He urges.

"Stop it."

"What? You're the one who's always pushing my buttons. Come on, princess. Show me what you got."

You stand and lift your hand, striking him sharply across the face, the crack resonating throughout the room. A sharp intake of breath escaped you, and your eyes widened in shock. His cheek flushed crimson, clearly marked by the outline of your hand. He smirked and ran his tongue over his lips.

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"You're an asshole."

"Yeah, and you're a spoiled bitch who likes to get fucked with my fingers."

You could feel your face flush, and you turned away from him.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"Fine. Go fuck yourself." You sigh.

"Nah, I think I'll have you do it."

He chuckled, his voice deep and low.

"Oh, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" You snapped.

"No. Not with you. Never."

"Really? Not even a little?"

"Not even a little." You rolled your eyes.

"Come on, princess. You can't lie to me. I can see it in your eyes. I can practically smell the desire on you."

"Shut up."

"Why? Because I'm right?"

"No, because you're annoying."

"So, you're not interested? Not even a little?"

"Fuck you, bipolar ass."

"Ooh, feisty. I like it."

"I hate you."

"The feeling's mutual, sweetheart."

He was the one with the upper hand, and there was nothing you could do about it. He stands up from the table, face inches from yours. “Ya think if fucked you on this table lil ol’ daddy would hear?” You felt your pulse quicken, and a wave of arousal wash over you. "What? No snarky comeback?"

"You're a fucking pig."

"I might be, but at least I'm honest about it. Unlike you."

He stepped closer, his body pressing against yours. "Tell me, princess. Do you like the idea of being fucked on your family's expensive table?" You could feel his erection pressing against your hip, and you could barely contain the moan that threatened to escape.

"Tell me. Is this turning you on? The idea of being used like a cheap whore, your father just down the hall."

"Fuck you." You shakily breathe out. “You'd like that, wouldn't you? For me to bend you over and fuck your tight little pussy. Make you scream my name while your daddy is sipping his scotch, completely oblivious."

"Enough Toji.”

"What's the matter, princess? Don't want your daddy to know what a dirty little slut you are? How you’re fucking a grimy old man.”

"I'm not a slut."

"Could've fooled me. With the way you're always begging for my cock."

"I am not!"

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. We both know the truth."

You could feel your face burning, and you were desperate to put some distance between the two of you. But his body was like a brick wall, and you couldn't move.

"Get off of me."

"Why? Afraid you might enjoy it?"

"You’re…disgusting"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? If I bent you over and fucked you right here, right now. Made you scream so loud your daddy would come running. Wouldn't that be fun?"

You were furious, but the truth was, his words were turning you on. You couldn't deny the heat that was pooling between your legs, or the way your nipples were straining against your shirt.

"What's wrong, princess? Cat got your tongue?"

"Fuck. You."

"Mm, that's more like it."

His hand snaked up your shirt, his fingers grazing your nipples. You couldn't stop the moan that escaped your lips, and you cursed yourself for being so weak.

"That's right, baby. Let me hear you."

"Stop it."

"Why? You don't like it?"

"No."

"Liar."

He squeezed your left bud, and you had to bite your lip to keep from crying out. "You like that, don't you? You like being manhandled by a real man. Not some preppy rich boy."

"Please."

"Please, what? Stop? Or keep going?"

"Keep…going."

"That's what I thought."

His hand dipped lower. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say you wore this skirt for him. For easy access, of course. The way it hugged your curves, the way it rode up just enough to tease him, it was all too perfect. He couldn't help but think you knew exactly what you were doing. His hands slid up your thighs, feeling the soft fabric and the warmth of your skin beneath. As he lifted the skirt higher, his breath hitched, and he couldn't wait to ruin you. His fingers brushing against the growing wet spot on your pink laced panties.

"Such a dirty little slut. Look at you, already soaking wet and I've barely touched you."

"Fuck."

"Mmm, you want that, don't you? You want me to fuck you. Right here. Right now. In your daddy's house. Where he could walk in any minute and catch us."

"Please."

"Beg me."

"Please, fuck me."

"Good girl."

He pressed his thumb against your clit, and you mewled in pleasure.

“So loud, no respect."

You gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady yourself as he continued to assault your senses. His fingers were relentless, teasing and stroking, and soon, you were a writhing mess.

”Open your mouth.” he commands, a mischievous glint in his eyes. your mind is foggy, and you find yourself following his directions, opening your mouth slightly. You winch as his fingers dig into your cheeks, a glob of spit trickling from his mouth into yours. You can taste the acidity and bitterness as it slides down your throat. Your mind screams to pull away, but your body ignores it. The corners of his mouth twitch into a grin, his fingers leaving your face to grip your hair tightly.

The first slap sends your head flying, a dull ache beginning in the right side of your skull. He holds you in place and slaps you again, this time your teeth cut into your lip and the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. His eyes narrow, the grip on your hair tightening.

“Gonna fix you.”

"Please. Please."

"What? What do you want, princess?"

"I want… I want you."

"You want me to fuck you? To make you come?"

"Yes. God, yes."

"Say it."

"Please, fuck me."

He pushed your panties aside, his fingers delving into your slick heat. You sobbed, unable to contain the pleasure coursing through your body. He smirked, watching your expression as he slowly finger-fucked you.

"God, you're so fucking wet."

"Please. Please, don't stop."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

He added another finger, stretching you further. You grunted out, the sensation almost too much to bear. Toji presses the sloppiest kisses on your neck as he finger fucks you, pad of his thumb still working your sticky clit. You know it’s risky to be doing this, your father could come out at any moment. But, when Toji’s slender fingers prod into your mushy pussy, all rationality leaves your mind. All you can think about is his fingers pumping in and out of you.

Your thighs begin to tremble, and you can feel your orgasm building slowly but surely. Your toes curl, and your body begins to shake. You dig your nails into his shoulders, trying desperately to ground yourself. He continues his assault on your pussy, his fingers moving in and out of you at a rapid pace. “Ah she’s gushin’ all over me.” He laughs, watching your body spasm.

“Toji…please."

"Please what, princess?"

"I need...I need..."

"What? Tell me."

"I need to come."

"Not yet."

"Please. Please, I'm begging you."

"Oh, I love it when you beg. But not yet."

He withdraws his fingers, and you whimper at the loss. He smirks and sucks his digits, licking the juices from them. You can't help but stare at him, transfixed by his movements.

"God, you taste good. I could eat this pussy all day."

"Please."

"Patience, princess."

He turns you around and bends you over the table, your ass in the air. You can feel his erection pressing against your leg, and you know he wants this as much as you do. He pulls down up your skirt and frees his cock. It's big and thick, and you can't help but lick your lips. He strokes himself a few times, coating his cock with your juices as he slaps it on your pussy.

He rubs the head of his cock against your wet slit, and you can feel yourself getting wetter. You can't believe how turned on you are, how desperate you are to feel him inside of you. "Fuck me. Please, fuck me."

He has to clamp a hand over your mouth when he begins sheltering his beefy length into your cunt. Your scream is muffled by his hand, and he slowly pushes into you. The stretch is intense, and you can't help but clench around him. He grunts, his grip on your hips tightening with his free hand.

"God, princess, your pussy is so fucking tight."

You can't help but push back against him, wanting him deeper. despite the searing pain between your legs. He continues his assault on your pussy, thrusting in and out of you. Your moans are muffled by his hand, eyes rolling back into your head. It feels so good, “Shittt—ughm, can’t have you getting us caught.”

Toji whispers into your ear, the heat of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

He removes his hand from your mouth and wraps it around your throat, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"God, you're so fucking hot."

You can't form words, the pleasure taking over.

He squeezes so hard you think you might pass out, but then his hand is gone, and he's pounding into you at a frenzied pace. "Fucking hell." He groans, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room.

You try to stifle your moans, but it's no use. He's relentless, driving into you again and again, his cock hitting all the right spots. You feel like heaven around him, walls constricting around his aching cock. He can't believe how lucky he is to have a little cockslut like you.

He fucks into you with reckless abandon, the table scraping against the floor. The sound of skin slapping now deafening, and the smell of sex permeates the air.

He reaches around and rubs your clit, tears streaming down your face.

"That's right, princess. Take it."

Your entire body is shaking, the pressure building until it's unbearable. He removes his hand from your throat and slaps your ass, the sharp pain pushing you closer towards the edge. You cry out. “ Q-Quie—“ he’s cutting you off as he slams his cock deep into you, the force of his thrust causing the table to squeak and shudder. “Shut up. Talk t-to much.” He mutters, shoving two of his fingers into your mouth.

The taste of yourself on his fingers sends you spiraling into oblivion. Your pussy clenches around him, and he groans.

"Oh fuck."

He pounds into you, his own release imminent.

"Gonna fill this little pussy with my cum."

He grips your hips tightly now with both hands, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Toji. Toji. Oh, fuck. Fuck." You cry out, stars exploding behind your eyes as your orgasm tears through you.

He groans and buries his cock deep inside of you, then he’s retracting. Thick white cream built at the base of his shaft, coating his cock in slickness. His eyes roll back at the sight of the pearlescent liquid smeared along his length. A thick layer coats his hand as he slides his fist along his member, his fingers moving easily from the wetness.

His balls draw up as his pleasure increases, his ass clenching with his need for release. Once again, you’ve got him cumming in under ten minutes. He hates it, but damn you feel so good.

"Fuckin’ killin me, can’t last with you.” He groans as he shoots his load on your ass.

You lay there, panting, trying to catch your breath.

"Fuck. You're perfect, princess."

You can't help but moan as he spreads your pussy from behind, his tongue lapping up the mixture of your juices.

"Tastes so good. I can't get enough."

You can't speak, the sensation too much for your spent body.

He continues his assault on your pussy until you're a whimpering mess, begging him to stop. He finally relents, standing up and tucking himself back into his pants.

"I think we made quite the mess, princess."

He smirks, the sight of you bent over the table, his cum dripping down your thighs a beautiful sight to behold.

“You alright sweetheart?” You hear your father call, confused by the commotion.

“I’m fine! Just stuffed.”

Toji snickers, placing a kiss on your cheek whilst pulling your skirt down. You can't help but smile, knowing that this isn't the last time you'll have him inside of you. You'll make sure of it.

[bumblingbabooshka]

AU where the Alter Ego storyline takes place over a longer period of time (The Harry-Tuvok portions stay the same in content but maybe we delve a little deeper into both of them and their burgeoning friendship when given more time...but this post isn't about that!) and Tuvok comes out as trans (not in those words) to Marayna while thinking she's just a hologram. Marayna is not trans but she resonates deeply with the loneliness she senses from Tuvok (just as she did originally) and the feeling Tuvok expresses of being 'stuck' the way you are for a multitude of reasons despite it slowly making you more and more miserable. In the alpha quadrant being a man made Tuvok a 'Husband' and 'Father' for decades - roles that have brought fulfilment. Now, alone, what does it bring? Tuvok asserts that Marayna can change, she can return to her people. She doesn't have to just bear it. "What about you, Tuvok?" she asks. The Lieutenant has no answer....things will surely remain as they've always been. Tuvok doesn't know how to change them now. Is it even worth it to change them? Tuvok's not as bad off as the emotional Marayna. There's no need to change. Why rock the boat unnecessarily, because of a (decades long deep-seated) whim? Marayna is later able to sporadically contact Tuvok somehow (she's traveling instead of being among her own people) which leads to them finally meeting up in some alien virtual space. Marayna uses the 'Marayna' (not her real name) model so Tuvok can quickly identify her and Tuvok uses a Default Vulcan Model...the fact that the model is female was sheer coincidence. It was just the first one that popped up and Tuvok doesn't care either way. Obviously. The two of them have a wonderful time observing the alien program - standing apart from the crowd but also being together. Tuvok begins spending more and more free time in the program even when Marayna isn't there. Eventually, on the last day the program can be activated (Voyager's moving out of range) after saying goodbye to Marayna Tuvok's noticed by an alien and spends the rest of the night talking with them. The alien doesn't know Tuvok and acts as if they're speaking to any other woman. When asked for a name, Tuvok says "T'Vok." Immediately afterward, Voyager goes out of range. Tuvok stares at the ceiling. Meditates. It was the same as going undercover. Nothing has changed. Nothing. That night the Vulcan dreams of someone: That fuzzy childhood-static-filled image of herself as an adult...as a woman. Waking up, Tuvok meditates again - this time not seeking to accept and overcome (as a Vulcan normally would) but to repress, erase. 'It is unnecessary' Tuvok repeats, erasing her yet again.

What if Tuvok was a closeted trans woman and the episode 'Alter Ego' got a whole lot sadder

[yzzart]

⋆˙⟡ BOYFRIEND!VERGIL ── HEADCANONS!

── content warnings: F!reader, references to games and anime, mention of Eva, Sparda and Dante, light, stable and a little mature content and Vergil being a boyfriend we all need and part two is here!

── word count: 713!

⭑.ᐟ Sparda's eldest son is meticulous,— not unduly so, perhaps,—systematic in all matters, occurrences, and duties; a classic and admirable trait of Vergil. —Something he points out as a peculiarity, a virtue; something he inherited from his father.

⤷ Therefore, Vergil would not avoid — or dare — to act, or behave differently, with you; the woman he loves, adores in that life. — The half-demon would be, exceptionally, delicate, susceptible and so dedicated to all the tiny, minimal and charming details existing in you; allowing Vergil to know you like the back of his hand.

⭑.ᐟ Hands? — Vergil loves to give kisses, seals full of love, respect and voluptuousness on the back of your hands; also demonstrating a gesture of pure grace and chivalry. — A good son learned from his mother. — It is one of the most beautiful ways to demonstrate your passion.

⤷ At random moments, without uttering or directing any words, Vergil will reach for your hand and give you a long kiss, accompanied by his sky-blue orbs contemplating you.

“Vergil?” — You called out to him, not sounding like a scolding, almost asking if something had happened or if he was going to leave for one of his duties. — “My love?” — Vergil intertwined your hand with his.

“I'm so grateful to have you.”

⭑.ᐟ Vergil always, always, referred to you as his wife. — Since the day, the moment that the emotional bond between you became stronger — more than your pride —, intense and true. — He claimed you by that title before all beings, human or demonic, or of another species.

⤷ And he declares, with all reason, bravery and honor, too, you as his queen.

“My wife.” — His deep, gravelly voice, so full of devotion, pleased your ears; you would never get used to or stop the shivers, the tremors you felt when hearing those words. — “My beautiful wife.” — Vergil detailed the statement with a touch of delicacy.

⭑.ᐟ Vergil is a man, half demon, of words and even a grunt, something a little incomprehensible to the ears, is worthy of attention to him. — Always enchanted by poems, and almost memorizing every line, you never failed to ask Vergil to say one for you. — And he never failed to fulfill your wish.

⤷ He remembered, even though it caused an unbearable and painful pain in his chest, the nights when his mother told stories and recited poems; after many insistences and beggings from him and his brother, Eva would never say “no” to her children. — Vergil wished she had the chance, the opportunity to have met you. — Although he had a little regret about her, he knew she would love you.

⭑.ᐟ During his departures, destined to resolve duties, to compromise with underworld matters — or, simply, to go after Dante and for them to enter into combat, as always — Vergil writes letters to you. — Yes, the eldest son of Sparda loves to write letters to you.

⤷ In his writings, he tries his best not to mention the misfortunes and disastrous situations that have come his way, but Vergil doesn't hide them from you. — You have a broad notion, wisdom about what happens in hell and with those miserable demons. — Reporting things, memories about his brother and, sometimes, testifying about how much he misses his mother; and declaring how many times he thought about you before writing that letter.

⤷ And you keep all the ones that were forwarded in a small chest. — They were all safe, protected, and could be witnesses of Vergil's love for, perhaps, your future child.

After some time, i surprisingly met Dante. It wasn't a planned, gentle or peaceful meeting, as you might imagine, of course. — But even in the midst of the usual chaos that surrounds our lives, there was a moment when i realized something i hadn't expected: i missed the presence of my incapable, irrelevant brother.

"Every time i close my eyes, it's you i see. Your gaze, your strength, your presence that somehow always knew how to find and touch the most hidden parts of who i am. — My desire for you is uncontrollable, my love. It grows every day, consuming me like a fire that cannot be put out. — You’re my beginning and my end."

"... know that even in the midst of the storm, you're the light that guides my path."

[floatyflowers]

Dark Hermes X Set's Daughter Reader

You had run for days, weeks, maybe even lifetimes. The desert sands of Egypt roughened you up despite being the daughter of the deity of sandstorms, you still could feel Horus’ golden gaze burning against your back.  

You had played your part perfectly, whispered lies into the ear of the sky god, and weakened his walls, all for the sake of your father, Set. But your cousin does not take betrayal lightly.  

However, you never thought you were so vulnerable as to be kidnapped by the Greek god of thievery.

The wind in Olympus never felt like home.

Not even now, curled in soft silks, golden wine at your fingertips, with instrumental music drifting from distant halls of Olympus.

Halls you are not allowed to wander, thanks to your kidnapper.

Yet he promised to leave you all the privacy you needed in the temple.

Or at least that's what you thought.

"Hermes," you called sharply.

"I know you are watching."

The room seemed empty, but the air shifted, a shadow fluttered, and then there he was. Reclining on your windowsill as if he’d always been there, he smiled softly as clouds.

"You caught me," he speaks.

"But in my defense, you look absolutely enchanting when you're angry. I couldn’t miss the view."

"You said you'd give me space," you snapped.

He shrugged, hopping down, his winged sandals not even brushing the ground l.

"I said I would try. I didn’t say I was good at it."

You clenched your fists. "You are smothering me."

Hermes tilted his head, falsely correcting you.

"Protecting you."

"You are being manipulative."

"You think I’m like him, don't you?"

The words tasted bitter in your mouth, but you let it fall.

“Yes. Like my father. ”

He stays silent.

"I trusted you," your voice cracked.

"You said you were different, that you saw me, not just the daughter of a god of chaos. Not a tool."

"I do see you," Hermes said, stepping closer.

"More clearly than anyone ever has. I see your fear, your need for freedom. I see your pain. And I want..." he touched his chest, eyes almost earnest.

"...to keep you safe. From them. From him. From Horus. Even from yourself.”

You flinched when he reached for your arm.

"You gave me a gift," you said bitterly, showing the golden cuff on your wrist.

"Told me it was protection. You didn’t tell me it was a leash."

His fingers tensed. "I didn't lie."

"You didn't have to. That's the worst part, you play your games in riddles, and you smile while taking everything from me."

Hermes exhaled. The shadows at his feet stretched unnaturally long.

"I could have left you there, bleeding in the sand,” he said quietly.

"Let Horus finish what he started. But I carried you out of Egypt. I crossed every realm to hide you. And this is how you repay me?"

"I didn’t ask to be saved," you spat. "And I didn’t ask to be owned."

Hermes' smile returned, but colder now.

"You can call it ownership, darling. I call it devotion. I won’t lose you."

You stepped back in fear.

He stepped forward in confidence.

"You don’t get to decide that," you hissed.

He laughed softly, and it chilled your blood.

"Oh, but I do. I’m Hermes, god of thieves. And I’ve stolen many things, You? You were the easiest thing I ever took."

He leaned in close, lips almost touching yours.

"And I will never give you back."

[sippingdaisies]

the thing about sotr that really hits home is the cyclical nature of violence and oppression. we see it with the parallels between haymitch and katniss of course, both the eldest children of coalminer fathers with rebel sympathies, both relying on illegal means to ensure their families' survival, both willing to give their lives to protect the people they love, both doomed to lose their beloved younger sibling at the hands of a tyrant.

but that's just the tip of the iceberg. sotr instils this message over and over again, showing us how many generations of people have suffered and continue to suffer on account of systemic violence that is built into every facet of panem's society. the games just happen to be the most overt representation of this cycle.

mags explicitly says that she never intended to survive her games - her first priority was to protect her district partner, a boy she couldn't save and then goes on to live the rest of her life trying to protect children that she cannot save, even the ones she brings home alive are beyond her protection.

beetee's son is reaped and he is forced to mentor him, knowing that he will die a terrible death, all as retaliation for conspiring to take down the capitol's communications system. meanwhile his wife is pregnant with another child, a child he might very well lose the same way as ampert, another child that could be taken by the games as a punishment.

but what struck me most was how clerk carmine and tam amber react to lenore dove's death:

"Then the uncles are there. Clerk Carmine ripping her from my arms, trying to restart her heart while he calls her name. Tam Amber standing stiffly over them, his head shaking as he mumbles, "Not again. Oh not again." - sotr, pg366

suzanne collins shows exactly how much has been taken from this family. they have been here before with a doomed girl's name on their lips and her blood on their hands. how many times did they call lucy gray's name into the woods, trying to find her, desperate to bring her home, even though snow had made sure that she never could? how long did they spend trying to restart maude ivory's heart when her labour went wrong and their district didn't have the expertise or the medicine to help her - a direct result of snow's determination to keep the outer districts impoverished and on the brink of starvation. and now lenore dove, the only covey child of her generation (that we know of) to carry on their naming tradition, this girl that they've raised with care and devotion has been taken from them - just as their music, their colour, their culture has been taken from them - as a punishment.

katniss is the end of this cycle - it's her actions both in the arena and as the mockingjay that finally ends the games and enables the people of panem to reshape their society - but what sotr does is show us how long this process actually takes, how it can take multiple generations to get to a point where change is possible, how many false starts, failures, and set backs we will face in the course of creating meaningful and lasting societal change.

[dokidokitsuna]

GameSwap!AU #2

Thank @earthykinous for this idea; I saw it in the tags of the first GameSwap and immediately knew I had to give it a try ^^

-Taranza seems like a very ‘devoted’ character, the kind who very easily latches on to personal influences…so as part of the HWC, I think he would be just as involved with the Mother Computer as Haltmann, maybe even more so, just to be able to share something with him. Just in general, he’d be agonized about his father not recognizing him anymore, and desperate to prove his worth despite it, trying to replace familial love with company loyalty in a VERY toxic-positive way. ^^ And besides, if he uses that control helmet often enough, maybe he’ll lose all his painful memories too… And in this scenario…maybe the reason Haltmann dies is because he sacrifices himself to Star Dream to save Taranza somehow, finally recognizing his son when he realizes he’s about to lose him again. OR, maybe he just feels like Taranza is too important to lose without knowing why, leaving only Taranza to bear the true emotional weight of that sacrifice.

-I think Susie is a more mature character than Taranza– despite her sad backstory, she seems to handle her situation well during the game, and doesn’t even seem that affected by Haltmann’s death post-game. If it’s not maturity, at the very least it’s a much lower level of emotional attachment.

So how would she go about dealing with her crush mutating into a tyrannical insect queen? I think she would actually just lose respect for her, and end up turning on her.

Despite staying by her side and aiding in her conquest, she would secretly be plotting her downfall: praising and obeying Sectonia to her face, while trying to undermine her in the background…keep your friends close and your enemies closer, as they say. Rather than mistakenly capturing the wrong ‘Hero of the Lower World’, Susie would’ve picked Dedede on purpose, knowing that Kirby was the ‘real’ hero who would come to save him AND defeat Sectonia. She’d then pretend to oppose him throughout the game, throwing challenging bosses his way to prepare him to face the Queen…and finally, she’d reveal her true motivations once Dedede has been freed.

But maybe, just to bring back the stakes and drama…maybe Sectonia overhears this reveal, and enters the scene. Through the ensuing argument, we could learn a bit about how Sectonia became evil in the actual game, and have Susie basically call her out, admitting to her treachery and daring her Queen to do something about it. To throw away the last shred of their former friendship, once and for all.

Which Sectonia does, of course, and from there the rest of the game could proceed like normal. Only, I think Susie’s characterization as a tough-yet-caring friend and a twist-hero would make her return with the Miracle Fruit a lot more satisfying. Rather than failing to see how evil Sectonia had become until it personally affected her, she knew exactly how far-gone she was, and put her life on the line to try and wake Sectonia up.  And despite losing that gamble, despite witnessing her friend choose to become a monster in more ways than one, she survived and came back to help us end the battle. ^^ I think that would be really heartwarming~

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

yall..im workin hard on the last part of fbrc rn....BUUUUUTTT--

i thought of childhood friend (im sorry i cant help it) bodyguard katsuki being hopelessly devoted to big boss' daughter reader.

let's say the environment he grew up in wasn't good at all. he lived in a horrible neighborhood that had a survival of the fittest mentality. he had to rob n steal and fight to survive. and them maybe he got recruited by some crime syndicate who saw his potential from a young age.

he feels indebted to them cus they got him out the streets, so he decides to devote his entire life to this syndicate and his boss, who just so happens to have a child : you.

you're the same age as him, maybe a year younger. his first thought is that you're a pushover. you hide behind your father the whole time he's introducing you to him and you barely even look at him, but he's been told he has a bit of a stink eye because he's just sorta used to glaring at people.

as your father keeps introducing you both your eyes widen at him saying katsuki will become your new best friend. yours out of joy cus you've always been sheltered and you've never really had friends your age before, and katsuki's out of shock. he thought he was here to kick people's asses, not babysit some random girl !

when your father pulls katsuki aside later that day he explains that since he's a very dangerous man other dangerous people will try to endanger not only him but his family and since he's strong he'd like him to watch over you. katsuki doesn't like it, but your dad did save him from his life on the street, so he can play nice for now.

he's never had friends either, so he doesn't know how to play like other kids do, and definetly not like you do.

you have him follow you around calling him your knight, you stick stupid clips in his hair and get all pouty when he won't let you put that pastey makeup shit on his face. you have him kiss your ouchies away when you trip over your own shadow and you whine and whine until he let's you jump on his back to give you a piggy back ride.

though, the more he spends time with you, the more there are fun moments. he hates to admit it but it's fun to be a kid with you. you play games that he likes to play and you share your cookies with him and he carries you around and plays dolls with you in exchange. he kisses your ouchies away and you put a cool bandage over his cheek when he's done training for the day and press a big get better kiss on it. you tell him it's to energize him and he huffs and puffs about it but he always looks forward to his kiss after training.

you've complained to him about how you can't spend much time with your dad since he's always out working, you don't have friends because everyone is a threat and you're always being surveyed and watched from a distance and you cry and say you hate it. you tell him that he's your fifth body guard and that he's your favorite one by far. you smile at him and the apples of his cheeks burn, he tries but can't supress the proud smile that grows on his face "of course i am, i'm the best !"

he's been your favorite and last body guard since that day because katsuki has made it his life's mission to devote himself to his clan, his boss and most of all, you.

[riesread]

Twin boys with Mason and one is a full on daddy’s boy while the other is always on your side and you just can’t help but fall in love even more each time you see how Mason has his daddy son moments after games as he insist on putting the boys to bed after an away game of the time allows it and just a cute scene about Mason rushing home and reading a bed time story or something x

Home Is Where The Heart Is - Mason Mount

— REQUEST status OPEN

— summary • Mason Mount is not only an incredible football player but also a devoted father of twin boys, Austin and Aaron. After every away game, if time allows, Mason rushes home to share precious bedtime moments with his sons, despite his exhausting schedule. Austin is a full-on daddy’s boy, always seeking Mason's attention and affection, while Aaron sticks closely to your side. The way Mason balances his career and family life makes you fall in love with him even more every day. This story captures a heartwarming night, where Mason makes it home just in time to put the boys to bed, reading a bedtime story that leaves everyone feeling safe, loved, and connected.

— warnings • Pure fluff, family dynamics, with minor mentions of post-game fatigue.

You glance at the clock—9:45 p.m. Mason’s away game ended two hours ago, and you know how long it usually takes for him to shower, talk to the press, and get on the team bus. He promised to be home tonight, to read Austin and Aaron their bedtime story. Even after grueling matches, he insists on putting the boys to bed if he can make it in time.

Beside you, Aaron clings to your arm, eyes drooping with exhaustion, but still holding out, waiting for Mason. His twin brother, Austin, is doing his best to stay awake too, a smile on his face as he talks about how his daddy will be home soon.

“Mommy,” Aaron mumbles softly, leaning his head against your shoulder, “is Daddy gonna make it?”

You smile at him, brushing his curly hair back. “He’ll be here soon, sweetheart. He promised, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, and Daddy never breaks promises,” Austin chimes in, his voice full of certainty. There’s that sparkle in his eyes whenever Mason is mentioned—a reflection of his bond with his dad. Austin has always been Mason’s shadow, a daddy’s boy through and through.

Aaron, on the other hand, is more of your quiet companion. He mirrors your calmness, often content with just snuggling close to you, whereas Austin is always full of energy, ready to play, especially if it involves his father.

Suddenly, the sound of the front door opening fills the house. Mason’s voice follows, low but full of warmth. “I’m home!”

Before you can blink, Austin is up and running down the stairs, calling out, “Daddy! Daddy!”

You scoop Aaron up, cradling his small body against yours as you walk to the door. You both arrive just in time to see Austin launching himself into Mason’s arms. Mason catches him easily, spinning him around as if he’s not exhausted from the match. His eyes meet yours over Austin’s shoulder, and his tired smile makes your heart skip a beat.

“You’re home,” you say softly, meeting him halfway. He pulls you into a quick kiss, Aaron still in your arms.

“Told you I’d make it,” he murmurs against your lips before turning his attention back to Austin. “Did you behave for Mommy?”

Austin nods enthusiastically, his arms still tightly wrapped around Mason’s neck. “Yeah, but I missed you, Daddy.”

“I missed you too, buddy,” Mason says, ruffling his hair. “What about you, Aaron?” He reaches out to ruffle Aaron’s hair as well, but Aaron squirms a little closer to you.

Aaron gives a small smile. “I missed you too, Daddy.”

Mason’s face softens even more, if that’s possible. He steps closer and gently takes Aaron from your arms, holding both boys now. “I’ve got time for a story. How about it?”

Austin’s eyes light up. “Yes! Can we read The Gruffalo?”

Aaron’s head rests against Mason’s shoulder, his voice quieter but just as eager. “Yeah, I like that one.”

You follow the trio upstairs, your heart swelling with love as you watch Mason carrying both boys toward their bedroom. Austin, as always, is chattering excitedly about the match, asking Mason if he scored a goal, if he tackled anyone. And Aaron, quiet but equally engaged, is listening to every word.

Once in the boys’ room, Mason sets them down gently on the bed and tucks them under their blankets. He grabs the book from the bedside table and settles between the twins, flipping through the well-worn pages. You sit in the armchair by the door, watching as your husband leans back, Austin snuggled up against his side, and Aaron resting his head on Mason’s chest.

Mason begins reading, his voice calm and soothing. He’s always been a natural at this, slipping into the different voices for the characters, making both boys giggle and smile.

“‘A mouse took a stroll through the deep dark wood…’” Mason’s voice fills the room, and as he reads, you notice the way Austin hangs on every word, his eyes wide with awe. Meanwhile, Aaron’s eyes start to flutter shut, his small hand gripping Mason’s shirt.

You feel a lump form in your throat as you watch them. These moments, when Mason balances being both a football star and a father, always make you fall for him all over again. He’s so dedicated, not just to his career but to your family. The way he makes time, even after the toughest matches, just to ensure he’s there for the boys—it's enough to make your heart ache with love.

As Mason reaches the end of the story, both boys are nearly asleep. He closes the book and softly kisses Austin’s forehead, then Aaron’s. “Goodnight, little man,” he whispers to Austin, who’s already drifting off.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” Austin murmurs sleepily, his hand still gripping Mason’s.

Mason then turns to Aaron, gently brushing a strand of hair off his face. “Goodnight, Aaron.”

Aaron, already half-asleep, mumbles, “Love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too,” Mason whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

You stand, walking over to Mason as he slowly eases out of the bed, careful not to wake the boys. He slips his arm around your waist, and the two of you step out of the room quietly, closing the door behind you.

In the hallway, you turn to him, your heart full. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Mason looks at you with that familiar, boyish grin. “Just doing my best.”

You pull him into a hug, resting your head against his chest. His arms wrap around you tightly, and for a moment, the world outside fades away. In this moment, it’s just you, Mason, and the beautiful family you’ve built together.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you more,” he replies softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

And as you stand there, wrapped up in his arms, you know without a doubt that this—Mason rushing home to be with his boys, the bedtime stories, the quiet moments of love—is what true happiness looks like.

[pascaloverx]

DEVIL (+18)

Summary: You are a demonic creature, capable of doing whatever you please, whenever you wish. Your goal on Earth is to terrorize as many souls as possible. Until, in a small community, you find the perfect victim for your mischievous games: Father Charlie Mayhew.

Author's Note: Honestly, I’m not sure if this story will have more than one chapter, but it will contain adult content and inappropriate language. Violence may also appear. Frankly, I just needed to write something about this character portrayed by Nicholas Alexander Chavez. The character and others, apart from Y/N, are not my creation. They belong to the Grotesquerie (2024) universe created by Ryan Murphy. To anyone reading this story, I hope you enjoy it.

AO3 LINK TWO

ONE

How tedious human life is. Not to offend anyone, but you were already tired of all the petty, complicated, and disjointed problems humans have. Not doing what they want, fearing consequences, and not always seeking to take advantage of others makes humans seem so weak. Humans need automobiles to move around, they have no special powers, they feel guilty for the slightest act, and when they sin, they believe a priest can purify their wrongdoings.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. At least that's what the movies say I should say when I enter a confessional. Unless you'd prefer something more modern, like, 'Father, I really messed up. I committed an affront to good morals. Blah blah blah…'" You enter Father Charlie Mayhew's confessional, waiting for his response. You can hear the muffled chuckle he lets out at your casual way of speaking.

"It doesn't seem to me that you are truly repentant. Taking advantage of the informality with which you are speaking to me, may I ask what brings you here?" For a human, he has a voice that, in its more serious and deep tone, can be charming; it's easy to understand why he became a priest. With a voice like that, he could easily persuade you to be a devoted daughter of God, even if you were, in truth, a demon.

“Let’s say it was a call of nature. In truth, I’ve felt impure ever since I witnessed something terrible.” You say, trying to sound as human as possible, feeling as if your skin were burning from being inside the church. Just kidding; in reality, demons can be anywhere, even in religious places.

"What is it, my dear faithful of the Lord, that you witnessed?" Father Mayhew speaks with a certain nonchalance, as if he's almost sure he knows your answer. You try to catch a glimpse of him through the confessional booth’s small openings. He seems like the very embodiment of sin, perfectly crafted for thirsty thoughts.

"Father, I witnessed a delightful scene. It was a priest known for his youthful appearance and modern style, masturbating while thinking about the beautiful nun he had recently met. In fact, there was another moment that I witnessed. The moment when this same priest let the nun touch him in a sinful way. Oh, this priest's mind could only hope that these private moments would continue." You provoke him, subtly revealing that you know of his most intimate sins. The priest immediately steps out of his booth and opens the door to yours. His expression is furious, while you wear your most mischievous smile. Your attire catches him off guard, certainly. You’re dressed in a nun's habit, but entirely unlike the usual. Yours is red—the color of blood—with black lace details. It is the perfect blend of religion and sin, a nun’s habit styled like lingerie.

"What are you?" the priest asks, not in fear, but with a steady gaze fixed on you. You rise and slowly walk toward him, your steps deliberate, as he retreats. You can see his eyes searching for answers, trying to comprehend what you are.

"I am merely a concerned devotee, worried about who is managing this church, of course. Father, it shouldn’t be me reminding you that sin is wrong. But I think you already know it’s wrong—you just can’t stop. If the wounds on your back tell me anything, it’s that you enjoy punishing yourself for being a naughty boy. Let’s just say I’m your newest form of penance." You speak as you circle around Father Mayhew, who watches you with a gaze of fascination. In truth, you had peeked into the mortal priest’s sinful mind, discovering exactly how to become an irresistible vision for him.

"Why are you tormenting me?" Father Mayhew keeps his eyes fixed on you as you walk through the church, surveying what is supposed to be sacred ground. It’s remarkable, entering the so-called house of God, where sins lurk behind the angelic façade, just as Father Mayhew hides his dark thoughts beneath his cassock. You smile as your fingers glide over the candles, feeling the warmth of their flames between your fingertips.

"Me? Tormenting you? I’m simply fascinated by that devilishly handsome face of yours and the way you blend love for religion with the lust locked away inside you. Sister Megan must have had quite the time running her little fingers over you. Honestly, you, Father, are trouble, and I want to help you." You speak, captivated by the lust in his eyes, even as he remains partly afraid that you might be a punishment from the devil himself. You move closer, touching his cassock, tracing your finger over the places where he is wounded, where he hurt himself.

"More…" he whispers, closing his eyes as he feels your touch. He begins to moan softly from the pain you’re inflicting. Your fingers tighten their grip on the bruises on his back as he groans heavily. You bring your lips closer to the back of his neck, placing a few kisses there.

"Father, Father, Father. You're visibly excited in the middle of the church. What would the Bishop say about this? Or your faithful and devoted followers, who trust that their priest will be the purest of men?" You speak softly against the back of his neck, feeling him shiver. He turns to look at you, eyes thirsty for the pleasure of the flesh.

"It doesn’t matter, not really. 1 John 1:9, 'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.' God, in His glory, will understand that in the face of temptation, I could not resist my sinful nature, and for that, I have failed in His eyes." Father Mayhew speaks, his eyes lingering on every detail of your face, but especially your lips. In his depraved mind, he’s already imagining. Imagining how his cock would fit perfectly between your lips, or how your moans must be as delicious as the tone of your voice. He lets his imagination of touching you, tasting you take over and lightly places his fingers under your lips, massaging them.

"Father, you are a perfect creature, but you are trapped beneath this mask of a devout religious man. I promise I will return here to unlock your true potential. Until then, remain under the flame of lust. Oh, and keep recording those workout videos; you have no idea how many souls your face and body corrupt. Now, to seal our first encounter together, repeat after me: I, Father Charlie Mayhew, accept your demonic presence to torment me for as long as necessary, committing myself to serve you." You say, gazing deeply into his eyes, as he seems lost in you. It takes him a moment to repeat your words, his eyes lingering on your attire, contemplating the implications of becoming entangled with you.

"Was that all?" He asks after repeating your words, his tone low as if he’s embarrassed. "When will I see you again?" There’s a note of desperation in Father Mayhew's question, as he watches you, trying to memorize every detail. You smile, thinking that he probably wants to remember you so he can indulge in pleasure later.

"You'll see me when the time is right. In the meantime, keep being a naughty boy," you say, caressing his face. Then, with a single finger, you touch his lips, slicing them open. He lets out a soft moan as blood begins to seep from his mouth. "Now it's time for my triumphant exit. Goodbye, Father," you say, leaning in to kiss him, as if to draw his very soul through his lips. The taste of his blood lingers in your mouth, sealing the recent pact between you. You lick his lips and then disappear. Like an illusion, you are no longer there.

[misswynters]

Pretty in Pink

Jacaerys Velaryon x wife! reader

[WARNING: dark romance, yandere behavior, misspellings

[tags: soft jace, father jace, rude behavior

[a/n: bringing back dark!jace, just thought of this for no reason (if you would like to be tagged for all of the jace content let me know! <3)

The morning sun filtered through the thick curtains of the chamber, casting a soft, golden light over the room. You stirred from your sleep, the warmth of the bed and the comforting presence of Jacaerys beside you making it difficult to fully wake. As your eyes fluttered open, you were greeted by the soft sound of giggles, the kind that could only belong to your daughter.

Jacaerys was sitting up in bed, his wild curls tousled from sleep, but his eyes were bright and alert. He was completely captivated by the tiny figure perched on his lap. Your daughter, with her dark, curly hair and bright, mischievous eyes, was the very image of her father. She was clothed in a tiny pink gown that matched the one you had worn the night before, the soft fabric clinging to her chubby little frame as she clapped her hands, clearly delighted with whatever game Jacaerys was playing with her.

“Good morning, sweet girl,” you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep as you propped yourself up on one elbow to watch them. Jacaerys looked over at you with a smile that melted your heart, his eyes filled with a tenderness that was reserved only for you and your daughter.

“She woke up early,” he explained softly, his large hands carefully supporting her as she wobbled on his lap. “I thought I’d let you sleep a little longer.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for the man who had become everything to you. “Thank you, Jace,” you said, leaning over to press a soft kiss to his lips. He returned it gently before focusing back on your daughter, who was now babbling happily to herself, her little fists clutching the fabric of Jacaerys’ tunic.

“And how’s my little princess this morning?” you cooed, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her forehead. She looked up at you with those big brown eyes that never failed to make your heart skip a beat, her tiny face lighting up as she recognized you.

“Pretty in pink, just like her mother,” Jacaerys said with a soft chuckle, lifting her slightly so that she was at your eye level. “Isn’t that right, my love?”

Your daughter gurgled in response, a string of incomprehensible baby talk that had both of you laughing softly. You could see the adoration in Jacaerys’ eyes as he looked at her, the way his entire world seemed to revolve around this tiny little being. And it wasn’t just the soft moments like this—no, Jacaerys would go to the ends of the earth for his daughter.

He gave her everything she asked for, every whim indulged, every desire met. Whether it was a new toy, a special treat, or simply more time with her father, Jacaerys made sure that she had it. The maids and servants had taken to calling her the little princess of Dragonstone, a title that Jacaerys encouraged with every passing day.

But there was another side to his love, one that was fierce and unyielding. If anyone dared to ignore her, if anyone so much as thought to mistreat her, Jacaerys would ensure that they understood the consequences of their actions. He had a way of speaking to people, a certain tone that could send chills down the spine of even the bravest knights. There had been more than one occasion where a careless servant had found themselves the subject of a very special talk with the Lord of Dragonstone, emerging pale and shaken, but utterly devoted to ensuring that the little princess was never neglected again.

“Jace, you spoil her,” you teased lightly, though there was no real admonishment in your voice. You couldn’t blame him—who could resist those big eyes and that bright, innocent smile?

“She deserves to be spoiled,” he said, his voice firm, but there was a softness in his gaze as he looked at you. “She’s our daughter. She should have everything the world has to offer.”

“And what if she asks for the moon?” you teased, reaching out to take her from his arms. She settled into your embrace with a contented sigh, her tiny hand wrapping around your finger.

“Then I’ll find a way to give it to her,” he replied without missing a beat, his eyes sparkling with determination. You laughed softly, shaking your head at his response. There was no doubt in your mind that he meant it, that if your daughter ever wanted something as impossible as the moon, Jacaerys would move heaven and earth to make it happen.

“Do you think you could start with something a bit more manageable, like breakfast?” you asked with a playful smile, shifting your daughter in your arms as you sat up fully in bed.

“Of course,” Jacaerys said, rising from the bed with a fluid grace that always left you a little breathless. “I’ll have something brought up for all of us.”

As he moved to the door, your daughter watched him intently, her little face scrunching up as she realized he was leaving. She let out a small whimper, her tiny hands reaching out for him, and you felt your heart clench at the sound.

Jacaerys paused immediately, turning back to her with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, little one. I’m not going far,” he reassured her, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She seemed to understand, her expression calming as he straightened up and left the room. You watched him go, your heart swelling with love for the man who had become not just your husband, but the father of your child—the man who would do anything to make sure she was happy, safe, and loved.

As you rocked your daughter gently in your arms, humming a soft tune to her, you couldn’t help but reflect on how much your life had changed since Jacaerys had come into it. He had been the heir to Driftmark, the strong, determined prince who had always seemed so sure of himself, so confident in his place in the world. But beneath that exterior had been a man who needed someone to lean on, someone who could share the burdens that came with his birthright.

And now, as a father, he had found a new purpose, a new strength. The fierce love he felt for his daughter was something that took your breath away, something that made you fall even more deeply in love with him every day.

When Jacaerys returned, it was with a tray laden with food—fresh fruit, warm bread, and a selection of pastries that had your daughter squirming in excitement. “I think someone’s ready for breakfast,” he said with a smile as he set the tray down on the bed.

You laughed softly, setting your daughter down on the bed between you as you began to serve the food. She reached out eagerly, her chubby hands grabbing at the fruit with a delighted giggle, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“She has your appetite,” you teased, glancing over at Jacaerys as you handed him a piece of bread.

“She has everything of mine,” he replied with a soft chuckle, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. “But she’s her mother’s daughter too. She has your strength, your fire.”

“And your stubbornness,” you added with a grin, earning a playful glare from Jacaerys. But there was no denying it—your daughter was a perfect blend of both of you, with all the best qualities of each.

As you ate together, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment settle over you. There were no dragons to worry about, no battles to fight, no courtly intrigues to navigate—just the three of you, here in this quiet, sunlit chamber, sharing a simple meal and the kind of love that made all the struggles worth it.

When breakfast was over, Jacaerys took your daughter in his arms, lifting her high into the air as she squealed in delight. “You’re getting too big for this, little one,” he teased, though the smile on his face said that he didn’t mind in the least.

“She’ll never be too big for her father,” you said softly, watching them with a fond smile. “Not as long as you’re around.”

Jacaerys looked over at you, his eyes filled with a warmth that made your heart skip a beat. “I’ll always be around,” he promised, his voice low and serious. “For both of you. No matter what.”

You nodded, your chest tight with emotion as you rose from the bed, moving to stand beside him. “And we’ll always be here for you,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek as your daughter babbled happily between you.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, no matter what trials the future might bring, you would face them together—as a family. And with Jacaerys by your side, there was nothing you couldn’t overcome.

As the morning light filled the room, casting a warm glow over the three of you, you felt a deep sense of peace settle over you. You were home, with the two people you loved most in the world, and nothing else mattered.

“Pretty in pink,” Jacaerys murmured, his eyes drifting to the gown you still wore, and then to your daughter, who was now tugging at his hair with a mischievous grin.

“Hmm,” you agreed with a soft smile, your heart full to bursting as you looked at your little family. “And perfect just the way we are.

The warmth of the morning slowly faded as the day wore on. The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the stone walls of Dragonstone. You and Jacaerys were in the courtyard, watching as Elaena toddled around, her tiny feet pattering against the cobblestones. She wore another pink gown, this one slightly darker, embroidered with tiny golden dragons that glimmered in the fading light.

Elaena had always loved the color pink, a hue that seemed to reflect her joyful spirit and the innocence of her childhood. Her closet was filled with gowns, cloaks, and tiny slippers in various shades of pink, each more luxurious than the last. You often marveled at how your little girl had softened Jacaerys, bringing out a side of him that was fiercely protective yet endlessly tender.

She was playing near one of the serving women, a new addition to the staff who hadn’t yet grown accustomed to the importance of her tiny charge. Elaena’s curiosity had drawn her toward the vibrant flowers that lined the edge of the courtyard, her little fingers reaching out to touch the soft petals.

You watched from a distance, smiling as you saw the wonder in her eyes. But your smile faltered when you heard the sharp, dismissive tone of the handmaiden, who was standing too close to your daughter.

“Go on, girl. You’ll ruin them with your sticky fingers,” the woman snapped, her tone harsher than necessary. There was no kindness in her words, only irritation.

Your heart clenched, and you were about to step forward, but Jacaerys was already moving. His expression had darkened, the playful warmth in his eyes replaced by a cold, steely resolve. The air around him seemed to crackle with a silent fury, a reminder of the dragon blood that flowed through his veins.

The woman, sensing his approach, straightened up, a look of confusion crossing her face as she realized who she had just scolded. Elaena looked up at her father, her lower lip trembling as if she might cry, but Jacaerys was there in an instant, scooping her up into his arms.

“No one speaks to my daughter that way,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. The courtyard grew deathly quiet as his words hung in the air, the tension palpable. “Do you understand?”

The serving woman paled, her eyes wide with fear as she stammered out an apology, her earlier haughtiness gone in an instant. “I-I didn’t realize… my lord, I’m so sorry…”

Jacaerys held her gaze for a moment longer, his grip on Elaena tightening protectively. His voice dropped even lower, laced with a venomous edge. “You’ve made a grave mistake, and I don’t tolerate mistakes when it comes to my daughter.”

The woman’s knees buckled slightly, and she looked as if she might collapse under the weight of his words. “Please, my lord, I meant no harm…”

But Jacaerys was unmoved. He turned his attention to one of the guards stationed nearby, his expression cold and commanding. “Take her to the dungeons. I’ll decide her fate later.”

The handmaiden gasped, her eyes filling with tears as she realized the severity of her situation. She tried to plead with him, her voice trembling with desperation. “My lord, have mercy—”

“Enough,” Jacaerys interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “You showed no mercy to my daughter. Now, you will learn the price of your cruelty.”

The guard stepped forward, grabbing the woman by the arm and dragging her away as she continued to plead for forgiveness. But her words fell on deaf ears. Jacaerys was already turning away, his attention back on Elaena, who had buried her face in his shoulder, her small body trembling slightly.

You followed, your heart pounding in your chest, and when you caught up to him, he was already at the entrance of the keep. “Jace, what are you going to do?” you asked quietly, glancing back at the courtyard where the woman had disappeared from sight, her fate now in his hands.

“She will not remain in my household,” he said simply, his voice cold as he shifted Elaena in his arms. “She’ll be lucky if I don’t have her thrown off the cliffs into the sea.”

The finality of his words sent a shiver down your spine, but you understood the protectiveness that surged within him. “She’s safe now,” you said softly, reaching out to brush a stray tear from Elaena’s cheek. “You’ve taken care of it.”

Jacaerys softened as he looked down at his daughter, who was now snuggling into his chest, her earlier distress forgotten. “I’ll always take care of her,” he murmured, his voice filled with a fierce love. “No one will ever hurt her. Not while I’m around.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you wrapped your arms around the two of them, feeling the warmth and strength of your family. Elaena let out a contented sigh, her tiny fingers clutching at Jacaerys’ tunic as she drifted off to sleep.

As the evening shadows lengthened, the three of you remained in that embrace, bound together by a love that was unbreakable, a love that would protect Elaena from any harm that might come her way.

Jacaerys might have been the heir to the throne, but in that moment, he was simply a father—a father who would move mountains, who would face down dragons, to keep his daughter safe. And as you held them close, you knew that no matter what, you will always have strong and unyielding little family.

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[cjrae]

Carelessness. Or; Lakan's crime in Maomao's eyes is worse than malice.

There is a temptation to take Lakan's character lightly. After his initial, sinister introduction had played out and we are given the story of how Lakan met Maomao's mother, much of Lakan's devotion to his wife and daughter is played for comic relief, allowing him to be the butt of the joke, along with Maomao's exaggerated reactions of disgust and insistence that she has no relation to this man.

It is worth remembering, though, that Lakan is referred to as the fox for good reason - the fox is a trickster figure and Lakan's whole character lies in how he can turn on a dime between being funny in a very pathetic way to those same qualities becoming extremely dangerous when his fun is threatened.

Lakan's heroic qualities do exist, but they are overshadowed by his carelessness and selfishness; it is these qualities that have, so far, doomed the relationship he craves so badly with his daughter.

Spoilers under the cut all the way up to Vol 11's English translation.

Fengxian

We see it in his relationship with Fengxian. While Lakan does not deserve all of the blame for Fengxian's fate, it is his carelessness that puts her in the position of becoming a common prostitute to support Verdigris House after her actions nearly ruined it. Let's pay attention to the sequence of events.

"…Lakan now found himself persona non grata for having been too close to him [Luomen]; he was told to go on a long trip and not come back for awhile. He could have ignored this, but it would have only been a headache later. His father was in the military too, making him not just a parent but a superior officer. At last, he wrote to the brothel saying he would return in half a year's time. This was after he had received a letter saying the contract buy-out had fallen through."

So, first and foremost, we know the following:

1.) Lakan did not strictly have to leave. It was the politic thing to do, but if he had pushed the issue, he could have stayed. If the goal had been to simply have Lakan out of the public eye, while his father may not have been pleased with it, his marriage to Fengxian could have also served a similar purpose as he began to focus on domestic affairs and kept a low profile. But his convenience weighed more heavily than his feelings for Fengxian.

2.) Fengxian tells him that the buy-out has fallen through BEFORE HE LEAVES. Assuming she's just barely pregnant at that point (call it eight weeks, ish) and his letter indicates that he's going to return for her before the baby is born, this is still a terrible sign for her. As he himself puts it later;

"Did he not grasp what happened to such women?

A little thought might have revealed the answer, but his head was full of Go and Shogi and nothing else, and he had been unable to arrive at the truth…It was all his fault for being so impulsive."

But Lakan didn't think and sure enough, three years later, Fengxian isn't waiting for him in her polite little box at the Verdigris House. Because love is not convenient and Lakan values convenience above almost everything else. It's not until he loses Fengxian and their baby (and has the loss driven home to him in a very visceral manner when he finds the fingers in his un-forwarded mail) that it occurs to him that he wants more than endless game playing.

Luomen

We know somebody did check Lakan's mail, though, as the letter with Maomao and Fengxian's fingers is the only piece that's opened. It's easy to guess that it attracted Luomen's attention because it was bloodstained, but Luomen does what Lakan should have - he immediately makes for the pleasure district to find this woman and her child.

It takes him years of patient work on behalf of the Verdigris House to be trusted to adopt Maomao. We know it takes years because Maomao is initially raised by the Three Princesses and the madam, while Luomen is slowly building trust with the courtesans by providing them medical services. At no point does Luomen stride in, demanding to be given custody of his great niece because he's her family. Instead he recognizes that she has a family already in the brothel and works on becoming a part of their lives - because that's what's best for Maomao.

Luomen understands that filial duty goes both ways - a child has responsibilities to the parent, certainly, but those duties imply a reciprocity of care. First, the parent cares for their child, which means that the child's needs must be the priority. What Maomao desperately needs is care, education, safety and stability. All of which, Luomen prioritizes making sure Maomao has to the best of his ability.

Contrast this with Lakan's immediate reaction to finding Maomao in the pleasure district.

"One day, out of the blue, a strange man had appeared and tried to lead her away. The madam had shown up shortly after and beaten him with a broom and the sight of the bruised and bloodied man had inspired fear in her young heart. Anyone would be scared by a man who reached out to them grinning, even as blood poured from his face."

Lakan literally tries to take her off the street, believing he has the right, because he's her father. He doesn't care that he's scaring Maomao, he's described as grinning and reaching for her despite the reactions of everyone around him. Which is why Luomen's reaction to Lakan reception in the pleasure district is very telling - this is a man who is described as far too kind for his own good and having been very close with Lakan.

"Nonetheless, while her old man was compassionate, he did grasp the broader situation, and he never tried to stop the old madam from chasing the other man out of the brothel with her broom. He knew that wrong was wrong."

The manga adds the context that Luomen also "knew the woman with the missing nose." Luomen feels for Lakan, but his duty is to Maomao as her adopted father and to Fengxian as her doctor. His feelings do not outweigh those responsibilities.

Maomao

Lakan adores Maomao from the moment he lays eyes on her. But his love is inherently selfish - the loss of Fengxian and his estrangement from Maomao do not inspire him to do better with his talents consistently.

The ironic part is that Lakan could have made a very compelling argument to be given custody of Maomao. We know that the whole reason he decided to use his strategic brilliance to take back the headship of the La Clan is inspired by Maomao and the life he feels she deserves to have. He also goes back to Verdigris House and although it takes him ten years, he pays off two and a half times the damages he caused - in the world of the red light district, he has paid for his initial crime. So we see that he is capable of putting forth effort when he feels inspired to do so.

If he had applied that same strategy and patience toward working on finding a place in Maomao's life that honored the relationships that supported her when Lakan had abandoned both her and Fengxian, he might have been able to convince those that cared about her that it was in Maomao's best interests to be raised by him as a princess of a named clan.

If we need further evidence that Lakan's carelessness is still a dominant character trait, we can look at a more recent example in the story; the Shi Clan's assassination plot against Jinshi.

Gossip is one of Lakan's hobbies and that, combined with his intuition, means that he's the first person to realize that something is going on. He sees all of these supposedly coincidental acts happening around them and intuits that there is a grander purpose at work. And, to his credit, he doesn't ignore it - he puts his talent of using the people around him to good use. We see him rope Gaoshun into looking into the poisoned seaweed under the guise of a colleague asking for a favor, we see him prod Jinshi into letting Maomao investigate the metalworker. Lihaku is one of his direct subordinates and he's tasked with investigating the explosion at the warehouse and following the trail as they realize that the arson was a diversion.

But at no point is he doing any of this because of anything so prosaic as duty or responsibility. This is a fun game to him that's serving a dual purpose of getting him closer to Maomao. Everything is entirely about what will amuse him or further that one, singular goal. And he's greatly amused - until Maomao puts the pieces together and realizes that this is an assassination attempt.

It never occurs to Lakan that simply maneuvering people around him to get things done and amuse him carries any danger - because he doesn't care that deeply about anyone else aside from a few select individuals. Everything in his mind was entirely about getting him and Maomao into the same place where she couldn't run away from him. Where she would be forced to accept his help.

Which is exactly what happens; Maomao can't get into the temple on her own and she needs Lakan to vouch for her. It is an extremely clumsy, transactional way of trying to build a connection.

So then what happens?

First Maomao is bludgeoned by the guard - a Go stone of a man, unimportant, except for the damage he inflicted on his little girl that Lakan did not anticipate. But worse is when Jinshi carries her out of that temple, bleeding and unconscious, after having saved his life. Everything Lakan has done to try to force his daughter to acknowledge him has instead lead to her being seriously injured.

Maomao points out, later, that if Lakan had simply stepped forward and used his official position as a Grand Commandant to spearhead an investigation, this plot might have been discovered much sooner. Maomao, having a few self-absorbed tendencies of her own, is focused on Suirei's promise of resurrection medicine. But Lakan should be more focused on the fact that, had he actually done something himself, perhaps Maomao wouldn't have been hurt.

Lakan

I said before that Lakan's heroic qualities do exist and it's important to acknowledge them, while also realizing how they are caught up in his self-serving behavior. For all that buying Fengxian out is about Lakan finally getting something he's wanted, there is also virtue in the fact that he does not see the damage the disease has done to Fengxian and think of her as damaged goods. To him Fengxian has just as much value as the day he lost her, simply because she exists. Forget an attitude that's rare in the red-light district, that attitude is rare in the entire setting, which is acknowledged as extremely patriarchal.

Lakan also gets a chance to redeem himself somewhat during the Shi Rebellion. By the time Maomao is kidnapped, it's not because Lakan has been lazy - we see that he's been actively involved in the investigation about the feifa, with a chilling understanding about what improved firearms technology could do for military tactics. He is actually using his position and subordinates appropriately, setting Lahan to investigate the financial trail, which provides Jinshi the concrete proof needed to officially put the rebellion down. This time, the danger to Maomao is not Lakan's fault, and when he realizes she's been kidnapped, he does whatever he must to get Maomao back.

"Silently, Lakan turned toward Jinshi. Then he got up, knelt before Jinshi and pressed his fist into his palm in a gesture of respect. 'I come in supplication. I humbly request that you mobilize the army to strike against the rebel, Shishou.'

Lakan was a grand commandant, in other words, a secretary of military affairs. Jinshi understood what it meant for such a person to ask for the army to be mobilized."

Jinshi observes that his motives have nothing to do with the good of the nation and he is entirely concerned with his own, selfish needs, but while Lakan's motives may be selfish on behalf of the nation, he IS actually acting the way a father should. Maomao is in danger and his priority is doing whatever he must get her to safety, whether that be using the full authority of his rank or putting aside his pride to get Jinshi to mobilize the army.

Neither Malice Nor Virtue

Book 11 gives us an interesting look at Lakan, first in the war conference where Gyoku-ou is gauging Jinshi and Lakan's support for invading another country and we see that Lakan does not care.

"'What do you think, Sir Lakan?'

Lakan once again stopped working his Go problems and studied the map intently. He wore the same look with which he would appraise a board game…

'I don't know about your reasons or excuses. All I know is how to win at Shogi,' Lakan said and then he started arranging the pieces on the map. The aide gave Jinshi an apologetic look.

There was no malice in Lakan - but neither was their virtue. So long as something didn't harm him or his family, he paid it no mind. If there was a chance to participate in an interesting game however - that he wouldn't miss…to the strategist war was just a combination of his favorite games; it was a Shogi match using human pieces and a game of Go in which you captured real territory."

Jinshi's evaluation of Lakan is rather damming. The man has neither malice nor virtue. He cares only about himself, his family and his simple pleasures. This is the core of the issue that has doomed his relationship with Maomao, who despite having inherited a great deal of Lakan's characteristics, values two things above all else in her relationships; work ethic and compassion toward others.

Lakan desperately wants that paternal role with Maomao, but his behavior means that the roles are often reversed - when they are forced to interact, Maomao is often stuck taking care of him, thinking about what will be best for Lakan so that she can maintain her own peace as much as possible. He cannot possibly be her parent if he insists on being a perpetual child to those around him.

And indeed, Jinshi treats him like a child, cutting Lakan's support out from under Gyoku-ou by laying out for him that his daughter and his uncle would both be hurt by this war, giving Lakan a reason to care.

Rikuson

While Book 11 is rather damning in it's evaluation of Lakan as a truly neutral figure, there are hints that Lakan is capable of at least expanding his circle. Rikuson provides first a different perspective of Lakan than we're used to, giving us his first impressions as a child;

"Among the nomadic tribes, it was said that some herdsmen could distinguish each and every one of their sheep - but Rikuson could never do that. Maybe Lakan saw people's faces the same way Rikuson saw sheep.

'Well, what do you do when you really need to remember who someone is?'

Lakan was silent for a moment…"I remember them by the shape of their ears, or their height. I look at the quality of their hair. Memorize the stink of their sweat. Or I listen for the pitch of their voice…'

'Wouldn't it be easier to just remember their face?'

'I don't get faces. I can see people have eyes and a nose and a mouth, but when I try to put them together they get all tangled up and all I can see is a Go stone. Now the size of a person's nostrils, the length of their eyelashes - those, I can understand.'

So he didn't remember an entire face, just specific details about it. That sounded exhausting. No wonder he only did it for the most important people."

Rikuson is right - that DOES sound exhausting. With this perspective in mind, it makes more sense to the reader why Lakan constantly appears lazy and apathetic; because he's always riding the edge of exhaustion just to function. And because Rikuson hasn't had to live with the consequences of Lakan's carelessness, he is better able to empathize with how Lakan interacts with the world around him.

Later, after Rikuson has killed Gyoku-ou, Lakan walks into the situation and instead of exposing his former aide, he protects Rikuson.

"'He was already murdered when you entered the room. So you killed the rebel - is that not right?

It was, of all people, Lakan standing there…What was he doing here?

…Ah, Rikuson thought, it was all over now. There was no hiding anything from Lakan. He had neither good intentions nor bad, but would simply lay out the facts…

'You heard the man,' Lakan said to those around them.

'Wh-What do you mean, Grand Commandant Kan?'

'Hrm? He's telling the truth. He killed the rebel who killed the man. Where's the crime in that? If anything, this is all your fault for leaving such scant security.'

…There was much murmuring, but the general consensus was that if Grand Commandant Kan said it, then that was that…Their suspicion of Rikuson had been dispelled in an instant."

You'll note he doesn't lie for Rikuson. In fact, he offers a perfectly truthful understanding of what happened. The man is Takubatsu, whom Rikuson did in fact find murdered when he entered the room. And Gyoku-ou had essentially taken Jinshi hostage and was actively undermining the Imperial Brother's authority and legitimacy, which does make him a rebel.

But in protecting Rikuson, he offers a counterpoint to both Jinshi and Rikuson's observations that he has neither malice nor virtue, good intentions nor bad. Perhaps it is just that Rikuson has earned Lakan's liking and loyalty over the years, but it is growth.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Where Lakan has earned moments of redemption and growth, it is when he has shown that his fun is less important than those he cares about. There is an opportunity within the story for Lakan to act as Maomao's father in a way Luomen cannot - in the matter of her marriage.

If Lakan is willing to put all of his intuition and political cunning behind Maomao's choices regarding marriage and family, then he has the chance to finally perform an act of duty by his daughter that would establish a reason for Maomao to begin to display filial piety toward him.

But Maomao's marriage would absolutely challenge Lakan's fantasy of playing 'daddy'. It would literally require him to give away his child but more critically, it would mean giving up his fantasy of Maomao as a perpetual little girl and fully acknowledging the grown woman that she has become.

Whether Lakan is wiling to put Maomao's needs first above his own will be the crux of his character development. At no point has Lakan been malicious, but his carelessness has done more to shape Maomao's early life than any other influence. Could he do better? Perhaps. Will he? The answer to that question and how it affects Maomao's adult choices will shape his role within the story going forward - whether he will continue to doom the one relationship he wants more than any other in service of his own needs and fantasies, or if he will sacrifice them to do his duty by his daughter when it matters most.

[riddlesrizzler]

The Rule of Three

summary: third times the charm, right? characters: draco malfoy. reader. pansy parkinson. astoria greengrass. warnings: none! just draco going through something word count: 2.1k a/n: lowkey thought of @draco-malfoys-lovergirl when writing this 🤭

They say the third person you fall for is the one who changes everything.

Not the first-the firestorm that teaches you how quickly love can burn when it isn’t real. Not the second-the echo that lingers, that teaches you the ache of almosts and not-quites. But the third-the one who arrives like a quiet revelation, like a match in a long-dark room.

Draco Malfoy never believed in that kind of magic.

Not the kind that softens the soul. Not the kind that comes wrapped in warm hands and shared secrets and laughter so deep it makes your chest ache. That sort of thing was for stories, for the weak, for those who hadn’t grown up beneath the crushing weight of legacy.

He was a Malfoy-heir to a crumbling name still wrapped in gold, born with silver in his veins and darkness stitched into every seam of his life.

Love? Love was a liability. Emotions were to be concealed. Affection was a weapon, a currency, a game.

That was what he’d been taught. That was what he knew.

Still… somewhere, deep in the hidden corners of his heart-the ones he’d buried beneath years of pressure and pride-he wanted it.

Not a relationship forged from status and expectation. Not someone who loved the idea of him more than the boy beneath the surface. But someone who saw him.

The boy who still woke in cold sweats. The boy who still saw his father’s disappointment reflected in every mirror. The boy who carried the guilt of choices made too young, and the fear that no matter how much he tried, he would never outrun the past.

Draco didn’t let himself linger in those thoughts for long. There was too much at stake. Too many eyes watching. Too many people waiting for him to fail.

So he buried the longing. He buried the softness. He smoothed back his hair, put on his smirk, and played the part expected of him.

And when the whispers began-about dating, about future matches, about alliances and marriages and building something worthy-he chose the one who made the most sense.

Not the one who saw him. Not the one who challenged him. Not the one who might love him.

He chose Pansy Parkinson.

-

Draco chose Pansy not because his heart fluttered in her presence, not because she made his world brighter or his thoughts softer-but because she made sense.

She was pure-blood royalty, as close to a perfect Slytherin as one could mold: sharp-tongued, calculating, and utterly devoted to the hierarchy that had raised them both. She wore ambition like a diamond necklace and adored Draco with a possessive kind of pride, like he was a prize she’d earned rather than a person she hoped to understand.

She was the obvious choice. And in their world, obvious often meant inevitable.

At first, it worked.

She was always by his side-on his arm during school events, curled next to him in the common room, her voice the first he heard in the morning and the last before he slept. She called him darling in public, traced her name next to his in notebooks, and clung to him like she was trying to stitch herself into his skin.

To everyone else, they were power incarnate. Cold, beautiful, untouchable.

But behind closed doors, Draco felt nothing.

She talked incessantly about other people-their grades, their families, their failures. She gossiped with venom and flattery in the same breath. And though she showered him with praise, it felt hollow-an echo, not a heartbeat. Her admiration was for the Malfoy name, for what he represented.

Never for him.

He tried to feel something for her. Truly, he did. There were nights he’d look at her across the firelight and try to conjure affection like a spell. But every time she leaned in, every time her lips brushed his, it felt like suffocation. Like expectation clothed in perfume and polish.

She never asked about his dreams. Never asked about the way his hands sometimes trembled or how his voice faltered when he spoke of the future.

She didn’t want the broken pieces. She wanted the statue. Smooth. Untouchable. Cold.

And Draco… he was tired of pretending he was made of marble.

The end came slowly, like frost creeping across a windowpane. He grew distant. She grew desperate. Her touches turned demanding, her voice sharp with suspicion.

“You’re distracted,” she accused one night, eyes narrowed like daggers. “Is there someone else?”

“No,” Draco replied coolly. “There’s just nothing here.”

Her face crumpled for a heartbeat, then hardened with fury. “You’ll regret this. I was the only one who ever wanted you.”

He almost laughed-how ironic, because that was exactly the problem. She didn’t want him. She wanted the perfect picture of who he was supposed to be. And he was starting to realize he’d never fit inside someone else’s frame again.

Their break-up became the talk of the common room, a whispered scandal carried on the backs of owls and broken hearts. But Draco felt nothing. Not relief. Not sadness. Only… emptiness.

The kind that made you question if maybe you were the problem after all.

He told himself it was better this way. He didn’t need love. He needed control. Focus. Legacy. Emotions were dangerous-they made you weak, vulnerable.

And Malfoys were never weak.

He buried the longing again, deeper this time. Smothered it beneath cynicism and perfectly tied ties. He let the world believe he was fine.

But part of him wondered, quietly, if maybe the rule was right.

Maybe the first love is supposed to hurt. Maybe it's supposed to show you what isn't right-so that, someday, if you’re lucky enough, you’ll recognize what is.

-

If Pansy had been fire-blazing and demanding-then Astoria was ice. Cold, calm, and composed in a way that unnerved Draco more than he cared to admit.

He hadn’t meant to fall into something with her. In truth, he wasn’t sure he ever did. Their relationship had begun as a series of polite conversations. Shared silences in the library. Nods of understanding in the corridors. She was elegant in that effortless way that came from old money and centuries of breeding. Regal without trying. Disarming in her quiet intellect.

Where Pansy had clung to him like armor, Astoria kept her distance. She never fussed over him in public, never called him by pet names, never demanded his time. She offered him something different-an illusion of peace. A reprieve from the noise.

For a time, that was enough.

He liked the way she didn’t ask too many questions. The way she didn’t expect him to bleed emotion into her hands. With Astoria, he could pretend. Pretend he was healing. Pretend he was growing. Pretend he was whole.

Their relationship was... civilized. Safe. Measured in coffee spoons and mutual silence.

She never tried to fix him. She simply existed beside him.

But love-real love-was never built on absence. And Draco began to realize that calm, while comforting, could also be cold.

There were moments he’d search her eyes for warmth, for something deeper. Moments when he ached to reach past the porcelain mask and ask, Do you feel this too? But Astoria was an enigma, and her heart was a locked room with no key in sight.

He respected her, admired her poise, even liked her in a distant, unreachable way. But he didn’t feel set alight by her presence. She didn’t make his world tilt or his blood rush. With her, everything felt like waiting. Like watching the rain through a window but never stepping outside.

And maybe that was the problem.

He didn’t want a relationship that felt like silence.

He wanted someone who’d make him feel again-fiercely, terribly, honestly. Someone who could look past the ghosts and shadows and call his soul back from wherever he’d buried it.

Their end wasn’t dramatic. There were no screaming matches, no accusations. Just two people who had never truly reached one another.

“I think we both knew this wasn’t forever,” she had said one evening, as they sat in a quiet corner of the manor garden.

Draco nodded. He felt it too. A gentle unraveling. A resignation.

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t broken. But he was starting to feel the wear of searching.

First, Pansy. Now Astoria.

Both pure-blooded. Both perfect on paper.

Both… not enough.

There was a rule he once scoffed at-a whisper passed through dormitories and tear-streaked pillowcases.

The third one is the one.

He almost laughed at the thought. If that were true, then the next girl would be the one who undid him. The one who slipped past his defenses, saw every scar, and didn’t flinch. The one who might finally bring him to life.

And that scared him more than he was willing to admit.

Because falling once had burned. Falling twice had frozen him. And a third fall?

It might just shatter him completely.

-

He hadn’t meant to notice you. Not really.

You weren’t the loudest in the room, nor the most cunning. You didn’t cling to power or posture the way others did in Slytherin's green-draped halls. But you were there-a quiet presence that somehow felt louder than the rest.

Where Pansy was fire and Astoria was ice, you were something entirely different.

You were the in-between. The kind of warmth that didn’t burn but lingered, soft and steady. The kind of voice that soothed instead of silenced. The kind of presence that felt like home.

It started with small things. The way you held the door a second longer for someone trailing behind. How your fingers lingered on your books, almost reverent, like knowledge was sacred. The way you’d smile at people-soft and genuine-even when they didn’t deserve it.

Draco noticed.

He noticed the way you sat with first-years when they looked scared. The way your eyes softened when someone shared something vulnerable. The way your laugh-quiet as it was-managed to settle something deep inside him. Something frayed. Something forgotten.

You didn’t look at him like he was a Malfoy.

You looked at him like he was just… Draco.

And that was more dangerous than anything.

He kept his distance at first, convincing himself it was just curiosity. A passing interest. You were a puzzle-a strange, steady force in a world full of noise. You didn’t flinch when he passed. Didn’t bat your lashes or try to win favor. If anything, you barely noticed him. And that made you even more intriguing.

Then one day, fate stepped in.

A shared detention, thanks to a charmed book gone rogue in the library. McGonagall’s punishment was fitting: clean the entire potions storeroom, shelves included, without magic.

You were already there when he arrived, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, determination written in the furrow of your brow. He’d expected complaint, attitude, maybe even tears.

What he got was laughter.

“I’ve always liked the way the ingredients smell,” you said, brushing dragon root dust off your hands. “Like something ancient. Powerful.”

Draco blinked. “You like cleaning potions jars?”

You looked over at him, eyes gleaming with mischief. “No, but I like the quiet. It's peaceful.”

It was the first real conversation you’d had, and it stuck with him long after the storeroom was spotless.

From then on, he found himself seeking you out-not in obvious ways, but enough. Sitting near you during study hours. Watching your reactions when someone told a joke. Listening to the way you spoke about magical theory like it was poetry.

You fascinated him.

Because you weren’t trying to be anyone but yourself. And somehow, that made you more powerful than any pure-blood name he’d ever known.

He tried to guard himself. He really did. He reminded himself of the rule-the one he’d once rolled his eyes at and now found himself circling like a storm: the third person you fall for is the one.

But this wasn’t love. Not yet.

It couldn’t be. Because love had rules. Love was dangerous. Love got you hurt.

And he was sure, absolutely sure, that whatever this was would fall apart just like the others had.

Except… it didn’t.

You didn’t demand him to change, but you made him want to. You didn’t fill silences with noise-you listened. Really listened. You didn’t treat him like a symbol, or a savior, or a project.

You just saw him.

The boy beneath the weight of his name. The one who still struggled. The one who still hoped.

And slowly, impossibly, he found himself unraveling in your hands.

Not all at once. But moment by moment. Look by look. Touch by hesitant, healing touch.

And maybe, just maybe… The third wasn’t the end. Maybe she was the beginning.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Poisoned Cups

I hadn't adjusted well, at first. I don't think anyone could have. Being an elf sound cool, on paper. The better eye sight, the incredible hearing, the stamina. All sorts of perks right? But what they don't tell you, is that when your soul is human? When you get isekai'd by some divine oversight or fucker with a truck?

It doesn't adapt that well, to a new body. Your soul INSISTS you should still be human, with all the trappings, and throws a FIT, when you just.... aren't. So you end up with migraines. Eyes that swim in and out of focus. Wheezing, struggling, breathe. A body at war with itself.

The world was so loud. Too loud. I could hear EVERYTHING and it HURT. Couldn't breathe and THAT hurt. Was nauseated all the time, from my eyes refusing to focus properly. That too, hurt. All of it, pain. Just? Pain. Day after day, pain pain pain.

My poor parents were helpless. The doctors struggled.

But the King? HE could save me.

And he did.

He was younger then. Just barely into his rule. His Father having just stepped down. My parents, desperate, brought me before him. Waited in line for days. They didn't even know if he COULD do anything, were grimly prepared for him to say that sadly, nothing COULD be done. But? Instead? He looked me over, called for several old texts, looked again, then called upon the strength of the Throne.

My parents apparently started weeping the second I stopped.

All I remember is the pain going away. Being exhausted. A REALLY pretty elf man in a crown. Things getting... better, after that.

I was told that story often, as a child. It utterly transformed our household. From merely loyal citizens, to devote Loyalists. Speaking ill of the King in THIS house? Would now get you HURT. My parents had been convinced they were going to LOSE me. The King as far as they were concerned, saved my LIFE.

Which is why I didn't put anything together. Seeing as we were an "all King all the time" Sort of house. We had one(1) team and we were sticking to it. Permanently. His son? Eeeeh, maybe. We'd figure that out later. We didn't care to know. And I was too busy with school work to CHECK.

Which? Meant I didn't NOTICE? He looked? More and more... Otome Capture Target as time went on. Specifically, he looked kinda crown prince from "Dance of the Secret Forest! A True Love For Me?!" sort of Shaped. Which... gee, what ARE the odds? Especially given that so many OTHER things are named suspiciously similar or exactly the same to that game?

.........yeeeeeah. I decided not to take chances.

I looked that shit UP.

And wouldn't you know it? Protagonist-chan? Not there yet. But she SURE COULD BE! All the legends were EXACTLY what they should be. Forests and locations the same! PEOPLE the same! Oh HELL no. Good to know where NOT to be, I guess.

Not my circus, NOT my Otome Drama Monkeys.

I? Would be working for the KING. My family owed him a debt.

And when I graduated? I applied. Top of my class. I studied my ASS off. Could have gone anywhere. But I was aiming for the TOP. A debt to be repayed and frankly? Excellent job security on top of it! So filling busy work in dusty ass backrooms it was. Gotta start from the bottom, after all.

I exhausted them. Was honestly barely trying too at that point. They should see me TRYING to put my nose to the grindstone. Burn the midnight oil! Ha! HA, I say! Long elven lifespans slow you all down! I? Used to live in a capitalist hellscape! This is NOTHING.

I'm not even multi-tasking. It's not even LUNCH YET.

Did I get promoted? Yes. Do I worry my coworkers? Deeply! But shit needs doing and we don't have all day! There is a nation to run! Have some tea. Eat a turnover. Now~! Where are my fuckin documents~☆?

I get promoted again.

Then again.

Aaaaand again.

I'm pretty sure it's cause I scare people. Am FAST. Efficient. Willing to hunt my coworkers for SPORT, like a god damned bloodhound, if it means we get that one extra tax document that makes or breaks us. I have (and will again if necessary) climbed through people's fucking WALLS. Cause, honestly? If they wanted to stop me?

They should have warded the gods damned vents.

Fuckin casuals. Get on my level.

So, now? I am the baby. King's inner circle. And EVERYONE? Is damn near twice my age! And, granted, yes. It IS hilarious I still scare like half the people working under me... but come ON! You are elite government officials! Do BETTER! (Geez. At least my PARENTS couldn't be prouder.)

But... (and God damn it, why is there ALWAYS a "but"?) here's the thing. It? Took me a WHILE to get where I am now. Long enough, in fact, for our... Problem, to arrive. A Problem which is GOING to cast his Majesty's kingdom into chaos and turmoil, in fighting and divides. Religious upheaval. A PROBLEM, which? In the name of luuuuuv~?

Is going to get NEIGHBORING COUNTRIES involved.

And WHO do you think is going to have to deal with that? WHO will have to prevent all out WAR? Religious schisms? Ward off assassins in the night? Certainly not Mr. "But Daddy, I love her!". Oh no, HE gets to sit back and enjoy the fruits of his father's suffering! Make more trouble! (Fucker.)

But, hey! Maybe I should throw in with his SECOND son, right? The supporting character? He seems vastly more reasonable and emotionally more balanced doesn't he? Well educated, cautious, why, thoughtful even! Ha ha... yeah... he DOES seem that way, doesn't he?

SEEMS.

He Is Not. Little fucker is a SPECIAL flavor of batshit. Completely "wake to find him standing over you, in your LOCKED BEDROOM, asking if you want to see his new favorite knife" nutty puffs. Not sure which side of the family it comes from, to be honest. Disturbingly good at getting past my warding.

Or at least he WAS, until I got the King involved. Ha! Royal wards! You can't touch me! I sleep like a BABY now! The only people who can enter my rooms now? Are literally JUST me and the KING HIMSELF! How safe is that~‽

But for real... poor his Majesty, you know? It's not like he didn't TRY to be a good father. Take time he couldn't afford out of each day, to spend time with his sons. Insist on eating meals together so he could ask them about their interests, how each day had gone. Involved them where he safely could.

He's a somber man. A dignified one. But let NO ONE say, he is not a LOVING one.

And HOW do his children fucking reward him? Middle school love dramatics and MURDER ATTEMPTS IN THE NIGHT! Because, YES, I have found the disturbing murder board that the second prince has in his "secret" room. Right along his equally disturbing stalker board of ME.

I, obviously, told the King.

He did not look pleased.

Don't know if my new reality has, like, intensive therapy programs or something? But I hope for ALL our sakes, that the second Prince is at the winter palace getting HELP, instead of just? You know... plotting.

His Highness has a nasty tendency to plot, after all. But hey, his Majesty says not to worry about it? I choose to believe him. Concern myself with more immediate threats. Enjoy, no longer turning around to find some baby faced little creep with a hunter's stare, just... watching me. As I try to work. As I try to eat. Around corners, still as a statue, yet somehow a THREAT, in lonely and too empty corridors.

God fucking DAMN, his little "crush" was creepy!

If it weren't for his Majesty? I would have run and run FAR. But... but I? And you CAN NOT repeat this, okay? It's WILDLY inappropriate! A-And I SWEAR I'm never going to.. to ACT on it! I would NEVER. So...so PROMISE, okay?

....cause.... I may... MAY! Possibly! Just a LITTLE bit! Sorta, kinda, just a BIT? Have a TEENY? Little crush... on... his Majesty? Maybe???

YOU CAN'T TELL!

It's SO fucking inappropriate. Oh my GOD. I hate this so much!? Cause he's my BOSS! And old enough to be my DAD! I SHOULDN'T be so attracted to him, right?! Plus he's the KING! There's definitely a power imbalance there! How would that even WORK?! We would have no future! I don't know the first THING about how to BE royalty. And no one would accept me!

Not that I think I even have a CHANCE! Fuck no! I'm not THAT arrogant.

But, like? A girl can day dream. Fantasize, you know?

Which is why? Having his SON? Be a creepo stalker at me? Kinda the WORST. I've literally JUST discovered I'm into older men! Thanks! BEGONE, zygote! Also, your vibes are RANCID! No thanks! I hated that and am SO glad it's gone. Now? All I have to worry about? Is Protagonist-chan and the political SHIT SHOW she drags after her like trail of destruction.

Why is she involving foreign royalty? PLEASE stop involving foreign royalty! Dukes! Religious leaders! MILITARY LEADERS. Stop "Helen of Troy"-ing your ass through our nice, PEACEFUL, kingdom!!! What the ACTUAL FUCK!? This is NOT A THEME PARK.

I watch, vaguely horrified, as his Majesty finishes reading three (yes, count um! Fucking THREE!) different royal missives demanding three different women of legend, from three DIFFERENT legends, who coincidentally enough? Happen to ALL BE THE SAME PERSON. Fucking Protagonist-chan.

They were from long standing ALLIES.

We could not AFFORD to lose those.

And the FOURTH message? Oh, THAT? That, was from his SON! Mr. "But Daddy! I Love her!" HIMSELF! He wants permission to marry the random woman of unknown province he found in the woods! Could be a foreign spy! Could be a mad woman. Who CARES right? They're SO in love~

Enough to START A WAR OVER IT.

I skip the tasting cups and instead? Bring his Majesty a bottle of the strongest star wine I can find. The sort that could damn near eat through rocks and vaporizes in air if you pour it out. Pain killers too, for what HAS to be a killer headache. Then I hesitate. You know what? Fuck it. I grab a cart. Make a care package.

Paper, ink, the STRONG tea, that special occasions tea (in case he needs a reason to remember his will to live), some snacks, a few shawls in case he decides to work late...

It's worth it, to see the way his stressed face relaxs when I return. Eyes softening, corner of his mouth curling up in that tiny, secret, little smile. We can get through this. We WILL get through this. I may not be able to stand by his side, but? I can support him. Help.

So long as HE sits in this office, burning himself down to keep this nation warm, so too, will I.

Tea or booze, your Majesty?

"A blend, I think. Unfortunately, I fear it is going to be a long night for us both." He replies. His voice smooth and low, effortlessly filling the room. A lifetime of public speaking, ingrained so very deep. "You should pour yourself a cup as well, my dear. Sleep will be a long time coming, we will need both the calm and the clarity."

I rolled my borrowed tea cart to the side and got to work. Strong tea and stronger star wine. Certainly a... flavor. Fairly certain such a thing should be illegal. Pretty sure our healers are going to be appalled. But, oh well. Needs, must. One for me, one for him.

He held out a hand. It was a sweeping gesture of his arm, a gentle turn of his wrist. I could never get used to his casual... elegance. The beauty of him. Like a living art work. A dancer. As though he were an actor, striking a pose, about to consider the soul of the simple tea cup. I handed it over, gently and with as much elegance as I could.

It still felt clumsy in comparison.

Yet he still smiled, just slightly. In that way I had learned to spot. Tension dripping away from his shoulders like thawing ice. Running in little rivers like melt waters, as he sat back in his chair, half turning it to face me. A brief moment to relax. Before work begins again.

"Ah... completely vile. Thank you, dear. It's disgusting." He said dryly, catching me off gaurd, and making me damn near snort into my cup. "If it did not work so well? I would never consume this swill again. What a perfect waste of tea and wine. We should invite Yevault."

I laugh. A snirking, snorting, choked little thing into my cup. God, but I've been TRYING to laugh more elegantly. Hell, I've even practiced. But when he catches me off gaurd? I swear to God, I cackle and pop. Like some sort of deranged witch pig. Ow, my sinuses.

"Oh but that's right, Yevault is a healer, on the occasions he takes time from being an unbearable snob. He might actually make us rest, dear. Then where would we be?" His Majesty muses, taking another sip before grimacing at the taste.

I go to respond. Probably some quip about "preferably in bed" or "asleep". Only... only to find my tounge sluggish. My exhaustion mounting, not slipping away. The world has begun to sway. Just a little at first, then notable. My mouth... fuzzy? Prickly. W...what?

His Majesty has begun to frown. Delicately setting down his cup... cup? Something about... a cup... I have taken too long to respond. He rises. Strides in a few, urgent, steps over to where I lean. Against the edge of my assistants desk. Swaying~ swaying~ w-why is the ground... my tounge feels to big. Think? I've begone to drool?

Warm, big hands cup my face. Was slipping forward, to the side. Gonna fall? Not anymore. Up. Hi! Is the king. Hi King. I... I don't feel so good...

His eyes have gone focused and cold. Pretty. Crown begins to glow. Leaves. Gold and gold, a halo of light. From within and beyond him. Power of the throne. Oh... oh I was here before, wasn't I? My bones remember. Like the roots to his great tree, power seeping deeper and deeper into my body, finding imperfections to consume. So... so much LIGHT.

I can not look away.

"Poison, was it? How terribly banal. Do they think me so simple to kill?" There is scorn in his voice. Utter distain. But deep beneath, like the hidden embers of a forest fire, there is rage. "How dare they drag you into this. Bad enough they throw a FIT over some trouble making tart, now they get the innocent involved? What if I had not been paying attention? Or you had taken that tea where I could not see it? Unacceptable."

Like spreading branches, like antlers, the light spread. The hands on my face gentle even as his Majesty's face might as well have been carved from stone. I tried to protest, swallowing thinking past the still rolling nausea. It was my fault! The tasting cups exsist for a REASON. They're supposed to test for things like this. I got too comfortable.

"No." The word slammed down as about an absolute as any sentence CAN. A declaration from on high. The commandment of a king. "It takes far more then simple poisons or common blades to kill me. The power that flows through the Throne insures it. You do not have that luxury. You could have DIED."

"....might still yet."

The last bit, almost a confession, pressed to my brow as he leaned down to press his lips to my forhead. His grip tighter, as though to stop his hands from shaking. My joints were starting to hurt, like I had a nasty cold, and I was already starting to feel feverish. I was starting to drip sweat. Shit.

I tried to stay calm. But... but I was scared. What do I do? Your Majesty! What do I DO?!

"We are going back to my quarters. Work can be brought to me. You need to lay down." He decided after a long moment of deliberation. Something had shifted in his eyes. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Clung to the only trustworthy source of comfort I knew, in the chaos of this moment. "I'm going to take care of you. I have you, dear. Just trust me, darling. I will fix this. I swear it. You don't have to worry about a thing. Just put all of your trust in me, all right?

"Just come with me, dear. Everything will be all right."

"You can trust me."

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

That is so nice of you honestly, i think the the ask was how a yan alucard would take advantage of his position of power in the village post season 4, and if he and the people(the villages people, the orphans, sypha and Trevor) around him would pressure his fem love interest/obsession into being with him because of all he has done for them making it very difficult to reject his advances with out becoming a social outcast .Like I can imagine a darker version of him proposing to his Darling in a public space surrounded by the aforementioned people and villagers for that very reason. And side note do you think he would turn his Darling so they could be together for ever?

A/N: Yes, oh my gosh, yes! A Yandere! Alucard would 100% use his position of power over her to gently “guide” her into falling for him. And I do think, that yes, a Yandere! Alucard would eventually try to turn his Darling. I like to think that it might take some extra dark magic, as he is not a full vampire, but that he goes down that path willingly for her (regardless of how she feels about it) because once he falls, he falls hard, and he cannot imagine living without her.

TW: Toxic/Manualpative Relationship, and Brief Mentions of Sex and Pregnancy 

Yandere! Village Leader Alucard Headcanons: 

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who always insists on “helping” his Darling, and whatever group she happens to be in. ‘Ah, you’re on kitchen duty today. Well it's a good thing that my Mother taught me to cook.’ & ‘Barn raising? Surely your tiny frame is no match for such a strenuous job. Here, allow me.’ 

You don’t like feeling helpless, but you couldn’t say ‘no’. That would be such a rude thing to deny the very Savior of your people. 

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard, who is always so kind, and attentive. One who chooses to spend most of the free time he has at gatherings putting the spotlight on his Darling so that he may listen to her speak. ‘Hmm, what an interesting Speaker tradition, Sypha. Tell me, (Y/N), what sort of traditions remind you of home?’ 

You’re running out of things to share with him, it seems everything you could say about yourself he seems to already know.

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who memorizes every little detail his Darling shares, and uses it to his advantage, all the while pretending such occurrences are mere coincidence. ‘I found these flowers blooming on the other side of the castle and I thought of you. Truly? How lucky, I had no idea these were your favorite flowers.’ & ‘Hmm, now that you mention it, I believe Mother had an old dress in that color. Why don’t you wait here while I go and fetch it for you?’ 

The dress fits perfectly, huh. How odd that you and Alucard’s mother must have been the same size. 

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who “lets it slip” in conversation with Trevor and Sypha just how madly in love he is with his Darling, prompting his married friends to conspire together, coming up with ways to make you see Alucard’s love. ‘I can only hope she shares the same affection, although I must admit, I am unsure of how to tell her of my feelings.’ ‘& ‘Do you mean to say you’ll help me win her devotion?’ 

Did Sypha always talk up Alucard like that? Trevor sure keeps talking an awful lot about being married, even for a newlywed. 

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who always speaks your praises to the children, about how smart, loving, and fun you are so that when they call on him to play games, they’re always scheming to get you to play as well. ‘I must admit I’ve pondered over whether I have the ability to have my own.’ & ‘Don’t believe I haven’t seen the way you light up when the children call you Mother.’ 

Wait? Don’t they also call Alucard, Father?

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who insists on caring for you by himself, anytime you become the least bit injured or ill. He insists you stay within the walls of the castle for the time being, as opposed to in your cottage with your family outside. ‘I know the castle can feel overwhelming at times, but please, try to think of it as a mere extension of your home.’ & ‘I do wish you’d let me take better care of you, Darling. You’re too important of a person around here to be laid out sick so often.’ 

You didn't used to fall ill so often. What the hell is happening to you?!

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who makes a very public display of asking for your hand, one evening during a solstice festival. All eyes are on you as you smile, and you a faint chorus of applause as you accept the dhampir’s proposal. ‘It would be my utmost honor to marry you, my Darling.’ & ‘You are making me the happiest man alive.’ 

Not as if you could say no with all the other villagers and your family watching. They want this for you too, so, this marriage must be a good idea, right?

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who arranges for you to be wed as soon as possible. One of the castle’s largest halls is transformed into a makeshift chapel as Sypha performs the wedding rites. Greta acts as your Maiden of Honor, while Alucard slots Trevor in as his Best Man. All of the villagers- your family included- are there to watch the ceremony, with laughter and joyful tears in their eyes. ‘I know it’s not a church wedding, Darling. But you understand, I doubt we’d find a Priest anywhere willing to marry the son of Dracula.’ 

You look like royalty in the dress Alucard provided you, so you try to ignore how the cuffs of your dress’s bishop sleeves feel like weighted shackles upon your wrists. 

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who promises you can’t get pregnant the first time you have sex. He’d know of course, silly! His Mother was a Doctor after all. Just let him love you… No, let him worship you, mind, body, and soul. ‘Besides, I’m quite certain dhampirs are sterile. It would take a miracle for us to make a child together.’ & ‘Even if it were to happen, it’s not the end of the world, is it? We are wedded after all.’  

If that’s not a goal, why does he insist on always flipping you over so that he can watch your expression as he finishes inside you? 

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who swears you will make incredible parents, and he could not be happier to have a large family with you. You have so much knowledge and wisdom to impart, creating this legacy with him is a great act of service for the world. And Alucard promises, as soon as you’re done having his children, maybe two or three, he’ll change you into a vampire so that you can enjoy the fruits of your labor at his side- forever. ‘Just imagine it, Darling. Neither one of us will be lonely ever again.’ & ‘We’ll be each other’s soulmate for all eternity.’ 

Surely, eternity isn’t all that long. 

Right?

A/N: I hope you liked it! I was trying a different style/format here, so I apologize if it isn't what you expected. My mom’s having surgery this week, so I didn’t get as much writing/editing time as expected. 

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